Vandergraaf’s car finally slows and pulls up outside an apartment building. You park across the street and climb out just as he steps inside. Grasping your camera, you hurry across the road and follow him inside the marble floored lobby just as he enters the elevator. The doors slide shut and you watch as the arrow dial above it sweeps around the brass indicator plate before stopping at ‘9’. You smile grimly and check the resident board for an ‘S. Marceau’ but can’t see her name on the ninth floor or any of the others for that matter. Hell, as far as you know, Sabine Marceau is simply her stage name and she’s called something far less glamorous, like Maude Sidebottom or something. Deciding to keep a low profile, you head for the stairs. You push through the door and lean on the handrail gazing up the seemingly endless stairwell.
“You couldn’t have been screwin’ a broad on the second floor, Vandergraaf.” You mutter, trudging slowly up the first flight of steps.
You breathe a sigh of relief as you reach the 9 th floor. Pushing open the door, you move quietly into the corridor, admiring the art deco style décor that was popular back in the thirties when the place was built. There are doors to six different apartments and you linger next to each. The first, 901, is silent. Behind the second, you can hear a radio news report. You can hear a few breathless moans and the rhythmic squeak of bedsprings from 903. You raise an eyebrow, but it only took you a couple of minutes to climb the stairs. Surely Vandergraaf’s not swept the dame off her feet that quickly. 904’s door is open, the rooms bare other than ladders and cans of paint. Moving on to the neighboring door, you smile, hearing Vandergraaf’s muffled voice. The conversation with his mistress sounds a little heated.
“…don’t give a damn what you think.” You hear him rant. “I’m just a goddamned meal ticket to you aren’t I? Well, I’m nobody’s fool!”
“Son of a bitch!” You hear her shriek followed by the sound of glass or china shattering as she no doubt hurls something at him.
Peek through the keyhole
Go through the empty apartment and climb across to the balcony
You kneel next to the door and peek through the keyhole. You can see Vandergraaf standing with his back to you closest to the door.
“What the hell?!” He snarls. “You damn near took my head off!” You hear a cry of frustration and a flash of a purple dress as she storms into the next room. Vandergraaf’s shoulders slump and he mutters something under his breath before sighing.
“Listen sweetheart.” He soothes. “Let’s not fight about this. I’ve got a table booked in just over an hour at the Boulevard Restaurant. How about we build up an appetite first, huh?” You grin. Looks like you’re about to catch the son of a bitch in the act.
“Looks like we’ve got a Peeping Tom!” You hear a voice drawl behind you. A strong hand grasps your shoulder and hauls you to your feet before shoving you against the wall. You find yourself facing a thin sallow faced man and a stocky bull of a man. They are both dressed in sharp suits and overcoats, but they look ill at ease in them. Though you don’t know either man, you recognize their type sure enough. Gangster thugs. The thin man rips the camera from your hands while the heavyset man pats you down. He reaches into your jacket and pulls your pistol from your shoulder holster before reaching into your hip pocket for your wallet.
“I’m gonna take that kinda personal.” You glare at him. He grins back at you, confident in his own strength and brawn and clearly used to intimidating others. He passes your wallet to the thin hood who opens it.
“Samuel Harlowe. Private Investigator.” He sneers, reading your I.D.
“That’s what it says.” You growl back at him.
“You’re peeking through the wrong keyhole, pal.” He smiles. “Now let’s take a walk.”
You are pushed back to the staircase and dragged back down it before being unceremoniously bundled out of a fire escape door at the bottom. You find yourself in a darkened alley, the rain is falling and the ground glistens. It’s a quiet and secluded alley and your heart thumps rapidly in your chest as you realize it’s an ideal location to knock a guy off. The rain is getting heavier now, your hair drenched and your clothes soaked through. Like a lamb to the slaughter, you are led further along the alleyway until the bulky thug tightens his grip on your shoulder.
