A. Fair - Shills Can't Cash Chips

I parked my car, walked up the steps, entered the reception room and called out, “Yoohoo! Anybody home?”

The place was utterly silent.

There was a sepulchral quality about the silence — the office with all the trappings of modern business, the desks, the electric typewriters, the overhead lights, the filing cases, all silent and deserted. The typewriters all had plastic covers except one from which the plastic cover had been removed and a telltale pilot light over the switch showed that the current was on.

I walked through the swinging gate to the back of the room and took a look at the typewriter. The electric motor was purring away smoothly. I put my hand on the machine. It was warm, indicating the motor had been on for some time.

I walked over to the door of Holgate’s private office and knocked.

There was no answer.

I hesitated a moment, then opened the door.

The interior of the office was a holy mess. A chair had been overturned and smashed; the papier-mâché model subdivision had been knocked off the table, all of the beautiful model houses had been scattered over the floor and some of them had evidently been trampled on, as they were broken into bits. The window looking out on the street was open, a faint night breeze was stirring the drapes.

Drawers had been pulled out of the desk, and the filing cabinet had apparently tipped over when the last of the full drawers had been pulled out. Someone must have been hastily searching for something.

A woman’s handbag was on the floor with one strap broken and the metal frame bent. A compact was lying open with the two covers flattened and smashed.

Parts of a powder cake were on the floor, and bits of glass from the broken mirror.

I picked up one of the broken pieces of powder cake, smelled it and rubbed my fingers along it. The powder was a pale pink with the scent of carnation.

On the floor, half under the papier-mâché model subdivision, was a woman’s shoe.

I put my fingers under the edge of the papier-mâché green subdivision and lifted it so I could free the shoe for an inspection.

It was an alligator leather shoe bearing the trademark of a shoe store in Salt Lake City.

It was a neat, narrow little bit of leather with class written all over it. That shoe had cost plenty and called for a dainty high-arched foot.

I walked over to take a look at the litter of papers on the floor by the filing case.

For the most part the papers that had spilled out of the files onto the floor were in brown paper folders, but many had been either pulled out of the folders and scattered over the floor by someone searching for some particular paper, or when the contents of the file drawers had tumbled out, these papers had fallen from some of the envelopes. These papers proved on inspection to be options, contracts and receipts covering down payments. Nearly all of them were on printed forms.

One piece of paper, however, caught my eye. It was a sheet of flimsy with typing in a purple copying ink.

I knew that type of paper all too well. It was the paper used in many detective agencies for making reports to the client.

I pushed the other pieces of paper aside and pulled out this sheet of flimsy, finding as I did so that two other papers were attached to it.

The report read:

“Following instructions to keep subject under surveillance it was deemed advisable to keep a watch on her car to see when she left her apartment house, inasmuch as there was no practical way of keeping her apartment under surveillance except by stationing a man in the corridor, and this would have defeated purpose of client in asking for surreptitious surveillance.

“Therefore when it became apparent another person was also keeping watch on this car, client was notified by long-distance telephone and we were instructed to put operative on this new subject in order to ascertain his identity.

“At two-twenty-five subject Doris Ashley left apartment and entered her automobile, driving to supermarket in accordance with routine daily procedure.

“Man who had been keeping her car under surveillance drove to supermarket, parked his car so close to that of subject’s she could not get in with groceries. Later on this individual, pretending this was not his car, jumped the switch wiring, apparently as an excuse to get acquainted with subject, and this was successful in that subject invited man to ride with her.

“He rode to a point near Eleventh and Main, then abruptly left subject’s automobile, and our operative was unable to pick him up again until the following day when he was again spotted and followed.

“This man’s car on which he had jumped wires, turned out to be a car rented from Continental Drive-Yourself Agency in the city but no information was immediately forthcoming on identity of person renting the car.

“The next day this man again was picked up, tailed to the supermarket. At supermarket he approached one of checkers just as subject was about to pay for groceries. Subject recognized him and seemed glad to see him. At her apparent invitation he got in her car, this time riding back with her all the way to subject’s apartment. Again it was ascertained this party was driving a car rented from Continental Drive-Yourself Agency, but this time by pretending car had been involved in an accident, our city office was able to ascertain identity of person renting the car.

“This individual is Donald Lam, and Lam is a partner in the detective agency of COOL & LAM.

“This agency is rather unorthodox in its operations and little can be found out about it since it does not seem to be catering to regular clients but goes in for sharpshooting on cases having unusual angles.

“Donald Lam is locally reported to be highly ingenious and resourceful, exceedingly daring and at times undoubtedly disregards professional ethics in order to obtain some real or fancied advantages for his clients.

“In accordance with instructions we immediately communicated information to client by long-distance telephone as soon as it was obtained.

“At this time Donald Lam was in subject’s apartment.

“Upon receipt of information as to the identity of the person in question, client instructed us immediately to discontinue all shadowing operations, to close the case, submit final bill and take no further action.

“In accordance with these instructions operative was recalled to city office and the case closed.

“ACE HIGH DETECTIVE AGENCY per J.C.L., Manager

“Los Angeles Branch”

I studied that report for a moment, then folded and shoved it in my coat pocket. I looked around but couldn’t find any jacket or brown paper envelope from which this paper had spilled.

I noticed a door half open which led to a lavatory. I went to that door, opened it wide and was about to enter the room when I heard steps in the outer office.

I ran to the window and looked out. There was a car parked just behind mine. I couldn’t see it too clearly but it was a big shiny car.

I pushed aside the curtains on the open window, eased myself over the sill and dropped to the ground. I started walking toward my car, then thought better of it and sprinted.

I jumped in the car, started the motor and eased into motion as noiselessly as possible.

Someone yelled.

I could see a man’s frame silhouetted against the light in the room, standing on the open window from which I had made my departure.

“Hey, you!” he yelled. “Come back here! Stop where you are!”

I stepped on the throttle.

I had a blurred glimpse of the man climbing through the window and running across the lawn toward his car. Then I skidded into a turn at the end of the driveway, hit the paved road and pushed down the foot throttle.

I had gone about half a mile before I picked up the headlights in my rearview mirror.