Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Long-Legged Models

“Drop it!” he shouted. “Drop it before I break your jaw!”

Mason, still holding the gun, backed away. “Lord!” he said, “I didn’t know it was loaded.”

Garvin motioned the others back. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s Perry Mason, the lawyer.”

“It isn’t a stick-up?” the man asked.

Garvin shook his head.

Mason glanced ruefully at the desk. “My gosh!” he said, “I was just giving the trigger a little try and... That’s certainly a smooth mechanism.”

“Of course, it’s a smooth mechanism,” Garvin said. “That’s the reason I keep it here. It’s well oiled. It’s a beautiful gun. It’s built like a watch. It has the smoothest action I can find on the market. And because I keep it for protection, I keep it loaded. There’s very little percentage in clicking an empty gun at a bandit who is trying to hold you up.”

Mason slid the gun back to Garvin. “I guess I’ve got no business handling these things,” he said.

Garvin said drily, “You seem to know a lot more about them in court than you do when you’re visiting clients.”

Mason turned to the secretary and the salesman. “I’m sorry. I guess I’ve made a commotion. I owe your boss a new desk.”

“And close the door,” Garvin said, “when you go out.”

The secretary held the door open. The broad-shouldered salesman backed out rather reluctantly. The good-looking secretary closed the door.

“All right,” Garvin said. “Now what? If you were anybody but Perry Mason, that act would have been convincing.”

Mason grinned. “Put the gun in your pocket and come along.”

“With the gun?”

“With the gun. You may need it.”

“All right, I’ll put another shell in before—”

“No, no. Just the way it is,” Mason told him.

“All right, where do we go?”

“We take a little ride.”

Garvin picked up a phone, said, “Get Ralph for me... Ralph, I’m going out on a personal demonstration. Get me that x-60 job we took in yesterday. Have it out in front right away... That’s right! When I say ‘right away’ I mean right away!”

Garvin surveyed the damaged desk. “Makes quite a groove,” he said. “That was a swell-looking desk, but I didn’t know the veneer on it was so thin. May I ask what’s the idea, Mr. Mason?”

“The general idea,” Mason said, “is that I want you to demonstrate this x-60 job you’re talking about.”

“You’re going to love it,” Garvin said. “It’s a sports job and it has more horses under the hood than you can use under ordinary conditions. But when you’re out on the highway, and you want to pass somebody, you pass him. You pass him right now, without any long, drawn-out agony while you’re driving along the road two abreast. You get back in your lane of traffic before anybody has a chance to come around a curve and smack you head-on, and—”

“I don’t pass people on an approach to curves,” Mason said.

“You may think you don’t,” Garvin said, “and you may try not to. But when you’re driving over a strange road, unless you’re fully familiar with the grades you’ll find that sooner or later you’ll be going on what you think is a level road, but actually it’s a pretty good grade. The topography of the country is such that you’ll be fooled. You’ll try to pass someone on what looks like a sufficiently adequate space of open road, and—”

“Save it!” Mason told him. “Let’s take a look at this x-60 job of yours.”

“Right this way,” Garvin said.

He led the way out through the outer office. The secretary standing by the water cooler, a glass of water in her hand, her face still pale, looked at Mason as one regards a creature from another planet.

Garvin held the door open, said, “Get right in. Get in behind the wheel of that car, Mr. Mason.”

Mason hesitated at the sight of the sports automobile which was drawn up in front of the place.

“Ever driven one of them?” Garvin asked.

“No.”

“Get in, try it and overcome both your prejudices and your ignorance at the same time. Greatest little job on earth! Compact! Efficient! Snappy! Distinctive! That’s the kind of job you should be driving, Mr. Mason.”

“Hang it!” Mason said, “in a car like that I’d stand out like a sore thumb. I’d go to call on a client and a hundred motorists driving by would see the car parked in front of the place and would say, ‘Why, that’s Mr. Mason’s car. He must be in there calling on a client.’ ”

Young Garvin grinned. “Would that be bad?” he asked.

“That,” Mason said, “would be fatal.”

“Not the way we understand publicity in the used car business,” Garvin said. “The canons of professional ethics prevent you from advertising but there’s nothing that says people can’t talk about you. Slide in behind the wheel, Mr. Mason. Go ahead... I did what you wanted and it’s cost me a desk. This isn’t going to cost you a cent — unless you buy it.”

Mason slid in behind the wheel.

“Turn the key all the way to the right,” Garvin instructed, walking around the car and climbing in beside Mason.

Mason turned the key to the right. The motor gave one quick throb, then subsided into subdued pulsations which seemed as smooth as the ticking of a watch.

“Slide it into gear,” Garvin said, “and push down the throttle. Easy!”

Mason put the car into gear, pressed the throttle slightly and the car shot ahead as though it had been launched from a catapult.

“I said, ‘Easy!’ ” Garvin warned.

Mason spun the wheel just in time to catch a break in traffic and glide out onto the highway.

“You’re riding a polo pony now,” Garvin warned. “The slightest touch on that wheel, the slightest touch on the throttle brings action.”

“I’ll say it brings action,” Mason said.

“You’ll get to like it,” Garvin told him.

“If I live long enough,” Mason said dubiously.

“May I ask where we’re going?” Garvin inquired.

“For a ride,” Mason told him. “I am testing out your x-60 job.”

“Suits me,” Garvin said. “Take a couple of corners where there isn’t any traffic. Get accustomed to the feel of that steering wheel and, for heaven’s sake, go easy on the throttle.”

“Hang it, Garvin!” Mason said, “this car is ten years too young for me.”

“On the contrary,” Garvin said, “a car of this sort should never be sold to anyone younger than you are. This car should only be operated by someone who has the judgment and wisdom which comes from mature experience.”

Mason looked at him in surprise. “Are those your real sentiments about sports cars?” he asked.

“Hell, no!” Garvin said. “That’s good salesmanship. Where are we going?”

“Places,” Mason said.

“Well, get this baby out on the freeway where we can roll it along a little bit. I want you to see what acceleration is.”

“No,” Mason said, “I’m getting along all right. I’m studying.”

“The car?”

“Hell, no!” Mason said. “I’m studying salesmanship.”

Homer Garvin laughed.

Mason drove for several minutes then swung the car into a side street.

Garvin said suddenly, “Hey! Wait a minute! What’s happening here?”

Mason braked the car to a stop in front of the Lodestar Apartments. “We have a job to do.”

“Now just a— Wa-i-i-i-i-i-t a minute!” Garvin said. “I don’t know what you have in mind, but the answer is no.”

“Come on,” Mason told him.

“I’m a married man,” Garvin told him.

“How does it feel?” Mason asked him.

“I don’t know yet. It’s a thoroughly enjoyable experience so far, but... I can see where it has advantages and disadvantages. However, I do have the most wonderful girl in the world, and I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize her happiness or mine.”