“Well, doc, it’s like the spin of the ol’ wheel, you know. Life deals you out a hand and molds you pretty well. And you take it from there. I came up pretty tough, but thought the good side of the law was better, so—”
“—you became a policeman, right?” Dr. Penn looked through his spectacles at Polly Parker. “Polly, will you fetch me the denatured alcohol, please? And, oh, get me one of them there pain pills for Mr. Denning.”
“How did ya know? Is cop written on my face or something?”
“Yep, a kind of cop. But if you’re a policeman in uniform, you’re in the wrong business, young man. Police business is politics and politics is corrupt and therefore, police must be corrupt by the very nature of who runs city hall. That said, it doesn’t mean there aren’t good men in the police force. Like you, some believe in fairness, law and order.”
I was impressed with the wisdom of this old guy. I thought of Mario Angelo. He was one of those. The guys that put it all on the line in order to fulfill the letter of the law. “So…so, uh, where did you practice medicine?”
“Truth be known, lad, I’m not a medical doctor—although I took a medical doctor’s internship at one time, a hundred years ago. No, I am a Doctor of Ancient Antiquities. I study the mysterious and buried past of civilizations which bear…little resemblance to our present mad house of industry and twentieth century war machines.”
A shock of realization went through my body. I knew in that minute that something or someone had led this man to me—and I to him! Call it Fate, if you like, but this was beyond coincidence, I thought. What are the chances? Was there really something in the universe that pulled like souls together to ride shotgun with each other for the duration? Crazy, but somehow true, I was beginning to comprehend.
“May I ask you a question—ouch!” I exclaimed as Dr. Penn doused my shoulder with alcohol.
“Hmmm….let me see, yeah…I think this will not infect now, Mr. Denning. I would say .32 or .38 caliber? Were the two men you catapulted off the train less than desirable personages?”
“I’d—I’d, uh, say that, doc. Organized crime. L.A. is becoming a cesspool of it, as you said, on both sides of the blue line.”
Just then there was a knock at the door. I noticed the train was still stopped. “This is the Southern Pacific road deputy. Will you come to the door, please?” Right away Polly took my hand a led me to the bathroom and closed the door behind her as she went to the main entrance door and opened it. “Ya?” she said in her cool German accent. “Vat is it?”
“We are looking for a man we believe killed one man and badly injured another. Have you experienced any strange activity or seen anyone who might appear desperate, most likely a criminal type?”
Polly had a great sense of humor and this was my first introduction to it. “Vell, take a look at Dr. Penn here, officer. Does he look desperate? Or perhaps, he has hidden a criminal somevere?”
The man glanced in at the sedentary doctor, pretending to slobber and be asleep in his chair. “No, ma’am, but when we reach San Francisco please report anything that might be helpful. There was some blood found smeared against the stainless steel wall between coaches.”
“Oh, dear, officer. Ve vill surely be on da lookout for a desperate criminal. Sank you for doing such a good job.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am,” the railroad man said and departed.
Polly opened the bathroom door and peaked in at me. “Are you da desperate, criminal type, Mr. Denning?”
“Yep,” I said, chuckling. “You never know who you’re being kind to these days now, do you?”
“Put your shirt back on, Denning, and talk to me. I am curious about you. Since I came to your aid, perhaps you will have the courtesy to extend to an old man….some exciting moments of your life…”
I sat opposite the doc. “Well, I think we may have something very much in common, Dr. Penn. You said you were a doctor of antiquities, right?”
“Correct. I have ventured to days ripped back in time, to civilizations more advanced than ours of 1928, to stupid men and women who destroyed their cultures and themselves, not to mention leaving only shards of broken memories for their progeny. So…Denning—”
“—Cable, please call me Cable…”
“Okay, Cable…why is it you ask of my vocational specialization?”
“Okay, here goes. I think this might raise an eyebrow or two. Have you ever heard of a golden capsule called God of Our Fathers?”
