The Hollywood Murders-The Gretch Bayonne Action Adventure Series-Book 3

by Steven M. Thomas

  The Hollywood Murders

  Copyright© 2015 by Steven M. Thomas

  Published by Drummer Dancer Publications

  All rights reserved

  Proofreader: Diane Svoboda

  Cover design: Haans Peterson

  Cover painting: Tracy Ostmann Haschke

  Logo: Haans Peterson

  Foreword: Billy Kring

  Acknowledgements: Steve Shelburg, Kevin I. Smith

  Formatted for paperback by George Wier

  Other books in this series: Chase The Rabbit, Rabbits Never Die, Aloha, Lugosi!, Goodbye Harlow Nights

  To receive the author’s acclaimed autobiography, I Was A Drummer She Was A Dancer at no charge, send a request to gretchbayonne@yahoo.com

  This is a work of fiction - names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without the written permission of the publisher, expect where permitted by law.

  Drummer Dancer Publications

  Foreword by Billy Kring

  Steven M. Thomas writes The Hollywood Murders in a unique noir style, and perfectly sets the tone for Hollywood’s marvelous golden era. Jean Harlow is there, breathtakingly beautiful and close enough to feel the heat of her body on your skin. Horror legend and gentle heart Bela Lugosi is shown in another light than the public perceives. Thomas brings these and others to life and weaves them into this tale of an elusive serial killer wreaking havoc in the community. Hunting the killer is the man called Bay, and Bay is determined to bring an end to the killings once and for all, or die trying

  Chapter One

  The first thing I did when I got back to Hollywood was to call my friend, Jean Harlow.

  I had promised her that I would be in her next movie. It turned out that film was scheduled to begin shooting in three weeks.

  That didn't give me much time to finish writing my book with Wolf. I did it in two.

  The director of Dinner At Eight agreed to give me an audition for the part of Dr. Wayne Talbot in the movie. I didn't even get a script until I walked into his office. I quickly read over the scene he wanted me to do for him.

  “We'll give you ten minutes to study it,” George Cukor said.

  “I'm ready now,” I replied.

  The director seemed a bit surprised but nodded for me to go ahead and read aloud. I sat the script down on his desk and proceeded to act out the scene from memory.

  “Very impressive, Mr. Bay,” he said. “What acting experience do you have?”

  “I was in White Zombie with Bela Lugosi,” I replied.

  “Yes, I know,” he said. “I mean what else?”

  “That's it,” I answered.

  The director looked down at the script for a moment. “This is going to be a very big movie,” he said. “The screenwriters have done an excellent job, but I think we may need some additional dialogue. Do you think you could help with that?”

  I got the job partly due to Jean Harlow's insistence, partly because of my ability to memorize lines and act, but mostly because I agreed to write lines on the set for the actors as needed.

  “You would have to be on the set every day of shooting,” Cukor said, “not just when you are scheduled for your scenes.”

  “I could do that,” I said.

  Actor Edmund Lowe was dismissed and I was hired, just like that.

  I would be working with Marie Dressler, John Barrymore, Wallace Beery, Lionel Barrymore, Lee Tracy, Billie Burke, and of course, the Star Child, Jean Harlow.

  Jean was elated to hear the good news. “That's marvelous!” she exclaimed when I phoned her that evening. “We should celebrate! Tonight!”

  When Jean Harlow invites you to a party, you don't say no. It seems Hollywood stars will use any excuse to rejoice. I was staying at my good friend Bela Lugoi's house, and he agreed to join me.

  It was after midnight by the time we reached Harlow's mansion. Music was blaring from the Maytrola and people were singing and dancing around the living room. The moment we walked in, everyone cheered and applauded. Bela took bows while I just stood there dumbfounded.

  I recognized a half dozen movie stars, but I didn't really know any of them. None of the people from the Graf were present, except for Lugosi and Jean, of course. All of them wanted to talk to me. It was very strange.

  In the insanity that ensued, I saw a women sitting on the couch across the room from me. I was trying to field questions from people but was utterly distracted by her.

  “Pardon me,” I said, interrupting Lionel Barrymore, “but who is that woman?”

  Barrymore looked over to where I was pointing to the woman. “Oh, that's just Patty,” he replied.

  “Patty who?” I asked.

  “That's Patty Albright,” someone else said, “the actress.”

  I walked over and introduced myself, sitting down next to her on the couch. There was something special about Patty. I was in a room full of stars, but was drawn to her the moment I laid eyes on her. She was quite beautiful, but that's not uncommon in Hollywood. It was something about her eyes. Even from across the room, her eyes drew me in. I felt as if I could see her soul. I know that sounds strange, but that is what I thought.

  “I know you,” she said. “Do you know me?”

  “I think I do,” I replied. “I am certain I have seen some of your movies.”

  “Well, Mr. Bay,” she said. “I have seen all of yours!”

  “All one of them?” I asked, laughing.

  “Yes,” she answered. “And every movie you have appeared in has been a big hit!”

