Hard Case Crime: Fade to Blonde Page 11

  “What’s up between you and Lance Halliday?”

  “He’s going to burn me.”

  “Why?”

  “Let me—”

  “Why?”

  “Because I stole his money!” she screamed into my face. “I stole his goddamn money!”

  I let go of her and stepped back.

  “There,” I said, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  She pushed herself upright with a hand on the fender, and stood there with her eyes closed, breathing.

  “Keep going,” I said. “Why’d you steal from him? Don’t think. Tell.”

  “Because I had the chance to,” she said. “Because he’d, because I had been in a movie for him. Two movies. I lied when I said it wasn’t him. And, afterward... And I did sleep with him. He always has them himself, afterward. Has us. He, you’ve met him, he’s very charming, and treats you like, like you were a real actress. And makes you think you’re being very brave and glamorous, even, and that everyone else is just stuffy, and that you’re just the most beautiful thing. I can’t help how stupid that sounds. It’s true that I fell for him. That part was true. And it was only after, when he was lying there, half asleep, it’s as if I didn’t know until then how much he’d taken from me. I had to get out of the room. He keeps this woman’s dressing gown in his closet. For whoever, you know. I put on the gown and slipped out of the room, just to be away from him and think, and he’d left his jacket in the living room, on that flowered armchair there. And there was a pocket in the dressing gown. I think that’s what gave me the idea. I just picked up the jacket and took out his wallet and took the money from it and put it in the pocket of the gown. Because if he was going to take from me... And my purse was on the dining room table, and my shoes were by the sofa, so I just kept going. I knew it would take him a while to see I’d gone, because my clothes were all on the floor of his room, but I didn’t want to see any of those clothes again, and I drove home in the shoes and dressing gown, just like that. I knew there was a lot of money, but I didn’t know until I got home that there was nearly fourteen hundred dollars. It must have been money he’d gotten to pay us all.”

  “When did he threaten you?”

  “Right away. I’d gotten back to my room, and then the landlady knocked on my door, and I thought maybe she’d seen me coming home like that after all, but what she had to say is that there was a phone call for me, from my — ” She laughed briefly. “From my brother. And he was sorry to call so late, but it was an emergency. And I got on, and he said, You have a pretty face. He told me to keep the money, because I’d need it, and then he told me what he was going to do.”

  “Did you actually meet him at Ciro’s?”

  “No. He knows where to find girls like me.”

  “When’d you take the photos? The photo-booth photos.”

  “That was the way I told you. He did take me out and try to show me a good time. After. And then we went back to his house. He likes to think the girls he hires are really his.”

  “You were smiling pretty good in the picture.”

  “I wanted to be having a good time. Don’t you ever do that? Smile when you wish you were enjoying yourself?”

  “Maybe I ought to try it. Where’s that fourteen hundred?”

  She flushed. “I gave you everything that’s left of it.”

  “What did you do with the rest?”

  “I, ah. I thought it would be better if it was more.”

  I started laughing again. “You took it out to the track and lost it.”

  “No,” she said. “I can’t look at you and — No. It was poker. I really am pretty good at cards, like Lorrie said. But not that night.”

  I was laughing, shaking my head.

  She began to smile herself, shakily. “I had a system, you know. I had it worked out.”

  “Sure. You know how many times I’ve had it all worked out?”

  “Yes,” she said, laughing shakily. “I believe I do.” She stopped and gave me a little punch in the chest, then hit me there hard. “Someday,” she said fiercely, “I hope somebody about ten feet tall comes along and bends you over backward that way.”

  “It’s been tried.”

  “Well. Well, at least you brush your teeth.”

  “I know. I was thinking it would’ve been better if I’d eaten some garlic.”

  “How did you know I was lying?”

  “Because you’re a liar.”

  “So it wasn’t anything I said today, or that Shade was here?”

  “No. I always knew you must be lying about at least some of this. Shade shook you up, and I thought I saw a chance to squeeze a little truth out.”