The old man looked at me in disbelief. “The ‘God of Our Fathers’? Lord, Cable, don’t play games with an old man. That golden, priceless walnut is said to contain ordination of the universe—and very, very old. What do you know of it? And how came you by this extra-ordinary knowledge?”
I told Dr. Penn the whole story from the start, including Sandor’s greed and right up to last night when Dragna’s goons were preparing for my funeral. “Now I’m on my way, maybe on a wild goose chase, to Frisco to trace down a Chinese woman who may know the whereabouts of the capsule. All we do know is that since the night Sandor was killed, there’s been no trace of it. Neither Damianos, Dragna or whoever else may be after it knows where it is…it’s disappeared.”
“And you’re going by a psychic’s clues?”
“Well, really Crazy Jack was the first to clue me in. He led me to Madame Palladino, the Psychic Wonder Woman.”
“Crazy Jack? No doubt a trusted acquaintance, I presume. But I have actually heard of Eusapia Palladino, Cable. No less a man than Sir Arthur Conan Doyle of Sherlock Holmes fame validated her as being able to contact his dead son and attended a séance in 1922 after her death, where she came as a spirit through the medium. Since Palladino died in 1918, you’re current Madame may be an imposter.”
“She says she’s a niece, just took the same name. So, doc—"
“—just call me Jed, Cable. It’s too late to pretend…that I am anything but an old man hanging on to his last days, anxious to hear an exciting story—that might make his blood roil once again…So what’s next?”
“As I said, the Chinese woman, if I can find her. What other clue do I have? Right now I’m shootin’ in the dark, doc.”
“So it seems…so it seems…humans never get it. Everything in creation works together. People kill each other, eradicate the natural world, invent new chemicals to poison populations, even fight over the ridiculous premise of ethnic, political and religious differences.”
“You won’t get an argument out of me on that count. I see it around in my job. Criminals run for high office and win—then laugh all the way to the bank.”
“Speaking of which, I hear under the table that a certain political rebel is being groomed to take over Germany—have you read a book called Mein Kampf by Adolph Hitler?”
“Believe it or not, I’m a reading cop, but haven’t read that one. Yeah, I’ve heard of the book and this Hitler guy. But Europe’s a long ways away.”
“Is it? I wonder. My many years exploring antiquities and human nature have brought me to one conclusion: never trust a human. I have grave reservations about his policies. In particular, his acrid description of what he calls ‘the Jewish peril’ should affect everyone with decent sensibilities. Even Polly gets the shivers seeing what he thinks, says and does with the ‘new revolution’ in her native land.”
“Well, I’m not an authority on ethnic differences, doc, but I was raised with Spics, Mics, Dagos, Mexes, and Polacks, not to mention Krauts. In my neighborhood, they all hated each other by virtue of their differences. My best friend, Mario Angelo—we met over a fistfight to the death—and I won, spared my knuckles from beating his face in and we became life-long friends. I don’t know. I think it’s the individual. And this Hitler fellow, if nobody listens to him, he’ll end up like the rest of us, passing specters in the night of men.”
Dr. Penn looked at me, studying my eyes and my face. “How did you become so perceptive, Mr. Policeman? Precisely my own view.
It’s how we greet the individual. Just like our meeting today. Propitious, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yeah, I’d say.” Then I thought of Adora back in the sleeper wondering what the hell happened to me. “I’ve-I’ve gotta go for now, doc, Miss Parker. Thank you both for your kindness and hospitality, perhaps we’ll meet in San Francisco—”
“—Cable…I think we need to meet soon. How about tonight? I think I might know whom this Chinese woman is you seek. And you need to tell me all you can about the Deus Patrum Nostrorum. Polly and I are staying at the Sir Francis Drake, a brand new hotel on Powell Street, off of Union Square, that has just had its gala grand opening. Will you join us?”
