The High Window (Philip Marlowe, #3)

by Raymond Chandler

He smiled bleakly. “You got a lawyer?” “I know several lawyers. I don’t have a lawyer on a retainer basis.” “How many of the commissioners do you know personally?” “None. That is, I’ve spoken to three of them, but they might not remember me.” “But you have good contacts, in the mayor’s office and so on?” “Tell me about them,” I said. “I’d like to know.” “Look, buddy,” he said earnestly, “you must got some friends somewhere. Surely.” “I’ve got a good friend in the Sheriffs office, but I’d rather leave him out of it.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Why? Maybe you’re going to need friends. A good word from a cop we know to be right might go a long way.” “He’s just a personal friend,” I said. “I don’t ride around on his back. If I get in trouble, it won’t do him any good.” “How about the homicide bureau?” “There’s Randall,” I said. “If he’s still working out of Central Homicide. I had a little time with him on a case once. But he doesn’t like me too well.” Breeze sighed and moved his feet on the floor, rustling the newspapers he had pushed down out of the chair. “Is all this on the level—or are you just being smart? I mean about all the important guys you don’t know?” “It’s on the level,” I said. “But the way I am using it is smart.” “It ain’t smart to say so right out.” “I think it is.”