Fusilli remained silent for a long moment before he acknowledged that DeWitt had stirred something within him. “I admit that I don't have your patriotic fervor, Dick, but you put me to shame. I'm in. First thing is that I want to meet this Count Poof—and he probably is one. Do you think that you can arrange it since you're such good friends?”
“No problem, Frankie. I'll ask this broad I know if she'll take me to the count's place again, and if I can bring you along. She's a good sport and like so many dames I left behind, she's got a soft spot in her heart for me.
DeWitt wasted little time before he phoned Rosie O'Grady. “Hi ya, Rosie. This is Dick DeWitt, and I'm wondering if you can do me a favor. I got a surprise visit from a friend from New York who'd love to see Count Putz's place. I told him how gorgeous it is.”
“Funny you should mention the count, Dick. He's having another soiree this Saturday, and I would have invited you, but you and the count didn't seem to get along very well when I took you there.”
“Nah, Rosie, I was only joshing with him. I promise to make nice with him this time. What do you say?
Well, if you promise not to embarrass me. By the way, what's your friend's name and what does he do? I'd like to let the count know ahead of time.”
“His name is Frank Fusilli and he's a… he's a… rice salesman like me. Swell guy, and he really knows his rice.”
“I'm sure he does if you say he does.
DeWitt and Fusilli took the latter's car, a late model red Buick, to the soiree. A servant opened the door and welcomed them. DeWitt spotted their host and took Fusilli to meet him. The count was speaking to a woman wearing a tight-fitting backless dress and whose backside seemed familiar to the gumshoe. “Had any sauerkraut and pig's knuckles lately, count?” DeWitt asked, planning to get the evening off to a good start.
The count managed a forced smile. “Well, well, I see that we have the honor of having the illustrious rice salesman with us again. Welcome. Ah, and I see you've brought a friend along. Whom may I have the pleasure of meeting?”
“This is my pal Frankie Fusilli. Say hello to Count Putzendorff, Frankie.”
“Charmed, I'm sure, count. You sure got a swell place here,” he said, looking around. “Must have cost you a sweet reichsmark or two.”
The count gave a slight cough. “And what do you do, Mr. Fusilli?”
“I'm a retired cop. Hey, DeWitt, you just stepped on my nicely brushed shoes. Did you leave your couth at home?” The light went on in Fusilli's brain, and he added, “Of course that was a long time ago. Now I sell rice to Chinks.”
“How odd it seems to have two rice sellers at the same soiree,” said a woman sporting a backless dress and turning to smile at the newcomers. “I'll bet they sell tons of rice between them.”
“Mr. Fusilli, permit me to introduce Miss Cassie Cassidy. And Cassie, I believe you and Mr. DeWitt met here not long ago.”
DeWitt's mouth dropped open. “Ah, Cassie, I didn't know you'd be here.”
“There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Dick.” She laughed. “I'm a mysterious lady, you know.”
The count quickly cut in and said that there were other guests whom Cassie needed to meet.” Help yourself to the canapés and champagne, gentlemen.”
“Who's the babe?” Fusilli asked. “You been holding out on me, pal? Maybe you could let me get to know her better, if you know what I mean.”
“Sorry, pal, but I got there first. But you see that dame standing next to the potted palm? You can't miss her. She's got a schnoz like an anteater. Let's go over and you can have a go at her.”
“With friends like you, DeWitt…”
“Hi, Rosie, how's life treating you? I want you to meet my friend Frankie from back east.”
The trio schmoozed a bit until Frankie said he wanted to socialize and meet some of the other guests. Once he left, Rosie said, “Dick, for your sake, you'd better drop Miss Freckles while you can. I warned you when you met her that she was trouble.”
“Come on, Miss Worrywort. Are you jealous that the lady wants to get her hooks into me? Believe me, Rosie, she's no more trouble than you.”
“Have it your way then, but don't say I didn't warn you—and twice. Now if you'll excuse me, I see someone I should say hello to.”
DeWitt found himself standing alone. A young female server drifted by with a salver laden with champagne. He did not demur: he took two flutes, he told her, to guard against dehydration.
