 Pat Novak for hire. I'm Pat Novak for hire. That's what the sign out in front of my office says. Pat Novak for hire. Oh sure, you can spell it 50 different ways, but down in the waterfront in San Francisco it all means the same thing. You pay and I'll do, and the customer's always right if he's got an open wallet. Then I'll match it with an open mind, unless he's after murder, then the price gets out of range. And down here you're either high on your toes or flat on your back, because most of the time you get only one kind of pitch, fast and inside, and you don't cry if you're fouled because nobody cares. Even then you can't complain. During the summer the morts are the coolest spot in town. Oh, I rent boats, wrap up small sims and $20 bills. The money's good when you get it, but there's no retirement plan, and you can't buy vaccination for trouble. I found that out last Wednesday night. I closed up shop about eight o'clock, and I started walking home. The city was down on its hands and knees trying to crawl through one of our San Francisco hot spells that blast by every five years. From up on the hill, a Chinatown tenements lined up down below like sweaty little kids waiting for a shower. It was heat and headaches all the way. But when I opened my front door and stepped inside, who wanted to talk about the weather? She was standing in the dark smoking a cigarette, and the silhouette or figure cut against the window was something you'd never believe. Then she reached over and turned on her lamp. It was a fast, dizzy trip, but when I got around to her eyes, they were the kind that made you think of hard-working geysers. Deep and warm. We knew you could count on some fast action when they came to a boil. The smile was familiar, and the lips were red and moist, like a souped-up rose waiting for a bee. She did lots of nice things with her mouth, and talking was one of them. Patsy, welcome home. It's been a long time. Yeah, it's good to see you, Georgie. What's on your mind? Patsy, can't you ever take your time? It's not mine. It's borrowed. Anything special in mind? Mm-hmm. Easy business. Got a drink? Mm-hmm. How easy? Just a boat ride. You can't get hurt. That's what they told the Spanish Armada. Getting soft, Patsy? No, nothing ahead. Now, look, if it's work, let's talk. Otherwise, I should be cute, huh? All right, Patsy. The last time you saw me was a year ago. As far as you know, I'm not in town. Fine? You tell me. Go on. Now I'm not afraid of doing here from Shanghai. The SS Calcutta. I want to be on the welcoming committee. Who says you can't? Nobody yet. The ship's going to anchor in the stream, so I need a boat. I need you. I'm not the social tab. I don't think I'll go. Believe me, Patsy, it's an easy trip. So is falling downstairs. Come on, let's deal her a drink. All right, Patsy. My stepmother's going to meet the Calcutta, too. Who's she? Mrs. Sheila Lampson. She likes parties? She likes a package. She's going to get from somebody aboard the Calcutta. What's in it? That's her business. I just want to make sure she gets that package. It's all all right. You weren't on it? She doesn't even know I'm in town. Who picks up the check? Here. We're $40 covered. It's too much for an easy job and not enough for a hard one. Where do I find you if I need bail? This is her number. You can call me there tomorrow. And Patsy, thanks. I don't forget easy. Why the rush? Because you scare me, Patsy. You really scare me. Do you remember the party, Patsy? Yeah. I've got memories of like everything else I wear out. Then let's make some new ones, Patsy. I moved down the hall toward the stairs. The white dress she had on was plain enough, but it didn't have a mind of its own. It just did what it was told and tried to behave. But Georgie in nature wouldn't let it. There was only one text in saying, Georgie, she always left too soon. Like a small bottle of fine whiskey. Well, it must have been a good five minutes after she left when I heard the buzzard. I was looking for the white dress when I opened the door but I was looking the wrong way. So when it came down hard on the side of my head, I went down like mercury in a quick freeze. The trip wasn't nice, but it was long. Halfway there I came up for breath and I found the deck of one of my own boats under me. The bay bridge lights were still around and that made it kind of cozy. When