The Amorous Attorney (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 2)

by Frank W. Butterfield

"Who is it?" came a whisper from not too far away.

  "Nick Williams."

  "Ah, shit." That was Jeffery.

  I pulled myself into the room and shut the door behind me. As my eyes got used to the dark, I could see the two men in silhouette. Taylor, the taller of the two, was smoking a cigarette.

  "You guys have got to clear out now. Louella knows you're here and it ain't gonna be pretty."

  "How did you find us?" asked Jeffery in a low tone, but sounding very aggrieved.

  I sighed audibly and then hissed, "Later. Come on. Let's get outta here. Now."

  I heard a scuffle outside. One clear sock on a jaw and then a thud followed that. Then came the sound of a light bulb being stepped on.

  I turned on the light. Jeffery Klein, Esquire, and Taylor Wells, star of the upcoming hit movie, It Was Raining Then, were both buck naked.

  . . .

  We were all huddled in conference in Bungalow #21. Jeffery and Taylor were dressed. We'd moved all their things into this room as quickly was we could. I'd stuffed three big bills in the photographer's coat pocket, after we moved him, his camera, and the bits of broken bulb under some of the vegetation that lined the pathway to Bungalow #7.

  "Look, Taylor, you have to be on the lot in five hours. Mannix is on the warpath."

  I'd said three versions of this threat in the last twenty minutes.

  Jeffery said defiantly, "I'm a lawyer. We're going to break this contract."

  I looked at him hard. He was obviously in love and delirious.

  "Jeffery. This is Metro-Goldwyn Mayer. No one breaks a Metro contract and lives to tell the tale. No one."

  He looked over at Taylor and took the man's hand. I looked Taylor up one side and down the other. I had to give it to him. He had "the look." It was that indescribable look that could sell a crappy picture by an indifferent director. No wonder Metro wanted to hold on to him. He was literally money in the bank.

  Taylor said, "Jeff's the best, Nick. I'm not afraid to admit that I would trust him with my life."

  Mike, who was leaning against the far wall, snorted.

  Taylor looked affronted. "None of you know Jeff like I do. He's so smart. He's sophisticated. He can go anywhere and do anything. I believe in him."

  I looked down at my shoes and noticed the right one was scuffed. I tried to figure out if it happened in the airplane or sitting at the counter. I was also trying to figure out how to separate them. It was as though they were living on one planet, where anyone can do anything, while the rest of us were living on this planet where Eddie Mannix was itching for a fight. And it wouldn't be the precious movie matinee idol that would be hurt. That's not how the fix went in. That's why Estelle looked at Mike like he'd thrown boiling water on her when he mentioned Mannix's name. Oh, she knew all right. She knew that the bad stuff coming wasn't going to touch darling, handsome Taylor. No. It was going to roll right over Jeffery like a steamroller laying out a new road.

  I looked up at Mike, who seemed to understand the dilemma, which of course he did, being the cop that he always would be, no matter what job he had. He was standing behind Jeffery and Taylor. I looked over at Carter who was sitting on the sofa and appeared relaxed, but I could tell he was ready to jump if he needed to.

  Mike quietly walked up behind Taylor and hit him hard at the base of the skull, before Jeffery could say anything. I'd seem him do this before. Taylor crumbled and fell forward from his chair onto the floor. Jeffery jumped up out of his chair and yelled, "What the hell, Mike?"

  I said, as menacingly as I could, "Sit down Jeffery and shut up."

  He looked at me and was mightily angry, but he did sit down. He folded his arms and said nothing.

  As Mike picked up Taylor and carried him into the bedroom, I leaned in and said, "Now, listen, Jeffery. You have a thriving law practice in San Francisco. You are not going to walk away from that just so you can help this kid. He is gold for Metro. They would sooner kill you than let him go. I'm serious. And you know I'm right."

  I looked at him and waited. He was still furious. But I did see something like comprehension cross his face.

  He opened his arms and said, "I'm gonna sue the force when we get back to the City. No cop can assault a citizen like that, particularly out of jurisdiction."

  Carter said, "Jeffery. When did you last look at a newspaper?"

