The Pitiful Player (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 14)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Carter snorted but didn't reply.

  . . .

  Juan Zane's house on North Linden sat on an odd-shaped double, or possibly triple, lot at the south-east corner of the intersection with Elevado Avenue. The massive front of the house faced west along North Linden. The eight-foot wall wrapped around the property and was covered with mature vines and ivy. Tall palm trees lined the property along the sidewalk. We were walking on the south side of Elevado. If asked, we could say we were heading back to Cañon. The street-facing windows were all shuttered, which was convenient for us as we casually strolled along the side of the house.

  "Do you see anything?" asked Carter.

  I shook my head. Even though the vines and ivy were thick and intertwined, I couldn't see any gates in the wall.

  When we came to the alley, I stopped and said, "This would be a really good time to have a cigarette to light."

  Carter asked, "What if I have a rock in my shoe?"

  I nodded and turned, facing the back wall of the house that ran along the alley. He leaned against me, using my shoulder as a prop, and removed his left shoe. As he made a show of finding the non-existent rock and tossing it away, I could see a wooden gate about thirty feet down the length of the wall from where we stood.

  I glanced around as Carter knelt down to tie his shoe. No one, from what I could observe, was able to see us. The houses backing up to the alley all had either wood fences or high stuccoed walls like Juan Zane did. In a low voice, I said, "Wait here and keep an eye out. Whistle if anyone comes by."

  He replied, "Be careful."

  Nodding, I made a quick dash to the gate. There was a black iron handle on the right side of the door. I cautiously tried it. It moved up and down but the door didn't open. I peered through the gap between the door and the frame and saw that there was an unlocked padlock securing the latch from being opened from the alley side.

  I could hear voices in the backyard. I leaned in to see if I could make out what they were saying.

  One voice was complaining about something. I was pretty sure it was John Taylor, the assistant or whatever his job was. He was saying, "... then there were those two gals who messed everything up. I tell you, I've thought it over and from every angle."

  "It sounds impossible, Johnny. No one's ever figured it out, so why bother? Besides, what would you replace it with?" I didn't recognize the second voice. It was male. Whoever it was sounded like an actor. He had that kind of an accent. It was American, but from nowhere in particular.

  John Taylor replied, "Oh, it was discovered, alright. That's how Anderson got involved. The part I don't get is how they knew to come over here."

  The other man sighed. "They're both so handsome."

  "Cut it out, will you? I'm sick to death of hearing you moon over those two."

  "Well, can I help it?"

  "Yes, you can help it. You belong to me, Marshall. And don't you forget it." John Taylor's voice was hard and harsh. It was very different from the other day when he'd been playing a different role.

  "I hate it when you talk to me like that. It makes me feel trashy."

  "Well, buddy boy, before you met me, you were trash. Kalamazoo ain't the place where stars are born, ya know. You wanna be in pictures, you stick with me. But don't ever forget, like Addison deWitt said to Eve Harrington, 'We deserve each other.'"

  "Sometimes I worry about you, Johnny. These moods you get. I think it's the drugs. You really should—"

  A sharp slap pierced the morning air.

  "Hey! What was that for?" Marshall's voice was pitiful.

  "Don't you ever talk to me like that again, do you hear me?" John sounded like he was on the verge of a melt-down.

  I could hear someone sniffling. The sound of a metal chair scraping against something hard like brick or concrete made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. "OK, Johnny. I'll be good."

  The sob in Marshall's voice was accompanied by foot steps followed by a door slamming closed.

  Marshall sniffled again and then asked, "Why?"

  I was about to walk away when I heard a third voice reply, "Because he believes himself to be at the center of all our affairs. I blame myself." That was Juan Zane.

  Right then Carter started whistling a little bit of some tune. As I quietly walked back toward Elevado, I heard the other man reply, "I love him so much."

  Juan Zane replied, "Love is the devil, is it not, my boy? Here, come sit with me..."

  . . .

  As we walked up to the house, I could hear splashing and laughter coming from the pool. We walked around the cars in the driveway and into the backyard. To my surprise, everyone was in the pool. Howie, for once, was wearing trunks. Tom looked up and said, "Come on in, fellas, the water's fine."

