The Case of the Bouncing Betty

by Michael Avallone

  “Come on, Lois. Let’s beat it before Homicide gets here.”

  She gathered her torn clothes around her. “Where to, Noon? I’m a mess.”

  “Forget it. You’re not going to the Stork or the Latin Quarter. Far from it. Just a dingy little place with bad lighting and no hatcheck girl. But it isn’t bad at all–if you like Chinese food.”

  She nodded eagerly and followed my lead. We got out of there fast.

  I hailed a cab. It was funny. But I felt like chop suey and fried rice tonight.

  Real chop suey and fried rice.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I didn’t have much to say to Lois Hunt on the ride downtown. My thoughts were all flying, looking for a place to land where they could all get together and make some sense. But it was tough. Too tough. There was fog over the field and no light to see by. Nothing but crazy bits of odd, startling things that all had a pattern but not much of any sensible arrangement. All I had was my killer. What I thought was a killer but I was still too uncertain to be dead sure. But when you’ve got nothing left and you’re on the verge of losing your own private world, you’ll try anything. And I was about to.

  Lois smoked one of my cigarettes but other than that nothing came out of her thin-lipped mouth but smoke. I felt sorry for her. Sorry that her dress was a mess, sorry that she’d been manhandled, sorry about a lot of things. She was her own woman and it’s pretty awful when a person like that gets put upon by force of strength rather than logic. But I didn’t talk to her any about it. It wouldn’t have done any good.

  The ride was miserable too. It was getting on in the afternoon and I expected to hear the five o’clock whistle any second. Traffic was jammed and noisy. My ears ached. My stomach felt as empty as a campaign promise and my eyes had that dull blur that doesn’t do my general efficiency a lick of good. But I tried to get my house upstairs in order.

  I was putting the Bouncing Betty caper together piece by piece when Lois interrupted me.

  “Noon.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Listen.” She turned to look at me. “Betty got it in the neck because she tumbled to this narcotics thing at Sleep-Tite–you think. Right?”

  I was too tired. “Uh-huh.”

  “That means that Bart wanted her killed. You said he arranged the whole thing. It makes sense–his trying to keep her away from you seems to prove it. But I can’t believe it. He wanted the fire. That’s for a fact. I know that because I was in on it. But that was planned before he followed Betty to your place. Since Bart was burning the stuff, like you say, then I think that clears him of trying to have her murdered–don’t you think?”

  She sounded so pleasing and tearful I had to look at her. But I kept the wonder out of my eyes though.

  “You should have been a detective.” I nodded. “It makes sense. But he might have tried those first few times. We haven’t proved otherwise yet.” I looked at her closely. “Is it that important to you that he wasn’t that lowest of all things–a murderer for money?”

  She bit her lips and her eyes fell away from me. “It is.”

  Without thinking about it at all, I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Good girl. One thing I like in a woman is loyalty. Especially to a dead man.”

  Her eyes flew back to mine. “Don’t kid me about this, Buster. Bart wasn’t your idea of an angel but–”

  “Easy,” I cut in. “I wasn’t kidding. It’s just my sarcastic way of spreading posies. Otherwise, I’d get awfully self-conscious and never do it at all. Spread posies, I mean.”

  She sighed, “You’re a bug,” and went back to her cigarette.

  I went back to mine. The blocks were fading away beneath our wheels and my crazy plan was coming home to roost. Right on West Fifty Sixth Street, just across from my office. Chin’s Chop Suey Palace.

  Chin’s Chop Suey where the mysterious rifleman had done his dirty work yesterday afternoon and sent my whole future tipping on the scales of what-the-heck-do-I-do-next? The place where a rifle bullet had leaped across the width of the street, shattered my window, killed a man named Artel and dumped the fattest client I had ever claimed right into my lap. Also the deadest. Memory of Betty and her broken neck put me in a grim mood. It made what was coming a helluva lot easier to do.

  The cab lurched to a halt in front of the building. Lois Hunt climbed out ahead of me. I paid off the hackie while I was still in the cab, then hustled out, took Lois firmly by the elbow and ploughed right into the doorway.

