“I want you to go out there at once, but come by here first. I’ll get you a ticket for the train and I’ll give you some money. You’ve done good work.”
“You can thank Blanche Fountain.”
“No, I can thank you,” Phil said with relief in his voice. “I’ll have the ticket and the money ready for you.”
CHAPTER SIX
The Ring of Death
The taxi pulled up in front of a single-story building stretched behind a line of tall royal palms. Francis eyed it suspiciously. “This is Bellingham Hospital? It doesn’t look like a hospital to me.”
The burly cab driver turned around to face him. His face and arms were bronzed by the California sun, and he had two teeth missing. “It ain’t no hospital if that’s what you want,” he grunted. “If you’re sick, you’d better go someplace else.”
“What do you mean it’s not a hospital?” Key demanded. He searched the building in vain for a sign, but he saw none. “Isn’t this Bellingham Hospital?”
“I said it ain’t no hospital. It’s just a clinic. It ain’t even that. It’s a place where rich people come to dry out when they get the DT’s.”
Key chewed his lower lip thoughtfully and pushed his reading glasses up with his forefinger as he checked the address again. “If there’s no hospital by that name, I guess this is it, then. How much do I owe you?”
“One seventy-five.”
He pulled two dollars out of his billfold and handed it to the driver.
“You know, a lotta them movie actors come to this here clinic,” the man said as he took the money. “I brung John Barrymore here twice already. The place is filled up with famous drunks. Hey, thanks for the tip.”
“You’re welcome.”
Key stepped out of the cab and glanced up at the azure sky through the towering palm trees. Light, fleecy clouds drifted lazily along. It was like a spring day in the tropics, with the breeze barely stirring the trees. As he walked up the steps, a gigantic yellow cat appeared from nowhere and stared at him suspiciously before turning and running, intent on some urgent business of his own.
Key stepped inside the glass door and approached the information desk to the right. A curvaceous woman in a white nurse’s uniform sat behind the desk, reading a fan magazine. “Can I help you?” she said, smiling brilliantly.
“Do you have a Mr. Charles Bannister as a patient here?”
“Oh yes, indeed!” Her blue eyes quickened, and the smile became even more engaging. “Are you in the movie business?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
The smile disappeared, and the receptionist fluffed her auburn hair. “His room is two twenty-six, but you’ll probably find him out sitting beside the pool. Right down this hall and to your left. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks. I hope you make it in the movies.”
“How did you know I wanted to be a movie star?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” Francis grinned at her and winked before striding off down the hall. He turned left and followed the signs, stepping outside into the open air at the back of the hospital. To his right was a pool shimmering like a huge emerald. He passed several chaise longues and chairs occupied mostly by female patients. Francis slowly walked along until he saw a man lying on his back with a towel over his face under a colorful umbrella. Francis cleared his throat, and the man lifted the towel. “Who are you?” he mumbled.
“My name’s Francis Key. Are you Mr. Bannister?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Bannister sat up and looked Key over carefully. He was tall, finely tanned, and had a rather muscular body, spoiled by a roll of fat around the middle. “I don’t know you, do I?”
“No, you don’t.”
“What a shame for you,” Bannister said with a grin. He had an actor’s voice, full and strong, and spoke a little too rapidly. “You’re not from Liberty, are you?”
“Liberty?”
“Yeah, Liberty Pictures. You know.”
“No, I’m afraid not. I’m from New York, and I’m working on a case I thought you might be able to help me with.”
“A case? You a doctor or a policeman?”
“Neither one,” he said carefully, wondering how best to approach Bannister. It was a touchy situation, and he did not want to offend the man. “I don’t know how to tell you this—it’s actually a little embarrassing.”
Bannister laughed, and his capped teeth flashed against his tanned skin. “I doubt if anything you could say would embarrass me. Just spit it out, partner.”
Key nodded, understanding that straightforward tactics would work best with this man. “I’m looking for a young woman named Ruby Zale.”
