"Even so, why didn't you just come to me? I could have given you money. I've done it before."

She stared at the floor.

"Why, Muffy?"

"I was ashamed," she said. "I didn't want you to know Les was in debt from gambling. So I went out to talk with Mr. Lipshultz."

"Did Lippy know your daughter?" I said.

"No. He didn't know I had one. I kept business very separate from family." He turned back to his daughter. "What happened, Muffy?"

"I asked him not to bother Les and me, and he said business was business and his boss would nail his hide to the club door if he lost an IOU for that much. And I said I didn't have the money but there were other ways I could pay."

"Jesus," Blackstone said softly.

His daughter didn't speak.

"And so Lippy gets a smile like Br'er Bear," I said, "and he tells the shooters to hit the road and pours out a Scotch and says, 'How do you like the view of the desert here, sweetie,' and…" I shot an imaginary gun, dropping my thumb on my extended forefinger.

"He would have… ruined… it," Muriel said. I'd heard that sound before.

Blackstone stood and looked down at his daughter for a long moment. Then he turned and walked back behind his desk and sank into the chair. He picked up his cigar and puffed on it to see that it was still going and leaned back and stared silently across the room at his daughter. But when he spoke it was to me.

"I had Eddie chase Larry Victor down," he said. "See what was cooking." He paused, looking at his cigar. "You know he's got a wife."

"Yeah," I said. "I've known it all along."

"And didn't see any need to tell me that even when you took my five hundred dollars."

"Until I had the lay of it," I said, "I thought it would only hurt."

"What are you saying," Muriel said. "What… are… you… talking about?"

"He had another wife, Muffy," Blackstone said. "The guy you killed two people for had another wife."

"What… do… you… mean… another… wife?"

"He's married to another woman at the same time he's married to you, Muffy," Blackstone said. "He's a bigamist."

The silence in the room imploded, getting denser and denser like a collapsing star. Against the door Eddie Garcia looked as if he might be asleep, except that his eyes moved languidly from time to time.

'That's… not… true," Muriel said in her lilting whisper. "It's not… true."

Blackstone was looking at me now.

"Where do you stand, Marlowe?"

"She killed two people," I said. "I can't lindy off into the sunset on that."

"And I can't let her go down for it," he said.

Muriel straightened at the bar and half turned and, using both hands, put the drink down carefully on the bar.

"I won't stand here and listen to lies," she said. Her voice was in its lower register.

Blackstone shook his head. "No, Muffy," he said. "You're too shaky now, you need to calm down for a while."

"You sit there and make up lies," she said. Her voice was still deep but her breath was coming short and she spoke in basso profundo gasps. "You want to… ruin my marriage." She was moving slowly across the room, her hands back in her pockets. Eddie stood in the doorway as if he were observing the Big Dipper. "You won't let anyone… have me. Never. You… ruin it."

"Muffy," Blackstone said. There was more sharpness in his voice.

She turned suddenly. Her hands came out of her pockets, the gun in her right. She clasped her left hand over the right and dropped into her shooter's stance and put two bullets into Blackstone's forehead. I was half turned in my seat when the side of her head spurted blood and the heavy thump of Garcia's big magnum sounded and Muriel spun halfway round and fell facedown on the floor.

I checked both of them in the resonant silence that followed the gunfire, smelling the cordite in the room. They were both dead. Garcia was still holding his gun, standing by the door. "Half a.second," he said. "I was half a second late."

I nodded.

"Ten years ago," Garcia said softly. "Ten years ago I could have saved him."

"Cops will pour it on you, Eddie, if they make you for this," I said.

"They won't find me, Marlowe."

"Still pretty fair shooting," I said. "She had the jump."

"Half second," Garcia said again, "half second slow." Then he opened the door and closed it and was gone.

I went slowly to Blackstone's desk and picked up the phone and dialed a number I knew a lot better than I wanted to.

40

The cops turned me loose in the middle of the afternoon. They didn't want to, but there was nothing to hold me for, except being a lousy detective, and they had their own problems with that. As I drove down the coast highway toward Venice I tried to sort out how bad a detective I'd been. By the time I reached Santa Monica I had decided I couldn't sort it out and might as well think I'd been a good detective for all the difference it made.

I parked behind the restaurant where Angel worked and went and said, "Tell the boss there's an emergency, and come with me."

Her eyes widened, but she didn't ask questions. In five minutes we were in my Olds heading for Hollywood.

"There's no emergency," I said in the car. "I made that up to get you away."

"Have you found Larry?"

"Yeah, I have," I said. "I'm taking you to him."

"Oh my God," she said. "Is he all right?"

"Sure," I said. Though I wasn't sure Larry Victor would ever be all right.

We drove in silence then. The rain had tapered to a drizzle, just enough to engage the wipers.

"About being married to another woman," I said.

"I know that's not true," she said.

"Yeah, that's right," I said. "I was wrong about that."

By the time we pulled up in front of the motel where Larry was stashed the rain had stopped altogether.

The motel was one of those two-story affairs with each door painted a different color and a balcony running across the second floor. There were stairs at each end of the balcony. The office at the far end jutted out at right angles and was faced with some sort of artificial stone.

Angel and I went up the stairs to Victor's room. I knocked on the door.

"It's Marlowe," I said.

And in a moment I heard footsteps and then the door opened about three inches and Victor peeked out. I stepped aside and he saw Angel.

"Larry," she said. "Larry, it's me."

He closed the door, took the chain off and opened it again, and Angel seemed to elevate into his arms.

"Larry," she said. "Oh my God, Larry."

I leaned against the wall outside the door for a few minutes and smoked a cigarette and looked at the movement of the rain clouds as they began to break up. Then I went into the room. Angel and Larry were sitting on the bed holding hands. She was looking at him as if he were King of all the Persians.

I said, "Muriel Blackstone is dead. So is her father. Being who he was there's going to be a mess. How you handle it is your problem."

"How?" Victor said. "Who?"

"Doesn't matter," I said. "Wasn't you, and it wasn't me."

"That's the woman you said Larry was married to," Angel said.

"I was deceived by appearances," I said.

"Yeah, that's right," Victor said. "Appearances will deceive you sometimes."

"I don't know you're here," I said. "I don't know where you are."

I took the remaining four hundreds that Blackstone had given me out of my wallet and laid them on the cheap desk by the door.

"Don't call me up," I said. "Don't come see me."

I turned and went out the door. Victor followed me.

"Wait a minute," he said and came out on the balcony. "What if the cops come?"

"They will," I said. "If they can find you."

"But what should I do?"

"Stay away from me," I said. "And take care of that girl. If I ever hear you weren't good to her, I will track you down and stomp on your face."