The Case of the Bouncing Betty

by Michael Avallone

  But you couldn’t tell that to the big man surging over the lip of the desk in front of him. You couldn’t tell Bim Caesar anything even if you could sell it to him. I could see that. A moment of silence hung in the room as he rotated the cigar in his mouth to one side.

  “Never mind the wise snaps, Noon. Close the door, Cuba. We gotta lot to discuss with our friend here.” His small eyes measured me and those thick lips I’d remembered moistened the cigar end. “Take a chair and keep your ears open.”

  Cuba, my waiter escort, did as he was told. I did as I was told. There was one empty chair in the room. Right across from Bim Caesar. I looked around at the four other men seated in cushiony chairs. I could tell immediately they all had something in common. They were all carrying guns, worked for Bim Caesar and hated me. That was a peachy start.

  “Well,” Bim Caesar growled. “You looking for something you lost, Noon?”

  I smiled. “It sounds silly, I know, but I seem to have misplaced a four hundred and forty pound woman. Name of Heck. Elizabeth Heck. You know where she might be?”

  I had said something funny. A volcanic laugh charged out of Bim Caesar’s big belly. The five other guys in the room chimed in like Yes Men on cue.

  He stopped laughing almost as fast as he had started and his small eyes targeted in on me again.

  “You’re a scream, Noon. Just like those wisecrackers in the comics. Real tough joker, eh? Well, don’t push Bim Caesar into no corners. Or you don’t push no more. Know what I mean? I ask the questions.”

  All I could do was shrug. The odds were lousy again anyway.

  “Shoot,” I said.

  He relighted his cigar with an overly-jeweled lighter close by his hand.

  “My two boys tell me you got an interest in this lady. They also tell me that my good friend Mr. Artel had an accident in your office. They tell me all those things and I don’t like to hear them. They come back from your place empty-handed. I don’t like that either.”

  “It’s a bad year all around, Mr. Caesar,” I said. “How are Lon and Bucky? They ran out on me before I could offer them any tea.”

  A chair scraped warningly behind me but a frosty glance from Bim Caesar told the chair-scraper to relax, that he wanted me to put my foot in deeper.

  “Joke, Noon. All you want. Make the funny. But I got you right where you’ll feel it the most. Now, I’m going to ask some questions. I want the right answers. No smart talk.”

  “Shoot,” I said again.

  “In your hat,” someone rasped behind me. “Wise guy.”

  Bim Caesar’s eyes pinned the speaker somewhere behind me. “Dominic, shut up! Please! I’ll handle Noon.” His eyes came back to me almost mildly. “Make much money, Noon?”

  “Hardly enough. But enough.”

  “Don’t play dumb. I’ll throw a nice piece of change your way if you play ball with me.”

  “Make me an offer.”

  “Good.” He seemed pleased. “Artel and me make a big deal. It’s not important you should know what that was. But if he told you about it, that’s something else again. But what I do care about is much different. I want to know now–did he give you anything before he died?” He pushed forward in his chair so that his fat middle seemed to flow over the desk in front of him.

  I shook my head.

  “Believe me when I tell you I don’t know a thing about what your deal was with Artel. And he didn’t leave a damn thing with me except the impression that he was a smart cookie with lousy manners.”

  “Don’t monkey with Bim Caesar,” he growled low in his throat.

  “Ave Caesar, te salutamas,” I said tiredly.

  His eyes got round and stupid.

  “Whaddya say?” He hadn’t understood me.

  I got up.

  “Look, Mr. Caesar. All I know is the fat gal paid me one hundred bucks because her life was in danger. That’s all. I know she worked for Sleep-Tite. Then Mr. Artel popped into my place and got himself knocked off. Then Lou and Bucky waltzed in and then out with the lady leaving me holding the bag. See what I mean? So don’t expect the news of the day from me or secret information. The answer’s simple. I haven’t got any.”

  The cigar in Bim Caesar’s mouth barrell-rolled, looped and made an outside spin but his eyes were boring into mine like tiny drills. The guys behind me were starting to get restless. I know just how they felt. They wanted to ask all their questions with brass knuckles.

