by George Baxt
“That’s real sound flunkin’. Which is why you’re a detective and I ain’t.” Hands on hips, her favorite place for them, she spotlighted Timony. “Jim, why’d you book Beverly into the Tailspin?”
“You told me to get her a job, for crying out loud. They had an opening and were glad to have your sister.”
“You have a sister?” Agnes was truly astonished.
“Yeah, honey, and someplace there’s a brother, John. Not too sure about where he’s landed, but Beverly is somethin’ else again. You know what she does in her act? She does me. She’s another Mae West impersonator. We’re the same size. She wears my castoffs when I’m in the mood to do any castin’ off. Oh, Christ—sorry, Father—now she’ll be in danger too! Jim, we need to audition some muscle for Beverly too. She likes Eye-talians especially. See if you can find a couple of nice ones. Maybe I’ll lend her Steel Cheeks!”
The Indian jumped to his feet and spoke ferociously. “No! I protect you and only you! I will never leave your side!”
Mae wiggled her hips. “Now, ain’t that touchin’? He’s better than a Labrador retriever and a hell of a lot more fun. Seymour, you’re a treasure and I’m glad I dug you up. Leavin’ so soon, Father?”
Father Riggs went to her and took her hand. “Yes, I have choir practice in half an hour.”
“Oh, yes, choir practice. Is it an all boy choir?”
“Oh, indeed.”
“Oh, yeah? In good deed or bad deed? I’ll have to come around some day and give them the onceover, maybe give them a few pernters about life. I’ll see if I can fit them into my busy schedule.”
“And thank you again for your generous donation.”
“Just remember to mention me in your prayers. It looks like I might be needin’ all the help I can get.”
“I always bless you, Mae.”
After he departed, Mae said, “He’s too damned gorgeous to hide his light in the confessional. I’m gonna have a talk with Lupe Velez. That nutty Mexican is Catholic, and if anyone can smoke him out, she can. What’s botherin’ you, Agnes? You got that weird look again.”
“It’s you, Mae.”
“Cut it out. Don’t talk like that. You’re beginnin’ to scare me.”
“You need protection, Mae.”
“Well, Jim’s gettin’ it for me, so cut out that mumbo jumbo. If you’re all that good a witch, why ain’t you castin’ a spell of protection over me?” Desdemona entered from the kitchen. “Hey, Desdemona, how’s the market in rabbit’s feet?”
“Bad for rabbits.”
“She makes jokes yet!” Mae exclaimed in exasperation.
“Goneril wants to know how many for lunch.”
“Oh, tell her to lay it out on the sideboard buffet style. Anyway, I just lost my appetite to a vampire. And tell Goneril I’ve had enough of those Aunt Jemima pancakes!”
Desdemona shrugged and left. Herb Villon asked Mae, “Now it’s my turn to say a dollar for them.”
“It’s kind of a crazy notion, but I was suddenly thinkin’ about Gladys George.”
“Should I know her?”
“If you appreciate good acting, you should. She’s a Broadway name out here doing a picture at Paramount. She was the star of Personal Appearance, the pitcher I’m doin’ now, y’know, Go West, Young Man. She wanted to do the pitcher herself and got sore as hell when Paramount said they wanted me to do it. So they offered her Valiant Is the Word for Carrie. She took it—a mother role, for cryin’ out loud—and now she stares daggers at me every time our paths cross, which gratefully ain’t too often. So help me Hannah I tried to convince my producer, Manny Cohen, to give her the damned movie. I never wanted to do it in the first place. I like to write my own stuff. In fact, I had to rewrite this script because there wasn’t the real feel of Mae West in it.” There was a wicked twinkle in her eyes. “And to be real good you gotta have the real feel of Mae West. Ahhh, they wouldn’t let me do Catherine the Great because it’s only been a couple of years since Dietrich did hers. So then I says, okay, boys, how’s for me doin’ Joan of Arc and I seduce the dauphin of France and set myself up in a nunnery which is a front for a house of prostitution? Everybody starts crossin’ themselves. Even my producer, and he’s Jewish. I knew I couldn’t win.”
In the kitchen, Desdemona announced, “No more Aunt Jemima pancakes.”
“Sheeee-it,” roared Goneril, who was actually Desdemona’s older sister. “I just bought more stock!”
