The Case of the Bouncing Betty

by Michael Avallone

  “Let me coax her, Lonny. I’ll get all the answers you want in nothing flat.”

  That was when I decided to break the ice. I threw my head back and laughed. Out loud. I howled as if I had just heard Jimmy Durante’s best joke. Sure, it was crazy. But it got results. Lonny and Bucky stopped scaring the hell out of my poor fat client long enough to stare at me and wonder just what padded cell I had gotten out of. That’s the way the goon mentality works. If you laugh at two guys with .45’s trained on you, you have to be crazy.

  “Bim Caesar’s boys, eh?” I mocked their incredulous kissers. “Well, I can’t say I’m really surprised. I really didn’t expect too much headwork from either of you. Tell me when you’re both wide awake and I’ll tell you something worth knowing.”

  Bucky’s gun hand was making a jaw-splitting arc toward my unprotected chin when Lon cursed and knocked his arm to one side. Something about me was bothering him. I could tell why. I was forcing him to think and plan and he didn’t like it a bit.

  “Never mind the speeches, shamus. Spit it out.”

  I smiled which further confused the pair of them.

  “If I spit I promise you I won’t miss either of you. Look, you pair of Einsteins, do you need a brass band to get the picture? Two minutes before you crashed the party in here, somebody unloaded on Artel with a high-powered rifle from the roof across the street. Mr. Artel isn’t on the floor because he’s sleeping off a drunk. Now I don’t know too much about anything but I do know my cops. This is a damn lively neighborhood. There’s a bar across the street, a chop suey joint and office buildings and stuff like that there. We even got a luncheonette on the corner with a tailor shop and a laundromat thrown in for extras. Want more? What I’m trying to tell you about is all the people that live on this block. Two to one the cops are on the way right now. Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if they were just getting into the downstairs elevator. So if you want to hang around here and talk or play charades or checkers, that’s your funeral. But it strikes me we could talk elsewhere or at the very least make an appointment for tomorrow. Unless of course, you prefer to continue this conversation piece in jail?”

  Two things happened in unison upon the completion of my homely narrative. Bucky’s hands took me apart in effigy about ninety times but his slits of eyes needed the go-ahead signal from Lon. And Lon’s brighter eyes only showed grudging admiration for my appreciation of the niceties of time and place. Also, I could see the absent Bim Caesar working for me too. I’d heard of Bim Caesar’s rewards for dumb operators on his payroll.

  Betty Heck had stopped shaking long enough to enjoy her reprieve.

  Lon made up his mind in a hurry.

  “Fair enough, big mouth. But we’re taking Fatso here with us. Bim’s place. I guess you know where it is. And don’t bring no cops with you because as far as we’re concerned we’ve never even met you yet. Get it?”

  “I get it, Lon. But you’d better git.” I put my arms down. They felt like lead balloons. “Don’t worry about the cops. I wash my own dirty dishes and Bim Caesar’s upholstered dive is as good a place as any. What time?”

  “Eight thirty, cowboy. And remember. We got Fatso. If you want her back like you see her now, you’ll try nothing funny.”

  Betty Heck started to blubber again. I tried to reassure her. But what could I do? She was scared and she had hired me but they had all the cards. And all the cards were the two .45’s.

  I watched them go, pushing the still blubbering Miss Heck ahead of them. They left almost as suddenly as they had come but not before Bucky had given the fallen Mr. Artel as thorough a body frisk as I have ever seen. He didn’t take his time doing it either. He didn’t find whatever he was looking for. Not from where I sat. The dumb negative he flashed his tall partner was proof enough of that.

  Bucky did one curious thing though. He plucked Artel’s carnation off one camel-haired lapel and inserted it in his own. On Artel it had looked scrumptious. On Bucky, it looked tragic.

  I shot one more look of reassurance at Betty Heck before they herded out of sight through the doorway. I listened for the sound of the elevator car taking them down.

  I sat down behind the desk and helped myself to the bottle of Schenley’s. I turned my chair around so I could stare at Mr. Artel’s body sprawled across the small floor of the mouse auditorium. A small pool of blood had eddied out from his side, thickened and dried an ugly black.

