Conned: A Bureau Story (The Bureau Book 6)

by Kim Fielding

  “It’s a dump,” Thomas said when they reached his apartment. He hung up his hat, overcoat, and suit coat and immediately began to strip off the rest in an entirely businesslike manner, very different from the previous night.

  Abe looked around, which didn’t take long; there was very little to see. While the walls and outside windowpanes were grimy, everything else was clean and neat: the floor swept, the bed folded into the wall, the surfaces in the tiny bathroom gleaming. “I’ve lived in much worse,” he said mildly, which was true. When he was a child, his family had shared a single room in a tenement, the lavatory down the hall used by the entire floor. They’d considered themselves lucky not to have an outhouse.

  “So’ve I.” Thomas was naked now, his magnificence even more marked in these modest surroundings. He hung his suit in the closet, stuffed his shirt and underclothes into a laundry bag, and went into the bathroom without closing the door. He turned on the shower, which sounded barely more than a trickle.

  “You could have showered at my house,” Abe pointed out, but Thomas didn’t reply.

  Once he was dried and dressed, they took another streetcar, this time disembarking in North Beach. They entered a building on Montgomery just off Columbus. The ground floor housed a plumbing supply store, but Thomas took them upstairs, where there was a closed door on each side of the hallway. One door was unmarked but the other read Thomas Donne, Private Detective. Thomas let them in.

  “This is nicer than your apartment,” Abe said.

  “Gotta make a good impression on clients. You know that.”

  The outer office had an unused air to it. The inner sanctum, however…. Thomas obviously spent a lot of time there. It smelled of him, in a pleasant way—cigarettes and Brilliantine, aftershave and rum. A large shelf was stuffed with books, a file cabinet lurked in a corner, and three chairs and a small table took up a good bit of space. But the star of the room was the massive desk, scarred yet sturdy, as if it had successfully made it through a war or two.

  Having removed his overcoat, hat, and suit coat, Thomas propped open a window before collapsing into his high-backed leather chair. He immediately began to roll a cigarette.

  Abe perched on the corner of the desk. “Where do you keep the booze?”

  “This isn’t a speakeasy.”

  But after glowering for a moment, Thomas reached into a desk drawer and produced a bottle of Bacardi. He brought out a pair of glasses and poured, filling Abe’s especially full. Then he watched with something akin to admiration as Abe gulped his and held out the glass for more.

  “Never seen anyone handle his liquor like you,” Thomas said, refilling.

  Abe gave a mock toast, not admitting out loud that he handled liquor a hell of a lot better than he handled sobriety. “All right, detective. How do we find this killer?”

  Thomas grumbled something that sounded like “We don’t,” then took a pen and black-covered notebook out of the center drawer, opened the book to a page near the middle, and looked at Abe.

  “Name everyone Gage knew.”

  Although Abe couldn’t begin to list everyone who had been acquainted with Roy, he tried his best. Boys that Roy had lurked with on street corners when he was younger. Men he’d taken to bed.

  “What about other people he’d worked for?”

  Abe shook his head. “He didn’t tell me about them. And I didn’t ask.”

  Thomas didn’t look pleased, and Abe didn’t blame him. It wasn’t a promising list. “What about your other employees?”

  “I have two other assistants, but they rarely work together.”

  “Names? Addresses?”

  “Do we have to drag them into this?”

  Thomas stared until Abe gave in.

  They walked down to the Embarcadero and dug up a few of Ray’s acquaintances, but most of them hadn’t even realized he was dead. Then they stopped for lunch—they went Dutch—before hitting the streets again. They got nowhere.

  “I’d never have the patience for this line of work.” Abe leaned against a building and watched smoke rise from Thomas’s cigarette.

  “Then go home.”

  Abe grinned at him, although he suspected it wasn’t seen. Thomas was staring at the streetcars in front of the Ferry Building. He finally said, “What if we went to his room?”

  “You think somebody might have seen something?”

  “No. But maybe his spirit’s there. He can tell you himself who did it.”

  “Unlikely.”

