Private Eye 2 - Blue Movie

by David Elliott

"I think it was her. It was dark, but it looked like her. She didn't have the films, though. She wasn't carrying anything at all."

  A flash of a suspicion crossed Cleary's mind. "What were the movies in when you found them?"

  "A cloth suitcase. Why?"

  "Hold a sec."

  He hurried back to the front door and hesitated only a split second before picking up the bag. Several canisters of film were inside.

  He rushed back to the phone. "Betts, get your ass back there. Don't do anything. Just wait on me."

  "What's going on?"

  "Eva Miles has given up on the blackmail. I'd say she wants her pound of flesh."

  NINETEEN

  Lou Kaplan soaked in the tepid water of the pool. The warm water eased the tension in his neck. With the cool California nights, it was necessary to supplement the natural daytime heating with a gas water heater. He wanted the water eighty-five degrees at least, preferably ninety. He swam lazily from the shallow end to the nine foot end. From the house came the sound of giggling. Hekyll and Jekyll—that's what he called the two bountiful bodies—were probably playing with each other, warming themselves up for him. Another week or so, and they would have to be replaced. He was becoming bored with them and their constant giggling.

  The studio exec allowed himself to float on his back in the deep water.

  "Hi, Lou."

  The voice—definitely female—came from above him He looked over the top of the pool and saw the dark shape standing on the end of the diving board.

  "Who are you?"

  At the angle he had, and with the glow from the underwater, light, he could see up her dress, but the upper portion of her torso disappeared against the black night sky. What he could see impressed him. "Where's the party, Mr. Kaplan?"

  "What party? Oh, the costume party—" He turned in the water. "We had to cancel it. We tried to notify—''His voice faltered when he saw the woman.

  "How do you like my costume?"

  Eva Miles wore a black wedding dress. A thin veil covered her face. Without backlighting, it was impossible to discern her features.

  "Who the devil are you? How did you get in?"

  "Don't you recognize me, Lou?"

  He was treading water as he squinted at the veiled face. "Your voice sounds familiar."

  "It's me, Lou. It's Eva—"

  "Eva!"

  "Back from the dead. That's where you wanted me, wasn't it? Among the dead? How do you like my funeral clothes?"

  He started to swim toward a ladder.

  "Stay where you are, Lou. Did you know who your man killed? She was a friend of mine—a friend from a long time ago, just like Orin."

  Kaplan kept his eyes on the ladder, wondering if he could get to it. "Who was Orin?"

  "You didn't even know about him? C'mon, Lou. I'm tired of being gullible. I owe you. I'm here to pay."

  The threat of her voice caused him to stop. When he glanced up at her, he saw the small pistol in her hand.

  The young girl had just stepped off the bus. Cleary was at the terminal checking the disembarking passengers. He carried the photo of a nickel-and-dime paperhanger from Colorado who was supposed to be on his way to L.A. The city of Boulder wanted him back badly enough to pay for the extradition, which meant he wasn't a run-of-the-mill bad-check artist. Cleary had only been on the force a few short months. The assignment couldn't have been too important, or they would have sent him with a training officer.

  For some reason, the woman's face caught his eye. She wore the same kind of clothes that all the seventeen-year-olds had when they came to Tinsel Town from the Midwest or the Deep South or "back East." At the bottom of the bus's steps, she paused to look around, to savor her first real view of Los Angeles. She didn't seem impressed. She had probably hoped to see Stars. The only stars she was likely to see were the bronze ones implanted in a sidewalk.

  The man behind her, though, was in a hurry, and he just about ran right up her back, knocking the small, battered cardboard suitcase from her hand. It struck the pavement, spilling white lace and undergarments on the oily pavement.

  The man didn't even stop. The young newcomer leaned down to collect her things.

  "Let me," Cleary had said.

  She had looked so lost. Since his quarry hadn't been on that bus, he had asked her if she wanted a cup of coffee—maybe even a sandwich.

