Devil's Dance

by Daniel Depp

  The waiter came back.

  ‘I’ll have the New York steak, medium rare, the mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, and a tossed salad with Thousand Island dressing. And another martini.’

  ‘Do I detect some unhappiness in your life?’ Spandau asked her.

  ‘Oh you mean because I’m eating like fifteen jackals on a downed wildebeest? You’re buying, remember, and normally all you give me is a hot dog or something. I’m due for this. And you’re about to hit me up for some other favor anyway.’

  ‘I’ve seen you hoover up food pretty good before, thanks. I mean the martinis in the middle of the day. This is new. Is there something wrong at the paper?’

  ‘Stuart left,’ she said.

  ‘And Stuart was …?’

  ‘The musician. The oboe player. I swear to god I expected more out of an oboe player. It turns out they’re just like everybody else. He called me a ball-buster. You don’t think I’m a ball-buster, do you?’

  Spandau put his forefinger and thumb about half an inch apart.

  ‘Well, okay, they were tiny balls anyway. Men always have trouble with strong women.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Oh yes you do. You’re only happy with strong women when they get all gushy and icky around you. You never meet them as equals. You play off their weaknesses.’

  ‘Jesus. Thank you. That’s very sweet.’

  ‘Don’t take it personally, but I think all men should be castrated. I have this theory about all men subconsciously thinking of their dicks as a club.’

  ‘I don’t think this is really a new insight.’

  ‘I never said it was new, I just said it was something I now firmly believe. Men have this dangly thing and they’re like those monkeys at the beginning of Kubrick’s 2001. They’ve just got to beat something to death with it.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see where all this heads after the second martini.’

  ‘What is the male equivalent of a ball-buster? See? There isn’t one. Women have no word for men who try to desexualize them. This is because it’s an accepted process throughout history.’

  ‘If you’re going to go all Andrea Dworkin on me,’ said Spandau, ‘then I’m going to have to get tanked as well. I recall we had this same conversation when Kenny left you. It was piña coladas then. Just before you threw up in the parking lot you were taking the line about all men being potential rapists.’

  ‘All men are pigs,’ she said. She raised her glass. ‘To swine!’

  ‘To swine.’

  Spandau tapped her martini with his beer. They drank.

  ‘I have to say you’re a swine. One of the better ones, but a swine anyway.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’ve always liked your eyes. They are good eyes for a swine. Decidedly unswinelike.’

  ‘Mirror of an unswinish soul?’

  ‘Maybe you’re only half swine. There’s a bloodhound in there somewhere. Kind of sad and tired and droopy eyed.’

  There were tears forming in her eyes.

  ‘Shit,’ she said.

  She got up and scurried back toward the restroom. She came back a few minutes later, her eyes dry but red.

  ‘I don’t see where an oboe player gets off calling anybody a ball-buster,’ she said. ‘A fucking oboe player. Maybe if he’d been a brass player. But the woodwinds are all pussified.’

  ‘Pussified. Yes, I think I heard Aaron Copland mention that. The pussified woodwinds. You tell Stuart this?’

  ‘Damn right.’

  ‘And was this before or after the ball-buster remark? Jesus, Meg.’

  ‘Do not make fun of me,’ she said laughing. ‘I’m in great personal anguish.’

  ‘Didn’t you once tell me that the suffering of others is our greatest source of comedy? I think you said that to me right after Dee left.’

  ‘You were wallowing in self-pity.’

  ‘Welcome to the pig pen.’

  ‘You couldn’t see it at the time, but she set you free. You were suffocating each other.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t feel much like discussing this, Margaret.’

  ‘The trouble with men is that they’ll just stare at a brick wall until it falls on them. Then they see the light on the other side.’

  ‘I don’t mind being called a swine or even a monkey beating things to death with my johnson. But if you are going to get all philosophical about my personal life, I’m grabbing the check now and going home.’

  ‘You’re so cute when your feelings are invaded. You do that thing with your mouth.’

  ‘What thing with my mouth?’

  ‘This thing. The spinster mouth. Your lips get all thin.’