  I kept thinking of one thing. Betty Heck. The Bouncing Betty.

  I didn’t get it all.

  Frankly, she baffled me. She talked and drank like a truckdriver but in front of guns and hard times she was like the frightened ingenue in a third rate play who has to faint four or five times during the course of one performance. I didn’t get it. What was there so awfully terrible that could scare the wits out of a female who was built like a Sherman tank? Threat of death is one thing but was there something else–?

  I was still thinking about it ten minutes later when the voice of the law sounded outside. Sirens wailed away like banshees reveling in a cemetery on All Hallow’s Eve. They’d made good time.

  I flung a glance at my watch. Almost five fifteen. That snapped me up straight. I was still holding the bag. Corpse was more like it.

  And it was high time I started living up to my reputation. I had a couple of tricks in my own bag. Sitting around worrying about Betty Heck wasn’t going to solve anything.

  Scooping up my .45, I holstered it, turned out the office lights, closed the door and dashed for the fire exit down the hallway. The muffled hum of the elevator in motion reached me as I closed the door softly behind me. I made it up to the roof in nothing flat.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Getting out ahead of the law was the best thing I could think of. This was one time when I was going to claim I’d been three other places when Mr. Artel got his. The cops and I have been very good for each other in the past but I’d been in their hair too many times for them to exactly love me. Beside which they wouldn’t quite understand why I hadn’t phoned the kill in the first place. Much more besides that, I had things to do.

  I scooted across the tarred surface of the roof, bridged the gap to the next one with a running jump, had a rougher time with the building alongside that one, but finally got to the roof of the corner one without too much trouble or feeling too old about the whole thing. The rooftops were deserted so I enjoyed my second childhood in peace. I could still hear the police sirens yammering away as I descended to the sidewalk. The corner building was a combination office-and-warehouse type and even though I ran into a couple of peons in overalls on the stairs they didn’t bother their heads about me much. I walk pretty fast and can look damn authorative when I have to.

  Outside on the still sunny sidewalk, the rubber-neckers were having a field day. Small wonder. Three squad cars were jammed up like lovers in front of my building and four big cops were pushing everybody back trying to restore some dignity to their jobs. I didn’t understand what half the excitement was about. After all just one lousy shot had been fired. But I guess when you got that rubber in your neck, you don’t need a good reason.

  I squeezed through some hurrying rubbernecks, crossed the street and eased over to the entrance of the building just across from mine. The place didn’t have much of a door. Just a slab of plate glass with three names neatly gold-lettered in three inch Gothic.

  JOSEPH LUDWIG, D.D.S. had top billing. The line underneath was ACME TELEVISION REPAIR SERVICE and the bottom dog was CHIN’S CHOP SUEY PALACE.

  Well, Chin’s was what I wanted and it wasn’t because I’d gotten a sudden urge for chop suey. I got inside in a hurry and took the stone steps three at a time.

  The third floor is a screwy place for a chop suey palace but Tommy Chin had done all right with it. The joint was generally jumping with trade because it was a good place to eat in crowded Manhattan. Space being what it is, Tommy had tried to move Ludwig, the ground floor dentist out by waving some long green under his nose but J
oseph L. had a damn good practice and was too old to struggle up three flights of stairs. Put that all together and you’ll get a pretty good idea why Chin’s Chop Suey Palace is on the top floor of a three story building.

  I pushed through the curtained entrance which was a pitiful attempt at Oriental mood and the neatly dressed, black-haired Number One Chin son bowed politely above his menu card. Number One was a swell kid. But he wasn’t the end of the Chin line. Tommy had three other Chins. All sons. Right now, they were in college.

  “Ah, Mr. Noon,” Number One showed me all his perfect teeth. “My father will be delighted. Honor to our humble place of business.” He clapped his hands smartly.

  “Nix, Number One,” I smiled down at his boyish face. “I’ll take a raincheck. But I’d like to see your father. It’s important.”

