Golden Throat

by James P. Alsphert

  I could’ve dropped my shorts. Matrangas dead! That meant that whatever he had, someone else wanted it worse, bad enough to risk killing the goose that lays the golden egg, so to speak. Matrangas was the mob’s patron saint—why in the hell would they kill him for a microfilm scroll? Then it dawned on me. There was another joker in the deck, playing the same game but he was even more dangerous than the mob! “Hey, I’m sorry babe. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m healing up okay. I was hit pretty hard in the head, minor concussion, a few cuts and scrapes.”

  “Where are you? Can I come to you, Cable? God, I miss you so much and my body aches for you every night when I get home from work.”

  “I miss you, too, babe—a lot. I’m out of town in the mountains. You can’t come to me. Secret crap and all, you know. Speaking of work, when do you start at the Bella Notte?”

  “First of the month. Now that I know you’re alright, I’m excited about my first singing job. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

  “A pack of wild horses couldn’t keep me away, Honey Combes.”

  There was another short pause. “Cable…I want you so…I want to be Mrs. Cable Denning…I realize women aren’t supposed to do the proposing, but I want us to be together and one. Really together. Is that asking too much of a twenty-seven year old bachelor?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, it is, babe, but it’s the best proposal I’ve ever had. It’s great that you care so damn much. But you know, when the guy is on the lamb from both sides of the law, it’s kind of hard on the girl. Let’s talk about it when I get back in a week or so.”

  “I love you, Cable Denning. Can you hear me? Can it soak through that thick skull of yours? Someone wants to be with you for all her life, my darling.”

  I didn’t know how to answer. How did I use that word, love? I knew I didn’t bandy it around carelessly like a lot of guys did. But I felt a lot of good things for this beautiful doll who I knew truly loved me. “I love you, Honey. Don’t forget it. I’ll be back in a few days.”

  “Cable…that’s the first time you ever said you loved me. Do you realize that? My mother always said to praise the man who uses that word sparingly, because when he finally says it, he means it.”

  “I told you I’d like your mother. Yeah, doll, that’s about it. I’ll see you soon…I’ll call again…”

  “You’d better. Do you have a phone?”

  “Nope. I’m at a phone booth. I sneaked out of the house against doctor’s orders in my housekeeper’s ’21 Studebaker. I had to stock up on gin and cigarettes.”

  “Cable, don’t kill yourself. Listen to the doctor. Is your housekeeper cute?”

  “Yep, and pretty lonely up here in the mountains, I’d guess.”

  “Well, behave yourself…see you, my dearest…” She hung up.

  I got back to the car and a smiling Ginny Fullerton. “Thanks for waiting,” I said as I got into the rider’s seat. “Would you like to celebrate with me? That is, if we can find some gin.”

  “Celebrate what?”

  “Life, Miss Fullerton…life. Plus I gotta go back to the city in a week. Do you like British gin?”

  “I’ve never had any gin. I don’t drink much. My folks are pretty strict. You know, church, Bible commandments, stern uncles and aunts? But secretly, I’m willing to try.”

  “So, who bootlegs in your town? There’s gotta be someone spreading the happy juice around. There always is, because the money’s great.”

  “Give me twenty dollars,” Ginny said, surprising me. “I might get into trouble. But I do have an Uncle Jack who sells really bad alcohol to the secret Lion’s Club meetings, you know, back room stuff. And maybe I can borrow his table radio, too. He hardly ever plays it.”

  “Oh, yeah…and great on the radio, kid.”

  Soon we were back at the little cabin sitting at the breakfast nook, smoking and drinking, with the radio playing Irving Berlin’s new hit, Blue Skies. “I hope I’m not corrupting you, Ginny,” I said, laughing at her cough each time she tried to take a drag on a Lucky Strike. “How old are you, young lady?”

  “I think you are corrupting me, Cable, but I like it. I’m going to be twenty in a few weeks.” She giggled as she sipped from her glass of gin and made a terrible face. “Oh, it burns.” She took another drag from her cigarette and coughed again. “I’m getting better, huh?”

  “So what do pretty young things like you do for excitement up here in the hills?”

