by Jack Lynch
Otto said Cookie Poole had first phoned that morning, then later met with investigators. Cookie said he’d been visiting some people in Los Angeles the past few days. He’d returned home the afternoon before, only to find the dead body of his friend, Benjamin Kempe, on the front room floor and a strange white dude using the phone in the kitchen. He had panicked and run.
Cookie’s Los Angeles story checked out, even if the people he was visiting there had a certain reputation of their own among Los Angeles authorities. Cookie hadn’t been much help when they tried to get background information on his friend Kempe, which didn’t surprise anybody. Officers at the sheriff’s substation in Marin City said Cookie and Kempe were street-corner drug dealers in the area, among other things. They didn’t have anything to charge Cookie with, though, and after questioning, he’d been allowed to leave.
“I was at this point going to ask what your interest was in a punk like Cookie Poole,” Damstadt told me, “only it occurs to me that you strongly resemble the description of the white dude he says he found inside his house yesterday with the dead body.”
“It was me, Otto, but I’d just gone inside and found the body myself. I was phoning you people when Cookie came in. Did he tell you he tagged me alongside the head with an automatic pistol?”
“I don’t remember seeing anything like that in the report.”
“He probably didn’t want to tell you about the gun. I was stunned for a couple of minutes, then tried to follow him. He lost me somewhere up around the College of Marin.”
“What were you doing at his place yesterday?”
“I’m doing a job, and his name came up. I thought he might be able to give me some information. I’m still trying to get in touch with him.”
“In this job you’re doing, did Kempe’s name come up as well?”
“No, I’d never heard of him until I found his body. I’m pretty sure there isn’t any connection between my job and the murder.”
“If you learn otherwise, you’ll drop by and tell us all about it.”
“Of course, Otto. You know I’d help out if I could.”
“That’s nice. We can use all the help we can get these days.”
“You always could. Anything special about now?”
“No. Just things in general. We have a new top man, you know.”
“I recall something like that from the last election. What’s his name?”
“Lawton. Sheriff Randall Lawton.”
“You sound as if there might be a little unrest in the ranks.”
“Top to bottom, pal. But don’t tell anyone where you heard it. And do the department a favor, will you? Don’t find us any more bodies.”
I assured him it wasn’t a favorite pastime, and we told each other we’d have to get together one day. I phoned Cal Gentle again. He had managed to get pretty close to Cookie Poole, but hadn’t actually made contact yet. Somebody was still working on it for him. He expected to hear back later in the evening. I asked him to try setting up a meeting for me. That night, if possible. I told Cal I’d phone back in a couple of hours.
I drove down into town for a seafood salad, then strolled down along the low sea wall along Bridgeway to the Sea Deck—the bar, restaurant and jazz spot where Shirley said she worked. It was a clear night, and San Francisco looked like a lit-up magic kingdom across the Bay waters. It was eight miles across the choppy water to the city, but on a night like that, it looked close enough to swim to.
The jazz combo didn’t start until nine o’clock, but from the crowd noise I heard when I stepped inside, something must have been going on. The entryway had a couple of stairs and wound back to open onto a landing with checkroom and restrooms on one side and a bar on the other. Stairs went down to lower levels that had tables and chairs. The band area was on the lowest level. Large, windowed walls converged to form a glass prow pointed toward downtown San Francisco. Beyond sliding glass doors on the lower level was a broad outdoor deck with more tables and chairs.
The combo was just setting up instruments, or rather looked as if they had been setting up when something else had attracted their attention. There was a jazz tape playing on the house sound system, and when I stepped around a large fern at the top of the stairs leading to the lower levels, I could see what everybody was getting charged up about. A girl was in one corner with her back to the crowd doing a pretty sexy dance all by herself. One of the things that made it sexy was her outfit. She’d stripped down to her panties and bra, and now was snapping the elastic band of her panties as if they might go next.
The place wasn’t all that crowded yet, but the people who were there were enjoying it, yelling and whistling their encouragement and clapping in beat with the music. The performing girl shook some hair out of her eyes as she swayed with the music and turned toward the crowd, her head raised, her eyes closed. She reached her hands up behind her back, working on the bra snap.
That’s when I recognized the performing girl. She was my date from the night before, Terri Anderson. She was slack-mouthed, and looked half smashed. Her brother Duffy was sitting with Melody at a nearby table. Melody, in nautical white slacks and a red-and-white striped shirt, was watching the performance deadpan. Duffy looked on with a horrified expression as if he were frozen to his chair.
I saw Shirley then, wearing a long, filmy green gown at the service counter at one end of the bar. I crossed to her. She was watching Terri’s performance with a pained look. I touched her arm, and she recognized me.
“I know the girl over there,” I told her. “She’s probably had too much to drink. I’m going to get her out of here. Ask someone to cut the music for a minute.”
