“Did he use his real name on stage?” Gloria said.
Margaret shook her head. “No, Billy dubbed him ‘Jack the Stripper’ and gave him some old English outfit, like Jack the Ripper from way back when. I guess Jack was making a lot of money for Billy and Billy wouldn’t want to lose his golden goose.”
“So what have you done so far?” I said. “Have you asked Billy about this?”
“Yes,” Margaret said. “And after a few minutes of talking to him, I’m convinced that he doesn’t have a clue, either. No, I’m sure Jack just took off on his own. That’s why I need your help, Mr. Cooper.”
“Mrs. Holden,” I said. “Could you excuse us for just a moment while we confer on this matter? You can wait in my outer office. It won’t take but a minute or two.”
Margaret looked at me and then shifted her gaze to Gloria before she finally stood and walked out to my outer office without further comment. Gloria took the seat that Margaret had just vacated and I returned to my own chair.
“What do you think?” I said. “Is it just me or does something not ring true here?”
“What do you mean?” Gloria said.
“I mean, it doesn’t sound like she thinks Jack has been kidnapped or that there’s any foul play at work here,” I said. “Guys leave home every day and they don’t call out the riot squad. What’s so special about this guy that this woman would be willing to dish out somewhat big bucks just to know where he is?”
“I see what you mean,” Gloria said. “And if it turns out that she’s after him for more than just her own curiosity…” Gloria didn’t have a finish for her sentence.
“I think we need to do a little preliminary legwork before we get into something here that we may regret,” I said. “Don’t you agree?”
“Totally,” Gloria said.
“What do you say we go see this Billy Gibson character before we give Mrs. Holden an answer one way or the other?” I said.
Gloria nodded in agreement. “And it might not hurt to do a little background check on Margaret as well,” she said.
We stood and headed for the office door. When we opened it, the outer office was empty. I looked at Gloria. She shrugged and spread her hands. “Now what?” she said.
“Suppose we stop in and see this Gibson guy?” I said. “Right now.”
I locked up the office and walked with Gloria to the elevator. We rode it down three floors and exited through the back door to the parking lot. Gloria said she’d drive her car. She slid beneath the wheel and I slid in beside her. I knew where this Beefcakes strip joint was located on Sunset. I had driven by in several times in the past. I gave Gloria directions as she pulled out onto Hollywood Boulevard. She took Hollywood Boulevard west to Cherokee and then south two blocks and then turned left and pulled up in front of 6650 Sunset Boulevard. It was an unassuming building that looked like a solid cement wall or some German bunker from World War II with no windows and only a single glass door with the street numbers above it. The second floor sported just one set of double windows with curtains over them. I pictured Billy Gibson either living upstairs from his strip joint, or at the very least, letting his strippers take customers up there after hours for some extra income.
Above the street numbers, painted onto the cement itself was a simple two-word business name—Beefcakes, Unlimited. It was painted in a glittery gold pattern and outlined in a blood red color. There was no neon, no lights of any kind, save for a pair of mounted spotlights that lit up the painted name after dark.
The most ironic part of this business was its location. Directly across the street stood a salmon-colored Catholic Church with a tall stained glass window in front, flanked by two sculpted statues. I couldn’t help but think that the owners of Beefcakes, Unlimited chose this location specifically to stick it to the church and perhaps to try to embarrass them somewhat. I tried to imagine the looks on the parishioners’ faces as they arrived at church and looked across the street. In their minds were probably words swirling around that you’d never hear inside the church.
I could envision women stepping into the confessional, trying to clean their slates after having impure thoughts about being in the audience at Beefcakes, Unlimited and stuffing dollars that were originally slated for the collection plates that morning, into g-strings.
Gloria stuck a quarter in the meter and we both walked into the darkened bar. It took our eyes a minute to adjust to the dark atmosphere inside. We walked toward a lighted area where we could make out a stage with a circular bar in front of it. It appeared that we were the only patrons in the place, but then again it wasn’t even noon yet. I spotted a guy behind the bar polishing highball glasses with a white towel. He stopped polishing as we approached.
