The Amorous Attorney
A Nick Williams Mystery
Book 2
By Frank W. Butterfield
Nick Williams Mysteries
The Unexpected Heiress
The Amorous Attorney
The Sartorial Senator
The Laconic Lumberjack
The Perplexed Pumpkin
The Savage Son
The Mangled Mobster
The Iniquitous Investigator
The Voluptuous Vixen
The Timid Traitor
The Sodden Sailor
The Excluded Exile
The Paradoxical Parent
The Pitiful Player
Nick & Carter Stories
An Enchanted Beginning
Golden Gate Love Stories
The One He Waited For
Their Own Hidden Island
© 2016 by Frank W. Butterfield. All rights reserved.
No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without express written permission of the copyright holder.
This book contains explicit language and suggestive situations.
This is a work of fiction that refers to historical figures, locales, and events, along with many completely fictional ones. The primary characters are utterly fictional and do not resemble anyone that I have ever met or known of.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Author's Note
Acknowledgments
Historical Notes
More Information
Amorous
ˈa-mə-rəs, ˈam-rəs
1. Strongly moved by love and especially sexual love
Attorney
ə-ˈtər-nē
1. One who is legally appointed to transact business on another's behalf
Chapter 1
137 Hartford Street
San Francisco, Cal.
Monday, May 18, 1953
Mid-morning
From upstairs, I heard Carter banging around with something as he was coming in the front door. I knew he'd taken the Buick out to make a purchase on that Monday morning, but that's all I knew. I, on the other hand, had decided to take some time to actually do a little light housework so our sweet, charming bungalow didn't fall into utter ruin.
I called down, "Watcha got there, big boy?"
All I got in response was a grunt.
I decided to let him play with his new toy, whatever it was.
Carter Jones was my husband. Or, at least that was the word we'd decided to try out. He was a big man, standing just about six inches taller than me at 6'4". He had sandy blonde hair, blue eyes, and a seductive Georgia drawl that he had brought with him to San Francisco in '39, when he and his best friend had driven an old Ford across the south, through the desert, and up the California coast.
After about twenty minutes of listening to him move things around, I decided I was as done as I was going to be. I also decided it was time to hire a housekeeper because neither of us was as good at it as a real professional would be. We'd long ago given up on the yard and hired a friend of a friend by the name of Manuel Perez to maintain the whole big mess that was now looking good and respectable.
As I stripped off my need-to-be-burned-now trousers and pulled off my shirt, I heard Carter hobbling up the stairs with his cane. A few months ago, Carter and a firetruck had a misunderstanding and his knee was the innocent victim in the fracas. The doctor had done a swell job of getting him mended and his cane did a swell job of getting him around. I was the primary beneficiary of all the weight lifting he was doing down in our basement in an effort to stay in tip-top form. And, boy, was it tip-top!
Finally rid of all my clothing, which was in a big pile in the corner of the bedroom, I reached into the shower and started the long process of bringing hot water to the second floor from the basement.
I heard Carter ridding himself of unnecessary clothes as well. Any clothes on him when we were alone often struck me as being completely unnecessary, but that was rather beside the point.
Or, at least, I thought it was beside the point until he stomped into the bathroom.
. . .
After once again draining the overworked hot water heater, we were soaping up each other in the walk-in shower.
"So, where'd you go this morning?" I asked.
"Not telling. There's a surprise for you downstairs and I think you'll like it."
I studied his back for a moment, tracing a line in the soap that was running down across various pronounced muscle groups following my once-again futile attempt to wash his shoulders.
"Has Jeffery called yet?"
"No. I talked to Robert about ten minutes before you came in." Robert was Jeffery's very efficient receptionist. "No one at the office knows where is."
"Do you think he's shacked up somewhere with someone?"
I paused. That was my exact thought. And I couldn't tell Carter, at least not yet, who that someone was.
The mystery man was Taylor Wells, who was supposed to be on the lot that morning at Metro down in Culver City doing color tests for the movie he was filming, It Was Raining Then. I had a call into Metro to see if Taylor was actually at work, but I doubted that would be the case.
Carter turned around and looked down at me, his eyes dancing with mischief.
"Are you going to tell me about it?"
I shook my head.
"I can get it outta you, if you want, son."
I wasn't sure if I wanted that or not. We did have a meeting at noon at my office.
"Can I get a rain-check on that?"
Carter ran his right hand along the left side of my face. "I dunno. You seem like you're almost ready to confess."
I shook my head. "We have that meeting at the office. How would it look if the C.E.O. and Chief Fire Investigator were late on the first day?"
On the previous Friday night and into Saturday morning, we had come up with a plan to salvage the careers of Carter Jones, my husband (a word I was still trying to decide if I liked) and current shower buddy, Mike Robertson, formerly of the San Francisco Police Department, Ben White, also a former policeman, and Carlo Martinelli, a former fireman.