“Hmmm…so you know its Latin name, too, eh? Maybe you’re right. Right now I’ve a lady-in-waiting in Car #27.” Then I came back to the present. “Yeah, I can do that. But I probably should bring my lady. She knows very little of this…”
“Then perhaps you should leave her behind? Too many ears, and it might be for her own good. I will send Polly out to a movie. What about eight p.m.?”
The Lark had resumed its northward journey and I teetered my way back to Adora’s compartment. I knocked. “Hey, kid, it’s me.” There was no answer. I tried the door. It was open. I walked in smelling a rat somewhere in the works. There was a sign of a scuffle and my little Mexican’s purse lay on the floor, it’s content strewn about. I went to the head conductor and told him the situation. He said he’d not heard of any kidnapping on his train, but that it had been a strange journey, with the deaths of two men and all. He promised to alert all porters and other assistant conductors to be on the lookout. My mother had always said in times like these when you don’t know what to do, just do nothing. I went to the club car and ordered a seltzer. When no one was looking, I poured in a goodly amount of gin from the flask in my pocket. I settled down and took a big gulp, thinking about what could have happened to Adora Moreno. There was a babe in a tight black wool skirt a few stools down from me. She had been giving me the once-over. She smiled at me. I smiled back. That was all she needed to get off her stool and come sit next to me.
“You look forlorn, Mister, like you’ve lost something.”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I have. But I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay, okay, just trying to be friendly. It’s a long and lonely trip to Frisco when you’re alone and not too many folks are willing to talk to a single woman without thinking—”
“—you know, lady, I’m really not interested in a sob story at the moment. You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m not very good company tonight—today—or whatever it is.”
“Today, Mister. Okay, I’ll go, but may I ask you a question first?”
I was a little distracted and impatient. “Yeah, shoot…”
“Are you a cop of some sort? You look familiar. I work at the Beverly Hilton in L.A. and I think the night some poor man was murdered in the elevator you were one of the presiding policemen. Right?”
“Yeah, right. So what’s that got to do with anything?”
“I thought you might be interested in some other things that were found in Mr. Eisenstadt’s room.”
Now she had piqued my curiosity. “How—how would you know where that stuff went? And why didn’t the cops claim it when the coroner went over Eisenstadt’s room? Are you a thief—or are you one of those tails the syndicate or whoever has sent to keep an eye on me?”
“No,” she snickered. “The unclaimed properties department, known to you as Lost & Found, is under my jurisdiction. You see, I am the official assistant manager of the hotel. I must confess, I went through Mr. Eisenstadt’s room before the police arrived and, uh, shall I say—secured certain items that looked rather curious to me. And maybe of value. After all, a girl has to make a living, you know.”
She was fairly tall and slender, wore a gold-leaf necklace and fluffy white sweater with a couple of medium-sized boobs filling things out pretty well. Her hair was a dishwater blonde with a few threads of grey and her skin was good but she wore a lot of makeup. “Why are you telling me this? First of all, I could arrest you for confiscating police property. Second, you could lose your job and even if I bought your story, lady, I’m a cop and couldn’t afford to pay your price—even if I wanted what you have to sell.”
“Yes, but maybe you know someone who could afford my price? I’m not unreasonable, Mr. Policeman, just a woman with a good business sense. I watched you with the old man and his caregiver. I also saw two men who have strangely disappeared tailing you toward Car #27 late last night.”
“What were you doing up so late?”
“I’m an incurable insomniac. I was smoking in the area between Car #’s 26 and 27 when I noticed you walk by as I entered my sleeping compartment. Two men followed you in succession. Since I was only a few doors up from your confrontation with these men, I heard the ruckus and suddenly the two men are gone—zip!” She snapped her fingers and smiled at me. “And now there’s just you…”
I closed my eyes. This was all I needed. A nosy dame with a yen for extra bucks through extortion. “What’s your name?”
“Anne—Anne Banning. What’s yours, if I may ask?”
“Denning…Cable Denning. So what do you want—even if you could prove I was in that transom at the designated hour. It’s your word against mine.”
