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“Whoa!” said Crumley “Too neat I don’t like it You think no one knows the Beast is behind the wall, the mirror?”

“Yep”

“Then how come the studio, or one part of it, your boss, Manny, has a conniption fit when he sees Roy’s clay model of the Beast?”

“Well—”

“Does Manny know the Beast’s there and fear hiht, see Roy’s work, and destroy it in a rage? And now Manny’s afraid Roy will blackmail him because Roy knows the Beast exists and no one else does? What, what, what? Answer, quick!”

“God’s sake, Crumley, hush!”

“Hush! What kind of rough talk is that?”

“I’”

“I can hear the cogs turn Which is it? Is everyone ignorant as to who hides behind the ? and so they fear the unknown? Or do they know and are twice as afraid because the Beast has gathered so o where he damn well pleases, collect his money, run back under the wall? They don’t dare cross him He probably has letters so happens to hi out his underwear ten times a day? Well? Which is it? Or do you have a third version?”

“Don’t o into a funk”

“Hell, kid, that’s the last thing I’d want to do,” said Crumley, with a twist of le-size funk, but I hate keeping time with your quarterhorse half-ass deductions I’ve just run through a tunnel chased by a criminal beehive you kicked over Have we stirred up a nest of Mafia or just a single maniac acrobat? Promises, promises! Where’s Roy? where’s Clarence, where’s the Beast? Give me one, just one, body! Well?”

“Wait” I stopped, turned, walked away

“Where you going?” groused Crumley

Crumley followed me up the small hill

“Where in hell are we?”