  Bim Caesar suddenly chuckled. “I believe you. I gotta because I don’t think you got the nerve to cross me. I don’t play with nobody.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Now how about letting me see my client? The poor gal must be scared spitless. Where is she?”

  He shook his head. “You don’t know anything, right? Okay. You scram and we forget the whole thing. Forget the dame. You got a hundred bucks on the deal. I’ll get what I wanta outa her. Artel musta told her something.” He started to pour himself a drink from a chrome decanter.

  I felt funny all of a sudden. One hundred bucks and I was supposed to walk out and leave that helpless slob to the tender mercies of a mug like Bim Caesar. I started to feel new blood hammering for attention in my veins but I fought the feeling down. I kept my voice even.

  “Look, Mr. Caesar. It’s not the money. But I owe Miss Heck protection. Understand? If you have nothing to do with Artel’s swan song and you don’t seem to have, how about releasing the lady in my custody? I’d like to take her home.”

  Everybody laughed. I was real funny. You would have thought it was a Television show and I had just unloaded a killer. Bim Caesar shook the laughter out of his thick throat and glared at me.

  “You are funny, Noon. But beat it while I still got nothing against you. To hell with the dame I said. Now tip your hat and say Arrivedierci.”

  I shook my head.

  “No dice. Caesar’s just a name, pal. Stop trying to live up to it. I don’t budge until I see the girl of my dreams.”

  Everybody stopped laughing. Maybe I belong on the stage. I really get the reactions some times. It must be the things I say.

  Something hard, mean and ugly poked into the small of my back and a hot breath washed over my neck.

  “Stop asking for it, Stupid. The Boss told you to go. Go.”

  I stared down at Bim Caesar. I smiled. I smiled wide. Real wide. His gimlet eyes nearly popped out of their sockets in confusion. He suddenly realized, just like that, that I wasn’t afraid of him, his reputation and all the guns in the Arsenal. And he was smart enough to realize that there was a joker somewhere in the deck. That bothered him, not having the whole deck in his own two crummy hands.

  “Wait a minute, Velvet. He’s too damn cute to be that stupid. Okay, Noon. What’s the big act for? You think you’re holding high cards. That it?”

  I grinned in spite of the painful poke in my back.

  “I’m a personal friend of Walter Winchell’s.”

  “Can it,” he growled. “What’s the score?”

  I nodded, satisfied.

  “That’s more like it. Okay, I’ll tell you. I’m the number one suspect in Artel’s murder. So much so that a Headquarters man tailed me here from uptown. He’s inside your club right now. Might be even outside that very door eavesdropping. He saw me come in here. You can put two and two together, Caesar. He has to see me come out of here alive. If he doesn’t, they’ll have you in the hot seat come Christmas. So tell Velvet to put his toy away or I’ll do my damnedest to die very, very noisily. Speak up, Caesar. What’s it going to be?”

  A mighty sound of some kind filled the room. I guess it was a groan. It came from the desk anyway.

  “Okay, Noon. You win this pot. Drop it, Velvet.” Bim Caesar’s eyes crucified me with a glare but he was still giving Cuba orders. “Go out and mosey around a little. See what the Headquarters guy is doing.”

  I didn’t even turn around but I could hear big Cuba disgustedly slam out the door behind me. The rest of the Caesar crew were regarding
me in a hard deadly silence.

  Bim Caesar grinned hard. “Tough nut, eh? Okay. You’re up one. What do we do now–talk this thing over?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing interests me except walking out of here. Me and my client, that is. In one piece. It’s your move.”

  He leaned across the desk and one fat finger shot me at five paces.

  “You could get hurt having the horse laugh on Bim Caesar. I don’t forget nothing. So I’ll let you walk outa my club. But don’t run. Or call the cops. You’ll be hearing from me–”

  I didn’t hear the rest of it because the whole picture changed in nothing flat.

  A mighty roar of sound erupted from behind the door at the far end of the room and everybody was caught with their reflexes and their mouths down.

