I looked over at Billy, who was watching me intently. No one was saying much. All the chit-chat had been much of nothing. Finally, I put down my fork and asked, "What the hell is going on?"
Ben turned red under his tan while Billy sat back in his seat and had a good laugh. I glanced over at Martinelli who looked worried, for some reason.
Ben took a long drink of water and then said, "Billy asked us to introduce you to him."
I nodded and waited.
"He has a favor for a friend."
I sighed. I knew it was going to be some kind of Hollywood mess. I'd had enough of those to last me a lifetime. But if Ben had said I would help, I would. I owed the kid that much.
Right then, the waiter came by and removed our salad plates. Once he was gone, I leaned in and asked, "How can I help your friend, Billy?"
"Well, it's all got to be very much hush-hush, if you don't mind, Nick."
I nodded.
"What I'm really hoping is that we can convince you to fly down to L.A. with us after lunch to meet my friend."
. . .
It turned out that I had a plane available for us to use. Marnie drove us down to the private terminal at the airport where we met up with Captain John Morris, his wife Christine, and Captain Manuel Obregon, a pilot who had been helping out Captain Morris on an as-needed basis for a while and who we'd recently hired.
Once we were in the air on our way to Burbank, I gave everyone a tour of the plane.
"So, this really belonged to Howard Hughes?" asked Billy as we all stood in the bedroom in the rear of the ship.
"Yeah," I replied. "We leased it from him a couple of years ago and he tried to sue us for damaging it, so I bought it instead."
"He's quite famous for suing anyone for anything."
I nodded. "I think that, once he knew who we were, he was afraid he'd never get our homosexual cooties out of his plane."
Billy sighed. "Some people are very particular about hygiene. It can be a bit of a mania, unfortunately."
Ben said, "Carlo, can you take Billy back up front? I'm sure the stewardess has the makings of a cocktail."
I laughed. "She does. I can guarantee that you can get a martini." I looked up at Martinelli. "And there's Bergie in the icebox."
The big man smiled at me and then turned to Billy, who said, "We'll leave you two to discuss whatever it is that Ben so obviously needs to talk about." Offering his arm to Martinelli, he said, "Come on, sailor. Buy me a drink, why don't you?" With that, they left the bedroom and closed the door behind them.
When I turned to look at Ben, I could see how nervous he was. "What's going on?" I asked.
Ben walked over to one of the windows and bent over to look out. We were flying down the coast, and the blue ocean was sparkling in the distance. "Oh, Nick. Everything is going great and I think I'm about to break into the business. I hope you can help Billy's friend. If you do, I just know I'll have—"
As he'd been talking, I walked up behind the kid and put my hand on his shoulder. Before he got too far into his sob story, I interrupted him. "You know my promise to help you start a production company is still good, right?"
Ben nodded and turned to look at me. There was a tear rolling down the right side of his face. "I know and I appreciate it. And your introduction to Freddie has been nothing short of a miracle." Freddie was Frederick Brisson, husband of Rosalind Russell, and a friend of ours. We'd met the couple the August before while we were on a ship bound for Honolulu and had become good friends, much to my delight. "He's already let me help him out with all sorts of deals. He says I have a real knack for production. The only thing is..."
"What?"
"Well, it's like this. You could give me a million bucks tomorrow, and we could put a picture together, but it's more than just making a movie. Then you have to distribute it and that's hard, even though the studios don't have the same power they used to."
"Why not start your own studio?" I asked.
Ben shook his head. "No one can do that."
"Isn't that what Freddie is trying to do?"
"No. He's a money guy. He makes deals."
"So, why not go in with him? I'd stake you for that."
Ben shook his head again. "I already asked him about that. He was more than kind, but he doesn't want to be partners with anyone."
I nodded. "So, what does this whatever we're doing have to do with your work?"
"Well, this friend of Billy's. They... Well, they have a lot of clout in this town. And, well, if you help out, then, maybe..."