In the living room, Mae was dismissing Jim Timony, sending him and Seymour Steel Cheeks on their scouting expeditions to the local gymnasiums. “Only first-class contenders, boys, no stumblebums.” She watched them leave, then returned her attention to the detectives. “You know, it’s not as though I don’t have enough to worry about these days. My supportin’ players are a bunch of prima donnas. I got Alice Brady from the Broadway Bradys—her father William is a great producer and married to a terrific actress, Grace George. Alice is pretty damn good herself, but now she’s doin’ supports and she still can’t live with it. To think she once had an affair with Clark Gable. Then there’s Elizabeth Patterson. Now she’s been around since the year one. I like Liz but she keeps tryin’ to upstage me. Me! That’s like tryin’ to move the Empire State Building! I got two leading men. One, Randolph Scott, he’s on his way up. Warren William is the other one, and he’s on his way down. Randy is cute but not very randy. Randy has a stopwatch and clocks every scene he’s in. Acksherly, I like a man who times his takes.”
“Seriously, Mae,” said Villon, “we’ll have to get some protection for your sister too.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Mae reassured him. “My protection will be her protection. She’ll be stayin’ here with me. And let me tell you, if that vampire tries sweepin’ into my all-white domain, he’ll have two firebrands to contend with. Remember, we were born and brought up in Brooklyn so we know how to hold our own. It was a pretty tough neighborhood but we learned to give as good as we got, which we soon didn’t get too often. Our father was Battlin’ Jack West.”
Jim Mallory came to life. “A prizefighter?” He was a sports nut.
“And what a prizefighter. The only person he couldn’t lick was my mother.” She paused. “That didn’t sound right, did it?” The four enjoyed a good laugh.
Agnes Darwin smothered the mood. “It’s still with me. That uneasy feeling is still with me. I shall prepare fetishes for you and Beverly.”
“What in the hell are fetishes?”
“They ward off evil. They’re a specialty of African witch doctors.”
“Well, I ain’t goin’ to no Africa, much as I like black people.”
“You don’t have to go anywhere. I can get what I need at the Witches’ Brew.”
“What’s that?”
“An occult supermarket on Fairfax Avenue.”
“What I need is real protection against vampires. A platinum cross around my neck, maybe set with a dozen diamonds or so. I’ll have the girls put garlic on all the windows. I’ll add more mirrors to the place because vampires don’t cast no reflections. And anyway, a girl can’t have enough mirrors around.” She spoke seductively to Jim Mallory, whom she now realized also had a strong pair of shoulders under his badly fitting jacket. “I like to look at m’self from all sides, especially after I’ve soaked for a long time in a well-salted bath. And there go them damn chimes again.”
Agnes Darwin’s stomach growled ferociously. “I need food,” she announced to everyone.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Mae, waving Agnes back as she started to rise from the couch. “Just as soon as I conclude my next audience.”
Desdemona entered and announced, “Rabbi Morris Rothfeld.”
Mae smiled and said, “I always offer equal time. I help the rabbi’s synagogue. And besides, my mother was half Jewish. Hello, Rabbi! Come on in! Ain’t he gorgeous? He’s the youngest rabbi in captivity and ever since I met him I’ve been doing my damndest to be a rabbi rouser. Don’t be so shy, Rab
bi, you and Father Riggs have the kind of good looks that should be shared with the world. Come meet my friends! Desdemona! My checkbook, my bottle of ink, and my quill. Rabbi, this is Agnes Darwin, a real, authentic, practicin’ witch.”
“Delighted to meet you,” said Morris Rothfeld, while wondering which witch did her hair.
“And these are my two detective friends, Herb Villon and Jim Mallory.” They shook hands. “I’m sure you’ve been reading about how my impersonators are gettin’ themselves murdered.”
“I most certainly have.” His voice was baritone and imposing. Mae was sure he made the synagogue windows rattle during the Jewish high holidays. “And, Mae, I have brought you protection.”
THREE
“WELL, HOW ABOUT THAT!” EXCLAIMED MAE as she led the rabbi to the desk. He fished a small rectangular metal disk from his jacket and held it in the palm of his hand for her to see. “It’s so nice to know there are so many good friends interested in my welfare.” She examined the metal disk. “What is this ‘thing?”
