"EB - Edward L. Ferman - The Best From Fantasy & Science Fiction 23rd EditionUC - SS" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fantasy & Science Fiction Magazine)

"What kind of spell? Tell me about him, Birdie."
"But he couldn't have killed Harry," she protested.
"Okay," I said, but I -wasn't entirely convinced. Why would anyone deliberately and brutally murder inoffensive, invisible Harry Spinner right after he told me he had discovered something "peculiar" about the Detweiler boy? Except the Detweiler boy?
"Tell me anyway. If he and Harry were friendly, he might know something. Why do you keep calling him a boy; how old is he?"
She nodded and leaned her bulk on the registration desk. "Early twenties, twenty-two, twenty-three, maybe. Not very tall, about five five or six. Slim, dark curly hair, a real good-looking boy. Looks like a movie star except for his back."
"His back?"
"He has a hump. He's a hunchback."
That stopped me for a minute, but I'm not sure why. I mustVe had a mental picture of Charles Laughton riding those bells or Igor stealing that brain from the laboratory. "He's good-looking and he's a hunchback?"
"Sure." She raised her eyebrows. The one over the patch didnt go up as high as the other. "If you see him from the front, you can't even tell."
"What's his first name?"
"Andrew."
"How long has he been living here?"
She consulted a file card. "He checked in last Friday night The 22nd. Six days."
"What's this spell he was having?"
"I don't know for sure. It was the second one he'd had. He would get pale and nervous. I think he was in a lot of pain. It would get
worse and worse all day; then he'd be fine, all rosy and healthy* looking."
"Sounds to me like he was hurtin' for a fix."
MI thought so at first, but I changed my mind. I've seen enough of that and it wasn't the same. Take my word. He was real bad this evening. He came down about four-fifteen, like I said. He didn't complain, but I could tell he was wantin' company to take his mind off it We played gin until six-thirty. Then he went back upstairs. About twenty minutes later he came down with his old suitcase and checked out. He looked fine, all over his spell."
"Did he have a doctor?"
"I'm pretty sure he didn't. I asked him about it. He said there was nothing to worry about, it would pass. And it did."
"Did he say why he was leaving or where he was going?"
"No, just said he was restless and wanted to be movin' on. Sure hated to see bun leave. A real nice kid."
When the cops finally got there, I told them all I knew-except I didn't mention the Detweiler boy. I hung around until I found out that Harry almost certainly wasn't killed after six-thirty. They set the time somewhere between five-ten, when he called me, and six. It looked like Andrew Detweiler was innocent, but what "peculiar" thing had Harry noticed about him, and why had he moved out right after Harry was killed? Birdie let me take a look at his room, but I didn't find a thing, not even an abandoned paperclip.
Friday morning I sat at my desk trying to put the pieces together. Trouble was, I only had two pieces and they didn't fit. The sun was coming in off the Boulevard, shining through the window, projecting the chipping letters painted on the glass against the wall in front of me. BERT MALLORY Confidential Investigations. I got up and looked out. This section of the Boulevard wasn't rotting yet, but it wouldn't be long.
There's one sure gauge for judging a part of town: the movie theaters. It never fails. For instance, a new picture hadn't opened in downtown L.A. in a long, long time. The action ten years ago was on the Boulevard. Now it's hi Westwood. The grand old Pantages, east of Vine and too near the freeway, used to be the site of the most glittering premieres. They even had the Oscar ceremonies there for 8 while. Now it shows exploitation and double-feature horror films. Only Grauman's Chinese and the once Paramount once Loew*s, now
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Tom Reamy
The Detweiler Boy
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Downtown Cinema (or something) at the west end got good openings. The Nu-View, across the street and down, was showing an X-rated double feature. It was too depressing. So I closed the blind.
Miss Tremaine looked up from her typing at the rattle and frowned. Her desk was out in the small reception area, but I had arranged both desks so we could see each other and talk in normal voices when the door was open. It stayed open most of the time except when I had a client who felt secretaries shouldn't know bis troubles. She had been transcribing the Lucas McGowan report for half an hour, humphing and tsk-tsking at thirty-second intervals. She was having a marvelous time. Miss Tremaine was about forty-five, looked like a constipated librarian, and was the best secretary I'd ever had. She'd been with me seven years. I'd tried a few young and sexy ones, but it hadn't worked out. Either they wouldn't play at all, or they wanted to play all the time. Both kinds were a pain in the ass to face first thing in the morning, every morning.
"Miss Tremaine, will you get Gus Verdugo on the phone, please?"
"Yes, Mr. Mallory." She dialed the phone nimbly, sitting as if she were wearing a back brace.
Gus Verdugo worked in R&I. I had done him a favor once, and he insisted on returning it tenfold. I gave him everything I had on Andrew Detweiler and asked him if he'd mind running it through the computer. He wouldn't mind. He called back in fifteen minutes. The computer had never heard of Andrew Detweiler and had only seven hunchbacks, none of them fitting Detweiler's description.
I was sitting there, wondering how in hell I would find him, when the phone rang again. Miss Tremaine stopped typing and lifted the receiver without breaking rhythm. "Mr. Mallory's office," she said crisply, really letting the caller know he'd hooked onto an efficient organization. She put her hand over the mouthpiece and looked at me. "It's for you—an obscene phone call." She didn't bat an eyelash or twitch a muscle.
"Thanks," I said and winked at her. She dropped the receiver back on the cradle from a height of three inches and went back to typing. Grinning, I picked up my phone. "Hello, Janice," I said.
"Just a minute till my ear stops ringing," The husky voice tickled my ear.
"What are you doing up this early?" I asked. Janice Fenwick was an exotic dancer at a club on the Strip nights and was working on her
master's in oceanography at UCLA in the afternoons. In the year I'd known her I'd seldom seen her stick her nose into the sunlight before eleven,
"I had to catch you before you started following that tiresome woman with the car."
Tve finished that. She's picked up her last parking-lot attendant— at least with this husband," I chuckled.
"Fro glad to hear it"
"What's up?"
"I haven't had an indecent proposition from you in days. So I thought I'd make one of my own."
Tm all ears."
"We're doing some diving off Catalina tomorrow. Want to come along?"
"Not much we can do in a wetsuit."
"The wetsuit comes off about four; then we'll have Saturday night and all of Sunday."
"Best indecent proposition Fve had all week."
Miss Tremaine humphed. It might have been over something in the report, but I don't think it was.