Entertainment for Gentlemen
“So?” she said. “How about it? Come and see me wear my suspenders? If you’re a good boy you can watch me take them off.”
Irving reddened even more.
“Don’t you want to?” Kitty persisted. “It’s a free pass, man. You can’t tell me you’re not interested. Hmmm?”
Irving read the card again, smiled shyly and said, “Thanks.”
But Kitty reached out and plucked the card from his pudgy fingers. “Irving, baby, first tell this nice gentleman what he wants to know about that sweet little pink Datsun. Okay?” She brushed the card over her nipples, one at a time. And again.
Irving Thomas cleared his throat and looked back at his monitor. “The registration on this vehicle expired two years ago,” he informed us. “It was registered in the name of a Nevada corporation that has apparently gone out of business, leaving no forwarding address. If you want to claim the vehicle, you’ll have to—”
“Can you tell me where the car is now?” I asked.
The clerk consulted the computer monitor again, then wrote a phone number on the back of yet another business card and slid it across the counter to me. “It’s impounded,” he said. “By the police department of Jefferson City, up in Jefferson County. Apparently it was abandoned, parked in a red zone where it collected tickets for seven days before being towed. In order to claim that vehicle you’ll have to present proof of current ownership, pay the back registration to the Department of Motor Vehicles, pay parking fines, towage and storage charges, and—”
“Thank you, Mister Thomas,” I said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
“Jefferson City?” Kitty asked. “What—”
“Let’s go,” I said. “Good-bye, Irving. Say good-bye, Pussy.”
Kitty glared at me, then flashed the clerk one more dazzling smile. “See you, honey. It was nice playing cards with you.” She flipped the free pass across the counter, and he caught it in midair.
***
I took Kitty to my office and we sat across from each other at the conference table. “Are you ready for this?” I said.
“Are you trying to tell me that Roger and Gracie are in Jefferson City? That’s bullshit.”
“No, they’re definitely not in Jefferson City,” I told her.
“Right,” she agreed. “Because that’s bullshit.”
“Look,” I said. “You have to be ready for the truth, or at least what I honestly believe is the truth. Okay?”
“Okay.” She twisted a bunch of hair around a forefinger and frowned. “What the fuck are they doing in Jefferson City. God damn it, if they’re—”
“Kitty?”
“What?”
“Shut up and listen.”
“Okay.” She quit twisting her hair and folded her twitching hands on the table in front of her. “Okay.”
“And another thing. From now on, you stop holding out on me. You tell me everything you know. You can’t expect us to find Gracie together if we keep secrets from each other. Okay?”
She pursed her lips.
“Okay?”
“Okay, I said.”
“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “First of all, forget Jefferson City. They’re not in Jefferson City. Gracie was never up there. That’s where Carol is.”
Kitty rapped on the table with her knuckles. “So that’s what this is all about, huh Guy? Finding Carol?”
“No,” I said. “I already knew Carol was up there. She told me. I’ve been wondering how her car got down here to Santa Barbara in time for the warehouse fire, and now I know. I figured it out while I was taking a shower, and this trip to the DMV confirmed it.”
“So where’s Gracie?”
“I’m getting to that. When Carol left town, Roger followed her. I don’t know how he did that without her knowing about it, with that garish piece of junk he was driving, no offense, but somehow he did. He followed her all the way north to Jefferson County, where he stole her car and left his own pink Datsun, or Gracie’s anyway, on the street. He drove Carol’s car back to Santa Barbara, where he connected with Gracie. You’re not going to like this. Roger and Gracie were working together. They had it all planned. They lured Worsham to the warehouse the night you were dancing for me. They murdered the man, Kitty. Not because Gracie didn’t like him, but because he was going to blow the whistle on Roger’s vanity press scam. Then, with Carol’s car parked in the warehouse lot, they torched the building, hoping the car would be spotted.”
Kitty was weeping.
