The Pitiful Player (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 14)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Oscar looked at me and I nodded. "Yeah. Is there?"

  He bunched up his shoulders. "Yes. There is very much. I want to use for other dishes later. There is enough."

  "Then tell him to come over for dinner," I said. "Or let me call him and invite him."

  Oscar's eyes widened. "Oh, I do not think that is proper."

  Carter laughed. "We don't do anything proper. At home, we usually eat our meals in the kitchen with everyone else."

  "That is not proper at all."

  "Nope," I said. "But it helps with everyone's English."

  Grinning, Oscar said, "Then we accept."

  "Good," I said. "And let me know if you want me to call Hans."

  Oscar bunched his shoulders together again. "OK, Mr. Nick. I will."

  . . .

  Once we were in our Speedo trunks, I opened the door from the bedroom to the patio and said, "Move over, you two." I ran along the stone and jumped into the deep end, making a cannonball as I did.

  When my ass hit the water, it hurt a little, but being engulfed by the coolness of the water and taking the plunge completely wiped out all the smog and the grime of our drive earlier in the day. When I came up for air, I saw Carter leaning over the pool with a grin on his face.

  "For such a skinny guy, you sure can make a big splash."

  I hit the water with the side of my hand and got him wet up to his knees. He trotted back and, as he did, bumped up against a chaise lounge. He stopped and looked down at it and then around the pool.

  "Hey! There's some furniture out here."

  I laughed, "There sure is." I turned to Mike and Greg, who were holding onto each other in the shallow end of the pool.

  In a sing-song voice, Carter said, "Mike and Greg, sitting in a tree..." He backed up further as we all laughed. He stood there, with his hands on his hips, and sang out, "K-I-S-S-I-N..." As he got to the last letter, he started running. He leaped in the air and yelled out, "G!" Just as he did, he hit the water and a huge cannonball exploded all over the place.

  . . .

  The four of us were stretched out under the late afternoon sun. At first, we were on the chaise lounges by the pool. Then I suggested we move out to the big lawn. There was a slope that descending from the stone patio edge, down towards the brick wall at the far end.

  Oscar brought us all bottles of Rheingold beer. I sat up and took a sip of mine. Carter looked up at me, shielding his green eyes from the sun with his hand and asked, "Do you wanna go over the details of this case?"

  I took another sip and nodded. "I do."

  "Mike?" asked Carter. "That OK with you?"

  "Yes. Before we do anything else tonight, I want to get the details and the timeline straight."

  "Greg?" asked Carter. "How 'bout you?"

  Laughing, Greg said, "Does this mean that spouses are invited to a famous Nick and Mike case pow-wow?"

  We all laughed as Carter said, "Hell, yes."

  I took a third sip and said, "OK. Well, I'm gonna go back a little further in time than anyone but Carter might be expecting. In fact, it was Carter who pointed this out to me." I leaned over and clinked beer bottles with him as he grinned.

  "Carter believes, and I agree with him, that this case might go back a couple of years to the fall of '53 when a group of rogue F.B.I. agents decided to make it their mission to come after us, for whatever reason." I took another sip. I was thirsty and the cold beer tasted good in the sunshine. "The first thing they attempted was to get blackmail evidence on Carter and me courtesy of a haunted house that they had the audacity to build in our own basement. When that didn't work out, they seemed to lay low for a while. I believe they next showed up when a body was pushed off the top of our office building while it was still under construction." I looked at Greg and smiled. "I'm sorry it happened but, if it hadn't, you wouldn't be sitting here with us and, for that, I'm glad." He smiled back at me and then up at Mike, who was sitting cross-legged in the grass and facing me.

  I continued, "I'm pretty sure that our wannabe mobsters might have had some inside help from these agents. I have no proof, but I've thought about it and it might be plausible."

  Mike added, "Everyone involved is dead, so we'll never know."

  I shook my head. "Not true. And I'll get to that in a moment." I drained my beer bottle and set it down on the lawn. I pulled my legs up and crossed them. "The next significant thing that happened was what we uncovered when I came down here in January. I came down to help find a blue movie that Joan Crawford was in back in the early 20s. Metro, particularly Eddie Mannix, thought they had found all the movies but, somehow, this one had been overlooked or too well hidden."

