Cheap as Beasts

by Jon Wilson

  I walked past the gate. In case anyone looked over, I figured skulking would have warranted more investigation than simply walking like I was doing something I might indulge in any day of the week. The car sheds were not quite attached to the perimeter wall, just as O’Malley had explained, and I slipped behind them into a gap about a yard wide.

  A short path ended at a structure that extended from the back of the car sheds to the wall. I opened an unlocked door and entered.

  I found myself in a vestibule about the size of a coat closet. Another door was directly facing me, and I peeked through into a toilet, complete with a commode and shower. To my left, another door led out into the first shed, which still housed the Rolls, and which still stood open to the drive. The opening was mostly blocked by the police van, however, and I stepped quickly over to another door that let me into the small room in which I’d conversed with Jasper Reed’s chauffeur, Wayne Holmsby.

  I’d barely got the door closed behind me when a sour tenor wondered, “What now?”

  I looked over through the open door to the bedroom, where Hector the monkey boy lay stretched out on his bed, smoking and perusing a magazine. When he got a good look at my face, he bolted up.

  “You!”

  “Me?” I shrugged. “Were you expecting me?”

  He took two steps toward me like he had intentions but stopped once we were in the same small chamber. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just having a look around.” I pretended to do so. “Your employers have certainly spared no expense ensuring your comfort.”

  “Get the hell out of here. You ain’t even a cop.”

  “Ouch. Personally I think I’m at least twice a cop. Maybe two and a half times a cop. In fact, Mr. Morgan O’Malley hired me to investigate Ramona Wyman’s murder.”

  “Hip-hooray for you. I work for Mr. Kelly. Get out.”

  “Huh. I would have thought you worked for Mrs. O’Malley. You were showing her niece how to drive a car.”

  He tried to play it, but wasn’t quite up to the task. He snarled and tossed his head back. “Says who?”

  I shrugged again. “Doesn’t matter. I’m more interested in how much time Miss Wyman spent here. With you. Say back here…” I made a move toward the bedroom. He was blocking the door, and I knew it would not end well, but something about him annoyed me. It didn’t help that he reeked of smoke and sweat and axle grease. He reached out to grab my lapels with his oil-stained hands.

  “What the hell?”

  I got a decent grip on his left wrist and twisted. Not enough to crack anything, just enough to angle him around and out of the way. When I stepped on the back of his knee, he folded like a beach chair, kneeling in the doorway facing the jamb. All skin and bone, how he ever carried that giant I saw in the picture up in the dead girl’s room, I couldn’t figure. Nine miles on a bum leg. It was a wartime miracle.

  Just to scare him, I barked, “Where’s that lipstick?” It worked so well, he grabbed a wrench from one of the work shelves and swung blindly backward, slamming the end of the tool hard against the middle of my thigh. I lost my temper then, a little, and ran my fist into the back of his head, sending his face into the door jamb. There was a small splash of blood, and I saw at once it was a wash because he panicked and took to hollering.

  I hauled him up and tossed him back into the bedroom. He sprawled atop the bed and rolled over to glare up at me. Blood threatened to leak from a cute gash over his right eye, but it wasn’t worth half the yowling he was letting loose.

  Figuring I had nothing more to lose, I started improvising. “You greasy punk. You think I leveled with the cops? Mona and I did meet, twice, and we had a long talk all about you and that letter.”

  “You’re crazy! And so is she. I told her—”

  And then it was a case of the universe flicking me on the nose and saying easy come, easy go, as whatever he was about to say went back down his gullet when the outside door swung open, and a gruff voice demanded to know what the hell was going on.

  “He attacked me!” The mechanic aimed a long, bony finger at me.

  I put my hands in the air and backed away three steps. That returned me to the work room and nearly put my back to the shed door I’d snuck in through. One of the uniforms had led the charge, but a plainclothes and the other uniform were right behind him. They looked appropriately belligerent and more than a little befuddled.

  “What’s going on?”

