Private Eye 2 - Blue Movie

by David Elliott

"Call Schooley. We're on our way."

  Cleary hung up the phone.

  Eva sat on the couch, her face clouded with concern. "Where are you taking me? What's Orin got to do with all this? I'd really rather not see him right now—maybe not ever."

  Cleary went over and sat beside her. "Look, lady, I know that Kaplan is behind the blackmail. I figure you got the films, and he wants them mighty badly right now. With those films and your testimony, Lou Kaplan's facing a couple of murder raps."

  "No way," Eva said. "I'm not testifying. I want out of this town, and that's all I want. Those films are my ticket."

  "Those films are the seal on your death warrant."

  "1 appreciate what you've done for me, but I know what I want."

  Cleary's eyes turned hard. "Just like you knew what you wanted when you came out here."

  "That's not fair—"

  Cleary's laugh interrupted her. "Do you think Lou Kaplan cares about fair? I don't have time to argue. The homicide guys are probably on their way over here right now. The murder of a congressman tends to stir things up. Oh, and they know you're alive—or at least they know the body in your apartment wasn't you. This kid that works with me and your former boyfriend will take care of you."

  "Where are you going?"

  "To see Lou Kaplan."

  "You can't."

  "Like hell I can't. This case is getting to be a little too personal." Cleary stood and straightened his mussed clothing.

  FOURTEEN

  Not everyone who came to southern California expected to make a fortune in show business, certainly not the dirt-poor families who occupied the rusting mobile homes in the trailer park where Betts lived. They were just looking to make a middle-class living.

  A hot autumn wind sent dust devils swirling among the ill-clothed, grimy children who played in the dirt streets. Cleary had no idea where the families had all come from, the Midwest probably, but, other than their life-styles, they weren't much different from the lady who rode beside him in the Cadillac. Perhaps their expectations weren't quite so high, but their disappointment was likely to be just as profound.

  Children and their parents alike stopped whatever they were doing to watch as the shiny black car with the white sidewalls raised a choking trail of dust as it rumbled through the park. Some even waved at the driver and his wide-eyed passenger.

  "This place is ghastly," Eva was saying.

  "But it's safe. It's the last place in the world Lou Kaplan would ever look."

  "It's the last place anybody would look. Lou Kaplan wouldn't be caught dead here." She looked out at the smudged faces of the children, their young eyes already hardened by the lack of hope. "This looks worse than Watts."

  Cleary finally spotted Betts's battered Mercury. "That's your residence for now." He pointed to a stumpy aluminum trailer that he assumed to be Betts's home, such as it was. "One last time, Eva—where are those films?"

  She turned her eyes away from the depressing scenery and faced Cleary. "And for the last time, I'm keeping the films."

  "The gig's up, Eva. With McNeil dead, the films are probably worthless. Your plan won't work."

  Her face was solemn, determined. "You don't know who else is on the films."

  He pulled in beside the Mercury. The dust cloud caught up with him and enveloped the car. When it cleared, Betts was standing at the driver-side door.

  "Christ, kid, can't you find someplace a little classier than this?" Cleary said as he exited the car, wafting away the floating particles of sand.

  "Not on what you pay me, Jack. Maybe this'll give you some idea about my commitment. Dottie called to tell me about McNeil and the office."

  "I don't guess there's an outside chance you still have those photos from the D'Rosa case."

  Betts was shaking his head. "Nope, as always, I did just what you told me to—"

  "I don't wanna hear it, Betts." Cleary pointed inside the car. "That's Eva Miles."

  Betts leaned down and smiled. "Nice to meetcha, and I'm glad you're alive."

  "Me, too," she said, her face registering her shock at his appearance. He was wearing his traditional uniform, absent the black leather jacket. A white T-shirt, with the arms cut out, covered his upper torso. "So, who was the body in Miss Miles's apartment?"

  "A friend of the lady's. According to Eva, it was a case of mistaken identity."

  Johnny winked at Eva. "I'll be glad to keep her company."

  "Just keep your mind on business. Did you call Schooley?"

  "Yeah, I told him to get his can over here as soon as possible. I didn't tell him why, though. I figured it might be a pleasant surprise."

