Die on Your Feet

by S. G. Wong

  “Your man isn’t like the other bean counters. He runs errands, mostly.”

  “For the Assistant Deputy Commissioner.” Lola made it a statement.

  Pfeiffer nodded, “And the Deputy. They split him.” A grin. “He comes and goes all day long.”

  “And now?”

  “Up in his cubbyhole. On four.”

  “You his secretary too?”

  Pfeiffer shook her gleaming head. “Naw. I just keep my ears and eyes open. Reggie’s my cousin. He likes to send me the troublemakers.”

  It took Lola a moment, but she pieced it together. “You mean the bunny with squeaky shoes.”

  Pfeiffer laughed as she nodded. “Sometimes, the troublemakers are interested in an exchange of goods or services. Reggie and I can take care of pretty much anything that comes up.”

  “Who’s that then?” Lola tipped her head toward the inner office.

  “Ms. Jayne Tsing. She makes sure no one gets their orders mixed up.” Lola didn’t respond. Pfeiffer explained: “Communications Manager.”

  “Who calls?”

  “Downtown.” As if that explained everything.

  Lola nodded. “How do I get up to his office?”

  “Take the stairs. Elevators are manned by a couple of gossipy hens named Sid and Bud.” At Lola’s expression, the girl continued, “Really. I don’t make it up. I just report it. They tattle downtown twice a day, clockwork. Arbogast’s cage is second on your left. Knock twice and enter. Like this.” She rapped one-two on her desk. “It’ll get you through the Wards.”

  “Much obliged, Just Pfeiffer.”

  “Be seeing ya.”

  As Lola rounded the third-floor landing, Aubrey finally spoke.

  “There aren’t a lot of Wards here. A few offices on Pfeiffer’s floor were Warded, but nothing frighteningly difficult. Nothing like the Wards at the main building. If Arbogast’s Wards are the same as Copenhagen’s, we’ll know there’s a connection. Her office Wards and the ones at her mansion were different than the standard City Conjurers’ trick.”

  Lola met with four people on the stairway but no one thought enough of her to impede her progress. They were all of a sort: male, suited, and in a hurry. Every one of them carried a large portfolio stuffed with files and none of them so much as smiled at her. Aubrey did say hello to the two Ghosts that trailed their human Hosts, but Lola heard nothing but politeness in the greetings.

  The fourth floor hallway was much like that on the second floor. Lola stopped in front of the second office on the left. She rapped twice and went in.

  Bodewell Arbogast stood up from his desk, pushing his chair forcefully into the wall behind him. Lola smiled.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  Arbogast recovered his balance admirably well and indicated a chair in front of his desk. “No, of course not. Please, sit down.” He fidgeted with his waistcoat while Lola did so. “How did you, uh...?”

  Lola gave him a measured look.

  Arbogast’s expression brightened suddenly. “Have you found him?”

  Lola replied by tossing the accounts ledger on to the desktop. “Your boss sent this to me.”

  “Mr. Leung? How would he—?” Arbogast’s question died in his throat. He looked up at Lola. She raised her eyebrows.

  “Your other boss. Anonymously, of course. I thought perhaps you could clear a few things up, cut down on all the hoops and jumping.”

  The tall man groped for his chair and collapsed in a heap. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  “I guess that’s my cue to bring you up to speed on my detection thus far.” Lola leaned forward sharply. “Say, you gotta a bottle back their somewhere? Take a swig, will you? You look like you need it.”

  Arbogast fumbled with a drawer and pulled out a bottle of gin. He reached back inside for glasses and came up with a gun.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lola sat back. “What’s the idea? You’re gonna shoot me in your office?” She shook her head slowly. “They’ll pin it on you before you even decide where to stash my body. Forget it, Arbogast. Killing’s not your game. You don’t have it in you. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But clearly, Copenhagen has real muscle for that. You’re just her bagman.”

  The gun wavered then dropped onto the desk with a thud.