  Hector bounded up off the bed and into the back doorway. He shook his greasy hand at me again. “That malook attacked me! He slammed me against the wall.”

  The cops didn’t seem to follow. The one in front had his corrugated forehead cinched tight. He glared at me. “What? Who are you?”

  I shrugged my already hoisted arms. “I just wandered in here by mistake. And this kid got spooked, I think. He came at me with that wrench there.” I nodded to the tool which lay in the middle of the floor where he’d dropped it after I tapped his head.

  “That’s a lie!” Hector came further into the room, rubbing the side of his head with one hand while keeping the other aimed at my chest. “This is that shamus was here yesterday poking around. He came in here to attack me!”

  Of course, at that point I knew that eventually I’d end up face to face with Dent, and nothing I said before that reunion much mattered. I clenched my fists and took a step forward. “Why you lousy snake…”

  The mechanic leapt sideways to escape, crashing into the work shelves and then rolling along them to take up a position behind the nearest cop’s shoulder.

  I pointed at him. “This guy brought me in here. He said for twenty bucks he’d tell me who killed her.”

  The cop actually twisted his fat head around to toss the kid a stare. “He said that, did he?”

  “No, I didn’t say that!” Hector goggled, and I couldn’t blame him. “He snuck in here, Goddammit. I was—”

  Then the bellow I’d been waiting for came from out on the drive. “For Christsake, Flatly, what’s all this?”

  The plainclothesman furthest out was shoved aside, and a large hand gripped the shoulder of the uniform blocking the door. Dent forced his way into the room. He stood beside the other uniform and glared all around. Seeing me, he said a single, deep, heartfelt word that needn’t be repeated. Without averting his eyes from mine, he growled, “What’s going on in here?”

  The uniform said, shaking his head, “I don’t know, Lieu. We heard somebody hollering for help and when we come in, this one,” he nodded at me, “looked set to show this other one what was what.”

  “He did, did he?” Poor old Dent’s upper lip started twitching.

  But the uniform wasn’t finished. “Only, he claims this one,” he nodded at Hector, “invited him in saying he knowed who killed the girl and would spill for twenty simoleons.”

  The mechanic’s voice rose so high it was nearly a screech. “That’s a lie!”

  It had been a lie. A foolish, useless lie I’d tossed out for no particular reason other than I felt like cracking my own head against the door jamb for balling things up so bad. “It isn’t.” I shoved a hand into my pocket. “Look, I got the cash all ready for him.”

  Dent ignored me. He indicated Hector with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Take that one around back and find out what he knows about the Wyman girl. I’ll take Colette—”

  I interrupted, politely. “The Wyman girl? Did I say the Wyman girl? That would be a lie. No, no. He said he knew about that girl down in L.A. What do they call her? The Dahlia. The Black Dahlia. This kid claims he saw the whole thing!”

  The mechanic gasped and forgot to close his mouth afterward. Dent glared at me a moment, then decided to ignore me some more. He barked at the uniform. “Get him out, I said!” He looked around for the other uniform. “And you, Flatly, cuff Colette and put him in a car. I’ll take him down myself, and by God he’ll tell me everything I want to know.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What do you
think you’re doing?”

  On one hand, the answer to that question should have been fairly obvious. A uniform was leading me across the gravel drive toward one of the police cruisers. My hands were cuffed behind my back, and my hat was barely hanging on my head because the man had not been particularly gentle in binding me. But I grinned at O’Malley just the same to thank him for noticing.

  He confronted Dent. “This man is in my employ! What do you think you’re doing? Release him at once.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dent confronted O’Malley with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders so far back you’d think he’d just been awarded the key to the city. “This man is under arrest, and I plan to—”

  “Under arrest for what? On what charge?”

  “Attempting to disrupt a police investigation. Snooping.” And then, as an afterthought, he added, “Sir.”

  “Of course he was snooping. That’s what I hired him for, you idiot.”

