The Excluded Exile (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 12)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  I woke up with a start and jumped out of bed. My heart was racing as I made my way into the living room and picked up the phone.

  "Yeah?"

  "Mr. Williams?" It was the hotel operator.

  "Yeah?"

  "You have a call from San Francisco. You'll have only five minutes."

  "Thanks."

  After a couple of clicks, I could hear a loud hiss come on the line.

  I heard the operator say, "Australia Hotel ready."

  Another female Australian voice said, "Sydney ready."

  An oddly wavy voice said, "Tokyo ready."

  A faint American voice said, "Honolulu ready."

  An even fainter voice said, "Your party is on the line. Go ahead."

  As if he was talking through a tin can, Mike said, "Thank you, Operator."

  There were a series of clicks as each of them disconnected.

  Mike yelled out, "Nick!"

  "Mike! Good morning!"

  "How's Sydney?"

  "Hot!"

  Mike paused. "So, about Tony. Sure. I'll have Marnie set that up." Besides being the best secretary a guy could have, Marnie was also my step-sister.

  "Good!"

  I heard Carter ask, "Is that Mike?"

  I whispered back, "Yes."

  "What? Can't hear you, Nick!"

  Carter said, "Tell him hello."

  "Carter says hello!"

  "At ten bucks a minute?"

  I laughed and then asked, "What about my friend?"

  "He's back in town as of yesterday."

  "Were we in the papers?"

  "Yes!"

  "He's the reason."

  Mike was silent for a long moment.

  "Mike?"

  "Yeah. Send me all the details."

  I heard a click. An Australian voice spoke. "We need this line in one minute, please."

  I replied, "Thank you, Operator."

  There was another click.

  Mike said, "Send a letter on the next flight out."

  "Will do!"

  "Bye, Nick."

  "Bye." I put the receiver down on the cradle. I sat down at the desk and turned on the light. Opening the center drawer, I found a small stack of stationery with the hotel's name embossed across the top.

  Carter walked into the living room, yawning. "Whatcha doin'?"

  I stood up and walked around him into the bedroom. "Writing Mike a letter about what happened in Hong Kong." I turned on the overhead light and started to look for my pen.

  "Good idea," said Carter from the living room.

  "Yeah. Where's my pen?"

  "I dunno. Did you bring one?"

  "I think so." I stood in the middle of the room and scratched my chest. Finally, I remembered putting it in the trunk which was sitting against the wall next to the black and chrome wardrobe. I pulled it open and put my hand into the small inside pocket that was at the top of the trunk's lid. As I felt for the pen, my hand grazed against something that felt like paper. I grabbed the pen and put it on the top of the trunk and tried to see what it was that I'd felt.

  Right then, Carter asked, "Find it?"

  I stood up and grabbed the pen. "Yeah."

  Chapter 2

  Australia Hotel

  Tuesday, February 22, 1955

  Early morning

  Feb. 22, 1955

  Dear Mike,

  Here is an overview of what happened in Hong Kong.

  We landed on Thursday, the 17th, and were greeted by a British colonel and a military band. My idea of having Carter make a donation to a local hospital had exactly the effect we were hoping for. Everyone's attention was focused on him and the rest of us were ignored, for the most part. After meeting some of the local worthies, we were taken to the Peninsula Hotel and checked in.

  We were on our way up to the room when a local doctor, a woman by the name of Susan Rice-Harris, came up to us in the lobby and pulled us into the bar for a chat. She warned us that the local triads were going to be after Carter since they thought he might be trying to muscle in on them somehow (that part was never clear). She also let us know that we were officially important but that, as usual, no one wanted to be associated with us.

  At the end of the chat, I tried to get some local information about Shumchun, the border town where Mai was being held. She suddenly cut the conversation and bolted, dragging Carter with her. They took a cab to her house where she told him she thought a Chinese spy was listening in. That was probably Ricky. Neither Carter nor myself saw him but she described him as being either Russian or Italian. She seemed loopy, so we both dismissed her fear as paranoia at the time.