Bannister’s eyes opened wide but almost immediately narrowed with suspicion. “You’re lookin’ for Ruby? What for?”
“It’s confidential, I’m afraid.”
“That means you’re a cop.”
“Not at all,” he said quickly.
“You have to be a cop if you’ve come all the way out here lookin’ for Ruby.”
“Actually, Mr. Bannister, I once served as a private investigator for the Rader Agency. Now I’m employed by a family that’s anxious to find the young woman.” He hesitated, then added, “I think there might be some money in it for her.”
Bannister shook his head, and his mouth twisted in a grimace. “It couldn’t be from her old lady. She didn’t have a pot to plant petunias in.”
“Is there any reason,” Key said carefully, “why you can’t help me with this?”
“I don’t want to get into any trouble.”
“No trouble. I just need to speak to her.” He turned his head to one side. “Why should she be trouble for you?”
“Well, to tell the truth, she was only a kid when we took up together, and we crossed the state lines. I think there’s some kind of law about that.”
“That’s right—it’s called the Mann Act. I understand she was only fifteen when she ran off with you.”
Alarms went off in Bannister’s head, and he clamped his lips together. “That was a while ago, and you can’t prove anything.”
“Look, Mr. Bannister, I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m just trying to find the girl, and I think the situation will be a help to her. I can’t force you to tell me anything, but you must have felt something for her at one time. If you did, you can help her by helping me.”
Bannister picked up a jug of orange juice and poured some into a tumbler. He drank it, then set the glass down, seeming to come to a decision. “She’s a wild broad, Key. A good-lookin’ woman. But I’m tellin’ you she doesn’t care about anything!”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean she’s kind of nutty. Oh, she can be as sweet as sugar one minute, but what a temper. Why, I’ve seen her cryin’ over a dead bird and not ten minutes later hit a guy with a blackjack. You know she carries a blackjack?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Well, she does, and she knows how to use it too.” He reached up and rubbed his temple as if it were sore. “She laid me out cold one time. Believe me, I never forgot it.”
Francis followed the flight of a small bird that swooped over the pool. “Do you have any idea where she is?”
“We got in a fight, and she split on me. Just walked out with nothing more than the clothes she had on. I’ll give Ruby this, she never asked me for money. I gave her things, but she never asked for them.”
“When did she leave you?”
“Almost a year ago—no, more than that. Probably fourteen months. Yeah, that’s right. She found me with another woman, and I thought she was gonna kill us both. But she just gave me a look that would burn a hole in steel and walked out. Never even said good-bye.”
“You don’t know where she went?”
“Oh, sure,” Bannister said. “I looked around for her and found out she took off with a biker.”
“You mean a motorcycle rider?”
“That’s right. One of the real tough
ones, from what I hear. A guy named Hack Keller.”
“And you never saw her after she left?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did once. I heard she was at this carnival doing an act with Keller, so I went to catch it.”
“An act? What sort of act?”
“Oh, you’ve probably seen them. It’s this big round steel thing called the Ring of Death. A guy on a motorcycle starts it up on the bottom and runs it up around the walls.” He made a face. “Pretty hairy, if you ask me. They could get killed doin’ that.”
“And you saw Ruby there?”
“I’ll say. After Keller got through runnin’ around like a squirrel on a treadmill, he stopped his cycle and Ruby rode in on another motorcycle. She had on black leather. I’m tellin’ you, she was a knockout. Her helmet was off, and that hair of hers could knock your eyes out.”
“What color is her hair?”
“Strawberry blond, and it’s the real thing. I know that for a fact. Anyway, she brought in that cycle and both of them started up around the cage. They went around together at first, and then Keller reversed so that the two of them were going in opposite directions.” Bannister shook his shoulders. “I wouldn’t get in a thing like that if they gave me the state of New York!”
“Did you talk to her after the show?”