I looked at Ben for a long moment. I hated Hollywood, but I had a gut feeling about what he could do. I wondered why he'd brushed aside my offer of staking him to a studio, so I tried again. "What would it take for you to produce a single picture and distribute it?"
Ben shook his head. "Nick, you don't know how this town works."
I nodded. "You're right. But, I think you're putting up a wall where there is none. If you get the right director, the right cast..." I had no idea who was involved in making movies. "Seems to me that if it's a good film..." Suddenly, I had an idea. I snapped my fingers. "What if you bought the rights to It Was Raining Then from Metro and produced that?"
Ben looked at me for a long moment. "But they're going to want—"
I shook my head. "No. They're not. Last time I talked to Ros, she said they've been trying to sell it, and no one will buy it. Some people think it's cursed."
Ben narrowed his eyes. "Cursed?"
I nodded. "Because the two leads were murdered." They had been one Taylor Wells, who had been romantically involved with my friend, ex-lawyer, and ex-lover, one Jeffery Klein, Esquire, before he was killed down in Ensenada under mysterious circumstances. The other had been Rhonda Starling, who had died with her girlfriend when their car had crashed into a telephone pole early one morning in northern San Diego County while they were driving back to L.A. from Mexico. The two events may, or may not, have been connected but they happened within days of each other. Metro had shut down production and taken a loss. That's what was spooking everyone.
. . .
Once we landed at the Burbank airport, I walked forward to talk to Captain Morris.
"I don't think I'll be here long. Did you bring a bag in case we stay overnight?"
The captain nodded and smiled. "Sure thing, Mr. Williams." I looked over at Captain Obregon, a lanky Argentinian with thinning dark hair and what appeared to be a constantly worried expression on his face. He nodded as well.
"If I'm not back here by 6, I'll call the private terminal and have them page you. That work?"
Captain Morris replied, "No sweat. We'll be here."
"Thanks, Captain."
. . .
Ben had left his car at the airport overnight, so we picked that up. I was impressed. It was a new Chrysler Imperial. It rode like a dream as he maneuvered his way over to wherever we were going. Martinelli was in the front seat with Ben while Billy rode in the back with me. As we drove, he shared little stories about his days working in pictures.
At one point, he mentioned Marion Davies. Putting his hand on my arm, he said, "I know you're not a big fan of the Hearst children, but Jimmie and I had some great times up in San Simeon."
I smiled. "Those must've been swell parties."
Billy nodded, took out his cigarette case, and pulled out a cigarette. I reached over and offered my lighter. He put his hand on mine and leaned in. He looked at my lighter as he took in a deep drag.
"How'd that happen?" he asked.
As I closed the lid on my old Zippo, I handed it to him to look at more closely. It was oddly bent in the middle. "Not really sure. A Navy buddy and I were making out in his bunk on our way home from New Guinea when I suddenly realized it was bent."
Billy laughed. "That must have been a great roll in the hay." He handed it back to me. I slipped it in my coat.
Right then, I noticed Ben was pulling the car into the circular drive of a large, white, two-story house
with pillars. "Where are we?" I asked.
Billy said, "This is my friend's house. It's also a showcase, of sorts, for me. She's been one of my best friends and best clients. Jimmie and I did all of the interiors."
I nodded as we all piled out of the car and walked up to the front door.
Chapter 5
426 North Bristol Ave.
Los Angeles, Cal.
Thursday, January 13, 1955
About half past 4 in the afternoon
"Billy!"
The woman, whose face I'd seen on the screen a number of times, came around a corner and across the white tile floor. Billy walked forward and let himself be kissed, lightly, on the cheek.
Her auburn hair was pulled back in a scarf. Although she was wearing make-up, it was applied sparingly. I was taken aback by how charming her smile was. Usually, on the screen, her characters were focused and intent or plainly not so nice. But her charisma was obvious and almost tangible, even though she was wearing dungarees, rubber gloves, and a smock.
"Cranberry, may I present Mr. Nicholas Williams of San Francisco?"