  “You saw a chance... And here I was calling you nice. I suppose you can be, but you’re also somewhat horrible, aren’t you?”

  “Anyway, this story’s better than the first.”

  “Thanks. Well, I guess I’ll drop you home now.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I guess I’ve brought all this on myself.”

  “That’s right. From now on, don’t lie to me. It makes everything harder.”

  “From now on?” she said. “You’ll still help me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Even now?”

  “I took your money.”

  “It was stolen.”

  I said, “Most money is.”

  15

  Two Dozen Roses

  As soon as Rebecca dropped me off, I got into my car and went to a florist. There was a young gal at the counter and a middle-aged woman in back. I asked to talk to the older woman. She set down her shears and came to the counter, peeling off her gloves. I said my wife was mad at me and what did she suggest? I left with two dozen pink roses in a pink vase with gold doodads and drove over to Republic, holding it between my knees. Mattie Reece’s feet were back on the desk when I came in. I set the roses down next to them and dropped into a chair. He looked me over. I didn’t seem to please him much.

  “You bringing me flowers, soldier?” he said.

  I shook my head. “You’re bringing your wife flowers.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s mad at you.”

  “Why would she be mad?”

  “She’s married to you.”

  He nodded. “Thanks for the flowers. Still waiting to hear on Halliday. Couple days.”

  “Appreciate it,” I said.

  He pointed his chin at my suit. “Going to a fancy dress ball?”

  “Lenny Scarpa’s taking me to the prom.”

  “Is he now.”

  “I work for him. As of last night.”

  “Huh. I thought you were working for your lulu.”

  “I am. By working for Scarpa.”

  He thought that over. He didn’t enjoy it. Mattie drinks and chases, but he likes things to go right. He likes the law. I guess he wouldn’t want that to get around. His feet were crossed left over right, and he recrossed them right over left, looking off into the corner.

  He said, “Don’t explain it to me, all right? I just hope to hell you know what you’re doing.”

  “A man in a suit like this always knows what he’s doing. Tell me something, Mattie. I’m an industry guy, and I want a little snow on my roof. Where do I go?”

  “To your new boss,” he said grimly.

  “Where else?”

  “Nowhere else.”

  “Think harder. Somebody’s been cutting in on Scarpa’s movie customers. Enough so he’s hired some palooka to go hunting for him. At least, that’s what I hear.”

  “You don’t say.” Reece’s eyes got soft and happy. “Thanks. That’s nice. That’s nicer than flowers.”

  “Always happy to help, Mattie. Where do I buy my hop?”

  There was a battered clothbound address book on the corner of his desk. He worked his mouth around a little, then shoved the book toward me with the heel of his shoe. “Look up Paley,” he said. “With a P.”

  I opened the book and began leafing through t
he Ps.

  “Movie people aren’t like your regular doper,” Mattie said, “Your regular doper’s a working joe. He’s got someone down on the shop floor, say, and they go out for a smoke and do the buy on the loading dock and hurry back before break’s over, because they’ve got sandwiches to finish. Well, I guess some movie people’ll do that, gaffers and so forth, but mostly movie people like everything to be fun. And they get their stuff at parties. Any given time, there’s two three dope parties going in this town, just for folks in the business. They move around a lot, close down and open up again, but you tend to see the same folks setting out the onion dip. Thing is, a new one’s popped up just in the last few weeks, and nobody knows who’s behind it. Runs most nights at the old Paley place.”

  “Nita Paley,” I read aloud. “1625 Marine Street, Santa Monica.”

  “That’s it.”

  “Nita Paley. Didn’t she used to do Gypsy types? For Griffith and so on.”

  “That’s the one. Great big spooky black eyes. Ohio farm girl.”

  “She must be getting on.”

  “Drowned in ’46 off Malibu. Nance Altschuler bought the place four years ago when her folks finally kicked her out. She and her artistic friends played house there a while, but what goes on these days is a little too rank even for Miss Altschuler and I hear she don’t show so much anymore. Her friends do, though. Nancy’s got friends.”

