The Amorous Attorney (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 2)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  I laughed. "Sounds like a gay old time to me."

  Jeffery got serious. "Thanks for the cash, Nick."

  "So, tell me about that."

  "My accounts are all frozen."

  "What? What's going on?"

  "My partners are trying to kick me out of the firm."

  "The one with your name on it?"

  He took another drink from the glass and then topped it off with the dregs of the bottle.

  "Not any more. Now it's Kauffman, Rogers, and Bettleman. Or it will be when they get done."

  "Those are the ones you hired fresh from law school."

  "Yep. And it's fine by me."

  I looked at him again. "You look so happy here, Jeffery."

  "I am. Do you know I could just stay down here? Once I get my money, that is. I could stay here. Do a little legal work on the side for the ex-pats. Live like a king."

  "When do you think you'll be able to have access to your money?"

  "I don't know. I had to hire an attorney, whose working on credit, basically."

  "Just like you always did. And do, I bet."

  He just smiled.

  "Look. Don't worry about that. I can extend you however much you want for as long as you need it. I can at least fix things with your San Francisco attorney."

  "Really, Nick? You would do that?"

  "Of course. That's what friends do."

  "Friends and old lovers."

  "Who are you calling old?"

  . . .

  I arranged with Marge to add Rhonda and party to our private dining arrangement and pushed it back to 7:30. When I got back to the room, Carter was sitting outside on one of the chaise lounges in front of the room. His white shirt was unbuttoned. He still had on his trousers, but they were rolled up to his calves. He looked like a million bucks.

  "Hello handsome."

  "Why don't you get comfortable, Nick?"

  I went inside and did just that. When I came out, Carter stood up, reached out his hand, and said, "Let's go for a walk. I want to talk to you about something."

  I nodded, wondering what it was about.

  The warm sand felt nice under my feet. We walked along the edge of the Pacific, letting the cool water get us wet. The beach was empty. The hotel sat at the end of a little peninsula that curved out into the ocean. As we walked, we came to where the beach was bordered by palm trees. All we could hear was the crash of the waves and the sound of the palms swaying in the wind.

  "I love you, Carter." Neither of us had said anything as we walked. I was feeling better than I had in days.

  He stopped and turned to look down at me. He pulled a box out of his trousers and handed it to me. "Here. This is for you."

  I opened it and it was a man's ring. It was a simple gold band. No jewels on it. Just a plain band.

  Carter got down on his knees and said, "I know this doesn't make any sense and is probably a hell idiot thing to do, but ever since I saw you make up with Mike on Saturday..." He looked up at me. "Oh, Nick. My heart went all pitter-patter. When you were standing on the coffee table looking down at him..." He smiled and laughed and so did I. "Ever since that moment, I've been watching you and realizing with a certainty that I want to marry you, son. Hell, I know that's stupid and it doesn't mean anything. But I do love you and the only way I know to make sure you know is to give you this ring."

  I held the box in my hand and looked at it. "Can I put it on?" I asked.

  He stood up and said, "Can I put it on you?"

  I nodded. I knew I wouldn't be able to speak.

  He took my left hand and tried to push it down my ring finger. The ring was too small.

  "Shit." That was three syllables.

  "I guess I got the size wrong. Damn."

  I looked up at him. "Just put it where it fits."

  He smiled and slipped it on my pinky, where it fit perfectly.

  He looked around and then pulled me into a hug. We stood like that for a long time. Finally I said, "We're gonna be late for dinner if we don't go back now."

  He pulled back and looked deep in my eyes. "Do you think some day we might be able to marry?"

  "I dunno. How about we set the date for Mars in two thousand and three?"

  "You gotta date, boy."

  We walked back along the beach. I loved the feeling of letting the wind blow out my white shirt. That brought a completely unexpected sense of freedom.

  I knew I was in love in a way I had never imagined possible. It wasn't because Carter was a man. It was because I had never felt so much affection and warmth and desire to care for any other person in my life. This was good.

