Vanity Row

by W. R. Burnett

  "He asked you to give her a job?"

  "He begged me to. And I did. The most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life. I mean it, Captain Hargis. A sad, sad case. Even so, I can't believe that she did it."

  "Why?"

  "Oh, I just can't. She was so beautiful."

  "Any idea who might have?"

  "Kill Mr. Hobart-that wonderful man? It could only have been an accident."

  "Well, we're getting no place, Gozza. Is Joe Sert here?"

  "Yes, he's here. Shall I ring him? See if it's convenient?"

  "Will you?"

  Caesar called on a house-phone and held a brief conversation, then he hung up, and nodded. "He will be pleased to see you, Captain Hargis."

  "Is his wife back there with him?"

  "Yes. But she's in bed, ill. There's a large apartment back there, you know. Mr. Sert and his new bride have been living there, having their honeymoon. Sorry we had our little misunderstanding, Captain!"

  "It's okay."

  "I'll show you the way."

  Caesar led him through a narrow passageway to the corridor of the women's lounge. It was the same as before, only not deserted. Beautifully-dressed girls were passing back and forth. The stylized nudes on the walls and the grotesque statue of the naked black woman seemed to fade pleasantly into the surroundings now and not stand out stark and bizarre as they had the night before.

  As Caesar tapped at the door, he said: "One question, please. That fine gray suit, Captain. Winslow Smith or Samuel Brod?"

  "Sam," said Roy, smiling slightly.

  "I must give him some of my business," said Caesar. "He's a fine tailor. There's a new Italian in town. Riggio. You might look him up. Tell him Caesar sent you. Discount. He's trying to get started."

  "Thanks."

  The door was opened by Joe Sert, who was in his shirtsleeves. "Come in, Hargis. Come in. Thanks, Attilio."

  "Your servant, Captain," said Caesar, giving Roy a very expensive bow which was usually reserved for the Babylon Room clientele of Cipriano's.

  ***

  Joe Sert seemed agitated and somewhat sad. Roy sat watching him as he paced up and down, twisting his sparse hair and grimacing. Finally he turned.

  "Funny world, ain't it, Hargis?"

  Roy could think of no answer to that one, so he merely nodded.

  "To tell you the truth, Hargis, I'm not a well man. I got blood pressure and I just found out a couple months ago I got diabetes, too. Well, Tootsie and me-we been on a real bender since we got married. What a honeymoon! I kept saying to myself: 'Joe, boy. You better watch it. You're going to die if you're not careful.' So? So, I never felt better in my life. And Tootsie's sick in bed-and she's just a kid, and strong."

  "So it goes," said Roy.

  "Yeah, funny. She just collapsed. I thought it was all that champagne. But, no-she's got a fever. Fever keeps jumping around. Doc wants her to go to the hospital for observation for a week. But, Tootsie-she won't go. I'm goddamned worried about her, Hargis. What should I do? Hell, we can't carry her out screaming and kicking. Doc says if she don't go, we better get another Doc, he won't be responsible, that's all. I'm worried to hell about this, Hargis."

  "You've just got to persuade her to go, Mr. Sert."

  Joe sat down heavily. "Yeah," he said, then for a long time he stared gloomily at the floor. Finally he sighed and looked up. "Okay. I guess you got your own troubles and don't want to hear mine. How you coming on the case?"

  "I need a little help."

  "All right. What?"

  "I found out from Caesar who introduced the girl to him. It didn't lead any place. I was trying to see if I could establish any hoodlum relationship."

  "Why?" Joe demanded, looking up quickly.

  "I've got my reasons. A funny thing, Mr. Sert. Somebody stripped her apartment. Took her fur coats and I don't know what all. She never reported it. She even denied it to the house dick at the Terrace. I know how it was done, and it was strictly a professional job if I ever heard of one."

  "Yeah," said Joe, vaguely.

  "You wouldn't know anything about this, would you?"

  Joe got up and walked about for a while, pulling at his hair. Finally he stopped in front of Roy. "How would this help, Hargis? I don't get it."

  "Simple. If she thought Hobart was responsible for stripping her-taking all the stuff back he'd given her, it might establish a motive for her killing him. We need a motive, outside of a jealous fight or anything like that. Too vague. Something concrete."