  O’Malley being new to the whole thing, I couldn’t blame him too much for calling Dent an idiot. Just a look at that mug would be plenty for most men to arrive at the same conclusion. But even idiot cops don’t take kindly to being called names. “He’s under arrest as a material witness. He’s coming down to police headquarters.”

  “I don’t know what that means, but you’re not taking him anywhere. He’s working for me.”

  “I don’t care who he’s working for. He’s under arrest. Now, sir, I’ll ask you to step aside.”

  O’Malley did step aside, toward the porch. “Don’t move. George is a lawyer. We’ll see about this.”

  As O’Malley went to the door to muster reinforcements, I turned to the uniform holding my arm. “Buddy. The sun’s in my eyes.” He had been rather enthralled with the conversation between his boss and O’Malley, to the point I suspected he’d nearly forgotten I was there. He obligingly reached over to straightened my hat. Chalk one up for the brotherhood of man.

  We could hear O’Malley shouting in the foyer for Kelly and Fenton interchangeably. But Dent told the uniform to keep moving, and I was at the side of the cruiser with the rear door opened and waiting for me when O’Malley and Kelly came striding out.

  “What is all this, Lieutenant Dent?”

  “I apologize for bothering you, Mr. Kelly. I’m placing this man under arrest. And if you object, I’ll want to know why.”

  “Well, I can’t object until I know the reason.” He smiled warmly, like they were old friends. “My cousin mentioned something about material witness.”

  “That’s as good as any. He’s a troublemaker, see? And you can thank me for taking him off your hands.”

  So, maybe calling Dent an idiot had worked out after all. Combined with his natural inclination to lose his head in my vicinity, his resentment of the remark was leading the old fool to make all manner of mistakes.

  Kelly pounced. “Well, which is it? Troublemaker or material witness? The two seem somewhat mutually exclusive to me. And naturally I am disinclined to allow you to cart off one of my employees in handcuffs without a proper explanation of the charges.”

  “Oh, he’s working for you, then? I understood he was working for—”

  Kelly cut him off smoothly. “He’s in the family’s employ.”

  “Yes, sir. Only, if I may…” He paused, looked down at something, then rubbed his chin. Looking back up, he hoisted his brow. “How much do you know about this character?”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “For instance, did you know that he was court-martialed? He barely escaped a dishonorable. He was—”

  Kelly cut him off again, not quite so smoothly. “The war is over, Lieutenant. I’m assuming that since he has a license, his war record isn’t in question, and I find your airing of these allegations in so public a forum most heinous. It may even be actionable. Under the circumstances, I suggest you release Mr. Colette at once, finish up your business and depart.”

  Dent reared up, filling his chest with air. “And I suggest—”

  “Tread carefully, Dent. It’s our family that’s suffered the loss here. And we have cooperated fully with your investigation. But I am nearing the limits of my forbearance. If you wish it, I shall be more than happy to telephone the commissioner’s office and discuss the situation with him.” Kelly dismissed Dent and told the cop at my elbow, “You there! Remove those handcuffs at once.” And just as obligingly as he had reached to adjust my hat, the cop started to comply.

  “Hang on,” Dent said. He looked around, scowling, and his eyes lit on Hector and the other uniform off around the side of the car sheds. He started toward them. “You there! Kid. Come over here.”

  The mechanic came forward, though on his own or mostly thanks to the cop attached to his elbow I can’t say.

  Dent confronted Kelly. “This man is also in your employ?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Well, look at him. Colette assaulted him.” He addressed Hector, pointing over at me. “Didn’t that fellow assault you?”

  The mechanic nodded, dumbly. Dried blood showed above his eyebrow, but it was hardly a speck. He’d already sopped up most of the leakage with his bandana, and the flow had stopped.

  “Well, you want to press charges, right?”

  Almost simultaneously, Hector said, “Sure, I do,” and Kelly said, “No.”

  Dent looked from one to the other, smelling blood in the water. “Well? Which is it?” He jumped at Hector, recognizing him as the weak link. “You want to press charges, kid? Just say it.”