  Number One was all set to wade through another string of Chinese culture and humility when Tommy Chin burgeoned through a curtain in the rear and threaded his way gracefully through a veritable flock of crowded-together, empty tables. I was slightly surprised but then again it was early and who feels like eating chop suey at five in the afternoon?

  Tommy Chin out-bowed his Number One son.

  “Delighted. Delighted,” he chirped. “Swell see you again, Mr. Noon.” Number One looked pained for his father’s East and West word weddings but I winked.

  “That’s mutual, Tommy. But I’m in a hurry. No chop suey, no wonderful Chinese philosophy. We’ll save it for a pot of your tea some time. Right now, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

  Tommy Chin spread his delicate hands.

  “I am as always at your service.” He bowed again.

  “Which way to the roof, Tommy? I’ve got to get up there on the double to check on a few things. That’s if it’s all right with you.”

  He smiled. “When a friend for whom you would obtain a piece of the sky wants only a glimpse from your rooftop, what would you reply? Chop-chop, help yourself, my friend.”

  “Thanks, Tommy. Be back in a minute if you’ll just show me the way.”

  He turned gracefully and led the way. He re-threaded his way back among the tables toward the curtained alcove and I followed. When we reached the curtain, I could see it was badly faded, second-hand and greatly enhanced by the dim lighting. I tried to spare Tommy’s Oriental blushings by making a lot of small talk but he managed to point out a small door leading off from a cluttered storage room with great dignity.

  I told him I could take it from there so he bowed again and went back into the restaurant. I stoop-shouldered my way up a rickety wooden staircase, swung back a rusted, sheet-metal door and sunlight bounced into my face and blinded me. I blinked and stepped out onto the tarred roof.

  It was a pipe. From where I was standing I could see it was a pipe.

  A mere thirty feet separated the door from the edge of the roof. Only the edge was a curved parapet with a nicely cutout section that was practically an embrasure. Like that Foreign Legion fort in Beau Geste. I took up a comfortable position in it and stared down at the world of the West Fifties.

  But I wasn’t interested in the street. No sir. I had a direct line on my office window on the other side. The broken window. Anyone standing where I was could look right down into my office. And they’d have a whale of a view and thanks to the cut-out in the parapet wouldn’t attract too much attention doing it either.

  I shook my head. It might have been no more than twenty-five yards but right now I could see that my office was swarming with activity. Hatted heads and brass buttons were framed in the window space, moving back and forth, setting up wheels of commotion. Typical police beehive in my own little mouse auditorium. Detective Lieutenant Hadley’s paunch shoved into view at one point and I was satisfied. I’d had what I wanted to have. Anyone taking rifle practice from here would know exactly who they were practicing on. There was no guesswork involved. Mr. Artel had been dropped by somebody who wanted to drop Mr. Artel.

  I squeezed out of the aperture and dusted the tar particles off my fingers. Then I explored the immediate area around me.

  I didn’t find what I was looking for. There wasn’t a cigarette butt in sight, much less the four or five stubs I’d expected to find to indicate a long vigil on the part of the Annie or Andy Oakley who’d been there before me. Of course, maybe my killer didn’t smoke. But I wouldn’t bet against it. This was a professional job by a professional killer. Or at least it had all the earmarks. The use of a rifle, the selection of a perfect spot. And cigarettes and killers go hand in hand where I come from. So all I had was a real pro who had gotten into position, gotten a chance to go to work early and hadn’t hung around for the funeral. Not much but it was something.

  It seemed to show pretty plainly that Artel’s visit to my place was known beforehand and someone knew about the wonderful view from the roof of Chin’s Chop Suey Palace. I filed the thought away and looked around the roof some more.

  Sherlock Holmes, phooey. I should be so lucky. There were no butts, no dropped business card, no broken fingernail, no scent of an exotic perfume. No nothing. Not even the expended shell from the murder weapon. I got disgusted and went back down the rickety staircase and rejoined my Chinese friends.

