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Nameless is entering into a partnership with former cop Eberhart and is understandably nervous about working with someone else. He has one last case before joining forces, which involves a secret admirer who is sending a young Japanese woman expensive jewels. It turns out there may be a connection to the Yakuza (Japanese Mafia).
was a gaudy two-room suite over on Bush Street, with a gaudy blond secretary to go with it. Crawford himself wasn’t gaudy, though. He was fat, he wore a three-piece suit, he smoked fancy cigars in an onyx holder, and he had a diamond ring on the little finger of his right hand that was probably worth enough to feed a starving family of six for a year. He looked like a photograph I had seen once of a Tammany Hall politician. He drew up the lease, gabbling the whole time, telling us what a
possible,” he said. “But only if this Ken Yamasaki is both the killer and Mrs. Gage’s unknown admirer. And even then I can’t figure a motive for him swiping the medallion and sending it to her.” “Maybe he’s a psycho,” I said. “Pyschos only need reasons for doing things that satisfy themselves.” “Also possible. But it still looks to me like you’re trying to make a big mystery out of two separate cases. Hell, you were pretty shook last night when you found Tamura; you admitted that. And you
making some noise, and reached out and knocked on the screen door’s wooden frame. The woman came after a few seconds and peered out at me, then drew the door open. She was thirtyish, slender, very attractive, with her black hair tied up tight on her head; wearing a black skirt and a black sweater—mourning clothes. “Oh, hello,” she said solemnly. Then she said, “I’m afraid we’re closed, if you want to buy something. There’s been a death in the family.” I feigned surprise. “I’m very sorry to hear
and beat up on people once in a while. Just so we don’t get rusty.” He looked at me as if he were afraid I might jump him after all. “I’m a peaceful man,” he said again. “Sure you are. A lover, not a fighter.” “I don’t know what you mean by that.” “Yes you do.” I moved over to the door and unlocked it and opened it up. “Tell Darlene her father’s looking forward to those home movies you took the other day.” “What?” he said. “What?” I went out and shut the door softly behind me. There were
couldn’t say.” So I left her and got a little wetter on my way back to the car. Now what? I could drive all the way across town to Mixer’s residence, but I decided against it. He hadn’t answered the phone earlier, which meant he either wasn’t home or he was too ill to get out of bed. Either way, I would probably be wasting my time. Nelson Mixer, I thought as I started the engine. What the hell kind of name was that, anyway? It didn’t sound like a man; it sounded like a brand of quinine water.