But only the Board of Health could take my favorite barfly away. Gardenia Gertie was on the prowl, as she invariably was, looking for love or at least some drinks and monetary compensation that would pass for love. In return she had a lot to give, but that was the problem, as an untold number of guys learned the hard way. The Elbow's habitués didn't refer to her as “Gonorrhea Gertie”.
But it was good to see my old gang. I had missed their ugly pusses, one and all. I was tempted to tell Gus the bartender that drinks were on me, but not that tempted since the skinflint would probably grouse about cash up front. I settled for buying a Jack Daniel's for myself. While I was sipping it, I asked Gus if he had heard about Light Fingers Louie. He said he had and brushed a tear from his eye.
“Gus,” I said, “I didn't know that you cared for Louie.”
“I couldn't stand the little creep,” Gus snorted as he poked a hairy finger in my chest. “But he was one of the few patrons who regularly paid for what he drank. Get my drift?”
Gus was a great kidder. Just another thing that I loved about the Elbow. And when I left the rundown joint after another drink or two, I smiled like a grinning idiot and told myself that it was good to be home.
Chapter 25
But that was not what I told myself the following day. Oh the day started out all right. I had enjoyed a long, restful sleep and a good breakfast, the makings of which I had picked up at an all-night food store after leaving the Elbow. It had been a while—too long—since I had diced some canned sardines and blended them into homemade pancakes smothered with Aunt Jemima syrup. My ex-wife used to say that she could vomit when she saw me eating this concoction; I told her to go ahead, it would do both of us good.
Then the phone rang. It was Polish Phil.
“Hey, Phil, how're doing, pal? I was going to visit you today, if you want to see my handsome mug. And who wouldn't?”
Phil didn't laugh. Instead, he informed me that Louise's husband had been killed. I wanted to say that that was good news, maybe the best I'd had since my ex and I split. But I kept my trap shut. And then it fell open, wide open.
“Yeah, buddy boy, I can't say that I'm sorry the slimeball got offed. But…” I could hear Phil take a deep breath. “But I got a call last night and learned that Louise has been booked for his murder.”
The news hit me like a ton of bricks. No, make that a couple of tons. My first thought was that the louse had pushed her too far and that she had given him what he deserved. Yet I couldn't believe that Louise, this sweet angel, could have committed murder even under such prevarication. Or could she?
“Phil, I can't believe that Louise could kill the slob. There must be some mistake. I bet he rubbed a lot of people the wrong way and that the cops have got the wrong person.”
“I hope that you're right, Dicky boy, but I just don't know. Louise let me know on a few occasions when you were away that her relations with the bum were getting worse. I'd offered to go and straighten him out, but she said that she preferred to handle matters her own way. I just hope that killing him wasn't her preferred way.
“Pal, I'm going to ask you for a big one. I still got the flu real bad or I'd go myself, but I'd like you to go to Chicago and sniff the situation out. I know that I can trust you, and just being there would mean a lot to Louise. You know, don't you, that she really likes you?”
Just back from a trip across the entire country, my mind and tired body bridled at going half way back again so soon. But my heart said otherwise. I'd swim the deepest ocean for Louise but then remembered that I didn't know how to swim. Well, hell, it's the thought that counts.
I told Phil that he could count on me and that I'd leave the next day. Phil gave me the name and number of Louise's lawyer—the person who had broken the news to him—and offered some money for the trip. I told him that I still had some left over from my work in the City of Angels and from what he had loaned me in January.
“I owe you,” the Polack said.
“No, Phil, we owe Louise one.”
We shot the breeze for a while. I gave him a quick rundown of what had happened in the Scarlett murder caper and promised to fill him in with more details after we had seen to Louise's problem.
“You did good, Dicky boy, but it was a close call. Now you got to watch your back on this one, too.”
I promised that I would and also that I would keep him informed every step of the way.
I had to get busy if I was going to leave tomorrow. First I called the train station and learned what time the Twentieth Century Limited would be leaving for Chicago. Next I got dressed and left for my office to look for a name or two on my Rolodex of people I knew in Chicago who might help me. There was at least one private eye on the list of names. But God help me if he turned out like Mumbles!
Joe the elevator man seemed real glad to see me when I reached my office building. He wished me Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Joe was still on the sauce.