“Then, as soon as they knew the building was about to be history, they got into Carol’s car and drove to the marina. I guess they’d taken Worsham’s keys and wallet and whatever else you need to steal a yacht. And they sailed off into the sunrise.”
Kitty sobbed, then choked, then bawled.
“I’m sorry, Kitty,” I said. “Maybe I’m wrong, but—”
“They didn’t wait for me,” she whimpered. “Why didn’t they wait for me?”
Chapter Nineteen
I opened a bottle of 1992 Buttonwood Farm Syrah and poured two glasses. It wasn’t even noon, and we hadn’t eaten since the makeshift omelet, but I was ready for a drink, and Kitty looked even thirstier. She made a pretense of sniffing the bouquet, then swallowed half the glass.
“Your turn,” I said.
She shrugged. “What?” she said. Not like what did you say, more like what are you talking about.
“Your turn,” I repeated. “Didn’t wait for you to what?”
She drank the rest of her wine, as if it were a glass of iced tea, and said, “Forget it. I don’t even care where they went.”
“But you know where they went,” I said.
“Maybe.”
“Where?”
“Who cares? Do you care? I don’t.”
“Where?”
She put her hand out toward the wine bottle and I moved it out of her reach. “I want to know where they went,” I said, “and you said you wouldn’t hold back. I’ve lost a lover, too, Kitty. Your turn.”
Kitty looked at me with those sapphire eyes, now shiny with tears, and nodded, holding the glass out again. This time I filled it, and she pulled it back across the conference table toward herself, but didn’t lift it to her lips. She took a deep breath and began.
“Roger has this place, this island off the coast of Honduras. It’s called Polly’s Key. I’ve seen pictures. It’s really pretty, like a movie, all jungly and, like, tropical.”
Her nose was a mess. I stood up and walked over to my desk to get a box of Kleenex. I sat back down and slid the box across the table to her. “So you think that’s where they went? Polly’s Key?”
She ripped three tissues out of the box and let fly with a loud honk. She shrugged. “We were all going there. Together, God damn it. And not till Christmastime. Now here I am, all alone, stuck with the rent, all alone with a dead-end job and a shit apartment, shit.…” She began crying again.
When she snuffled to a pause I asked her, “Do you know where this island is, exactly?”
“Not really. It’s teeny, like maybe a couple of acres. It’s actually off the coast of another island, a bigger island, which is off the coast of Honduras.”
“Do you remember the name of the bigger island?”
“No. I’d recognize the name if I heard it, probably.”
I went to a bookshelf and got down an atlas. I set it down on the table and opened it up to Central America. “Probably one of these Bay Islands,” I said. “Roatan? Morgania? Utila?”
“Morgania, that’s it. Morgania. It’s named after that rum guy, Captain Morgan.”
“He was a pirate,” I said.
“Whatever.” She looked carefully at the map and said, “That’s it, all right. In the Caribbean, just like at Disneyland. Roger says pirates used to hang out on his island. There are still pirates down there, he says, with all that coke traffic. Roger thinks it’s all so cool, the fucke
r. And I was supposed to get to go! We got passports and everything.” She wagged her head slowly back and forth. “If I ever see Gracie again, I’ll kill her, I swear to God.”
“Is Roger Herndon into coke traffic?”
She didn’t answer me.
“Kitty?”
“What? How would I know?”
“Is he? Come on, now.”
“Jesus. Of course, Guy. What did you think?” She took a deep breath. “It’s no big deal, he just buys and sells. Don’t you dare tell him I said so, or we’re both dead, all right?”
“Worry not,” I told her. “What a creep.”
“That’s another thing I’ve lost, I guess,” she said. “Free cocaine. I guess I’m going to have to work extra hours. Fucking drag.”
“Tell me more about the island.”