  “Who goes to that sort of place?”

  “Different kinds. Not just hopheads, either. The thing’s supposed to be some kind of art bit, with these sculptors and so forth that come around, probably for the food, and also you got that little element of, ah, danger I guess is how they think of it, and so everybody in the business who likes to feel they’re a little bohemian or little dangerous thinks it’s cute to come by and have a few drinks with the dope fiends. And also, you get to show your date how connected you are, because they run the place like an old speak, with a hard boy on the door, and nobody gets in without somebody’s okay.”

  “I think I can manage that,” I said, standing. I pushed his foot over and set the address book back where it’d been. “Thanks, Mattie.”

  “I liked your old clothes better,” he said, looking off into the corner again. “These kind of have a smell.”

  “You get used to it,” I said. “I’ll call you.”

  “You see any of my people there, give ’em my love.”

  “Buy me a suit and we’ll talk about it,” I said, and went out.

  I stopped in the outer office, perched on the corner of an empty desk, and looked at my watch. Four o’clock. Lisa Rae Bellinger would still be at the Gellar Agency. I picked up a phone. “It’s the gumshoe,” I said, when she came on the line.

  “Hello, Gumshoe,” she said. “You called after all. Did somebody show you how to use a telephone?”

  “I went down to the library and got a book on the subject.”

  “Someone taught you to read?”

  “It had pictures. Want to go to a party tonight?”

  “Why, how very nice. You’re taking me to a party.”

  “No,” I said. “You’re taking me.”

  Lisa Rae Bellinger was a skinny little thing, but what she ate was prime rib and peas, and what she drank was champagne, and where she did it was Musso & Frank’s, and how I knew is, she told me so as soon as she got in the car at eight. Then I took her there and she demonstrated. She wore a steel-blue pleated dress with one of those three-inch patent leather belts you use to show how little your waist is. She looked awfully nice when she was eating, and just as nice when I was following her out to the car. When I pulled up in front of 1625 Marine she still looked nice, but she didn’t look happy anymore. It had been a pretty house once, a rambling brick one-story with a winding flagstone walk and a couple big mullioned bay windows, but the shutters needed paint and the weeds were coming up between the flagstones and waisthigh in the flowerbeds. There were cars parked all over what was left of the lawn. “Where are we,” she said.

  “Nita Paley used to live here.”

  “Uh huh,” she said slowly. “Uh ... huh.”

  “I guess you’ve heard about this place.”

  “I guess I have.”

  “You’re not a china doll, Miss Bellinger, or I didn’t think you were. But I can run you home now if you’d rather.”

  “Do you know, Mr. Corson, do you know how foolish I can be? Why, when you called me up this afternoon, I actually permitted myself to imagine you weren’t just working.”

  “I am working,” I said. “I’m not just working.”

  “That’s a little subtle for me.”

  “I’m sorry. I need in over there. You know people and you’re a looker. They’d be happier to see you than me. I’d like to see you myself some night when I’m not working, but this is a working night.”

  “Does it have to be?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How come?”

  “Because you can’t do the work when it suits you. You’ve got to do it when they give it to you.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” she said. “Well. I s’pose this is the sort of thing a girl should see at least once in her life. Like the Grand Canyon.”

  “I can run you home now if you’d rather. I’ll find another way in.”

  “No. No, I believe my curiosity’s getting the better of me.”

  “Lucky curiosity.”

  “Tomorrow, Mr. Corson, you can go back to the library and get a book on manners. With pictures. I imagine that’s a parking spot over there.”

  The fellow on the door was wide enough that if you had to walk all the way around him you’d be tired. They’d brought out a bar stool for him to sit on. He was sort of half-sitting on it with one foot on the ground in case he had to move quick. He looked comfortable, like he was used to sitting that way. He wore a black turtleneck, old khaki slacks, and the kind of big straw hat you usually see on a horse. He watched us come up the walk as if he thought we might not be the Royal Couple, but he was polite enough when he said, “Sorry, friends. Private party.”

