Day: You see what”
Hoag: Just one more question and I’m out of here—how did you figure to get away with it?
Day: Away with what?
Hoag: Not telling. I mean, this whole project has been nothing more than a publicity stunt, right? You wanted to get some attention, revive your career. You even made up the death threats. The truth is, you were never going to talk about the fight. You figured … hell, what did you figure? You’d get more publicity for clamming up? Is that it?
Day: You’re dead wrong, Hoagy. I acted in good faith. I just can’t do it. Don’t you understand? I thought I could. Now that I’m face-to-face with it …
Hoag: Face-to-face with what?
Day: I made a mistake. I’m a human being.
Hoag: You’re a master, is what you are. You suckered everybody. The publisher. The newspapers. And me. And that’s the part that hurts, Sonny. See, I came around to your side. I started to think there was more to you than all that bad press you’ve gotten through the years. I cared about you. And you’ve been wearing your mask this whole time. You’ve been working me, just like I was an audience in Vegas. Giving me what I wanted. Using me.
Day: You’re wrong about this, Hoagy. Believe me.
Hoag: Why should I?
Day: Because I’m telling you the truth, damn it.
Hoag: Tell it to somebody else. Put an ad in the paper: “Wanted—one stooge. No experience necessary.” That’s what you need. That’s what you’ve always needed. Good-bye, Sonny.
(end tape)
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS STILL WINTER in New York. The raw wind off the Hudson cut right through my trench coat when I got out of the cab in front of my apartment. Old, sooty snow edged the sidewalk.
My apartment was even smaller and dingier than I remembered it. I gave Lulu her dinner and her water and slumped into my easy chair. There was unpacking to do. Bills to pay. It could all wait. I wasn’t in the mood.
Lulu was down, too. She only sniffed at her mackerel before she curled up on the sofa with a disagreeable grunt. There, she glowered at me.
I couldn’t just sit there. I decided to take her out on the town. I changed into a black cashmere turtleneck, heavy wool tweed suit, and oiled hiking shoes. I got out the fur-lined leather greatcoat I bought in Milan. Then I found my cap, my gloves, and my walking stick and we headed out. It was night. There was noise and activity and energy out there. Enough to get lost in. We headed down Broadway. I strode briskly. Lulu waddled along beside me, her low-flying ears catching bits of the sooty snow. Down around Lincoln Center I discovered a Tower Records that hadn’t been there before. We went in and browsed. I treated myself to several Erroll Garner albums. Then we headed over toward Central Park West.
It’s a very small town. Just like that we found ourselves standing right across the street from the very building we used to live in. The windows with their $895,000 view of the park were all lit up. Zack was no doubt throwing her a little welcome-home bash—something smart and trendy and assholey. Lulu whimpered. She wanted to go up and say hello. I growled at her and started downtown. She didn’t budge. I yanked on her leash. She still didn’t budge. I yanked harder. I won. I’m bigger.
At Columbus Circle we cut east along Fifty-ninth Street and made for the Racquet Club. I wrote a check for all of the dues I owed and left Lulu in friendly hands at the desk. A masseur worked me over for an hour. Then I sat in the steam. Afterward, flushed and relaxed, I led Lulu down Park to Grand Central. I resisted the temptation to swing over to Madison and look in Paul Stuart’s window, knowing I’d end up blowing whatever settlement I got from Sonny’s publisher on clothes. It wouldn’t be enough for another Jaguar.
At least I had learned something from this experience—I wasn’t cut out to be a ghost.
We stopped in at the Oyster Bar for a dozen bluepoints and a Bloody Mary. Then it was over to the Algonquin. The maître d’, who has a veddy English accent that he came to by way of Bensonhurst, greeted us like old chums and gave us a corner table. Michael Feinstein was doing a nice quiet Gershwin medley on the piano. A split of champagne sat neatly on top of the oysters. So did the prime rib and the médoc. As always, there was a little cold poached salmon on the side for my girl. It perked her right up.
Strangely, I was thinking about Wanda. I hadn’t said goodbye to her. I should have, but my feelings were still too jumbled. It wasn’t as if anything had awakened down below. It hadn’t. She was crazy, no question. Still, she wasn’t a bad person, and she sure as hell wasn’t dull, and I sure as hell wasn’t happy sitting here by myself.
