The Timid Traitor (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 10)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  "Where is everybody?"

  I said, "They both left early. Come in and have a seat. I've finally remembered what I forgot last week."

  Carter looked down at me with a slight frown. "Try that on me again."

  I pointed to the chair next to Mike. "Have a seat. I'm going through the events down south. I just got to the good part."

  Carter stood there for a moment and then broke into a grin. "When we get home..."

  He sat down next to Mike, who smiled. "I'm dying to hear the end of that sentence, but let's let Nick be Nick first."

  "And fuck you, too, Mike," was my reply. But I was on a roll, so I continued, "There was someone behind me. The guy in front said he had the stuff. I pulled out the envelope. He said he wanted to see the money first. I said he had to show the goods. I still didn't know what it was. He pulled out a box and dropped it on the ground. It was obviously empty by the sound it made. I kicked it and it was. I reached for my revolver. The man behind said I shouldn't. Carter gave him a chop or something and then ran around and did the same to the guy in front of me. We went through his pockets and found his driver's license and a plain white card with a phone number."

  I stopped and pulled out my Camels. I noticed, suddenly, that the sun had set and that it was getting dark outside. After I lit one up, I began to pace again.

  "When we got to Ben's, I looked up the number in his reverse directory."

  Mike smiled. "Ben has a reverse directory? Good for him."

  I looked over and grinned. "Yeah. I was impressed."

  Rolling his finger in the air, Mike said, "Keep going."

  "The phone number was listed under Metro. Next morning, I drove Carter out to Ventura. We had breakfast."

  Carter cleared his throat.

  I nodded. "What I meant to say was that after Carter reminded me how much I love him, we went to breakfast."

  That got a snicker from Mike.

  "After he left for his meeting, I called up here and talked to you. I called the phone number and, when I mentioned San Pedro, got hung up on."

  Right then the door banged open and Greg Holland, Mike's squeeze, walked in. "I'm hungry!"

  Mike said, "Pipe down. Nick's on a roll."

  Greg looked at me with a grin. "Don't let me interrupt."

  I focused on Mike. "That's what I forgot. My guess is that the guy that Carter gave the first chop to was Harvey Reynolds, who works in accounting for Metro." Turning to Carter, I asked, "What did he look like, do you remember?"

  Carter shook his head. "I hit him from behind. He fell pretty easily. He was blond and portly." He stopped for a moment. "And he had pasty skin which I remember thinking was strange for someone down there. They all seem to have permanent suntans."

  I nodded. "That's probably him. That's who I forgot about. Where is he now?"

  Mike looked at his watch. "It's just past 6. He'll definitely be at work. The staff at Metro put in long hours. You want me to call him?"

  I nodded. I reached into my wallet, pulled out the card, and handed it over.

  Mike sat forward and grabbed my phone off the desk. Picking it up he dialed the operator.

  "Long distance."

  There was a pause. He looked at me. "Culver City?"

  I nodded.

  "I'd like to call Culver City." He waited. "Vermont 5-3320." Another pause. "I'll wait."

  Carter stood up and walked over to me. "That feel better?" he asked.

  I nodded.

  He leaned down and whispered something in my ear that made me blush. Greg guffawed. Mike looked up, put his hand over the mouthpiece, and said, "Can you two wait until you get home or are you—" He stopped. "Yes, operator. Thank you." He put the receiver back on the cradle and leaned back in the chair. "They'll call back. As to my previous question—"

  "Sorry, Mike. That's confidential." That was Carter. For some reason, I burst out laughing like I hadn't done in a while.

  . . .

  We'd been sitting in the office for about fifteen minutes when the phone rang. Mike picked it up. "Hello?" He waited. "Yes, operator." He mouthed the words, "It's ringing."

  I nodded and waited.

  Mike sat back in his chair and spread his legs out. I had the sense that he was getting ready for a performance.

  "Yes, is this one Harvey Reynolds?" His voice had a little bit of a twang to it as if he was trying to sound like a Texan who didn't want to have an accent.