  “All the same,” advised Aubrey, “best pocket the piece.”

  Lola reached out and snatched it off the desk. “Her errand boy, actually. Isn’t that your job? So what does that make Josephson to her? My bet is something quite a bit less respectable and a helluva lot more expendable.”

  Arbogast had his head in his hands. He started to tremble all over.

  Lola pressed on. “What’d he do? Make off with some of the jack?”

  The despondent man shook his head. He looked up with a ravaged face, tear-stained and grey. Lola suppressed her distaste. “You have no idea what’s going on, Miss Starke. For all your so-called detecting skills. This little book of numbers is my doom. You’re talking to a dead man.”

  Lola’s expression hardened. “Cut the show, Arbogast. Pull yourself together. Don’t roll over because she says ‘trick.’”

  “Let me guess.” His lips twisted. “You’ve got just the plan to make her pay?”

  “Save your venom, man. If you want my help, I need some answers.”

  Arbogast pulled out a cloth from a pocket, swabbed his face clean of tears and pulled out a hip flask. He didn’t offer Lola anything. His eyes, cloudy just moments before, were now bright and sharp. He glared at Lola. “You think you’re going to change the outcome of this? Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. You’re nobody to her, to any of us. It’s much bigger than you can even begin to comprehend.”

  Lola got up, leaned forward over the desk, and slapped Arbogast across the left cheek. “Cut the show, I said, and save the hysterics. Grab some more courage from that flask of yours. It’s time to sing, damn you.”

  Arbogast held the side of his face. His eyes glittered. “If you have nothing to tell me about Sunny, then we have nothing more to discuss.”

  “Don’t be a log, Arbogast. Josephson’s disappearance has everything to do with this operation. Keeping me in the dark won’t help him.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Lola’s eyes widened. “Stop saying that, damn you.”

  “Ahh. Am I getting through to you now?” His shoulders slumped. “It’s hopeless. I should never have—”

  “Gotten Josephson involved with Copenhagen? His disappearance is tied up in this. You know it, you stubborn fool.”

  “Your persistence is misplaced.” He gathered the ledger and held it out. “This is nothing but a poor joke. I’m sorry.”

  Lola glared at the tall man and murmured something murderous beneath her breath. She laughed harshly. “Keep it, why don’t you.”

  “I’m hardly interested.” His hand was as steady as his flat gaze.

  Lola cursed, took the small book reluctantly.

  “Good day, Miss Starke. I hope you won’t take this...distraction to heart. I know Sunny is out there somewhere.” He nodded toward the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Lola stood her ground. “You hired me, Mr. Arbogast, to find someone. Let me do my job.” She waved the ledger in the air. “I don’t give a damn about your crooked schemes. I’m no rat. Hells, I’m not even a concerned citizen.”

  Arbogast placed one hand on the telephone receiver.

  “Having me thrown out won’t keep your low profile,” warned Lola. “Tell me the story and we can both get on with our jobs.”

  Arbogast retrieved his hand and looked at his watch. He gave Lola the steely eye. “In thirty minutes, I want you gone.”

  “Done. Now offer me a drink, for gods’ sake.”

&n
bsp; * * *

  Word had spread quickly through the gambling association: pay up or burn down. Three roaring fires—Spring Temple, Lucky’s Grotto and Piano Garden—had convinced everyone to pay. Word even now, three years later, was that none of those three owners still lived in Crescent City, if they lived at all. So, a routine was established. Weekly payments were picked up by Arbogast. Missed payments accrued interest at a hideous rate. Rate increases were assessed according to profits stated on government tax filings. Payments were tailored to each establishment, and enough was always left for legal taxes to be paid.

  “Who better to balance the two?” concluded Arbogast.

  “The Commission gets their cut, in taxes, and never gets antsy.”

  Arbogast nodded.

  “How’d you get involved?”

  A shrug. “Wrong place, wrong time. I am a real accountant, Miss Starke. That’s why I keep the books on this.”