  The original plan to get Mai had been to try to go in on Sunday or Monday but a local contact got jumpy so we decided to try for Friday night. O'Reilly convinced us that Carter was too tall for the job, so he (Carter) went on a tour of the local firehouse followed by a game of poker with the boys (and some gal who tried to seduce him).

  Meanwhile, John Murphy, who got all the equipment together, drove us over to an old marina where we picked up the sampan that he'd bought. We sailed that up the harbor into a cove where we beached it.

  Tony Kalama, our new Hawaiian friend, had brought along Lee (Chinese, no last name given), whom I'm sure does small-time spy jobs. We stowed him in the hidey-hole on the plane to get him into Hong Kong since the Brits don't like him for some reason. He had a Chinese contact (named Hu) who met us at the cove and drove us to his house where we waited until dark. Hu then took us back down to the cove. We waited until the wind shifted and then sailed (through some nasty muck) up to where we beached the sampan again.

  We were walking through a small forest just north of the beach when Lee heard someone tracking us. He and Tony made some noises in Cantonese to make it sound like we were a patrol. But whoever it was kept dogging us.

  There's a single-lane dirt road running east-west that we followed to the camp where Mai and Jerry were being held. It took an hour or so to get there from where we left the sampan. We walked parallel to the road at thirty feet to the north under tree cover. Whoever was tracking us was in the woods on the other side of the road. By the time we got to the camp, I knew that it was Ricky. He made his presence known.

  Tony and Lee went in first. To distract the guards, they pretended to be drunk and were singing "The Internationale." That gave O'Reilly and Murphy a chance to slip in. They found Mai and Jerry and pulled them through the gate. While that was happening, I held the rearguard at the edge of the woods. Ricky showed up to let me know it really was him. He then made his way into the camp.

  No more than five minutes later, O'Reilly and party (minus Tony and Lee) came running up and we immediately started to head back the way we came. About five minutes after that, I heard a loud blast (probably a bazooka or rocket grenade) followed by machine-gun fire and two more blasts. That was quickly followed by an explosion which knocked us all to the ground.

  While the guards were shooting at whoever was using the bazooka (had to be Ricky), Tony and Lee grabbed a truck. After the storage tank exploded, they drove down the dirt road and picked us up.

  We abandoned the truck near the beach where we'd left the sampan. We sailed down to the cove we'd left from. Murphy set the sampan on fire to cover our tracks. We drove back to the hotel. That took about 90 minutes or so.

  Mai is a local celebrity (for good reason). We stashed her and Jerry with us in our suite, hoping no one would find her. But it didn't take long for word to get around.

  Carter had been scheduled to be given a tour of the hospital and an official reception. Both were canceled and we were summoned to the governor's residence where the American consul told me to get out and the governor repeated the same. So we did the next morning and here we are.

  My best guess is that Ricky found out what we were planning when he killed Pete Thomas. He then flew to Hong Kong while we were in Hawaii. Since Mai is a local celebrity, he would have easily found out what we would be doing and where.

 
Ricky has a screw loose. None of the ruckus would have made the papers if he hadn't killed the guards and caused that explosion. I'm worried about what else he might do. We have no plans to do much of anything other than spend time here at the beach. I don't know if I want to come home until we know more about what he's up to. Whether that's possible is another matter.

  Also, we had a visit last night from the local police right after we checked in. A superintendent and a sergeant. The super. warned us about unnatural acts and risk of expulsion if we're caught. He said that his order to warn us came from the Prime Minister who'd been tipped off from London. Seems like Notorious Nick is now a worldwide phenomenon. Maybe Carter and I will have to retire to an uncharted island somewhere.

  Love you,

  Nick

  P.S. Carter sends his love. To you and Greg, both.

  . . .

  "Do you really think Ricky is nuts?" asked Carter after he read the letter.