  She made the face.

  ‘Even Anna’s noticed it,’ she said.

  ‘For god’s sake, is there anybody she doesn’t talk to about our personal life?’

  ‘It has nothing to do with you, but she’s an Oscar-winner. She’s one of the interesting creatures. Anyway, sweetheart, the time to worry is when a woman stops talking about you. Oh god.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just had this flash. I’d like to say I’m psychic but you are just such an open book. You’re seeing Dee again, aren’t you?’

  ‘Charlie has gone missing. It looks like he’s in hock to some shylocks. Dee’s asked me to find him.’

  ‘How convenient.’

  ‘I thought you liked her.’

  ‘I do like her. But she’s just as capable of being manipulative as the rest of us. There are a thousand other people she could have picked and she chose you. Hm.’

  ‘She knows me.’

  ‘Yes indeed she does. She knows you’re with Anna now too and she knows that it’s working.’

  ‘She didn’t just make up this story about Charlie.’

  ‘No, but Charlie’s not the angel she thought he was, no pun intended. So she comes to you. You asshole. Do not fuck this up with Anna.’

  ‘It’s not like that. She loves him. She just wants to make sure he’s safe.’

  ‘Look, I’m not saying you’re an idiot, but you’re an idiot.’

  ‘Pookie and Leo are handling it. It’s just a favor.’

  ‘Right. You should take up the oboe, you know that? When you do your mouth like that it’s perfect. You look just like Stuart.’

  The food came. She may have been personally distraught but she tucked into it like a lumberjack. She was halfway through the steak before she spoke again.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’m being fed, we’ve exchanged the requisite personal shit. What do you want?’

  ‘I need to see Mel Rosenthal.’

  ‘Ha. You and the rest of the world. Ask Anna. She knows him.’

  ‘I did. Somebody in his office warned her off.’

  ‘Gosh you’re off to a good start. You haven’t even met the guy and already you’re on his bad side. Which is not a great place to be, by the way. He’s very friendly with the Boys.’ She pushed her nose to one side. ‘Anyway, why are you investigating Mel Rosenthal?’

  ‘I’m not. I just want to talk to him.’

  ‘Do not be coy with me. This is Auntie Meg. Give up the goods or I’m just going to eat and drink and puke on your cowboy boots again. Who is the client?’

  ‘You know I’m not going to tell you that.’

  ‘Jerry Margashack?’

  ‘Jesus, Meg.’

  ‘I read the papers too, you know. There’s Oscar buzz all over the guy, then shit on him starts appearing in the media. Granted, it’s a town full of imbeciles but even the brain-damaged can pick up on a smear campaign like this. It’s not the first time Rosenthal has pulled this.’

  ‘I’m not investigating Rosenthal, I’m not accusing Rosenthal of anything. I just want to ask him some questions but I can’t get anywhere near him.’

  ‘No shit. He’d just love to have you nosing into this.’

  ‘This is where you come in. I want you to call him.’

  ‘And ask about Margashack and rumors that Rosentha
l may have released certain information.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You think this is going to drive him right into your arms?’

  ‘You work for the LA Times. He’d sure as hell rather talk to me than you. I’m bound by confidentiality to my client.’

  ‘Why talk to either one of us?’

  ‘He’s got a picture in the race too. He doesn’t want this out there. If people think he’s behind this it could screw up his own chances. You know as well as I do that it’s like a politician running for office. They’re going to want to contain this.’

  ‘You think he’s behind it?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to figure out.’

  ‘So you’re just going to walk up to him and ask him.’

  ‘That’s about the size of it.’

  ‘And he’s going to tell you the truth?’

  ‘I have long ago given up on the idea that anyone ever tells me the truth,’ said Spandau. ‘Nowadays I just focus on the different ways people tell me lies. Anyway the truth is always the same, but you can tell a lot about a person by the way they con you.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Same deal as always. If the story breaks I get the exclusive.’

  ‘If the story breaks. And it had better not break in front of me.’

  ‘I thought you trusted me.’

  ‘About as much as you trust me,’ he said.