  Something happened to me that night. I can't say that I fell in love. But I can't say that I didn't either.

  Chapter Two

  I read the entire script for Dinner At Eight and pretty much had the whole thing memorized in two days. That left me two more days before I was due on the set.

  What the hell am I going to do now? I thought. Patty Albright was all I could think about. I didn't know much about her, so I started making phone calls.

  “She's a great actress,” Jean told me. “But like a lot of them, she doesn't do well in talkies. I try to get her as much work as I can, but it isn't easy.”

  I learned that Patty started out in vaudeville at a very young age, then went on to do many motion pictures. She had worked for D.W. Griffith and several other directors, but never quite made it to leading-lady status.

  “What was it about the talkies that she couldn't handle?” I asked the Star Child.

  “Are you kidding?” Jean laughed. “Did you not hear that Brooklyn accent?”

  “I heard it,” I replied. “What is wrong with that?”

  “You really don't get it, do you?” Jean asked. “People had a conception of how she would sound, and they certainly weren't expecting that accent when they finally heard her speak in a movie. It ruined her image. It happened to a lot of them. Not just Patty.”

  “She could get a voice coach,” I suggested. “Maybe work on getting rid of the accent.”

  “I think she tried that,” Jean replied. “I'm afraid it is too late for her. Sound changed everything for everyone. Not just actors and actresses. Directors could no longer yell out orders during scenes. Everyone had to be absolutely silent on the set during shooting. It was a tough transition. Some
of us made it, some of us didn't.”

  “That explains why everyone was so quiet on the set of White Zombie,” I said. “They were all new to talkies and just sat there in dead silence the whole time. I didn't understand it at the time.”

  “Patty is a nice girl,” Jean said. “But she's not going to make it in movies anymore. Not as a star, anyway.”

  Jean quickly changed the subject to our upcoming movie together.

  “Have you read the script?” she asked. “It is fabulous!”

  “Yes,” I replied. “And George Cukor wants me to adapt the screenplay as we go along.”

  “You mean make changes?” Jean asked. “The actors aren't going to like that!”

  “He wants me to be on set everyday,” I replied. “He asked me to be on hand to add dialogue if needed.”

  “My god!” Jean said. “You see what I mean? I have never heard of anyone doing that in a movie before talkies! He knows you are a famous writer and he is taking advantage of that!”

  “I don't mind,” I said. “I write fast.”

  “Is he paying you extra for this?” Jean asked.

  “I don't know,” I replied. “We didn't talk about money. I am just grateful for the opportunity. I didn't think I'd get in a movie again after walking out on Red Dust.”

  “Get in touch with Elizabeth,” Jean replied, referring to Bela Lugosi's agent. “You need someone to take care of business for you.”

  “She's coming over tomorrow,” I said. “I already signed papers with her when I did White Zombie. She's already my agent, but she's not real crazy about me.”

  “Why is that?” Jean asked.

  “I pissed her off back then,” I replied. “She didn't want Bela to do White Zombie when everyone was on hiatus for a few days after the Graf disaster. And I gave her grief about that and encouraged Lugosi to do it anyway.”

  “She will get over that,” Jean said. “When she finds out you are going to be in Dinner At Eight, she will bend over backwards for you, no matter how much you are paid.”

  “I don't care about the money,” I replied. “I never have.”

  “Everyone cares about money,” Jean said. “So don't tell me that. As long as you don't care about money, you will never have any.”

  “I care about what I am doing at the time,” I replied. “All I need is a roof over my head and food to eat.”

  “And a bottle of bootleg bourbon?” she asked.

  “With friends like you,” I replied, “that has never been an issue.”

  “But wouldn't you like a brand spanking new Packard, Bay?” Jean asked. “You can get that if you want it.”

  “I would,” I answered. “But I would probably end up driving the damned thing into the river.”

  “What on earth would you do that for?” Jean asked.

  “I haven't had an original idea since I was thirteen and wondered how long it would take for a Packard to float down the Hudson River before it sank with me and my buddy Hobbs in it,” I replied. “It turned out the answer was all the way to Hoboken. And by then the cops were waiting for us. This time, I want to own that Packard so they can't do a damned thing about it.”

  Chapter Three

  The first day on the set of Dinner At Eight was marred by news of the death of actress Alma Rubens.

  It was no surprise though. Poor Alma had been addicted to narcotics for years. She was a huge star at one time. Since her first movie, The Half Breed with Douglas Fairbanks, Alma was a major hit. She had made successful motion pictures for a dozen years. But the drugs finally got the best of her.

  Despite the dark shadow that was cast that first day, shooting went on as scheduled. Fourteen hours later, it was time to go home.

  “I am ready for a drink,” Jean said as we walked to our cars. “You want to join me?”

  “Not tonight,” I replied. “I promised Patty I would meet her.”

  “Are you still cheating on me with that little tramp?” Jean kidded.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Just don't tell your boyfriend.”

  “Which one?” she laughed.