“Yeah, just for a minute. I went around to their trailer, but I didn’t get anywhere. She took one look at me and showed me the gate. I tried to argue, but about that time Keller came back and threatened to take my head off. A real troglodyte!”
“Do you remember the name of the act they were with?”
“It was the Royal Shows. Just a two-bit carnival was all.” Bannister swallowed hard and leaned forward. “You ain’t got a drink on you or a hip flask, have you, pal?” he whispered.
“Afraid not.” Francis looked at him quizzically. “I thought you were in here to get away from that.”
“Yeah, I am, but I’ve had about all I can take. I’ll get out of here tomorrow. I’m not a drunk like the rest of these people here. I just enjoy a drink now and then.”
Key nodded. “Thanks for the help.”
“Hey, if you see her, tell her I’m thinkin’ about her. And you can tell her she can come back if she wants.”
“I’ll tell her.”
****
The carnival was not terribly difficult to locate. It only took Francis three phone calls to discover that it was set up just outside of Los Angeles. He took a cab the next day, arriving at the fairgrounds at dusk. He was carrying his suitcase, which was as light as he could make it. Shifting it to his free hand, he walked down the middle of the midway with the noisy crowd. Garish lights flooded the place, and loud calliope music filled the air. The merry-go-round pumped the horses up and down as parents held their children steady on pink and green and red horses with flaring lips. Farther on, shills called out to passersby to try their luck at games of chance. Key stopped long enough to throw some baseballs at a fake batter and, to the chagrin of the owner, succeeded in winning a huge kewpie doll.
“You must be a professional pitcher,” the man complained.
“Not really. You can keep the kewpie doll.”
Key made his way through the carnival until he found the Ring of Death. There was a platform outside, and a huge and poorly executed painting of a man and a woman on motorcycles. The woman had on a skin-tight black biker’s outfit, her helmet under one arm and her strawberry blond hair blowing freely. Key studied the picture, wondering if the face was true to life. He approached a heavily made-up woman who was sitting behind a ticket box. “When does the show start?”
“Ten minutes. You want a ticket?”
“Yes.” He paid for his ticket and then started up the ramp that wound around to the top of a large steel sphere, where a crowd had already begun to gather. He found a place where he could set his suitcase next to him. As more people came he clung tenaciously to his place as the crowd tried to find good seats.
While he waited he thought of his mission and wondered how he was going to convince Ruby Zale that she was Grace Winslow. I’ll have to try to get her to some quiet place by herself in hopes that she’ll listen to what I have to say.
A few moments later a roar split the air and a motorcycle drove into the cage. The rider got off, shut the steel gate, and locked it firmly. He was a big man, Francis observed, with shoulders like a wrestler. His goggles were up, revealing his close-set beady eyes. He had a pugnacious jaw covered by a beard. He looked at the crowd and grinned mirthlessly, then pulled his goggles down into place. He climbed onto the motorcycle and gunned it and then began circling the cage. The bike started slowly but rapidly gained speed. The man leaned down over the handlebars and let centrifugal force take over. He went around the lower part of the drum, then came up to where he was only a few feet below the audience. Key felt he could have reached out and touched him.
Keller went from the top to the bottom, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, and then after five minutes slowed the speed and brought the cycle to a stop. The gate unlatched, and a woman rode out astride a motorcycle. Her helmet was off, and Key got a good look at her face. He was struck at once by her freshness, which he had not expected. Somehow he thought the hard life Ruby Zale had led would have left marks, but if there were marks, they were inward ones, not outward. She had a lovely girl-next-door face with beautifully shaped eyes. As she looked up and smiled, he saw that they were either green or blue; he could not tell which. Her hair was her most outstanding feature—a true strawberry blond—not out of a bottle, according to Bannister. The black leather outfit she wore clung to her body almost as if it had been painted on, and the top of her jacket was left open invitingly. She put the helmet on, tucked her hair in, and then started around, closely followed by Keller, until the two of them were rolling around the drum at a frightening speed. Fascinated, Francis watched as they changed positions, one leading, then the other, sometimes missing each other by a fraction of an inch.
