A. Fair - All Grass Isn't Green

“Did you have a hard time untying the knots?”

“Not too hard. My fingers are very strong, señor, have been a fisherman. I work much with lines. I know knots.”

“And you took out the gag?”

“The gag?”

“The cloth in the mouth,” I said.

“Oh seguro , sure. I take out the cloth and he speaks to me, but after some difficulty.”

“What does he say?”

“He says he has been held up.”

“And then?”

“So then the man is suffering. I invite him to come to my house.”

“Does he drive his car?”

“No. He goes with me. He cannot get in the driver’s seat of his car because he is sore in the sides of the stomach and his nose has bled and his eye is black.

“He had had a beating, that one!”

“And then what?” I asked.

“So we came to my casa and Maria she makes food — tortillas, some chile verde that we have some frijoles refritos , some cheese... He eats this man. He is sore, but he is hungry.”

“And then?”

“Then we have him lie down on that bed. He lies still and he sleeps. Then he gets up and he leaves. I drive to his car.”

“How long ago?”

José shrugged his shoulders. “I do not have the watch — maybe one hour, maybe two hours.”

“And that is all you know?”

“That is all I know.”

I nodded to Hale, “All right,” I said, “we’re going to Mexicali and I’m putting you in a good hotel. I’ll bring you a sports shirt and... Where’s your razor?”

“In my bag in the back of the car. It was in the back of the car. My God, do you suppose they took it?”

“Let’s look.”

He got the car keys and unlocked the trunk. A big bulging bag was there, together with a smaller suitcase.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Apparently so,” he said with relief. “You won’t need to get me a new shirt. I have clean clothes in my bags thank heavens.”

“All right,” I told him, “let’s go.”

“But there is a matter of money,” Hale said. “I am a writer and... I had gambled much on this story and...”

“Pay it no mind,” I told him. “The party is on me from here on.”

The expression of relief struggling with his black eye was ludicrous.

Maria continued to busy herself over the stove, smiling a farewell and saying simply, “Adios.”

I handed her a ten-dollar bill. “I make my thanks to you for the help you have given,” I said.

They didn’t want to take it, but it was apparent the money meant much to them. Maria finally took it with fervent thanks.

José Chapalla came to the door. He shook hands with all three of us. “ Vaya con Dios — go with God,” he said.

We stopped at a service station where there was a hose with running water. Hale washed the most noticeable; bloodstains off his shirt and washed his face.

Nanncie tooted the horn of Hale’s car and waved as she passed us on her way to the hotel.

Hale was doing some thinking en route.

When we stopped he said abruptly, “You’re working for Milton Calhoun?”

“I’m working for him.”

“I’m not,” Hale said. “To be perfectly frank, I don’t like the bastard.”

“I’m working for him,” I repeated.

“And,” Hale said, “I’m not going to go out of my way to give him any help. He’s got money, he can hire lawyers and...”

“He’s already hired a lawyer. I want you to talk with him.”

“I don’t know whether I’ll talk or not,” Hale said.

“Suit yourself,” I told him, “only don’t forget one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m working for Calhoun.”

“Okay by me,” he said. “You can work for anybody, you damn please.”

We entered the hotel. I escorted Hale to the desk.

The clerk smiled and shook his head, put his hands on; the counter palms up. “I am so sorry, señors, but there are no vacancies. We are full and...”

“He is a friend of mine,” I explained. “He has been in an automobile accident.”

The clerk became all smiles. “Oh, in that case, seguro , yes, but certainly, we will take care of him.”

He pushed a pen and a card in front of Hale and Hale registered. I noticed that he gave his address as 817 Billinger Street.

I saw that he was fixed comfortably in his room, got the bellboy to bring in his big bag and suitcase from his car and said, “You don’t want these ropes that you were tied up with any more, do you?”

“I never want to see them again,” he said.

“I’ll get rid of them for you,” I told him.

I took the ropes and put them in the trunk of the agency heap, drove across to Calexico, telephoned the office of Anton Newberry and asked the secretary if Newberry was in.

“He’s just leaving for the day,” she said.

“This is Donald Lam,” I said. “Tell him to wait until I get there. I’ve got news for him.”

“What kind of news?”

“It may be good news.”

I could hear the mumble of off-the-telephone conversation; then the secretary said, “He’ll wait. Try to get here as soon as possible.”

“It won’t be long,” I told her. “I’m already across the line.”

I made time to El Centro, was fortunate to find a parking place, and climbed the stairs to Newberry’s office.

The secretary ushered me to the inner office where Newberry was waiting for me.

He twisted his thin lips in a smile which lacked cordiality.

“I hope it’s good news, Lam,” he said, “and it must be important.”

“It is.”

“Just what is it?”

“Sit down and get your notebook,” I said. “You’ll want to take notes.”

“I have a tape recorder and I can put you on tape.”

“I’d prefer to tell you the story and have you make notes.”

“Why?”

“For various reasons.”

“All right,” he said, “tell me why you think it’s good news.”

I said, “It’s about the gun that did the fatal shooting.”

“Tut, tut, we don’t know what gun did the fatal shooting.”

“But the police have found it — a thirty-eight-caliber revolver that’s registered to Milton Carling Calhoun.”

“How do you know it is the murder weapon?”

“I’ll bet ten to one.”

“I never bet against a client. They haven’t done the ballistics work yet, and... I believe they have traced the registration. The gun was purchased some time ago by Mr. Calhoun, but that isn’t necessarily conclusive.”

I said, “I can account for the gun.”

“Without involving Calhoun?”

“Without involving Calhoun.”

His face lit up. This time the smile was cordial. “Well, well, well,” he said, “tell me how it happened.”

I said, “Calhoun gave the gun to a girl.”

He shook his head and said, “We can’t have any of this, Lam. We can’t have any women brought into the case. Not at all, do you understand that?”

“I understand it. You are the one who decides what’s going to be brought into the case. I’m the one who gives you the facts so that you know what to keep out of the case.”

He nodded his head emphatically. “Very smart of you Lam, very smart. Now, tell me about the gun.”

“The girl,” I said, “gave the gun to a fellow by the name of Colburn Hale. He’s a writer. He was working on a story dealing with dope smuggling and—”

“Yes, yes,” Newberry interrupted. “I’ve talked with my client. I know all about Hale.”

I said, “No, you don’t.”

“What don’t I know?”

“Lots of things. That’s what I’m here to tell you.”

“Go ahead.”

“Hale,” I said, “was given the gun for his protection. He went down to San Felipe and started playing around with this bunch of dope runners. I don’t know when they made him, but probably about as soon as he left San Felipe on the trail of the shipment.