I had a big slab of chocolate cake, coffee, and a Courvoisier. I thought about a second Courvoisier. Instead, I got a cab, had it drop us at the liquor store around the corner from my apartment, and I bought a whole bottle of the stuff.
It was sleeting now. Some of it landed on Lulu’s nose as we headed home. She snuffled at it and speeded up the closer we got to our door.
The Courvoisier and the Garner went down very well together. I sat back in my chair and let them have their sweet way with me, the sleet tapping against the kitchen skylight, Lulu dozing in my lap. I particularly liked the way he handled “I Cover the Waterfront.” It fit my mood. Blue.
The Elf and the sleet were still tapping away a few hours later when I drifted off there in my chair.
The phone roused me at about four a.m. Someone was sobbing into it. I guess I don’t have to tell you who.
“Can’t stand it, Hoagy. Can’t stand the pain.”
“So take an aspirin, Sonny.”
“Not that kind of pain. And you know it. It’s … it’s …”
“It’s what?”
“I lost your respect. Can’t stand it.”
“You should have thought of that before you got me involved in your sham.”
“Don’t do this, Hoagy. Don’t shut me out.”
“Sonny, it’s the middle of the night.”
“I know. I know. Sitting here in the study. Looking out at your plant. Got a floodlight on it. Just sitting here.”
“You been drinking?”
“Some,” he admitted. “You?”
“Some.”
“So whatta we do, Hoagy? Huh? Whatta we do?”
“We go to bed. In the morning, we wake up. You get on with your life, I get on with mine.”
“Mine seems awful empty, Hoagy.”
“Yeah.”
“Come back, Hoagy. Come home.”
“I am home.”
“We could tummel some other ideas, huh? A movie, maybe.”
“Forget it.”
“You can have your old room back.”
“Sonny, my life is here. I have a career to get back to, such as it is.”
“So write your next novel here. Stay as long as you want, huh? We can still have breakfast and talk and—”
“Sonny, I’m hanging up now. Good-bye.” I started to put the phone down.
But then he blurted, “We can talk about the fight.”
I stopped. “About what?”
“The fight with Gabe. My fight with Gabe. We can talk about it.”
“You’ll tell me?”
“I’ll tell you.”
“The whole truth?”
“And nuttin’ but.”
“I’ve heard this before.”
“I swear it.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t believe you.”
“It’s the truth. Come out. You’ll see.”
“Why the change of heart?”
“I have to.”
“Why?”
“Things … they’ve gotten too out of hand. I-I’ll tell you when you get here.”
“Tell me right now. Why did you and Gabe fight?”
“I … I can’t tell you over the phone. I need to be with ya, to see the look on your face. I need for you to see why it’s been so hard for me. Then you’ll understand.”
“This sounds like more bullshit. Good-bye, Sonny.”
; “It’s not. Believe me. I need to tell it. It’s gotta be told. It’s the only way things will change. The demons won’t go away. I gotta tell you.”
“If you’re lying …”
“If I’m lying, I’ll give ya the entire advance. My share. All of it. It’s yours. Just come.”
“If I come, it won’t be for money. It’ll be because I want to finish what we started. Finish your book.”
“Our book. Come back. We’ll do it together. Just like we been. Catch the morning flight. Vic’ll meet ya at the airport. Come back to me, Hoagy.”
Lulu and I were on that morning flight. I know just what you’re thinking—as soon as Sonny sobered up he’d clam up, and there I’d be, on my way back home to New York again, pissed off. I knew that. I knew there was only a slim chance that he was really going to tell me the whole story about Connie and Gabe. But I had to take that chance.
Besides, I hadn’t said good-bye to Wanda.
I should have known something was wrong when Vic wasn’t at the airport to meet me. I waited half an hour before I figured Sonny was still out cold and had never told him to pick me up. So I flagged down a cab and gave him Sonny’s address. We got on the freeway. Lulu stood on my lap and stuck her nose out the window and wagged her tail, happy to be back in L.A.
