by Day Keene
I lied, “That’s all I know about Wolkowysk. Look. Who are you, fellow?”
He took his shield from his pocket and laid it on the wood. It read, “U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“The name,” he said, “is Green. Lyle Green. Working out of the Los Angeles office at the moment.”
Wally’s eyes bugged. “Wadda you know about that? But why all the interest in Jerry Wolkowysk? So he had an accident. Why should the F.B.I. be interested in him? I thought he was just another petty punk. You know, like some bartenders are.”
Harris horned in, trying to be important. “Ha. His name wasn’t even Wolkowysk. It was Lippy Saltz. You know. That Chicago gambler who is mixed up in that Phillip E. Palmer business. The F.B.I. wanted him bad. For murder. They got proof now he scragged Palmer, using that red-haired stripper — what’s her name, Sophia Palanka — as his come-on. Then him and her sail for Europe just as cool as you please, using Palmer’s passport.”
Green gave him a sour look.
Wally repeated, “Well, wadda ya know? I been reading all about it in the papers. How the guy’s body is found near Gary when all the time his family and the U. S. State Department, Atcheson even, think that Uncle Joe has lowered the boom on him. They do it for his money, eh?”
Green said, “A quarter of a million dollars.”
I loosened the top button of my shirt. I poured myself a drink and drank it. The rum was so much water. Out of all the guys in the world who needed killing, I had to pick one who was wanted by the F.B.I.
Chapter Fourteen
Green lighted a cigarette. “A nasty affair all around. And not turning out at all as we had hoped. We were practically breathing down Saltz’s neck. Now all we have is his wrecked car. We don’t even know he’s dead.”
“How come?” Wally asked.
Sheriff Cooper said, “There was no body in the car.”
I took a deep breath and held it. Corliss and I were in the clear. No one could prove anything. One of two things had happened: The tide had sucked Wolkowysk’s body out of the car, or it had spilled out during the fall and been pounded to pulp on the rocks.
I poured another drink and the neck of the bottle rattled against the glass.
Harris touched my elbow. “What are you so nervous about, Nelson?”
I pushed back off the stool and faced him. “Why don’t you leave me alone?”
“Cut it, you two,” Cooper said.
Wally resumed drying glasses. “It was an accident?” he asked Green. “I mean, Saltz’s car going over the cliff.”
“I doubt it,” Green said. “Did Wolkowysk ever bring a woman here?”
Wally thought a moment. “Not that I recall. You still haven’t got a line on this Sophia Palanka, huh?”
Green said dryly, “That’s something I’m not at liberty to disclose. How many women live here permanently?”
“Two. Mrs. Nelson and Mrs. Meek.”
“Are they blonde or brunette?”
“Mrs. Nelson is a blonde. Mrs. Meek is a brunette.”
“Neither of them have red hair?”
“No, sir,” Wally said.
“How old are they?”
“They’re both in their early twenties.”
Green looked at me. “I wonder if we could talk to Mrs. Nelson. It can just be that during their one date Wolkowysk told her something that might be of interest to us.”
I said, “If you will wait until Corliss comes back from San Diego, I’m certain she’ll be glad to talk to you.”
Wally felt called upon to explain. “This is the day Mrs. Nelson does our buying from the wholesale houses.”
“I see,” Green said. “Mind if I ask you a few questions, Nelson?”
I said, “Not at all.”
“What’s Mrs. Nelson’s exact age?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Mr. Connors says she’s a blonde.”
“That’s right.”
“If you’ll pardon the question, natural or artificial?”
“Natural.”
“What’s her background?”
I told him what Corliss had told me. “She was raised in a small town in the Midwest. When she was seventeen she married the local rich man’s son. A naval officer. A lieutenant commander named John Mason. He was lost at sea. She used the money he left her to buy this court.”
“Then she was really Mrs. Mason before she married you, a widow.”
“That’s right.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Since the night before last.”
“You knew each other before?”
“No.”
“How long have you been stateside?”
“Three days.”
