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“Christ,” Crumley examined my face “Get inside Get that inside” Crumley handed me a beer

I drank and told Cru so up in shadows And the single black shoe falling to the dusty cathedral floor

“I saw But who could tell?” I finished “The studio is nailing itself shut I thought Doc was a villain One of the other villains ot hi? I didn’t even like him!”

“Christ al me the New York Times crossword puzzle, when you know all I can do is the Daily News You drag dead bodies through my house like a cat proud of its kills, no rhyme, no reason Any laould heave you out theAny judge would brain you with his gavel Psychiatrists would refuse you shock privileges You could s and not get arrested for pollution”

“Yeah,” I said, sinking into depression

The phone rang

Crumley handed it over

A voice said: “They seek him here, they seek him there, they seek that scoundrel everywhere Is he in heaven, is he in hell—”

“That damned elusive Pimpernel!” I yelled

I let the phone drop as if a boain

“Where are you?” I yelled

Humm Buzz

Crumley clapped the phone to his ear, shook his head

“Roy?” he said

I nodded, staggering