Then Ruby slowed her machine and descended to the lower part of the cage while Keller continued to circle. She turned around and started up the wall again, going in the opposite direction from Keller. The two got so close they reached out and slapped hands as they passed.
Francis could not help gasping with the crowd as the woman wrenched her machine up and went over the top above Keller. They were performing a wild dance in steel and roaring engines as they missed each other by the merest fractions of an inch.
Finally the roar of the engines diminished and they descended. Both of them looked up and acknowledged their fans as the audience applauded. The man opened the door and the duo peeled their motorcycles out. Francis waited until the crowd stood and moved away, giving one last look down at the Ring of Death. “That’s a hard way to serve the Lord,” he muttered.
He exited down the ramp and went over to the ticket seller. “When’s the next show?” he asked.
“Forty minutes.”
“I’d like to meet the artists,” he said, giving her his best smile, which almost seemed to bounce off the hard features of the woman.
“I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Why not? I’d just like to congratulate them.”
“They don’t need none of that. Especially Hack. He’s mean and stuck up. And you wouldn’t get nowhere with Ruby.”
“Well, I’d like to try.”
“Your funeral. They got a trailer out behind here.” She returned to her magazine with its lewd cover, and Key noticed that she moved her lips as she read.
Key had learned from hard experience to be cautious, and as he moved between the Ring of Death and the neighboring act, the House of Horrors, he cautiously sought out the trailers where the performers stayed. The area was lit by some naked light bulbs hanging from wires, and he kept to the shadows until he saw a small trailer with the two motorcycles just outside. He hesitated, for he had heard enough about Hack Keller to know that it would not be wise to include him in the interview.
As luck would have it, the door of the trailer opened, and Keller emerged, almost blotting out the inside light as he stooped to get through the doorway. He turned and walked rapidly away, disappearing into the midway area.
Key’s heart jumped at the chance to talk to Ruby alone, and he quickly approached the trailer and knocked on the door. After a moment Ruby Zale opened it with a drink in her hand. “Whadd’ya want?” she said flatly.
“Miss Zale?”
A sneer twisted the woman’s lips to one side. It was a good sneer, one she had evidently worked on quite a bit. Still it was not enough to distort the symmetry of her beautiful face. “Look, Jack, I don’t need no admirers. That’s what you want, ain’t it?”
“I just want to have a talk with you.”
A slight laugh escaped Ruby’s throat, and she shook her head and started to close the door. “Beat it, buster, before you get hurt.”
Impulsively Francis stepped forward and put his hand on the door. “Please, Miss Zale, I need desperately to speak with you. It’s not what you think.”
“I know what you want, but here’s some good advice. Get out of here before my guy comes back. He’d pulverize a runt like you.”
“It won’t take but—”
He did not finish his sentence. He heard footsteps, then felt a grip with frightening strength seize his arm. He was jerked aside and turned to look up into the bearded face of Hack Keller. “This guy puttin’ the moves on you, Ruby?”
“Ah, he’s harmless. Just help him find his way out,” Ruby said with a laugh. “He’s too scrawny to be much of a masher.”
“Get out of here and don’t come back!” Keller snarled. He whirled Key around and shoved him hard, driving him to the ground.
Key lifted his head and spit out some dirt. Through a daze, he heard Ruby laugh. “Don’t bust him up, Hack. It ain’t worth it.”
Keller laughed. “Pitiful little runt, ain’t he?”
Key got to his feet and dusted himself off thoughtfully. He was not offended by being called a runt; he was accustomed to such remarks from larger men. He picked up his suitcase and walked quickly away from the trailer. He found a dark alley between two exhibits where he could stay out of sight for a while and wait. He put his suitcase down and sat on it.
The Virtuous Woman Page 5