  "Yeah." Ricky had been a friend from school. We'd run around playing hooky from class in '38 and '39, our last year at St. Ignatius Prep. I'd only recently discovered that he was the same person known in San Francisco as "The Kid," a hired gun who worked for the local mob. Right after we'd met Pete Thomas, an old friend of Captain O'Reilly's and the father of Mai's son, Jerry, Ricky had murdered him. The way Ricky explained it to me when we met was that he knew Pete had given me a hard time, so he had to be taken care of. That thought was chilling.

  Carter looked down at me. He crossed his arms over his broad, hairy chest and asked, "Do you really want to stay here for a while?"

  I nodded. "I do. We need a rest." I sighed. "I need a rest. We've been going and going and it's beginning to catch up with me."

  Carter watched me for a long moment. "You're right. We do." He looked around the hotel suite. "But, if we're going to do that, I wanna find someplace more homey."

  "I like that idea." I stood up and walked through the bedroom and into the bathroom to relieve myself. Carter followed me.

  He said, "As for an uncharted island—"

  "Well?"

  He shrugged. "That doesn't sound half bad."

  "I think it would get boring, fast."

  "And you don't think spending a few weeks at the beach won't be the same?"

  I walked to the sink to wash my hands. "I don't know. I've never been on vacation except for our trip to New York in '49 and our few days on Kauai last summer."

  He smiled. "Me, neither."

  . . .

  I woke up to Carter talking to someone on the phone in the living room.

  As I sat up in the bed and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, I heard him say, "Thanks."

  He walked back into the bedroom.

  I looked at my watch. It was just past 7. "Who was that?" I asked.

  He jumped back in bed next to me, causing an awful squeaking sound, and said, "That was the front desk. I asked the manager to get me a car and for him to find out about renting a house by the beach somewhere. It was like talking to a male version of Marnie."

  I laughed. "That was fast."

  He pushed me down on the bed and straddled me, looking searchingly into my eyes. "Are you positive you want to stay here for a while?"

  I nodded. "Sure. Why?"

  He sighed. "Because I want to spend as much time with you in bed as we can possibly get away with for as long as we can."

  I grinned up at him as he leaned down and gently bit me on the ear. He then whispered a couple of specific things he had in mind and we spent a few minutes doing one of them before we finally got up to get ready for the day.

  . . .

  We were just finishing getting dressed when I suddenly remembered something. I walked over to the steamer trunk, crouched down, and looked at the top pocket in the door.

  I inserted my hand and felt for the paper that I'd noticed earlier. It was there and it was stuck, so I tried to pull it loose but it wouldn't budge. I turned the trunk so that the overhead light was directly above the pocket. I leaned back in order not to block the light and then tilted my head to see inside. There was definitely a letter wedged in. I could see the edges of an envelope. I ran my hand along the top of the pocket and found the seam. Pulling it back, I was able to slide the envelope out. It fell into the well of the pocket. I pulled it out and examined it.

  As I looked at the writing, I blinked a couple of times not believing what I was seeing.

  "Carter?"

  He wandered into the bedroom from the bathroom. "Yeah?"

  "Take a look at this." I handed him the envelope.

  He held the envelope in his hand, read it, frowned, and then turned it over. "Is this real?"

  I stood there, my head spinning, and said, "I don't know."

  Taking me by the arm, Carter led me into the living room and pulled me down next to him on the sofa. "It's unopened."

  I nodded. The letter was postmarked from New York City on March 31st of '35. The recipient was my father. The sender appeared to be my mother. But she had died in '29. Or so my father had told me.

  "Do you want me to open it?" Carter asked.

  I sat perfectly still. So many thoughts were rushing through my head that I couldn't think straight. I wrapped my left arm around Carter's right elbow and got as close to him as I could. He lifted his right arm around my shoulder and pulled me in close. I put my head on his chest, closed my eyes tight, and said, "I guess."

  He somehow managed to open the envelope without removing his reassuring arm. I could hear him unfold the paper. There was a long silence as he read it. Finally, he sighed and asked, "Do you want me to read it to you?"