“Let’s get it over with then.” You growl, turning to face the thin hood. The raindrops are splashing off the ground and puddles are beginning to form. Your sodden shirt clings uncomfortably to your chest and back. You reflect grimly that it won’t be a problem for much longer. The hood nods to the thug who twists you towards him and punches you hard in the face. His fist feels like a freight train and you grunt, shaking your head to clear the ringing. You can taste blood in your mouth and you reach up to massage your jaw.
“Time to find yourself a new case, Harlowe.” The hood tells you, his thin lips curling in a cruel smile. “Because next time, we won’t be so friendly.” He cocks your pistol for dramatic effect. The thug pulls you back upright. The hood tosses you back your wallet, but slips your pistol into his overcoat pocket. “Now, do we have an understanding, Harlowe?”
Nod
Stare him out
You step into the vacant apartment, making your way through to the balcony at the far side. You open a glass door and step out, feeling a fine drizzle on your face.
“Great.” You mutter, knowing it will likely turn into a heavy shower in moments. Moving to the end of the balcony, you lean on the railing and peer across to the next balcony. There is a gap of perhaps three yards between them. A narrow ledge protrudes out six inches from the face of the wall in between. As you glance down at the street far below, you feel nausea sweep through you.
“Goddamn it.” You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut and clutching the railing tightly as the vertigo passes. Keeping your gaze up, you clamber over the railing and onto the ledge, your back to the wall. You shuffle slowly across the ledge, one hand around the railing until it is at arm’s length. You stretch out your other arm, but you are a yard away from the next balcony. You reluctantly release your hold and sidestep slowly away. You hear the honk of a car on the street below and resist the urge to glance down. The rain is lashing against you, soaking your clothes and making the ledge slippery. Wondering what madness has led you to this moment, you press on, halfway between the balconies now. Nearly there. You take another step, your eyes widening as you feel the ledge shift beneath your feet. It is crumbling under your weight! You only have an instant to act.
Double back
Continue on to the other balcony
As you step back towards the balcony, the already weakened section of ledge drops away from beneath your feet. You instinctively throw out an arm, your fingertips brushing the edge of the balcony as you fall. You scream in terror as you plummet nine floors before smashing into the sidewalk, shattering every bone in your body. The shower grows heavier, your blood mingling with the rainwater as it trickles into the gutter.
THE END
Go back a few moments and rethink your actions
Committed, you step as quickly as you can, pieces of the ledge dropping away with each footstep before you grasp the next balcony and scramble over the railing. You slump down onto the floor, sitting there for a moment in the pouring rain, your pulse racing and your temples pounding. You clutch your chest, wondering if having cheated death, you are destined to die of a heart attack moments later. Finally, your heart rate slows and you regain your composure. Climbing back to your feet, you peer through the balcony window. It’s gloomy inside, the only source of light in the bedroom a lamp on the nightstand. Your eyes slowly become accustomed to the darkness and you smile, readying your camera. Evidently, Vandergraaf seems to have reconciled with his mistress. He is sitting on the edge of the bed while she kneels before him, her head bobbing in his lap. You take a few shots, wishing there was a little more light in the room as they are both silhouetted against the dim light from the lamp. You get your wish a few moments later as a flash of
lightning illuminates the room for a split second. You freeze, blinking in surprise. Unless Sabine has dyed her hair black in the few hours, it’s not her!
“Shit.” You murmur, wondering who the mystery woman is. You snap another few shots before Vandergraaf stiffens, roaring with release as he explodes into her mouth. The woman keeps her head in his lap, swallowing his seed before he finally slumps back onto the bed.
“That felt incredible.” He pants as she climbs to her feet and wipes her lips with the back of her hand.
“We can take up where we’ve left off after we come back from the restaurant.” She purrs. Vandergraaf laughs and eagerly nods before taking her in his arms and kissing her.
“I’ll look forward to it.” He chuckles, fastening up his slacks. “We’d better not arrive together, so I’ll get there first. You can come a little later.”
“Story of my life.” She deadpans.
