"Sure. But they're the ones who like the guys just in off the train."
I nodded. "Well, tell you what. While you're recovering, I'll see what I can do. My skills as a matchmaker are quickly becoming legendary. If you're ready to settle down, that is."
Micky shrugged. "That'd be nice. I'm pushing 30. I should start thinking about that."
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, you've got one foot practically in the grave."
He grinned and then grimaced. "Ow. That hurts."
I nodded. "Good. That'll learn you some manners." I turned and motioned to Greg who stood and walked over. "Now, you two shake on it."
Greg offered his hand. "Sorry about your shoulder and your nose."
Micky shook and shrugged. "I had it comin'. You're a tough bastard, that's for sure. Sorry for..." He looked down at the floor. "Well, for, you know."
Greg said, "I know. And you're lucky I got a swipe at you. Maybe you haven't heard about Nick's famous right hook, but I happen to know it'll bring a big man down. And fast."
Micky looked down at me, grinned, and then looked at Greg. "You know that from personal experience?"
"No. I don't cross Nick. But I've heard the stories."
And, with that, we made our way outside.
Chapter 14
The beach near the pier
Santa Monica, Cal.
Tuesday, July 12, 1955
Just before 5 in the morning
Carter took a deep breath and looked around. "Explain to me why we're here."
"I want to see who's here on a Tuesday morning and how long before a cop tells us to move along."
"And you just wanna sit on this bench and wait?"
"That's the idea. You sit on your end. I sit on mine. And we find out who's interested and what happens."
"This would be a good time for a Camel, son."
I nodded. "Yeah. It would." I looked out at the pier in the dark and listened to the crashing of the surf. "You don't happen to have one, do you?"
"Nope. You have your lighter?"
"Never go anywhere—" I heard the sound of footsteps so I stopped talking.
We sat there in silence for about a minute. The footsteps sounded like a man in leather-soled shoes. As they got closer, I realized it was probably a beat cop. I folded my hands above my head as if I was stretching. I wanted him to see I wasn't carrying. Just in case.
The footsteps stopped right behind us. "Good morning, gentlemen. What are you doing out here at 5 in the morning?"
Without moving, I said, "We're private investigators trying to get a sense of what happens down here in the early morning."
"Would you both stand, face me, and show me your licenses?"
We did just that. He was about my height but thickly built. In the faint light of the nearby street lamp, I could see that he had red hair. I had the sense that he might be of Irish descent but his accent was pure Southland. Using his flashlight, he looked at both our licenses and then handed them back. He briefly shone the light in our faces and then switched it off. He made a clicking sound with his tongue and then said, "I'm guessing this is about the arrest of Carlo Martinelli for the murder of William Fraser in Beverly Hills?"
I nodded. "That's right."
"So what brings you two queers to the beach?"
His voice sounded more amused than threatening, but I wasn't sure how to respond to his question. I glanced over at Carter, who was beginning to rub his chin. That wasn't a good sign. I took a deep breath and decided to get to the heart of the matter. "William liked his Mary Jane and there were a few spots he would come to when he was high and this was one of them. We're checking them out."
"I thought that the district attorney had that all wrapped up." He pulled out a package of Pall Malls and lit one up with his Zippo. It was hard to tell in the dark but it looked like his hands were shaking a bit. Taking a deep drag on the cigarette, he exhaled, and said, "But, then again, he's a real mother-fucking asshole. Not as much as Martinelli's lawyer, good ole John J. Gilbraith, but right up there."
I watched the cop as he stood and smoked. I really wanted to bum a cigarette from him. He grinned at me. "So what can I tell you?"
"Did you ever come across William Fraser?"
He nodded and exhaled. "Several times. And I knew he was strung out. I don't think it was just marijuana, whatever had him strung out. I got the feeling he was coming down here to relax, though."
"Relax?" asked Carter.
"Yeah. It was as if the high, or whatever it was, was too much for him."
I asked, "Did you ever run him in?"
