The Pitiful Player (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 14)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  He looked at me. "He's either crossing the border or on a boat somewhere. That would be my guess."

  "What do we do?" asked Greg.

  Mike sighed. "Nothing."

  There were noises of protest from almost everyone, except Carter. After a moment, he did his hog-calling whistle. Everyone immediately got quiet. He said, "Mike's right. John Taylor is probably already in Mexico by now. And he's probably loaded up with a huge amount of cash. And, if he's gone, that means that the narcotics will stop being distributed as soon as all the little old ladies all over town have given out their last boxes. The answering service will start getting angry calls when the service isn't able to call them back because whoever was giving them instructions won't have any to give. The whole thing is going to collapse."

  "What about the suppliers?" asked Tom.

  Mike nodded. "They'll report to their drop-off points and no one will be there to meet them."

  "Who are the suppliers?" asked Anita.

  Greg replied, "We'll never know."

  Tom stood and began to pace. "I can't believe we can't do anything. Are you sure that this John Taylor has left the country?"

  Without saying anything, but with a feeling of ominous dread, I stood and walked into the kitchen. I pulled out the second volume of the phone book. As Mike and Greg walked into the kitchen, I found the listing for Bernard Rogers on North Linden Avenue. I dialed the Crestview number and, as Carter walked up and put his hand on my neck, listened as the number rang. After five rings, I heard Humphries say, "Crestview 2-3921."

  "Humphries, this is Nick Williams. May I speak with Mr. Taylor?"

  There was a long pause. "I'm afraid Mr. Taylor left the house and I do not expect he will return." He paused for a long moment and then added, "I'm also exceedingly happy to hear your voice, Mr. Williams. I wasn't precisely sure what might happen."

  "So you haven't heard?"

  "I beg your pardon. Heard what, Mr. Williams?"

  "Juan Zane is dead."

  I heard Humphries sigh. "I am very sorry. Very sorry, indeed."

  I waited for a couple of beats before asking, "Aren't you curious how I know?"

  "I presume you, or one of your associates, killed him before he was able to kill you."

  "That's right." I looked up and saw Anita, Tom, Howie, and Walter walk into the kitchen.

  "I am very disturbed at this turn of events, although I am not surprised. I had been expecting something like this for quite some time."

  "What's next for you?"

  He sighed again. "Oh, I suppose I will do what I've been planning to do for some time."

  "What's that?"

  The line went dead.

  . . .

  Mike called the Beverly Hills police department and told them to get over to the house on North Linden as quick as they could. He also told them to expect a suicide or, possibly, a house fire. When they asked who was calling, he hung up on them.

  After some discussion, Carter and I headed down the hill in the Buick, leaving the others behind to wait for our call. I had to see what there was to see. I felt ghoulish knowing that, whatever we found, we'd played a hand in making it happen. When I mentioned that to Carter, he replied, "We might have started the ball rolling, but it was inevitable. Humphries was expecting this to happen."

  I was driving. "You're probably right. But this is another one of those cases that isn't finished."

  Carter said, "If by not being finished, you mean that the D.A. doesn't have a case, you're right about that. But it's over. At least for a while. Someone else will start distributing the drugs. They'll come up with a better system. And the people who want the drugs will get them."

  "What about William?" I asked as I glanced over at Carter. "What about justice for him?"

  "We've seen this before. Sometimes the best you can do isn't as much as you wish you could. But it's still the best. And, you're forgetting who gets hurt in these narcotic deals. It's the buyers. Look at Howie. He could've easily taken too many pills, even as smart as he is."

  I knew he didn't mean it that way, but I had to say it, "So, William had to die so that other people wouldn't?"

  "That's not what I mean, Nick, and you know it. This work that we do isn't about justice. We're not the cops or the courts. This is about helping where we can. But we can't do everything. And don't forget that the Beverly Hills police chief has known about all of this and did nothing to stop it."