“It’s called a mezuzah. Inside there’s a tiny scroll inscribed with biblical verses. They’re from Deuteronomy. You nail it to the panel to the right of your door.”
“You mean outside in the hall?”
“That’s right. Every time you enter your apartment, you kiss your fingers and then press them against the mezuzah. That is for health and for safety.”
“Mezuzah, eh? Sounds like a Greek appetizer.” She spoke to Mallory. “Hey, gooddookin’. Make yourself useful. Get a hammer from the girls in the kitchen. They’re the keepers of the tools. They also got nails. Hammer this here thing in place. I ain’t wastin’ any time givin’ myself protection, right, Rabbi?”
“Right. Just always remember to kiss the mezuzah.”
“Somehow I’m thinkin’ there’s a double intended there.” She signed her name to the check with a flourish, placed the quill aside, tore the check from the book, and waved it to dry the ink. “Y’know, Rabbi, I oughta set up a double screen test for you and Father Wally. Y’interested?”
“If it means money for my synagogue, then I’m interested. But I’m not an actor.”
“You’re one hell of a singer.” She said to Agnes and Herb Villon, “Rabbi invited me to a Friday night service and I was happy to attend, even though it meant skippin’ the fights. It was a real interestin’ experience. I ain’t never been inside a synagogue before. I mean, my mother bein’ half Jewish didn’t mean she was religious. That sort of stuff didn’t interest her. She only cared about us kids. Anyway, in this here synagogue I gotta sit upstairs in the balcony with the women, isolated from the men, get it? Rabbi turns me over to his wife, Goldie, right?”
“Goldie is right,” said the rabbi. “Goldie is always right, or else.”
“Come on now, Rabbi, Goldie’s okay. I like her. And let me tell you, Herb and Agnes, out comes Rabbi wearin’ his skull cap, a prayer shawl draped around his shoulders, with a choir of a dozen boys for backup. Then he opens his mouth and all of a sudden I’m nervous, like it’s his opening night. But then, there came from his mouth the most glorious sounds I have ever heard. And I’ve heard Caruso and Chaliapin and Lawrence Tibbett, and let me tell you, they don’t hold a candelabra to Rabbi here. Why, Rabbi, you’re blushin’. Ain’t he adorable. And look at those shoulders.”
“Mae, please, you’re embarrassing me.”
“Put this check in your wallet and use some of it to take your wife to the Brown Derby for dinner. Tell me when you want to go and I’ll set it up for you.”
“Thank you, but we don’t go to fancy places like the Brown Derby. They don’t serve kosher food.”
“So go for some coffee and cake and look at the movie stars. Goldie could use a night out.”
They could hear Mallory hammering the mezuzah to the panel.
Mae smiled and said to the rabbi, “I guess that’s sweet music to your ears. It’s just as sweet to mine. Join us, Rabbi. We’re going to have some lunch.”
“Thank God,” said Agnes as she jumped to her feet. Mae took the rabbi’s arm. She was genuinely fond of the young man.
“I’ve already had my lunch,” he lied, “but I’d enjoy some coffee.”
“Don’t kid me, Rabbi. My food ain’t kosher, but I understand. I had a Jewish lover once, and I was crazy about him. But it didn’t work out.”
“What a shame,” said the rabbi. “What went wrong?”
“He had a Jewish mother.”
Mallory joined them and smacked his lips at the lavish buffet. “The girls lay a nice spread.”
“And they’ve got the spreads with which to do it,” said Mae. “Hey, Rabbi. Here’s smoked salmon and smoked whitefish. Real kosher! Don’t they fit the bill?”
“They most certainly do,” agreed the rabbi. Dcsdemona and Goneril stood on either side of the sideboard, beaming with pleasure.
“I have to thank you book ends for considering Rabbi might join us for lunch.”
Goneril sniffed and said, “I always keep a kosher kitchen.” Mae winked at the rabbi. “Goneril’s always cooked for Jews.”
“Indeed?” said the rabbi. “How did she come to you?”
“I won her in a crap game.”
When all were seated at the dining table, the rabbi lowered his knife and fork and looked at Mae. If only her detractors knew what a truly lovely woman she was. Her physical attributes couldn’t hold a candle to her beautiful soul and the warmth of her heart. If they could see the numbers on the check she had written. If at Christmastime and other times of the year they could be there when he and Goldie opened the cartons she sent to the synagogue. Clothes. Shoes. Canned goods for the needy. Cookies for the children. Even movie magazines, especially those that featured her on their covers.
