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datatime: 2022-09-29 02:52:57 Author:iWLQnPFf

"Any ideas?" he asked softly.

"The one that phoned me."

The phone clicked. I put my end of it aside, struck a match and stared at the wall until the flame burned my fingers.

A woman's voice said: "Marlowe?" It was a small, tight, cold voice. I didn't know it.

The Quorn Building was a narrow front, the color of dried mustard, with a large case of false teeth in the entrance. The directory held the names of painless dentists, people who teach you how to become a letter carrier, just names, and numbers without any names, Rush Madder, Attorney-at-Law, was in Room 619.

"Does it have to be that way?" His collar was too tight now. He yanked at it.

"Who was the wren?" I asked.

I got out of a jolting open-cage elevator, looked at a dirty spittoon on a dirty rubber mat, walked down a corridor that smelled of butts, and tried the knob below the frosted glass panel of 619. The door was locked, I knocked.

Madder opened a flat tin of cigarettes and pushed one past his lips with a sound like somebody gutting a fish. His hand shook.

I reached for his telephone, which was the old-fashioned gallows type. I lifted off the receiver and started to dial the number of Police Headquarters, very slowly. I knew he would know that number about as well as he knew his hat.

Rush Madder was a shyster in the Quorn Building. An ambulance chaser, a small-time fixer, an alibi builder-upper, anything that smelled a little and paid a little more. I hadn't heard of him in connection with any big operations like burning people's feet.

The Quorn Building was a narrow front, the color of dried mustard, with a large case of false teeth in the entrance. The directory held the names of painless dentists, people who teach you how to become a letter carrier, just names, and numbers without any names, Rush Madder, Attorney-at-Law, was in Room 619.

"Not from my side. But if you think I'm going to sit here and let you play with my reflexes, it does."

Rush Madder was a shyster in the Quorn Building. An ambulance chaser, a small-time fixer, an alibi builder-upper, anything that smelled a little and paid a little more. I hadn't heard of him in connection with any big operations like burning people's feet.

"Huh? What wren?" He still didnt look at me.

The phone clicked. I put my end of it aside, struck a match and stared at the wall until the flame burned my fingers.

I said slowly: "They want to talk to you. On account of you know a broad that knows a man had sore feet."

"Huh? What wren?" He still didnt look at me.

"The one that phoned me."

"Does it have to be that way?" His collar was too tight now. He yanked at it.

"Huh? What wren?" He still didnt look at me.

A woman's voice said: "Marlowe?" It was a small, tight, cold voice. I didn't know it.

Madder opened a flat tin of cigarettes and pushed one past his lips with a sound like somebody gutting a fish. His hand shook.

The phone clicked. I put my end of it aside, struck a match and stared at the wall until the flame burned my fingers.

The Quorn Building was a narrow front, the color of dried mustard, with a large case of false teeth in the entrance. The directory held the names of painless dentists, people who teach you how to become a letter carrier, just names, and numbers without any names, Rush Madder, Attorney-at-Law, was in Room 619.

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