  Jeffery seemed startled to be asked that question by Carter. I don't know if it was that he thought Carter was mute or that he didn't know what day it was. My bet was on the latter, although it did secretly amuse me to think of Carter being a rampaging mute who just grunted. That was a thought I filed in the back of my mind for later review.

  "I dunno. Maybe Friday. What day is it?"

  I looked at my watch, which now said 1:15. "It's Tuesday."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, Jeffery, really. It's Tuesday morning and four hours and forty-five minutes before all hell is going to break loose."

  Jeffery nodded. "I guess we got carried away."

  "You think so?" I asked, with heavy emphasis on the sarcasm.

  Jeffery shrugged. "I'm in love, Nick. What can I say?"

  "You could recite your California Bar number for possibly the last time because Eddie Mannix will find a way to have it taken away from you."

  Jeffery looked skeptical. "No he couldn't."

  "You committed a felony."

  "But that would mean--"

  "Forget Taylor. What about me?"

  Jeffery paled. I continued, "How hard do you think it would be to prove that you and I copulated indecently?'

  Carter shifted in his seat.

  Mike walked back into the room. "Sorry, Jeffery. I had to break the spell."

  Jeffery turned and said, "I'm going to sue you and the department."

  Mike said, "Really? When was the last time you read a newspaper?"

  "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

  I looked at him and said, "Because Carter was fired on Friday and Mike was suspended indefinitely. These are not City and County employees. These are agents acting under the direction of a licensed private investigator."

  Jeffery asked, "What?"

  "It's a long story, but suffice to say that a lot has happened since you and Taylor went on the lam."

  Jeffery shook his head and looked stunned. "I guess you could have used an attorney, huh, Nick?"

  Finally! The real Jeffery was on his way back from crazy town.

  I nodded. "We're starting up a new partnership and we need you to draw up all the paperwork. You have to come home, Jeffery."

  Carter leaned in and used his four-star southern charm voice. "And you have to leave Taylor here, where he belongs."

  Jeffery put his head in his hands and started to cry.

  . . .

  It was 5:50 in the early morning when we pulled in on Grant Street and stopped just in front of the east gate of the Metro-Goldwyn Mayer lot in Culver City.

  I'd called Eddie at around 3 and let him know his star would be reporting for work at 6. It was a brief conversation. Just a grunt and the line went dead. Perfect ending to a sordid little journey to the southland. But it was a paying client, our first job, and we'd found our lost attorney.

  We did decide to drive back up from L.A., after all. At 7:30, we stopped for breakfast in Ventura at a little diner along the highway. Love made Jeffery lose his appetite. Now that it was over, he ate like he hadn't had anything in days. He put away three eggs, a large stack of flapjacks, some potatoes, and three links of sausage. I just had a cup of coffee. Once Jeffery was about halfway through his flapjacks, I got up and went to use the payphone.

  I dropped my dime and asked for long distance. This phone didn't have a dial. I waited and got the long distance operator.

  "San Francisco."

  "What number?"

  "Underhill 4556."

  "Please deposit--"

  "I want to charge the call."

  "Number?"

  "San Francisco, Pr
ospect 7777."

  "One moment."

  I listened to the clicks and then the line started ringing.

  After about eight rings, a sleepy Marnie answered. "Hello?"

  "It's Nick."

  "Oh, Nick! Where are you?"

  "In Ventura. We're driving back. We have Jeffery. Taylor is on the lot. Case closed."

  "Good, because you have another one."

  "What? Why didn't you call me?"

  "I figured this could wait until this morning. I was gonna call you at the hotel in about an hour."

  "So, what's the case?"

  "You're being investigated by the Bureau for fraud."

  She was referring to The Bureau of Private Investigators and Adjusters, the state agency that kept tabs on private investigators, such as myself.

  I looked around at the diner. There were some obvious regulars who were slinging the local dirt like the cooks who were slinging the hash in the back. The two big waitresses were checking on everyone's coffee. One of them was scratching in a very unladylike way.

  I asked, "Fraud?"

  "Yeah. Seems like they think you obtained your license under a false pretense."

