Free The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler Page B

any of your business, soldier?”
    “I could make it my business.”
    He smiled tightly and pushed his hat back on his gray hair. “And I could make your business my business.”
    “You wouldn’t like it. The pay’s too small.”
    “All right, bright eyes. I own this house. Geiger is my tenant. Now what do you think of that?”
    “You know such lovely people.”
    “I take them as they come. They come all kinds.” He glanced down at the Luger, shrugged and tucked it back under his arm. “Got any good ideas, soldier?”
    “Lots of them. Somebody gunned Geiger. Somebody got gunned by Geiger, who ran away. Or it was two other fellows. Or Geiger was running a cult and made blood sacrifices in front of that totem pole. Or he had chicken for dinner and liked to kill his chickens in the front parlor.”
    The gray man scowled at me.
    “I give up,” I said. “Better call your friends downtown.”
    “I don’t get it,” he snapped. “I don’t get your game here.”
    “Go ahead, call the buttons. You’ll get a big reaction from it.”
    He thought that over without moving. His lips went back against his teeth. “I don’t get that, either,” he said tightly.
    “Maybe it just isn’t your day. I know you, Mr. Mars. The Cypress Club at Las Olindas. Flash gambling for flash people. The local law in your pocket and a well-greased line into L.A. In other words, protection. Geiger was in a racket that needed that too. Perhaps you spared him a little now and then, seeing he’s your tenant.”
    His mouth became a hard white grimace. “Geiger was in what racket?”
    “The smut book racket.”
    He stared at me for a long level minute. “Somebody got to him,” he said softly. “You know something about it. He didn’t show at the store today. They don’t know where he is. He didn’t answer the phone here. I came up to see about it. I find blood on the floor, under a rug. And you and a girl here.”
    “A little weak,” I said. “But maybe you can sell the story to a willing buyer. You missed a little something, though. Somebody moved his books out of the store today—the nice books he rented out.”
    He snapped his fingers sharply and said: “I should have thought of that, soldier. You seem to get around. How do you figure it?”
    “I think Geiger was rubbed. I think that is his blood. And the books being moved out gives a motive for hiding the body for a while. Somebody is taking over the racket and wants a little time to organize.”
    “They can’t get away with it,” Eddie Mars said grimly.
    “Who says so? You and a couple of gunmen in your car outside? This is a big town now, Eddie. Some very tough people have checked in here lately. The penalty of growth.”
    “You talk too damned much,” Eddie Mars said. He bared his teeth and whistled twice, sharply. A car door slammed outside and running steps came through the hedge. Mars flicked the Luger out again and pointed it at my chest. “Open the door.”
    The knob rattled and a voice called out. I didn’t move. The muzzle of the Luger looked like the mouth of the Second Street tunnel, but I didn’t move. Not being bullet proof is an idea I had had to get used to.
    “Open it yourself, Eddie. Who the hell are you to give me orders? Be nice and I might help you out.”
    He came to his feet rigidly and moved around the end of the desk and over to the door. He opened it without taking his eyes off me. Two men tumbled into the room, reaching busily under their arms. One was an obvious pug, a good-looking pale-faced boy with a bad nose and one ear like a club steak. The other man was slim, blond, deadpan, with close-set eyes and no color in them.
    Eddie Mars said: “See if this bird is wearing any iron.”
    The blond flicked a short-barreled gun out and stood pointing it at me. The pug sidled over flatfooted and felt my pockets with care. I turned around for him like a bored beauty modeling an evening gown.
    “No gun,” he said in a burry voice.
    “Find out