  Thomas insisted, however, and since they were closer to the YMCA, Abe figured they might as well go there first. Roy’s spirit was just as likely to be there as at the Ambassador. But when Abe roamed the halls, all he encountered was a sailor who’d died five years earlier and wasn’t ready to accept the need to move on.

  “There’s nothing for you here,” Abe told him patiently; he’d had this same conversation with other spirits. Thomas looked on, brow furrowed.

  “I was only nineteen,” lamented the spirit.

  “I know. But you’re never going to get a day older than that. Stop torturing yourself over what you can’t have.”

  “I miss my family.”

  “And I’m sure they miss you. But kid, everyone’s time on this side is limited. Sooner or later they’ll join you.” That was a promise Abe couldn’t back up with facts, but he thought it was true. He hoped so.

  “I’m lonely.”

  “That’s because you’re insisting on sticking where you don’t belong. Let go. Then you won’t be lonely anymore.”

  Abe couldn’t see spirits any more than he could see electricity, but he imagined that this one was biting its spectral lip as it considered. Poor kid. Hanging around this place for so long, and his only hope for company was Abe, who didn’t have time or energy to comfort all the spirits who came his way.

  “I have to go,” Abe said. “And so do you.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “If there was anything in the beyond to be scared of, it would’ve already got you. You’ll be fine.”

  After a brief pause, the spirit disappeared. There was no way to tell whether it had taken Abe’s advice or merely moved somewhere else for the time being. Abe slumped against the wall and looked at Thomas. “I need a drink.”

  “You look like hell.”

  “Like I said, I need a drink.”

  They found a speakeasy only two blocks away, and Abe had four shots of rye while Thomas nursed one and watched him. Abe was starting on his fifth when Thomas finally spoke, gesturing at Abe’s glass. “Explain.”

  Abe didn’t want to. But Thomas was a fucking detective who’d gnaw and tug until he got the answers he sought. “Getting close to the veil like that, it….” Drained him. Tore him. Pulled him so firmly that one day he’d give in. “It hurts.” He lifted the glass. “This helps. And don’t give me your damned pity, because I don’t want it. Probably don’t deserve it.”

  Thomas simply shook his head.

  They went to the Ambassador after that, which was blessedly free of any spirits, including Roy’s. Then they stopped by Helen’s apartment, nearby. She didn’t answer the door. Probably off enjoying a late Sunday afternoon with her girlfriend.

  “Rosie lives close to your apartment,” Abe said. “But I don’t know if she’s home.”

  “We can try.”

  They walked together, a tiny island of silence among the bustle of the street. When they paused before crossing a street, Thomas turned his head slightly. “Is it always like that for you? How can you stand it?”

  Not pity, Abe thought, but an honest question. “Booze. And I usually keep myself pretty closed off—like putting in earplugs, you know? That helps.”

  “But you opened yourself up to look for Gage.”

  “I said I’d help you.”

  Rosie lived two stories above a jazz club, and her building was in better shape than Thomas’s. It even had an elevator. When Abe knocked on her door, she answered right away, wrapped in a pink bath
robe and with her hair a bit mussed, as if she’d just woken from a nap. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of Thomas.

  “Sorry to disturb you, sweetheart,” Abe said. “Detective Donne here wants to ask you a few questions.”

  Now she looked alarmed. “Detective?”

  “Private eye. Rosie, Roy’s dead.”

  She covered her mouth with her hand. She’d carried a bit of a torch for Roy at first—she and Helen both, with his good looks—and knowing he wasn’t interested in dames hadn’t made much of a difference. Fortunately for everyone, the women’s interest had cooled, and the three of them had become friends of a sort. “What happened?” she asked.

  “Murdered. Donne’s trying to figure out by who.”

  Nodding mutely, she stepped back to let them in.

  Abe had been to Rosie’s place three or four times before, but only briefly, stopping by to pick her up before a show. She had two rooms plus a bathroom, and she’d made efforts to make her apartment homelike. Knickknacks were scattered here and there, and a few bright pillows decorated the shabby furniture. She’d hung magazine photos on the wall: a few glamorous Hollywood stars and some exotic travel locales.