  "It is? Well, good day to you, sir. This here, I mean, I'm calling from Commercial Filmstock in San Pedro. And I see that we have an outstanding invoice with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and I was wondering when we might expect to be paid." He pulled on his belt in a very suggestive way. Carter and Greg both grinned broadly.

  "Yes, sir. Yes, that's what caught my attention, too. I know that Metro has been a good customer and that we always normally get paid—" He stopped and listened. "You don't? Well, maybe you're not familiar with our location in San Pedro. We're in an unusual spot. When I moved here from Dallas, I mean, when I first took this job, I was a bit surprised that we were located in such a rough neighborhood. Maybe you know Shanghai Red's? It's a famous little spot. Gets a rough crowd but I suppose that's why we're down here and not in Culver City. Mr. Ziller is a Jew, after all, and, well, I'm sure you know. You work for a bunch of 'em where you are. You know how cheap, uh, cost conscious they are as a people." He waited and looked up at the ceiling while the other man talked. "Oh, you do, then? Why sure, our little outfit shares an alley with old Red." He paused and listened for a few seconds. "Well, ain't that, I mean isn't that interesting. You ever meet Red? Contrary to his name, I have to say he's definitely no communist. No sir. He's a real American. A true patriot. Not like some of those movie types. I'm sure you know who I mean." He paused and waited for a long while. "Why, yes, I have to agree. Eisenhower, now I'm from the South. I mean, that is to say, down where I come from, we never vote for any Republican. Can't trust 'em. No, sir. It's any yellow-dog Democrat for me. Excepting Ike, of course. Now, you take that Huey Long. He was always my hero, don't you know—" He stopped talking and waited again. "Oh, you don't? Well, I don't understand. I have the invoice right here. Lookie here, let me get a photostat of this in the mail to you. You be looking for it in a day or two. I'm sure the check's in the mail. Just like they say." With that, he put the receiver back in its cradle and stood up.

  "That, Nick, is how you work an asset."

  Greg walked over and began to rub Mike's shoulders. I folded my arms and said, "I gotta hand it to you, Mike. I had no idea you had such a good phone manner. You oughta be a private dick."

  Mike just grinned at me and re-lit his cigar.

  Carter asked, "So was it him?"

  Mike took a deep puff and said, "Sure was. He said he was just there last Thursday night and he didn't remember seeing our fine establishment even though he'd walked right by."

  Carter turned to me. "So now what?"

  "Nothing, I guess. I'm glad I remembered and, thanks to Mike, we know who that other person was." I still wasn't satisfied, but there wasn't anything to be done. So that was that.

  Chapter 14

  1198 Sacramento

  Wednesday, January 19, 1955

  Very early in the morning

  "Nick!"

  I could hear someone calling my name but I wasn't sure whether the car was calling me or if the broom was using the chimney to make dinner. Then the cats started telling me to dance and I couldn't remember the steps.

  "Nick!"

  One of the cats began to lick my hand while it poured the milkshake. Then it started shaking me. I'd finally had enough, so I sat up and yelled, "What?"

  I opened my eyes. Carter was sitting up next to me with a worried expression on his face. He smiled wanly and asked, "Good dream there, Boss?"

  I pulled up my legs and crossed them. Looking over at the fading embers of the fire, I said, "Dunno. Why?"

  "You were yelling. None of it made any sense. But it sounded bad. You OK?"


  I took a deep breath and felt a wave of panic roll over me. It had no meaning. I wasn't worried about anything in particular but the panic was real. I could feel the room closing in.

  Jumping out of bed, I walked over to the open window and breathed in the night air as deeply as I could. For some reason, the coldness of the sharp, clear night felt a lot better. The room had been so confining, so hot, so small...

  Of course, none of that made any sense. The room was ridiculously large, particularly compared to a bunk on a Navy ship. That brought the source of my panic to the surface.

  I turned and looked at Carter, who was sitting in the same place I'd left him and looking at me with love and concern in a way that was almost impossible to look directly into.

  "What?" he asked as if he knew I suddenly understood everything.

  "Evelyn is going to die and she's going to kill herself and we can't stop her and I don't even want to and this is much worse than watching Nacho get shot or knowing Mack wasn't coming back."