“We’re not really open yet,” he told me, and then looked at Gloria. I could imagine what was running through his mind just then.
“Well,” I said, “We’re not really looking for drinks or entertainment, either. Would you happen to know where I could find Mr. Gibson?”
“Who?” the bartender said.
“Billy Gibson,” I said. “Would you know where he is?”
“Depends,” he said, continuing with his glass polishing. “Who’s asking?”
“My name’s Elliott,” I said and pointed to Gloria. “And this is my manager, Gloria. I wanted to see Billy about a job?”
“Stripping?” the bartender said, looking me over like a side of beef.
I nodded and Gloria stepped in between me and the bartender. “Look, Mac,” she said, “I don’t have all day to play footsie with you. Is Gibson in or not? If not, I have several other establishments interested in my client.”
The bartender stopped wiping again and held one hand up. “All right, all right,” he said. “Don’t get your undies in a bundle. Wait right here a minute.” He disappeared behind a curtain and was gone for thirty or forty seconds. A different man emerged from the behind the curtain this time. He had a shiny bald head and wore a tight white tee shirt, tucked in at the waist and rolled up at the sleeves. Muscles bulged out from under the white fabric.
“I’m Gibson,” the man said. “Who are you?”
“My name’s Gloria…”
“Not you, doll,” he said, looking at Gloria and then turning to me. “You.”
“My name’s Elliott,” I said. “I…”
“Wait,” Gibson said, holding up his hands with the thumbs touching, like some old-time director framing a shot. “Uh huh. Yeah, I can see you have real potential, pal. Elliott, you say. Hmmm, you could take the stage name Elliott Nest. You could be dressed like a G-man with a trench coat and fedora. Maybe even a Tommy gun, and when you take it all off, all you’re wearing is some little bird’s nest over your goodies. Clever, huh?”
“Mr. Gibson,” I said.
“Billy,” he said. “Call me Billy. No one calls me anything but.”
“Look, Billy,” I said. “I only told your bartender that I was here looking for a job so that I could talk to you. I’m no stripper.”
“That’s what they all say the first time,” Billy said. “But once they see how much they can make, well, it doesn’t take ‘em long to do the math and come around.”
“But I already have a job,” I said. “In fact, Gloria and I are private investigators. We’re here looking into the disappearance of Jack Holden.”
“Jack the Stripper?” Billy said, smiling. “Now there was one of my better gimmicks, if I do say so myself. He had women lining up against the bar to get a look. I know, it’s probably a bit on the morbid side, but hey, whatever works, you know?”
“Billy,” I said. “Jack’s wife asked us to look into his disappearance and I’d just like to ask you a couple of questions, if you don’t mind?”
“Jack’s what?” Billy said. “Did you say Jack’s wife?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
Billy threw his head back and laughed a hardy laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Gloria said.
“This guy,”
Billy said, gesturing at me. “Jack’s wife, that’s a good one. Jack isn’t married.”
Gloria and I exchanged glances and then both looked at Billy. “Then who?” I said, hiking my thumb over my shoulder.
Billy held his hand up flat, indicating a height measurement. “Are you talking about some goofy red-headed broad about this tall, late thirties, early forties?”
I nodded.
“Goes by the name of Margaret?” Billy said.
I nodded again. “That’s her.”
“That’s not Jack’s wife,” Billy said. “Oh, I’ll bet she wishes she was. She’s in here every night, standing right about where you’re standing now. She’s always got a fistful of singles and is quick to stuff them into Jack’s g-string. We had to escort her out a few times for getting too grabby with the dancers. But as far as I know, she’s nobody’s wife.”
“And Jack?” I said. “Is he really missing?”