  ‘We have both become bitter,’ she said. ‘You ever think of yourself as a kind of monster? I mean, it’s a shitty world but we both really are pretty good at it.’

  ‘Why don’t we ask Dee and Stuart,’ he said.

  ‘Touché,’ she said, and emptied her second martini.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Tina Belucci was beautiful by anybody’s standards. She was a small blonde whose father had been an Italian Formula One driver and whose mother was a French actress. She had her father’s olive skin and her mother’s hair. She got her cheerful disposition and intelligence from them both, along with a personality that made her seem like she was flirting even when she wasn’t. This made her popular with men in ways she didn’t particularly like, and unpopular with women in ways that were worse. Anna didn’t like her, for instance, and referred to her as ‘that horny little Italian runt’.

  Spandau had to admit it was hard to take your eyes off her, and she had this way of looking up and gazing while you spoke. Spandau had never thought much about the difference between a simple look and a gaze. After Tina, his conclusion was that a look was just a look, but a gaze made you want to sit on the edge of the desk and talk about your childhood. This was distracting but by no means a bad talent to have in a detective agency. Tina was smart, as well, and was reliable and had a mind that could juggle a dozen things at once, which is what the job called for.

  When Spandau came into the office she said:

  ‘Mr Rosenthal’s assistant called. Lena Swift. Would you call her back at your convenience.’

  She handed him the number and smiled. This was accompanied by a gaze, in which Spandau noted how long her eyelashes were, and that somehow he had come to roost on the edge of her desk. He got up.

  ‘Should I ring her for you?’

  ‘No no, I’ll just make the call from my office. Walter’s office.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ she said, gazing.

  She rang the number. Spandau looked at her hands and noted there was no wedding or engagement ring. He wondered how many times a day other men did the same thing.

  ‘David Spandau returning Lena Swift’s call … Yes, thank you.’

  She handed him the phone.

  ‘Mr Spandau?’ said the voice. ‘I’m Lena Swift, one of Mel’s assistants. Mel would like to meet with you. If it’s convenient.’

  ‘Please thank Mr Rosenthal. When would he like to meet?’

  ‘He has a busy day and there won’t be much time. What about half an hour?’

  ‘Sure. What is the address?’

  ‘We’ll send a car for you.’

  ‘I can drive.’

  ‘Mel would prefer that you didn’t. At your office in say twenty minutes?’

  ‘Great. Should I pack a lunch?’

  ‘As I say, Mel has a busy day and we’ll have you back at a reasonable time. Would you like the driver to bring you a sandwich?’

  ‘I’ll try to stick it out,’ he said, and she hung up. ‘I’m going on a journey,’ he said to Tina. ‘There’s a car picking me up in twenty minutes. Just buzz me, will you? I’m going to go curl my sideburns.’

  She giggled. It was very hard to resist a giggle and a gaze. Spandau suppressed the urge to sit back on the desk and tell her about a pet rabbit he had as a kid. Instead he went into the office and called Meg at the newspaper.

  ‘He bit,’ he said.

  ‘When do you meet him?’

  ‘In half an hour. He’s sending a car for me.’

  ‘A car? Look, leave a trail of breadcrumbs. If they take you to a house in the woods made of gingerbread, run like a bastard.’

  The car arrived exactly twenty minutes later. The driver was standing by the car and blocking a hefty section of Sunset Boulevard. He didn’t seem to mind. He opened the door for Spandau, closed it, and casually strolled around the car to the driver’s seat. If the honking bothered him he didn’t show it.

  ‘No bag over my head?’ Spandau said to the driver once they were in traffic.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘They seemed reluctant to give me the address. I could have driven myself.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Rosenthal moves around a lot. Busy man. Half the time even he doesn’t know where he’s supposed to be.’

  ‘Then can I ask where you’re taking me?’

  ‘To the beach house. Unless somebody calls and says different. That happens all the time too.’

  And if Spandau didn’t know where he was going, neither would his office or anybody else. He’d heard Rosenthal was a control-freak and liked all the bases covered. This was a subtle way of making sure nobody else showed up unannounced. It was a little Gestapo-like, but effective if you wanted your visitor with the shit scared out of him.