  “Oh,” Lisa Rae said, “but we’re very private people.”

  “Wish I could help you,” he told her, sounding like he meant it.

  He was enjoying looking at her.

  “Dear me how mortifyin’,” Lisa Rae said. “And here I thought I was expected.”

  “Expected by... ?”

  “If Grammy’s arrived, would you mind awfully much telling him that Lisa Rae’s out waitin’ on the front walk?”

  “Mr. Neale’s expecting you?”

  “If he can still recall what he expects,” she said sweetly. “It’s early enough in the evenin’ for that, wouldn’t you think?”

  The doorman considered, then reached out a big arm and opened the door for us. “Beg your pardon, Miss Bellinger,” he said. “But I’m sure you understand. Mr. Neale hasn’t been by yet this evening. I’ll tell him you’re here when he comes.”

  “Oh, I’m Miss Bellinger now, am I?” she said.

  “You wouldn’t remember, but last fall you told me my face was too round to play gladiators.”

  “Well, come by the office sometime, cuz, and I’ll be happy to forget you again.”

  “It’s a date,” he said affably as we went by.

  The door opened into a living room. It was a big square room and looked bigger because it was half-empty. There were two sofas, and someone had taken the legs off one of them so it sat right on the floor. A young man in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts was asleep on it facedown, a beach towel wrapped around his legs. There was an enormous fireplace on the far wall with two racing bicycles in it instead of logs. There were a couple big paintings on the wall with no frames, but they were longhair stuff that didn’t look like anything and you’ll have to ask someone else about them. There was a hi-fi in the corner, a good one, and piles of records on the floor and leaning up against the wall, and a trim gray-haired man in a blue blazer was down on one knee, going through the recor
ds with a disappointed look. I said, “Graham Neale comes here?”

  “It’s the sort of place he’d be. He’s a sorry critter. Well, Mr. Corson, here you are like you wanted. Have I earned my dinner yet, or do you want Mr. Neale’s autograph, too?”

  I shook my head. “Can it. It’s the doorman’s job to be bitched at. It isn’t mine. I asked you, in or out. You said in.”

  “Well,” she said.

  “Can it. I don’t want to have your moping all night on top of everything else.”

  She squinched her eyes and put up her pointy little fists. She held the pose, looking mean.

  “Well I’m damned. You pulled my file,” I said.

  She dropped her fists and nodded, grinning. She looked almost embarrassed. “That’s right, Rocky Marciano. I read your file.”

  “I’ll be goddamned,” I said. “I’d thought all that’d be thrown away by now.”

  “Ollie never throws anything away,” she said. “That’s why he’s rich.”

  “I’ll be goddamned.”

  “I do apologize, Mr. Corson. I hate a mopey girl too. I hate a girl who says, oh, maybe I will and maybe I won’t, but remember, whatever happens’ll be all your fault. And now I will behave. And become a perfect delight. So. What brings the great gumshoe and his girl assistant to this low haunt?”

  “Dope.”

  “My my. I’d say we came to the right place.”

  “I want to know who supplies this party. Not the people who sell here, but the man they get it from.”

  “That’s easy enough. Lenny Scarpa, or one of his fellas.”

  “No. Somebody new.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says Scarpa.”

  “My my my.”

  “Guess we’re a little early, though. It’ll be better when there’s more people and they’re drunker.”

  “We’re way too early, Mr. Corson. It’s not even ten-thirty. If you’d asked me I could’ve told you that, and we could’ve gone someplace nice a couple hours first and I could’ve taught you to dance.”

  “What makes you think I can’t dance?”

  “I don’t care if you can. I like teaching you things.”

  Behind us, the man in the blazer must have found something he approved of, because the hi-fi let out a big blat of music, and then he adjusted the volume and a bossa nova started playing. He stood up and did a few steps by himself, nodding. He had a little bristly mustache. He was good.