  "How soon is he going to be here?"

  "You got no patience, Jack."

  "Especially when it comes to a character critique from you. I gotta be on my way. I want you two to look after her, and all of you"—he leaned down to make sure that Eva heard him—"all of you stay put. Got it?"

  Betts was walking around the Eldorado to open her door. "I got it."

  Cleary glared in at Eva Miles. "And you?"

  "How would I get away from this place?" she said. "Besides, in a way I guess it'll be good to see Orin."

  "Where you going?" Betts asked.

  "To stir up a hornet's nest."

  Betts glanced at Eva, who was pulling a small suitcase from the front seat. "That's what he does best."

  "He's going to see Lou Kaplan," Eva said, obviously unhappy with the idea.

  "Make you a deal, Eva. Tell me where the films are, and I'll take the cops with me when I make the visit."

  "Forget it," she shouted back.

  Cleary hadn't kicked his way through a door since he had left the department. It required more practice and finesse than most people thought. The success of the technique was based upon the assumption that the wood and lock in question were weaker than the ankle and leg doing the kicking. Usually, the assumption was valid—but not always. He looked down at the size ten wing tips that he wore and then at the redwood gate that opened into the pool area of the Kaplan estate. The newspaper he carried was tucked under his arm. High, lilting laughter drifted over the brick barrier. Cleary paused for a moment, listening—until he heard the deeper baritone voice of Lou Kaplan. The voice was enough. It's what he had wanted to hear. He lifted his right leg and planted the wing tip squarely on the gate's lock. The first time, his foot bounced back at him, and the jar rattled all the way up his body to his teeth.

  "Dammit." On the second kick, repeated almost immediately, he aimed at an imaginary point a good eighteen inches beyond the door and drove his thick heel against the lock. The sharp crack of wood ruptured the morning air. Cleary completed the job with his shoulder.

  When he finished rolling on the pool deck, he saw that the azure water of the pool separated him from a stunned Lou Kaplan and the same two females he had seen during his first visit. This time, they wore matching hot-pink bikinis. The Filipino domestic was just approaching the pool.

  "What the hell—" Kaplan struggled to escape the grasp of a low lounge chair.

  The domestic rushed to meet Cleary as he circled the pool prompting the detective to shift the newspaper to his other armpit. The servant came at him, shouting in broken English that he didn't even try to understand. With one broad sweep of his hand, Cleary sent the small, dark-skinned man into the pool. The explosion of sparkling water doused Kaplan just as he managed to extricate himself from the chair.

  "You got some nerve," Kaplan said, trying to wipe away the water.

  "Don't you ever go to your office, Kaplan?"

  "I'm having some friends over tonight for a costume party, not that it's any of your business. You're not one of them, Mr. Private Eye."

  "Congressman McNeil won't be coming, either." Cleary opened the newspaper and shoved it in the executive's angry face. An eight-column banner headline announced, CONGRESSMAN MURDERED.

  Kaplan didn't even bother to look at it. He was shouting at the Filipino. "Get out of there, and go
call the police."

  "You made the front page," Cleary was saying.

  "I don't know what you're talking about, Cleary. Get the hell outta here."

  "According to Eva Miles, you know it all, Kaplan."

  The Filipino was out of the pool, but Kaplan's face was locked on Cleary. "According to who?"

  "Eva Miles. Oh, didn't you know, Kaplan? Your psycho fumbled the ball. He chopped up the wrong girl. You just can't get good help these days."

  Kaplan's tan face lost all of its color.

  "You really didn't know. Aren't you glad I took time from a busy schedule to keep you up to speed? Eva filled me in about your little sideline—those dirty movies."

  The executive finally noticed that the Filipino was out of the pool. The servant was trying to shake off some of the water. "Emilio, go call the cops, I said. Pronto!"

  He then turned to Cleary. "You're out of your head, Cleary. I want you out of here."

  Cleary ambled over to a delicately arranged fruit basket sitting on one of the tables. He lifted an apple from it and took a large, crunching bite. "I shoulda figured it out before this, but I'm not much on politics. That bill about union membership that McNeil sponsored, it just didn't fit with his usual style. What's your goal in this, Kaplan? Do you really think you can muscle and blackmail your way to the top? Are you that stupid?"