  "Whatever happened to that film?" asked Mike.

  "It's in the safe at the office."

  "Did you ever watch it?" asked Greg.

  I shook my head. "I did look at a strip of the film and it was definitely her." I shrugged. "I don't know about the rest of you, but that subject isn't very interesting to me."

  Mike snorted as did Carter.

  "Anyway," I said, "at the same time that I found the movie, we also came across Harvey Reynolds, an accountant at Metro. He was secretly blackmailing all sorts of folks based on things he dug up while working for Metro. Carter got him to Las Vegas, to stay with an uncle, if I remember right, and sent Walter down to debrief him and get as much of the goods that Harvey had been stockpiling all the years he worked at Metro."

  Mike was looking at me. "Is all of this leading to something?"

  I nodded. "What about the two rogue agents down here?"

  He nodded thoughtfully.

  I continued, "We know about the three in the San Francisco office. They're the ones that Ricky murdered in March. But when Carter and I were in Paris, when we met with Jake Robinson, he told us that there were two agents in the L.A. office involved as well."

  Carter asked, "Speaking of Jake, when are he and Antoine going to finally be moving here?"

  Mike replied, "Last I heard, Antoine's visa is done. I think it may be a week or two."

  I said, "Good. You have work for them?"

  "Jake is going to work for Kenneth Dixon as an attorney. And I plan on putting Antoine with Sam and Walter. He's already been doing some good work in France for us. I like the guy."

  I nodded. That was news to me, but I was fine with letting Mike manage the business. He was President of the company, after all, and that was his job.

  Greg said, "So you've brought us up to when Ricky murdered those agents. And we know there are still two agents on the loose down here. What else?"

  Looking at Mike, I asked, "When William went to the San Francisco F.B.I. office back in March, do you know if he mentioned anything about talking to the agents down here?"

  Mike shook his head. "No. But Walter went over our copy of that interview transcript. He would know."

  I looked over at Carter. "Would you do the honors?"

  Mike laughed. "All you'll get is a lot of ums and uhs. I usually have to send someone else to talk to Walter for me."

  Carter stood and said, "You didn't see Walter with Howie. He's a changed man. I'll be right back."

  He walked away and I kept an eye on him and how he filled out those Speedo trunks. Greg whistled. "That is one hot man." He turned and looked at Mike. "We need to go to Australia and get a pair of those for you."

  Mike shook his head. "No, we need one for you."

  All I said was, "Oh, brother."

  . . .

  Carter returned wearing a shirt over his trunks and he was accompanied by a blond man of about 50 who was wearing a light blue coat and pair of trousers that dated back to just after the war. He had on a yellow tie that really didn't go well with his skin tone. Even in the late afternoon sun, it made him look washed out.

  We all stood as the two walked up.

  Carter pointed to me and said, "Hans Brucker, meet my husband, Nick Williams."

  Hans stood about my height. He was thin and had hazel eyes. He offered his h
and and shook with neither a smile nor a frown. "Mr. Williams."

  I smiled. "Call me Nick." I pointed to Mike. "This is Mike Robertson." They shook and then I said, "And this is Greg Holland."

  Once everyone met, Carter looked at me and said, "I didn't wanna interrupt the two of them. They were making a lot of noise."

  I grinned and said, "Pardon me while I go grab a shirt." It wasn't chilly but I suddenly felt self-conscious.

  Greg added, "I'll go with you and grab one for me and Mike, too."

  We crossed the patio. As we did, I heard Mike ask, "What kind of work do you do?"

  Hans stiffly replied, "I am a janitor."

  As we entered the house, Greg whispered, "Is that Oscar's lover?"

  I nodded as we made our way up the stairs and down the hall. "Yeah." He followed me into our bedroom. I stopped, startled at what I saw. While we'd been outside, Oscar had unpacked the trunk of clothes. The trunk itself was nowhere to be seen, but he'd left the sliding door of the built-in closet open so I could see the things that were hanging in there. He'd also left one of the bureau drawers open so I could see things put away there. I looked in the closet and found one of the shirts from Australia and put it on.

