Vanity Row

by W. R. Burnett

  "Anyway," said Roy, "I'm not approaching you as an official, but as an individual."

  "All right. All right." Lynch spoke impatiently. "Let's not get into ring-around-the-rosie. I'll give you an opinion, Captain."

  ***

  Almost two hours later Lynch called Roy.

  "I'm ready, Captain," said Lynch.

  "On second thought, I think I'll come over to your office," said Roy. "Easier to talk. I'll be there in twenty minutes. Okay?"

  "All right, Hargis."

  Roy took a taxi. It was nearly eight and they got jammed up in the theatre traffic. He finally paid off the driver and walked the rest of the way.

  The building was deserted. After pressing the elevator buzzer a dozen times with no result, Roy climbed the three flights of stairs to Lynch's office.

  The outer door was open. Lynch was sitting on his secretary's desk with a small, portable radio beside him listening to a comedy program and laughing.

  "It couldn't be that funny," said Roy.

  "Be with you in a minute," laughed Lynch. "They're just about to sign off."

  Roy gave him an irritated glance, then he began to pace up and down, puffing impatiently on a cigar. Lynch roared with laughter, then he shut off the radio.

  "I don't know how they think up those situations, week after week," he said, still laughing. "By God, that was funny."

  Roy shrugged and looked at the ceiling in irritation.

  "You find me trivial, Captain?" asked Lynch, smiling ironically and studying Roy.

  "No, no," said Roy, hastily.

  "You have the face of a very serious man. Maybe too serious. Am I right?"

  "Oh, I don't know."

  Lynch went into his private office. "Okay. Come on. No more gab from me. We'll get down to business."

  He sat down behind his desk. Roy sat opposite him.

  "I read every word," said the lawyer. "That's the nearest thing to an air-tight case you are likely to see, Captain, barring a confession."

  "First degree?"

  "Any degree you like. Yes, I'd say first degree, if the D.A.'s office doesn't insist on the death penalty. Juries are funny. They get mulish. And then the death penalty is a very ugly thing, in regard to a woman. Especially a beautiful young woman. Knowing the D.A. as I do, I'm sure he wouldn't ask for the death penalty. He'd leave that to the discretion of the jury. Yes, Captain. This girl can be indicted for first degree murder. A hoodlum belly-gun is not exactly what anybody would describe as a normal accessory of a woman's purse. She took it with her for a reason. And she used it."

  "Apparently so. But she might have taken it along to protect herself. She had a black eye, Mr. Lynch."

  "If every woman who was given a black eye by her husband or boy friend committed murder as a result, the whole country would be decimated. Naturally, the defense will try to prove she always carried a gun. But do you think that would prejudice the jury in her favor? The D.A. will promptly dub her a gun-moll. No, Captain. This girl will be convicted, and she may be sent up for life."

  "You don't see any hope at all?"

  Lynch shook his head emphatically. "None whatever."

  "Suppose she was afraid Hobart was going to kill her? Suppose he'd threatened her?"

  "Did you know Frank Hobart?"

  "I met him once."

  "Well, Captain, such a thing could never be made to stick in a hundred years. I never knew a nicer man. The D.A. would bring up a parade of bankers, politicians, whatever you like, to prove that Frank Hobart was a real gentleman, kind, considerate, mild in manner. This would not only kill whatever story the girl told about being threatened-it would further prejudice her case. Do you see what I mean? The men who would appear as character witnesses would be of such a calibre as to make that girl look very cheap indeed. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Yes," said Roy. "No loopholes at all, Mr. Lynch?"

  "Not a one. Of course, a really great trial lawyer might make a tremendous circus of the business and confuse the whole thing so much that the jury wouldn't know which way was up. I'm thinking of such a man as Clarence Darrow was in his heyday. Even so, Captain, the D.A. is a pretty wily fellow himself. No-bluntly, there is no hope, and I wouldn't take this case, myself, for fifty thousand dollars."

  Roy said nothing. Lynch studied him for some time, then he filled his pipe and lit it.

  "Now may I ask what this is all about, Captain?"

  "Just wanted an unprejudiced opinion on how we stood," said Roy, then he rose and picked up the bulky transcript. "Many thanks for your trouble, Mr. Lynch."

