Too Darn Hot

by Sandra Scoppettone

  If only it would be as simple as that. But with kidnap-pings, something almost always went wrong.

  “Faye, I’m so scared.”

  I wanted to tell her she should be scared for Charlie, but I knew that would make things worse. “Ya afraid they might do somethin to you.”

  “I don’t know. The whole thing, it’s a mess and a half.”

  “You’ll be okay. Don’t worry about that now. Did ya call the Ladds?”

  “No. I was waitin for you to tell me what to do.”

  “When ya got the call, did ya ask to speak to Charlie?”

  “Sure. They let him say hello, that’s all.”

  “Could ya tell if it was him?”

  “It was him.”

  “Ya could really tell this from a hello?”

  “He said, ‘Hello, Bambi.’ That’s what he calls me.”

  I held my tongue. “So yer sure it was Charlie?”

  “Yeah. I knew, too, by the tone of his voice.”

  “Okay. I’ll call the Ladds.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Call ya back.”

  I dialed the hotel and got connected to the Ladds’ room right away. He answered. I laid out the setup for him. He said he’d get the scratch that afternoon.

  “My lawyer’s bringing it. He’s a Jew, but I trust him.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything.

  “I think I should deliver the money,” he said.

  “They want Claire to hand it over, Mr. Ladd.”

  “But I’m his father.”

  “I guess that’s not a high priority with the kidnappers.”

  “Who is this Claire, anyway? We don’t even know her.”

  “Mr. Ladd. In these cases ya gotta follow instructions or serious things can happen.”

  “You think they might kill Charles?”

  “If ya get em mad or don’t deliver to order, there’s a strong possibility of that. Kidnappers are funny that way. Sticklers for rules.”

  “Can you and I hide somewhere nearby?” Ladd asked.

  “You mean while Claire hands off the ransom?”

  “Exactly. I could hire a car.”

  “They’re gonna be watchin everything.”

  “How many are there? Do we know that?”

  “No. And that’s the point. We can’t risk doin anything that might set their teeth on edge.”

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  I was waiting for that one. “It’s not too hard to follow, Mr. Ladd.”

  “What I mean is, maybe we should tell the police.”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “They could have an expert hidden at the scene.”

  I got the scorch. “Look, I can’t tell ya what to do, but my best advice is not to bring the cops into this.”

  “Is it some sort of professional jealousy?”

  “Is what professional jealousy?” I asked, starting to steam up.

  “You and the police. You want to solve this on your own, don’t you?”

  “Mr. Ladd, I’m not solvin anything here. I’m just tryin to get yer son back alive.”

  Silence.

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth about all this?” he said.

  “Ya don’t. Ya hafta trust me.”

  “That’s not much comfort.”

  This guy was getting in my hair. If it hadn’t been for Claire, I woulda walked away from the whole thing. But she’d hired me, not this meathead.

  “I’m not on this case to comfort ya, Mr. Ladd, although I feel for ya havin yer son kidnapped. I’m workin for somebody else. The kidnapper wants Claire to deliver the money alone and that’s how it’s gotta be.”

  “I’ll call you when the money arrives here.” He hung up.

  I put the phone back in its cradle. What a goulash. I couldn’t be sure that Ladd wouldn’t bring in the cops, but I had to go along with the kidnappers’ demands. There wasn’t any other choice.

  I called Claire. I told her that the money was on its way to Mr. Ladd, but I kept the rest to myself. It’d only give her the jumps.

  “Faye, d’ya think I could go out now? I’m gettin bats in the belfry stayin cooped up here.”

  If it was me, I wouldn’t wanna be away from the phone one minute even though the arrangements were all tied up. You never knew; they might change the plans. I suggested that to Claire.

  “Ya think?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “I’m gonna go bonkers if I don’t get out for some air. I’ll just walk around the block. If they call while I’m out, they’ll call back. Won’t they?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then I’m gonna take that walk. I need some ciggies, too.”

  “Okay. But keep it short, Claire.”

  “I will.” She sounded almost happy.

  “One more thing. How does Charlie feel about Jews?”

  “Jews? I dunno. I mean he says stuff, but who doesn’t?”

  “What kind of stuff does he say?”

  “Lemme think. Oh, yeah. Once we were in a club and some guy banged into us when we were dancin. Charlie called him a clumsy kike. ”

  “What’d the guy do?”

  “Nothin. He looked mad, but he moved away from us. Everybody says stuff like that.”

  “They do?”

  “Sure.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Charlie didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “All in fun, right?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it that way. It’s just how people talk. It’s like wop or mick. Why’re ya askin, Faye?”

  “Just curious. Nothin important. Go take yer walk.”

  We hung up.

  As I’d suspected, Charlie Ladd was probably as anti-Semitic as his parents. He probably hadn’t known David Cooper was Jewish or he wouldna been friends with him.

  I lit another butt. Speaking of David, which I was to myself, I thought I better go back and take another crack at Gloria Lane. I’d let her off too easy. I had a feeling she knew more than she’d owned up to when I interviewed her the first time.