  "Cleary, you're a fruitcake."

  Cleary brandished the apple. " A fruitcake'? I don't think so, Kaplan. How about D'Rosa? You paid him off so you could keep the mob outta here. That's why you wanted the dope I had on him. You wanted to blackmail him, too."

  For the first time, Kaplan smiled. Cleary saw the megalomania reflected in the gleaming, self-assured eyes.

  "D'Rosa was easy to handle, Cleary. He thinks like the low-grade punk he really is. As for the rest of it, I got no idea what you're talking about. You keep it up, and I'll sue your ass off for slander and libel, defamation of character—"

  The apple dropped to the concrete deck as Cleary's hand struck out. It caught Kaplan squarely in the mouth. From behind him, he heard a scream from one of the two party girls. If Cleary hadn't caught Kaplan, he would have gone sailing into the pool from the force of the blow.

  "Worst of all, Kaplan, you messed with me. You had your goons break into my office to get whatever I had on D'Rosa."

  Cleary had to give the guy his due. Blood oozed from a split in his lips, but the executive's eyes remained defiant.

  "I didn't need your garbage on D'Rosa. He agreed to leave town."

  "Maybe you just wanted it for insurance purposes."

  "You got nothing on me, Cleary. Nothing that'll stick. If you had it, you'd have your buddies from the cops down here with you. As for D'Rosa, I don't need insurance. I hear his associates know about his disloyalty."

  "You greasy bastard! You told them."

  Kaplan grinned through the blood. "Me? Would I do such a thing to a business associate?"

  "You're overdue, Kaplan."

  Cleary heard the commotion behind him. He turned to see Emilio, Kaplan's man Friday, leading two uniformed cops out of the house and into the garden.

  The head of Diamond Studios was still wiping blood from his lips. "It looks like your hand's played out, Cleary."

  Cleary had a nasty character trait. He always wanted the last word, and Kaplan, well... he was standing right at the edge of the pool, teetering, actually, while Cleary held him. Cleary couldn't resist. He let the studio executive go just as the police reached him.

  The officer in charge, Sergeant Issac, knew Cleary. "You got here in a hurry, Issac."

  "We were in the neighborhood," the sergeant said, shaking his head at the scene. "I guess you're the reason my lunch got disturbed."

  "He needed a pool man. I was just applying for the job."

  Issac looked at the Filipino, who was still dripping water on the deck, then to Kaplan as he surfaced. "I'd say you flunked the interview, Cleary."

  "Arrest him!" Kaplan was shouting. "I'll press charges. He assaulted me."

  Issac knelt down by the pool. "I've already got orders to pick him up, Mr. Kaplan. If you wanna file a complaint, haul your ass outta there and head on down to the local station."

  "But he assaulted me."

  "Not in my presence."

  Issac stood up. "Fontana's got an APB out for you. What have you been doing, Cleary?"

  "If it's about the Eva Miles autopsy, I already know what he wants, Issac."

  "Right case, Cleary, but the wrong body."

  "Whadaya mean?"

  "I'll let Fontana fill you in. Let's roll."

  "How about some java?"

  Eva Miles's dark eyes made a long study of Johnny Betts before she answered. "I'd take a drink."

  "I hope you like beer. It's all I got."

  "As long as it's cold. I need to wash the dust outta my throat. I didn't realize people lived in the desert."

  Johnny smiled. "Not by choice."

  He opened the small Kelvinator and handed her a bottle. She cringed as he pulled a grease-smeared glass from the pile of dishes in the sink.

  "I'll drink it out of the bottle."

  "Lady, I was gonna wash it."

  "The bottle's fine. What are you?"

  The bluntness of the question caught Johnny off guard. "Whadaya mean... what am I?"

  She took a long sip from the bottle. "You look like an old juvenile delinquent or something. Are you one of those rockabilly singers?"

  "Maybe," he said, adding as an afterthought, "... someday."

  She was sitting in an old chair, the arms of which were frayed and worn. "From the look of things, you haven't been having much luck."