  The lawyer looked at Roy blankly for a moment, then he opened a desk drawer, pulled out a worn old leather wallet, and counted out a stack of bills. "There's your money, Captain. I'm keeping a hundred dollars for my fee. A thousand is ridiculous. I don't do business that way."

  "So I see," said Roy, smiling slightly, looking around him.

  Lynch grinned pleasantly. "It all depends on what you want out of life, Captain. Believe it or not, I happen to like my life-just the way it is." Lynch pulled on his corncob pipe with evident satisfaction.

  Roy found himself envying the little lawyer, and turned away somewhat shaken.

  "Here," called Lynch. "Your money. Did you think I was joking?"

  Roy picked up the nine hundred dollars and stuffed it carelessly into his pocket. Then he abruptly offered Lynch his hand. They pumped arms briefly.

  "I may give you a ring later tonight, Mr. Lynch, and then again I may not," said Roy.

  Lynch wrote something on a pad and tore off the sheet. "My home phone. It's unlisted. I had too many cranks calling me at all hours. As I said before, I always get the lunatics."

  22

  Roy slipped into the City Building through the truck entrance. First he phoned Boley upstairs and told him to come down at once, then he walked up the corridor to Alma's little office and stepped in. It was deserted, but in a moment Alma appeared and started slightly.

  "Well, Captain! Where did you come from?"

  "Just got in."

  "Captain, maybe it's none of my business-but what in the world is happening upstairs? All kinds of rumors floating around. Lieutenant Lackey gone. I understand it's a regular madhouse."

  "Little change of policy, Alma. Nothing for you to worry about. Won't affect you."

  "Oh, I'm so relieved. Lois and I like it so much here in the City Building. Always something going on, and then it's so clean and nice."

  "Miss Vance hasn't gone to bed, has she?"

  "No, she's playing cards with Lois."

  "Is she dressed?"

  "No. She's got on her nightgown and a robe."

  "Tell her to get dressed. She's going with me. I've got some double-checking on her story I want to do. We'll have to make a lot of stops, so we'll probably be gone for quite a while." Then he added: "Boley's driving us. He'll be down in a minute."

  "Why, certainly, Captain. I know she'll be glad to get out for a while. We let her walk about in the back corridors as much as we can. But it's not like being out and seeing the lights and the traffic, and like that."

  "No," said Roy. "That's right. When she's ready bring her here to your office. I'll be around some place."

  Roy went back into the big, deserted main room, and in a moment Boley appeared.

  "Good God, Roy, where you been?" he demanded. "We're all half crazy. There's a rumor around you were removed or something, that you had a big fight upstairs. What the hell happened with old silly Emmett? He blew. Gert came in while he was cleaning out his desk. The big slob was crying and sobbing."

  "Look, Joe. I picked you out to drive for me tonight because I know I can trust you. Right?"

  Boley studied Roy's face which looked pale and drawn. "Hell, yes, Roy. Sure."

  "All right. Don't ask any questions, and don't remember anything. Understand?"

  "Jesus, Roy," said Boley, "I wish I knew what was going on. It makes me nervous. It makes us all nervous. Old Ed swallowed a match this afterno
on. Hell, Roy; you don't seem to realize how much we depend on you. It's like our Old Man was in a jam."

  "What makes you think I'm in a jam?"

  "Well, something's happening. We don't see you. You don't call. And now look at you-all pale."

  Roy said nothing. He found himself avoiding Boley's eyes, which angered and irritated him. "See that transcript over there on the table?" he asked at last.

  Boley looked and nodded.

  "Take it and keep it with you in the car. Go ahead. I'll be out in a few minutes."

  Boley seemed hurt, but he said nothing, turned away, picked up the transcript, and plodded wearily up the ramp to the truck entrance.

  Roy waited, pacing up and down. Time seemed to stand still. After a while, he went into Alma's office and rang the corridor phone. There was a long pause, then Lois answered it.

  "What the hell is taking so long?" Roy shouted into the phone.

  "We can't hurry her, Captain. She's so nervous about going out. She drops everything… can't get dressed. Alma's trying to help her, hurry her along."