  "Yeah," said Joe, then after a moment: "You covering me, Hargis?"

  "Hundred percent."

  "Okay," said Joe. "Anything to put that big broad where she belongs. She ruined the best guy I ever met. Why, he changed like a… listen, Hargis-it was pitiful. Getting drunk, swearing and carrying on in the club, like some downstate hayneck at a plumber's convention… you wouldn't believe it. I couldn't believe it at first. It was like he'd blown his stack. And to tell you the truth, I think that's what happened. But I wasn't smart enough to realize it at the time. You see, I had such respect for this guy. Whatever he said was law to me. If he says it snows here in July, okay, it snows here in July. You get what I mean? Let me tell you about Mr. Hobart. He was the kind of guy who never complained-about anything. Too much pride. He could have been dying of cancer, but you'd never get a peep. I'm having a hard time explaining what I mean, and what a shock I got when he began to get drunk and cry around about that broad…

  "Look. That last night I told you about. He come in the club all alone. His clothes looked wrinkled, he needed a shave. Caesar was horrified-I mean, he really was. Well, Mr. Hobart got so lushed up Caesar didn't know what to do. People were looking at him, and he was spilling drinks down the front of his shirt. Finally, I told Caesar to bring him back here. So we conned him and said I had a new shipment of champagne, and I wanted his opinion on it. He kind of pulled himself together and when he got back here he wasn't so bad-polite and gentlemanly like he used to be. But after one drink of champagne he was gone again-and, brother, I mean really gone…"

  Joe stood in the middle of the room, shaking his head in sadness and wonder. "He began to tell me his troubles, blubbering. It was awful, Hargis, to see a man like that… well, I got madder and madder, but not at him, see?

  "Then he really breaks down. He tells me he's going loony, he can't sleep, he wants to die… stuff like that. Then it comes out. The big broad had locked him out, wouldn't let him into the kip with her no more, and he couldn't take it. Instead of realizing he was well-off, he goes to pieces. Then he begins to tell me about all he'd done for her, all the stuff he'd given her-he'd spent a fortune on her. A chinchilla and two minks, not to mention a car and jewelry and stuff. He told her she'd have to give it all back to him if she was going to keep on acting this way. Not because he gave a damn about the money-he was loaded and a very generous guy. He was just trying to get her to start playing ball again. But she really gave him the brush. Told him he disgusted her, stuff like that, and finally she tossed him out of her apartment, slammed the door in his face…"

  "They lied to me at the Terrace. Said Hobart never went up to her suite."

  "It figures," said Joe, mildly. "They're just covering up for business reasons. So," Joe went on, "here's this great guy, Mr. Hobart, acting like a real joker-a real slob. It got me and now I sure enough had blood pressure. I could feel the top of my head throbbing. So… you want to write the rest?"

  Joe went to his desk, took out a bottle of whiskey, and poured himself a drink. Then he looked up. "Oh, excuse me, Hargis. I'm kinda rattled. Want a drink?"

  Roy merely shook his head.

  There was a brief silence as Joe tossed down the drink. "The car was in Mr. Hobart's name. So that was okay."

  "You took her car, too?"

  "Sure. Mr. Hobart's nephew's got it. We gave her the old stripperoo. We even took all her evening dresses. The boys found thirty-five hundred dollars in cash behind a picture. I let 'em keep it. T
hat way the job cost me nothing. I think the boys swung with some of the jewelry, too. And maybe some panties for their girl friends." Suddenly Joe threw back his head and laughed coarsely and at some length. "She didn't leave the Terrace with much more than she had when she went in. Okay. So it's robbery. You covering me, Hargis?"

  "Sure," said Roy, then he stood up. "Well, I think this does it. Or comes mighty close to it. You're out of it, Mr. Sert. Grant, the house dick, has already testified she was stripped. This little girl's in a sack."

  " 'Little girl!' " cried Joe, his eyes flashing with animosity. "She whipped one of my waiters. She threw Mr. Hobart out of the apartment."

  "Yeah," said Roy, mildly, then: "Well, goodnight, Mr. Sert. I hope Mrs. Sert is feeling better tomorrow. Give her my best."