“Well, not quite, Mr. Denning. You see, I consulted the porter who warned you not to open the half-window door and lean out. So now we have two witnesses.” She sighed like a cagey old cat that had cornered the mouse and was about to pounce.
“You know, your timing is really bad, Miss Banning. But I must admit you’d make a hell of a detective. Female detectives are rare.”
“I did a stint once in a department store as a shoplifter’s worst nightmare. I was good at it.” She looked at me. “You’re a pretty handsome young man to be mixed up in all this. What are you going to do, throw me off the train, too?”
I laughed under my breath. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. Double-dealers like you need to be brought to justice, Anne Banning.”
She squinted her eyes and smiled. “Well, Mr. Denning, I just love men who play rough. Are you…are you, uh, rough in other departments of your life—like love making, for instance? I might be interested in that as…partial payment…”
I swallowed down the rest of my gin-laced seltzer. “Maybe some other time, Miss Banning, but I really can’t afford you--or the time just now. Plus I’m looking for some dish who has, coincidentally, also disappeared. You haven’t seen a dark-haired Latin doll around, by any chance?”
“No,” she said coldly. “Too bad. I’d make it worth your while and we’ve got a couple of hours yet before we step on to that platform in San Francisco.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” I got up to leave. “See you around.”
“Aren’t you forgetting I know too much—I could forewarn the San Francisco Police Department that a dangerous killer is—is on the loose and on his way to their city by the bay.”
“Go ahead, call ‘em. I’m just not that interested at the moment. In fact, I don’t think you’ll cry wolf, Miss Banning, because you spilled some of your own beans. Remember how naughty you were in stealing police property out of a dead man’s room before the authorities arrived? I don’t think extortion or blackmail would work for you just now.”
“But I like being naughty, Mr. Denning. I was hoping you’d be naughty with me.”
“Not this time, lady. I’ll be on my way now, if you don’t mind.” I left Anne Banning sitting there at the bar, her face perplexed.
For a while I wondered aimlessly around the train, car after car, checking out the dining car, the lounge and observation and reading car at the rear of the train. By the time we chugged into the Oakland station, I was internally distraught. Why did the silly dame risk herself—and me by coming aboard? But then I thought about the great sex we’d had and the beautiful woman who owned that body whi
ch satisfied me so damn much. Truth was I missed her. I missed her voice, her sincerity, the way she kissed me and how she wrapped herself around me without fearing that one day we might not be an item anymore, but a memory. Maybe that was what already had happened. I stood at the gate to Track 11 where everyone who was aboard the Lark exited. Desperately I searched for Adora. She had vanished.
Chapter 8
CURSE OF THE RED DRAGON LADY
I took a ferry across the bay to San Francisco. From the deck I could see the fog spilling over those twin peaks Crazy Jack had told me about. I was about to disembark when a slight man came up to me. “Mr. Denning? Have you lost someone? If you want to see her alive again, I suggest you take a street car alone to the Hotel Verona, 317 Leavenworth Street, Room #417. Don’t ask any questions—and you never saw me, right?” The man disappeared off the gangplank. I dared not follow him.
After I asked directions to the Hotel Verona, I caught a streetcar. It stopped a few blocks from the hotel on Market St. and 7th. I got out and walked briskly to a six-story, typically San Francisco-style affair with the bay windows, located on the corner of Leavenworth and Eddy with a large vertical sign on the corner of the building. It wasn’t a dump, but it wasn’t the Mark Hopkins, either. I asked the elevator boy to take me to the fourth floor. Like all old hotels, there was a quiet feeling mingled with a must from the carpets as I walked down the hallway to Room #417. I reached for my .38 as I knocked. Soon a small man in a black suit and white silk tie with a gun in his hand opened the door. “No, Mr. Denning—I would ask you not to reach for your gun. Miss Moreno is shaken, but well. Please, come in.” His voice was raspy and sinister in tone, and he possessed a strange accent I didn’t recognize. He was obviously well spoken and educated. “The gun, if you don’t mind.”
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