Dawn of Betrayal

by Max Grant

  Manny said, “Lenny, it’s good to meet ya. You and my pal here need to talk. I’m just gonna listen. We’re all alone up here, but we don’t want any excitement. None at all. He asks the questions. You give the answers. And when the sun comes up tomorrow, you’re still alive. You can scream, but if you do, something awful’s going to happen: pain, then more pain, then lots of pain, and then death. Get it?”

  Lenny was eyeballing the hanging wire and he looked like he was going to be sick.

  “Now I’m gonna pull the tape and you’re gonna keep your mouth shut until you’re asked to pipe up. Understood?”

  Lenny nodded rapidly and started to moan.

  Manny pulled the black handkerchief out of his left pants pocket. He bent over, shoved his knee roughly in Lenny’s chest, and secured the blindfold. We grabbed him by the arms and stood him up facing the car. Manny slapped the trunk shut.

  “Listen good, stupid. We’re going to get what we came here to get, one way or the other, and we could care less how you end up. If you help us, you get a second chance at life. If you don’t we’ll hurt you and leave you for your pals to finish off. What do you think they’re going to do to you once they know you’ve talked to us. My guess is that they will torture you until you’ve spilled your guts, and then kill you. We’re not like that Lenny. We’re here to help you. Now you help us and your troubles are over.”

  Manny ripped the tape off Lenny’s mouth and started to turn him toward the wall. I said, “Wait a minute amigo. He been rifled yet?”

  “I don’t guess we’ve had the opportunity up ‘til now. That was my next move.”

  I removed the wallet from the rear seat pocket of his trousers and set it on the trunk. I jammed my hands into his shirt pocket and both his front and rear pants pockets. All empty. I took off his shoes and checked them thoroughly. Nothing there. I looked through his wallet and found nothing more than a license to drive, his union card, a picture of some sorry-looking dame, and a wad of small bills.

  Manny was running his hands over the clothes and feeling the seams. He tipped up Lenny’s shirt collar and felt from one end to the other. He dropped the collar and paused, then reached over and raised the left corner again. He rubbed the seams between his fingers and said, “This feels kind of rough, and it’s thicker than the other side.” Lenny started to whimper.

  I walked around and started pulling the threads off the end of his collar. A small piece of cloth fell out and I just managed to catch it. I held it up to the moonlight and it appeared formatted like a teletype, only the writing was entirely illegible. In fact it was gibberish.

  The item was a tiny, thin flimsy of silk. I handed it to Manny.

  He studied it closely for a minute and said, “I know what this is. We were told to be on the look out for these in cases involving subversives. I was checking him for this kind of thing, given his associations. It’s a message, in code, printed on silk for easy concealment. We were told that Comintern spies use these for carrying instructions to the CPUSA and its domestic front organizations.”

  Lenny froze solid at that.

  Bingo! Now things were starting to get interesting. But I failed to see how this was connected with the attempted murder of Vivian Lane. Manny sat the punk back down against the wall and I began to ask him the questions we came here to have answered.

  “Tonight’s subject is Vivian Lane, Lenny. We want to know who called the hit on her, who did it, and why.”

  “That’s Murder One. I ain’t ratting out no one,” he whined.

  Manny slugged him hard in the face.

  “No way, man. I ain’t afraid of you guys.” But, he was sounding a little less cocky.

  “Okay, Lenny, have it your way. We’re going to take this to an entirely new level just so you can save us all some time.”

  Manny fitted the noose over Lenny’s head and attached a long thin cord to the back of the blindfold. He strung the cord through the bottom of the burlap bag and placed the bag once more over the punk’s head. He tied the cord and the wire from the noose at the bumper, again leaving plenty of slack for both.

  We hoisted him up onto the wall. He hadn’t yet seen what was on the other side. Or more to the point, what wasn’t.

  “Remember young man. If you scream we’re going to hang you by your scrawny little neck with this piano wire. How’d you like to be swinging from a noose with your hands tied behind your back?”

  “You ready Lenny? We got a bit of a surprise for you. But no squawking, got it? Take a deep breath.”