While he was guzzling the second flute of the bubbly, Cassie sauntered over. “Sorry I seemed so abrupt, but I thought it would be rude if I didn't mingle with the count's other partygoers.”
DeWitt asked how she had become so friendly with the count. Was there anything between them that he should know about?
“Don't be ridiculous, Dick. He's old enough to be my father. It so happens that he called right out of the blue one day, said that he found me charming, invited me for dinner and dancing at the Mogambo, after which he said it would be a great favor to him if I came to this soiree. Do you think that a young girl from Dubuque who knows so few people in this big city should say no?”
“Well, when you put it that way, I guess I can't complain. But I will complain if you don't let me take you out on another date. A meal at Brookdale's is as good as it gets, and I saw in the newspaper that Pinocchio is still playing. What do you say?”
Cassie gave him a big smile. “Okay, you win. I can't say exactly when I'll be free, but give me a ring.” With that she kissed him on his cheek and walked away, her hips swaying, her backless dress seemingly cut lower. DeWitt wouldn't need to remind himself to call her. Across the room, Rosie O'Grady grimaced and shook her head.
“Let's blow the joint,” a voice whispered in his ear. “I've seen enough.”
“So have I, Frankie, so have I.”
Chapter 16
“Is it time, Ichiban?”
“Yes, we must act now. The hated enemy, like a wounded lion, begins to regain strength and threaten our plans for a glorious victory. With great shock I have learned that they launched an air strike on Tokyo. Imagine! Now we must move quickly to damage their schedule to build more planes and warships here on the West Coast.
“I am filled with sorrow, Ichiban. Yes, we must strike now. I will do whatever you ask, Ichiban, even if it costs me my life.”
“You are a loyal servant of the Emperor and Nippon. Banzai!
Chapter 17
Two days later the phone in the Chow house rang, interrupting Lotus Blossom's Mah Jongg game with her daughter and their two friends. Lotus yelled up the stairs for her boarder to come down chop chop. “You got some woman on phone who says she must speak with you right away. Urgent, she say. Hey, soldier boy, you get her belly full with child? You sly dog, you.”
Still half asleep, DeWitt grabbed the receiver from Lotus Blossom's hand. “Is that you, Cassie?”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Dick, it's Rosie. Listen, Dick, I stopped off at Sammy Burpp's diner this morning. He says he needs to see you about something very big and very secret. Don't come when the diner's open, he said, come about 9:00 this evening. He said he didn't know where you were living or if you had a phone, or he would have contacted you before. Now it's a matter of life and death.”
“Did he sound worried, Rosie?”
“Dick, I didn't think you were as dumb as you looked, but now I'm sure. Of course, he sounded worried! Shall I let him know that you'll see him tonight?”
After assuring Rosie that he would meet with Burpp, DeWitt decided that he should report this and the recent soiree at Count Puffendorff's to the colonel. I don't know what Burpp has in mind, he told himself, but it must be pretty important for him to stay late at the diner.
The colonel forced DeWitt to cool his heels for forty-five minutes before yelling to his aide to let him in.
“Make it quick, soldier. There's a war on, which you might or might not be aware of, and I've got plenty on my plate.”
DeWit
t made no mention that he didn't see a plate on the colonel's desk. “Sir, I've got news to report.”
The colonel pushed back his chair and gave DeWitt a hard look. “It better be good.”
“I'm not sure if it's good or bad news, but it's news.”
“DeWitt, I just want to hear the news, good or bad,” the colonel barked, “now get on with it.”
“Yes, sir. Recently I've met a certain German count who may be a phoney. His name is Putzendorff, or something like that. Nothing definite yet, but I'm keeping my eye on him.
“The second bit of news concerns a call I received earlier today. There's this guy, Sammy Burpp, who wants to meet with me tonight. Says it's very important.”
“If he's the Chinaman who runs a diner not far from here, I've had lunch at his place. I used to frequent his greasy spoon more often, but it took too damn long to get served. I wonder if he ever got rid of that waitress. She was slower than frozen molasses.
“Okay, soldier, let me know what's doing with Burpp and let me know something more definite about the Kraut. Dismissed.”