“These Spaniards come up from Nicaragua and Panama and sell him a bunch of shit,” she continued, “and then these dudes from Miami or somewhere come down and buy it off him. He’s only ever done it a couple of times, just setting the business up, making the right contacts, doing what he calls building trust. He’s been going down there three or four times a year, while he was getting his act together. Starting the first of the year he planned to do it big time, dump the business and move down there for good. So I guess he’s already made his move, him and Gracie both, those little fuckers. He probably has enough cash by now anyway. He’s been stashing all the money from the film business and the book business in a bank in the Caymans. That’s what the publishing thing was all about. Sorry if that shocks you.”
“You mean I’m supposed to be surprised?” I asked. “That this first-class low-rent mooch, this pornographer, this vanity press swindler, this car-stealing, yacht-thieving, arsonist murderer—”
“That’s another thing,” Kitty grumbled. “If they’re taking that yacht all the way to the Caribbean, they’ll have to go through the Panama Canal. Shit. I always wanted to see the Panama Canal. Those buttholes.”
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “They’re not going to see the Panama Canal. Worsham’s boat was abandoned in the Ventura Marina.”
“That figures,” Kitty said.
“Why do you say that?”
“That’s where Roger lives,” she said. “In his film studio. He hasn’t made any movies for over a year, but he still keeps it as a crash pad and an office. All his business records, his personal stuff, stuff like that. What a pig sty. That guy has no class, let me tell you.”
I thought a minute, then shoved the cork back into the Syrah bottle. I got up from the table and put the wine in the cabinet, then carried our glasses to the sink in the bathroom. I rinsed them out and dried them and put them in the cabinet too. I sat back down and smiled sadly across the table.
Kitty said, “Guy, why are you doing this for me?”
“Because, as I told you, I’ve lost a lover too,” I answered. “We’ve both been left behind.”
“At least you know where your lover is.”
“I also know where she’s not, which is why I’m so eager to think about something else these days.”
“Like finding Gracie?”
“Like revenge. Like finding Roger Herndon and whipping his ass,” I said.
“He’d probably like that,” Kitty said. “He’s way into stuff like that.”
“Let’s go have lunch,” I said.
“Lunch?”
“And then you and I are going for a drive.”
“Guy, do you think Gracie and Roger might still be there? In Ventura, I mean?”
“Probably not,” I said, “but it’s the only lead we’ve got.”
***
Why was I not surprised? When we arrived at the world headquarters of XXX-Tra Credits, the first thing I saw was a fire truck in the parking lot. The next thing I saw was three police cars, one of them from the city of Santa Barbara. The parking lot was full of people, and two fire hoses stretched from a fire hydrant on the curb, across the parking lot, and in through the front door of the building. Smoke was hissing out of the broken windows at one end of the concrete structure. The sky over the building was orange-brown, and the air smelled of burning trash.
“Fuck,” Kitty muttered. “Typical.”
She parked on the street, right behind a parked powder-blue Mercedes-Benz, and we walked across the lot until we came to a policeman who was keeping people away from the building. He was the size of a Buick standing upright on its hind wheels. “Can we go in?” I asked. “We know how this fire was started.”
“Off limits,” the Buick told us. “Please step back.”
For the second time that day I fished Rosa Macdonald’s business card out of my wallet and handed it up to the cop. “Is Detective Macdonald inside?” I asked.
“She’s very busy, sir.” He handed back the card. “Now if you don’t mind.”
“Would you tell her Guy Mallon has some information for her? I know how this fire started, and I’m sure she’ll—”
“Please step back, sir. I’m not going to tell you again.” I had to believe him. He weighed more than Kitty and me put together.
“Guy!”
There she stood in the doorway, Rosa in her yellow jump suit, wiping her face with a red bandanna. She walked toward us. The cop said, “You know this man?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “He’s a giant pain in the ass.” But she was smiling, and anyone who calls me a giant is forgiven. She turned to Kitty, gave her the toothy smile, and held out her right hand. “I’m Detective Macdonald,” she said. “You must be Miss Murphy?” I could see Rosa looking Kitty over, top to toe. The detective in her, I assumed.
Kitty did not smile back, nor did she take Rosa’s hand.