  She sat heavily on her unmade bed and waved Abe and Thomas toward chairs. “I probably have something to drink,” she said vaguely. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes looked misty.

  “Don’t worry about it, sister,” Thomas said. He wasn’t gentle about it yet somehow implied sympathy. He pulled his pen and black notebook from his pocket. “Do you know who might have done it?”

  “No, I….” She squared her shoulders. “I don’t know. Was it a robbery?”

  “Maybe.”

  Thomas hadn’t mentioned that possibility to Abe. Before Abe could comment on it, though, Thomas pushed on. “What makes you ask?”

  “He had some money lately. I don’t know where from. Roy is—was—like that. He’d get some dough and live high for a little while until he was broke again. I used to tell him he should put some away.” She looked down at her clasped hands. “I guess that doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Who else knew he was flush?”

  “Everyone, probably. He liked to brag. Show off, you know?”

  “These people he’d show off to, mostly friends of his? Would any of them murder him for his money?”

  Her bleak expression answered for her. Roy had been acquainted with some rough men, some of them maybe desperate enough to kill over very little. He thought he was tougher than they were.

  Thomas had a few more questions, but Rosie didn’t have much in the way of answers, and soon he gave up. “Thanks for your time,” he said, standing up.

  As Abe and Rosie stood, she asked him, “You want me there at one tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I should cancel tomorrow’s séance.” His experiences over the past few days had left him feeling exhausted, and he could afford to take a few days off. Besides, he wanted to stick close to Thomas.

  Rosie set a hand on Abe’s arm. “It’s really nice of you to pay for a detective. I bet the cops don’t care at all that Roy’s dead. They’ll never do anything about it.”

  “I’m not paying.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Then who is?”

  Abe looked at Thomas, who merely stood there like a monolith in a cheap suit. “He won’t tell me,” Abe admitted.

  That only added to her confusion. She cocked her head and squinted. “Then what are you doing with him, Abe? Why are you—” Her eyes widened and then her lips pressed tight together. She was a very perceptive woman. “Abe.”

  “It’s— Don’t worry, sweetheart. I do want Roy’s killer caught. And I’m hoping he’s not after me. You be careful too, you hear? Don’t trust anyone.”

  Her smile was brittle. “I never do.”

  Rosie walked them to the door. She gave Thomas a curt nod when he said good-bye and caught Abe’s arm before he could follow Thomas down the hallway. “You’re the one who needs to be careful. That man is dangerous.”

  “All men are dangerous, sweetheart.”

  13

  Back on the street, Thomas looked at his new shadow. “Go home. We’re not getting anywhere.”

  “You’re not giving up this easily, are you?”

  “I need to think.”

  Abe gave him an already-familiar grin, one that said he knew he was irresistible. “You might as well think during dinner.”

  Thomas should have made him leave. Abe wasn’t his partner and shouldn’t be tagging along. Only… it was nice to have company with meals. Fine. Abe could scram after they ate.

  Thomas flagged down a taxi and Abe scrambled in beside him, eager as a puppy. It wasn’t a long trip, not much over a mile, but Thomas was footsore and not in the mood to scale hills. The car let them off just a couple of blocks from his office.

  “Italian.” Abe sounded pleased as he followed Thomas inside.

  Although Thomas liked the food at Fior’s, he couldn’t often afford to eat there. Still, the owner, Marianetti, had a seemingly perfect memory of every customer who stepped foot in his restaurant. He greeted Thomas like a long-lost friend. “Mr. Donne! It’s been so long since we’ve seen you.”

  “You have a table free?”

  “For you? Of course!”

  They checked their hats and coats and followed him to a spot in the back, where the dim lighting lent a cozy ambience. “You want to start with some red coffee?” Marianetti asked with a wink. “Or maybe you brought your own drinks.”

  “Red coffee, sure. And if you could find some grappa?”