  Tommy looked up from a yellow pile of receipts and smiled at me. He had two front teeth missing but it only made him look friendlier.

  “So? You are happy now, Mr. Noon?”

  “Overjoyed.” I looked at him. “Tommy, anything funny happen in here today? You know, like it’s never been before? See any new faces? Any new faces at all”

  “New faces? My customers are always the same ones.”

  He’d answered my question. There’d been no mysterious inspector from the Gas or Lighting Companies who wanted to look at the installations or junk like that. That gag’s been worked a thousand times. I looked around. Still, if someone knew about the roof, it would have been easy enough to slip behind the faded curtain, run up to the roof, snap the shot off and come back down without looking like they’d done more than go to the Powder Room.

  I shook hands with Tommy Chin, apologized for the brevity of my social call and left him and Number One son to get ready for business. I took the stone steps one at a time going down because speed was no longer necessary. And I had to look natural. Ed Noon coming back to his place of business without knowing a dead man was lying on his office floor.

  I’ll say I took my time. I went into Benny’s soft drink emporium for a quick one. Benny’s bar is just next to the building that houses the chop suey palace. Benny and I are a team because he’s an unofficial member of the Noon Private Detective Agency.

  He spotted me as soon as I sauntered in and took up a position near the door end of the bar. I waited until he made some change for a drunken patron and watched him puff toward me as fast as his bartender’s bulk would allow. His small friendly eyes were guarded.

  “Ed, a dick was in here a few minutes ago asking for you. Said I was to tell you to hightail up to your office as soon as you showed.” He simmered down and stared at me, the look on my face tipping him off. “That shooting awhile back. I thought it was a blowout or a backfire.”

  I smiled tiredly. “I was born to have business happen to me, Benny. Thanks for the message. I’m on my way in now. Tell me something first. See anybody come out of the building back a while?”

  Benny smiled. “The fat job? Couldn’t miss her. Fact is, Gus Frisby was having a beer and spit half of it out when he saw her. Called my attention to her, Gus did. Made a dirty crack about it. That’s how I noticed her. Man, what an elephant! What about her?”

  “Were there two guys with her?”

  Benny nodded. “That’s what Gus Frisby’s crack was. Said a dame like that would need two guys at the same time.”

  “This is important, Benny. Did they take a cab or a car of their own? Notice that?”

  Benny frowned. “They flagged a taxi right outside your place.” He thought a minute. “The cab went South. No mistake about that. Why–is
it important?”

  I shrugged. “I’m just trying to put two and two together without getting five. I met the gentlemen. They made me some promises. One of them was that they wouldn’t hurt the lady. The other was that they were taking her to Bim Caesar’s place. Bim Caesar’s place is south of here and if they took a cab, they were probably on the level. Their own car would have meant something different, that’s all.”

  Benny looked worried right away.

  “Bim Caesar’s nobody to be messin’ with. I wish you’d throw in with me, Ed. Why dontcha drop this racket? You’ll wind up with a slug in your gut yet.”

  “Sorry, Benjamin. To each his own.” I turned away. “Well, I better start making tracks. The boys from Headquarters ought to be dying to see me by now. I hope they haven’t burned any more holes in my furniture with their damn cigarettes.”

  Benny watched me go with a sigh. Good old Benny. Always worried about my young life. He was one of the few real friends I had. I wondered about a lot of other people. But I never wondered about Benny.

  There was a blue boy with brass buttons posted outside the entrance to my building. When I told him who I was I got an escort the rest of the way upstairs. He didn’t try to strong-arm me but he made damn sure I didn’t try to run away. His nightstick was out and dangling off his wrist.

  He practically pushed me ahead of him into the mouse auditorium. The place was crawling with cops by this time. I stood in the doorway and blinked. I made my face astounded and put my hands on my hips like an outraged citizen.

  “What in blue blazes,” I asked with distinct dignity, “is going on here? The Policeman’s Ball?”

  Detective Lieutenant Hadley moved his paunch away from behind my desk, his face showing mingled emotions of police anger and genuine amusement. He sighed wearily.