He shook his head. "No." He dropped his half-smoked cigarette and stubbed it out. "I'm by myself out here. Best I can do is call in trouble. I'm kinda screwed. If I do my job, I get in trouble. If I don't do my job, I get in trouble. The brass is just biding their time."
"How so?" I asked. I knew the answer. Even in the dark, I could see how he was looking at me.
"I doubt I have to spell it out for you." He looked up at Carter. "You ever come down here to work out at Muscle Beach?"
Carter shook his head.
"Guess not since I hear you have your own gym in the basement of your house."
"How do you know that?" I asked.
"Heard it from William Fraser, himself."
"When?"
He kicked the sand. "About three weeks ago. He was sitting right here on this very bench. It was about 3 in the morning. I'd already talked to him a couple of times by then. I sat down with him and had my sandwich. He told me all about the two of you." The cop grinned. "We sat here for almost an hour. He was pretty high but mostly coherent. I sent him home. He was a good kid, but troubled." He playfully pushed me on the shoulder. "But I don't need to tell you that. All those Hollywood types are high strung." He looked out at the beach and sighed. "He started coming down here more frequently after that. I'd see him three or four times a week."
"Did you see him on Saturday night?" I asked.
He nodded. "Sure. He was here. I saw his rescue crew."
"Rescue crew?" asked Carter.
"Yeah. That's what I called that Ben White and Carlo Martinelli. They'd show up about every third time William was here and pick him up and take him home." He shook his head. "There's no way Martinelli killed him. I think it was a drug deal gone bad."
"Why's that?" I asked.
"He was killed at 630 North Linden in Beverly Hills, right?"
I nodded.
He looked up and started. I glanced in the direction he was looking and could see a man running across the beach and carrying something. Without waiting, the cop took off. Yelling over his shoulder, he said, "Find out who lived there. I'll be in touch." With that, he was gone.
As we watched him move much faster than I would have expected, Carter asked, "Who was that masked man?"
I laughed and said, "I suspect he's a future employee."
Carter nodded and said, "I think you're right. Let's go to bed, son."
I led the way back to the car. As we walked, I said, "I would've killed him for one of those cigarettes."
Carter laughed. "You and me, both."
I asked, "Do we sleep? Or do we get some coffee? We still have that meeting at 10 at Monumental."
Carter sighed. "Coffee. And lots of it."
Chapter 15
706 N. Beverly Drive
Beverly Hills, Cal.
Tuesday, July 12, 1955
Half past 9 in the morning
"Well, well, well," said Roz as she opened the door. "You two look like what the cat dragged in. Busy at work solving the case already?"
I nodded. "Sorry to bother you without calling first but we're on our way to Monumental and realized you and Freddie might be able to help us with something related to Carlo."
Glancing past me at our car in their driveway, she said, "I do like that car." She looked at it for a moment before saying, "Come in, come in. I have lots of coffee percolating." We followed her into the kitchen where she pulled
down two china cups and saucers from the cabinet. There were a couple of cakes on the kitchen table set out, along with a stack of dessert plates and some forks. "I'm hosting a little volunteer group at 10. A few ladies will be coming by. We're working on one of your projects, as a matter of fact."
Carter and I were leaning against the counter. I looked up. "One of my projects?"
"Sure." She laughed. "You probably know all about it but it's for the March of Dimes. It's to help fund getting the Salk polio vaccine out to places where the local governments can't afford to distribute it." She poured the coffee. "Cream? Sugar?"
I replied, "I'll take two lumps."
Carter said, "Make mine black."
As Roz added two sugar cubes to my coffee, she said, "The whole effort is being spearheaded by your mother, Carter."
He looked as confused as I was. "My mother?"
I asked, "Louise Jones?"
Roz nodded. It was her turn to look confused. "What with one thing and another, we didn't have a chance to talk about it last night or on Sunday. I guess I just assumed you knew about it. Isn't she staying with you tonight?"
I shook my head. "Although she would be welcome," I saw Carter shift uncomfortably as I said that, "she probably wouldn't want to. And, she's probably flying back this evening, anyway."
Roz frowned. "You don't know anything about this, do you?"
"No."