  Gloria lived on the top floor of a five-story walk-up. And the only way up was stairs. Her crib was down the hall at the end. I rapped on her door. Nothing happened. I put my ear to the wood. I heard rustling. I knocked again.

  “Hold yer water,” she said.

  I waited.

  “Who is it?”

  “Faye Quick.”

  “Who?”

  “We spoke before. I’m the PI on the Ladd case, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. The girl dick. What now?”

  “Gotta fill in a few blanks, Gloria.”

  “I told ya what I know.”

  “I got some new questions.”

  She unlocked and let me in.

  Gloria Lane was a bleached blonde and one of those broads who had a bosom like a shelf and made me wonder if I could park an ashtray on it. Her eyes were hazel with well-plucked brows. She was wearing a green silk lounging outfit that she musta gotten before the war.

  Her place struck me the same as when I’d first seen it, decorated like what I imagined a brothel would look like. A lot of reds. Couches, chairs, pillows, even the wallpaper. We sat across from each other. She didn’t offer me anything to drink.

  From the table next to her chair, Gloria picked up a long black cigarette holder, stuck one in, and lit it with a table lighter. I got out my butts and lit mine with a match.

  “So what’s cookin?” she said.

  “I’d like to ask ya a little more about the night ya spent with David, Charlie, and Ida.”

  “I told ya what happened.”

  “I know ya did. But other stuff’s come out now.”

  “Yeah? What kinda stuff?”

  “Did you know David was Jewish?”

  “Yeah. And what’s that got to do with the price a beans?”

  “I just wondered if ya knew. How about Charlie?”

  “H
ow about him?”

  “Did he know David was Jewish?”

  “Why would I know that?”

  “How’d Charlie act toward David?”

  “Ya asked me that last time and my answer’s the same. I wasn’t payin attention to how the boys were treatin each other. My spotlight was on David, poor mutt.”

  “Did David tell ya he was Jewish?”

  She blew a plume of smoke like a drunken dragon. “Not in so many words.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Just what I said.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said.

  “So ya don’t get it. Who cares?”

  “Why’re you actin like this, Gloria?”

  “Like what?”

  “Obstreperous.”

  “Come again?”

  “It’s like yer a different person from last time. Ya were real cooperative then. Now yer fightin me on every question.”

  She looked away, at the wall to her right, at the door, even the ceiling. Anywhere but at me.

  “C’mon, Gloria. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not a Hershey bar, ya know.”

  “A what?”

  “That’s what the soldier boys call it.”

  “Ya lost me.”

  “A floozy, chippy . . . oh, hell. I’m not a prosty.”

  Boy, did I feel stupid. “I never thought ya were, Gloria.”

  “If I tell ya what ya wanna know, you’ll think I’m one.”

  “I won’t, I promise.”

  “Yeah. Ya say that now.”

  “Just tell me how ya knew David was Jewish.”

  There was a long silence while she took another gander around the room. Then she gave a look-see right in my peepers like she could read em.

  “Okay. Me and David? We had a roll in the hay.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Jeez, Faye. I hafta draw ya a picture?”

  I was trying my damnedest to figure this out, but I was still coming up blank. Gloria was getting her dander up and I didn’t wanna make her any madder. So I kept quiet and just waited.

  Finally, she said, “We kept the lights on. I saw him in the altogether. That’s how I knew he was Jewish. Get it now?”

  I did, and felt like a dunce.

  I went home and, sure enough, Dolores was on the stoop. I almost didn’t recognize her cause she had on a new wig. This one was brunette and was slipping over her left ear. I’d last seen her with her right ear nearly invisible.

  “Dolores. You look different.”

  “I lost some weight.”

  And that was the end of that line of talk.

  “Ya going out with yer fella tonight?”

  “I sure hope so.”

  “Tell me, Faye, this is the real thing, ain’t it?”

  “Depends what ya mean?”

  “I mean yer k’velen when yer around him.”

  “I make it so obvious?”

  “Maybe only to me.”

  I heard my phone ringing through the open window. “I gotta get this, Dolores.”

  “Go, be happy. It’s probably him, such a mensch.” I ran up the steps and through the outside door. I got my key in the lock, ran in, and grabbed the phone.

  It was Marty.

  “Why didn’t ya tell me, Faye?”

  “Tell ya what?”

  “That the cops got the skinny about Charlie.”

  I sorta fell into the chair at the phone table.

  “Where’d ya hear that? And don’t say ya got yer sources.”

  “I heard it from the sarge at my precinct.”

  “How’d he know?”

  “Got me. But I checked around and found out old man Ladd called Powell and asked for help.”

  Charlie was as good as dead.

  SEVENTEEN

  More than anything I wanted to call William Ladd and rake him over the coals. But what good would that do? The whole thing was fouled up. I had to tell Claire. Claire! The cops had probably gotten to her already.

  I dialed her number and a man answered. It had to be one of the boys in blue so I cut the connection. I wondered if the FBI had been brought in yet.

  Claire was my client and I had to help her. Help Charlie. Zach’s big green eyes stared at me as I paced my small kitchen, trying to figure what my next step should be.

  I called Marty but he wasn’t at the precinct or any of his usual haunts.

