The Long Goodbye V2 by Raymond Chandler

Author:Raymond Chandler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 1973-08-16T00:00:00+00:00

The Long Goodbye V2

26

The Max had a black and white checked sport shirt, heavily pleated black slacks without a belt, two-tone black and white buckskin shoes, spotlessly clean. His thick black hair was brushed straight back and shining with some kind of hair oil or cream.

“Señor,” he said, and sketched a brief sarcastic bow.

“Help Mr. Marlowe carry my husband upstairs, Candy. He fell and hurt himself a little. I’m sorry to trouble you.”

“De nada, señora,” Candy said smiling.

“I think I’ll say goodnight,” she said to me. “I’m tired out. Candy will get you anything you want.”

She went slowly up the stairs. Candy and I watched her.

“Some doll,” he said confidentially. “You stay the night?”

“Hardly.”

“Es lástima. She is very lonely, that one.”

“Get that gleam out of your eyes, kid. Let’s put this to bed.”

He looked sadly at Wade snoring on the couch. “Pobrecito,” he murmured as if he meant it. “Borracho como una cuba.”

“He may be drunk as a sow but he sure ain’t little,” I said. “You take the feet.”

We carried him and even for two he was as heavy as a lead coffin. At the top of the stairs we went along an open balcony past a closed door. Candy pointed to it with his chin.

“La señora,” he whispered. “You knock very light maybe she let you in.”

I didn’t say anything because I needed him. We went on with the carcass and turned in at another door and dumped him on the bed. Then I took hold of Candy’s arm high up near the shoulder where dug-in fingers can hurt. I made mine hurt him. He winced a little and then his face set hard.

“What’s your name, cholo?”

“Take your hand off me,” he snapped. “And don’t call me a cholo. I’m no wetback. My name is Juan Garcia de Soto yo Soto-mayor. I am Chileno.”

“Okay, Don Juan. Just don’t get out of line around here. Keep your nose and mouth clean when you talk about the people you work for.”

He jerked loose and stepped back, his black eyes hot with anger. His hand slipped inside his shirt and came out with a long thin knife. He balanced it by the point on the heel of his hand, hardly even glancing at it, Then he dropped the hand and caught the -handle of the knife while it hung in the air. It was done very fast and wi-thout any apparent effort. His hand went up to shoulder height, then snapped forward and the knife sailed through the air and hung quivering in the wood of the window frame.

“Cuidado, señor!” he said with a sharp sneer, “And keep your paws to yourself. Nobody fools with me.”

He walked lithely across the room and plucked the knife out of the wood, tossed it in the air, spun on his toes and caught it behind him. With a snap it disappeared under his shirt.

“Neat,” I said, “but just a little on the gaudy side.”

He strolled up to me smiling derisively.

“And it might get you a broken elbow,” I said.

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