  Chapter 12

  Hotel Riviera del Pacifico

  Monday, May 25, 1953

  About half past 7

  Jeffery had said to just show up to dinner as casual as we wanted. We assumed this meant buttoning up our shirts and putting on shoes, at least.

  We tried to do this, but only ended up looking silly. So, we both went with tucked shirts. However, no coat and no tie. Walking towards the main part of the hotel, I realized I felt a little naked without my tie.

  As we walked into the lobby of the hotel, I noticed this section was still full-on Mediterranean. Or what they would call Spanish, in L.A. The ceiling was intricately designed in the Moorish style. And that was about all I knew. And most of that from reading old movie magazines while at sea in the Navy.

  We were the last to arrive in the small dining room Marge had set up for us. There was one large table in the center that could fit all eight.

  I knew Rhonda from her movies and photographs in the newspaper and magazines, but I wasn't prepared for how pretty she was in real life. She stood about 5'2", had short bobbed hair that was naturally blonde. Her famous blue eyes sparkled in the low lighting of the dining room. She reached out her hand and said, "Mr. Williams. It's a real pleasure." I smiled, shook, and said, "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Starling."

  She smiled and said, "Oh, please call me Rhonda, won't you?"

  I nodded and said, "Happy to, Rhonda. My name is Nick." I waited for her to introduce her girlfriend but that didn't seem to be happening. I turned to Carter and said, "This big guy is my friend, Carter Jones."

  She offered her hand, which he shook, after a moment of reluctance. I noticed Carter was still not accustomed to having women offer their hands. He'd once told me that the first time he ever shook a woman's hand was when he and Henry had stopped to grab a bite at a diner just inside California on their cross-country drive out from Georgia. They had got to talking with a woman who was sitting at the counter. Neither of them knew what to do when she stuck out her hand. All the women they grew up around would never have done that.

  "My, you are a tall one, aren't you?"

  I smiled at that oh-so-familiar statement as he said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Starling. I always enjoy your pictures." This was about a 3-star drawl. I wasn't sure why.

  "Oh, do call me Rhonda."

  "Thank you, Rhonda. And I hope you'll call me Carter."

  I looked at the girlfriend, who was drinking some sort of iced drink and sulking. She was cute in a cherubic sort of way, all curves, and messy curly black hair. Still, no offer of introduction was made so I assumed there was a reason and walked over to where Ben and Carlo were sitting.

  They both stood up. Ben, the blonde one with the bright blue eyes, said, "Great to see you, Nick."

  Carlo, with his classic Italian features, nodded. He said, "We've had a great time."

  I looked from one to the other, "So, what's the verdict? Do you think this is going to work out between the two of you?"

  Carlo turned a shade of red. Ben looked me in the eye and said, "I think we have it handled. Thanks again."

  I smiled and said, "Happy to help."

  Carter was talking with Taylor. I went over and sidled up to see what it was about. As I waited for Taylor to finish his story about going out fishing on Saturday, I was once again stunned at how handsome
he was. As I'd noticed every time I'd seen him in person, he really did have "the look." Metro would be crazy to let this guy go. And, if Jeffery had anything to do with it, they weren't going to have to.

  A waiter came up to me and asked, in a thick accent, what I wanted to drink. At first I asked for a Coke with no ice (which is what I'd always been told to drink in Mexico). Rhonda piped up and said, "Nick! You really must have a margarita!"

  "What's that?"

  "It's the house specialty, of course. Did you know that Marge invented it?"

  I had never heard of it, so no was the answer to that question, but I figured she wasn't interested in my answer. I was beginning to very faintly not like her. She was too something. And I couldn't put my finger on it.

  I shrugged and looked at the waiter. "I'll have one."

  "Very good, sir." He asked Carter, who said, "Just Coke for me. And no ice."

  I looked at Carter. "What about a beer? You should try the dark beer they have. What's it called, Jeffery?"

  He had been silent all this time. He piped up, "Negra Modelo. It's good, Carter. Try it."

  Carter nodded and told the waiter that's what he'd have instead.