  Then I dialed Claire’s number again and got another man.

  “Is Claire home?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Faye Quick.”

  “Just a minute.”

  I could tell he was covering the mouthpiece, checking with another cop.

  “Hello, Quick.” Detective Powell. I’d recognize that growl anywhere.

  “Who’s this?” I said to irritate him.

  “Powell.”

  “Thank God,” I said, hoping that’d throw him off his game.

  “Huh?”

  It worked. “I’m lookin for Claire Turner. Is she with you?”

  “So happens she is. What about it?”

  “I was worried about her.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I need to stop by.”

  “Do what ya want. We won’t be here.” He hung up.

  Yeah, I really had Powell in my pocket. If they weren’t gonna be at her apartment, they must be taking her to Powell’s precinct. I didn’t think they’d be booking her for anything. Just a lotta talk trying to figure what to do to get Charlie back and catch the kidnappers at the same time. A stupid and dangerous idea.

  I woulda given anything to get outta my duds, but I couldn’t show at the police station in slacks. I needed to look serious.

  I left my crib and thanked my lucky stars Dolores wasn’t on the steps to slow me down. But it was so unusual that I had a mad moment of thinking I should see if she was okay. Then I decided that was borrowing trouble and I had enough as it was.

  I hurried toward Sixth Avenue and hailed a hack. This riding in cabs was getting to be a habit. I told him which precinct to go to.

  The cabbie was silent for a while and then he said, “Why’re ya goin to a police station, ya don’t mind me askin? I mean, a nice-lookin gal like you.”

  I didn’t get why my looks had anything to do with me going to the station.

  “No, I don’t mind ya askin. It’s my mother. She tried to rob a bank.”

  “No kiddin? Yer mudder, huh? A regular Ma Barker.”

  “Somethin like that.”

  “So yer puttin up bail?”

  “Nah. I’m gonna make sure they keep her in there.”

  “Huh?”

  “She’s a menace to society.”

  “But she’s your mudder.”

  I didn’t like the curve this was taking. Joke or not, it made me think of my real mother and I didn’t wanna do that.

  “I hope ya don’t mind, but I don’t wanna talk about it,” I said.

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  I could see the side of his cheek, and the muscle jumping under the skin told me he was crazed with questions.

  We pulled up to the curb.

  “Here we are,” he said. “Buck thirty.”

  I gave him the do re mi and a nickel tip.

  “Ya know somethin, girlie? A mudder is a mudder and if mine was Lizzie Borden, I’d still be behind her. Yer a disgrace.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and got out, sorry I’d tipped him.

  The station looked like any other with its globes of green light on either side of the door. And inside coulda been any station, too: the usual high desk with the cop behind it and a lotta gray chairs against one wall with a lotta gray people sitting in them.

  I went to the desk and waited for the cop to finish whatever he was writing. And I waited. And waited. I cleared my throat. Nothing. It was beginning to get my dander up.

  “Officer,” I said. Nothing. Making a scene was outta the question. It was the old honey-or-vinegar routine.

  “O
fficer?” Sweet as pie.

  He looked up. I batted my long lashes.

  “What can I do for ya, miss?”

  “I’d like to see Detective Powell.”

  He squinted his tiny eyes, which pushed his eyebrows together, making them look like one. “What’s yer name?”

  Uh-oh. “Miss Quick.”

  He looked down at his desk again and fumbled some papers. “Faye?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He don’t wanna see ya.”

  “What?”

  “He don’t . . .”

  “I heard what ya said. I wanna know why.”

  “How should I know? He give me my instructions. That’s all I gotta know.”

  “Could ya tell him I’m here?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Maybe he changed his mind.”

  “Detective Powell don’t change his mind.”

  That sounded right. “Can ya tell me somethin else?”

  “No.”

  “You haven’t even heard what I wanna ask ya?”

  He pursed his mouth into the size of an eraser, then said, “What? Whaddaya wanna ask?”

  “Is Claire Turner here?”

  “This I ain’t got the skinny on.”

  “When Detective Powell came in, did he have a girl with him?”

  “Ya think all I gotta do all day is watch who the detectives bring in with em?”

  I could see I was getting nowhere and that things weren’t gonna change. I walked away and sat on one of the gray chairs to figure out what my next move was gonna be.

  Maybe Claire needed a lawyer. She never woulda thought to get one. Looking around, I spotted a pay phone on the wall. I strolled over, put my nickel in, and dialed 0. I gave the operator the number I wanted.

  “Joel Sheridan’s office,” a girl said.

  I told her who I was and that it was a matter of life and death that I speak to Sheridan now. She told me to hold on.

  I waited. And waited. The operator cut in and told me to fork over another buffalo head. Finally Sheridan picked up.

  “Whatcha got goin on, Faye?”

  The voice of an angel.

  Half an hour later Joel appeared. He came over to me, kissed me on the cheek, and took off his straw fedora. His head was shiny, like a peeled egg. He wore a lightweight blue pin-striped suit with a colorful tie. And he had bright brown eyes that shone with smarts.

  “Fill me in,” he said.

  I did.

  “So you want me to represent Miss Turner?”