Technically, Mike, Ben, and Carlo were just on suspension, but it was indefinite and without pay and likely to become permanent. Carter was now a former fireman, having been plain fired by the Mayor of our fair city at the same time the others were suspended.
This all happened because, on Friday night at dinner, I was an idiot and told off George Hearst, son of William Randolph Hearst, who was on the board of the Hearst Corporation which published The San Francisco Examiner. He deserved being told off because Hearst and The Examiner seemed to think that it was a good business decision to sell papers on the backs of unfortunate homosexual men whose ruined lives were certain once t
heir names, addresses, and places of employment were on page one of that yellow rag.
Of course, George Hearst was just following in the footsteps of his father. From the sinking of the Maine to the internment of innocent Nisei, those Americans of Japanese descent whose lives and property had been unjustly destroyed, there really wasn't a bad idea that the Hearst papers didn't support.
The only person who seemed to be really happy about my public scandal was my evil father who, for the first time in his life, had looked at me with something like pride when Carter had told him the story. Parnell David Williams was no saint, by any stretch of the imagination, so he loved seeing a pompous man like George Hearst get his, and in public.
Unlike my father, I did give a rat's ass about how this event might affect other people. We'd run into a blitz of photographers after the encounter happened. Our faces were pasted on all the papers the next morning, so now all was known. As a result, four men, good and true, had been relieved of their civic duties because they were now known to be associates of yours truly, an avowed homosexual. So I had decided that I needed to come up with an idea that would turn this around from a disaster into, perhaps, the start of something good.
My idea was to create a new kind of business, focused on security. Even today, dripping wet in front of the most beautiful man in the northern hemisphere, I still wasn't sure what this business would become.
However, as Carter had pointed out to me on Saturday, Mike seemed to know. He had run with the idea at my suggestion. He was the President of our little outfit. Or, he would be, if we could ever find the lawyer whose job it would be to draw up all the necessary papers.
At the moment, however, Jeffery Klein, Esquire, was missing, and presumed in flagrante delicato with America's new favorite leading man, Taylor Wells.
Carter was still looking at me. If the water hadn't been running, I thought the room might explode, his eyes were smoldering so intensely.
I just smiled up at him and said, "We need a new water heater."
He smiled his slow Georgia smile.
. . .
At a quarter after noon, we both waltzed in the door of my office. Marnie looked at me and asked, "Late on the first day, Nick?"
I took off my hat and held it in hand, pretending to be penitent.
"It's all Carter's fault."
He was standing behind me, so I couldn't see the face he made at Marnie, but she blushed and started to giggle.
Marnie Wilson was my steadfast secretary. She paid the bills, answered the phone when it actually rang, and could knit a sweater faster than any human should be able to. Up to this point, I'd usually turned away more business than I took in, so I had a couple of those sweaters in my closet.
When I was 21, I had inherited a massive trust from my great-uncle, Paul Williams, who put the word "Gay" in "The Gay Nineties" that San Francisco was famous for. He tended to make money in any financial climate, so I had more money to my name than I could spend in ten lifetimes. Much of it was now working for the public good in the Williams Benevolent Foundation.
But I still had loads of it, and it was getting bigger on its own thanks to the fine men at the Bank of America, so I didn't need the work. I turned away the clients who came in that I didn't like. This was very annoying to the much put-upon Marnie.
But that might be changing today at the formation of Consolidated Security, our new venture and the topic of this meeting.
I asked Marnie, "Have you had any calls from Jeffery's office?"
She shook her head. "No. You want I should call down there again?"
I said, "No. Poor Robert doesn't need us calling him every thirty minutes."
Turning to Carter, I asked, "Can you go in there with the boys for a minute?"
"What? Secrets from one of your business partners? Already?"
His eyes danced and I tried not to blush. I was good at holding a stony face when I needed. But not with Carter Jones, never with Carter Jones.
I said, "This isn't Consolidated business. This is Nick Williams, Private Investigator, business."
He nodded, took off his hat, and hobbled into my office with his cane, closing the door behind him. I tried not to watch him too intently since, even with a bum knee, he was the sexiest thing on two legs.
I pulled up the extra chair and sat down next to Marnie. Speaking softly, I asked, "Did Metro call?"
She nodded. "He hasn't been on the lot today. They wondered if you knew where he might be."
"What'd you tell them?"
"That you would call them when you got in."
I nodded and asked, "Can you call down there and get whoever it was on the phone?"
Marnie pursed her lips. "You ain't gonna like it, Nick."
I rolled my eyes. "Mannix?"
"Yeah. And his instructions were clear. Call him and only him."
I took a deep breath and said, "Well, hell. Call the S.O.B. and let's get this over with."