  I nodded. I stopped at Sunset Boulevard and made a left. About the time we crossed into Beverly Hills, Carter pointed at something in the distance. "Look. There's a fire over there." He sighed.

  Right then, a fire engine came screaming up behind us. Along with the other cars on the road, I pulled over to let it by. Once it had passed, I pulled back onto the road and drove a couple of blocks before turning right on Whittier. I drove south and veered left onto North Linden. When we got to Lomitas, we could see four fire engines in place down the block, with crews pointing hoses to the massive house, most of which was engulfed in flames.

  Carter said, "Let's go find a payphone, Boss."

  I nodded, not surprised by what we found, but stunned nonetheless. I pulled into a driveway so I could turn around. Considering where we were, there was quite a crowd gathered on the sidewalk. They were mostly in small groups of two and three. It was strange to see people standing outside in Beverly Hills. Particularly at night.

  As I waited to back out of the driveway, there were two women standing on the sidewalk nearby. I heard one woman say to the other, "I'm surprised that place didn't go up in flames years ago."

  "It was a deathtrap. But Juan Zane. Oh my."

  The first woman sighed, "I know. He was so handsome."

  "Such a pity."

  "Oh yes, such a pity, indeed."

  Chapter 43

  14301 Deseo Drive

  Saturday, July 16, 1955

  A few minutes before 9 in the morning

  When I opened my eyes, the next morning, I immediately closed them again. My head was pounding, my tongue was dry, and I felt awful. When we'd made our way back to the house the night before, we'd arrive in the middle of a party. Somehow, Tom had found the hi-fi that was controlled by the panel of buttons in the wall. Music was blaring, the doors were all open, and no one was feeling any pain.

  We had somehow managed to get through all the booze that Oscar had picked up for us. The last thing I remembered was all of us putting Anita to bed in Howie's room, the one at the end of the hall with the broken sliding glass door. We all just thought that was funny, Anita included.

  I gingerly sat up. I could smell bacon frying, which was hopeful.

  Carter said, "Turn off the sun, would you?"

  I chuckled and slid out of bed. "Shower time."

  He groaned but got up. The shower in the bathroom was a large walk-in affair with multiple shower heads. It had excellent water pressure. We spent about twenty minutes just letting the water beat down on us.

  Once we were done, we both pulled on shorts and t-shirts and padded into the living room. Howie was stretched out on the couch, his head on Walter's lap. They both had wet wash cloths on their eyes and neither was moving.

  The door to the pool was open. Anita was sunning herself on a chaise lounge. She was sipping what looked like a Bloody Mary cocktail. I tried to stay away from the hair of the dog but, with all the sunlight everywhere pressing needles in my eyeballs, I was seriously considering having some.

  Oscar whispered, "Good morning, Mr. Nick. Big party, no?"

  I nodded. "Big. I think we drank everything you bought."

  "Yes. I will buy more this afternoon."

  Carter said, "Maybe some beer." He groaned. "Never mind. Buy whatever you want."

  "Have this," said Oscar. He handed me a Bloody Mary.

  I shook my head. "No booze."

  He smiled. "Yes. No booze. Is tomato juice and some other secret ingredients. You feel better soon. I promise."

  I took the glass an
d had a sip. It was good, surprisingly, and seemed to sit on my stomach in a good way.

  "First you drink this, then I give you breakfast."

  . . .

  After breakfast, I was feeling a lot better. Whatever was in that tomato juice drink had worked marvels for everyone who tried it. Howie and Walter, for some reason, refused to try any and headed back to bed instead of eating anything.

  As we all carried our plates into the kitchen, Anita said, "I should get back to my hotel and check out."

  Mike said, "Thanks for coming down here on such short notice. Greg and I are about to pack up and we can drive you down to Hollywood to get your things. We're going to drive back to the City in our rental car. You can go with us or we can drop you off at the Burbank airport. Up to you."

  She thought for a moment. "Three won't be a crowd?"