“See you soon.” He grins, kissing her again before hurrying from the room. She stands there for a moment before reaching into her purse. You shrink back from the window as she turns towards the balcony. As you peek back, another flash of lightning illuminates the room and you see her standing just inside the glazed door, a small pistol in her hand pointed right at you. Her eyes are narrowed and her delicate jaw is clenched.
“Okay mister.” She growls. “You’d better step in here before I start shooting holes in you.” You raise your hands and step into the apartment, glad at least to be out of the driving rain. The mystery woman backs away and fumbles for the light switch. You blink as the room is bathed in bright light. The broad is a knockout. Tall and slender with curves in all the right places. Her brown eyes smolder and her full lips pout. Her long, strapless black dress hugs her figure and you resist the urge to allow your gaze to linger on her cleavage.
“What were you doing out there?” She demands. “You some kind of pervert?”
“I enjoy the female form as much as the next man.” You grin. “But I’m here in a professional capacity. My name’s Sam Harlowe. I’m a private investigator. You’re aware Neville Vandergraaf is a married man?”
“Ah, so that’s what that gold band on his ring finger is!” She replies, her words dripping with sarcasm.
“Knock it off, toots. You’re out of your depth.”
“Really?” She smiles, arching an eyebrow. “Boys!” She calls out. The apartment door swings open and two men storm in. While both dressed in sharp suits, you know a couple of hoods when you see them. A tall, thin, sallow faced man leads the way with a stocky thug just behind him.
“Problem Miss D’Abruzzo?” He asks her. You stiffen when you hear her name. You’d heard rumors the D’Abruzzo family from Chicago was trying to muscle in on Mickey Cohen’s criminal empire in Los Angeles and that the Don’s daughter, Valentina, was overseeing things personally. Valentina smiles, reveling in your reaction as you realize it is you who is out of your depth.
“No problem.” She replies, slipping her tiny pistol back in her purse. “Mr Harlowe will be leaving now.”
Go quietly
Demand some answers
“I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers, lady.” You growl. Valentina raises an eyebrow.
“I’m not sure whether to applaud your bravery or pity your stupidity.” She smiles. “You do know who I represent?”
“I do.” You reply. “Don’t mean we can’t talk though, does it?”
“Unless you moonlight as a priest at a confessional, it kinda does.” She chuckles, the hoods laughing with her. “Now, if I was you, I’d shut my mouth and walk out of here while I still can.” She warns you, her smile vanishing.
Persist
Don’t push your luck
“I want answers.” You insist. “What’s your angle? Why are you trying to murder Vandergraaf’s wife?”
“I’m starting to lose my temper.” Valentina warns you darkly.
“I’m not scared of a bunch of no-good wop lowlifes.” You reply coolly. Her jaw clenches, the hood’s eyes widen and the thug cracks his knuckles.
“Show Mr Harlowe out.” Valentina glowers. The hood pulls out a pistol and the thug grasps your shoulder, shoving you towards the door. “No. The way he came in.” She adds coldly. The thug glances over his shoulder at her before dragging you back towards the balcony.
“No!” You call out, your voice cracking with panic. “You win! I’ll drop the case!”
“Too late for that pal.” The hood smiles cruelly as he opens the glazed balcony door. The thug grabs you by the scruff of your neck and grasps your belt with his other hand before hoisting you up into the air and grunting as he hurls you over the balcony railing. Your scream of pure terror echoes down the street as you plummet nine floors, your arms and legs flailing wildly before you smash headfirst into the sidewalk below.
THE END
Go back a few moments and rethink your actions
“Can’t blame a guy for tryin’ to do his job.” You shrug, stepping towards the door. The thug grasps your shoulder to help you on your way.
“Wait.” Valentina calls out. The thug pulls you around to face her as she saunters towards you, her fragrant perfume filling your nostrils. She smiles sweetly before reaching out and ripping your camera out of your grasp. She flips it over and opens the cover, your heart sinking as she pulls out the film, unspooling the whole roll and exposing it before passing your camera back to you.
“Thanks.” You reply gruffly. She holds your gaze for a moment.
