Dark Maze

around. Did you personally see the visitor? What did he—or she—look like?”
    “It was a he, about the same age as Picasso, I’d say. He came in right about this time of night and I was on the desk here.”
    Jerry earned a twenty. I crackled another one at him. “What do you suppose the visit was about?”
    “Well, we don’t know,” Jerry said. “But I’d guess the subject was money. Picasso was really under the gun since he was owing us six months rent or so and he was owing everybody else up and down the boardwalk, too.”
    “He didn’t have any work?”
    “No. They’re not painting anything at Astroland anymore, not even maintenance painting. It’s all just going to pot.”
    “Have you ever seen this visitor around here before?“
    “Nobody’s seen him before or since.”
    “How long was the meeting?”
    “How long’ve I got to keep answering questions with no more revenues?”
    “Don’t be greedy, Jerry. Did you see Chastity over there being greedy? If I think you deserve it, I’ll take care of you.” Jerry sighed and said, “Okay. They were up there about an hour. On my break, I went up and sort of listened outside the door.”
    “I figured you were the type,” I said, handing over another twenty. “What did you hear?”
    “An argument, but not anything real bad as far as they go. See, I’ve heard Picasso carry on pretty good all by himself. Everybody has. He talks to himself, you know, usually after he’s been drinking pretty good over at the Neptune where he hangs. You’d swear sometimes there was two people up in his room.”
    “This little argument, what was it about?”
    “Oh, that I don’t remember—honest. I think maybe it might’ve been about a woman. But you know, over the years you hear guys having so much grief over women it all sort of runs together until you don’t pay attention anymore.”
    I took the snapshot out of my wallet and showed it to Jerry.
    “Who are the people in this picture?” I asked.
    “That’s really old, right?”
    “Never mind that. Just tell me what I want to know.“
    “I’ll try.” Jerry took the snapshot and studied it. He pointed to Picasso and said, “That’s your boy, Picasso. He’s younger in this picture, of course.”
    “Who’s the other man?”
    “He kind of looks like he might’ve been that visitor we’re talking about. I can’t be real sure, though.”
    “And the woman?”
    “Sorry. I got no idea about her.”
    I looked at my wristwatch. It was closing in on seven, and I was due at the Carny Club in a few minutes.
    “You’ve been a real brick,” I told Jerry. “I’ll probably be back sometime soon, but until then, do you want to tell me anything else you think is worth my while?”
    Jerry looked up. His lips moved in thought and he drummed his heavy fingers. “Nope. Can’t think of anything right now. I’ll make a list for the next time, though. Don’t forget to bring your wallet.”
    He switched on the radio again. Somebody was telling Dr. Ruth about rubber suits and purple whips.
    It was time to leave the Seashore Hotel lobby for the relative comfort of the dank breezes of Surf Avenue, and I was thinking how I had no time to spare. Not if I wanted to be prompt about meeting Big Stuff over at the Carny Club.
    Then Chastity threw me off schedule. She got up out of her chair, smoothed down her skirt in a semblance of modesty, and planted herself between me and the front door.
    “I got to ask you something, Detective Hockaday,” she said sternly.
    “Go ahead.”
    “How long before them lousy newspapers hang poor old Picasso for murder?” There was a sharp accusatory tone in her voice. I thought we had got along well before; now it was as if she had consigned me to the familiar category of big dumb heartless cop.
    “I don’t write newspaper stories,” I said. “I’m only trying to find Picasso in a hurry. You want to help the cause, there’s some fast money in it for you.”
    “I don’t want more money. I just want to tell you, for whatever it’s worth, I think Picasso’s got royally jerked around his whole life.”
    “Maybe so. What do you know about it?”
    “Nothing you could go to court with. It’s just something I feel, all right. Don’t laugh, even a girl like me’s got some women’s intuition.”
    “I never laugh at a woman’s intuition.”
    “Men never should. But most do. It’s because men naturally hate women.”
    “Oh, why?”
    Chastity looked at me with great pity,