  Dinner involved several dishes I'd never heard of or seen. Carter was not happy with any of it. Not enough rib-sticking power. We were each given a big glass of what was essentially raw fish doused in lime juice. Rhonda said that's how they cooked it.

  Then one of the waiters came in and made us a big bowl of green goop that involved avocados, tomatoes, and onions. It also had garlic in it. I liked that. Carter wouldn't touch it, of course. He ate some of the fried corn chips, however.

  Then we had a white fish that had been caught that afternoon by one of the other guests staying at the hotel. It came with rice and a sort of relish made mostly with tomatoes but it had a real kick to it. I liked this one, too.

  Carter pushed his food around a bit. I whispered, "Are you still hungry?"

  Southern manners made him say, "No." But I could see he still was. I left the dining room to find Marge.

  I bumped into her in the main lobby area. She was talking to a weaselly looking man, who I assumed was a guest. I stood back a bit so she could see me but not so that I could hear them. They were speaking in Spanish and she was telling him no about something. After a minute or two, he looked over and appeared to recognize me.

  He moved away from her and towards me, "Ah! Mr. Williams!" His accent wasn't bad. I nodded but didn't smile. I didn't like this guy. Whoever he was, he was bad news.

  Marge walked over looking pained and apologetic. "Mr. Williams, may I present Federal Deputy Braulio Maldonado Sandez?" I shook the man's long thin hand. "Pleased to meet you Mr. Maldonado." I was pretty sure it was the first one they used. The man smiled and said, "Please, call me Chucho. That's what all my friends call me." For some reason, I felt like looking around and, sure enough, there were three men standing at various strategic locations, acting as bodyguards from what I could tell. As I glanced around the room, I caught the eye of one of them. He was handsome, with light brown eyes. He smiled and then pulled back his coat to show me his Colt pistol. OK, then.

  Marge was saying, "Don Maldonado is a Federal Deputy for Baja California. That's like a Representative in D.C." I nodded and smiled, waiting to find out what he was so eager to discuss with me.

  Marge continued. As she spoke, I thought I could sense a little fear in her otherwise pleasant voice. "And we're almost sure he's going to be the first elected governor of Baja." She continued, talking more and more rapidly. "You see, last year the territory became a state and so this year we'll be having the first election. And Don Maldonado is guaranteed to win. Isn't that wonderful?" She reached up to her ear nervously and pulled on the ends of her hair as she spoke that last sentence.

  I nodded and said, "Congratulations, Mr. Maldonado." He smiled big and said, "Thank you, Mr. Williams. Now, will you permit me to have a small, private conversation with you, out on the terrace where we may be alone?"

  I really, really wished, at that moment, that I had my gun. But it was in the room. I looked at Marge, who was now plainly afraid.

  I looked around at the three friends, who were closing in and not looking very friendly at all.

  I thought about making a break for it to go get Carter. But, Maldonado was standing between me and the way there.

  So, I bluffed. "Sure. Let's do that. But just you and me. I'm sure whatever you want to talk about is too important for just anyone to overhear, right?"

  I was hoping to get him alone, because I knew I could handle him. But his three friends were definitely too much for me.

  He opened out his hands generously. "But, of course, Mr. Williams. It is a private matter, just between us. No one need hear a thing. Come this way." He had my elbow and began to push me out the door onto the terrace. I decided to play the role of amiable tourist and see how that worked.

  "Sure. You know I really love Mexico. It's so beautiful down here. And the beach. Gosh. We don't have anything like that in San Francisco." By this time we were outside. He got up close to me and asked, "Why are you here?"

  The man really needed to brush. I could smell a variety of aromas on his breath. I replied, "I'm here for a couple of days to visit some friends."

  "Oh, I read the papers, Mr. Williams. I know all about you and your friends. So nasty. So dirty."

  He was still too close to me. I didn't like anyone but Carter to be that intimate. But I didn't say anything. I waited for him to tell me what he wanted. I assumed this would be a shake-down of some sort.

