Duffy didn’t like this. He thought there was a phoney smell that went with it. He shifted in his chair.
“This sounds like a job for a private dick,” he said, without any enthusiasm.
Morgan seemed to expect opposition. “I want pictures,” he said with emphasis. “To get them, I must employ an expert. You’ll be wanting money pretty soon, and you’re an expert. I think it fits, don’t you?”
Duffy told himself that if he was going to pull this job, the dough had to be right.
“Now as to terms.” Morgan spread his big hands on the table-cloth and looked at them. “I will give you five hundred dollars down, and a thousand dollars for every good picture you turn in.”
Duffy got his nerve back with a long drink. He was getting pretty high by this time, but he was still cautious. “You must want those pictures mighty bad,” he said, thinking that he could do himself well with fifteen hundred bucks.
“I do,” Morgan said. “I want them fast too. Will you do it?”
Duffy waved a hand. “Take it easy,” he said, “you’re rushing me. I want to get this straight. You want me to go to your wife’s apartment and take pictures of her and someone else and turn these pictures over to you, that right?”
Morgan was getting impatient, Duffy could see that, but he held himself in with an effort. “That’s right,” he said.
“What happens if she spots me and sends out the riot call?”