A. Fair - The Bigger They Come

‘Yes, yes,’ he interrupted, smiling and bobbing his head with mechanical regularity, but keeping his turquoise green eyes fastened on Mrs. Cool. ‘I understand. I have problems of my own, Mrs. Cool.’

‘Well, I’m in the business of getting information and capitalizing on it,’ she said. ‘I have something you want. You tried to beat it out of my operative. I don’t like that.’

‘We were a little abrupt, for a fact,’ the chief conceded.

‘It costs me money to get my information. I don’t pass it out for charity.’

‘I’m very much interested in that Perkins Hotel situation,’ the chief said. He said to his wife, ‘Do you suppose, m’love, that we could have had the double-cross?’

‘Something screwy somewhere,’ she said.

‘Should we say a hundred dollars to Mrs. Cool?’

The little woman nodded.

‘One hundred dollars,’ the chief said.

‘Make it two hundred,’ Bertha Cool said.

‘A hundred and fifty,’ Mrs. Cunweather said to her husband, ‘and if she doesn’t want that, give her nothing.’

‘All right,’ Bertha Cool said, ‘a hundred and fifty.’

The fat man turned to his wife. ‘Do you happen to have a hundred and fifty, m’love?’

‘No.’

‘My wallet is upstairs. Would you mind running up and getting it?’

‘Take it out of your belt,’ she said.

He moistened his lips again, and said, ‘I’ll tell you, Mrs. Cool, you go ahead and tell us, and I’ll guarantee that you’ll have the hundred and fifty. I’ll promise it.’

‘You get the hundred and fifty,’ she said.

He sighed with resignation, got to his feet, and opened the top part of his pajamas. His belly was huge, white, and flabby. A chamois-skin money belt circled his middle. It had been soaked and discolored with perspiration. He opened one of the pockets and took out two hundred-dollar bills.

‘That’s the smallest you have?’ Bertha Cool asked.

‘That’s the smallest.’

‘It’s going to take nearly all of my small change.’

‘I’m sorry. That’s absolutely the smallest.’

Bertha Cool fished around in her purse, then looked hopefully at me. ‘Got any money, Donald?’ she asked.

‘Not a nickel,’ I said.

She counted out her money and said, ‘I have to save five dollars for the taxi bill. I’ve got forty dollars in change. I’ll give you thirty-five. Call it square for that or you can go upstairs and get your wallet.’

‘We’ll call it square for that,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t walk upstairs to save fifteen dollars.’

‘Bring over the two hundred, Donald,’ she said.

The fat man extended the money to me. I carried it over to Mrs. Cool. She gave me the change in one-dollar, five-dollar, and ten-dollar bills. I took them over to Cunweather. He passed them over to his wife.

‘Put that somewhere,’ he said. ‘I don’t want that chicken-feed in my money belt.’

He closed the flap of his money belt, buttoned up his pajamas, tucked the coat down in the pants, looked across at me, and said, ‘Does Lam do the talking?’

‘Lam does the talking,’ Mrs. Cool said.

I said, ‘Sandra gave Morgan Birks a—’

‘Never mind that, Donald,’ she said. ‘That’s betraying the interest of a client. Just tell him what happened about Morgan, how we found him, and how we served him. But don’t tell him the name or address of Morgan’s sweetie.’

‘Bleatie,’ I said, ‘gave me the name of Morgan’s girl friend. I went to her and put on an act that we were going to drag her into the divorce action, and then shadowed the place. She led me to the Perkins Hotel. She registered as Mrs. B. F. Morgan and got room 618. I bribed the bell captain to find out about what rooms were in the vicinity. He—’

‘Yes, yes,’ Cunweather interrupted. ‘We know all about that, Donald. We know everything you did from the time you got to the Perkins Hotel.’

‘Then you know about serving Morgan Birks?’ I asked.

‘You didn’t serve Morgan Birks — you served somebody else.’

‘The hell he did!’ Bertha Cool interrupted. ‘He served Morgan Birks.’

‘Where?’

‘In the girl’s room — in 618.’

Cunweather and his wife exchanged glances. ‘There’s some mistake,’ Cunweather said.

‘No, there isn’t.’

‘Morgan Birks didn’t go into room 618. We’re absolutely positive of that.’

‘Don’t worry. He was in there all right,’ Bertha Cool said. ‘I saw him myself.’

‘How about it, m’love,’ Cunweather said, turning to his wife, ‘shall we―’

‘Let Donald finish his story,’ she said.

Cunweather looked back at me. ‘Go on with your story, Donald.’

I said, ‘I got a room. Several people were with me. Sandra and Bleatie came in. Alma Hunter was there. I left them, and went out to a masquerade costume place, and got a bellboy’s uniform that would fit me. I had a telegram addressed to Mrs. B. F. Morgan, care of Western Union. I waited around until the telegram came in, signed for it, and wrote in lead pencil on the envelope, beside the address, “Try Perkins Hotel.” Then I got a notebook, forged a few signatures in it, went up to the hotel, and found the party in a hell of a stew because Morgan Birks had come in shortly after I’d left. I changed to the bellboy’s uniform, went out and knocked on the door of 618. When they wanted to know what it was, I said it was a telegram. They told me to shove it under the door. I shoved it far enough under the door so they could see the address, and that it was a telegram, but it was in the notebook, and the notebook was too big to go all the way under the door. I told them they had to sign a receipt. They fell for it and opened the door. I walked in, and Morgan Birks was lying on the bed. I served the papers on him. While I was doing that, Sandra got excited and came in. There was conversation back and forth. There was no question but what it was Morgan Birks.’

The fat man glanced for confirmation at Bertha Cool.

‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘I saw him, and I’ve seen his pictures in the newspaper. It was the same man.’

The fat man started rocking violently back and forth in the chair. Bertha Cool said, ‘The next time I have any information you want, don’t try to get it by beating up one of my operatives. You get better service this way.’

Cunweather said, ‘We didn’t think Mr. Lam was going to be so difficult.’

‘My operatives are all tough,’ Mrs. Cool said. ‘I pick ‘em that way.’

Cunweather said, ‘Let me talk to my wife, Mrs. Cool. I think we can make you a proposition. How about it, m’love? Would you like to step in the other room for a minute?’

‘Go ahead,’ Mrs. Cunweather said. ‘You’re doing fine.’

The chief turned back to Mrs. Cool. ‘We’re interested in hiring your agency for one particular purpose,’ he said. ‘We want to get in touch with Morgan Birks’ sweetie. We want to find out how many safety deposit boxes she rented in her name. We want to find out where they are. We want that information fast.’

‘How much is it worth?’ Mrs. Cool asked.

‘Suppose we say two hundred and fifty dollars for each box you tell us about.’

‘How many are there?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know, Mrs. Cool, and that’s a fact. Frankly, I’m not certain there are any, but I have my suspicions. I do indeed.’

‘No soap,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I could make any money at it.’

Cunweather said, ‘Now let’s be reasonable about this, Mrs. Cool. You know where this woman is. You won’t have to waste any time. Morgan Birks is pretty well hidden, and is going to stay pretty well hidden. He’s just a little too smart for the police. He had his sweetie rent some safety deposit boxes. There may be five. There may be two.’