  “What’s the bum’s rush for, Noon?” She got her breath in the hallway. “The food can’t be that good and you’re not that hungry.”

  I grinned. “You forgetting I’m a wanted man? Remember this is an unhealthy neighborhood for me. My office is right across the street and the cops are out looking for me with mosquito nets and everything. Come on.”

  It was just like yesterday. Also the same time of day nearly. I had a peculiar feeling of nothing at all having happened or changed since I ascended the three flights of stairs yesterday.

  But things had changed and I had a woman with me this time. Lois Hunt. And plenty had happened to her since yesterday. I’ll say. Her clothes said so too.

  “Top floor, of course,” she panted behind me.

  “Of course.”

  We broke out on the third landing, went through the door and found the same old curtained entrance staring us in the face. The color of it was a faded mauve with the five dragons spread across it looking as haggard and tired as five dragons can look on a curtain that was new when Confucious was young. Suddenly in the cold light of day and the clear light of new knowledge, it seemed cheap, false and as bum as a cracked Chinese gong.

  I took a deep breath and closed my hand reassuringly around the hard butt of the .32 in my coat pocket. I reassured myself I mean.

  Lois Hunt saw the movement and frowned.

  “Hey–what gives? I thought you were just hungry. You look like you’re getting ready for a showdown or something.”

  “Or something. Just follow my lead and think fast if you have to. This is liable to be the most exciting chop suey dinner you’ve ever had. Believe me, the walls have ears in this place.”

  She shrugged, the perfect picture of the fighter who’s taken his opponent’s best punch and stood up under it. I was glad. Lois Hunt was ready for anything. So was I.

  We pushed through the curtain, me first, Lois just behind. The sudden change of lighting hit my eyes but I re-adjusted rapidly. The same empty tables; it was still much too early for any serious chop suey eating and I was glad of that too. I didn’t want an innocent bystander within miles of me right now.

  A fan whirred noisily and beyond its whirr of sound came the tinkling of the other curtain, the beaded one that hung over the rear alcove. And so very suddenly and as quietly as a snake slithering through the bulrushes came the Number One son of Tommy Chin. He was as neatly dressed and as black-haired as yesterday. The eternal menu was clutched in one manicured hand.

  He bowed stiffly a yard from us and the barest hint of a smile tried to warm his wide mouth.

  “Pleasure to the House of Chin, Mr. Noon. My father will be most delighted.”

  I grinned. “Don’t bet on it. Miss Hunt, meet Mr. Chin, Number One Son. And no–I don’t think he sleeps with that menu in his hand although I must admit I’ve yet to see him without it.”

  The grin struggled for width but Number One bowed again.

  “Obediently yours, Miss Hunt. We’d be honored to serve you even though it lacks an hour until our official time for dinner.” He straightened out of his bow and locked glances with me. “Your humor becomes you, Mr. Noon. It has always caught my fancy that you remain in good spirits despite what is seemingly a trying profession.”

  “Touche, Number One. But where’s Tommy?”

  His smile was apologetic.

  “Alas–the illness of a relative summoned him to Brooklyn. My dear Uncle Lum. But anything I can do–pray ask me.” The smile remained on his fac
e but his eyes started to say other things.

  I grinned amiably. “He’ll be back, won’t he? We’ll wait.”

  “As you will.” He bowed again and waved us to a nearby table. “Seat yourselves, please I’ll bring the wine list.”

  Chin’s was different from other chop suey joints. He had a wine list.

  I motioned Lois to sit and followed suit. I put my back to the wall and arranged myself so that the doorway and the curtained alcove were in view. Number One glided through it and we were alone.

  Lois Hunt sniffed.

  “Chinks are sure polite. He didn’t even seem to notice how raped I look. Well, what next?”

  “Order a glass of red wine. No matter what. Understand? Red wine.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Are you nuts? Suppose I don’t like red wine–?”

  “You like red wine. Do what I say or I’ll leave you behind to wash the dishes.”