He wasn’t being nasty about it, just amused. “Rather a rapid courtship, wasn’t it?”
“Sailors work fast,” Harris said. “Especially when they spot an easy berth.”
I got off the stool again, hot. “Another crack out of you and I’ll push your teeth so far down your throat—”
“Yeah. I know,” Harris broke in. “It’ll take a Geiger counter to find them.” He rested his hand on the waffled butt of the gun in his holster. “The times that I’ve been told that.”
Sheriff Cooper lost his temper. “Goddamn. I told you two to cut it out. This is a murder investigation.”
My head and throat began to ache again. I felt cold all over. I climbed back on the stool.
Green asked Sheriff Cooper, “What’s Mrs. Nelson’s reputation, Sheriff?”
Cooper formed a circle with his thumb and second finger. “A lady. She runs a clean court and an orderly bar and restaurant. I only wish we had more like her along the highway.”
“How long has she owned the Purple Parrot?”
“Over two years.”
“Three years next week,” Wally corrected him. “I know, because I opened the bar for her. She put an ad in the San Diego paper and I answered it. It said, ‘Wanted, experienced bar and restaurant man capable of taking full charge of first-class tourist-court restaurant and bar on Highway U.S. One-o-one. Drunks please save your time and mine.’ž” He beamed, proud of his feat of memory. “I remember it word for word on account of it’s the best job I ever had. I get a salary plus a percentage of the gross. And like Sheriff Cooper says, Mrs. Nelson is a real lady.”
Green snuffed his cigarette. “How about this Mrs. Meek?”
“She’s nice, too,” Wally said. “Mamie is a good girl and a hard worker.” He confided, “But I don’t think she’s too happy with Meek.”
Green was impatient with him. “How long has she been at the court?”
Wally thought a moment. “The Meeks have been here going on, or a little over, two years. Mrs. Nelson had to fire the two couples we had before them. One pair was just plain lazy. The other were a couple of lushes. Winos yet.”
Cooper asked Green if he wanted to talk to Mrs. Meek.
“Later,” Green said. “I’ll want to talk to both women.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “But right now we’ve got to get on into Palm Grove. I want the technicians’ report on the car.”
Green left with Cooper and Harris tagging at his heels. I sat staring after their backs. My throat still ached. My collar was still too tight. I fumbled at the top button of my shirt and found that it was open. I filled my glass. Then suddenly I didn’t want it. I didn’t like the way Green had looked at me. I didn’t like the thought of his talking to Corliss. She might make one slip. One slip would be all he needed to make him pounce at her, ask her personal, embarrassing questions until she became hysterical and talked.
Then the whole thing would come out. And even if Jerry Wolkowysk had been Lippy Saltz, by disposing of the body I’d turned what I’d done into murder.
I sipped at the drink I didn’t want, tugging at my collar, watching Wally towel glasses. His fat face shone with excitement as he talked on and on and on, like a half-witted parrot.
“Wadda you know? Wadda you know, h
uh?” he asked me. “That slimy stinker Wolkowysk turning out to be Lippy Saltz. The nerve of him. A guy like him making a play for a sweet girl like Mrs. Nelson.”
I snarled at him. “Shut up.”
The rinse water was running in the drain. Wally didn’t hear me. He talked on.
“Why, if I’d known who the guy was, I’d a beat in his head with a bung starter. Instead of throwing him out on his tail. I’d a mashed him good. Then I’d a yelled for the cops. And maybe I’d a got a big reward, huh?”
It was hot in the bar. And still. I felt as if I were becalmed in the eye of a hurricane with not too distant winds building up to a blow. Then the bar stool began to revolve, faster and faster and faster.
“Hit him, Swede,” Corliss had said. “Hit him as hard as you can.”
I looked at my fist. I had. Then, instead of calling the cops, I’d disposed of the body, turning manslaughter into murder.
Wally started in again. “Boy. That Sophia Palanka dame must be some hot stuff, huh? I mean to get her hooks into a guy like Phillip E. Palmer the Third.” He leaned across the bar and confided, “Maybe they’re doing it even, huh? I mean when Lippy kills him.”