  A .45 banged and bammed two times. Right behind it, the door splintered, caved in and ripped off its hinges as if a hurricane was going to come right into the room.

  But it wasn’t a hurricane. It was Betty Heck.

  She came pile-driving through the new opening in the wall, breasts heaving, hips bobbing, eyes as crazy as I’ve ever seen them. One fat hand was closed around a fist-full of men’s clothing, the other was hanging on to a smoking .45. She was all by herself but you could see she’d just finished mopping up someplace.

  Before anyone could stop her, she leveled the .45 at the nearly equally as fat Bim Caesar and pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Just like that she’d loused things up. I’d trumped Bim Caesar’s fine Italian hand in such a way that we could have walked out as calm and as peaceful as Silent Night but in two seconds flat she’d turned it all into Muskrat Ramble.

  But it was too late for tears. The .45 in her mitt bucked and jumped in her hands, Bim Caesar squalled like a frightened bear and took the big chair he was sitting in end-over-teakettle to the floor. And two of what looked like the most expensive of his vases exploded off their bases like champagne corks.

  There was a mad scramble all over the room. Believe me, nobody keeps their heads up when someone is popping away with a .45. Especially hardened cookies like the Caesar crowd. And most especially when the .45 wielder is obviously having her first outing. I flattened against the far wall behind the four drawer file but the worst was coming. Two of the hardier Caesar crew were going for their hardware. That left it up to me. I didn’t have all the time in the world either.

  Betty Heck’s gun banged for the last time and one more tall vase had bit the dust before the opposition had a chance to bite back. A monkey on my right was staring to sight a belly-buster and one of the mugs behind the biggest chair in the room was ready to trigger off when I went into my own specialty.

  I lashed out with a pointed shoe and the belly-buster went spinning. I snapped one off from the hip and the roar of my own .45 filled the room with new sound. The guy behind the big chair screamed out loud and clawed at his mangled hand. I flung away from the four drawer file and got the drop on the whole bunch of them.

  “Hold it,” I yelled. “Nobody do anything until all the smoke clears. I don’t usually miss what I aim at.” I underscored the last remark by splitting another of Bim Caesar’s fancy vases in half with another snap shot. Before the last piece found a home on the thick rug, everybody was reaching for the ceiling.

  Betty Heck was rooted where she stood, wheezing, puffing, panting like an over-worked bull. Her eyes found mine and I could have laughed out loud at the incongruous Little Girl Lost look of them.

  Somebody cursed in loud and fluent Italian. I stepped back toward the exit door to the office and motioned Betty Heck to follow. She moved toward me like a sleep-walker, all the bounce gone out of her, the empty .45 in her fat fingers looking sillier than ever.

  Bim Caesar came out of hiding behind the desk, his rounded bulk shivering with fear and rage. The dead white of his normally olive face was chalky. I couldn’t exactly blame him. The Heck had scared the heck out of him.

  “You’ll pay for this, you slobs,” he rasped hoarsely. “Go on. Get out. I catch up with you both. You don’t kid me no more. You both were in with Artel. Okay. Bim Caesar waits his turn. He gets his back.”

  I ignored him. “Come on, Miss Heck. Move. I’ll be right behind you. The reinforcements will be on the way.”

  “Okay, Noon. Okay.” She squeezed past me like an elephant. I waited for her to clear the door. I had one last word for the unhappy bunch I was leaving behind me.

  “Don’t try to come through this door. Nuff said.”

  Bim Caesar was still cursing when I slammed the door behind me.

  I hustled Betty down the narrow hall vaguely wondering where Headquarters Harry and Cuba might be. Things hadn’t been exactly Hospital Zone quiet the last few minutes. The only thing that figured was that Bim Caesar’s office was sound-proofed. It had to be. The corridor leading out to the heart of the club was vacant.

  Betty Heck puffed ahead of me but she was moving remarkably fast for the two-ton model she was. So fast that she ran right into Cuba who was coming back from his little errand. I wouldn’t exactly call it a meeting of Goliaths but it was close to it.