DeWitt had a lot of thinking to do before his meeting with Burpp. Why does he want to meet, he kept asking himself, and why is it so hush-hush? By late afternoon, having drawn upon his native intelligence and long experience as a private investigator, he reached a conclusion: Burpp wanted him to be the first to know that he was firing Ping Pong.
This took care of two other questions that had been befuddling him. First, should he contact Fuselli about tonight's rendezvous at the Chinese-American diner? Secondly, should he bring along the gun that the Army had provided? No and no. Fuselli was probably busy checking out Count Putz. Besides, I'm able to take care of myself if need be. That led into the second question. DeWitt liked the feel of a gun, the smell of one, the assurance that he could shot himself out of trouble, although that had never happened before. Furthermore, the gun he had in mind was his alter ego, the Smith & Wesson .32 that he had entrusted to his secretary, Ditzy Dotty, while he was serving Uncle Sam. The .45 Colt that the Army had recently given him to carry was too new, too… well, just not his type of side arm.
Anxious to get started on what could prove an interesting adventure, he had one last pick-me-upper from his stash of booze before leaving his room. He waved to Low Fat, who was sitting in the living room listening to some tinny music, and oddly still wearing his policeman's uniform. “What's the matter, Low Fat, they make you wear your uniform off duty, too?”
Low Fat laughed. “No, Dick, I drew double shift today and have to go back on the beat after I grab some grub and relax a bit. These double shifts are ball busters, but a job's a job. Right? DeWitt nodded in sympathy and wished Chow a quiet, uneventful evening.
He wasn't truly hungry but wasn't going to meet with Burpp on an empty stomach. He strolled to Luigi's, an Italian restaurant near Union Station. The food was good there, he knew from experience, the service friendly. The walk from home hadn't much increased his appetite, so he limited himself to an order of eggplant parmesan and a side dish piled high with spaghetti. He poured ketchup liberally over both. Needing to have a clear mind when he met Burpp, he limited himself to two glasses of Chianti. For dessert, he polished off a piece of apple pie and a scoop of Tortoni ice cream.
It was nearly dark when he left the restaurant. The temperature had dropped several degrees, the wind had picked up, scattering debris helter-skelter and causing DeWitt to hold tight to his fedora.
At 8:55 DeWitt reached the diner, whose door bore the sign “Closed,” both in English and Chinese. He knocked. Then he knocked harder. It was nearly pitch black inside, without a single light and with all blinds drawn. “Sammy,” he yelled, “it's me, Dick Dewitt.” He could hear someone banging into a table.
“Hold horse, Mr. DeWitt, I'm coming.”
Burpp opened the door. DeWitt could see by what remained of the daylight outdoors that Sammy looked scared, real scared. “What's the matter, pal?”
The diner's owner grabbed him hard by the elbow and dragged him inside. Then he peered out the door and relocked it. “It's terrible, Mr. DeWitt, and I'm scared like crazy. We go in back room to make sure no one see us from street. Watch step, please.”
DeWitt nearly fell over a chair that had not been pushed under the table, then barked his shin on a second one. Finally the two men reached the back room. Burpp groped for the light switch that barely illuminated the room with a solitary 40-watt bulb. The room served as storage for boxed and canned food, and few bags of dry food, all bearing Chinese script. A refrigerator stood next to a good-sized safe, in front of which was a desk with chair. Nothing unusual here, the gumshoe deduced.
“So why the secrecy, Sammy? What's going on that we have to talk in the back room of a darkened diner?”
“You're about to find out, Dick.” The voice was not Burpp's, unless he was trying out a falsetto one.
DeWitt wheeled around and saw… Rosie O'Grady. She looked the same except for the gun she was holding in her right hand.
“What's this all about, Rosie? Is this some kind of joke? If so, I'm not laughing. Now why don't you give the gat to me before someone gets hurt.” He took a step toward her but backed away when she cocked the trigger.
“Good boy, Dick. We wouldn't want anyone to get hurt, at least not yet.”
“Who is this 'anyone,' Rosie?”
“Can't you guess, Dick? It's not me, and it's not Sammy, so who's left, or can't you figure it out? And while you're doing the math, Sammy is going to pat you down just in case you brought along a little something for protection.” She nodded toward Sammy, who frisked the stunned gumshoe.