Shirley nodded and called to the bartender. I went down to circle around the combo. Terri still had her hands behind her. I pulled them down and took her arm. Her eyes snapped open.
“Okay, Terri, that’s enough.”
She glared at me and tried to twist away. I squeezed some more until her face winced.
“Sorry folks, the show’s over,” I told the crowd.
There were some disappointed groans, but others began to applaud as the house music went down. Terri tried to say something. I couldn’t tell what because of the noise around us and the way she was slurring her words. But I don’t think she was trying to tell me how much she admired me. I paused at the table where Melody and Duffy sat.
“You’re going to have to drive her home,” I told the boy. “Melody, how about getting her clothes and taking them to the rest-room?”
Melody got up and began scooping up a blouse, sweater and pair of jeans from a nearby chair. Just before we got to the stairs, our way was blocked by a tall young guy who got up from a table beside the aisle.
“Why don’t you let her go, mister; she wasn’t hurting anything.”
“It’s past her bedtime,” I said, and started to push by, but he didn’t want to move.
“Cut the crap, mister. She didn’t come in with you.”
He was one of those people who didn’t like disappointments. I moved Terri from my right to my left and grabbed her other arm with my left hand.
“Sorry, mister,” I told the jerk while plunging a fist into his stomach. I tried to keep it a short, crisp punch, so as not to cause any more of a row than I already had on my hands. It was a good shot, and it worked out well. I heard the wind come out of him in a mighty chuff, and he folded back part way onto his chair, but finally toppled off one side onto the floor. I hustled Terri on up the stairs. She was being reluctant about it, but she was looking at me in a funny new way. Melody was right behind us.
“What did you do to that boy?” Terri asked.
“What difference does it make?” I told her, dragging her over to the rest-room door.
Melody opened it. “You don’t waste a lot of time, do you?” she asked me.
“Not on people like that. Throw some cold water on this one and get her dressed.”
I gave Terri a shove through the door. Melody followed. I went
over to wait for them by the bar. The combo down below had started playing, and the crowd calmed down. Somebody had helped the jerk up and out onto the deck, where he was folded over the rail and taking shallow breaths. Shirley saw me, and after delivering a drink order she came over, giving me one of those wickedly nice smiles she’d shown me the day before.
“You do that nicely, pardner.”
“I’m sorry about the guy. I had to stop the girl. She’s bored, headstrong and drunk. If I hadn’t stopped her, she’d by now be sitting in the piano player’s lap without any clothes on.”
“I’m glad you did stop it. She could have started a riot. One minute she was dancing and people were applauding. That was all right. The next time I looked around, she had half her clothes off.”
“Her brother should have stopped it sooner.”
“Is he here?”
I glanced around. “Yeah. He’s the one with the apple-red face standing over by the rest-room door.”
“Oh, him. He and his black friend are regulars. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Not now, thanks. I still have work to do.”
She gave me a funny look. “What sort of work do you do?”
“It varies. I look into things for people.”
“That almost answers my question.”
“I guess there’s no sense in trying to keep it from you. Too many people in this town already know me. I’ve been a licensed private investigator for several years now. But you don’t have to go out of your way to tell Red Dewer that, just yet.”
“Is he part of something you’re looking into for somebody?”
“He’s connected in a way. It might be pretty innocently.”
“You told me you were going to offer him a job.”
“I did offer him a job and he turned me down flat. But that was a part of my way of trying to find out other things.”
“You don’t talk a lot about your work.”
“No, and that’s mostly to protect people. Not just the client, either. Sometimes things get complicated, and you have to question a whole bunch of people. That doesn’t mean any of them are troublemakers, necessarily; they just have information. If I started blabbing to third parties about all the people I’m questioning, it might tarnish their reputation unnecessarily with foxy local cocktail waitresses.”
She lit up the dimness around us with another smile. “You’re cute, but then I already told you that.”
“Yeah. How did things go today at the civic center?”
“Rotten. Now they’re starting to talk again about bringing everything up to code and spending a bunch of money on sewer lines to shore.”
“They were put up to that last night by a couple of people involved in the Shores project. I overheard them talking about it.”
The bartender called for Shirley. “I’d like to hear more about that,” she told me. “Will you be around for long?”
“Probably not. I just came by to say hello. If I can get back later, I will.”
“Okay. Otherwise, you know where I live. I get off around midnight.” She touched my arm and moved back toward the bar.
Terri and Melody were just coming out of the rest-room. Terri still looked contrite, but at least she had her clothes back on. I crossed to them.
“Where are you parked?” I asked Duffy.
“Up the street a ways.”
“I’ll tag along until she’s settled inside.”
He nodded and our jolly little band made its way outside. Duffy was being solicitous toward his sister. She jerked her arm away from him and hiked along at a pretty good clip. Melody hung back and tugged briefly at my sleeve. She waited until the other two were out of hearing range.