my eyes got in focus, the smooth looking bundle laid out next to me shaped up like Georgie Lampson. She wasn't looking her best. It was just enough time to remember a pair of women's shoes standing next to my face and then I must have moved and they punched my ticket for a return trip. The next time I opened my eyes, I was looking up at the lights on Pier 19. The shoes were still there, but this time they were black and the feet inside squatched out wide and flapped like tired beef steak. That meant only one thing, Helman from homicide. You can stop playing mouth, Novak. Get up. The party's over. Are you bashful? Yeah, Novak. He's real shy. He's dead. Who is he? That's what you get paid for. What about the girl that was here? County hospital. You better pray she makes it, Novak. Because you like blond Helman? Because nobody beats two murder wraps, Novak. Now you talk funny. So does this hunk of lead pipe. Your prints are all over it. Would that make me a plumber? Better than that, Novak. The pipe fits the dint in that guy's skull like it grew there. Maybe he's the plumber. You're a smart Novak. Now come on, who's the guy and who is the dame? He's Georgie Lampson, the guy I don't know. I will, Novak. We'll pick care of that. Oh, you try hard, don't you, Helman? You move your lips when you read, you use your fingers when you count, but you never get the right answers. Don't tempt me, Novak. I'm not my cherry best in the morning. You don't have a best, Helman. You tried thinking once, but it gave you a headache. Now when you get in a squeeze, you have to pound your way out with your fist. I warned you, Novak. Now talk nice and save teeth. Yeah. I'll talk when that blonde tells her story. If she makes a grade, how does she figure? She met me in my apartment last night on business. Five minutes after she left the doorbell rang when I answered it, somebody sapped me. Now you take it from there. Yeah, I will. Right to the D.A. Go ahead, Helman, but don't look hurt when the case blows up in your face. You're giving odds? That's all I'm giving, Helman. You figure it. I took the gal on this girl I don't even know for a ride at three in the morning. We had a party and I killed the guy, but the gal I only messed up good because I liked the way she talked. You sound scared, though. Well, I'm not, Helman, but you are, because it doesn't add. Why did I beat my skull with that same hunk of pipe and how did I drive back here to meet you? Keep your mouth open, smart boy. They got a little green room up at San Quentin. It gets awful stuffy when they close the door. Well, after I left Helman, I figured I'd had a bumper crop of trouble for one day. The sun was just beginning to stagger up over the Berkeley Hills when I caught a cab uptown. On the way, I stopped off for coffee in a 6 a.m. chronic like one of the little Greek joints off Gearing Street. The windows were blind with grease and the light was bad, but the reading was money from home. The story made me stop counting the lumps on my head. Professor Burton Lampson had gotten himself murdered in the Shanghai Hotel a month ago when they were sending his body back on the SS Calcutta. It was due to anchor in the bay that night, like Georgie said, but the shipping page didn't agree. The Calcutta was listed inside the gate at 7.30 the night before. How did that check out? What about that package that had everybody worried? Well, when I got back to my apartment, I called the hospital to check on Georgie. They were still giving odds of a long, thin kind. Later, I was in the middle of a cold shower heading up rows of zeros and getting different answers every round when the phone rang. It was Helman and he was selling nothing but smiles. You feel any better, Novak? Oh, don't tell me you're worried. We just identified the dead guy. His name's Warren Haynes, local social lecture. Yeah, I'm an old friend of a family. The guy's from one of the old families in town, the important kind. His blood wasn't blue. No, but we are. We're feeling the pressure already. That's a great job, Helman. You keep on smacking your fat lips because you're going to get more answers than questions. Mr. Novak, I didn't think you looked different. When I hung up the phone, I was seeing more red than the bleachers at a bullfighting. I probably would have walked right by him if he didn't open his mouth. Even