  "Must be nice to have a personal valet."

  I shrugged. "I haven't gotten used to it yet. Even after a year."

  Greg looked at me for a long moment. "If I haven't done so lately, let me thank you again for everything you did to bring Mike and me together last summer. It's the real thing. And I've never been this happy in my life."

  I nodded. I could feel the tears trying to get out again. I couldn't think of what to say other than, "I love seeing the two of you together. You're good for him." I swallowed hard.

  Greg smiled in reply, walked up, and hugged me for a long moment.

  . . .

  As Greg stood next to me, I knocked on the door to Walter's bedroom. "Walter? I need to ask you a question."

  There were some groans and a scuffling sound. Someone knocked something over with a muffled crash. They both started laughing and whispering. I looked over at Greg, who was grinning.

  The door opened suddenly. Howie was standing there, buck naked, and obviously happy.

  I looked up at his eyes. "Sorry for the interruption, but I need to ask Walter something."

  From somewhere in the room, I heard Walter say, "What is it, Mr. Williams?" He sounded annoyed. I couldn't blame him.

  "Did William mention anything to the F.B.I. about being in touch with the two rogue agents down here?"

  Walter sighed as Howie crossed his arms and looked at me with a grin. Sounding very put out, Walter said, "No, he didn't. The only contact he had was with the three agents in San Francisco." He sighed heavily as Howie's grin began to fade into a scowl. "I was wondering about the same thing, so I talked to Mr. Fraser about it two weeks ago."

  "What?" That was me.

  Walter, also buck naked and not quite as happy as Howie, pushed his way around Howie and looked up at me. "I was going over some of the files related to our contacts with the F.B.I. for Mr. Anderson. I re-read the transcript and realized there was no mention of the two rogue agents that Jacob Robinson told you about in Paris. So I called Mr. Fraser and asked him about it."

  "What did he say?" That was Howie.

  Walter suddenly and noticeably got a lot happier. I was torn. I really needed to find out what happened but, on the other hand... Well, hand wasn't exactly the right word.

  Walter leaned into Howie. "He said he'd never met anyone down here from the Bureau other than Kincaid, who was one of the three who was murdered by Mr. Allomare." That was the last name Ricky had used after he became a hitman.

  That was all I needed to know. "Thanks, Walter."

  He grinned. "Sure, Mr. Williams."

  With that, Howie pulled Walter back into the room and slammed the door in my face.

  Greg said, "There you have it. Brainiacs in love."

  I laughed as we walked towards the living room.

  . . .

  Once Tom and Micky arrived right at 6, we sat down to dinner. Mike told me that he'd called Ben and told him to tell Martinelli that he didn't need to join us. Ben, apparently, had been relieved.

  When it became obvious that Howie and Walter were not going to be eating with the rest of us, Oscar made a couple of plates for them and put them in the oven on low.

  "This roast beef is wonderful." That was Greg.

  Oscar beamed and said, "Thank you, Mr. Greg."

  Hans looked at his lover and said, "My Oscar is the best cook. It's a good thing that I can eat anything. Or I would be a round ball."

  Oscar turned and kissed Hans on the lips. "A round ball would not matter to me."

  Hans grinned for the first time and said, "I will keep that in mind."

  "How did you two meet?" I asked. I always wanted to know.

  Hans looked at me. "At a party." I nodded, hoping for more. Hans looked down at his plate and didn't say more than that.

  "When was that?" asked Carter.

  "1940."

  "Was it love at first sight?" asked Tom with a small grin.

  "Yes."

  Oscar, who was frowning, said, "A party in Beverly Hills. At the house of Juan Zane."

  "Really?" I asked with as little inflection in my voice as I could manage.

  Oscar nodded. "Yes. Mr. Zane is very strange man."

  Hans put his fork down and stood. "Pardon me." With that, he stalked off.

  "Sorry, Oscar." I had a pretty good idea about what was bothering Hans.

  He shook his head and had a sip of the red wine that Tom had brought. "Mr. Zane tried to seduce me that night."