  Joe flashed Roy a pleased, friendly smile. It was obvious where his weak spot lay. "Thank you, Hargis. She's mentioned you a couple of times, also the kid that was with you. You guys kinda impressed her, I think. Okay, Hargis. Just so I'm covered."

  "You're covered."

  16

  As they neared the City Building corner, Roy said: "Take me in the front way. Time for the show."

  "This I want to see," said Boley, sighing, and shaking his head.

  He made the turn, then eased over into an inside lane so he wouldn't get into a jam when he tried to move off the boulevard and onto the City Building ramp. Traffic was heavy and fast in this part of town. Motor cops kept it rolling to prevent tie-ups and blocks at the Freeway entrances.

  It was a warm night, almost like summer. A canted half-moon rode high over the big buildings in a clear, cloudless, indigo sky. A mild breeze blew up from the river, carrying the smell of deep water. The atmosphere was light and gave you a feeling of space and freedom.

  Boley sniffed the air as he drove. "This is the kind of night you should've been up at the beach instead of in that thunderstorm. That goldheaded bim! Wonder where she is tonight?"

  Roy ignored him. He hardly knew who Boley was talking about. What was her name? Kit. Crazy kid-wanted to know about thunder!

  The City Building was all lit up as if for a celebration. There were so many lights burning inside that the floodlights outside were dimmed. Cars were parked all over the first level above the street; some of them were parked crossways and looked as if they'd been abandoned suddenly. Boley and Roy saw a couple of uniformed coppers checking the cars.

  "Those press guys," said Roy. "What do they use for brains?"

  "Wesson does all right."

  Roy glanced at him. "Yeah. But there's a mystery about Wesson. How does it happen a guy as smart as him makes as little money as he does? He's not even in a profession where you can steal much of anything. You'd think at least he'd be in politics."

  They got out of the car and started across the wide cement plaza toward the big entrance doors. "Funny guy, Wesson," said Boley. "No matter how much he drinks, he only gets so drunk. Never falls down, never even staggers, and he always knows what's what. However, one night I met him in a bar and we tied one on. Pretty soon he's telling me about his old home in England, and he's got tears in his eyes. He's been away seventeen years."

  "Yeah, and when he got through crying, I'll bet he went on trying to pump you."

  Boley glanced sideways at Roy as they entered the building and turned down a wide, marble corridor toward the elevators. "Sure he tried to pump me. He's always trying to pump everybody. But what I'm speaking about is, them tears. Wesson with tears in his eyes. It beat me. Wesson puts on the best fag act I ever seen, but he's a real tough cookie and you know it."

  "Sure he is," said Roy. "But the tears are easy. He was trying to soften you up, so you'd feel sorry for him, and break down and give him some info."

  "Think so? Yeah. Probably you're right. Why, that louse! And me wasting sympathy on him. You see, Roy-sometimes I think about the Old Country. Makes me sad. I remember a big river, a beautiful big river. And I remember my grandfather. He was a farmer-had a blond beard."

  "I thought you were born here."

  "No, Poland. They brought me over when I was nine."

  "Well, Joe, if you were back there you'd feel sad about here."

  "More than likely," said Boley, thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Wherever you are, some place else looks better, and somebody else's girl, and stuff like that. Why is that?"

  "I don't know," said Roy, curtly, as they got on the elevator and were borne upward. Such questions bored him. Nothing but futile, idle speculation.

  They stopped in a little empty office on the third floor and Roy made a call to the jail in the basement. Red Benson answered.

  "How's it going?" asked Roy.

  "I had to take care of a couple of wise guys, pushed 'em around a little-but no harm done, not even a black eye. Nobody's got past since I went on, Cap, and nobody will."

  "Nice work. As soon as Alma brings the girl up, you can go home, Red. Get a good night's sleep. You earned it. Get somebody to spell you. Now put Alma on."

  After a considerable wait, Alma answered. "Yes, Captain."

  "Are you ready?"

  "Ready, willing and able, Captain. That girl! She really knows how to relax. She's been dressed to come upstairs for over an hour. Most girls would be nervous. Soon as they get dressed to go some place, they want to go. Last time I looked in on her, she was sitting in a chair dozing."

  "How does she look?"