  “Wait for some guy like you to come around so they can have some fun. Most of my girlfriends have already left the area for the city. I’m still here because my mother is a drunk and my Dad needs me to do the stuff my Mom can’t do anymore. She drinks herself to sleep every night, after she raises Holy Hell with my Dad and me. She blames me for being born—that I was the cause of her downfall and it separated her from my Dad. That’s how come I knew where the liquor was—my uncle Jack secretly supplies my mother.”

  Hearing a story like that always made me feel bad inside, like another beautiful flower would get wilted and ground down into the dirt of this life because of some ugly perversity in human nature that changes nice people into monsters. “I’m—I’m sorry to hear that, kid. Don’t ever believe that you’re less because your mother happened to crash and burn on the rocks.” I took a big slug of my gin. I was beginning to feel a nice buzz and I could tell Ginny was enjoying herself, loosening up and letting go of all that crap religious and quasi-moral codes impose on people. “You got a boyfriend here in town?”

  “Nope. No time, really. Taking care of the house and Dad, going to the store doesn’t leave a lot of time for me. I was glad when Dr. Gilbreth hired me to take care of you. I really needed the money. My Dad used to be a preacher, but it drove my mother nuts. So he’s a mechanic at Lang’s Auto Repair. He’s been there for years. Knows everything about cars, you know. In fact, he rescued my ’21 Studebaker out there from the junk heap. I love my Dad.

  Sometimes he sounds a bit crazy, still spewing from the Bible when he’s fed up with my mother’s drinking and swearing. My Mom hates it. He doesn’t want me to be like her, but pure and virginal until the roll is called up Yonder, I think. But he’s the only solid thing in my life.”

  I lifted my glass. “Well, here’s to your Dad, Ginny. Having a good Dad is always a fine thing,” I said, smiling at her.

  “Do you live alone in the city?” she asked, looking up into my eyes.

  “Nope, I room with a buddy, Mario Angelo. I’m a cop, remember, days and nights get twisted around and sometimes I get confused where I am or what planet I’m on. Ever have the feeling that your life is going nowhere, but there’s something else good and bigger around the corner? Well, I do. It’s like you never quite know which end is up. Life and death come crashing down on you when least expect it—and after a while everything blurs—because things are moving too fast and life is moving away from you, leaving you in a squad car late at night with the sirens going on the way to scrape up the dead, the dying or the injured from off the pavement somewhere.” I took a deep breath, then a drag on my cigarette. “And then once in a while the ticking in your brain stops and you’re able to rest, or some babe holds you all night and you go away with her to some magic place…because it’s where the both of you really wanted go…somewhere to escape the maddening sameness of everyday existence. And maybe, just maybe, you can wake up the next morning with a smile.”

  Ginny Fullerton finished off the rest of her drink, took a deep breath and shook her head as she smiled. “God, I love the way you talk, Mister. I mean, I’m a little embarrassed, but it—it kinda makes me feel—feel restless, like I want to go there, you know, inside a magic place with someone. Do you have a girlfriend in L.A.?”

  “Yeah, I do, Ginny.”

  Her face dropped a little. A slow version of 1923’s Who’s Sorry Now? came on the radio. “Would you…would you dance with me? I’m feeling so free, thanks to you, Cable. The last time I danced was in high school tw
o years ago. I might be rusty.”

  “Sure, kid, why not?” I took her hand and we went out into the middle of the hardwood floor. I brought her to me and held her lovely young body close to mine as we slowly twirled around the room. “Hey, you’re not bad. You’ve got a natural feel for the music—and rhythm.”

  She snuggled her head under my chin. “You’re the best, Cable. I don’t know why, but I feel so comfortable with you. I mean, like I trust you—and I know you won’t lie to me—even about your girlfriend—or take advantage of me.”

  “Well, thanks, Ginny. I learned a long time ago, it ain’t no fun unless both the boy and the girl are on equal terms—they both want what the moment offers. Otherwise, it’s just notches on the gun for a guy.”

  “I know. I was a notch on some guy’s gun once. Ronnie Dunlap. He dated me for six months and took me out to China Island one night just to seduce me. After that, slam-bam-not-even-thank-you, ma’am! It was over and he just called now and then to meet me for sex. I said I hated what he did. But it never matters to guys like that, does it?”