  TWENTY-THREE

  They drove to the Malibu colony. The driver deposited him at a large house that backed up to the ocean. Before Spandau could ring the bell the door was opened by a big man in a dark suit.

  ‘Hello, Louis,’ said Spandau. ‘How’s it hanging these days?’

  Louis scowled, but then Spandau had never seen him when he wasn’t. Spandau followed him up a short flight of stairs and through the living room out onto the deck. Salvatore Locatelli stood leaning against the wooden railing, smoking a cigar and looking down on a fashion model being photographed on the beach below. She was half naked and trying not to freeze to death in eight inches of cold Pacific.

  Locatelli was an elegant man with graying hair, impeccable manners, and a well-clipped mustache. He was small but grew considerably taller when you remembered he controlled nearly every crooked racket between Tijuana and San Luis Obispo, and only stopped there because, until you got to San Francisco, there wasn’t enough money to make it worthwhile. Anyway his cousin Angelo owned San Francisco.

  ‘I’ve got to get one of these,’ Locatelli said.

  ‘You mean the model or the beach house?’

  ‘The beach house,’ said Locatelli. ‘I’ve sworn off models. If I’m going to have another mistress, which is questionable I might add, I’d prefer someone less self-absorbed. They are wonderful to look at though. What do they call it? Eye candy?’

  ‘Don’t wait too long,’ said Spandau. ‘Pretty soon it’s going to be like trying to shoot pool with a rope.’

  Locatelli laughed. ‘George Burns said that. You didn’t think I’d catch it, did you? It’s true though. We’re all getting old, Texas. We have to face up to it.’

  ‘You face up to it. I’m going to stay in denial a while longer if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Ah, yeah, that’s right. You’re with that actress now. She’s still a
beauty okay. Which one is she again?’

  ‘You know damned well who she is. You were in Cannes with us when all that shit with Perec and Special came down. You also published that self-serving piece-of-crap book he wrote about it.’

  ‘And don’t forget the film. We’re making a bundle on that one too. The Princess and the Pimp. You have to admit it’s a good story. Anyway, what are you complaining about? You came out looking okay. You’re a star now too.’

  Louis came out carrying a tray of sandwiches and beer.

  ‘Somebody told me you were hungry,’ Locatelli said. ‘Come on, Texas. Tell me you’re surprised to see me.’

  ‘I’d be surprised if Mel Rosenthal was hiding behind the sofa,’ Spandau said, taking a sandwich. ‘Is this picnic just for us or do I actually get to talk to him?’

  ‘Mel will be along directly. I just felt it would be a good time for you and me to get reacquainted.’

  ‘I’m touched and all,’ Spandau said, ‘but if you’re going to threaten me, why bring me all the way out here? Why have me meet Rosenthal at all?’

  ‘You think you’re being threatened? If you were being threatened, Texas, your meeting with Louis at the door would have been less than cordial. Look, he made you sandwiches.’

  ‘Louis will make somebody a swell nanny. You want to tell me what the hell is going on?’

  ‘First of all,’ said Locatelli, ‘you have to stop seeing enemies where there are none. If I wanted you harmed, there’s not a damned thing you could do about it, and you and I both know it. This is one of those occasions where I can actually do you some good. We can both do each other some good.’

  ‘Sorry. Honorable monkey no scratchee back. Can somebody drive me home or do I have to call a cab?’

  ‘You want your ex-wife’s husband found, I can help you do it. And I can tell you who’s looking for him too.’

  ‘And in return what? I sell out my client?’

  ‘Texas, you have the most misguided set of loyalties I have ever come across. You’re not working for Jerry Margashack, because Jerry Margashack doesn’t want you working for him. You’re working for Frank Jurado, and it’s no secret around town that you hate each other’s guts and when he finds some way of pushing you under a truck he’ll do it. Exactly whose interests are being served here? Be that as it may, I don’t really care, but I’d like to assure you that right now I’m probably the closest friend you’ve got.’