  I nodded.

  Waldorf-Astoria Hotel

  301 Park Avenue

  N.Y.C.

  March 30, 1935

  Parnell --

  This is my seventeenth letter in five years and I have received no response. I know you are still alive as I have asked inquiry agents to confirm this.

  Why do you not respond?

  I have sent telegrams and made telephone calls. Each time there is either no reply or I am told by Zelda that you are out.

  I know you must despise me for having abandoned you and the children. But, as I have explained again and again, I did not wish to re-appear out of the blue once I was cured for all the many reasons I've mentioned. I would be on the train this very day if that was not still my very real concern.

  I am only left to think that you do not care or are so very angry at me that you ignore my requests to speak with you and, more importantly, with my two dear children.

  I have known you to do some monstrous things but this may be the most monstrous of them all. To knowingly separate your children from their mother, and without any explanation, is almost beyond my capacity to understand and even to forgive.

  So, I send you this last entreaty. I beg that you reply.

  "There's no signature."

  I nodded but didn't move.

  Carter rocked slowly for a long while as I sat there and tried to understand what that letter meant.

  Was my mother alive? I considered that until Carter interrupted my train of thought.

  "She can't be alive," he said quietly.

  That brought me back to my senses. "Why?" I asked, hearing the disappointment in my voice.

  "Because you're one of the most famous men in the country. You're always in the papers."

  I nodded. He was right. Or was he? "What if she doesn't want me to know where she is?" My voice cracked as I said the last part.

  Carter didn't immediately reply. After a long moment, he said, "After reading this letter, that's impossible for me to imagine. Don't forget, your sister's death in 1953 was all over the national papers."

  Without thinking about it, I asked, "What if she's too ashamed?—"

  Carter pulled me in so tight, I thought he was going to break a bone. "No, Nick, no. That's not your mother. She would be so goddam proud of you, son." His voice was cracking. He ran his left hand over my head. "She would
be so goddam proud of you. You've done exactly what she asked you to do. You've been generous and done good things, Nick." He stood and pulled me up as he did. He tilted my head so he could look right in my eyes. "I'm so proud of you. I can't even tell you how much. And I know she would be, too." With that, he pulled me into his arms and held me as I cried for a long time.

  . . .

  Once that storm passed, I had a thought. I pulled back from my husband and said, "Thank you, Chief." I looked up at him and ran my hand along the side of his face, wiping the tears from his face. "I love you."

  He grinned and said, "I love you, too." He kissed me tenderly on the lips. "Maybe we should go downstairs."

  I nodded. "Yeah. But let's do one thing first."

  "What?"

  "Follow me." I walked into the bedroom and picked up the trunk. I tossed it on the bed that we hadn't slept in. I pulled out the partitions and dropped them on the floor.

  He snapped his fingers and walked into the bathroom. When he returned, he had a small pair of sharp scissors that he used to trim his nails. He handed them to me.

  I cut away the inner silk lining of the trunk along the top edge. Once I'd done so all the way around the lip, I yanked on the fabric. It was glued in place at regular intervals, but that pulled away easily. Once the silk lining was gone, the inner paperboard lining was revealed. I poked and prodded and didn't find anything that looked or felt like a place to hide things like letters. I stepped back and crossed my arms.

  Carter asked, "But wasn't the letter in the door pocket?"

  I nodded. "Yeah." I quickly cut that lining away and pulled it back.

  Carter said, "Damn."

  I nodded. Someone, a long time ago, had neatly taped sixteen letters, in eight rows of two, onto the paperboard. The cellophane tape was yellowed and had come loose in spots. Without touching them, I looked at the one at the top left. The postmark was from Laredo, Texas, and was dated January 15th of '30. That was the earliest one. It was also the thickest one. The last one was postmarked in New York and was dated December 18th of '34. I quickly scanned the other letters. Every year, starting in '30, there was a letter postmarked on the 18th of December. I stepped back and folded my arms.