"It's no racket for bums," I told Brody almost affectionately. "It takes a smooth worker like you, Joe.
You've got to get confidence and keep it. People who spend their money for second-hand sex jags are as nervous as dowagers who can't find the rest room.
Personally I think the blackmail angles are a big mistake.
I'm for shedding all that and sticking to legitimate sales and rentals."
Brody's dark brown stare moved up and down my face.
His Colt went on hungering for my vital organs.
"You're a funny guy," he said tonelessly. "Who has this lovely racket?"
"You have," I said. "Almost."
The blonde choked and clawed her ear.
Brody didn't say anything. He just looked at me.
"What?" the blonde yelped. "You sit there and try to tell us Mr. Geiger ran the kind of business right down on the main drag?
You're nuts!"
I leered at her politely.
"Sure I do.
Everybody knows the racket exists.
Hollywood's made to order for it.
If a thing like that has to exist, then right out on the street is where all practical coppers want it to exist.
For the same reason they favor red light districts.
They know where to flush the game when they want to."
"My God," the blonde wailed. "You let this cheesehead sit there and insult me, Joe?
You with a gun in your hand and him holding nothing but a cigar and his thumb?"
"I like it," Brody said. "The guy's got good ideas.
Shut your trap and keep it shut, or I'll slap it shut for you with this." He flicked the gun around in an increasingly negligent manner.
The blonde gasped and turned her face to the wall.
Brody looked at me and said cunningly:
"How have I got that lovely racket?"
"You shot Geiger to get it.
Last night in the rain.
It was dandy shooting weather.
The trouble is he wasn't alone when you whiffed him.
Either you didn't notice that, which seems unlikely, or you got the wind up and lammed.
But you had nerve enough to take the plate out of his camera and you had nerve enough to come back later on and hide his corpse, so you could tidy up on the books before the law knew it had a murder to investigate."
"Yah," Brody said contemptuously. The Colt wobbled on his knee.
His brown face was as hard as a piece of carved wood. "You take chances, mister.
It's kind of goddamned lucky for you I didn't bop Geiger."
"You can step off for it just the same," I told him cheerfully. "You're made to order for the rap."
Brody's voice rustled.
"Think you got me framed for it?"
"Positive."
"How come?"
"There's somebody who'll tell it that way.
I told you there was a witness.
Don't go simple on me, Joe."
He exploded then.
"That goddamned little hot pants!" he yelled. "She would, god damn her!
She would — just that!"
I leaned back and grinned at him.
"Swell.
I thought you had those nude photos of her."
He didn't say anything.