  I raised him up and heaved him over the wall as Manny threaded the rope over the fork in the pipe.

  Lenny came to an abrupt halt only about four feet below us and I could hear some squelched exclamation from beneath the bag.

  “Shut up!” Manny growled as we both took a seat on the wall.

  Lenny’s swaying carcass slowly came to rest facing away from us and at that moment Manny yanked on the small cord and popped the bag and blindfold off his head. The moonlight reflected harshly off of Lenny’s greased ducktail, and I could just see the sides of his bugged-out eyes.

  Lenny stifled a scream and started squirming for all he was worth.

  Manny said, “Like the view, Lenny? Don’t worry about the rope. It’s plenty tight. Worry about the knots, maggot. Particularly the one up here on the bumper I’ve got the bolt cutters on. Feel the slack on that noose? That’s all that’s going to catch you if I let go this rope. Keep that in mind as you answer the questions.”

  I started again. “Were you there?”

  “No!”

  “Then you got nothing to worry about except this 1,500 foot drop, after the wire’s snapped. Looking forward to taking that dive with a broken neck, man?

  “Let’s try again. Who did it?”

  “Oh man, oh man, oh man. I can’t talk about it. I won’t!” he gabbled.

  Manny took up the slack on the wire noose, gave it a smart tug and said, “Keep your voice down or I’ll choke it shut.” He tugged it again, harder.

  “All right, all right. It was Gus. Gus Shafter. The union boss. It was his idea. He sent Joey Boyle and some other smart boy, Ollie Tragg.

  “Why’d it happen?

  “Some fool dame down at the union office put her name back on the list, the A-list as it turns out. Miss Lane got something in the mail she wasn’t supposed to see.”

  “What was it?”

  “It was a notice for an upcoming meeting, but it was only supposed to go out to card-carrying members. CPUSA only. No dopes.”

  “A meeting about what?”

  “The usual stuff Gus is involved with.”

  “Spill it Lenny.”

  “You know. Operational security, weapons acquisition, updates on various local projects, coordination with larger programs, progress on Comintern directives.”

  “So why did Vivian have to get whacked?”

  “When Gus found out about the letter that went out, he pinned a tail on her. Ollie followed her to your office. They thought she went there to show you the letter. Ollie called it in to Gus. Gus ordered the hit. Ollie met up with Boyle and they hit her after she showed up back at her place.

  “Gus called a hit on you and your secretary too. They were planning to do it later that evening, but when they tossed Miss Lane’s place for the letter, they found it unopened with a bunch of other mail on the hall table. She’d already been shot, so they wrapped her in a carpet and took her up to the hills and dumped her.”

  “Very good Lenny,” I whispered. “You’re doing fine.”

  “Yeah, it was a big screw up. Too late for her, but they called the hit off for you.”

  “Nice of ‘em. I’ll be sure to thank Gus next time I see him.”

  Manny was just sitting there shaking his head with a murderous look pasted on his mug.

  “OK, Lenny, the Comintern memo. What the hell’s it about?”

  “Aw man, they’re gonna kill me for sure if I talk to you about that.”

 
“Stow it Lenny. You’re dead already unless you get us to help you. We’re not gonna help you if you don’t help us.”

  “It won’t do no good man,” he pleaded. “I tell you about this, they’ll track me down to the ends of the earth. You can’t help me.”

  “Maybe you’re right Lenny. In that case you got two choices: die tonight or die tomorrow. Whaddaya want it to be? Look Lenny, either we cut that rope and ride out of here tonight, or we set you up with a second chance: no commies, no blackmail. Choose now.”

  The punk was bawling like a jilted schoolgirl. Finally he got it together.

  “All right boys, it’s this way. Those are instructions I’m carrying for Gus. They’re relating to a project somewhere in New Mexico Gus has been running for the Soviets. Industrial stuff, stealing secrets, I’m not exactly sure what kind.”

  “Can you read this Lenny?”

  “Yeah, I can read some of it, but I never wanted to. Never did yet, and still don’t want to.”