  “It’s a live-and-learn world out there, Ginny,” I said, remembering all the guys I’d known like Ronnie Dunlap who took it out of their pants any time there was a chance to get into a girl’s pants. “It kind of boils down to how wise you become through your experiences and what you’re looking for—what do you want?”

  She squeezed me tighter. “I want you, Mr. smoking and drinking policeman.” She turned her face up to kiss me. I hesitated. Our lips were almost touching and her breath smelled of Lucky Strikes and gin.

  “Hey, now, young lady…I’m a recovering patient, remember? My head hurts, it’s time for my cook to fix us some dinner, don’t you think?”

  That broke the spell as the music ended. She tore away from me and took a deep breath, went over and poured herself another gin. “Well, so much for me being desired by you. No man has ever rejected me. Am I stupid, ugly or just plain not exciting enough? Or are my breasts not large enough or my thighs not hot enough for you?” The alcohol had gotten to her and her voice slurred a bit. I was beginning to feel guilty because I had started this whole thing to have a drinking buddy and someone to help break up the boredom of being locked up here 6,000’ feet in the mountains.

  “You look great, you feel great, you even dance with me great, Ginny. I just don’t want to start something we can’t finish. I know it sounds strange, but you know, I’m not a one-night stander—and I don’t think you are, either.”

  She looked disappointed. “No, I’m not. I just wanted some of that magic you were talking about when someone holds you all night.”

  “Well, don’t you have a curfew? You don’t want your mom beating up on you if you come home smelling of cigarettes, booze and a man.”

  “I don’t care. I know you’re going to be gone soon—then all that excitement will go away—and I’ll be left here driving down Big Bear Boulevard with all the fantasies that never came true. Do you believe you can fall in love with someone in a few hours?”

  “Truthfully? Yeah…you can even fall in love in thirty-seconds with the right person. But as far as I’m concerned, kid, you got it right. I’m a fantasy, someone who won’t be there when you need him. Correct me if I’m wrong, but my experience has told me that once a sincere doll like you gives herself to someone, she means it and it bonds her to him—maybe she even feels she belongs to him in a way…”

  She looked down to the floor. “I’ll prepare you some food.”

  “Sure, great.” She took one more slug from her glass and emptied it. “Maybe if I got very drunk and pushed myself on you, you’d make love to me.”

  “Not a chance, toots. Thanks all the same. Tomorrow, Ginny, when this old mountain sunshine cranks up again, I think you’ll be glad. I think you’ll remember you could be with a man who didn’t take advantage of you. You might end up remembering that you liked him for—for—”

  “—please! Don’t talk about it anymore.” She made up a sandwich for me in silence, went in and cleaned up the bathroom and made my bed. When she came back out the sun had set and I had lit a candle that was sitting on the table. The radio was playing a bluesy version of I Cried for You, and I could feel it was going right through Ginny. I knew what she had to go home to, how she felt imprisoned by a troubled mother and a hard working but somewhat absent father.

  She gathered her things and stood in front of me. “I envy your girlfriend, Cable. And I respect you wanting to be true to her. I’m sorry I was selfish. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  She started to leave. “You’re a good person, Ginny Fullerton.” I checked out her face. She had been crying. “I—I, uh, hope you’ll like me tomorrow.”

  She dropped everything in her hands and rushed over to me and almost knocked me out of my chair. She grabbed my faced and kissed me so hard it almost hurt. But it didn’t, really. It felt good and warm and moist. She didn’t say another word, but turned around, picked up her things and left, closing the door behind her.

  I was a bit drunk and a little tired for my first day out of bed. I got undressed, took my pain pills and checked out my head. It seemed to be healing pretty fast. They say getting on with it, not babying things made them heal faster. I still had an ache in my head. But I knew Ginny Fullerton had an ache in her heart. Which was worse, I wondered? At twenty-seven I didn’t feel young anymore. The police force combined with my rough upbringing grew me up fast, so I seemed older than most guys my age. At least to me. And someone like that young dame stuck out here in the woods would have a lot of life to learn about yet. Maybe if I wasn’t still a bit weak and doped up I would’ve taken her to my bed. But I don’t know. Sometimes you leave things alone, things that your gut tells you is best for everyone. How many babes had I passed up as appealing as Ginny Fullerton in my life? Not many.