"She's not leaving today because there's a huge gala tonight at the Ambassador Hotel. Simply everyone will be there." She frowned for a moment. "I can't believe you don't know about this. Our attendee list is huge considering it's the middle of summer. The entire cast of Giant flew back in from Texas on Friday and are flying out tomorrow morning, all just to be there tonight. Some oilman chartered one of your planes for them, or that's what I heard."
I nodded, completely stunned. Right then, the doorbell rang.
"Hold on," said Roz as she walked briskly to the front door.
Turning to Carter, I said, "I'm really tired. Did she just tell us that your mother is in town for a big fundraiser and that everyone expects us to be there?" As I was talking, I could hear a flurry of voices coming from the hallway.
Carter nodded, his eyes wide open in surprise. "She sure did."
Right then, Roz bustled back into the kitchen and said, "Carter, here's your lovely mother."
We both turned and gaped. There she was. Carter's mother. Mrs. Wilson Jones of Albany, Georgia, husband deceased, murdered in a grisly fashion at a sawmill. There she stood, smiling demurely as always, with her perfectly tailored dress and Mamie Eisenhower haircut which really flattered her face. And, on her left arm stood Ed Richardson, former Windham County, Vermont, deputy sheriff and one-time lover of my own mother. He was grinning like the kid who got caught stealing cookies and didn't much care. Behind the two of them were Frankie and Maria Vasco. He was also grinning and she was smiling, lovely as always. I noticed that she was wearing a pink scarf around her neck to hide her Adam's Apple since, just before she met Frankie, a retired New York police lieutenant, her first name had been Marvin. The two of them were legally married, worked for us, and made quite the couple. They'd been the ones who'd found Ed and helped me find out what had, in the end, happened to my mother.
I stood there blinking, trying to put the four of them in the house of Rosalind Russell, star of His Girl Friday and The Women, but I couldn't seem to wrap my head around the whole thing. We'd met Frankie and Maria on the same ocean liner where we'd met Freddie and Roz. But to see Carter's mother and my stepfather standing next to each other in the way they were doing was making my head hurt.
Finally, Roz said, "I do believe someone forgot to tell Nick and Carter about tonight's gala."
Maria rushed around Ed and kissed me on the cheek. "We didn't know you were down here. All we knew was that you left town on Friday for Mexico. I thought that's where you still were." She smiled. "Sorry, Nick."
I shook my head. "No need. I, just, well..." I looked at Carter. "Neither of us has black tie and, oh, by the way, we bought a house around the corner yesterday."
Ed walked up and shook my hand and Carter's. "That must be your German car out there, is that right?"
I nodded. I didn't know what to say.
Mrs. Jones looked at both of us and then turned to Roz, who seemed very amused by the whole situation unfolding in her kitchen. "Miss Russell—"
"Roz, dear. That's what all my friends call me."
Carter sputtered. "It's with a 'z', Mama. Not an 's'."
Roz laughed. "How clever you are, Carter."
I said, "That's my fault. I thought your nickname was an abbreviation of your full name Rosalind spelled with an 's' until you left that note for us yesterday at the hotel and then I saw you used a 'z' and I felt so bad because I'm pretty sure I told Carter it was with an 's' when he wrote you a letter last year and I know that's how we addressed your Christmas card. I hope that you weren't too upset." I closed my mouth and stopped talking since I was babbling.
Mrs. Jones said, "Roz, do you mind if Ed and I have a word in private with Carter and Nick?"
Roz, who was trying very hard not to laugh, just nodded and said, "Come on kids," she reached out to Maria, "let's go dust in the living room or something. The other folks will be here at any moment."
Maria and Frankie followed her out of the kitchen and towards the living room.
I opened my mouth to speak but Mrs. Jones started talking before I could say anything.
"I'm sure this is a very big surprise to both you boys. We were planning on telling you on Saturday but then you left to go to Mexico and we didn't know where you were." She took a deep breath and looked at Ed in a way that was wholly surprising. "I've never known any man who has been more gentle and more kind than Ed." She looked at me and asked, "Is it OK with you if I marry him?"
My eyes widened. I didn't know what to say.