  "What the hell are you talking about, Marnie?" My mind was racing. I couldn't imagine what it was.

  "You didn't disclose a felony violation."

  I should have known.

  "Let me guess. Sodomy."

  "That's the one."

  "How did it happen?"

  "Two fellas came by the office right as I was trying to leave. They asked a bunch of questions about you and Carter and the nature of your relationship. They wanted to know if I knew of any relations. You know. Specific ones."

  I looked around the diner again. It looked normal. I kept hoping for the sound of a falling meteorite that would crush us all into oblivion, but the sun was bright outside and no inclement shadows seemed to be coming out of nowhere, so I guessed I was out of luck.

  "Thanks, Marnie. We'll be back by about 4 or 5. Depends on traffic."

  "Look Nick. They can't take your license away, can they?"

  "They can try. Don't worry, doll. If we get out of the private investigations business, we can always open up a yarn shop. You'd do gangbusters in a place like that."

  Marnie giggled. "Drive safe."

  "Don't go in the office. Go spend some of that dough. Take your mother to tea. Live a little why doncha?"

  There was a pause at the other end of the line. Then a big sniff. "Gotta go, Nick." The line went dead.

  . . .

  I walked back to the table. Jeffery had finished his breakfast as had Mike and Carter. I stood there and looked at the three of them for a moment. If I lost my license, there wasn't going to be a Consolidated Security.

  I asked Mike, "Did you ever talk to that reporter from the Chronicle?" There hadn't been a teaser in the Sunday paper about our new business, like the man had promised. Carter and I had looked.

  Mike wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Guy was supposed to call me yesterday. Did Marnie say whether he'd called?"

  I shook my head. I was still standing. The waitress walked by. I asked her, "Hon, can you make me a fried egg sandwich to go? Fried hard? With mayo and lots of pepper?"

  She nodded. "Sure thing."

  I looked at the three guys again.

  "What is it, Nick?" asked Carter.

  "Looks like the state wants to take away my license."

  Jeffery went pale. "Is it..."

  I smiled at him and said, "No, it's a more recent felony." I looked at Carter who said, "Well, shit." He used about four syllables on the last word.

  Chapter 5

  Driving north on U.S. Route 101

  Tuesday, May 19, 1953

  Mid-morning

  No one said much as we drove up the coast highway. When we got to San Luis Obispo, Mike pulled into another diner where we all got coffee in a paper cup to take with us.

  As we were leaving the diner, Jeffery said, "I've been thinking about the Bureau snooping around and I have an idea that I want to run by one of my lawyers. I also need to call and let Robert know I'm alive."

  We waited in the car while Jeffery spent nearly fifteen minutes, and a small fortune, on his phone call. All billable to me, of course.

  He hung up and walked back to the car with a big smile on his face. He got into the backseat with me and asked, "You haven't been convicted of a felony, right Nick?"

  I nodded. "Not for lack of trying, but no."

  Mike pulled the car out of the parking lot and we were back on the road, passing through the middle of the picturesque little town.

  Jeffery continued, "The licensing law is clear. It's the conviction of a felony not the commission of one. They don't have anything on you. This is just harassment."

  I nodded and felt a little better. Carter asked, "What about morals? Is there a morals clause?"

  Mike laughed. "If there was, there wouldn't be any private dicks in the whole state."

  As we drove north, no one really talked. We were all tired since none of us had slept since the night before. After we were about twenty miles north of town, Mike pulled over and asked, "Who wants to take the wheel?" Jeffery said, "Might as well be me. All I'm doing is sitting here thinking about what an idiot I've been through all this."

  Carter opened his door and pulled himself out of the car. He started to hobble up and down alongside the two-lane highway, which was relatively empty, so he could stretch his legs. Mike moved over to the passenger side and said, "OK, Jeffery, it's all yours."

  When we were settled in, Carter and I were in the backseat. I nodded off after the first five miles down the road while leaning against Carter, under his arm which was holding me tight.

  . . .

