out outside a restaurant and his girl had driven off and left him. He said he
couldn't blame her.
'You English?' I asked.
'I lived there once. I wasn't born there.'
He finished the coffee and I drove him home. He didn't say much on the
way, except that he was sorry. He had probably said it so often that it was
automatic.
His apartment was small and empty. There was a little furniture but no
personal items at all. It didn't look like a place where anybody lived. He offered
me a drink. I said no. When I left, he thanked me again, but not as if I had
climbed a mountain for him and not as if it was nothing at all. He was shy but
very polite. Whatever he didn't have, he had manners.
Driving home, I thought about him. I'm supposed to be tough but this one
bothered me. I didn't know why, unless it was the white hair and the scar and the
clear voice. There was no reason I should see him again, though. He was just a
lost dog, like the woman said.
!
It was a month later when I did see him again, about three blocks from my
office. There was a police car stopped in the middle of the street, and the men
inside were staring at something on the kerb. That something was Terry Lennox
- or what was left of him. His shirt was dirty and open at the neck. He hadn't
shaved for four or five days. His skin was so pale that the scar hardly showed. It
was obvious why the policemen were looking at him, so I went over there fast
and took hold of his arm.
'Stand up and walk,' I said. 'Can you do it?'
He looked at me and nodded slowly. I wasn't even sure he recognized me.
'I'm just a little empty,' he said.
He made the effort and let me walk him to the street. There was a taxi
there. I opened the back door and got him inside. The police car pulled up. A
cop with grey hair asked me, 'What have we got here?'
'He's not drunk,' I said. 'He's a friend.'
'That's nice,' the cop said sarcastically. He was still looking at Terry.
'What's your friend's name, pal?'
'Philip Marlowe,' Terry said slowly. 'He lives on Yucca Avenue in Laurel
Canyon.'
The cop stared at us both. He was making a decision. It took him a little
while. 'OK. Get him off the street at least.' The police car drove away.
We went to a place where you could get hamburgers that you could
actually eat. I fed Lennox a couple and a bottle of beer and took him to my
place. An hour later, he was shaved and clean, and he looked human again. I
made two very mild drinks and we talked as we drank.
'Lucky you remembered my name,' I said.
'Not only that,' he said. 'I looked up your phone number, too.'
'So why didn't you call? I live here all the time.'
'Why should I bother you?'