  “But you will, won’t you Lenny? So what’s the scoop in New Mexico?”

  “Gus’s running this gang out there, some local band of hillbillies called the Clantons. Don’t know nothing more about them. Just know they’ve got a line on some business out there that’s doing things the Soviets are interested in.”

  Manny gave me the nod and we hauled Lenny up and over and sat him back down against the wall. I shoved the scrap of silk into his hand and shone the torch on it.

  “OK, so what’s this flimsy got to say?”

  “The New Mexico business is being done for the Industrial Reports Section of the GRU through Shafter’s secret apparat. I don’t know exactly what they’re looking at, but usually they steal an example and ship it to the Soviets for reverse engineering. There isn’t a very large organization in New Mexico, just some small specialized cells from what I can gather. I believe Shafter is using those petty grifters, the Clantons, again. They’re basically simple thieves and smugglers. Their job is to steal the merchandise and get it to the port and on a ship to the USSR. According to this message, the freighter is named the Aurora something or other, and she sails on the 27th of next month bound for Murmansk via Rotterdam.”

  “What merchandise?”

  “I don’t know. This doesn’t say. Something classified, no doubt. But I heard the name Reismuller once in connection with New Mexico. I believe they are supposed to lift it off some putz named Reismuller.”

  “And who were you taking this to?”

  “Seaman name of Vornetz. He comes and goes; probably a courier for the Comintern. I was on the way to the International Club to trade shirts with him. From the looks of this message, it’s intended to relay the delivery schedule to Moscow.”

  “All right, Lenny. You done good tonight. Now are you gonna take advantage of this opportunity we’re giving you to back out of this racket, or are you committed to the worker’s paradise?”

  “Hell no, man! I mean yes! Yes!! I’m out. I’m out for good now. You guys promised! Jesus! Get me out of here!!”

  “Relax Lenny.” I told him. “Being as you had nothing to do with what went down with Miss Vivian, we don’t have to kill you right now. Fact is, we’re feeling extra generous tonight. So we’re not even going to beat the living shit out of you.”

  “Aw, the hell with that,” Manny complained. “Can’t we just toss him back and leave him hanging here? We don’t know he’s telling the truth. Someone’ll find him.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” I considered. “So Lenny, how is it anyway that you missed out on the Lane hit? And how did you know so much about it?”

  “I tell ya. I’m just a gofer. They don’t trust me with the big stuff. I’m not even a Party man. Not even a shop foreman. I didn’t hear about it ‘til Ollie come back and ran his big mouth. He thought it was funny the dame never saw the letter. Had to tell everybody. It made me sick. I liked her stuff. Liked it plenty. I ain’t no Commie. I just got a little too involved in the union, and the side money was good. I didn’t know they were going to start whacking movie stars!”

  Manny rolled his eyes and said, “Shit, can’t we at least cripple this bum.”

  “Naw, no need for that. I think he’s got a story to tell. I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry. If Lenny jumps sideways, I’ll put the squeal on him to that dirty shyster Ulinovsky and tie him to a tree somewhere they can find him fast. You do so much as a head-fake Lenny, I’m feeding you to those sharks.”

  Still, I wanted to dig a little deeper. I edged my Size 10 in his ribs for effect.

  “What’s the real deal with you anyway? What made you decide to associate with these schmucks.”

  “It’s not because I believe a damn word they say,” he whined. “I know what their game is: lying, cheating, stealing, manipulating, and killing. They’re the biggest bunch of happy hypocrites on God’s green earth. But ol’ Shafter’s got the goods on me, and I’ve had to play along to stay out of jail. That’s one reason I use the long nose. I figured anything I could learn might be of use later. You grabbed the right pigeon.”

  “So Lenny, would you like to see Shafter dead.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Well, good. Wherever you end up, keep your eye on the newspapers. I’ll make you this promise. Shafter’s dead already. He just doesn’t know it yet. Oh, and just out of curiosity, who is this other Vivian Lane anyway?”

  “She’s some artist type and society hostess lives somewhere in Beverly Hills. She’s harmless; just throws a few upscale parties now and again to get the big guys together. She’s on the A-list ‘cause she knows everybody.”