then, it wasn't much more than a loud squeak. He was a skinny guy standing against the door with a half-smile twisting his mouth and a bright, wild look in his eyes. You seem disturbed, Mr. Novak. Where's your invitation, mister? This should hold sufficient, Mr. Novak. All right, so you're on a gun. What happens now? Now, Mr. Novak, I'll use the gun unless you'll hand over the package. Sorry, mister, you're in the wrong laundry. Mr. Novak, I've been coughed once today. I don't intend it to happen twice. The package... Now, look, you, I'm going to spell it again. I don't know what you're talking about, and I take that count on your pointing and... I think you realize I'm about to use this gun, Mr. Novak, for the last time. All right. We'll find it right over there. Now, here, right next to the... Come on, give me that gun before somebody gets hurt! He stood there for a minute, shaking his head to go back and wipe five minutes from his life. All of a sudden, he jerked around on his tracks and he stumbled through the door like a timid drunk when you tell him he's had enough. Then he folded up hard against the wall on his knees, but it was a little too late for prayers. I stood there for a minute, trying to think of a good lawyer who owed me money, but all I could see was a courtroom and a picture of Helman smiling as he listened to the verdict. Well, accident or not, if Helman dropped in with a body on the floor, he'd bury me so deep in San Quentin he'd be bringing me air and paper bags. When the knot in my stomach untied, I dragged the little guy away from the door and I rolled him on his back. His eyes were still asking for the package, but the rest of them didn't care. Outside of a few bucks, his wallet was empty, not even a laundry tag. But I got dressed and I pulled the blinds and locked the place up. Then I went out to look for the only honest guy I know, an ex-doctor by the name of Jaco Madigan. It was a fine surgeon until something made him decide life was temporary at best. Now he's got a permanent post on a bar stool and looking for answers at the bottom of whiskey bottles. It's hard to deliver that way, but you're never short on dreams. I finally found him with a bourbon halo and a musty little Italian joint over in North Beach. It was a long stretch from Easter Monday, but he was still celebrating Irish independence. He looked like he was on the wrong side because his nose was a bright orange. Betsy, my boy, you're just in time. These simple but honest Sicilians have agreed to embark with me on a crusade. And as honorary past president of the Sons of St. Patrick, the Power Street chapter, I invite you to join us. Hello, Jaco. Sober up. I gotta talk to you. To fittingly observe the occasion of old Irish joyful victory, we're first fortifying ourselves with grappa and bush mills. Then we sally forth to chase all the snakes out of Long Beach and the cockroaches out of Chinatown. How does that strike you, Betsy? And, uh, why aren't you smiling? She's a glorious day! Because I'm in a jam and I want to talk, Jaco. Now cut it. Oh, Betsy, you remind me of that devil-era fellow. You're sitting on the curb and pouting just because they won't let you march in front of the band in the victory parade. You're sour, Betsy. Admit it, Jaco. Will you snap out of it? I'm in big trouble. You're always in trouble, Betsy. You're a child of adversity, a son of scorn. The fate spit in your eye and you try to retaliate, but things always blowing in the wrong direction. You're a lost leaf in the mortal storm, Betsy. You're a pebble shaking a tiny fist at the mountain. You would like to fight for some strange, fantastic cause, wouldn't you, Betsy? But you can't find anybody your size. Men are too small and the gods are too big. Betsy, you're lost. Are you all through? Yeah. What kind of trouble? Oh, the parabum murder wraps, Jaco. Somebody sapped me in my apartment last night and I woke up this morning with a dead guy. Betsy, what was it you were drinking? Hellman's got to pin this on me. Oh, dubious honor. You mentioned two murders. A guy came in my apartment this morning waving a gun and asking for a package that I never heard of and started wrestling for the gun. Mildly exciting. Who got it? He did, right in the chest. Betsy, you have absolutely no excuse for losing your temper. Why, you're not even Irish. Still, you're always