Eddie Mannix was Metro's fixer. He got their stars and starlets out of any mess they got into, including dalliances with members of the same sex. He hated all things fag and fairy and was always very clear about this fact with me, personally. I had come down hard on him last Wednesday about his own dalliances with a mistress. And that had not gone over very well.
Marnie picked up the handset and dialed the operator. "Long distance, please." There was a pause. "Culver City. Vermont 7336. Person-to-person for Mr. Mannix from Mr. Williams. Time and charges."
I looked at Marnie. "Do you always ask for time and charges?"
She put her hand over the mouthpiece. "I do, Nick. I write it down and always compare it to the bill."
I was fascinated by her efficiency. I would've just paid the damn bill. And probably late.
"Ever been wrong?" I asked, meaning the bill. I knew Marnie was never wrong.
"Four times this year."
I tilted my head. "But it's only May."
She nodded. "Exactly."
I smiled at her. "You're the tops, Marnie."
"I try..." She took her hand off the phone. "Yes, please. Thank you operator."
She put down the receiver. "He ain't in. But the operator will try again in thirty minutes."
I stood up. "Well, Madame Secretary, are you ready?"
Marnie gathered her steno pad, two sharpened pencils, and stood up. "Yeah, Nick."
"Let's go."
Chapter 2
777 Bush Street, 3rd Floor
Monday, May 18, 1953
A few minutes later
The difficult thing about this meeting was that we were missing a lawyer. After about ten minutes of trying to give a pep talk, I realized I was wasting my breath and stopped talking. I looked around the room. Ben and Carlo were surreptitiously holding hands. Carlo looked bored. Ben, frankly, looked horny. Mike was on the edge of his chair, wanting to say something. Carter was leaning back in his chair, with his arms folded which, after a childhood of church meetings twice on Sunday, once on Wednesday, and for two solid weeks in the hot Georgia summer, was his ways of snoozing in public. Marnie had her pencil at attention but hadn't made a single jot or dash.
I stood up and went to open a window to get some fresh air. I looked out into the grassy court behind the building and wondered how a toilet found its way back there. Then I had an idea.
I turned back around and said, "Cancel all the lofty B.S. I just spouted. Let's get down to brass tacks." Marnie was already looking in my direction, as was Carter. The others turned in their seats.
"We don't have a company. Without a lawyer, there's no company." Ben exchanged a look with Carlo, who nodded.
"But, we're on the clock nonetheless."
Mike started to speak, but I lifted my hand. "Let me do this part first, then the floor is yours, Mike." He nodded and leaned against the back of his chair.
"First things first." I looked at Marnie, who put pencil to paper. "Weekly draw." That got Carlo's attention.
"Everyone, until we form a corp
oration or a partnership, draws $200 a week."
Carlo's eyebrows shot up. I figured this amount was about three times what the City and County had been paying him. I was hoping it was at least what Mike had been pulling down as a Lieutenant. His face was blank, so I couldn't tell.
I said, "Marnie, you'll be drawing $250." Ben looked over at her and then back at me, incredulous. I continued, "Because you'll be working more than any of us." I could hear Ben saying in his head, "But she's a girl!" I never had understood this sentiment that seemed so obvious to most men.
I turned and looked at Ben and Carlo. "OK, you lovebirds. Your first paid vacation week starts today." They looked at each other in surprise. "Marnie'll give you the name and address of my travel agent. When you leave here, you go down to see Ralph on Post Street and book a plane or a train or a burro to either Tahoe or Baja California or Catalina Island. Just make sure Ralph sends you someplace where you can fuck like bunnies. Honeymoon starts today."
Ben said, "But--"
I held up my hand. "The trip is on me plus you'll get paid." On Saturday morning, I had given everyone a nice bonus to start with, so I said, "You already have some ready cash for incidentals and sundries, if I'm not mistaken. You two need to get together and find out if this thing between you will work. Plus, there won't be any work for you this week. Just make sure you're back here on Monday."
They both were smiling broadly. The heat in the room went up about five degrees. "I need you to be here for the rest of what I have to say. It won't take long. Then you can get Ralph's address and be on your way." They both nodded.
"Now, I'm not trying to step on your toes, Mike, but I think we have our first case already and it's more in the line of private investigation, which we can do under my license."
Mike looked at me and nodded briefly.
"It's the case of The Amorous Attorney, to borrow phrasing from Mr. Erle Stanley Gardner. We need to go down to L.A. and see if we can find Jeffery and his--"
"His what?" asked Carter, looking at me with those eyes again.
"I'm gonna tell you here in a goddam minute, Mr. Jones. But first, Marnie needs to give Ben and Carlo that piece of paper, so they can get on their way out of town."
Mike asked, "Why did you want them to stay for just that?"
The Amorous Attorney (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 2) Page 1