  She started to burst out with laughter when she checked herself. The beaded curtains tinkled musically and Number One had returned. He had two menus now. But one of them was a wine list.

  Number One handed me the wine list with a flourish. I checked it with a phony appraisal and then passed it across to her. She made a face and sniffed again.

  “Red wine, Ed. That’s always a good beginner.”

  Number One smiled. “The Lady has excellent taste. We have a lovely Roselle. Light and delicious.”

  “Suits me, Number One,” I said. “Two glasses it is.” I looked around innocently. “Where is everybody anyway?”

  Number One spread his hands. “Alas, my humble father is still unaccustomed to traveling alone in your wonderful country. The help accompanied him. And Brooklyn, if you’ll pardon my humble opinion, has taxed greater travelers than he.”

  Chin’s Chop Suey Palace was the last place in the world I expected to hear another Brooklyn joke but even I appreciated this one. My laugh made Number One smile wider.

  He bowed again. “I’ll return shortly with the wine.”

  He’d hardly cleared the curtain when Lois pounced on me impatiently.

  “What the hell is this, Buster? A vaudeville routine? Why all this malarkey about the red wine and just what are you up to anyway? I am hungry you ought to know–”

  “Sure you are, Lois,” I agreed. “That’s good. The red wine will give you an appetite.”

  She still wanted to talk some more about it but it was too late. Number One was back and setting glasses before us. He uncapped a long-necked, fat black bottle and poured expertly. I waited for the glasses to fill and watched him at the same time.

  He smiled down at us, his expression saying so very clearly that he was sure we’d enjoy his Roselle wine.

  “Thanks, Number One. We’ll order later. Miss Hunt and I have a few things to talk over first. You understand.”

  He did. He bowed again and for the third time glided softly away.

  I picked up my glass and cranked it around in my fingers. I looked at Lois Hunt. I raised it to my lips.

  “Cheers, Lois.”

  She picked hers up, shrugged as if she still thought I was crazy and took a good long pull on her glass. She didn’t set it down until she’d taken a healthy swallow. She didn’t seem to notice that when I set my glass down, the wine level hadn’t changed one iota.

  She frowned at me about something else.

  “What’s with you, cowboy? Let me in on something. What are we doing here? I get the sudden notion that we didn’t come here to eat.”

  I lit a cigarette and kept an eye on the beaded curtain. “How right you are. But forget my queer notions. Spend your time thinking about what you’d like to eat. They have got good grub here.”

  She sneered. “All Chink food is the same. Chow mein is chow mein.”

  “They’re not Chinks, Lois. They happen to be Chinese people. Chow mein is chow mein–yes–but Chin’s is absolutely tops. The best in town.”

  “That’s your story.” Her thin lips looked moist. “I don’t have to live with it. Come on now. What’s this all about?”

  “Want to hear a joke? I know a good one. A guy goes to the drug store and–”

  “To hell with you, Noon. To hell with your twisted sense of humor. To hell with everything.”

  “That’s a lot of hell. Have some more wine.”

  “To hell with your wine too.” She tossed another gulp down. I’d counted on her needing a good pick-me-up after her misadventure with the romantic young man. And she hadn’t let me down. Her glass was nearly empty. “Say–” her eyes suddenly widened.

  “Yeah?” I prodded.

  She gulped. “The wine. It had a funny taste–say–I don’t feel good. No good at all–Noon!”

  It hit her fast. She got panicky and tried to push away from the table and claw for me at the same time. But it was no good. The red wine had hit home. Her eyeballs rolled crazily and vanished. Her head fell forward into one cushioning arm that had gotten ready for it. The other arm trailed off the table.

  I moved like greased lightning. There was a metal carafe on the table. I spilled three quarters of my drink into it. I spread myself across the table in a slumped, dead-to-the-world position, keeping my head facing the alcove with its door of curtained beads.

  Then I deliberately inched my glass off the table. It crashed to the floor with a shattering glassy sound. The noise seemed to wake up the stillness of the room. Charging it with electricity and expectancy.

  Minutes passed. It seemed like eternities.