getting hotheaded at the wrong time. With an accident, Jaco, I didn't even know the guy. I'm sorry, but I can't cry. Sure, that's what the British general said after he hung Robert Emmett at the dock. But he didn't straighten out the Marcel in his neck. What are you doing out of jail? Oh, you're not going off, Jaco. Now, look, did you ever hear of a Mrs. Sheila Lanson? Certainly, and I'm very offended with her. In the past year, she set up drinks for every eligible and non-eligible in San Francisco except me. That sounds good. What else? Not much, but I often wonder what old professor she married does with his evening. He stopped worrying, Jaco. He's dead. Now, look, will you hop down to the Chronicle morgue and check with Steve Nagel? Have him dig out all your old clips on the professor and Mrs. Lanson, will you? And while you're there, check on the guy by the name of Warren Haynes. You got that? Yes, but what do I do for money? Half a buck for car fare and nothing for booze. Betsy, surely you're gesting. Jaco, will you quit clowning and get going? You say so, Betsy, but you've broken up a beautiful party. My Sicilian friends have gone to sleep and I'm thirsty again. Let's have 405 for the road, shall we? Later, Jaco. All right, Betsy, but only for you. By the way, where can I find you? I'm going to tag by the county hospital and then I'm going to look up Sheila Lanson. If I remember the story correctly, Betsy, you'd better reverse your schedule. Good night, lover. So I tagged by Mama Lupo on Kearney Street and I called the hospital again. Oh, George, you live a little better. At least the undertakers had stopped bidding. I had a car for a couple of hours but a few paths and a pinch and she was all giggles and car keys. Ten minutes later, I was fighting traffic on Pacrero Avenue. The south wind out there brought the slaughterhouses right into your front seat. I found the hospital out on the far edge and it was a nice-looking pile of dirty red brick. The nurse in the ward didn't believe I was Georgie's brother until I asked her if she was busy Saturday night and she saw the resemblance right away. I found Georgie buying a couple of screens and she looked pretty good. She smiled a little when she saw me like she was saving up for a bigger try later on. Betsy, I'm glad you made it. Look, I'm going to keep it short, baby. Who was it last night? Sorry, Betsy, big deal. You can't tell her you won't. Can't, Betsy. Later I will. And that package? Same deal? Same. Well, I got a deal too, Georgie, a murder rapper. They want to hang it on me. Good corpse. Oh, look, you're slicing it off a thin for 40 bucks, Georgie. Betsy, Betsy, trust me. No choice, baby. You're driving. Don't go through any red lights. I want that, too. That's it, Georgie. I'll see you later. Yeah. Have any good time, Novak? You know any phone numbers besides mine, Hellman? Not today, Brad Boy. You near a street car or do I tend to chauffeur? What's your beef? Our beef, Novak. What's the matter, Hellman? You want it in blood? I told you. I don't know anything about it last night. I never saw Haynes before. You got me wrong, Novak. This one's about a knife. We just found it in your office down on the waterfront. It's fine. Peer yourself an apple and keep busy. You better come down, Novak. We found the knife in some guy's... Luzini couldn't get out of that one in two hours with both hands and a can of olive oil. It was like chasing cyanide with a bucket of brandy. Well, it tastes bright, but it's only a matter of time. Well, I headed for Sheila Lamson's place and then I pulled up by a drugstore out on the hate street jungles and called the Chronicle Morgue. They said Jaco had just left, so I called the nearest bar and asked if they had a customer with a bright orange nose. They did. Jaco Madigan speaking. Jaco, this is Novak. What'd you find out? Ah, Patty. Sheila Howard Lamson. She started seeing it in every gossip column in town. Sack full of holes and question marks, but at least Jaco's leads had a little juice in them. I found the Lamson house in the best part of the district. It was one of those big nervous joints hanging by its shutters to the side of a steep drop that slipped down sharp into the Pacific. All green trim and stucco the color of mortgages. The front doorbell was wearing out in my hand when the maid showed up and then she was tongue tied. She