The television news vans and press cars were backed up a full block down the canyon from his house.
“What’s going on?” I asked the cabbie.
“Hey, this must be the Day place!” he exclaimed, excited.
“Yes, it is. What about it?”
He checked me out in his rearview mirror. “You a friend of his?”
“Yes, I am.”
“You don’t know then, huh? He’s dead. Been on the radio all morning. Somebody shot the poor fucker. Sorry to be the one to tell you. That’ll be twenty-five dollars, please. Plus gratuity.”
And that’s how I learned Sonny Day had been murdered—from a polite cab driver.
Reporters, photographers, and camera crews were milling around the front gate, chatting, smoking, waiting. I squeezed through, them with Lulu and my bags. The cop on the gate wouldn’t let me buzz the house. That happened to be his job. So I identified myself and let him do it. He spoke into the intercom and listened. Then he nodded to me. A minute later the gate clicked open and I slipped inside, the reporters shouting after me for my name, my business, my connection, my …
I headed up the driveway. As I rounded the curve where the orchard ended, I saw a cluster of people by the reflecting pool. One of them spotted me and ran toward me.
It was Wanda. She was still in her caftan and her eyes were red and her hair mussed.
“He’s dead, Hoagy,” she wailed. “He’s dead.”
She threw her arms around me and clung to me. I dropped my bags and held her.
I looked over her shoulder at the estate and began to realize how different it looked. Police cars were parked over by the garage. The log arbor was roped off. Uniformed cops, plainclothesmen, and technicians were talking and making notes.
Connie was there by the reflecting pool. So was Harmon Wright. And Vic. As Wanda and I made our way toward them, my arm still around her, Vic spotted me. His face turned red.
“You did it!” he screamed at me. “It’s your fault! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”
An animal roar came out of him. He charged. He came at me full speed, like I was an opposing linebacker. My first instinct was to freeze. Then, as he got closer to me, I tried to sidestep him. I failed. He rammed me straight on and down we went, my head cracking hard against the pavement. The inside of it lit up like a pinball machine. My memory is a bit fuzzy from there on. I remember him snarling. I remember him punching me, pummeling my mouth, my nose, my ears. I remember it hurt. And Wanda was screaming, and the cops were running toward us. And he was right on top of my chest with both hands around my throat, choking me, me gagging, not being able to get any air. And then nothing …
Until I heard the coyotes wailing again. Only this time it wasn’t coyotes. It was an ambulance. I was in it, and somebody was putting something over my face. And then I was out again.
I came to in the hospital. I felt numb all over and very thirsty, and Detective Lieutenant Emil Lamp of the Los Angeles Police Department was sitting at the foot of my bed sucking on an ice cube.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EMIL LAMP DIDN’T LOOK more than sixteen. He was a fresh-scrubbed, eager little guy with neat blond hair and alert blue eyes. He had on a seersucker suit, button-down shirt, and striped tie. A bulky Rolex was on one wrist, an Indian turquoise-and-silver bracelet on the other.
“Lulu …” I gasped, my throat parched.
“She’s okay, Mister Hoag,” he assured me. He didn’t sound much more than sixteen either. “Miss Day … Wanda, she has her. Nice dog. Breath smells kind of—”
“C-could I have a drink?”
“Sure, sure.”
He jumped to his feet, all action. There was a carafe on the table next to the bed. Lamp poured some ice water into a styrofoam cup. I started to reach for the cup, only I got stabbed in the side by what felt like a carving knife. I yelped and clutched at the spot. My fingers found tape wrapped there.
“You’ve got a cracked rib,” Lamp informed me, handing me my water. “Had one once myself. Hurts like heck. Take it from me, whatever you do, don’t laugh.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard.” I drank some of the water. It angered my throat going down. Vic’s hands had left it sore and swollen.
“You’ve also got a mild concussion. Your face looks pretty raw, but it’s just cuts and bruises. You’re lucky you didn’t get a fractured skull. That guy’s an animal. You’re in Cedars Sinai hospital on Beverly Boulevard. Doc says you’ll be here for a couple of days.”
I looked around. I was in a private room with a bath, color television, and window. Outside, it was dark.