  “Which she keeps in her personal safe.”

  “I don’t know where she keeps them. I keep tabs in my head while I’m out. Every day, at the end of the day, I record the day’s tally, in her presence at her office. She watches me count the money. I’ve never seen where she places the ledgers or the cash.”

  “How many?”

  “Ledgers? Less than a dozen.”

  “Is her handwriting anywhere on them?”

  He shook his head. “I’m it. The perfect scapegoat.”

  Lola nodded. “What about Josephson? Why did you get him in on this?”

  Arbogast looked faintly amused, but it passed quickly. “He was the arsonist.”

  “So he brought you in?”

  The thin man nodded. Absently, he poured some gin into a glass, grimaced as it raced down his throat. “We met at a social function. A week later, the Assistant Deputy Commissioner offered me a job here.” He gestured vaguely around him.

  “That’s pretty far afield from extortion.”

  “Sunny and I developed a close relationship, quickly.” He shrugged. “He needed a place to live. I had an entire house. He moved in. Shortly after, I, well, I came into some trouble with the bank, about the house payments. Sunny said he knew a way for me to make some money on the side.”

  “You didn’t think anything of the timing?”

  Arbogast shrugged. “Why would I? These things happen to people all the time.”

  “You said he’d been clean for three years,” prompted Lola.

  Arbogast nodded curtly. “He was off the heroin before we met. I’m not the kind of person that would welcome a junkie into my house, Miss Starke.”

  “So you knew from the start that your ‘side job’ was illegal?”

  Another shrug. “I ran errands for the Assistant Deputy Commissioner for three months. It didn’t seem strange to have muscle. Some of those places weren’t much better than holes and just as filled with snakes. Then one day, Manny Silva at Eternal Springs got brave and my escorts put him in line.” His gaze clouded over. “One of them made sure I was watching. Later, I tried to get out, but she had me dead to rights.”

  “And your handwriting’s been on record ever since.”

  He didn’t even bother to nod. He swirled the gin in its cheap glass and drank it in one smooth movement. The glass made no sound as he set it down. Then he pulled out a long cigarette and lit up.

  Lola pushed on. “This new job we talked about—”

  “The rumour from the nun?” asked Arbogast, his mouth twisted in disdain.

  “Sunny said nothing about it?”

  He shook his head. “That’s why I don’t think this had anything to do with it. He wouldn’t have hidden anything from me. I’m already in neck-deep.”

  “The last arson was...?”

  “Years ago.”

  “So how did he make his jack?”

  Arbogast made a noise of disgust. “She had him snoop for extras. Things she could use to ‘increase the yield.’ Sunny had a knack.” He looked across at Lola. “In another life, he would’ve been good at your job.”

  “He might already be in his next life, Mr. Arbogast,” she said quietly.

  That darkened Arbogast’s face. “I would know, wouldn’t I, if you were actually any good at your job?”

  “My reputation speaks for me. Cheap talk won’t tarnish it.”

  “Nevertheless, you have done precious little on my case. Where is Sunny now, Miss Starke? You can’t even hazard a guess.”

  “That’s not so. I have hazarded the same guess to you a number of times. You simply refuse to hear it. As for this,” she proffered the ledger, “tell me why your boss is trying to scare you. What does she need from you?”

  “Scare me?” he asked, leaning away from Lola. “What makes you think this is about me?” He gestured to the accounts ledger.

  “She’s too smart to think I wouldn’t sniff her out. Her thugs followed me the day I tailed you to those five joints on page one. You said it yourself. You’re the perfect scapegoat. I’ve got enough in there to start all sorts of trouble for you with the cops.” Lola shifted, narrowed her eyes. “So start thinking. What does she want from you?”

  Arbogast’s flushed angrily. “You’re no better than her, then. You’re extorting me for information, that’s all.”

  “Information that will save you, man,” retorted Lola. “She’s using me as the messenger here, but the message is for you. What does she want?”