didn't know a thing except good money when it was offered. Then she told me I'd find Mrs. Lamson in the second floor sitting room. She went away. I found the sitting room all right, but Mrs. Lamson wasn't there. So I followed on through like into a bedroom and lived in feeling. Reminded you of something Henry VIII might order for a bridal suite. She was sitting next to the couch holding a martini and making noises like a leopard on a honeymoon. Hello. You'll call me baby. Yeah. You always wear handkerchiefs to parties? Mm-hmm. There's time dressing. You're nice. Have a drink? I'll fix them. Oh, you are nice. What's your name? Billy. Is that a name or a game? You're just like Mike. He's my new boyfriend. This is night off? Oh, no. We just went downstairs for a minute. Hey. You make a nice drink, Mr. Novak. I'm warm. Yeah. You got a fever or something? No. Must be the weather, Mr. Novak. You feel it? I'm a big spender, aren't you? Well, I do when Mike walks in. Smile. Oh, Mike's broadminded. How about Sheila? You fixed your drink, Mr. Novak. He asked a lot of questions, too. Yeah, well, that's because I like answers. Now, what about Sheila? Hey, you're going to get rough. I'll call Mike. All right, all right. I'm Sheila's sister, and it's much better when you're nice to me. All right, then let's start being nice, huh? Oh, Mike. I think maybe I'll have another you, Mr. Novak. Is that Mike coming upstairs? Will be, baby. Now, come on. Where's Sheila? Oh, Sheila. Sheila. Who cares? She's downtown anyway. She won't know. She... Hey, where are you going? Sorry, baby. I got a date. I'm not busy. Well, I do. Don't let him leave, Mike. He does. He's going to walk through me. I'm sorry, baby. He's not my type. Oh! Mike, so I gave him a bargain offer. He didn't fold after two, but he had a kind of hurt look in his eye when I hit him the third time, like I didn't know he could take a hint. When he wound up and hit the floor, every window in the house rattled, and I figured the Berkeley seismograph got a cheap thrill. I made it as far as the front door when I heard a car pull up in the driveway. When I got to the window, a dame and a guy were getting out of a new Nash and hitting through the door. The guy was a middle-class gunful, but if the gal were Sheila Lampson, she made nice opposition. Well, I couldn't wait around to see. I finally managed to make my apartment without having one of Helman's men pick me up, and when I got in, Jaco was just pouring himself another glass of green dreams and posing in the mirror like a man of distinction. The stiff was still there on the floor next to a glass of ice water. That's it. I don't approve of your choice of party guests. The guy's dead, Jaco. Oh, well, in that case, I'll overlook it. This is the friend you were telling me about. When you due at the gas chamber, Patsy? Any phone calls? Now, did you mention it? Yes. Helman? Regularly on the quarter-hour, not very coherent, but I got the idea he's looking for you. Also, a call from the hospital. They wanted to know the whereabouts of a Miss Georgie Lampson. What do you mean? You see, Missy disappeared a few hours ago from one of their wards. Patsy, you look worried. Perhaps a sampling of this delicate dollar ambrosia would help try it. No, Patsy. Suit yourself, Patsy. Myself, I'm an old subscriber to the Socrates' plan of self-destruction. If you want it done right, do it yourself. By the way, have you noticed our friend's hands lately? Huh? It looks like he's entertaining a scrap of paper in his right hand. Yeah, I see it. Oh, well, you see it. It seems kind of stingy with it, doesn't it? Yeah. Yeah, I got it. Huh? Oh, an old envelope. Not even a coded letter to puzzle over. I'll settle for the address, Jocko. Take a look. Captain Edward Small, SS Calcutta, Paramount Line Shanghai. Well, that's nice. Shall we have another drink? Later, Jocko. Right now, we haven't got the time. That's who I think it is, Patsy. You're going to have lots of time. I'll just whip up a shot. No back talking. Listen, smart boy, and listen hard. All right, Helman. There's a dead guy here in my apartment right now. His name's Captain Edward Small, off the Calcutta. I don't need any... Right, Copper. But if you want your picture in the paper tomorrow, you can meet me out in C-Clip in 15 minutes. 