Ed smiled at me and took her arm, patting it as he did. "Now you know why I've been coming to San Francisco these last three months. Yes, I wanted to see you, Nick. And you too, Carter. And I've enjoyed getting to know Parnell and Lettie. And Velma. But, it was because I've been courtin' Louise." He looked up at Carter. "Would it be OK if I married your mother?"
Carter looked down at me and then back at Ed. He swallowed hard and asked, "Does that mean Nick and I would be brothers?"
We all laughed at that.
. . .
Even though we were running late, I managed to track down Freddie in his office. "I hope I'm not disturbing you," I said as I knocked on the frame of his office door. Freddie was sitting at his desk, his back to the windows that looked out at their pool. The room was dark, with just one lamp on. The outside light provided most of the illumination. There was a hi-fi console unit sitting against one wall and Mozart was playing quietly through its speakers.
He looked up from a ledger that was open on his mahogany desk. "Not at all, Nick. I'm just updating my diary."
I looked over at the big book. "That's your diary?"
"Oh, yes." He put down his pen and leaned back in his chair. "I find it so easy to remember things if I take time during the day to make little notes about what has happened. It's been quite useful over the years." He grinned at me. "I've been hearing a noise in the kitchen. Is the polio group here?"
I nodded. "Yes. And to our surprise, Carter's mother is here. And my stepfather. And they're getting married."
Freddie frowned. "I didn't know you had a stepfather. Did your parents divorce?"
I shook my head. "Actually, he was never married to my mother." I waved my hand to dismiss the subject. "It's a long story. Be sure to ask Ed. He'll tell you all about it. We're late for our meeting at Monumental with Jessup and Ben."
Freddie raised his left eyebrow. "Have you talked to your lawyer about cutting me in?"
I laughed. "Sorry, Freddie. Haven't got to it yet, but I will. But I did want to ask you about something. That's why we stopped by."
He nod
ded. "What is it?"
"Do you know who lives at 630 North Linden Drive?"
He turned around to a credenza behind his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out the reverse directory and began to page through it. "Linden Drive," he said. After a moment, he found the page and began to run his finger down a column. "630, you say?"
"Yeah."
His finger stopped. He frowned and looked up at me. "Why do you want to know?"
"That's the house where William Fraser was murdered."
He looked surprised. "I did not know this. I wonder why this was not made public? It puts an entirely different light on things."
"How so?"
"The man who owns that house is a notorious drug user. He has been for many years. I believe he is also accused of selling, but no one can pin it on him." He smiled. "That's how you say it, no?"
I nodded. "Sure. What's his name?"
"Bernard William Rogers. But his screen name was Juan Zane."
I laughed. "You're kidding, right? Juan Zane?" He was one of the biggest screen idols of the silent era. He was the hot Latin lover before Valentino showed up. He was rumored to have slept with any male star who would have him. My Great Uncle Paul had written in his journals about more than one encounter he'd had with the actor. Zane never made it to the talkies. I had no idea why, but after Valentino arrived on the scene, Juan Zane seemed to fade away.
Freddie shook his head. "No. I am very much not kidding. Most of the town would like him to leave but he stays and there are many people who come and go from his house but the police do nothing." He stood, came around from behind his desk, and said, "You must be very careful, Nick. Rogers is very dangerous. Not himself, no. But his, shall we say, associates."
"Are you telling me that there's a mob in Beverly Hills?"
"No. Not like in Chicago. But I believe he has some sway with Chief Anderson. And that makes him dangerous. For you and Carlo. This is why Carlo is in jail. Now it all makes sense."
"Do you know him?"
He shook his head. "Of course, not. He's not nice to know, as Roz says." He thought for a moment. "But he has one very good friend. They are seen often in public. Maybe you know of her? She was in the silent films and was rumored to have been Valentino's lover. Her name is Pola Negri." That name rang a bell. It seemed like I had seen her in a movie when I was in the Navy. "I believe she lives in Hollywood. She can introduce you. And, from what I hear, she likes anyone who's rich."
The Pitiful Player (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 14) Page 11