  "Again, I ask you Mr. Williams, why are you here?"

  "It's like I said. I'm here to visit friends."

  "So, you are not here for any other reason?"

  I was baffled. "What other reason could their be?"

  "I know your kind." I wasn't sure if he meant the dirty homosexual kind or the filthy rich kind.

  "My kind?"

  "Yes. The rich playboy who goes where he wants. Buys... what he wants."

  "Well, I don't get much out of San Francisco. I like it there. As for buying things, I don't really..."

  "Don't play games with me. Did someone ask you to come to Hotel Riviera del Pacifico to buy it from Doña Rocha?"

  This was what this was about? For Pete's sake.

  I shook off his hand. "No. I can tell you, for a certainty, that I have no interest in buying this hotel. None whatsoever."

  He stepped back and pulled down his coat and straightened his tie. In this light, I liked him even less. His eyebrows were too bushy. Plus, he was cross-eyed. This guy was going to be the next governor? Such a charmer.

  "Well, I am glad we are very clear about this, Mr. Williams. I hope you enjoy your stay in Ensenada. It's a fine city." He looked out into the night. "One day, I am thinking, I will own this hotel. Do you think that I should do this?"

  I tried not to laugh. How we went from shoving and threats to appeals for business advice, I wasn't quite sure. But I shrugged and said, "I wouldn't buy it."

  He smiled. "Oh no. I will not buy it. I will just own it." In light of what had happened a few years ago with the phone company in Mexico and years earlier with the oil industry, I suddenly understood. Why buy when you can expropriate?

  I simply smiled and said nothing. He turned and walked back into the main lobby. I reached around to see if I could find a cigarette in any of my pockets. I heard Carter's voice say, "Looking for these?"

  He stepped out of the shadow and offered me a Camel. I took one and let him light it for me, holding his hand in gratitude. I took a deep breath and asked on the exhale, "How long were you there?"

  "I was actually out here looking for you when y'all walked out. I didn't know where you went. And that Rhonda..."

  I took another drag and then handed it to him. He sucked on it and then blew the smoke up into the sky.

  "I know. I want to like her but there's something not right there."

  "And what about the girlfrien
d she never introduced?"

  I nodded and smiled up at him. "Gee, Carter. You're swell." This was a line from one of Rhonda's movies.

  "I oughta knock your block off for saying that."

  I offered him the last drag of the cigarette. He shook his head, so I dropped it and rubbed it out with the toe of my shoe.

  Chapter 13

  Hotel Riviera del Pacifico

  Monday, May 25, 1953

  About half past 8

  Carter and I walked back inside the hotel and up to Marge, who was standing where I'd left her, looking mortified. I asked, "How long has he been harassing you?"

  She looked up, startled. "Does it show?"

  "Like a spotlight. So, what's the score?"

  "The score, Mr. Williams, is that he is constantly shaking me down."

  I didn't need to ask how much, because that number probably changed on a weekly basis. I nodded. "And his three friends?"

  "They're known as Los Pistoleros. The Gunslingers."

  "They look like they mean business."

  We were standing out in the open lobby. She looked around warily. "They do." She said that with a whisper.

  "Can I help?"

  "No. My husband has tried to get the local police to investigate, but they are already bought and paid for, as far as we can tell. So, now we're waiting to hear from the Federales, the national police. Like the F.B.I."

  "Where is Mr. Rocha?"

  "He's in Mexico City. He flies back in tomorrow afternoon." She looked at me and then up at Carter. "Why are you both here?"

  I asked, "You know who Eddie Mannix is?"

  She nodded. "He makes me glad I never went for pictures."

  "He's a..." I paused. She laughed. "He's a mean son-of-a-bitch, a raving asshole, and he'd kill his own mother if it would help the bottom line at Metro."

  I smiled. "You're right. You could say we're here on a little business for him."

  She nodded, smoothed out her black dress, and looked more sure of herself. "Now, you came to see me. What can I can I help you with?"

  I hooked my thumb in my husband's direction. "Carter needs something to eat."