  “I told her that I would take her to dinner tonight,” I said. “I really think I am falling for this girl, Jean.”

  “She's a good girl,” Harlow replied. “A bit introverted for an actress, but a good girl.”

  “There's something about her,” I confided. “I can't explain it.”

  “Well you be sure to get some sleep!” Jean said as she stepped into her car. “Don't let that little hussy keep you up all night!”

  I picked up Patty at her little apartment. She seemed to be very happy to see me. But soon after we arrived at Trusser's Restaurant, her mood turned dark.

  “I'm sorry, Bay,” she explained, “but I am just shaken up over what happened to Alma.”

  “It is a tragedy,” I replied. “I almost feel like I knew her. I'd seen all of her films.”

  “I did know her,” Patty explained. “We all knew her in Hollywood. She was a brilliant actress and a dear friend.”

  Patty began crying so I suggested I take her home.

  “No,” she replied, composing herself. “I want to tell you something.”

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “It's not a cozy story,” she explained. “But I have to tell you. It is about my sister, Tammy.”

  Sometimes a dame can make you do things you wouldn't normally do. I'd been single a long time and had done just fine. Now here I was, about to listen to a story that I did not want to hear. If it weren't for the fact that I was falling for this girl, I'd have left in a second.

  “We grew up in vaudeville,” Patty began. “At the age of three, we were appearing on stage with our Mother all across the country.”

  “That sounds fascinating,” I said. “What about your Father?”

  “We never knew him,” she replied. But we had a great life. We were identical twins, so we would often take turns playing the same role.”

  She went on to explain that one night, when it was her turn to perform, she feigned illness.

  “I was just being lazy,” she said. “I wanted to stay at the hotel and listen to the radio. So my sister gladly went in my place. She was much more ambitious than I was.”

  That night, there was a fire at the theater. Her sister Tammy was burned badly on her upper torso. Their mother managed to drag her out of the theater or they both surely would have perished.

  “It should have been me,” Patty said staring off blankly.

  “I am so sorry to hear that,” I replied. “But it wasn't your fault. You had no way of knowing there would be a fire.”

  “I've taken care of her ever since,” Patty said. “She lives in a nursing home in Los Angeles and I visit her often. I just wanted you to know that.”

  I'd never seen a woman so tormented yet so beautiful. It was chilling. I didn't know how to respond.

  “Thank you for sharing that with me,” I said. “I would like to meet her someday.”

  “She won't see anyone but me,” Patty replied. “Her face was burned badly and she can barely walk. She has to use a wheelchair. She wears a veil, but has refused visitors since the accident.”

  We sat in silence for a few seconds. I couldn't think of anything to say.

  “So if I disappear sometimes,” she said, “please understand. I am just going to see my sister.”

  Now some men might see this as an excuse for a dame to skip out on him at any given moment. But I believed her. There's no way anyone could make up a story like that. But just in case, I had to ask her one little question.

  “Where does she live?” I asked.

  “The State Hospital at Patton,” she replied.

  We finished our dinner, such as it was. Both of us barely had two bites. I drove her home and kissed her on the cheek before she stepped out of the car.

  “I am sorry to have ruined the night,” she said, “but this news of Alma's murder made me think I should tell you about my sister.”

  “Murd
er?” I asked. “I thought Alma died of a drug overdose.”

  “Oh no,” Patty replied. “It wasn't a drug overdose! Alma was stabbed to death in her apartment.”

  Chapter Four

  I didn't get much sleep that night. All I could think of was poor Alma and Patty's sister. But Hollywood doesn't wait for anyone. I was back on the set of Dinner At Eight at seven o'clock in the morning.

  Everyone was talking about the Alma Rubens murder. The rumor going around was that housekeepers at a cheap motel found her body. They said there was a lot of blood. The consensus was that it had something to do with drugs.

  Later that evening, I talked to my friend Bela Lugosi about the tragedy.

  “The drug use may have had something to do with it,” Bela said. “But I doubt it.”

  “I'm not buying that either,” I replied. “But it sells newspapers.”

  “Alma was arrested a few years ago for possession of narcotics,” Lugosi said. “It's only natural that people would make the assumption that her murder was related to her lifestyle.”

  “It doesn't seem right, though,” I replied. “I mean, I didn't know her, but I almost feel like I did from seeing her in so many movies.”

  “I didn't know her either,” Bela replied. “But that didn't keep me from crying when I learned of her death.”

  Bela was one class act. He was letting me stay at his house, rent free, as he'd done before. I was very lucky to have him as a friend. The man who was best known for playing a monster had a heart the size Texas.

  “How is your new movie coming along?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  “It is fine,” Bela replied. “But I have made six movies in six months, and they are all horror. I have been typecast, and there's nothing I can do about it.”

  Lugosi was right. He had just wrapped Night Of Terror before I came back to Hollywood, and was halfway through shooting a film called The Devil's In Love.

  “You should be thankful you have film work at all,” I said, kidding him. “Otherwise you would be digging ditches in Transylvania.”