  Mike shook his head and Greg said, "You should go with us. It'll be fun."

  She shrugged. "Sure. I'm up for it."

  "Great," said Greg with a smile.

  . . .

  Tom and Micky had slept out on the grass, for whatever reason. Neither of them were capable of driving home the night before. Anita had offered to sleep on the couch but they decided they wanted to sleep under the stars.

  They left when Mike, Greg, and Anita did. That left us with Howie and Walter in one of the bedrooms and Oscar cleaning up the big mess we'd left.

  Once everyone was gone, I walked outside and sat down on the edge of the pool and put my legs in the water. It felt good just to sit in the sun and the quiet.

  After a few minutes, Carter joined me. We sat there for a while, neither of us talking.

  "Feeling recovered, yet?" asked Carter.

  I nodded. "Whatever was in that drink..."

  He didn't say anything. He just splashed his feet in the water. We sat there for another long while. There was something about the pool, or maybe being up in the hills, that was relaxing.

  "We need to go meet with Ben White and Jessup about Monumental." That was me.

  "Yep, we sure do." He splashed his legs again.

  There was some sort of insect that was making a big racket in the trees at the end of the lawn. One group would make their sound and die down. Then another group would make a similar sound for a while and they would get quiet. Then the first group would begin again. I started splashing my feet and leaned back to look up in the sky. As I did, I could hear and then see a big plane flying overhead. It had four engines and was silver. I thought it might be an American Airlines DC-7. I wondered if it was flying in from the east coast and down to Los Angeles International and whether any of the passengers could see us. I waved at them, just in case they could.

  Carter waved as well and then grabbed me by the waist and pulled me in for a long, probing kiss.

  . . .

  I knocked on the closed door. "Walter? Howie?"

  A voice croaked, "Come in."

  I opened the door and walked in. Walter was sleeping on Howie's chest. They were partially covered by a sheet.

  Whispering, I said, "Carter and I are going out for a while. He's left the keys to the Mercedes on the coffee table in the living room if you two want to go out in the car. We'll be back for dinner. We'll go out somewhere nice. You two decide."

  Howie nodded and smiled at me. "Thanks, Nick."

  I smiled in reply. "Sure, kid."

  He said, "Walter..." His voice broke.

  I nodded. "I know. I can see it all over the place. We'll see you tonight."

  He smiled and closed his eyes.

  Chapter 44

  Our Lady of Loretto R.C. Church

  301 North Belmont Avenue

  Saturday, July 16, 1955

  Just before 1 in the afternoon

  As we walked into the sanctuary, I saw Father Patrick by the altar talking with an older woman who was dressed in bright yellow. When he saw us, he said something to her. She looked over at us and then back at him. He smiled and walked over to us.

  I said, "We'd like to talk with you, Father, if you have a moment."

  "Certainly, my son. Could I meet you in the garden in about fifteen minutes?"

  I nodded. "That'd be fine."

  He smiled and walked back to the altar.

  After dropping another hundred in the collection box, we walked into the garden. The aroma of rose mixed with rosemary was almost intoxicating in the early afternoon sun. We sat on the bench, held hands, and talked about nothing much.

  After about twenty minutes, Father Patrick emerged from the sanctuary and walked towards us. We both stood. Carter let go of my hand but, for whatever reason, I took his hand back in mine. He didn't try to let go and, in fact, squeezed mine.

  Father Patrick asked, "Good afternoon. How are you both today?"

  Carter replied first, "We wanted to let you know what's happened since we saw you yesterday."

  The priest nodded. "Yes?"

  I said, "The people Mrs. Cabral was working for are out of business. For a while, at least."

  Father Patrick didn't immediately reply as he rocked on his feet and nodded meditatively. "This is good news, is it not?"

  I nodded. "I think so. Someone will take their place, of course."

  "Perhaps. We do not always know how these matters will sort themselves out."

  I didn't know what to say to that, so I said, "I thought you would want to know."