And the sign on my office was still the same: “Dicks…Investigator.” The goddamn landlord was still hiring retards to take care of the place.
The office itself seemed in pretty good shape, save for some fairly good-sized dust balls that began to merengue when I opened the door. I went right to Dotty's desk, brushed aside the pair of panties that was staring at me, and fingered through the Rolodex. Two names stood out, that of the private dick I had in mind and that of a retired boxer, whom I had helped get off the hook, so to speak, from a charge of throwing a bout when he fought another light heavyweight. Never could tell. I might need his dukes if a problem arose.
Then I went through a small stack of mail that Dotty had neatly piled on my desk. I found receipts for a few bills that she had taken care of and also some unpaid bills that I hoped she would take care of. Nothing there to set my innards going. Nothing, that is, except a postcard that featured a llama that had been colored with black ink. The message on the back was short and to the point: “I'll be seeing you, my gringo amigo.” There was no date, no stamp, and no sign of delivery by the post office. Years of professional experience and my gut instinct told me that the Llama had slipped his greeting under my door and that Dotty had mixed it in with the rest of my mail. Why she had not immediately informed me I didn't know but was determined to find out.
“Hello, Dotty, it's your boss.”
“Oh, Mr. D, how's Los Angeles? I hear that it's raining like crazy where you are.”
“No, Dotty, it's not raining at all where I am.”
“That's good. In what part of Los Angeles are you staying.”
“I'm not in Los Angeles. I'm back, and I'm here in my office.”
“Was the rain too much for you, Mr. D? Is that why you're back?”
“Shut up and listen to me,” I said. “Why didn't you let me know that the Black Llama had left a postcard for me? And when was it?”
“Well gosh, Mr. D, I didn't want to ruin your trip. I knew that you'd be upset if you heard that that awful man was still around. Now wait a minute and let me think.”
If thinking was what she was doing, I realized that I could be waiting far longer than a minute, more like an hour, if the thinking rose above her customary second-grade level. But she surprised me.
“Now I remember. He must have left the note just a day or two after you left. I remember because it was then that I went into the office to pick up my brassiere and my copy of Marcus Aurelius's Meditations. Boy, he sure can write, that Marcus Aurelius. I wonder what his next book will be like? Do you think that he has anything else to meditate on or is he all meditated?”
I made a mental note to look for doctors who could perform a lobotomy when I returned. I wasn't sure which one of us needed it more, since I was the dumb cluck who kept her on as my Gal Friday. Maybe the doc would offer a two-for-one special.
“Look, Dotty, I don't have time to discuss Marcus what's-his-face with you or to scream at you for not letting me know about the Black Llama earlier. I have to leave for the Windy City tomorro
w, and I want you to do all the things you were doing when I was in LA. Understand?”
“Not really, Mr. D. Why do you want to go to a windy city? Isn't it windy enough for you here?”
I counted to ten and then explained to her that I was going to Chicago, where Phil Mazurki's cousin had been arrested on charges of murdering her husband. I told her to take care of office matters while I was gone and that I'd be in touch. I also warned her to be on the lookout for the Llama. She had nearly come to grief once, and if she were to be looking into the abyss again, I wanted to be the one standing behind her.
She said that I could rely on her.
“Just one more question, Mr. D. While you were away, I looked up “lama” and found out that most of them were sort of brown colored and living in Tibet. Why was ours black, especially since he looked white to me? And was that accent of his something that came from living too long in Tibet?
“Good-bye, Dotty. Take care of yourself, and I'll get in touch as soon as I can.”
I took a quick look around the office and left. Joe took me down the eight floors, breathed some awful breath on me, and again wished me happy holidays. I told him to have the lousy landlord fix the sign on my door. Fat chance of him remembering or the landlord making good.
Snowflakes had begun to fall. I turned up the collar of my coat, pulled down on my fedora, and cursed myself for not having worn my galoshes. I hurried along the crowded streets, knowing that I had to pack. That was the least of it. Louise and the Black Llama were the most of it. One at a time, I told myself. The first stop would be the Windy City, where I would bring my galoshes…and Smith & Wesson .38.
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Books by the Author
Dick DeWitt Mysteries
The Black Llama Caper
The Hollywood Starlet Caper
The Spycatcher Caper
The Dudley Dilemmas
The Hollywood Starlet Caper Page 15