  I sat down on the floor, with my back against the wall, and began to bawl my eyes out.

  Carter walked over and gently sat next to me. He put his arm around my shoulder and let me have it out.

  Nacho was Ignacio Esparza, a state police captain we'd met in Baja California during the summer of '53. He'd been murdered by his brother right in front of me and had died in my arms. Mack had been my lover while we were sailing back home to San Francisco at the end of the war. He'd been one of my best friends and had decided to re-enlist when the Korean War started. Within a few months, his ship had been sunk and he didn't come back.

  After the tears had passed, I was numb. Carter began slowly to kiss me on the side of my face. After a while, I let him embrace me and then we spent the next bit of time rolling around on the floor of the bedroom that my grandfather had designed and built.

  Carter pushed the furniture out of the way, laid a new fire, and pulled the covers and pillows off the bed and down to the floor. We stayed there for the rest of the night.

  . . .

  I woke up when daylight began to fill the room. I lay on the floor, my head on Carter's chest, and looked at the bedroom ceiling. I'd never noticed how the ceiling in the bedroom was just as beautifully designed and carved as the one down in the office. It looked like the handiwork of the same man. I'd never seen it because the big bed had a canopy. I'd looked at the stitching on that piece of fabric for six months but had never truly seen the ceiling of the room it was in.

  As I let my eyes wander over the colors and patterns of the wood, the phone began to ring. I started to stand. Carter mumbled, "Let Mrs. Strakova get it." I laid back down and snuggled up against him, breathing in that particular aroma that told me I was next to my husband.

  After about five minutes, there was a knock at the door. I stood up and pulled one of the bed sheets around me like a robe. We had kicked off our BVDs when we'd been rolling around on the floor, so neither of us had a stitch of clothing on.

  I pulled the door open but not all the way. It was Gustav. He was already in his morning suit, but he looked a bit worn out. I wondered if he and Ferdinand were still making up late into the night.

  "Mr. Nick. There is a call for you. Her name is Annie."

  I smiled and said, "Thanks, Gustav. We'll be down in about thirty minutes, or so."

  I heard Carter grumble, "Make it an hour, kid."

  Gustav managed to peek around me. His face broke into a smile as he saw the mess.

  I nodded. "Yeah. In an hour or so."

  "I will tell Mrs. Strakova. What are your requests?" That was a new thing that had started without our asking. We'd spent six months eating whatever she'd felt inspired to cook for us and had never regretted a single meal. In the last couple of weeks, Gustav had been asking for requests. Sometimes our answer was, "Ask her to surprise us." No matter what, each meal was good.

  Carter called out, "Waffles and chewy bacon."

  I nodded. "That's perfect." I wanted to get on the phone, so I said, "Thanks, Gustav," and shut the door.

  I heard him walking back down the hall whistling some tune as I made my way to the phone extension that was on Carter's side of the bed.

  "Hello?"

  "Nick? This is Annie."

  "Good morning, Annie." I looked over at the clock. It was half past 7. "How can I help you?" I heard Carter snort at my good telephone manners. There was something about Annie that made me want to sit up straighter and use what Carter called my "high hat" tone. My stepmother across the street had the same effect.

  "Can you take me to see my husband today?"

  "Sure. But wouldn't you rather have Sam take you?"

  "I would like for you and Sam and Mr. Jones to take me. I want to see him but I prefer to have you with me as I go." I could feel her apprehension on the line. It was almost palpable.

  "That's fine, Annie. What time?"

  "Can you meet me at noon at the patisserie on Normandy Lane at the store?"

  "Of course. We'll meet you there."

  "Yes, please. I would like to have lunch with you first, and then we go to the hospital."

  "That's fine. We'll see you at noon."

  "Thank you, Nick."

  Before I could reply, the line went dead.

  . . .

  Since we were going to the hospital, we drove down to Union Square and parked in the underground garage. As we crossed the street, I had a vague sense that someone was following us but then it passed, so I didn't say anything to Sam or Carter.

  Once we were inside the City of Paris, we made our way down to the basement where the Normandy Lane area was located.