  Mike stopped the car in front of The Shell Building, at the corner of Bush and Battery. Jeffery's office was half of the tenth floor of the gleaming white and gold edifice. It was about ten minutes past six. Jeffery had left his car in the building garage plus he needed to take care of some papers on his desk, or so he said.

  I jumped out of the car as Jeffery was grabbing his valise from the trunk. I took him by the arm. "Come on. I have something private to tell you." He looked surprised and wary. And he had every reason to do so.

  I looked through the open window by Mike and said, "You guys wait here. I'll be back in a minute."

  Mike nodded. He had slid back into the driver's seat. I saw Carter shake his head in the backseat. He knew what was coming.

  Jeffery was standing in front of the understated brass door, waiting. He didn't look happy.

  I opened the door and grabbed his arm again, hard. We quickly walked through the lobby, past the closed newsstand and the shuttered shoeshine station. I pressed the "Up" button aggressively.

  The elevator door opened and I pushed Jeffery inside the car. I moved the lever to the "Up" position and the car started to move. I didn't say anything. Jeffery was looking down at his shoes. I waited until we were between the third and fourth floors and then pulled the lever to "Stop." The elevator shuttered and stopped moving.

  I turned to Jeffery.

  "Don't you ever do that to me or any of us again, Jeffery Klein. Do you hear me?"

  He was quiet. "Do you understand?" He nodded.

  I pulled back and punched him hard over his solar plexus. He took it because he knew he deserved it. "And that's so you don't forget."

  He was wincing in pain, but I doubted it was much worse than the anguish he'd been feeling all day. In fact, if it had been me, it would have been a relief.

  I looked at him. Tears were coming down his face. I pulled him in and squeezed hard. I kissed him on the lips like I used to when we were going together.

  "I love you, Jeffery. I'll always love you, you idiot. We gotta find you a guy up here who is on your level."

  Jeffery put his head on my shoulder. "What do you mean, Nick?"

  I sighed. "Taylor Wells is the cat's meow. I get it. But did you believe him when he sai
d you could do anything?"

  "No. That's Hollywood talk."

  "Exactly. You need a guy who's as smart or smarter than you. I hear Einstein is single."

  Jeffery laughed. "I don't know. All that hair."

  "Yeah."

  . . .

  Robert was sitting at the reception desk when we walked in the door of Jeffery's office.

  "Oh, Mr. Klein!"

  Suddenly I realized here was a little handy sympathy. But then I remembered one of those phrases that I know my father didn't make up but he sure made it his own. "Don't shit where you eat, kid."

  He was an evil man, but he did know a thing or two about that particular subject.

  . . .

  I jumped in the front passenger seat, feeling a lot better. Mike pulled the car into traffic and headed up Market towards his apartment.

  Mike lived on the third floor of what, from the outside, looked like a dilapidated old house. It had been split up into apartments during the war. I'd never actually been inside. I had never been invited, for whatever reason. The building sat at 174 Russ Street, South of the Slot between Folsom and Howard Streets. It was an odd neighborhood. More warehouses than actual houses, but there was a market a few feet down at the corner of Folsom.

  He pulled the car to the curb and jumped out. He popped the trunk, grabbed his valise, and then slammed the trunk closed. I slid over behind the wheel while Carter moved to the front seat.

  Mike leaned in through the window. "So glad to be home."

  I smiled, put my hand on his face, and nodded. "Our first case."

  Mike laughed. "I hope the next one involves a waitress telling us where to find our client. That was a damn good grilled cheese, by the way. Think I'm gonna go make myself one right now."

  Carter leaned over me, putting his left arm behind my neck and his right hand on my right thigh, which he then squeezed with his big mitt. He said, "Goodnight, Mike. See you at the office in the morning."

  "Morning? How about noon?" I asked.

  Carter said, "OK. But let's don't make a habit of it."

  Mike laughed again, stood up, stretched, and then walked up to the front door, unlocked it, stepped inside, and was gone.

  I watched him do this. Carter asked, "Ready to go, son?"

  I turned and looked at him, feeling a bit wistful for some reason. He watched me for a moment, smiled his slow Georgia smile, and asked, "Do you realize that all the great loves of your life were in this car today?"