Blackmail
I had to push my client’s doorbell a lot before I got any play on it.
Finally the door was opened by the tall sunburned chauffeur. He was dressed in undershirt and pants, and had a billiard cue in one fist.
“What do you want?” he demanded, and then, when he got another look at me: “It’s you, is it? Well, what do you want?”
“I want to see Mr. Willsson.”
“At four in the morning? Go on with you,” and he started to close the door.
I put a foot against it. He looked from my foot to my face, hefted the billiard cue, and asked:
“You after getting your kneecap cracked?”