  "All right," said Roy, harshly, as he hung up. Nevertheless, he was deeply pleased. She was nervous. The big girl was nervous! And all because… and then he stopped himself, and laughed sardonically. Naturally, she was nervous. It had nothing to do with him. She was being held for murder, and she'd lied to him repeatedly. As far as she knew, they were going out to check over her story. "She's guilty-you damned fool!" he told himself. "She's in real trouble. Why wouldn't she be nervous?"

  Finally he heard them coming down the corridor, hurrying, high heels clicking on cement. He turned his back quickly and lit a cigarette. Standing outside Alma's office door, he stared off across the big, empty main room with its bleak glare of lights and its harsh, clear-cut black shadows.

  He heard them behind him now.

  "Captain," said Alma, "sorry we…"

  "Took you long enough," said Roy, turning.

  When she met his gaze the girl smiled slightly, showing one small dimple; then she sobered. Roy's face looked harsh, pale and strained. The girl dropped her purse, and said: "Oh, damn!" in a distracted voice. Alma picked it up for her.

  "Well, come on," said Roy. "I haven't got all night."

  "Yes, Captain," said the girl in such a low voice that they could hardly hear her.

  "Take good care of her now, Captain," said Alma, sensing the tension in the atmosphere, feeling nervous without knowing why, and trying to speak lightly and facetiously as a result.

  Roy nodded curtly, took the girl's arm, but released her at once with a nervous gesture. "Up the ramp, Miss Vance."

  She walked ahead of him up toward the truck entrance. She was wearing the same black dress; she had gardenias in her hair. In contrast with her harsh surroundings, she looked even more beautiful than before. Roy's heart kept contracting, worrying him.

  He joined her at the head of the ramp. He noticed the perfume now and drew away slightly.

  Boley saw them and stared, then pushed his hat back and scratched his head slowly and carefully.

  "How do you do?" said the girl, politely.

  "Evening, ma'am," stammered Boley, taking off his hat then hastily putting it back on.

  "You got the transcript?" asked Roy.

  Boley nodded, staring, befuddled. "Yeah. Yeah."

  Roy helped the girl into the back seat, then he climbed in after her. Boley's mouth dropped open in surprise and he just stood there beside the car, staring. Roy slammed the door. Boley came to himself and got hastily into the driver's seat.

  "Where to?"

  Roy leaned forward and spoke to him in a low voice. "The Beach, Joe."

  Boley swiveled all the way around and stared at Roy in horror. "Now, look, Roy. You better…"

  "You want to drive for me or not?"

  "Sure, Roy. But I'm your friend. I…"

  "Then drive out to Half Moon Beach. Some place-the alderman's."

  Boley swiveled back, drove out of the parking lot, and turned north on Belleview, a main highway. He was so stunned that he sat muttering to himself. Everything was beginning to be clear to him now. The tension around the office-the rumors-Roy's pale, strained look! But, Roy, of all people! The wise boy; the guy with the wonderful system. Boley felt cold sweat running down his back. He had a dark premonition of disaster.

  Roy and the girl sat silent in the back seat. After a moment she moved over closer to him. Roy tensed up, his heart contracting as before, then suddenly he relaxed. The girl gently slipped her arm through his and they sat holding hands in the darkness. The girl's hand was like ice.

  After a moment Roy asked: "You warm enough? You should have brought a coat."

  The girl pressed up against him gently. "I'm not cold. I'm nervous. Oh, God! I'm so nervous, Captain."

  "Don't be nervous. Try to relax."

  There was a brief pause, then the girl pressed his hand. "Where are we going, Captain? Where are you taking me?"

  "To the Beach."

  The girl turned. Her face looked very pale in the semi-darkness. "The Beach? But, why?"

  "I've got my reasons. Just relax now. Everything is going to be okay."

  She pressed up closer to him. "I thought you meant it when you said… but I've been so worried all day, so nervous. Nobody had heard from you. Then I heard Alma talking to Lois. Something about rumors. But when Alma told me you were back, and that you wanted me, I… well, I couldn't even get my clothes on. My hands felt numb. What is this with us, Captain?"

  "I'll be goddamned if I know," said Roy, harshly.

  There was a long pause, then the girl slid down low in the seat and put her head on Roy's shoulder.