  I drifted to sleep that night thinking about my benefactor, the party or parties responsible for saving my ass from the death grip of Jinx and Matrangas. But who killed Matrangas? My intuitions told me Dragna and his organized crime family didn’t. Matrangas was their money pot. But who did him in…and why did they rescue me? What did I know that ‘they’ wanted to know? My mind was made up of bits of misshapen geometrical pieces like a jigsaw puzzle—and somehow they all had to fit together. So far they didn’t and my mind was restless. It all started out so easy. Over and over I recounted the events: Mario and I visited the morgue to follow through on a couple of stiffs who were bumped off gangland style. One happens to turn out to be Ernesto Ardizzone, Don of the Los Angeles underworld, the other a non-entity named Blinthe, who happens to have a gold-lined throat and a space behind his missing tongue where some gold and priceless capsule called the God of Our Fathers was tucked away. Boris Sandor, the head pathologist at the county morgue, stole the great find. But when I discovered that fact, and Sandor slugged me and locked me in a vault to die, the doc himself got killed by a man named Matrangas, who was the bank roll for the local mafia, but hailed from Chicago. Add to that, subtle warnings at Ardizzone’s funeral from Frank Dragna, new head of the L.A. gangs, and his consigliere, Joe Lorena. But my innate detective sense told me to eliminate all these guys from my suspect list. The biggest piece that didn’t fit was the corpse Mario and I found in a pool of blood on the floor of a Beverly Hills Hotel elevator…one Harold Eisenstadt, not even an American. He was my number one lead. Why? Because none of the goons, not even Matrangas, got away with the God of Our Fathers capsule with all the fine hieroglyphics etched into it. Add to that…Eisenstadt held in his dead hand the label off the forensic lab jar that contained Blinthe’s surgically removed golden throat.

  I’d wager that when Matrangas went back to the vault with my written instructions to where the thing would be found, someone was waiting for him and Jinx, killed them, took my instructions, found the God of Our Fathers and escaped. Now, it came down to who in the hell was that—and why did they spare me when all the participants in this eerie myste
ry were currently pushing up daisies in Forest Lawn or Hollywood Memorial Cemetery?

  Chapter 5

  THE LEGEND OF CRAZY JACK

  When I got back to town, things seemed to accelerate into a blur, the kind that whizzes by like a tornado and takes some of you with it. No one spoke again of “Captain Treadwell” or who it was that saved my butt from Matrangas’ clutches. Weeks turned into months and months into the monotony of stagnant routine. I began to resent my job, especially when so many of the goons Mario and I arrested were back out on the street in days, no matter how heinous the crime. I lost heart in the so-called “system of justice.” In 1928 you could buy a police captain’s badge for $125 and everyone looked the other way. Yeah, there was trouble in my City of Angels. There were fifty bordellos and three times that many speakeasies hidden in the twisted fabric of its core. Cops were on the numbers take, whether it was horseracing or gambling ships anchored off of Santa Monica. Clairvoyants, soothsayers, healers, mystics and miscellaneous occult shysters, ripped-off the gullible public and these scams existed where anyone hung a sign outside a house, apartment or pseudo office. Illegal immigrants from Mexico were brought in as slave labor to pick peas and other agricultural crops as ill-gotten water was piped from the Owens Valley into an arid region called the San Fernando Valley here. In 1924, the residents and farmers in the Owens Valley area who had been screwed out of their hopes and dreams of using that water for an irrigation project to meet the needs of their farmland, revolted and the California Water Wars were born. These otherwise ordinary people with peaceful intent watching their farms dry up and become untenable, as an expression of their protests, blew up parts of the Aqueduct then and again last year. But there was no bucking the powerful players supporting this Aqueduct project. In March of this year the St. Francis Dam at the north end of Los Angeles County, collapsed and caused the second largest number of death’s here in California since the San Francisco Earthquake in 1906