  I shook my head. "Sorry, guys, the fuzz is on its way."

  Tom narrowed his eyes. "I hate that word."

  "Sorry, Tom. Chief Anderson will be here at any minute."

  Benjamin said, "Shit," and pulled himself bodily out of the pool. He trotted into the house with Kenneth not far behind.

  I'd never seen either of them without clothes on. They were both slim, with narrow waists, and had hairy chests. I looked up at Carter, who was trying very hard to appear disinterested. I cleared my throat. He grinned down at me. "Sorry, Boss."

  I laughed. "Yes, you'll be sorry."

  He raised an eyebrow at me. "Making a promise you can't keep?"

  Tom appeared in front of us, wiping down his body with a striped towel. Howie was behind him, grinning.

  I grabbed Tom's towel and threw it at Howie.

  "Hey!" was Tom's reply.

  "That's stolen property, Officer."

  He turned around as Howie was making his way up the stairs, taking two at a time. Under his breath, I heard him say, "That damn kid."

  Carter and I both laughed.

  . . .

  Chief Anderson didn't arrive until almost an hour later. In the meantime, there were no phone calls from Tom's buddy. After I'd filled everyone in on the conversation we'd overheard at Juan Zane's house, we'd all sat around the table in the kitchen and talked about not much of anything, which was always one of my favorite subjects.

  After a few minutes past noon, there was a knock on the front door. I stood and said, "Here we go, boys." I looked at Howie and said, "Beat it, kid."

  He nodded and very quietly slipped out the back door.

  Walking into the living room, I could see a black-and-white police car parked in the driveway. I opened the door. A thick-necked man with a jutting chin stood on the front step. He was wearing a light gray jacket and matching trousers with a dull red tie. He removed his hat and gave me a forced smile. "Mr. Williams?"

  I nodded and offered my hand. He shook quickly and then said, "I'm Police Chief Clinton Anderson." Keeping his dark eyes on me, he said, "This is Sergeant William Connors." I looked at the officer. He was in uniform, stood about 6'3" and thickly-built but not muscled. He looked like a boxer. His nose was broken. When he smiled, I could see that one tooth was missing on the right side of his mouth. He tipped his hat at me. He was standing behind and above the chief.

  "May we come in?" asked the chief.

  "Of course, Chief. We're all in the kitchen. Follow me."

  I walked through the living room and into the kitchen. As I entered, everyone stood.

  I pointed at Carter. "Chief Anderson, this is Carter Jones."

  Carter offered his hand. The chief shook very quickly, like he'd done with me.

  "This is Sergeant Connors."

  He tipped his hat but maintained his position behind the chief.

  "This is my attorney, Kenneth Dixon."

  The chief shook and said, "Counselor."

  Kenneth pointed at Benjamin and said, "This is my partner, Benjamin Ross."

  They shook.

  Pointing to Tom, I said, "And this is Tom Ruggles. He's helping us get around L.A."

  They shook. I looked up at Connors, who didn't seem to know
Tom, which was a good thing.

  I turned to the chief and said, "Thanks for coming by, Chief. Would you or Sergeant Connors like some coffee?"

  Before the sergeant could answer, the chief said, "No, thank you, Mr. Williams. I just wanted to come by and introduce myself." He looked around the kitchen. "I see you haven't made any changes to Mrs. DaCosta's home."

  I shook my head. "Seems to be real comfortable."

  The chief took in a deep breath. "I'd prefer that you boys didn't get too comfortable."

  Before I could reply, Kenneth asked, "Why's that, Chief?"

  Anderson cleared his throat. "Beverly Hills is a respectable town. We're no San Francisco and we aim to keep it that way. I understand your client is only renting this house at the moment. Is that the case?"

  Kenneth nodded. "It is."

  "May I see the lease?"

  Kenneth smiled. "My understanding is that the lease is verbal."

  "I see. And when will the purchase be final?"

  Kenneth looked at me. I said, "In about four weeks."

  "Fine." Looking at Kenneth, he said, "I'd suggest you contact the DaCosta estate lawyer and let him know your client will be vacating the premises very shortly." He looked at me. "With your resources, I'm sure you can find a nice house over along Beverly Glen or up Coldwater Canyon Road. I know of at least two houses up there with pools and views of the basin."

