"How come you didn't shake her down?"

Lipshultz shook his head. "She's a lady," he said.

"And you're a gentleman," I said.

Lipshultz shrugged. "What the hell," he said.

I believed that like I believed you should draw to an inside straight, but there didn't seem to be anything for me in arguing about it.

"I'll pay you ten percent if you get the money," Lipshultz said.

"I get a hundred dollars a day and expenses," I said.

Lipshultz nodded. "Heard you was a boy scout."

"There's some people doing twenty to life in San Quentin thought the same thing," I said.

Lipshultz grinned. "Heard you thought you was tough, too."

"Where do I find this guy?" I said.

"Valentine, Les Valentine. Lives with his wife somewhere in Poodle Springs, out near the Racquet Club. Want me to look it up?"

"I'm a trained sleuth," I said. "I'll look it up. Can I keep the IOU?"

"Sure," Lipshultz said. "I got copies."

Lipshultz gave me $100 as a retainer and pushed a button somewhere because Leonard and his alter ego showed up. Leonard gave me back my gun, alter ego stayed far enough away so I wouldn't bite him and followed me out through the gambling layout and into the hot bright daylight at the front door. He and Leonard watched while I got into the Olds and drove away with the hot wind washing over me through the open windows.

6

Les Valentine's house was off Racquet Club Road, on one of those curvy little streets created to make an instant neighborhood. There were giant cactus plants at regular intervals, and jacaranda trees for a touch of color. The bungalows with their wide roofs were set close to the drive so that there was room for the pool in back, and the patio, which represented the ultimate advancement of civilization in the desert. No one was in sight. The only movement was the soft sluice of water sprinklers. Everybody was probably inside trying on outfits for the party at the Racquet Club Saturday night.