  "Captain," said Alma, "it's not fair. Nobody should look that good."

  "Okay. Bring her right up."

  Roy hung up, then he and Boley climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. They'd got off at the third so Roy could make his call unobserved.

  Before they were half way to the fourth floor they could hear the uproar. It sounded like a cocktail party. There was loud talking and laughing and an atmosphere of nervous tension.

  When Roy and Boley reached the head of the stairs there were shouts and men came running toward them. The door of the outer office was open and people were milling in and out: pressmen and women, photographers, City Building employees, who had stayed on for the excitement, and a few strangers who apparently had come in from the street. The hallway was littered with newspapers, magazines, chewing-gum wrappers, matches, cigarette butts, and practically anything else people throw away, including, strangely enough, a pair of women's gloves, a shopping-bag with some canned-goods in it, and a man's hat.

  "Looks like Saturday afternoon at the State Fair," said Roy.

  Several newsmen began to yammer at him at once. Somebody took a flash picture. One man even grabbed Roy by the arm.

  "Take it easy. Take it easy," said Roy. "What's all the excitement?"

  "What's all the excitement, he says!" cried a red-faced man in a seersucker suit.

  Roy grabbed him by the lapels and shook him gently. "You're a season behind in that suit, aren't you, pal?"

  "I been going since eight this morning. It was hot as hell then. Look, Captain. When? When?"

  "When what?"

  There was a wild uproar as Roy tried to go into the outer office, brushing people aside.

  "You know 'what!' Don't you know every editor in town is burning everybody's ass for copy about that beee-yooo-ti-full doll!"

  "She never killed nobody, now did she, Captain? How could she? It's against nature…"

  "Even if she did, she'll get off. Providing her lawyer gets her a man jury…"

  "With a woman jury she's a dead duck…"

  "Wait a minute," said Roy. "Let's not try her yet."

  "Quote? How about a quote?" There were shouts and yells and pushing. Another flash picture was taken. For laughs, Roy took off his hat and held it in front of his face. He got plenty of laughs, but they sounded hysterical.

  Then the elevator stopped in front of the outer office door, and Alma emerged, followed by Ilona Vance.

  The hubbub died down immediately.

  The girl was wearing a plain, simple black silk dress, beautifully moulded to her figure.
Her thick black hair, which shone like glass under the lights, was up, and in a large bun on the nape of her neck. She was wearing no jewelry, not even a ring. She had gardenias in her hair. A faint aura of exquisite perfume began to fight with the cigarette-smoke in the crowded corridor. She had on very high-heeled black pumps, ornamented with gold and silver stitching.

  "Holy Mackerel!" cried somebody in an awe-struck voice, breaking the silence. There were nervous laughs, then the photographers got busy and flashbulbs lit up the hallway.

  "Plenty of time for that," shouted Roy, and the girl looked at him curiously with her large, almond-shaped, emotionless, pale-gray eyes.

  "Inside, miss," said Roy, as Boley and Ed Reynolds made a path for her. "Straight on through into the next office."

  With the easy, graceful, artificial gait of a model, the girl walked slowly through the crowd, looking at nobody, calm, collected, and impressive.

  When she had passed through, followed by Alma, Roy barred the door. "Now listen," he said, "you're all invited in so take it easy. No crowding. No shoving. Everybody gets in and we play no favorites."

  "How about Percy Wesson-that fat English fag?"

  "Who?" Roy demanded, smiling ironically.

  "He must be sleeping with the Commissioner."

  "What a repulsive thought!" cried a girl reporter, and there was a general laugh.

  Emmett Lackey was in the main office, which was large, with four desks and many chairs along the walls. He was sweating and wiping his face with a big handkerchief as the girl came in preceded by Boley and Ed Reynolds and followed by Alma.

  Lackey tried to fade into the background, taking a place at the far end of the room, but the girl noticed him.

  "How do you do?" she said politely, in her deep voice, which seemed to come from her heels and yet was pleasant, soft, and natural. In fact, she seemed to have no affectation about her at all, and no coquetry. Her face was unsmiling, and seemed naturally so, not sullen. She did not dab at her hair, pull at her dress, or make any of those futile gestures most women would have made under the circumstances. She seemed entirely and honestly calm and relaxed.