"A Mr. Joel Cairo to see you, Sam," said Effie over the intercom.
"It's a bit late for office hours, Effie," replied Sam Spade.
"That's what I told him, but he insists that it's a matter of life and death."
It usually is, thought Spade. Just like the two cases he was working on. The official one involving Brigid O'Shaughnessy—if that was her real name—as well as the unofficial one involving the murder of his partner, Miles Archer. The two cases were clearly intertwined, but Spade had yet to work out how they were linked. All he knew was that he had examined all the ins and outs that were known so far, and none of it added up.
"Let him come in," said Spade.
"You want me to stay?"
"No, you go home. I'll see Mr. Cairo and then close up."
"Okay, Boss."
Sam sat back and waited to see what someone named Joel Cairo would look like. He didn't have to wait long.
The door opened to reveal a short man with a thin body, curly dark hair over the most exotic eyes that Spade had ever seen. He was dressed formally in evening clothes and a bow tie. In his hand was an elegant cane with a carved handle. Something else came into Spade's office with him. It was an overpowering cloud of gardenia. Spade wondered whether the man took a bath in cologne because that would certainly explain it. Nevertheless, he could not keep from looking at those eyes again. They were liquid and luxurious and slightly hooded, as if to tell the truth that this mysterious man had something to hide and that Sam should not trust the ingratiating smile that held Mr. Cairo's lips.
"What's so important it couldn't wait until morning?" asked Spade.
"Mr. Spade, I beg your pardon for the hour, but I have a mutually beneficial proposition."
Spade noted the visitor's unidentifiable European accent. "Mutual benefit," he mused. "That's guaranteed to be tempting. Tell me about this proposition, Mr. Cairo."
"Oh, it is Joel. Please. Call me Joel."
"Fine. You can call me Sam. Now that we're on a first name basis, what can we do for each other?"
"I see you are a man who comes to the point," said Joel. "Very well. I believe you are acquainted with a woman named Brigid O'Shaughnessy."
"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. In either case, I still don't see the mutual benefit you spoke of."
"In case, sir… ah, Sam,… I will be blunt. Miss O'Shaughnessy stole something from me, and I believe you might know where it is."
"Stole something from you? That is quite an accusation, Joel, even if I don't know this woman… Brigid?... from Eve."
"I will continue to speak frankly, Sam, even if you will not. I am prepared to offer you a substantial sum of money if you will help me to recover the property she took."
"Look, Joel, if I do know this woman, I assure you I don't know anything about stolen property. Can you fill me in on what kind of property we're talking about?"
"Certainly." There was something about the way Joel said "certainly" that got to Sam. It was elegant, and Sam prided himself on avoiding people who spoke elegantly—unless the latter word meant succinctly. Sam liked for people to make their points in as few words as possible, and he tried to do the same. But something about Joel disarmed Sam and he was more intrigued than put off by the man's delicate manner. Sam found himself becoming inured to the odor of gardenias as Joel continued. "I am looking for the black statuette of a falcon. It's only about this high, and is very old."
"Old and valuable?" asked Sam.
"It has been in my family for a long time, so it has sentimental value, but isn't worth much on the open market."
"Yet you are willing to hire me to get it back, and I don't come cheap."
"I would not presume that there is anything cheap about a man like you," said Joel, and his smile shifted slightly from ingratiating to a hint of whimsy.
Sam had to shake himself loose from the spell that this little man wove. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'd like to help you, but I'm afraid you've wasted your time. I haven't seen this statuette you're after, and I don't know anyone named Brigid or O'Shauhghnessy." He stood up and offered to show Joel out. There was a moment of regret because he did not want to stop talking to this curious man, but he could sense that Joel had not told him the truth anymore than he had told it himself. He suspected that if he continued to work the O'Shaughnessy case, Joel would be bound to turn up again.
"Very well," sighed Joel. He stood and seemed ready to turn toward the door as Sam approached, but suddenly, like a magician pulling a bouquet of flowers from out of nowhere, Joel had a little pistol in his hand. It was pointed toward Sam's gut.
"You will please put your hands behind your head and turn around," he said, his manner changing dramatically. Gone was the ingratiating smile, his mouth set in firm determination. His voice retained the European accent but not the solicitous tone. He commanded. Sam recognized that the little "Vest Pocket" gun could be as deadly as its larger kin and that Joel was likely willing to pull the trigger. Sam imagined he had before. Somehow, though, Sam found it difficult be afraid of Joel or to believe that he wanted to shoot just now. Especially not since he had found out so little of value so far from his interview with Sam.
"What exactly do you propose to do?" asked Sam.