“This isn’t Carol,” I said. “Rosa, meet Kitty Katz. Kitty, this is the police officer who’s been so helpful.”
Kitty shrugged.
Rosa chuckled. “So you brought Miss Katz here to confirm your alibi for the night of September ninth? Really, Guy, that wasn’t necessary.”
“Looks like Roger Herndon burned down another business,” I said.
She nodded. “Looks that way. Not much business left in there.” She turned to Kitty and said, “I gather you worked for Mister Herndon?”
Kitty took a good ten seconds to decide to speak. She turned to me and I nodded. “He was my agent,” she answered. “Still is, as far as I know.”
“Maybe he still is,” Rosa answered. “If we can find him.”
“Do you know where Gracie is?” Kitty asked. Begging. “Grace Worth? Anything about her?”
Rosa turned to me and said, “She’s the other one you told me about? Also works at the Kountry Klub, also works for Herndon?”
“That’s right,” Kitty said. “Do you know where she is?”
“Have you tried Missing Persons?”
Kitty rolled her eyes and gave me a look that said, we’re outta here.
I said, “Rosa, you’ve got work to do. I just thought you might be interested in what we know about the business Roger had in that building, and why he burned the place up. But if we’re in your way—”
“Can you make it fast?” Rosa asked. “I’m taking care of a lot of details right now.”
Kitty said, “Take us in there. I know all there is to know.”
Rosa nodded, turned on her heel, and marched back across the parking lot, leading the way through the cops and the maze of fire hoses.
The inside of the warehouse smelled sooty. “Roger only has that end of the building,” Kitty said. “The one that isn’t there anymore.”
We followed Rosa into the large open area that had once been Roger Herndon’s home and office and the studio for the XXX-Tra Credits Film Company. Heavy-duty fans were set up at the near end of the room, blowing the smoke and smell toward the windows at the rear. The fire site was contained to an area about twelve feet by fifteen in the middle of the room. What remained in that spot was a pile of soaking, scorche
d rubble. The ceiling above the fire zone was black, fading out to gray till it met the walls, which were also gray. A gray oil covered the floor and every piece of furniture and equipment in the space: chairs, dresser, movie cameras, desk, filing cabinets.…
Filing cabinets. “Have you gone through the papers?” I asked.
Rosa said, “What papers? Nothing left in the filing cabinets, bookshelves, desk drawers, anything. All gone. He must have built himself quite a pyre, right there in the middle of the room. I take it that was his bed? He slept there, in the middle of the room?”
“His bed, also his movie set,” Kitty said. “He made loops. That’s mostly what he made was loops. You don’t need much scenery for that.”
“You were part of that operation?”
“I’m an actress,” Kitty answered. “I can show you my résumé. I made a couple of feature films, too.”
“Well, it looks as if he also used that bed to destroy all the evidence that he had ever made loops or anything else,” Rosa said. “Our friend was quite the firebug. Attila the Hun could have taken lessons from him.” She turned to Kitty, not the hint of a smile left on her face, and said, “Miss Katz, I need you to tell me where Roger Herndon is. This is crucial. Where is he?”
Kitty stared right back at her and said, “I have no idea. No idea whatsoever. I wish I knew. I’m worried about Grace Worth.”
“Well, the man has destroyed two buildings in less than a month. It’s time we slapped him behind bars to await a very serious trial. Murder, too, you know.”
“No idea,” Kitty repeated.
“Any bodies this time?” I asked.
“No. And no motive. Assuming it was Herndon. Any ideas? Either of you?”
“He wanted out,” I said. “Both fires. Burning bridges.”
“I thought you said he had a gold mine in that publishing business of his.”
“He was in over his head. He had taken first deposits on more books than he could possibly produce, so he took the money and ran.”
“Ran where?” Rosa asked.
“We already told you we don’t know,” Kitty said. “Shit.”
“And why did he set this fire here?” Rosa persisted. “Miss Katz?”
Vanity Fire Page 16