  Kenneth asked, "Are you telling Mr. Williams that he has to move?"

  Chief Anderson shrugged. "Police resources in Beverly Hills are always stretched thin. I doubt that we'd be able to respond to any calls for assistance. And I doubt the neighbors are that interested in having known perverts taking up residence on their street. In fact, I've received two complaints already."

  Ben asked, "Two complaints about what?"

  Connors said, "Complaints about faggots living down the street. Can't see that I can blame them." As he said that, he smiled, showing us his missing tooth.

  Anderson added, "Sergeant Connors, please watch your language."

  Connors, without changing his expression, replied, "Yes, Chief. Sorry."

  The chief looked at me. "Mr. Williams, I'd like to ask you to leave this house today and not return to Beverly Hills. We really don't want your type in our town."

  Carter snorted.

  "Problem, Mr. Jones?"

  Kenneth spoke up before Carter could reply. "Are you threatening my client?"

  The chief looked surprised. "Of course not, Counselor. I'm making a request. For the sake of public safety. We don't like communists and we don't like homosexuals. Two peas in a pod, as far as I'm concerned."

  "What about Jews and Negroes?" asked Benjamin, who was Jewish.

  Chief Anderson shrugged. "If a group of citizens gets together and decides they want to restrict a neighborhood to a certain class of people, I've never understood why that was a problem. Unfortunately, the Supreme Court didn't agree with me. So, while I wish those people would live somewhere else, I have to enforce the laws. But those laws don't apply to perverts and subversives." He looked at me with a tight smile. "And, if you are sleeping in Beverly Hills tonight, I will have no choice but to instruct my officers to arrest you and Mr. Jones for sodomy."

  Kenneth said, "You know you need proof. Two men sleeping in the same bed does not constitute probable cause."

  The chief sighed. "Have you ever appeared before a court in this jurisdiction, Counselor?"

  Kenneth replied, "No."

  "Well then, you don't really know what it takes to get a warrant, do you?"

  Right then, the phone rang. Tom said, "I'll get it." He walked over to the extension on the wall and picked it up. "Hello?"

  Chief Anderson put on his hat. "I'll let you get packing, Mr. Williams." He broke into a grin. "Sundown. That's when you best be out of Beverly Hills. And, unless you're passing through on Santa Monica Boulevard, you also best just stay out of my town. Am I clear?"

  I nodded. "Perfectly." I heard Tom say, "Thanks, buddy," and hang up the phone. As soon as he did, it rang again. Everyone turned to look at it.

  I realized who might be calling and said, "Let me get that, Tom." I moved around Kenneth and grabbed the phone off the wall as Tom moved to the right. "Yeah?"

  A female voice said, "This is Baldwin 2602. We have a job for you. Are you interested?"

  It was exactly who I thought it would be. "Yes," I replied.

  "How about Monday?"

  "That would be perfect."

  "Fine. I have the address for you. Do you have a pencil?"

  Mrs. DaCosta had, at some point, mounted a notepad on the wall next to the phone. There was also a pencil on a string that was attached to the notepad. I tore off a piece of paper from the notepad, cradled the phone receiver under my neck, and put the paper in my left palm so I could write on it with the pencil in my right hand. "Yes," I replied.

  "733 Ormay Avenue."

  I wrote the number and then wondered about the street name. "Can you spell that, please?"

  "O-R-M-E."

  "Thank you."

  "Please be there promptly at 2 p.m. on Friday, July 15th. Your number is ten."

  I wrote the time, date, and the number.

  "Thank you."

  "My pleasure." The line went dead.

  I put the phone back on the hook and quickly pocketed the paper in my trouser pocket. I turned around to face the rest of the kitchen. Everyone was watching me.

  "You're giving out this number, Mr. Williams?" That was the chief.

  I nodded. "That was one of my investigators in San Francisco."

  "You'll make sure to give everyone your new phone number wherever you end up going. I wouldn't want whoever moves into the house to be harassed by any unsuitable phone calls before the phone company is able to give them a new number."

  I nodded but didn't reply.

  The chief put on his hat. "Well, I'm glad we had this little chat." He grinned again as he pulled down the brim of his hat. "Sundown."