  I rolled my eyes and Manny shook his head in disgust. He reached over and pulled the steel pipe out of its hole, walked on down to the end of the wall and stashed it. Lenny went back into the trunk and we motored out of there. We took the first grade down to Malibu and the Coast Highway back to the harbor.

  As I dropped Manny off, he laughed, “Sometime I’ll have to show you the other places we use. One’s way to hell and gone out in the middle of the desert in San Bernardino County.”

  * * *

  Donovan Hardy is an Assistant DA out of the downtown office. It was fairly well known that he kept several safe houses for different types of stooges. He was still heavily involved with the state’s Un-American Activities Committee and knew Yuki from that business with the studios last November. Hardy also had known Manny for a while now and I had to be very careful to keep Manny’s name out of this.

  “Hello, Donovan? James here. Yeah, Raymond James. Apologies for calling so late. I got this punk with me. He’s been browbeat by the local Communists. He wants to talk. He doesn’t want to testify. I thought you might like to pick his brains, maybe toss him to the Feds. He’s clean. There’s nothing on him, but he’s gonna need help. You want?”

  Hardy sounded cautious. “Where’d he come from?”

  “I’m working a case for Magnum. You remember that starlet that almost got whacked the other night? Well, this clown popped up. I got what I wanted from him, but there’s a whole lot more. He’s in with the dockworker’s union and some Soviet-controlled scum in their leadership I believe you’re familiar with. I think he’s got a lot to tell you about what’s going on down there in San Pedro.”

  “Is that so? I’ve heard we got some related smuggling, thieving and subversion problems with those characters down there at the harbor. I’ve been curious myself if they might have a connection with the propaganda problems we’re following up here in Hollywood.”

  “I’ve been doing a lot of looking on my own lately, with Yuki’s help, and I think you got more of the same problems in other places: libraries, schools, probably right there in City Hall. Someday we’re going to have to sit down and share our dirt.”

  “Can do. I’ll take him, by the way. I’ll be downtown after 9:00 tomorrow. Use the back door.”

  “OK, I’ll drop him off in the morning.”

  Donovan would take care of Lenny and keep him off the streets unti
l he found some Fed that was interested in talking to him.

  * * *

  Back from Donovan’s I grabbed the desk phone and pulled on the dial. “Manny, were there any auto accidents in your neck of the woods last night?”

  “Matter of fact there was. A pair of jokers ate it up on the Peninsula. Missed a construction barricade in the fog, it looks like.”

  “Any ID on ‘em?”

  “We haven’t got a make yet on the youngster that was driving. He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll make it. The passenger was one Joey “the Mick” Boyle, a union enforcer with the dockworkers. Today, he’s toasting marshmallows in Hell.”

  “One down. Two to go.”

  “Yeah. You got that right. Where’s Lenny?”

  “The DA’s got him. I don’t think we’ll be hearing from him again. I heard he’s moving east.”

  “What’s next?”

  “I got a call in to Moe. I’ll call you when I find out.”

  “Later, Ray. My love to Yuki.”

  March 1948

  Monday, the 1st of the month, was uneventful and I spent most of the morning with my feet up perusing the weekend papers. The leg men had learned that Vivian was alive, but had few other details to report. I spent the rest of the day figuring on how to best put to the use the information we’d sweated from Lenny. Then I started laying some plans.

  “Yuki, you busy tonight?”

  “No, I’ve seen all the movies that are out there right now.”

  “Let’s go have dinner then. What’ll it be?”

  “Guess.”

  “OK, Little Tokyo it is. Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll pick you up out front.”

  “No, it looks nice out there this evening. I’ll walk over to the garage with you.”

  Ten minutes later we found the Merc in its usual space on the second floor next to the ramp. I opened her door and got her seated, walked around to the other side and got in.

  I was fumbling for the key when she remarked, “Ray, the car smells funny. I smell fuel, don’t you?”

  I jammed the key in the ignition and absently replied, “Not really, this old flivver always smells like gas. Tires and oil, too.”