“Rabbi,” said Mae, “somethin’ wrong with your eyes? They’re all misty.”
“I’m sorry. I’m a very sentimental person. My wife says when we go to an occasional movie, the minute I hear the opening music, I cry at the credits. But in truth, I was thinking of you and your warmth and your generosity and so many repay you with lip service.”
“This here lip service. Is it another double intended?”
“Lip service is insincerity,” explained Villon.
“Oh, yeah?” said Mae, picking a bone out of her whitefish. “When I get lip service, honey, it’s never insincere.” The rabbi laughed. “Look at those teeth, will ya. What about them, Agnes. Pure white and shinin’ like spotlights. Now there’s a set of teeth I wouldn’t mind sinkin’ into my neck.” The rabbi was blushing again. “Say, Rabbi, you ain’t a vampire by any chance, are you?”
“Jews could never be vampires,” he replied solemnly. “Ah though during the many inquisitions we have suffered over the centuries, our people have been accused of drinking the blood of children. And sadly, today, this monstrous myth is being revived and perpetrated in Germany. Tell me, Mr. Villon, like just about everyone else, I’ve been reading about these awful murders. Is Mae really in danger?”
“As a precaution and for security reasons, we have to look on these killings as a possible threat to Miss West’s life.”
“Don’t be so formal, Herb, call me Mae just like all the cops in my life have called me.”
“You like cops?” asked the rabbi with charming ingenuousness.
“Sure I like cops. Most of them are very interestin’.” She was smiling at Jim Mallory. “Especially the way they use their nightsticks.”
“Now, Mae,” admonished Agnes the witch, “enough of your double entendres. You’re making the fuzz uncomfortable.”
“Well, now they know how I feel with this death threat hanging over my head. Up till now, I always thought vampires were a pain in the neck. Now they’re starting to drive me bats. Why isn’t Paramount Pictures doin’ something about protecting me?”
“They are,” Herb Villon comforted her. “I met with their security police this morning and they’re on the alert. You’ll be well protected.”
“I know all the boys in security,” said Mae as she stirred a cup of coffee. “I’ve interviewed each and every one of them personally. Most have recovered. They’re a very agreeable bunch except for a few stubborn ones who insist on bein’ faithful to their wives. Now tell me, Rabbi, you got any theories on why these killin’s?”
“I’ve got a theory, and then there’s Goldie’s theory.”
“Let’s hear Goldie’s first.”
“Well, she thinks there’s a religious fanatic at large.”
“I can’t think of a vampire being a religious fanatic.”
“I don’t believe vampires exist,” the rabbi said flatly.
Mae shifted in her seat. “Then how do you explain them puncture marks above the jugular?”
“With all due respect to the very competent detectives sitting here, I think they’re a red herring.”
“They don’t sound like any kind of fish to me, no matter what the color.”
Agnes had lit a cigarette. “Mae, sweetie, don’t you read detective stories?”
“I ain’t got no time, don’t you know that by now?”
Agnes exhaled a smoke ring and said, “Red herrings are as important to detective stories as tall tales are to a liar. In other words, red herrings are false and misleading clues.” She added somewhat pompously, “The expression is of British origin. During fox hunts, a herring would be drawn across the trail to confuse the hounds.”
Mae waved the smoke of Agnes’s cigarette away from her face and said with irritation, “Now, who would want to pull a dirty trick like that?”
“A fox lover,” snapped Agnes, while taking the hint and drowning her cigarette in her cup of coffee.
“Forgive the interruption, Rabbi, but from what my friend Herb here has told me, the coroner insists those are actual fang marks.”
The rabbi shrugged. “I’m sure there exists some sort of sharp instrument with double prongs that could leave a simulation of fang marks. Or else the instrument could be designed and made by a competent toolsmith. Isn’t that possible, Mr. Villon?”
“Anything is possible in a murder case, Rabbi. And I’m open to all suggestions. I like yours a lot. We’ll have to look into that idea, Jim. Anyway, Rabbi, it wasn’t the bite that killed the victims. Although it drew blood, it was a knife to the heart that finished them off.”