“You're a handsome guy, Mr Harlowe.” She grins, her teeth glinting before her smile vanishes and her expression darkens. “I'd be a pity if that changed.” She nods to the hoods, who drag you out of the apartment and down the stairwell before unceremoniously shoving you out of the back door.
“Now beat it, before we beat you.” The hood drawls, the thug laughing with him. You bite your tongue and nod before making your way back to your car and driving forlornly back to the office.
Continue
The next morning, you sit at your desk, scowling at the newspaper.
“Bunch of useless bums.” You mutter as you read a report on the L.A. Angels latest defeat before tossing the paper to one side. Time to try to make sense of the case. Leaning forward with your elbows on the desk, you massage your temples, your head aching as you try to unravel everything you have learned. So is Vandergraaf screwing Valentina D’Abruzzo and Sabine Marceau? It’s not unheard of for a rich guy like that to have a harem of mistresses dotted around the city. Between those two and his wife, you can’t fault Vandergraaf’s taste! Maybe Sabine’s not involved at all. Hell, maybe the kiss on the book of matches was for Carstairs. They both worked for Vandergraaf at one time and the matches were in his possession. Again, it’s not unheard of for a pretty girl to have an older lover, but Carstairs just doesn’t seem to fit.
“Goddamn it.” You mutter, glancing at your desk drawer and thinking of the whiskey bottle inside. Resisting the urge, wanting to keep your mind sharp, you light a cigarette instead. You lean back in your swivel chair and draw the smoke back into your lungs before exhaling slowly. Maybe you should go see Viola and tell her what you know. Your gaze is drawn to the newspaper on your desk. Los Angeles Today. You’ve got an old friend that works for that paper. Perhaps she’ll know something.
Speak to Viola Vandergraaf
Ask an old friend at the newspaper offices
You get to your feet and pull on your hat. You’ll speak to Viola. Perhaps she can shed a little light on what you have discovered. Pausing for a moment, you turn back to your desk and reach into a drawer for your shoulder holster and pistol. With the D’Abruzzo family involved, you’re not going to take any chances.
“Better safe than sorry.” You mutter to yourself, pulling the sling on before pulling on your jacket.
You pull up outside the now familiar wrought iron gates of the Vandergraaf residence. Rapping loudly on the door, you take a couple of steps back, admiring the huge whitewashed building.
You see the curtain of an upstairs window twitch and moments later, hear footsteps on the staircase inside. Viola swings open the door.
“Mr Harlowe!” She says. “I wasn’t expecting you.” Her face is flushed and she looks a little flustered. Her green dress looks a little crumpled. You guess pressing the laundry is one of the things the late Mr Carstairs was responsible for.
“I’ve made some progress on the case and wanted to run some things past you.” You reply, your brow furrowing. “Is everything alright ma’am?”
“Perfectly fine.” She replies a little haughtily. “I’d rather you had called ahead, that’s all.” She replies, glancing over her shoulder. Your eyes widen in realization.
“Is Mr Vandergraaf at home?” You ask her, keeping your voice low and feeling like a fool for assuming he wouldn’t be.
“No.” She winces, running her fingers through her ruffled blonde hair. You notice for the first time that her normally immaculately applied lipstick is a little smudged.
“Oh!” You beam. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, eh.” You chuckle. “Can’t say I blame ya. Whoever he is, he’s a lucky guy!” Viola blushes furiously.
“I trust you will keep this indiscretion... Confidential?” She whispers.
“Of course, Ma’am.” You grin. “None of my damn business. Look, this is obviously a bad time. I’ll call and make an appointment.” You turn to leave.
“No, it’s fine.” Viola smiles, recovering a little composure. “I can spare you a few minutes.” She steps back and allows you to enter the house. You follow her into a spacious living room and sit down in a pair of high backed leather chairs.
“Now Mr Harlowe, what did you have to tell me?” She asks, leaning forward.
Ask her about Valentina D’Abruzzo
Sin in the City of Angels Page 32