“That part, I have to say, is true,” Billy said. “He took off three nights ago after his show and I haven’t seen him since. I wouldn’t mind knowing where he is myself. If I could get him to come back, I’d give him a raise and a bonus. He’s made a lot of money for me and I don’t like to lose money makers like Jack. If you want my advice, you’d be wise to steer clear of this Margaret dame. Personally, I think she’s got a screw loose. Now, on the other hand, if you two really are private eyes looking to make a buck, I’d hire you to find Jack and persuade him to come back. I’d pay your regular rate and a bonus if you can get him back here by this weekend. I’m expecting a packed house on Saturday. We got this new guy I just hired last week, goes by the name of Attila the Hung.” He looked at Gloria. “Need I say more?”
Gloria rolled her eyes and tried not to look embarrassed.
I pointed at Billy. “This Margaret told us that she thought Jack left because he was getting pressure from his boss,” I said. “She seemed to think that this boss was gay and was putting the moves on Jack and that’s why he left. Now, I know it’s none of my business, Mr. Gibson, but…”
“No,” Billy said emphatically, “I’m not gay, if that’s what you were about to ask. The only interest I have in any of my strippers is how much money they can make for me. Personally, I started this business because I realized that it would bring in a lot of women, if you catch my drift. Oh sure, a lot of the strippers are gay and they wouldn’t be any competition when it came to the clientele. I tell you, Mr. Cooper, I’ve got it made here. I’m like a little kid in a candy shop when this place is packed.”
I stood there at a loss for words. “Well,” I finally said. “Thank you for your candor and all this information. You may have saved us a lot of wild goose chasing. Good day, sir.”
“The offer still stands,” Billy said. “You find him for me and I’ll pay you both good money.”
“We’ll think about it, Mr. Gibson,” I said and walked out of the place with Gloria close behind me.
We climbed back into the car and just sat there dumbfounded. “It takes all kinds,” Gloria said.
“And out of all the P.I.s in the phone book, she had to pick us,” I said. “Aren’t we lucky?”
We made the short drive back to the office and rode the elevator to the third floor. As soon as we opened the door to our outer office I spotted her sitting there, waiting patiently for us.
“Why, Mrs. Holden,” Gloria said sarcastically. “Fancy meeting you here.” And then she just stared at the woman. It had no effect on Margaret Holden, or whatever her last name really was.
I unlocked the inner office door and held it open while Gloria and Margaret entered. I closed it behind them and took a seat at my desk. I was in no mood to deal with another nut case and decided to let Gloria handle her.
Gloria directed Margaret to her client’s chair and then sat behind her desk and waited for Margaret to start the conversation. They sat there in silence for a moment before Margaret finally spoke.
“So,” she said, like there was nothing wrong, “Did you find Jack?”
Gloria continued to stare but said nothing.
I tried watching them without turning my head. I had to keep up my facade of disinterest.
“Well?” Margaret said.
“Well, what?” Gloria said. “If you’re asking if we found your husband, the answer is no. There’s a slight technicality in play here. You first have to get married to have a husband.”
Margaret didn’t answer, but just kept looking at Gloria with something akin to insanity.
“Okay,” Gloria said, “Let’s try this from another angle. What’s your last name, Mrs. Holden?”
“Huh?” Margaret said.
“Your last name,” Gloria repeated. “What is it?”
“I told you,” Margaret said. “It’s Holden. Why?”
Gloria snapped her fingers and curled them toward her a few times. “Show me some I.D.,” she told Margaret.
“What’s with the hostility?” Margaret said. “You were both so gracious when I was here earlier.” She turned to look my way. I kept looking down at the paper I was reading.
“Well,” Gloria said, “We asked you to wait in the outer office for a minute and when we came out to get you, you disappeared. That’s just for starters. Secondly, we visited Billy Gibson and asked him about Jack’s wife and you can guess what he told us. Now, how about that I.D. I asked for? Either show me or leave. It’s that simple.”
Margaret wasn’t sure what to do at this point. Her eyes shifted this way and that before she finally rose from the chair and headed for the door.