“He's clean, Ichiban.”
“Ichiban? What the hell is that?”
The word roughly means “Number One” in my native tongue, which is Japanese. It's a sign of respect, and my friend here owes me a lot of that, don't you Sammy?”
“Yes, Ichiban.”
DeWitt looked quizzically at Sammy and asked why he owed Rosie respect.
The owner of the diner looked down at his shoes and remained silent.
“It's a little matter of threatening harm to him and his family, and burning down his home and business. Wouldn't that induce a lot of respect in you, Dick?”
“Rosie, I'm going to ask you something, and I hope that you give me an honest answer. Are you working for Uncle Sam or the Japs?”
Even Sammy left off looking at his shoes to enjoy a hearty laugh.
“Yes, Dick, since you're not going to be able to tell anyone, I am a Japanese spy, and proud of it. I have been in communication with my government ever since that glorious day, December 7, 1941, the day that will go down in fame. I work with other spies, I recruit others for spying, and I send to Tokyo all the information on American military plans and war materiel that I can lay my busy yellow hands on—as you racist Americans would put it. We shall win this war, but even should we not, I would gladly lay down my life for emperor and country.”
“You won't get away with this, you lousy Nip.”
“Want to bet? Come on, Sammy, let's take DeWitt out the back door, where my car is waiting. We'll put him in the trunk and take him where he won't be found for some time if ever. A fate he well deserves.”
“Hold it right there, O'Grady.” Low Fat Chow and Cassie Cassidy came barging through the back room door. “And drop the gun.”
Rosie turned her attention from DeWitt to fire on the two intruders, but before she could, a bullet from Low Fat's service revolver smashed into her right shoulder. She went down with a shriek. “You bastards. You'll pay for this. You and the dope who thought I'd fallen for his stupid story that he sold rice. I can spot someone who's undercover, even if he's a dumbbell who doesn't know the first thing about going undercover. I should have plugged him the first time I laid eyes on his ugly kisser,” she snarled.
“I'll take the Jap's gun,” Low Fat said to Cassie. “You keep an eye on the Chinese guy.”
DeWitt remained in shock. “I c
an't believe this. Who could have thought that Rosie O'Grady was a spy and traitor?”
“Very few,” Cassie said. “But our military intelligence unit had its suspicions, and we've been tailing her and her friends for weeks, even before you arrived on the scene. You were out of the loop, as they say, but you did help to nab the notorious Tokyo Nose, as we call her. Good work, Dick. Now we're going to take her and Mr. Burpp to police headquarters. Later we'll have a go at them at Military Intelligence and see if they'll give us names of other spies and would-be saboteurs. And since we're civilized people, Rose's shoulder will receive medical attention.
“You know, Cassie, I would have believed that if you or Rosie were the spy, you'd have been the one.”
“We both are spies, Dick. Only I do it for the U.S. Army. I never wanted you to guess my true identity, not at least while we were trying to ferret out traitors. Same goes for Low Fat and his family. We arranged to have you stay at the Chows because we knew they were completely trustworthy but also that Low Fat, as a policeman, could keep an eye on you and report any developments to us.
Low Fat handcuffed Burpp and Cassie held a gun on Rosie, who could not be handcuffed because of her shoulder. Along with DeWitt, they went out the diner and headed for the police cruiser parked nearby. “We'll be in touch,” Rosie assured Dick.
“I guess not, Rosie, except maybe at your trial.”
We've plenty of time to get reacquainted, DeWitt. Go to hell, and I'll see you there. And by the way, I have friends who soon, I promise, will speed you there. Sayonara, rice man.”
Chapter 18
Two days later DeWitt received a call from the colonel's office ordering him to report the following morning promptly at 9:00. He expected a commendation at the very least for his astute work in apprehending O'Grady and Burpp. What he most desired, however, was a transfer. Not that he didn't like Los Angeles. Far from it. But Rosie's promise of vengeance weighed heavily on him. In fact, it was rarely out of mind during waking hours. I'm not scared, he kept telling himself, though aware of strangers passing on the street and noises, both unfamiliar and not.
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