  In the town she came from, policemen were right up there with doctors and preachers, and she had quickly assented to the invitation, happy to have someone—especially a policeman—give her a hint or two about the new and strange place to which she had come.

  "I want to be an actress," she had told him as she ate her sandwich.

  Cleary had smiled. Even a rookie cop knew what waited for her, what was likely to happen to her. They chatted for as long as he dared. He had urged her to find a decent job first, as a waitress maybe, or a secretary if she had those kind of skills. He had then taken her to a clean but inexpensive motel near Hollywood, and they had even gone to dinner the next night. Three days later, when he had finally gotten around to checking back with her, she had checked out of the motel. The desk man had no forwarding address.

  The next time Cleary had encountered her, she was hooking in Pershing Square. He had been with Tramel, and they had busted her. She hadn't even recognized him. Maybe it had been because of booze. Or maybe she was just pretending. After she had been booked, he had shared the story of their meeting with his senior partner. Tramel hadn't seen any "tattoos" on her arm—the street talk for needle tracks—so maybe she hadn't gotten hooked on heroin yet. Whatever the reason, Cleary spared her—or himself—the pain of recollection. After that, he and Tramel saw her often, usually on one of the downtown streets near Pershing Square. It looked as if she was doing a thriving business, but they never busted her again. The final time Cleary and Tramel saw her she was lying dead in the cheap motel.

  For some reason, it had been a burden of guilt for him ever since. Perhaps if he had just gone back a little sooner after that one dinner date...

  As he sped toward Kaplan's estate, the bullet-riddled top of his Eldorado still down, he found himself reliving again and again that initial encounter with the young girl. Though it had been many years ago, it seemed like yesterday. Eva Miles reminded him of that young girl. Christ, this time he hoped he wasn't too late.

  "How much do you want?"

  Eva Miles held the small gun with both hands. She had it pointed at his head. As he talked, he gently pulled through the water away from her, figuring that the more distance he put between them, the less chance she had of hitting him. She held the weapon clumsily, a dead giveaway that she wasn't much of a shot.

  "How does fifty thousand sound?"

  "Cheap," Kaplan said. "Dirt cheap. We'll make arrangements for a swap."

  Her body stiffened. "Don't go any farther."

  "Okay... okay. I was drifting."

  "Like hell you were."

  "You tell me when and where to deliver the dough."

  Eva laughed. "You must think I'm a fool. You've got every reason to, haven't you? I was a fool, thinking that you'd make me anything other than a cheap whore."

  "That's not true," he said. "A lot of today's stars started—"

  "Don't!" she snapped. "You tell me, did Rita Marlo start this way? Did she make sex films and blackmail congressmen?"

  "Sure, Eva. She really did. Hell, she still—"

  Kaplan stopped when he saw the figure behind her. He started to talk again, but it was too late. Eva had been alerted by the momentary hitch in his voice. She jerked around, the gun poised. Johnny Betts froze at the foot of the diving board.

  "Back!" Eva commanded.

  Kaplan took immediate advantage of the diversion and turned to swim away. Eva heard the commotion and twisted. A gunshot shattered the quiet night fabric. A geyser of water shot up just inches from Kaplan's head.

  "Christ," he cried, stopping dead in the water.

  Betts had tried to step up
on the diving board, but Eva had turned back very quickly. "Don't, Johnny."

  "Just take it easy, hon. Cleary's on his way. Give him time to get here."

  "I don't need him or you. Get off the board."

  "Eva—"

  She lowered the gun and fired again. The bullet smacked into the wooden board inches from Johnny's feet. He jumped down to the concrete.

  "Come around here," Eva said, "where I can watch you both."

  As Johnny obeyed, she lifted the veil from her face.

  Although Kaplan was in water at a depth in which his feet made solid contact with the bottom, his mounting fear paralyzed him. "She's crazy. She's gonna kill me."

  "I can't blame her, Kaplan."

  "Do something for God's sake," the man pleaded.

  The Eldorado screeched to a stop behind Betts's Mercury. As Cleary rushed into the Kaplan estate, he collided with the Filipino servant who was making a hasty exit.