  Cuba saw her first and his face went all out of shape with surprise but one big hand snaked inside his fancy dress jacket. I twisted around to do something about him but I didn’t have to. Miss Betty Heck had taken all the scaring and pushing around she was ever going to for one day.

  She whaled him. That’s the only way I can put it. One second she was rooted stock-still in bewilderment, the next she had flung her arms out and thrown herself at him with the full fury of an angry whale bellying out at the harpoon that is devilling it.

  Cuba never knew what hit him. Betty Heck’s four hundred and plus poundage decked him to the floor of the foyer before his right hand could clear his inside pocket. A dull, hollow thud popped in the silence of the corridor. His head met up with something hard. Betty Heck scrambled over him with me right at her heels leaving Cuba on the floor with his hand still tucked inside his jacket looking like a silly imitation of Napoleon.

  The musical blast of the club hit us in a second. The show was still on. No Other Love Have I had given away to Temptation and the languorous blonde had been replaced by a tall drink of ink, a beautiful Negress who had every eye in the dump focussed on her before-Time-began wiggles. Just for one instant she had everybody’s attention. Then we had it. Just like that.

  The music kept on blaring and we kept on going but it wasn’t the same in Bim Caesar’s place after that. Things started happening all at once.

  Headquarters Harry suddenly tried to disengage himself from one of the near-naked hostesses that Cuba had probably nailed to him. He tried to get up from his table so fast that the tiny lamp on it danced off to the floor and went out.

  And Betty Heck didn’t help either. As big and as excited as she was, she had garnered enough attention for any offstage show. But no. Expecting her to squeeze through jammed-together tables was asking Fred Astaire to give up dancing for a living. One mountainous hip ploughed right into a table, slapped it up against another one and the two set-ups crashed to the floor thunderously. That did it.

  Three waiters with bouncer faces started toward us, the realization suddenly coming to them that Bim Caesar’s two guests were leaving without word from the Boss. Now that the word was out, I gave up all pretense.

  “Okay, Heck,” I whispered. “Follow me. And don’t be dainty about it. We’re in trouble.”

  I let the first waiter reach me all by himself on his own power. Then I sent him off winging with a sudden punch that catapulted him back into one of his friends. Another table went over and the fun really started.

  The band stopped playing on a low note, the guys in the club started to yak it up angrily, the bartender leaped over his bar with a heavy quart bottle in his right hand and the hat-check chick took up her screaming lessons in earnest.

  I shoved Betty ahead of me, uncovered my .45 and met the bartender on his own terms. I swung my gun out
viciously before me like a swath. On one of its wide sweeps, it came back and shattered the quart bottle into a thousand flying fragments. Cheap whiskey rained on the walls. Betty Heck was cursing. “Bastards! Nothing but bastards! Picking on poor women–”

  I could have given her a stiff argument there but I didn’t. We were almost out of the woods now thanks to the unfriendly face of the .45 I was showing to the world at large.

  But La Heck was in a vindictive mood. She wasn’t going to leave well enough alone.

  She kicked over one more table, scooped a gin bottle up in one fat hand and sailed it at the hat-check who was still screaming out her pretty lungs in her little stall by the door.

  The poor kid shrieked in terror, ducked and the gin bottle crashed high on the wall behind her, its contents staining and dyeing all the coats that had been checked. And the hats too.

  We made the entrance leaving a memory with every Bim Caesar habitue that might last very long in night club history. The one about the tall stranger and this big fat girl who mopped up the place one rainy night in the year 1954–You know how those things go.

  There was one last hurdle though. The big doorman outside had just seen a drunk off in a cab and was ducking back in out of the rain when he saw us. His face had been unintelligent but he got the picture right away. There wasn’t anything wrong with his eyes. His mouth fell when he saw the .45 jutting out of my hand in his direction.

  “Call us a cab, friend. Toot sweet. We’re in a hurry.”

  I didn’t scare him at all. Betty Heck was starting a roundhouse right toward his fleshy face when I caught her arm.