“She’s mad, but not all that much with you. I think she just has a lot of hostility.”
“I think so too.”
“Last night she was mad at you, but not back there. She knew she’d been making a fool of herself. It sort of surprised her when you stopped things, but what you did to the young man really impressed her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that sort of thing impresses her. So she talked about last night, did she?”
“Yes. You were a fool not to take her home for a little loving. I think she needs that.”
“Why doesn’t she pick on somebody her own age?”
Melody almost laughed, but she recovered and gave me a straight answer. “She doesn’t need somebody her own age. She needs somebody your age.”
Duffy and Terri had arrived at the car. It was a dark blue Porsche, brand new. Duffy was holding open the door as Terri dumped herself into the passenger side, then grabbed the door out of Duffy’s grasp and slammed it. He crossed to the driver’s side and Melody went up to him and gave him a little kiss.
“You hurry back, big stuff.”
“Where will you be?” he asked.
“I’d like a drink somewhere with Mr. Bragg here.” She turned. “That all right with you?”
“Sure. How about up at the No Name?”
She nodded, and turned back to Duffy. “I’ll be there for one drink, then either go back to the Deck or along home. If I’m not at one place, I’ll be at the other.”
“Okay.”
Then, and I couldn’t believe it, he took her in his arms in a big embrace and kissed her deeply, all the while looking over at me as if to show me who the woman belonged to. I looked away and tried not to roll on the ground laughing. When I heard the car door open, I turned back and tried to keep my expression down to a polite smile. Duffy started the engine, gave me another look and drove off.
Melody dabbed at her mouth briefly with a tissue and flashed a look that could have meant anything.
“That boy does express himself at the weirdest times…”
“His sister tells me the whole family’s a little nutty.”
I took her arm and we started up the street.
EIGHT
They keep the lights up a little brighter inside the No Name than they do at a lot of other bars. That’s why, when we entered, I noticed a little patch of coloring on one of Melody’s cheekbones that hadn’t been there the night before up at the Anderson house. She’d tried to do something with makeup over it, but it had swollen some, as well. Maybe she’d taken a spill during the day’s shooting up at her father’s cabin. Then again, maybe something else had happened.
We went through the bar to the outdoor patio in back. It was a small area dug into the steep hill behind the bar. Wooden benches ringed the area on three sides. Tables were spotted here and there with wicker chairs. Overhead gas heaters kept off the chill, and subdued orange lights behind the benches lent a romantic cast. A speaker piped out taped music from inside. Two couples were carrying on an animated conversation at one of the tables beneath a heat lamp. I led Melody to a table in a far corner. I had ordered drinks on the way through the bar, and a waitress came out now with an Irish coffee for Melody and a bourbon for myself.
“How did all that get started back there?”
Melody tilted her head to one side. “It’s hard to say. Duffy and I were going to have dinner out at first, but Mrs. Anderson asked us to eat there again. She wanted the company. Paul was out at another of his meetings. After dinner Duffy and I decided to come back to hear the group at the Deck. Duffy always asks his sister if she wants to tag along. This time she surprised him by saying yes. But it seems she’d been drinking earlier today. We weren’t at the Deck more than five minutes when she just got up out of her seat without a word to either of us and started dancing by herself to the music. Somebody tried to join her at one point, but she just waved him away.”
“The man I had to brush off?”
“No, but I think he was from the same table. She was just out there doing her thing, and the next time I looked up she’d stripped down and was starting to get some throaty reaction from the crowd. And I think that’s what she was after all along. Her costume just wasn’t right to bring it out before. So she changed it.”
“She sure di
d. Has she done much of that sort of thing in the past?”
“Not exactly. But when she’s had a few drinks she’s apt to say almost anything.”
“How did you meet Duffy?”
She looked at me a minute. “Through a friend. We hit it right off. Have you found this Cookie Poole person yet?”
“I haven’t talked to him yet. He’s been to the sheriff. Said he was out of town when his friend was killed. His story checked out. How did your friends like the cabin up the coast today?”
She barely paused. “They raved. Called the view devastating. Has Cookie been by to see his mother?”
“I don’t know. I just passed along what information I had to Father Conners. Do you and Duffy get along pretty well most of the time?”
“Mr. Bragg, Duffy and I get along pretty well all of the time. He is what you might call sexually enchanted with me. I thought you might have been able to tell that from the ardent expression of love he gave me before driving his sister home. And as you might have observed, he’s also a tad jealous of any other man I might go have a drink with.”
“Jealous enough ever to give you a mouse on the cheekbone?”
The coy smile she’d been telling me all this with took a turn. “You’re an observant man.”
“It goes with the job.”
“A gentleman doesn’t really ask a lady that sort of question.”
“It’s not always a gentlemanly profession I’m in. Are you a lady?”
The smile evaporated. “Have you been told otherwise?”
“I haven’t been told much of anything. That’s why I ask so many questions.”