I yelled at him. “I told you to shut up.”
His fat baby-pink face turned red. “Why should I?”
“Because I said so.”
He was as big as I was, with plenty of beef under his fat. He started to get sore, then changed his mind. “Just as you say, Mr. Nelson,” he said meekly.
I stood up, gripping the lip of the bar. “Where can I contact Corliss?”
“That I wouldn’t know, Mr. Nelson.”
“You said this was her day to buy from the wholesalers.”
“It is.”
“What are their names?”
Wally shook his head. “Geez. She buys first one place, then another. I can give you a lot of names in Dago. But sometimes she even drives up to L.A. That’s where I think she is now.”
I grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “You’re lying to me.”
He protested, “Why should I lie to you, Mr. Nelson? If you want, I’ll give you a stack of receipted bills. A foot high.”
I released his shirt and sat back on the stool, then got up again and walked to the front door. I was too jumpy to sit still. I had to talk to Corliss before Green did. I had to warn her what to expect, warn her to keep her mouth shut, no matter how Green pounded at her.
“Is something wrong?” Wally asked.
“No. Nothing at all,” I told him. “I’ve been drinking too much, I guess.”
I debated asking him to lend me his Ford so I could drive into Dago and look for Corliss. I decided it wouldn’t be smart. San Diego is a big city. Three hundred and sixty-five thousand people live in it. I might drive down one street while Corliss drove down another and return to the court to find Green waiting. I didn’t want that to happen. I wanted to be on deck when Green talked to her.
I corked the bottle I’d been working on and put it in my pocket. “I’m going over to the cottage. If Corliss should call here, tell her to call me. Tell her it’s very important.” I added, lamely. “I — I want her to bring me something from Dago.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Nelson,” Wally said. “If Mrs. Nelson should call, I’ll tell her.”
He leaned a little too hard on the “Mr.” I turned in the doorway and looked at him. His fat face was as sober as ever, but there was a certain quality to his voice that made it sound as if he was laughing. Inside. To himself.
I considered walking back and asking him what was so funny. But I’d met Wally’s kind before. He looked soft but he wasn’t. All it would mean was more trouble.
I walked out under the neon parrot and stood looking at the closed door of the office cottage. Now, with this new development, Mamie had said too much or not enough. I wanted another talk with her. Alone. A long talk.
I crunched across the gravel to the cottage. The screen door to the porch was hooked. I banged the wood. Then I rang the bell under the small metal plaque with the word “Manager” on it.
Meek opened the inside door. “Oh. It’s you, Mr. Nelson,” he said. He didn’t move out of the doorway.
I rattled the screen door. “If it’s not too much of an imposition, I’d like to talk to Mrs. Meek.”
Meek acted embarrassed. “Could you come back a little later, Mr. Nelson?”
“No,” I said flatly. “I want to talk to her right now.”
“Well,” he said. “Well.” He crossed the porch and unhooked the screen. “In that case, come in, Mr. Nelson.” He stepped aside to allow me to pass him. “I’ll see if I can wake her up. But I don’t know if I can.”
All the cottages were the same, one big room with a bath, a porch, and a carport. Mamie was lying on an unmade bed, bare-legged, in her slip, snoring soddenly. Her slip rose and fell with her breathing. There was an empty gin bottle on the floor and a small vial of red capsules that looked like seconal on the table by the bed. Her breathing was labored. Her lips drew tight across her teeth, then blew out as she exhaled. Her face was slack and unattractive. All of her charm was gone. She was just another drunken dame.
“What’s the idea?” I asked Meek.
He picked at the fuzz on his dirty sweater, nervously. “I’m sorry you should know about it, Mr. Nelson. But Mamie does this every once in a while.”
“You mean, goes off on one?”
“Yeah.” Meek tried to excuse her. “But only when she gets blue or depressed. And she was awfully blue about something this morning. She’s been blue since last night, in fact.”
“She didn’t say about what?”