  This time, the shrug was forced. “Ask her. I do my job diligently and quietly. She has nothing to complain about.”

  “Do you know for a fact she’s got nothing to do with your man’s invisible act?”

  “No, of course not,” he answered, “but that means nothing.”

  “Or everything. The point is, you don’t know.” Lola cocked her head to the right as she assessed her client. “Did you tell her you came to me?”

  “No, this is personal business.”

  “I have the feeling AJ Copenhagen doesn’t differentiate,” said Lola.

  Arbogast shrugged. He shot his cuffs and skimmed a hand over his hair. “Still.”

  “Did you know she hired me the same day I started on your case?”

  “To find Sunny?” His voice was painful with hope.

  “No.”

  Arbogast stiffened. “I’m sure I have no idea why.”

  Lola nodded curtly. “That’s one thing we can agree on.”

  He stood. “Your time is up, Miss Starke.”

  “An ominous pronouncement,” commented Aubrey.

  “What’ll you do now?” asked Lola.

  “I have my collections this afternoon. Afterward, as usual, I go to the Assistant Deputy Commissioner’s office.” Arbogast raised his chin and stared defiantly at Lola.

  Lola regarded him silently for a moment before replying. “Put a brave face on, Mr. Arbogast. You’ll need it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  An hour upstate from Crescent City, Lola drove on to the campus of Sylvia Choi Westbrook College for Women. It was the sole reason for the existence of the small city of Northport, which wasn’t a port at all. It lay fifty miles from the ocean, at the foot of some very small mountains called the Vendenberg Foothills. Lola searched and easily discovered the visitors’ parking lot. It sat right outside of the main administrative building, a modest three-storey brick affair. She had expected ivy-covered walls, but got massive magnolia trees instead. This early in the spring, they were just beginning to bloom.

  Lola stretched demurely as she exited her car. What her beautiful little roadster had in speed, it lacked in cushioning. She checked her watch and looked around her. If there had been more ivy, this could have stood for any monied private school in the country. As it was, although the climate was temperate enough, the college board of directo
rs was definitely not the usual club tie types. They were all alumni who believed in pinon trees, cherry blossoms and astronomical fees. After all, it took money to produce accomplished and brilliant women who were expected to become leaders in their fields. Or very impressive wives for powerful men.

  Ten minutes after stepping out of her roadster, Lola was seated in the office of the Dean of Admissions, Deborah J. Fitzsimmons. The dean was a plump lady in impeccably stylish business attire: navy suit with subtly striped silk blouse. A pair of gold-framed glasses hung around her neck from a sparkling chain. They swayed as she moved to serve tea from the silver service.

  Lola politely took her cup and saucer.

  Dean Fitzsimmons settled herself more comfortably in the armchair and smiled. “I’m so excited to be a part of the next Grace McCall movie,” she exclaimed.

  Lola smiled in reply. “Well, I appreciate you seeing me with such little notice.” She sipped her tea, then set it down and pulled out a tablet of lined paper and a pen. “As I explained on the telephone, I’m a researcher for Miss McCall’s next film. Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to divulge the title.”

  “Oh of course, I understand,” tittered Dean Fitzsimmons. “I found the records you asked about.” She pointed to a thick file on the table between them.

  “Capital,” exclaimed Lola. “Now, I assume you’ll need to see these?” She held forth two sheets of paper. The dean placed her glasses on her nose and took the documents. Lola watched the woman’s eyes reading over each and every paragraph of the top sheet before settling it down, turned over, onto her lap. She then took up the final page and read it just as carefully. When she came to the signature line at the bottom, she held the paper up to the light and peered intently. Satisfied, she sat back, collating the two sheets neatly, and placed both papers on top of the file.

  “It’s not exactly the same as our standard form,” began Fitzsimmons.

  “But the gist is clear?” finished Lola.

  The plump woman thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I mean, confidentiality of school records is a school policy, not a legal matter. And Mrs. Copenhagen has given written permission at any rate.” She smiled again.