  Cleary wrapped a rough hand around the back of the man's neck. "Where do you think you're going?"

  "They're shooting in there."

  "Where?"

  "Around the pool."

  Cleary looked around for Johnny. When he didn't see him, he shoved the servant away and ran toward the redwood gate that opened into the pool area. The wood around the lock remained splintered from his previous visit. He crashed through it, again rolling as he hit the pool deck.

  The scene stymied him. Johnny stood on the other side of the pool. Kaplan was in water up to his chest.

  "What's going on?" he asked.

  Johnny nodded toward the deep end of the pool

  "Put your gun down, Jack," Eva said.

  He hadn't seen Eva, camouflaged as she was in the black wedding dress and standing at the very end of the diving board.

  "He's not worth it, Eva."

  "I said, drop it."

  Kaplan started to splash toward Cleary. Eva fired again. This time the bullet whizzed by his ear. He dropped under the water.

  Cleary could have taken her out right then, but he didn't. It was the last thing he wanted to do.

  "C'mon, Eva. Let's go to the police. With what you know you can send that slime stick straight to the gas chamber."

  "I want to kill him," she said, softly and flatly.

  Cleary knew that she would.

  The studio executive had resurfaced and was babbling. "Kill her, Cleary. For God's sake, man, do something."

  Sirens sounded in the background.

  "The police are coming to us, Eva. Believe me, you can accomplish the same thing legally."

  Her eyes eased away from Kaplan. "You're a good person, Jack. There aren't many of those out here. I appreciate what you tried to do for me."

  "Eva! Listen to me!"

  "I have, Jack." She looked back at Kaplan. The sirens were growing louder. "It's time."

  "Cleary!" Kaplan started to back paddle.

  If he had stayed where he was, the bullet would have gone over his head. It smacked into his chest, severing his aorta. He slipped silently under the water.

  Cleary sprung to his feet and rushed Eva, but he couldn't reach her in time. He saw the gun go to her mouth. It exploded just as he reached her. He caught her frail, lifeless body in his arms.

  EPILOGUE

  "It looks like a helluva town from up here." Jack Cleary was leaning against the Eldorado, its original perfection painstakingly restored by the body shop. It was parked in a turnaround on Mulholland Drive. Johnny stood beside him, staring down at the expanse of bright lights that was Los Angeles. He offered his employer a cigarette. Cleary shook his head and pulled out his own pack. He accepted a light from the young man.

  "How long you gonna be out of town, Jack?"

  "As long as it takes."

  "To do what, Jack?"

  Cleary shrugged. "To be able to come back."

  "So, where you headed?"

  Cleary allowed the cigarette smoke to leave his lungs slowly, savoring its aroma as it was exhaled. "Maybe the high desert over toward Sierra Vista. Maybe I'll drive down to Mexico. Someplace where there's no neon."

  Cleary reached into the front seat of the Cadillac and pulled out Eva Miles's carpet bag. He opened it and removed all of the canisters of film. He placed the open bag at his feet. One by one, he snapped open each canister and allowed the film inside to cascade into the open bag.

  "Want some company?" Johnny asked.

  "Nope."

  "Dottie's worried about you."

  "I'll be fine." He leaned down and placed the empty canisters next to the cloth luggage.

  "You don't sound fine."

  Cleary stood back up and studied the result of his efforts. "I just need a little time, kid. I've got to settle a few things."

  "Such as?"

  "Such as why Rita Marlo is a bigger star than she was before, but Eva Miles is just a grave marker and a memory."

  Cleary pulled a pack of matches from his pants pocket. "You got that lighter fluid?"

  Johnny handed him a small container. He dumped its contents on the pile of black ribbon at his feet. He used a single match to light the whole pack, which he then dropped into the mass celluloid. It flamed immediately.

  "It's a tough town, Jack. You know that better than anyone."

  "They call it the City of Angels," Cleary said, shaking his head. "Somebody sure had one rotten sense of humor."

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  EPILOGUE