“No. She didn’t.” Meek wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Then the next thing I knew, this had happened. You want me to see if I can wake her?” He shook her. “Mamie. Wake up. Mr. Nelson wants to talk to you.”
Mamie snored on.
Meek started to shake her again.
“Don’t bother,” I told him. “Let her sleep.”
He drew a sheet over her, tardily. “Just as you say, Mr. Nelson.” He wiped his nose on his hand again. “And don’t worry about Mamie’s work. I can do hers as well as mine. I’ve done it before. Quite a few times.”
There was a sour bilgelike smell about the cottage. I edged toward the door.
Meek followed me. “And if you please, Mr. Nelson, don’t say anything to Mrs. Nelson. She fired the last couple she had for getting drunk. And Mamie and I like it here. We like the work.”
I said I wouldn’t say anything to Corliss.
“Thank you,” Meek said. “Thank you a lot, Mr. Nelson.”
He closed the door while I was still standing on the porch. I had the same feeling I’d had in the bar, that Meek was very amused by something.
I crossed the drive to Corliss’ cottage. The blinds were closed. The one big room was dark and smelled of Corliss. Without bothering to switch on the light, I lay down on the bed and waited. Thinking of a lot of things.
Love. A will-o’-the-wisp. St. Elmo’s fire. A biological urge. The chemical affinity of one body for another. The deep-rooted urge of the male to propagate his kind. A package of cigarettes. A Hershey bar. A ten-thousand-dollar mink coat. Five dollars.
I was too jumpy to rest. I walked to the window and looked out. The late afternoon was gray. As I looked out the window the purple neon parrot perched on the roof of the bar winked on. Its beady eyes, veiled by wisps of fog, had a somehow evil, waiting look.
I took my wallet from my pocket and looked at the bus ticket to Hibbing.
For some reason I felt trapped.
Chapter Fifteen
At five I began to drink again. It was almost seven when Corliss returned. I heard her car purr into the port. Then she slipped in the side door and stood in the room with her back against the door.
I was still standing in the dark, the only illumination the light slanting in through the blinds from the spotlighted palms. The light formed silver bars across her face and chest.
Corliss looked tired. From her chest down she was in darkness.
“What’s the idea of standing there in the dark?” she asked me.
I asked her if she’d stopped at the bar.
“No,” Corliss said. “I didn’t. Why?”
I told her. “They’ve found Wolkowysk.”
Her white face moved up and down behind the silver bars as she swallowed. “Who found him? Sheriff Cooper?”
“No. Two surf fishermen. That is, they found the car.”
“But not his body?”
“No. The tide must have sucked it out.”
Corliss pushed through the silver bars of light and sat on the edge of the bed. “How do you know?”
I said, “Sheriff Cooper was here. About three o’clock this afternoon.”
Corliss took off her shoes. “He was?”
“Yeah.”
“Was he suspicious? Did he seem to suspect you?”
“Us,” I corrected her.
“Us, then.” Corliss pulled at the toes of her stockings.
I said, “He didn’t say. I think he was. They know he was in the bar that night. They know it wasn’t an accident.”
She laid back her coat. “Give me a cigarette. Please, Swede.”
I lighted a cigarette and gave it to her.
Corliss sucked at it until its tip glowed like a miniature running light. “Well, not finding his body is a break. Even if they are suspicious, they can’t do anything to us unless they find his body. Can they, Swede?”
I said, “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. But their finding Wolkowysk’s car wasn’t the worst of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was an F.B.I. man with Cooper. A lad by the name of Green. Working out of L.A.”
The bars of light were across her hair now, setting it on fire. All I could see was her hair, her forehead, and her eyes. The eye Wolkowysk had punched was still slightly swollen. There was fear in her eyes. “An F.B.I. man? Why should the F.B.I. be interested in Jerry Wolkowysk?”
I said, “It seems Jerry Wolkowysk was an alias. His right name was Lippy Saltz.”
Corliss lighted the night light on the bed table. She looked small and worried and lovely. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”