  As we walked past the cigarette stand, Sam suddenly stopped. He walked up and bought a pack of something French. We stood and silently waited for him while a couple of bustles of ladies walked by, all comparing notes on their newest purchases.

  Once he had his pack, Sam walked back over and looked at me with wide eyes. He said, "You didn't bring your lighter, did you?"

  Following along with whatever he was doing, I replied, "No. It's in the car."

  Carter began to say something. I elbowed him and said, "Remember? I took it out to light yours, but it fell on the floorboard. I guess I never picked it up." I made a show of searching for it. It was in the right pocket of my coat, where I always kept it.

  Sam looked over his shoulder and said, "I could always get a box of matches."

  I shook my head. "We still have some time. Why don't you run upstairs and go get a new Zippo?"

  Sam grinned. "That's exactly what I'll do. I'll be back as soon as I can." He took off around us, heading back the way we came. I heard him say, "Sorry, mister," and then a grumbled reply.

  I took Carter's elbow and said, "Come on. Let's get a table while we can. I wanna beat the lunch rush."

  We made our way down the hall and walked into the small pastry shop where Annie worked. I shifted around Carter in the entry way, effectively blocking him from moving, turned around to face him, and pulled my lighter out of my pocket. "Will you look at that? Had it all the time."

  As I did so, I caught site of a pudgy blond man. He was in his 40s. His face was red with exertion. As my eyes passed over him, he pivoted and walked toward where Sam had gone. He'd made it about five steps when Sam bumped into him and said, "Watch where you're goin', fatso."

  The man huffed and said, "I wouldn't do that, Mister."

  On hearing the man's voice, Carter spun on his heel and, dodging a couple of ladies loaded down with shopping bags, reached out a long arm, and pushed the man against the far wall.

  I walked over and asked, "You wouldn't happen to be Harvey Reynolds, by chance?"

  The man's nostrils flared indignantly. "What's it to you?"

  "You're a long way from home, aren't you?"

  "So? It's a free country."

  Carter had him pinned by the shoulder on his left. Sam grabbed his right arm and twisted it.

  "Hey!" The man called out. Severa
l shoppers stopped and began to watch us. No one said anything, but we were starting to draw a crowd.

  Sam said, "I know where we can go."

  "I'm not going anywhere with you."

  "Fine," I said. "We're meeting a police lieutenant for lunch. He should be here any minute. You can stay here and wait for him, or you can come with us and tell us why you've been following us. Up to you."

  A man in the crowd asked, "What's this man done?"

  Carter replied, "He tried to shoot my friend down in San Pedro."

  A murmur went through the crowd. I kept my face pointed at Reynolds and hoped no one would recognize me. Meanwhile, the man sighed deeply. "Fine. I'll go with you."

  Sam released his arm and Carter stepped back. I took Reynolds by the elbow and said to Sam, "Lead the way."

  The crowd parted to let us walk over into the pastry shop. The men and women all greeted Sam in French. He replied with a couple of sentences. One of the men opened the door to the back of the shop. Sam led us past the counter, through the door, and into a large kitchen where several people greeted Sam effusively. As we walked through, it sounded like Sam was bantering with each of them.

  Finally, we walked into a small office. I pushed Reynolds down in the desk chair. Carter stood over the man while Sam stood with his back to the closed door.

  "Why are you following us?"

  The man was now sweating. I wondered if I was going to be carrying someone else to the hospital. "You got me fired."

  "How so?"

  "Mannix."

  I nodded and waited.

  "He came to my office last night and told me to pack my stuff and clear out."

  "How am I involved with this?"

  "You told him about me and Peter trying to get money for that movie."

  "Maybe you should think twice before you blackmail someone."

  He nodded. "But I know other stuff. I've seen all the ledgers."

  "What ledgers?"

  "The ones from back when Crawford was kicked out of Metro. They have the other movie. It was never destroyed. Plus I know how much she was paying—"

  Carter menacingly asked, "How does this have anything to do with Nick?"

  "Mannix is gonna sabotage that movie you bought. I heard him. I hear a lot of things. He's already been calling distributors and telling them not to carry it."