  “I might.” Marianetti handed them menus and bustled away.

  They made the owner a very happy man that night. Abe drank several cups of red coffee—wine—and most of a bottle of grappa, and Thomas ordered enough food to fill even his stomach: oysters, prosciutto with fruit, bread-and-cheese soup, ravioli, and osso buco. Abe ate his share, too, and did most of the talking. He had stories about New York City and San Francisco, and even a tale about a coffeehouse his father would take him to in Budapest when Abe was very young. “He’d give me paper and pencils and tell me to practice my letters, but mostly I drew pictures.”

  “You were an artist?”

  “I was never any good at it. But I liked being there with my father. The cakes were good too. Have you ever had Dobos torte?”

  “No.”

  “It seemed like it had a hundred layers.” Abe switched from dreamy to thoughtful. “I wonder if there’s someplace in San Francisco to get it.”

  “Not here at Fior’s.”

  That grin again. “I’ll be satisfied with the poached pears.”

  Nothing in their conversation was important, and it certainly wasn’t going to help solve the case, but Thomas was happy to stretch things out. Sitting with Abe among a sea of other diners, all of them eating and talking, he felt for once as if he wasn’t alone. As if maybe somehow, somewhere, there might be a place for him.

  And pigs would fly.

  Thomas and Abe sat quietly after the meal, relaxing with cigarettes and strong coffee. Out of habit, Thomas scanned the room, and every time he brought his attention back to his own table, Abe was staring at him. “Why a private detective?” Abe finally asked.

  “It pays the bills.”

  “I’ve seen your apartment. You could do better working the docks.”

  “It’s none of your business why I do it.”

  “Nope, it ain’t,” Abe said cheerfully. “But I think you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  ‘’’Cause nobody’s ever asked you before and it’s nice that someone cares enough to wonder.”

  The bastard’s words hit Thomas like a bullet, making his hands shake and ears roar. He almost got up and stormed out of the place. Let Abe pay the damn bill. But he knew that if he stepped outside, the open air would press down on him and steal his breath, and the ground would pitch and roll under his feet.

  “I was a copper before
the war, and then again after. A bobby. Decided to go out on my own when I came to the States. Less trouble that way.” He scowled at Abe, who was squinting at him. “What?”

  “I’m trying to picture you in the black uniform and the tall helmet with the shiny star on it.”

  “I prefer a suit.”

  “Sure. But you’d look good in the uniform, I bet. Imposing.”

  That wasn’t even worth a response. Thomas knew that Abe was needling him. Goading him. Hoping he would respond by dragging him to his office and fucking the insolence out of him. Which wasn’t an unattractive scenario, except Thomas knew that no amount of sex would make Abe less audacious.

  “Why’d you become a policeman in the first place? And don’t tell me it was because it paid the bills.”

  “Who says I put that much thought into it? If a job comes when you need one, you take it.”

  Abe looked as if he was going to say something but stopped. He toyed with his empty coffee cup, stained red from the wine. When he spoke, he kept his gaze fixed on the table. “Birdie told me a few things about you.”

  Thomas swore under his breath. “I’m none of your business. I’m not—”

  “I didn’t ask him; he just shared. Things he wanted me to know, although I don’t know why. So don’t be angry at me, and there’s no use being angry at him either. He’s dead.”

  Punching the bastard would make Marianetti angry, but Thomas clenched his hands into fists anyway. If Abe noticed, which he likely did, he apparently didn’t care. “You came from a rich family. Nannies, public school, holidays abroad. Policeman is an unusual career choice for someone like that. And you were only a private in the army. Why?”

  “Ask bloody Birdie,” Thomas growled.

  “He’s not here right now, and I can’t face more spirits today.”

  Damn this magician and his smug face! “I walked away from my family when I was seventeen. My father would have disowned me at any rate.”

  “Because?”

  “We agreed on nothing. I got into fights at school and drank when I was home. I wasn’t interested in marrying any of his friends’ daughters. And when my older brother confronted me about my behavior, I beat him so badly he ended up in hospital.”