Росс Томас - The Fools in Town Are on Our Side

I rose and looked at each of them, one at a time. “I’ll think about it and let you know,” I said and then moved to the door, stopping only at the sound of Lynch’s voice. I turned and he was twisted around in his chair.

“Don’t study about it too long, Mr. Dye,” he said. “Neither good nor bad luck’ll wait forever.”

“You’re forgetting one kind,” I said.

“What’s that, Mr. Dye?”

“Dumb luck — the kind you’re going to need.”

They flew Carmingler, of course, out to Hong Kong to deal with Gerald Vicker and me. I met him at the airport and he seemed none too happy with his assignment.

“I was on leave,” he said, rather than hello or how are you. “My first in three years.”

“I didn’t ask for you.”

He grunted at that, but said nothing else until we had picked up his bag and were in my rented Volkswagen. “Where’s Vicker?”

“Waiting for you.”

“At the office?”

“We flipped a coin to see who’d meet you. I lost.”

“I read your report,” Carmingler said. “Vicker’s, too.”

“That was thoughtful.”

Carmingler turned to look at me. “I didn’t fly out here just to listen to your smart cracks. Vicker writes a better report.”

“He has a flair,” I said.

“You’re in trouble,” Carmingler said.

“What about Vicker?”

Carmingler didn’t say anything until he had used his usual three or four matches to light his pipe. “He’s in trouble, too.”

“Who’s in deeper?” I said.

Carmingler puffed away on his pipe before answering. I glanced at him and he seemed to look less confident than usual. He looked gloomy. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “That’s why I’m here.”

“And when do you decide?”

He looked out the window at a new building that was going up. “Those workmen on the scaffolding,” he said. “They’re the highest-paid skilled labor in Hong Kong. Did you know that?”

“I live here,” I said. “What are you going to do?”

Carmingler slumped down in the seat and put his bony knees against the dashboard. It didn’t look very comfortable, but they weren’t my knees. “You know what Star Chamber justice is?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s what you’re going to get. Both you and Vicker. I’m judge and jury.”

“Old Judge Carmingler,” I said. “The hanging judge.”

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“Who did?”

Carmingler looked at me and smiled for the first time. “Vicker. He asked for me.”

I said, “Oh.”

Carmingler smiled again. Contentedly. “I thought that might cheer you up.”

It could have been called a trial, I suppose. Whatever it was, it was held in my office late that afternoon after we sent the secretary home. Carmingler sat behind my desk and Vicker and I sat in front of it. Our Star Chamber judge carefully arranged six sharpened pencils on the desk beside a fresh yellow legal pad. Next he produced his pipe, tobacco pouch, and match box, and placed them within easy reach. He then adopted an expression which he may have thought was his best horse-sense look. He made his face as long as possible, showed both of us his teeth in an impartial manner, and nodded several times as if he were adjusting to some invisible halter. I almost expected to hear him neigh us to order.

“This place been swept recently?” he asked.

“This morning,” Vicker said. “I had the consulate’s man over.”

“Good,” Carmingler said and made a note that I was too far away to read upside down. He put the pencil on the pad, leaned back in his chair, and locked his hands behind his head. “Let’s begin with the facts — the ones that nobody disputes. Both of you went to the rendezvous with Pai Chung-liang, the chap who worked for the Bank of China. Vicker hid in the back room. Dye stayed in the shop itself. Pai came in, said something to Dye, who handed him an envelope. Then Pai said something else, something that only Dye could hear. About that time the two Chinese busted in. Vicker shot Pai. The two Chinese snatched his briefcase and fled. Dye bent down and Pai either said or did not say something before he died.” He looked at both of us. “Is that a fair summation?”

I nodded. So did Vicker.

Carmingler picked his briefcase up from the floor and rested it in his lap. He fished out a single sheet of paper that had some typing on it and placed it on the desk before him. He put the briefcase back on the floor.

“You were issued a side arm,” he said to me. “A .38 Smith & Wesson, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You still have it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have it the day that Pai was killed?”

“No.”

“Where is it now?”

“At home.”

“In your hotel?”

“Yes.”

“Do you always keep it there?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“You mean where in the room?”

“That’s right.”

“In a locked suitcase. The suitcase is in a closet. The closet is also locked. It’s a special lock. I’m the only one with a key.”

“Why?”

“Do you mean why do I keep it there?”

“Yes.”

I shrugged. “It seems safe enough.”

“Don’t you ever carry it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have any use for it.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

Carmingler tapped the single sheet of paper. “It says here that you’re very good with a gun. Or used to be. I seem to remember that you were. Why don’t you ever carry it?”

“I just don’t. I don’t need it.”

“You still don’t think you needed it the day that Pai got shot?”

“No.”

“And you don’t think that Pai needed shooting?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You’ve got my report.”

“Vicker doesn’t have it.”

“All right,” I said. “I think they were on to Pai. I think they would have shot him that morning if Vicker hadn’t saved them the trouble.”

“Who tipped them off about your rendezvous with Pai?”

I looked at Vicker. “Ask him.”

Carmingler nodded and made another note. I still couldn’t read it. He turned to Vicker. He looked at him for several moments and for all I knew he may have been admiring Vicker’s suit. It was a new one.

“You carry your side arm, don’t you?” he said.

Vicker nodded. “Always.”

“Why?”

“It’s a tough town.”

“Any other reason?”

“I’m in a tough business.”

“In a tough town,” Carmingler said.

“I think so.”

Carmingler looked at the sheet of paper again. “Let’s see. Mr. Pai was thirty-nine years old. He liked flowers. He liked figures and his wife. He was a bank clerk. He was just a little over five feet tall and weighed a hundred and twenty-eight pounds. And he didn’t carry a gun. So you shot him.”

“That’s right,” Vicker said.

“When?”

“Just after the two with the guns came in.”

“Did they have their guns out when they came into the shop or did they start waving them around later — after you’d shot Pai?”

Vicker seemed to think about the question. “They had them out when they came in.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Carmingler nodded. “All right. We’ll come back to that.” He turned to me. “What do you remember? Did they have their guns out when they came in or did they pull them later?”

“They pulled them later. After Pai was shot.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

He turned back to Vicker. “You say just the opposite — that the two men came into the shop with their guns drawn?”

“Yes.”

“So you knew that they were opposition?”