  Without waiting for a reply, he walked around his sergeant and back through the living room. Connors gave us all what he probably thought was a tough-guy look. He looked ridiculous. He was ugly and big but not as intimidating as he probably thought he was. It was Beverly Hills, after all.

  The door slammed closed as they left.

  Carter sighed. "Well, Kenneth?"

  He shook his head. "There's not really anything we can do. Where are those places he mentioned?"

  Tom said, "They're up in the hills." Putting his hand on my shoulder, Tom said, "And, to be fair, you'll get a lot bigger house up there for less money and it's a lot nicer."

  I nodded. "That's fine. We got what we needed here. But, first things first. What did your buddy say?"

  Tom smiled. "Carlo has asked to see his new lawyer, Kenneth Dixon."

  I looked at Carter, who gave the keys to the Mercedes to Kenneth. "It's automatic even though you'll think it shifts on the column."

  Kenneth nodded. "Thanks, Carter. Who was it that called you, Nick?"

  "That was Baldwin 2602. We have a pickup." I pulled the paper out of my trouser pocket. "Tomorrow at 2 in the afternoon at 733 Orme Avenue." Looking at Tom, I asked, "Do you know where that is?"

  "Sounds like Boyle Heights."

  The phone rang again. I picked it up. "Yeah?"

  "Nick, it's Mike."

  "What's up?"

  "Greg and Micky are done with the job they were working on. I let 'em sleep in but they're up now and raring to go. You ready for 'em?"

  I sighed and said, "Not yet. But, if you don't mind, keep them nearby. We can probably use both of them. But tomorrow sometime."

  "Tomorrow? I thought you were making a sweep last night? Is everything OK?"

  "Fine. There've been some complications." I told him about finding Gilbraith's body and that Kenneth and Benjamin had come down to take over Martinelli's defense. I added, "Also, tell Marnie I'll be calling in at some point this afternoon with our new phone numbe
r."

  "New number? What's going on?"

  "It's Hong Kong and Australia, all over again."

  Mike laughed. "Are you two being kicked out of Beverly Hills?"

  "Yeah." I gave him the details on the chief's visit. Then I said, "Just tell Marnie to cancel the messaging service for now. I'll call her later this afternoon."

  "Will do."

  "Thanks, Mike." I put the receiver on the hook and turned to suggest that Kenneth and Benjamin head out for downtown when the phone rang again.

  Carter said, "What we need is an unlisted number."

  Everyone laughed as I grabbed the receiver. "Yeah?"

  "Nick! It's Roz. How are you, dear?"

  "We're fine. Did you just get a visit from the chief?"

  "Freddie is so mad, he's practically spitting nails. Are you going to sue? Hattie McDaniel, may she rest in peace, did and she won."

  "This is a different situation, Roz."

  "I suppose it is. What's next, then?"

  "Can you come over and take all the food Lettie bought for us yesterday?"

  Roz laughed. "Of course. I'll be over in five minutes."

  Before I could thank her, the line went dead. I turned and said, "OK. Micky and Greg—"

  The phone rang again. Everyone laughed. I picked it up. "Yeah?"

  "Nick, it's Ben." He sounded upset.

  "What's up?"

  "I want Carlo to come home." He broke down crying before he could say anything else.

  I said, "I know, Ben. And we're gonna make that happen." I couldn't help but roll my eyes at myself. I wasn't sure I believed myself when I said it.

  He sniffed and said, "Thanks, Nick. I know you must be doing everything you can."

  I said, "Hold on." I put my hand over the mouthpiece, looked at Kenneth, and said, "It's Ben White. You guys should go."

  Kenneth nodded. "Where do we meet you?"

  I looked at Carter. "What was that place we went to with Gilbraith?"

  Carter nodded and thought. Finally, he snapped his fingers. "Joe's Diner on Broadway."

  Tom added, "Across the street from the Hall of Justice."

  I said, "We'll be there within the hour." I looked at my watch. It was a quarter until 1. "We'll be there no later than 2."

  Kenneth nodded. He ran down the hall and was back in a flash with two briefcases. Ben grabbed his. They then made a dash past me and out the back door. Kenneth stopped on the steps and asked, "What about our stuff?"