“What’s wrong with being a private detective?”
“Some people are just prejudiced, that’s 41. This girl has been on the other side for too long.”
“Who is she?”
“You wouldn’t know her.”
“Who is she?”
“She’s a nice kid, but she never did have the breaks. She—”
“Who is she?”
“She’s the girl who had the apartment where Harry Beegan’s body was found.”
Bertha Cool took a deep breath, folded her hands on her lap, looked at me steadily, then slowly exhaled and shook her head. “You’ve got me stopped,” she said. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Just get someone else to take my place.”