  Johnny smiled. "You've been reading my mail."

  "Take my word for it—what was your name again?"

  "Johnny. Johnny Betts. I came here from Memphis—well, just outside Memphis."

  "Isn't that the place Elvis Presley records?"

  Betts was impressed. ''Sure is. At least, it was where he got started—with Sam Phillips at Sun Records. It's right in Memphis. I've been there. Course he moved over to RCA a few months back—four gold records already."

  "I saw him on 'The Milton Berle Show.'"

  "That really stirred up a stink."

  "So, why'd you come out here?"

  "I dunno. It just seemed like the place to come. I thought I might get a little polish out here—you know what I mean."

  Eva laughed. When she did, her face lit up. So far, her life-style hadn't caught up with her face. She was a real looker. Maybe that's why Cleary was so hung up on her case.

  "I sure do know what you mean, but, as I started to say, take my word for it. This town's rotten. Even if you manage to get somewhere, somebody else will make all the money. It's like a cattle market. How did you get hooked up with Cleary?"

  "I used to work for his brother before he croaked. He was a good guy. Cleary—Jack, I mean... he's all right, but he needs to get hep. He's too tight."

  "Intense," Eva said.

  "Huh?"

  "That's how the movies would approach his character. He's very intense."

  Johnny was wanning up to her. "So you and Orin used to be a thing?"

  '"Used to be a thing?'"

  "You know, a pair."

  Eva laughed again, and there was a momentary vision of the innocence that must have attracted Orin Schooley. Johnny could sure see why he was so taken with her—and why Cleary was, too. If things had been different...

  "Orin's a good guy," Johnny was saying. "He's pretty cool."

  "Orin?"

  "Yeah, Orin. We went to this—" Johnny stopped. He didn't really want to tell her that he had taken her high school boyfriend to the location of a porn movie. "We were working on your case. Things got a little crazy, and he handled himself pretty well for a small town boy."

  "I haven't seen him for quite a while. I'm a little nervous now, seeing him again, especially since he knows about me—about..." Her voice trailed off.

/>   Johnny sat down beside her. "He's cool, Eva. I mean he was worried about you, but it didn't seem to bother him about the... well, the movies."

  Eva was shaking her head. "That's hard to believe. Of course, he thought I was dead. Orin's the type of guy who would go to my folks to ask for my hand. He's kind of old-fashioned. How far does he have to come, anyway?"

  Johnny checked the watch on his wrist. "Should be here pretty soon."

  They heard a car door slam just outside Johnny's trailer. "Fact, I bet that's him right now."

  Cleary had insisted on driving his Eldorado. At first, Issac had declared, "No way," but he relented when Cleary asked if there were any outstanding warrants for him.

  The sergeant had worked with Cleary, and he didn't relish the idea of taking him in by force, assuming he and the rookie could even do it. Issac compromised, but decided to ride with Cleary. His younger partner followed in the black-and-white.

  Cleary had the convertible top down, concealing the damage to the rear windshield and the top itself, but the veteran cop immediately noticed the bullet holes in the body of the car. "What kinda cases you handling, Cleary?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  Issac had patted the bullet-marred rear quarter panel. "It doesn't look to me like you're making many friends."

  Cleary ignored him. "So, where do I go?"

  "Coldwater Canyon," Issac said.

  Once in the canyon, the sergeant directed Cleary to a turnaround at the base of a wooded ridge. There was no doubt about the exact location. Several other black-and-whites, an ambulance, and Fontana's dingy Ford nearly blocked the winding canyon road.

  "Where is everyone?" Cleary asked.

  Issac pointed to the top of the ridge.

  Cleary said, "I'm not really dressed for mountain climbing."

  "From what I saw back there at Kaplan's place, I figured this was your standard combat gear, Jack."

  "You're a barrel of laughs, Issac."

  They started to climb. Near the top of the ridge they spotted the gathering of cops and the ambulance crew. Everyone's attention was directed upward.

  "What's going on?" Cleary asked as he came up behind Charlie Fontana.

  The detective wheeled. "Where the hell have you been?"