Please review. Thank you.
Life, Death and Dizzy Gillellspie
Part Three:
Wednesday, October 10, 1956/8 PM – Monday, October 15, 1956/8 PM
Art rushed up the two flights of stairs to the Central Receiving Hospital in the Georgia Street Station like he was charging a hill in Korea. Bob Naylor, his trainee, stayed with the patrol car in case they got a call. He hurried toward the emergency room worried about the incident he had heard over the police radio.
"Joe!" He reached out to grab his friend's arm. Art was relieved to see that Joe hadn't been the one reported as wounded and rushed to the hospital.
Art pulled Joe down to the couch. "What happened? Who got shot?"
"Gunn."
It was then Art noticed Joe's hands were shaking.
"What happened?"
"He froze." The look on Jacoby's face was even more dour than usual.
"What?" Art's heart froze. "What do mean?" He shook his head. "Not Joe." Those were words that Art would have never applied to Joe Mannix. Sure, in combat, you were afraid, but you still did your duty. You fought back. You took it like a man. Who wasn't afraid?
"Pete just told me," Jacoby said.
"Is he gonna be all right?" Joe asked.
"Yeah, the doc's digging the bullet out of his shoulder right now. No thanks to you."
"What happened?" Art blurted.
"Pete talked a guy named Lenny McAvoy . . ."
"Wait a minute, who's Lenny McAvoy?" Art asked.
"Apparently he came into possession of the Hunter sex films."
"Where is he? What was he doing while this was going on? Joe?"
"He disappeared," Joe said.
"Disappeared? Where could he go from up there?"
"No telling. I'll get R&I on him later." Jacoby continued. "Somebody followed them. After Pete and Lenny were returning, somebody jumped them. Pete decided to see if he could sneak up behind the guy. Only Joe didn't cover him, did you?" Jacoby's eyes burned through Joe. Joe hung his head.
"You let him get shot, didn't you?" Jacoby's voice rose in volume.
"Now, wait a minute, Jacoby –" Art turned to his friend, "Joe, is that what happened?"
Joe nodded. "I. . ."
Art moved away from his friend. He remembered a different Joe Mannix. The cocky smile, the fearlessness and the courage he had shown in Korea. Art stared. What happened to him in Costa Verde? His mind was trapped between the man he knew and the man he saw.
"Art, I . . ."
"I don't know you anymore." Malcolm stalked down the hallway and disappeared down the stairs.
Joe didn't know how long he sat there before Jacoby tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Come with me." He thought he was being taken downstairs to the sergeant's office to make a statement about the shootout. Instead Jacoby took him out of the station side entrance and into an unmarked police car.
"Sorry about back there. I get a little excited sometimes when a friend of mine gets hurt," Jacoby said.
Joe stared at the passing streets trying to get the fear out of his body, that feeling of helplessness, the shakes. Damn Costa Verde. He never should have gone. He never should have fallen in love either.
Joe hadn't paid attention to where Jacoby was going until he drove through the gates of the Los Angeles Police Academy. Jacoby wound through the narrow streets to a small area on the far side of the police campus. He motioned to Joe to join him. The sign at the foot of the walk said 'Pistol Range.' Joe slowed. Why was Jacoby bringing him here?
Jacoby gestured for him to come in. Joe stepped just inside the entrance with the familiar odor of spent cartridges filling his nostrils.
Jacoby turned on the range lights. "C'mon," Jacoby said over his shoulder. "I don't bite." At the first firing position he pulled his Colt Detective Special from his holster, placed the ammunition and the weapon on the stand, with its barrel pointing downrange. Joe stiffened, his muscles locking him into position.
"Back when Pete and I were walking a beat together, we stumbled upon a burglary in progress, a 460. Heard the alarm ringing its ass off down the street. Pete always went in the front, and I covered the back." Jacoby leaned against the lane partition. He tipped his fedora back on his head. "I barely got to the back of the building before the back door burst open and this kid ran out with a bag in one hand and a gun in the other." Jacoby stared at the target in his firing lane like a ghost was returning to haunt him.
"You know why cops get drilled so much on shooting their weapon? So we won't freeze when someone points a gun at us. That second changes your life forever." Jacoby picked his gun, spun the cylinder and put it down again.