“I’m not insured,” I told him.
“Your publisher is taking care of everything.”
“They do have a heart after all.” I tried to sit up a little, but my head started to spin. I surrendered to the pillow.
“You’re supposed to call them, when you’re up to it.” Lamp checked his watch. “Which I guess will be tomorrow. You’ve been out almost eight hours.”
“What happened to Vic?”
“We’re holding Early over for questioning and psychiatric observation. It seems he’s had a history of violent episodes since he got back from Nam. Beat a reporter half to death in Las Vegas just a couple of weeks ago.”
“I was there.”
“Know of a reason he’d have wanted Mr. Day dead?”
“Vic? He loved Sonny.”
“He doesn’t seem to love you much.”
Gingerly, I explored my face with my fingers. My lips were pulpy and tender. My nose felt like a soft potato.
“Could you tell me what happened to Sonny?” I asked.
“Sure, sure.” He sat back down and pulled out a notepad and opened it. “Sometime around three a.m., Pacific time—while you were still waiting for your flight at Kennedy Airport in New York—”
“You checked?”
“You bet I checked. When a dead man’s bodyguard screams ‘You did it! It’s your fault!’ and beats the crap out of some guy, I always check his whereabouts at the time of the murder. That’s how I got to be a lieutenant. Anyway, at approximately three a.m. Sonny Day took three shots in the stomach and chest from close range. It happened in the log arbor. He died before the ambulance got there. Massive internal hemorrhaging. He was in the yard, in his robe. Bed hadn’t been slept in. It was his own gun, a snub-nosed thirty-eight-caliber Smith and Wesson Chief Special. No prints. The bodyguard, Early, says he kept it in the study, loaded at all times. There were two others around the place. Also loaded. Not fired.”
“Somebody broke in?”
“We can’t find any trace of a break-in. Nothing missing. He had darned good security there. Electrified fence, the wor
ks. We examined the grounds and the outer wall pretty carefully this afternoon. I don’t think anybody broke in. No sign of a struggle. His hands, nails, the grass, nothing. I think he was shot by somebody whom he let in, or who was already there. You know, somebody he knew. That’s why we’re thinking about Early. He phoned it in. He, Miss Day, and the housekeeper said they were awakened by the shots.” He closed the pad. “You know, Mr. Hoag, this is a real honor for me.”
“First case?”
“Gracious no,” Lamp chuckled. “Oh, heck, no. I mean, my job has brought me in contact with Hollywood celebrities before, but I’ve never met someone like you. I mean, I was a big, big fan of Our Family Enterprise, Mr. Hoag.”
“Thanks. And make it Hoagy.”
“As in Carmichael?”
“As in the cheese steak.”
“I went to the library to see about checking out some of your other books, but they didn’t have any.”
“Go ahead, kick me when I’m down.”
“When’s the last time you spoke to Sonny Day?”
“About four in the morning New York time. Yesterday. No, I guess it’s still today, isn’t it? Sorry, I’m kind of fuzzy.”
“That’s the concussion.”
“No, I’m always kind of fuzzy.”
He grinned. “What did you two talk about?”
“The book we were working on together.”
“Did you often talk in the middle of the night like that?”
“Seemingly.”
“Hoagy, you can be a big help to my investigation. I need your cooperation.”
I swallowed. My throat didn’t like that. “You’ve got it.”
“Good. We have a report on file of a death threat Mr. Day received a few weeks ago. Early phoned it in. Evidence was disposed of. Mr. Day requested no intervention on our part. Know anything about it? What it said?”
“Supposedly it had to do with the book. I never saw it.”
“Uh-huh. I read the newspapers. I know Mr. Day was supposed to come out with some pretty choice dirt in this book of yours. Can you talk about that?”
“No reason not to. He was going to reveal the true story behind his famous Chasen’s fight with Gabe Knight. Only he backed out at the last minute. He wouldn’t tell me. Maybe he never intended to. I don’t know for sure. That’s why I went back to New York. And why he called me in the middle of the night. And why I came back. He relented. Said he would tell me. Promised me he would. Of course with Sonny, you could never be sure.”
The Man Who Died Laughing Page 14