"First I will search your person. Quite thoroughly. Then, you will be so good as to lie tummy down on that couch over there. Then I am going to tie you up and make a thorough search of your offices."
"So you think you'll find your statuette here? I assure you, you're wasting your time."
Joel came up close behind Sam and began searching his pockets. "Forgive me if I am not inclined to take your word for it." For effect, he poked Sam in the back with the muzzle, but it was a mistake. It told Sam the exact location of the gun that he otherwise could not see. Using an old jiu-jitsu move he had been taught years ago, Sam spun around, pushed aside Joel's arm, and grabbed his wrist. Joel winced from the pain and finally let go. The pistol fell onto the rug at their feet. Sam then hit Joel and knocked him out cold. He put the limp body in a more or less sitting position on the couch where Joel had proposed to tie Sam up. Sam quickly dismissed the impression that the enjoyment in Joel's voice at that prospect betrayed something beyond professional efficiency. Sam picked up the little pistol from the rug. He flicked the safety on before giving it a little toss in the air. He smiled. The gun was light in weight, as expected, but seemed well-made and deadly enough. Sam noted that it looked like a miniature version of the Colt .45 semi-automatic pistol favored by the U.S. military. Indeed, the logo on the grip was the Colt emblem of a bucking horse. Sam had heard of the .25 Colt Vest Pocket, but had never seen one before.
He pocketed the gun and turned his attention to Joel. He went through the unconscious man's pockets with efficiency, finding that, indeed, Joel had enough money on him to have made the generous offer he had promised. So Joel had been willing to bribe him before he had decided that Sam was not being cooperative enough. Joel was perspiring slightly now. It kicked up a whiff gardenias. Sam was becoming more than use to it and briefly wondered why Joel had not tried to use his obvious charms to the fullest before resorting to gunplay.
Would Sam have been interested in being seduced? He was not sure. He had always thought of himself as a man's man in the traditional sense. He had slept with women plenty of times, although he had gotten a later start than he let on to his schoolmates. He had liked it okay, but there was always something missing. He didn't get from women the thrill he got from playing football and engaging in extracurricular but innocent horseplay with his teammates in the locker room. Sometimes, though, he felt it didn't mean quite as much to the other fellows as it did to him.
He looked down at the unconscious Joel, at the sweet expression on his slackened face. He noticed that Joel's shirt was wrinkled and instinctively tried to straighten it. Then he remembered the serious business at hand and looked at the other things he had removed from Joel's pockets. There were several passports. Apparently, Joel Cairo, as well as people with his face but different names, was Greek and French and English and came from Turkey, too. These were good forgeries. Sam couldn't tell which was real or if any of them were.
Joel groaned and raised a hand slowly toward his head. He grimaced and crushed his eyelids together but then slowly opened them and looked around. When he saw Sam standing over him, his face betrayed a look of recognition.
"I seem to have underestimated you," he said, touching his bruised face and wincing. Sam wished he could take that blow back, but he didn't let on. Joel continued. "What do you propose to do with me?"
"Nothing. Unless you want to let me in on the secret of what's going on here," said Sam.
"So you still insist that you are an innocent in all of this."
"I've never been accused of being innocent before, but I do maintain I know less than you think I do."
"But, you see, I know you are lying about your acquaintance with Miss O'Shaughnessy. Perhaps you do not realize how dangerous she can be."
"Well, you're the only person who's pointed a pistol at me lately."
Joel chuckled and then collected his papers before examining himself in the mirror sitting on a side table. "You wrinkled my shirt," he said with mild annoyance. Sam found the way he said "shirt" as charming as the way he said "certainly." He watched as Joel straitened his bow tie. What a fussy little man, thought Sam, but with a fondness that surprised him.
"Tell you what," said Sam. "You can retain my services for my usual fee, and I'll see what I can find out. Then we'll meet again tomorrow morning. What hotel are you staying at?"
"The Empire."
"Ten tomorrow morning?"
"That will be acceptable." Joel gave Sam a wad of cash. Seemingly as an afterthought, he said, "Since we are on better terms now, I wonder if you would be so kind as to return my gun to me."
"Sure," said Sam. He gave Joel the gun.
Joel took it and immediately flicked off the safety. "You will be so good as to put your hands behind your head. I intend to search your rooms."
Sam laughed. "Go ahead," he said. "I won't stop you."
"I will also be obliged to force you to lie tummy down on the couch. I intend to tie you up without any further shenanigans."
"Go ahead," said Sam. "I won't stop you."
As he said this, something caught in his voice and he saw in Joel's mischievous eyes the recognition of it.
END