  From the corner of my eye, someone loomed in the curtained entrance, peering out, spreading the drapes with thick, fat fingers. There was no mistaking the jolly, unmitigated, unredeeming fatness of the man.

  Number One had no need to be glum about Uncle Lum. He’d lied to me.

  It was Tommy Chin.

  And he’d probably never been to Brooklyn in his life.

  The drunk bit isn’t hard to do. Especially when you’ve laid the groundwork for it. And the red wine had been doped. And Number One had fallen for the perfect bait I had given him. I’d wanted to know where the Chin establishment stood in this whole crazy caper. Now I knew.

  Nothing moved except my eyelid as Tommy Chin padded out from the depths of the beaded curtains. His fat face wore a foolish, untroubled smile. For a second he stared down hard at Lois and her pony-tailed head cushioned by one shapely arm. Then his calm gaze shifted to me with my face resting on one side, leveled in his direction. He was satisfied that Ed Noon and his female drinking companion were both out for the count. He raised his fat hands and clapped them together, the only real Oriental gesture I’d ever seen him make.

  Number One Son reappeared magically. But if his father was untroubled, Number One was just the reverse. His smooth face was compressed into an enormous frown. He strode swiftly past his father and stalked briskly to the table. I closed the one eye I had open.

  They both started talking almost at once. Number One lost all his former phony Chinese humility.

  “I told you Noon was onto something. You and your trust in the police. What do we do now, big brain?”

  Tommy refused to get mad.

  “Your college education depresses me. We call the very same police. Chop-chop. The House of Chin has apprehended a murderer.”

  Number One was still insolent and skeptical.

  “And bring an investigation down around our heads? Noon came here for a reason. He knows something. Why else would a wanted man show up so innocently? And he has the girl with him! He didn’t come here because he’s crazy about your food.”

  Tommy’s laugh was right out of his fat gut.

  “The police will believe nothing he tells them. Recall–he is wanted for murder. They will thank us for helping capture him.”

  I could see Number One’s sneer.

  “How do we explain the knockout drops? Dad, we got to get rid of them. The only way.”

  There was a vast sigh. “My genius of a son will recall that restaurants such as ours hav
e always had to deal with guests who were becoming troublesome or annoying to the other patrons. We have simply administered our prerogative. The Mickey Finn I believe it is called. I’m certain the police will only be grateful for our assistance. They will surely recognize a restaurant owner’s prerogative.”

  “But, Dad–”

  “Silence! I am still the head of my house.” Tommy’s voice was a far cry from the bastard American-Chinese slang he’d dished out to me. “I no longer argue the merits of my decisions with you. Summon the law.”

  The hand that was below the table crept into my pocket and closed around the long-barreled .32. I freed it from my pocket and inched an eyelid open. My hand was out of sight away from their side of the table. In the small silence while Number One swallowed the fatherly wrath, I could hear Lois Hunt’s raspy, unnatural breathing.

  Footsteps were starting to click across the wooden floor, going toward the curtained alcove, when I made my move. I straightened up like Jack-In-The-Box getting unboxed and brought the .32 up with me. My voice cracked across the room like a whip.

  “Happy Chinese New Year. I brought along my own noisemaker. Anybody want to hear some noise?”

  Their individual reactions were one of those Pictures No Artist Could Ever Paint things.

  Tommy Chin screeched as if Uncle Lum had really died and just come back to life. He clutched his fat middle and his round, foolish face got even foolisher. He stood stock-still but began to tremble like an adagio dancer with St. Vitus. Number One was a bigger scream. He was still gripping his crazy menu card and my voice had made him jump a good three feet in the air. But he hadn’t let go of the card and it began to flutter like a trapped bird in his slowly raising hands. And then they both froze where they stood, rooted and unbelieving with only Tommy’s fat stomach quivering and Number One’s menu fluttering.

  “Perfect,” I said, not getting up from my chair. I rested one elbow on the table, the .32 trained out at them like a poised camera. “Now let’s pick up where we left off. The both of you were going to turn me over to the cops because I’m a murderer and you both are such Grade A civic characters. That’s right, isn’t it?”