  I said, "He tried to seduce me on Wednesday." I offered to clink his glass. He grinned and was about to do so when the doorbell chimed.

  "Who's that?" asked Carter.

  Mike said, "It's probably Anita Wilson. I told her to stop by after she got off work."

  Oscar was already standing and putting on his coat. I stood and said, "No, let me get it. You sit down."

  I dashed into the living room before he could beat me to it. As I came up the stairs to the landing, I heard the person at the door start pounding on it while, at the same time, I also heard what sounded like glass breaking in one of the bedrooms. I had a passing thought that maybe Walter and Howie were getting a little too rambunctious.

  I opened the door and saw Anita standing there, looking wild-eyed. "Come in," I said, grabbing her arm and pulling her in. I didn't know why she was scared and I didn't want to wait for her to explain out on the front porch. She said, "Someone just jumped over the wall and ran around the side of the house."

  I called out, "Twenty-five." That was a code that Mike had devised for Carter and I to use if we were in danger. At the time he talked to us about it, I'd thought it was silly.

  I heard Mike say to everyone in a loud whisper, "Get your guns out and get down." Chairs in the dining room started scraping against the floor.

  Oscar asked, "What is—" and then was cut off. I figured one of the guys had put his hand over Oscar's mouth.

  Anita and I were standing in the landing. In a flash, she pulled a .35 revolver out of her purse. Before I could say anything, a bullet whizzed past my head, through the opening between the living room and the dining room, and hit the window on the far side of the dining room, shattering it.

  I pushed Anita forward down the steps and out of the line of fire from the bedroom. I tried to push her to the floor, but she kicked me in the left shin from behind, and hard. As I watched, she dashed over to the side of the opening that led to the hallway and held her gun up in the air, cocking the hammer as she did.

  Another bullet whizzed through and hit the painting with an odd "thwuck" sound. I ran over to Anita and hissed, "What are you doing?"

  From the far side of the living room, I heard Mike say, "Anita!" in a loud whisper.

  She shook her head and held her ground.

  A third bullet whizzed t
hrough and hit the painting in a second spot.

  Anita jumped into the doorway. She took a quick shot and then jumped back. She did it so fast that I almost didn't believe what I'd seen.

  At the end of the hallway, I heard a body fall to the stone floor with a thud. Mike jumped around Anita and me and moved down the hallway with his gun aimed forward. After about ten seconds, he called out, "All clear."

  Anita dropped her gun in her purse and then leaned against me with a slight moan. I helped her over to the sofa as Tom, Micky, and Greg dashed past us down the hallway. I heard Howie call out, "Can we come out?"

  Mike replied, "Stay where you are and stay away from the door. We'll let you know when it's safe."

  By that time, Anita was slumped on the sofa. Oscar appeared out of nowhere with a tumbler of some dark liquid that turned out to be bourbon. He handed the glass to me over the back of the sofa and I offered it to Anita.

  She took a sip, swallowed, and then grimaced. "Yuck," was her first reply which, for whatever reason, made me laugh. Oscar trotted back over to the kitchen.

  "Are you OK?" I asked.

  She nodded, as Carter came around the far end of the sofa and sat down next to her. He looked at me with his worried expression.

  Anita said, "I didn't know I could do that."

  I smiled. "You did swell."

  "You really did," added Carter.

  I looked over in time to see Mike walking down the steps and into the living room. He walked over to the sofa, crouched down in front of Anita, and said, "Good job."

  She smiled at him. "Thanks, Mr. Robertson."

  Tom ran in and knelt down at Mike's side "You're one helluva gal, Anita."

  She nodded as tears started falling down her face. "Thanks, Tom."

  He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. "Hope you don't mind me kissin' you. Sorry we don't have any gals handy to do that for you."

  She laughed and shook her head. "You really are something else, aren't you?"

  Chapter 42

  14301 Deseo Drive

  Friday, July 15, 1955

  Half past 8 in the evening

  "The victim is..." Lieutenant Carson looked up at Carter, who said, "His real name is Bernard William Rogers. His screen name is, or, was Juan Zane."