  Boley glanced into the rearview mirror, gave a jump, and almost lost control of the car. They were moving through the suburbs now, then they crossed a bridge, and in a little while were in the open country. A yellow moon was up over the fields. Nigh thirds flew across in front of the car, cheeping.

  Boley sat muttering to himself. "A sucker! Roy Hargis, a sucker. Anything can happen in the world now. Anything!"

  ***

  The Beach was practically deserted and the string of lights along the shore had an abandoned, melancholy air.

  Boley parked the car beside the alderman's sumptuous cottage, and sat waiting, looking at the lights with dead eyes. He remembered the last time, with Kit, the playful young blond kid. He remembered how he'd felt like hanging himself. Now he felt even worse. It was as if there was a continuous earthquake and the ground kept pitching, and worst of all, there was no place to run to. Roy! Ruining himself-over what? A bum! A big tramp! A beautiful one-but even so!

  Roy was helping the girl out now. He turned to Boley. "Hand me the transcript." Boley obeyed without a word. "You might as well come in, Joe. We'll be here some time."

  Boley got out and followed them to the porch where Roy fumbled with a bunch of keys for a moment, then got the door open. The girl stood close to Roy, holding on to his arm as if he belonged to her. Boley had a strong impulse to give her a swift kick right in her beautiful bottom.

  They went in. Roy turned on the lights. The girl looked about her in wonder and surprise at the Hawaiian living-room.

  "Why… this is nice," she said.

  The place was panelled with varnished matting. There was heavy bamboo furniture. Native throw-rugs dotted the floor, and all the upholstery was of garish island material. There was a huge, well-lighted reproduction of a Gauguin on the wall, native horsemen on a weird pink beach. Carved surf boards and fishing nets decorated the other walls.

  As the girl stood looking about her, Roy opened the door of a little library and switched on the lights, then he turned and offered the girl the transcript.

  "Sit in there and read this," he said. "Take your time. Make yourself comfortable."

  The girl stared at him in surprise and absently took the heavy manuscript from his hand. "But, why…?"

  "Because," said Roy, "we have to talk it over right away-as soon as you r
ead it."

  "All right," said the girl. "Anything you say, Captain." She took his hand and looked at him lovingly with her pale, almond-shaped, black-rimmed eyes.

  Boley turned away, gritting his teeth. This was the end, the finish, the payoff, the last out!

  The girl disappeared into the little study. Roy turned to Boley. "Get the cards, Joe. If Wesson can blitz you, so can I."

  Sighing, Boley began to search for the cards.

  After a long silence, Boley looked up from his cards and asked: "What's that noise I hear?"

  Roy glanced toward the library, but made no comment.

  With hand poised to make a play, Boley said: "Sounds like sobbing, or something. Say, Roy-that girl's crying in there."

  "She's got something to cry about. Are you going to make that play or aren't you?"

  "Huh? Oh!" Boley flung down a card. "Good God, Roy, how can I play cards? You got me nuts with this mystery. What goes?"

  "The less you know, the better. Play cards."

  Sweating clammily, Boley tried to concentrate on the game, but made mistake after mistake. Finally Roy flung down his hand in disgust and got up.

  The crying was worse.

  "I can't even stand to hear a dog cry," said Boley. "This bothers me."

  "Good God, you been a dick for ten or twelve years," exclaimed Roy, irritably. "You've heard hundreds of people cry."

  "Never got used to it. Never liked it. Always wished I could help 'em-do something for 'em."

  "You want to do something for me?"

  "Sure, Roy."

  Roy shouted at him. "Then take a walk. Get lost."

  Boley stared in surprise at Roy's violence. "Sure, Roy. Okay. Relax. Take is easy."

  He went out. Roy heard the screen-door slam. He sat tapping his fingers nervously on the card-table, and looking about him irritably at the Hawaiian living-room. Why did people want to fix up a place to look like this? In Honolulu, okay. But at Half Moon Beach it was silly. He had a sudden impulse to pull the place apart, kick the furniture around, knock down the big stupid cockeyed picture. Who ever saw pink sand?

  It was like sitting in some phonied-up night-club. Couldn't people get enough of night-clubs without making their home look like one?