  He blinked a couple of times. He smiled and said, "There are so many things I do not understand."

  Carter said, "Such as?"

  "The love I see in you both. I have never seen such a thing before."

  That was about the last thing I expected him to say. I said, "Surely—"

  "Oh, yes. I am aware of the many ways affection can be expressed between any two people. That's not what I mean." He rocked on his feet again and looked at me and then at Carter. "You are both at peace with something that all of my training and study has said is inherently wrong and should make you very unhappy. And yet you are not. I do not understand." He didn't appear to be confused. If anything, he look amused. "The Holy Spirit is always speaking to us about the love Our Father has for us, for all of His children. I see that love plainly here. By all that I have been taught, I shouldn't see that here and with you. But I do. Again, I do not understand."

  "What's there to understand?" I asked.

  Father Patrick smiled. "A very good question, indeed, my son. Saint Paul tells us that there is a peace which surpasses all understanding. And I feel a whisper of that peace standing here, in this garden, with you both."

  I was beginning to feel as if he was talking in circles. It was like some of the conversations I'd had with Carter in the past. I knew he was right but I didn't know why or even understand what he was right about.

  Carter pulled my hand up to his heart and said, "I've never loved anyone or anything like I love Nick."

  Father Patrick nodded slowly. "Yes, that is plain. But you must be careful of not making that love an idolatry. There is no love on Earth that can equal the love that God has for you, my son."

  Neither of us replied to that. We all stood there for a long moment. Finally, Father Patrick asked, "Is there anything else?"

  Before I could decide whether to ask the question, I heard myself say, "If no one is punished for the crime, is that justice?"

  Father Patrick tilted his head to one side and looked at me. "Is it justice or is it vengeance?"

  I frowned. "What's the difference?"

  "Justice is divine. The Holy Spirit arranges that in ways we cannot always understand. Vengeance, with the coming of the New Covenant, has been replaced with mercy. The Lord beckons us to make peace with Him by confessing our sins and being washed clean. Man, being confused, seeks vengeance in order to find peace but peace cannot be found through vengeance." He looked at me.

  I wasn't really sure I understood what he was saying. I didn't even know how to ask a better question. I wondered if he'd understood what I meant or whether a priest could
really understand things like that at all.

  Carter said, "We did what we came here to do. We got our friend out of jail. He was being framed. And now one of the people involved has left the country. One was killed trying to hurt Nick. And the other one killed himself."

  "All of this happened since yesterday?"

  We both nodded.

  He started rocking on his feet again. He closed his eyes and didn't say anything for several moments. When he did open them, he looked at me. Like the day before, I had a feeling that he was looking right through me. He smiled and said, "You have done your best and God can ask for nothing better. These things are no longer in your hands. Go home. Be with those you love and who love you." He looked up at Carter. "Both of you. Don't be disturbed by what you cannot change. Let the Lord comfort you and know that your work is done in this place."

  I nodded. That I understood. That was clear.

  Carter said, "Thank you, Father."

  I nodded. "Yes, thank you."

  He smiled at us. "Peace be with you, my sons."

  Chapter 45

  The Brown Derby

  1628 North Vine Street

  Hollywood, Cal.

  Saturday, July 16, 1955

  Half past 7 in the evening

  We were at the Brown Derby for the second time in two days and the third time in less than a week, but it was the place Walter wanted to go to for dinner. He told us about an episode of I Love Lucy that had been filmed there in the last few months and he was hoping to see Eve Arden, one of his favorite movie and TV stars. She'd been in the episode.

  The place was packed. However, we were able to be seated as soon as we walked in. The hostess, who remembered Carter and me from the day before, whisked us to the same booth in the back where we'd sat on the previous Sunday with Ben and Martinelli.

  After we'd put in for our drinks, beers for Carter and me, a Coke for Howie, and milk for Walter, Howie looked at me and asked, "How come we got seated as soon as we walked in?"