“So that’s it?” Gloria said. “No explanation? Nothing?”
“I’m sorry to have been such a bother,” Margaret said. “I was just worried about Jack when he didn’t show up at Beefcakes for the last three nights. Surely you could understand that.”
“You might want to consider some professional help,” Gloria said, apparently to deaf ears because Margaret was already out the door and down the hall before Gloria had a chance to finish her sentence.
Gloria turned to me. “How do you like that?” she said, still not believing the exchange that had just taken place.
I turned to Gloria. “They don’t always develop into real cases,” I said. “Sometimes we get delusional people asking us to do strange things for them. That’s why sometimes we have to do a little preliminary work before we get involved and waste a lot more time chasing wild geese.”
“That’s one for the books,” Gloria said. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever find out who she really was, either.”
“Does it matter?” I said.
“I guess not,” Gloria said. “Now what?”
I didn’t answer, but instead crooked a finger at her. She approached slowly, probably thinking I was going to chew her out for the way she’d handled Margaret. When she got up next to my chair I grabbed her by the wrist, turned her around and pulled her down onto my lap. “Now where were we before that nut job showed up here this morning?” I said.
Gloria ran her fingers through my hair and kissed the rim of my ear. “I believe I was right about here,” she whispered. “Maybe you’d like to get up and do your act for me?”
“Huh?” I said.
“Your act,” Gloria repeated, “Elliott Nest.”
“Not in this lifetime,” I said. “Now you, on the other hand…”
“Me?” Gloria said. “How’d I get into this fantasy?”
“Well,” I said, “It’s traditionally been a female-dominated profession. Now what would we give you for a stage name? Let’s see. We’ll need some sort of gimmick.” I thought for a moment and then snapped my fingers. Your start out wearing a sexy blouse with six buttons when you come out on stage. In the background, the band is playing that old Shadows of Knight song from the sixties, ‘Gloria.’ When they get to that part where they spell out the name, you open one button for every letter.”
“You call that a gimmick?” Gloria said, climbing off my lap and standing before me.
&nb
sp; “And her name is G,” I sang, and waited. Nothing happened. “And her name is G,” I repeated and then gestured toward Gloria’s blouse. She got the hint and unbuttoned the first button. “L,” I sang, and the second button popped open. “O,” I sang as I sat upright now, leaning in toward her. The third button opened as she swayed her hips in time to my pseudo music. I sang out the last three letters and her blouse was fully unbuttoned now.
“G-L-O-R-I-A, Gloria” I sang. “At this point in the show you have the entire audience going wild, singing along.”
We’d gotten so wrapped up in the fantasy that we hadn’t heard the office door open. Dad stood there looking at us like we were from some distant planet.
“Should I come back later?” he said.
Gloria quickly closed her blouse and hurried into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
“What are you doing here?” I said, trying to change the subject.
“I got bored hanging around the house,” Dad said and just thought I’d stop by and see how the business was going. Apparently it’s a little slow today, by the looks of things.”
Just then Gloria emerged from the bathroom, her blouse fully buttoned again and her face looking like she’d just applied lots of reddish makeup. She hurried past Dad and took a seat behind her desk.
I waved his comment off. “We were just…”
“Yes,” Clay Cooper said. “I could see what you were just…”
“No really, Dad,” I said. “We’d just come off a case involving a stripper, we got to talking about it and we just got a little silly. That’s all.”
“Sure,” Dad said, dismissing my explanation.
“No really,” I said a little more insistently now. “We had this woman named Margaret in here this morning and she…”
Dad laughed. “Not Margaret Lewis,” Dad said. “Has she been back again?”
“Huh?” I said.
“She’s been to almost every P.I. in town at one time or another,” Dad said. “I got her a couple of years ago. She came in here claiming to be married to some famous actor. I don’t remember which one she said it was, but she told me that he hadn’t come home for a couple of nights and wanted me to find him for her.”
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 195