I stepped forward and shook the gloved hand she offered. "Mr. Williams, what a pleasure to meet you. I hope you'll excuse the mess." She brushed a loose hair off her forehead and smiled. It was something to see in person.
"We're doing an early spring cleaning. I had no idea we'd be having guests." As she spoke the last few words, she looked at Billy out of the corner of her eye and all the charisma vanished. I had a feeling she was angry at our sudden appearance and doing a very good job of masking it.
"Now, Cranberry, you be nice. Nick is here to talk about that you-know-what."
The woman smiled at me, removed her gloves, and put them in a pocket in her smock. She took my arm and said, "Well, then, let's all go out onto the patio. It's warm for January, so let's enjoy it while we can."
We made our way through a spacious living room and out to a brick patio that overlooked a large covered swimming pool. A maid met us with glasses of iced tea as we sat down at a spotless round glass table.
"Now, Mr. Williams, has Billy explained my problem to you?"
"No, ma'am." I couldn't help myself.
She smiled at me and continued, "Well..." She looked at Ben and Martinelli and gave both a very small smile. Billy hadn't introduced either of them. There was a long pause.
Billy said to Ben, "Hey kids, could you run down to that market we passed at the bottom of the hill and pick up a carton of Lucky's for me? And don't hurry back."
Ben looked at me, for some reason. I nodded slightly. He and Martinelli stood up and made their way back into the house. After a moment, we heard the front door close.
"Now, Mr. Williams, I understand you're a private detective."
I nodded.
"And, you'll keep what I'm about to tell you in the strictest of confidence?"
I nodded again.
Looking over at Billy, she sighed and began to tap her perfectly manicured fingernails on the glass table top. "This is a damn hard business, isn't it Billy?"
He smiled but didn't say anything.
Leaning towards me, she continued, "And it's even tougher if you're a broad, let me tell you. Back when I was at Metro, the one good thing I can say about those sons of bitches is that they knew how to protect their stars. Even Jack Warner himself knew better than to let some sleazy reporter get hold of anything worse than a dope bust."
Billy laughed at that. The woman smiled.
"But I'm telling you when things are just about to go my way, the bastards come for me." She paused for emphasis and shook here head. "Every time."
I had no idea what she was talking about. But I was enjoying the show. And I had a feeling the entire speech had been carefully rehearsed. I'd had an actress do that to me before, so it was easy to spot.
Billy pulled out his cigarette case and offered her one. She took it and tapped it on the table. I pulled out my Zippo, leaned over, and held out the flame. Looking at me in the eyes as she lit her cigarette, she took a deep drag and turned her head to exhale away from the table. She said, "I've read all about you in the papers. You're just about the toughest one of your kind that I've ever come across."
I smiled slightly and waited.
She pointed her cigarette at me and said, "So, when some sleazy, rotten reporter comes to me and tells me they have me on film, I turned to Billy and said, 'You have to get me this Williams. He'll know exactly what to do.'"
Billy added, "She said that. Just the other night. A friend of mine suggested that I get in touch with Freddie Brisson. That's when I called him, and he introduced me to Ben and Carlo."
Now it all made sense. Ben was hoping if he did a favor for the great Joan Crawford, then his ship would come in. I could already tell that was not going to happen. The little show they were putting on made me realize that whatever this thing on film was must have been something really bad. And it had been my experience that a favor like that was the kind that no one ever wanted to remember once their bacon was out of the fire.
I leaned in and asked, "What do they have?"
She leaned back and looked at me for a long moment.
Billy quickly said, "That doesn't matter. We just need you to get it back."
Extending her hand to me, she tilted her head and asked in a mildly coquettish voice, "Can you help me, Mr. Williams?"
I wondered whether she had done a blue movie before she'd made it big. I'd once heard a rumor to that effect, but I had just dismissed it as the usual Hollywood nonsense.
"Sure," was my answer. I listened carefully as she told me what she wanted me to do.
. . .
Once we dropped Billy off at his house, I told Ben to head to the nearest pay phone, which he did. Leaving the two of them in the car, I walked into the booth and closed the door.
