Detective

flying, to tell you the truth. So I do a lot of driving. At least on the East coast. California, I have to fly, but I hate it. Anywhere else, I drive. Chicago, Detroit, Atlanta, I drive it.”
    “So?”
    “Well, it happens that one of the largest accounts I handle is the Whitney Corporation in Miami.”
    “I think I get the picture.”
    “Yeah. Well, it turns out Pluto had some business in Miami. He needed something delivered and something picked up.”
    “No kidding.”
    “So they made me this proposition.”
    “Who?”
    “Bambi and Pluto.”
    “Both of them together?”
    “Yeah. Well, first just Bambi. Then he took me to meet Pluto.”
    “Why?”
    “What do you mean, ‘why’?”
    “If Bambi was the go-between and Pluto was the big cheese, why would he want to meet you personally? Why would he want you to know who he was?”
    He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to approve me personally before he was willing to let me go. Or maybe he wanted to give it to me himself, so if anything went wrong I’d be the only one to blame. At any rate, he was the one who gave it to me.”
    “Gave what to you?”
    “The suitcase.”
    “Suitcase?”
    “Yeah. The one I was to take to Miami.”
    “I see. And what were you supposed to do with it?”
    “I was supposed to take it to this address in Miami and give it to someone.”
    “Floridian #1.”
    “Huh?”
    “The guy you gave it to. Floridian #1.”
    “O.K. You keeping track of all this?”
    It was getting a little complicated. I wrote, “Dumbo,” “Bambi,” “Pluto,” and “Floridian #1” on the pad of paper. After “Dumbo,” I wrote, “gambling contact from firm.” After “Bambi,” I wrote “casino owner.” After “Pluto,” I wrote “N.Y. drug connection.” After “Floridian #1,” I wrote “Miami drug connection.”
    “Go on,” I said.
    “Well, I took the suitcase out there like they told me and met Floridian—Jesus, what a word—Floridian #1.”
    “And gave him the suitcase.”
    “No. He wouldn’t take the suitcase. He made me hold onto it all the time. He drove me to a private house somewhere out of town. He took me inside and left me alone in a room. After a little while another guy came in.”
    “Floridian #2.”
    “Uh huh, and you don’t have to worry about my telling you his name, because I never knew it.”
    “So what happened?”
    “He took the suitcase, told me to wait there, and left the room. About five minutes later he came back with the suitcase and gave it back to me and told me to return it.”
    “And then?”
    “Then he left me alone again. About five minutes later the first guy, uh, Floridian #1, came back, drove me back to where he picked me up, and let me off.”
    “So?”
    “I drove back to New York and delivered the suitcase.”
    “To whom?”
    “I don’t remember.”
    “You don’t remember who you gave the suitcase to?”
    “No, I don’t remember which damn Disney name you gave him. I told you I wouldn’t be able to keep them straight.”
    “You gave the suitcase back to the guy who gave it to you in the first place?”
    “No. To the other guy.”
    “You gave the suitcase to the casino owner, the one we designated as Bambi.”
    “That’s right.”
    “And then what happened?”
    “He paid me $10,000.”
    “In cash?”
    “No. It was a squidge. He just knocked it off my debt.”
    “So you reduced your debt by ten grand. That still left you forty-six grand in the hole.”
    “Right. So I did it again.”
    “How many times?”
    “Six in all.”
    “So that must have wiped out your debt.”
    “Well, yes and no.”
    “Which is it. Yes or no?”
    “Well, no, see, because in the meantime I was still gambling.”
    I sighed. “All right, so you got involved in an illegal operation. But so far, I can’t see any reason why anyone would want to kill you, with the possible exception of me.”
    “I’m coming to that. I’m coming to that.”
    “Great. Come to it.”
    “Well, as I said, I made several trips for these guys and I still hadn’t paid off my gambling debt. And it was getting to me, you know. I mean it seemed like there was no way out. So I had to do something.”
    “I should hope so.”
    “What?”
    “Go on.”
    “Well, I never knew what was in the suitcase. It was always locked. Of course, I suspected, but I never knew for sure. Anyway, the last time I got the suitcase back from the guy—Floridian #2, I think you called him—I decided to find out. I still