48 Camino Drive. The phone most of the puzzles straightened out like wet wash and a dry wind. Now, there's one thing you can count on. When you bet on miracles, you buy a ticket straight through. I finally pulled up at the lamps in place and I started looking around for Helman. The joint looked about as crowded as a Kremlin breakfast for Senator Taff. I was taking a fast check trying to figure how far they could have gone when Helman fought his way through the box-head for the driveway. We circled down behind the garage and around the back of the house. We just made it in time for the curtain scene. Sheila Lampson was backing down slowly toward the seawall, waving her arms in the air and begging every inch of the way. And Georgie stumbled after her like the avenging angel and she had a gun. She had a coat crossed over her hospital gown and a look on her eyes told the whole story. Tears and hate and lots of bulls. No, mate! What's so crazy about that? You're sweet, Patsy, but you weren't invited. Don't get too close to the animals. It's your gun, Georgie. Don't let it hang you. This is Helman from Homicide. No good, Patsy. This one's for me. Isn't it, Sheila? Isn't it for me? Please, Georgie, don't! No, make it stop her. Some of them wouldn't do that. All right, girls, let's break it up. Make it stop her. You too, Patsy. It's your neck. It won't look good stretch. Please, Georgie. Don't eat that, Sheila. Not yet. First, I want to tell you how clever you are. How sweet you looked in my mother's funeral. How to speak with other men, Sheila. How magnificent. Georgie, Georgie, please! I didn't know, Georgie, I didn't know it. Please, please! One other thing, Sheila. Listen to me, Sheila. Those animals you've got. The ones you sent Haines to Shanghai for. The ones you killed my father for. They were glass, Sheila. Ten-cent green glass. Do you hear, Sheila? Glass! Please, Georgie, please! Georgie, watch it. Sheila's got a gun. Patsy. Patsy. Take it easy, baby. You've got a long trip. She's dead, isn't she, Patsy? She's dead. She didn't die, baby. With that much lead, she sank. Ooh. It burns, Patsy. It burns. Little cool. The fog's starting to come in. Remember the party, Patsy? Yeah, I remember. Then say it, Patsy. Please say it now. Say it. Yeah, Georgie, I'd say it, but you're not listening. In Georgie's coat pocket, they told most of the story, and then Helman grabbed Mike and Sheila's sister and sweated the rest out of them. Well, it wasn't a pretty story, but it moved. When Sheila spent the professor broke and he checked out over in China, Georgie decided to blow the whistle on her. She made up that phony yarn about the emeralds, and then she let Haines murder her father and walk off with him. They were glass. To make it look good, Haines played pallbearer and took the boat back with a body, but not before Georgie tipped the captain and the first mate about that sack of emeralds Haines was supposed to have. So they went to work. They robbed Haines and planted a fake for a fake with a real Captain Mouse game. Georgie only made one mistake, but sometimes that's all it takes. She flew back here a few days before the cowcutter got in so that she could be around for the payoff. One of Sheila's pals must have spotted her and trailed her to my place. And then the sapping started. That was the same night the cowcutter got in and people started checking packages and pulling triggers. When Sheila found her package was a fake, she figured Haines was being cute, so he got it first. And then she went out after that original fake. She tried to double up and hang Haines' body on me and get rid of Georgie at the same time. But Georgie didn't die easy. I don't know how the captain got on me, probably through Sheila, but her dentsal friends took care of the first mate with a knife when he got anxious. While in the dust lifted and the counted cold noses, it was a real devil's game. Wherever he was, Georgie's old man must have been holding his side down, rolling in the aisles. Yeah, a real plum. And Sheila found out when he got close enough to the seed the taste gets bitter. Well, Herman has only one question. How come a smoker like Georgie bought something as stupid as revenge? She was a lot better at a lot of other things. Lois Andrews, Steve Brody, Herbert Lytton, Jerry Hausner, Ivan Dittmars, Ray Erlenborn, and Hal Sawyer. This is a Larry Sinley transcription. Walk to you from Hollywood.