My first call was to the office, collect. Marnie answered.
"Hi, doll. Have you heard from Carter since I left?"
"Yeah. He's gonna stay in Ventura overnight."
"You got the number?"
"Sure. Ready?"
I pulled out a small pencil and notebook that I'd started carrying. "Shoot."
She gave me the number and the name of the motel. Then she asked, "What about you?"
"Looks like I'll be here tonight. Would you ask Robert to set up a hotel for the crew in Burbank somewhere? And have him call Captain Morris at the Burbank private terminal and let them know what's going on. I should be ready to fly home in the morning by about 10."
"Got it."
"Anything else?"
"Yeah. Mike says he has an update about Annie."
"Urgent?"
"Don't think so."
"Fine. Thanks, doll. See you tomorrow."
"Sure thing, Nick."
I pressed and released the switch hook, waited for the operator, and asked for long distance.
. . .
It was nearly 7 when Ben pulled the big Chrysler into the Happy Rest Motel just off Highway 101 in Ventura. Asking them to stay in the car, I walked up to Room 6 and knocked on the door.
Carter opened it, looked around, then pulled me inside and slammed the door closed. He leaned over and kissed me deeply for a long, wonderful moment.
Once he was done, he stood up straight and, with his sweet Georgia smile, put his arms around my shoulders. "Well look at you, Boss. Just when I had resigned myself to a night all alone." He kissed me on the forehead. "Now, we're going on a late-night job and who knows what kind of trouble we'll get into."
I grinned and said, "Pack your stuff, Chief. We're also gonna bunk with the Bobbsey Twins tonight." That had been our nickname for Ben and Martinelli when they'd first gotten together.
Carter nodded and began to do just that.
. . .
As we drove back down to L.A., I began to explain to everyone what the plan was.
"First, we meet Ros and Freddie at their house for a drink. Then, Carter and I will drop you two at home and take th
e car—"
Martinelli turned around in his seat and looked at me. "No dice, Nick. We're going with you."
I looked at Ben through the rear-view mirror. He nodded but not enthusiastically. He'd been a lousy private dick and an even lousier cop before that. And he had readily admitted it to me. I asked, "Shouldn't Ben stay by the phone in case we need something?"
"Yeah, Carlo." That was Ben. I could hear the relief in his voice.
Martinelli sighed and faced forward. "Fine. But I'm not gonna sit at home and wait."
Carter leaned forward and patted the man on his shoulder. "Don't worry. We're gonna need all the muscle we can get."
That seemed to give Ben an idea. "How about Micky?"
"Who's Micky?" I asked.
Martinelli turned around in his seat again. "He's a friend of ours. I met him down at Muscle Beach by the pier in Santa Monica. But he lives in an apartment around the corner from ours in Los Feliz. And he's one of us."
I shook my head. "No." Neither Carter nor Martinelli had much experience in doing what we needed to do. Muscle was good. But lunkheads were out of the question.
Martinelli grinned at me. "He was Military Police in the Army over in Korea if that helps."
I crossed my arms. "What does he do now?"
Ben laughed. "He lives off the fat of the land and goes to the gym as much as he can."
I shook my head. "No."
Carter put his hand on my arm. "Let's at least meet the guy."
I shrugged. "Fine. But first, we all get cleaned up and head over to see Ros and Freddie."
Ben looked at me in the mirror and mouthed the words, "Thank you." I nodded and smiled at him.
. . .
"Do come in, won't you?" Ros, wearing a light brown dress that flattered her figure, opened the door with a smile. Since everyone knew everyone, we all received kisses on the cheek from her and firm handshakes from Freddie, who was in a pair of gray flannels and a light blue cardigan sweater.
Carter asked, "We're not going to keep Lance up, are we?" Lance was their son. From what I could remember, he was about 12 or so. Carter, of course, probably had the kid's birthday memorized and had sent him a telegram for his last one. But, then again, that was Carter all over. And very much not me. I wasn't good with things like that.
The Timid Traitor (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 10) Page 4