Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 137, No. 1. Whole No. 833, January 2011

I went up the stairs and turned left. There was a door ajar and I stepped into a bedroom with peach walls, lit by a low gas fire. A bed with a black spread, a dressing table and chair, and a chaise by the window were all of a sleek, modern design. I went over to the window and checked behind the curtain. At first I saw nothing but blackness, but soon I could make out the white curl of waves rolling up to the beach.

A bathroom opened off the bedroom and that door was ajar too. I heard water draining. I cleared my throat.

“Bao-yu, bring me my towel.” A peach-colored Turkish towel lay on the bed, so I picked it up and stepped toward the voice. The tall blonde stood naked in the tub, very tall, very blond. Although she was light-skinned, there was nothing pasty or sallow about her. Her skin was taut and she looked as solid as a marble statue, especially in the long thighs. But she’d been worked over, and the surface of the fine marble was marked with red and purple swelling. I held out the towel, and she took it and rubbed off gently, just patting the bruised parts.

“Someone’s hurt you,” I said.

“More than one someone.” She wrapped the towel like a turban around her wet hair, and put out an arm for me to assist her. I helped her step out of the tub. Her right eye was swollen and mostly shut. Both eyes were black. Her upper lip was cut.

“Come,” she said. “Tell me about the car. You brought it?” We went to the bedroom and she sat up tall at the dresser, facing the mirror and crossing her legs at the knees. I sat on the chaise where she could see me in the mirror. She began to powder her body.

“I brought it. I can see now why you were willing to pay four hundred dollars to get a twenty-seven-hundred-dollar car back.”

“You like the car?”

“Oh, yeah. I like the car, but you’re paying me because of what was in the trunk.”

“You found the pieces of luggage?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve got the money, and I’ve got the merchandise.”

“Then you have saved my life, Mr. Swiver. What would you like to know? Ask me.”

And so I did. I asked her about the dope, the dough, and Pacho Valdes. It seems Mr. Agustin Maldau was in the import business. Maldau sent his wife to meet the buyers, deliver the drugs, and bring back the jack. Pacho Valdes of Oakland was one such buyer. As far as Karin knew, Pacho was a big dealer across the bay.

I learned that Mr. Agustin Maldau was a middle-aged man, twenty-four years older than his wife. They had been married five years. He used Karin in his business, and he used her as his wife. He liked to be seen with her, and he used her as an object. Karin wanted love. She wanted someone who would treat her like the vital young woman she was. Karin and Pacho had done business many times, and now, when he made a buy, she spent the night with him. It was one occasional night of pleasure in a drab existence, and her little revenge against Agustin Maldau, the man who used her.

Karin had driven to meet Pacho in Golden Gate Park last night. He checked the merchandise; she counted the money. Then they had locked both in the trunk and took the Mercury to the Sorrento Motor Inn. They’d stayed there before. Not thinking about any risk, they left everything in the trunk and hurried up to the room, where they smoked some jujus, drank some wine, and made love.

In the morning, the car was gone. Pacho flew into a rage. Not only was his jacket and ID in the trunk with the illegal merchandise, he figured the Maldaus had set him up to make off with his stake and keep the dope. He slapped Karin around until he finally started to believe her that it hadn’t been a setup. Then he brought her downtown to the Rose Building and forced her to wait for me.

“How did you pick me?”

She just shrugged. “Pacho found your name in the phone book. I think he wanted to go somewhere no one would see us. You seemed right.” I made a mental note to cancel my ad in the Yellow Pages for next year.

“After you agreed to the job, we took a streetcar out Geary. Pacho picked up his car in the park and told me to call him in Oakland when I heard from you. I rode out further and walked home.”

“Did you call him?”

“Yes, tonight at ten, after you called me. But he doesn’t know yet that you are here or that you recovered the money and the goods.

“When I came home this morning, Agustin was here. I told him I had left the car at my girlfriend’s because it wouldn’t start, that I would get it this afternoon. But he didn’t believe me. He beat me until I told him the truth. Then, when he knew I’d spent the night with Pacho and lost the money and the car, he beat me some more. I passed out, Mr. Swiver. When I came to, he was gone. Bao-yu, my maid, helped me upstairs and into bed. She told me Agustin had gone to Half Moon. That is where he brings in most of his merchandise. Then I slept.”

“Did you tell Agustin you hired me?”

“Yes. I am sorry.”

“That doesn’t matter.” I might have to look over my shoulder for a week or so, but I was betting Agustin Maldau would forget about me when he saw he had his car and his money back.