  Hector looked over at Kelly, who gave no signal either way. Kelly didn’t even look back. He just kept watching Dent. That proved to be sufficient. As the mechanic looked back to Dent, the last of the color drained from his face. “No. No, I guess not.”

  Dent was speechless. He took another two steps toward the mechanic, then pivoted on his heel and strode halfway toward me and my keeper beside the car. “Put him in, Flatly! By God.”

  The cop put a hand on my shoulder and applied just enough pressure to convey his desire that I enter the vehicle.

  “If that’s the way you want it.” Kelly shook his head, clearly regretful that he should be forced to such extremes. “I’ll speak to the commissioner.”

  “You do that, sir.” Dent didn’t look back, progressing around to the passenger’s side of the cruiser and climbing into the front seat. My handler had put me into the back, behind the driver’s seat. He closed the door and stood there, looking like a complete stooge.

  The car was an oven. Dent sat glaring at the dashboard a moment, then shot a glance toward the house. Despite his threat, Kelly had remained on the porch. O’Malley was next to him, saying something, but Kelly didn’t show any signs of hearing it.

  Dent grumbled and dug in his breast pocket for a pipe. He got it between his teeth and struck a wooden match by scratching its tip down the dashboard.

  I said, “For the love of Mike, man, roll down a window.”

  He responded in no less than a dozen syllables, all of which boiled down to “Shut your trap.” The other words were merely color. He puffed on his pipe two or three times with the match shoved down the barrel. Once he was satisfied, he waved the match out, rolled down his window and tossed the smoking stick out on the drive. He sat staring out the front, puffing smoke.

  I was perched uncomfortably, my hips shoved forward on account of my wrists being tied together behind them. I tried leaning back but decided it looked even worse than sitting up. There is simply no way to appear at your ease when you have been shoved in chains into the back of a police car.

  “Are we heading somewhere, or is the idea to see how long it takes me to bake?”

  “Shut your trap,” he said again, only without all the excess verbiage. “Why’d you attack the Greek kid?”

  “Attack, hell. I barely—”

  He spun halfway around, snapping at me like a rabid dog. “Just answer the question!”

  I adjusted myself in the seat, but gave up trying
to be jovial. I like to tell myself I am a wit, and it’s my charm and all that stuff that keeps me from spending the day bawling into my beer. But it was too damned hot, and he had gone too damned far. “No.”

  “No?” He couldn’t believe it. “What do you mean no?”

  “No.” I turned my head to look out the window. Unfortunately, that cop, Flatly, was standing there and most of the view was blocked by his wide backside.

  “You want to go down?”

  “It’s up to me now?”

  “Answer my questions and we’ll see.”

  “I wouldn’t tell you my name.” I leaned toward him, feeling the bile bubbling on my lips. “You said once you’d like to take me somewhere and find out just how tough I am. Well, let’s go, pops. Put down that badge and your gun and let’s see.”

  He watched my face closely as I said all that, then offered me a smug grin. “You don’t like being reminded of how you ended your war, do you? I suppose I can’t blame you. I wouldn’t want folks to know I spent V-E Day in the loony bin neither. Only there ain’t no shame in it. Some guys just ain’t cut out for war.”

  “You mean like your boy who didn’t even make it off the beach?”

  I barely got that out before he was halfway over the back of the seat and whaling away at my head. Fortunately for me they were manic, wild punches. I rolled over sideways, ducking my head down against the door, trying to get my knees up between us—not to kick him—he was still a cop—but just as a shield. To Flatly’s credit, he had the door opened fast and tugged me out of harm’s way. I spilled onto the gravel as one of the plainclothesmen ran around to the other side and yanked open Dent’s door.

  It required three of them to keep the lieutenant from climbing over the seat of the car and following me out the back. They pulled him through the front passenger door, but as soon as he was on his feet, he thought he was still going to come after me. By then Kelly was standing over me.