Way of a Wanton by Richard S. Prather Page B

official. You're the nosiest damn man I've seen for quite a while, Scott.”  
    For a guy about five-nine and a hundred and sixty pounds, he was a little too belligerent. A private detective, though, is still just a private citizen, and Genova didn't have to be nice to me. But he was becoming a trifle too personal, and I was getting awfully fed up with most of the people I'd rubbed against in this case. It would have given me great pleasure to pin Zoe's murder on about six of them.  
    I said, “Fortunately—or unfortunately—that's what I get paid for. And as long as Bondhelm pays me to—”  
    â€œBondhelm!” He came up out of his chair as if he had springs in his bottom. “Bondhelm! You're working for Bondhelm? Why, that sonofabitch! So help me, if you so much as give us five seconds of trouble on this picture I'll have the law on you. Why, you sonofabitch, you. You goddam son of a— awp! ”  
    That was as far as he got. He was wearing a blue tie, and I shot out my left hand, grabbed the tie, and yanked him toward me. His thighs hit the edge of the desk and he folded over on top of it with his face about a foot from its top. I jerked up on the tie and stuck my face down a couple of inches from his and sprayed words in his face. “Give this a good listen, Genova. You can object all you want to about my nosing around. You can even get a little tiresome. But keep a civil tongue in your head or I'll twist you around till you've got your feet in your mouth. You got that?” I held him a second longer, then shoved him back into his chair.  
    He landed heavily and sat there for a moment without moving. Then his hands came up and gripped the chair arms till the knuckles showed white. He made a couple of noises that weren't words, just angry choking sounds. His face twisted and his lips parted over his teeth, then he pressed them together and pulled them apart again. I could see the saliva glistening on the inner side of his pulled-down lower lip. Louis Genova was all unstrung.  
    It seemed like a good time for it, so I leaned on his desk and said, “You know, a man who gets as mad as you are right now could get mad enough even to strangle a woman, I'll bet.”  
    Oddly enough, instead of getting worse and maybe falling down on the floor and biting his tongue, he got better. Slowly. He stopped wiggling his lips, finally took his hands from the chair arms, and relaxed by degrees.  
    Normal color flowed back into his face and he said slowly, his poise recovered now, “You take an unfair advantage of me, Mr. Scott. I imagine you do push-ups.”  
    That was the most human thing I'd ever heard him say.  
    I took a deep breath. “O.K., Genova. I— I should apologize, maybe. I do apologize. But I think that works both ways.”  
    He looked at me then. “Yes. Well, I'm sorry for what I said, Mr. Scott.” Pretty soon we were going to kiss each other. He went on, “It was your mention of Bondhelm. Perhaps you don't understand, but he'd do almost anything to— to sabotage production. Perhaps you don't understand.”  
    â€œI know what the score is. But I won't do any man's dirty work, Genova. You can depend on that. My concern, and my only concern, is who murdered Miss Townsend.” I waited a minute, then added, “If you don't want to talk to me, you don't have to. But it'll look funny if you don't. Especially to me.”  
    His face hardened. “Don't threaten me, Mr. Scott. I will absolutely not stand for threats.”  
    This Genova was actually a pretty hard boy. It occurred to me that he'd be able to take shots at me. Or hire somebody to do it for him. I was still stabbing in the dark, but I said, “Incidentally, Genova, you wouldn't have had a little man following me this morning, would you?”  
    He blinked at me and looked puzzled. “Little man? What do you mean, a little