Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [108]
They rode along, each trying to think of something, and suddenly Bert had it. "To hell with him! What we want is to find that boy, isn't it? Isn't that right?"
"That's it! Instead of—"
"What this needs is a private detective."
A hot, savage thrill shot through Mildred. At last she knew they were getting somewhere. Excitedly they talked about it, and then Bert told her to get him to a drugstore, or any place where he could get to a phone book. She stopped in San Fernando, and Bert hopped out before the car stopped rolling. He was back in a minute or two, a slip of paper in his hands. "Here's three, with phone numbers and addresses. I'd say let's go first to this Simons agency. I've heard of it, for one thing, and it's right there in Hollywood, not too far away."
The Simons Detective Agency was located in a small, one-story office on Vine Street, and Mr. Simons turned out to be a friendly little man with bushy black hair. He listened attentively as Bert stated the problem, and refrained from asking embarrassing questions. Then he tilted back in his chair and said he saw no particular difficulty. He got jobs of this sort all the time, and on most of them was able to show results. However, since time seemed to be of the essence, there would be certain expenses, and he would have to ask for an advance. "I'd have to have two fifty before I can start at all. First, to get the young man's picture and other information I'll need, I'll have to put an operative to work, and he'll cost me ten dollars a day. Then I'll have to offer a reward, and—"
"Reward?"
Mildred suddenly had visions of a horrible picture tacked up in postoffices. "Oh, don't worry, Mrs. Pierce." Mr. Sunons seemed to divine her fear. "This is all strictly confidential, and nobody'll know anything. Just the same, we work through our connections, and they're not in business for their health. I'd say, on this, a $50 reward should be ample. Then there's the printing of our ifiers, and the pay of a girl to address a couple thousand envelopes and. .
Bert suggested that half the advance should be paid now, the other half when the boy was found, but Mr. Simons shook his head. "This is all money I'll have to pay out before I can start at alL Mind, I haven't said anything yet about my services. Of course, other places may do it cheaper, and you're perfectly welcome to go where you please. But, as I always say, the cheaper the slower in this business—and, the riskier."
Mildred wrote the check. On the way home, both of them applauded themselves handsomely for what they had done, and agreed it should be between themselves, with nothing said to Wally or Veda until they had something to "lay on the line," as Bert put it. So for several days Mildred was ducking into phone booths and talking in guarded tones to Mr. Simons. Then one afternoon he told her to come in. She picked up Bert, and together they drove to the little frame office. Mr. Simons was all smiles. "We had a little luck. Of course it wasn't really luck. In this business, you can't be too thorough. We found out that when he left town, the young man was driving one of his stepfather's cars, and just because I was able to put that information on the flier, now we've got something. Here's the itemized bill, and if you'll just let me have the check while the girl is typing out the address for you...,,
Mildred wrote a check for $125, mainly for "services." Mr. Simons put a card in her hand, with an address on it. "That's a dude ranch near Winslow, Ariz. The young man is using his right name, and I don't think you'll have any trouble locating him."
Driving back, they stared at one of Mr. Simon's fliers, bearing the weak, handsome face of the boy they had chosen for a son-in-law. Then, nervously, they discussed what was to be done, and came to the conclusion, in Bert's phrase, that they had to "go through with it." When Mildred dropped him off,