"Everything became slow motion when I saw that gun. I was scared out of my mind. Didn't yell 'Police.' Didn't fire a warning shot. I just pulled the trigger. I saw his face as he went down. I think he was more surprised than I was. I couldn't move after that. Pete ran out, saw him lying there. The kid was already dead, but he called for an ambulance anyway. By the time he came back, I'd finished throwing up." He grabbed the gun and spun the cylinder again.
Joe's eyes darted to the gun in Jacoby's hand. Why is he doing that?
"When you return to duty after a shooting incident you have to requalify with a pistol. My hands were shaking so bad I'd done better throwing my weapon at the target. Took me three tries before I barely qualified. Found out later that a couple other guys on our shift were taking bets that I'd quit the force. That I was too scared to walk a beat again. You know, they were right. I was scared. Not for me, for Pete." Jacoby turned to the firing land emptied six bullets into the target. Joe cringed at every shot.
Jacoby released the cylinder, checked that the weapon was clear and placed it on the stand.
"I worried if I would be able to pull the trigger again if I had to. And I was an MP during the war."
When Joe heard somebody say 'the war,' he knew that person wasn't talking about Korea. Nobody talked about Korea, his war.
"I spent my entire time at Camp Clinton, Mississippi guarding German POWs. Never shot at anything other than a target. Then I come home, get a job as a cop and within a year, I've killed a person. Anyway I asked for a different partner, but Pete wouldn't change. Said he'd take me over anybody else any day."
"I'm not a coward," Joe finally blurted.
"He knows something musta happened to make you freeze up like that."
"I –" Joe started.
"It ain't me you gotta tell. I don't care what happened in Costa Verde."
"What did Art tell you?" Joe's fists wrenched opened and closed. "He had no –"
"He couldn't tell me much because you haven't told him anything." Jacoby leaned on the stand. "You know, you got a real good friend there."
"Not any more."
"He'll be back. He's just gotta sort it out in his head." Jacoby reloaded his gun and laid it on the stand. "You can't change what happens to you in life. You can only change how you react to it." Jacoby strolled away from the firing position.
"How did you do it . . . come back?" Joe asked.
Jacoby eyed the loaded pistol then glanced pointedly downrange as he continued his stroll past Joe. "I need a smoke."
Joe was rooted to the spot. His heart was racing so fast he couldn't count the beats. Slowly he stepped to the firing position. He gripped the gun feeling the cold steel in his hands. He sighted the target. He slammed his eyes shut and snatched a breath. The muzzle jerked up as he fired wildly. He continued to squeeze the trigger long after the chambers was empty.
Click . . . click . . .click. He remembered the feel of the cold muzzle of a revolver against his temple. Click, click, click.
Slowly he lowered the revolver and glared at the target. No bullet holes except for the tight grouping of six Jacoby had made.
"You can only change how you react to it," echoed in his head. You can only change how you react to it.
Joe spun the empty cylinder again and again feeling the motion down to his toes. Finally, he stopped it, released the latch and began shoving bullets in.
oO0Oo
Joe knelt to pick up the rest of the empty shell casings. His target looked like Swiss cheese. Single bullet holes everywhere except for a few tight groupings.
"Yeah, you were in the military." Jacoby appeared at the partition. "Guys who never went in have to be told to police the range." He checked his revolver. "You owe me a cleaning." He pushed it into his holster. "Let's go."
Back at the station it was almost midnight as they rode the elevator to the second floor hospital. Jacoby asked the nurse on duty what room Gunn was in.
"Wait here," Jacoby told Joe. He found a seat in the waiting room where he could keep an eye on the door to Gunn's hospital room.
The door opened. Joe stood when he realized a woman was exiting. So this was Edie Hart, the woman who wrested Gunn away from the Duchess. Joe couldn't blame him. The Duchess was a good looking woman, but Edie had something else. She took his breath away.
She tilted her head and stared at him. "You're Joe Mannix?"
"Yes, ma'am." Joe wanted to hang his head, but her gaze riveted his eyes to hers.
"Pete's going to be alright."
Something about those eyes reminded him of Lupe. The eyes that looked into his soul.
"Look, I'm sorry. I don't . . ."
"Sorry doesn't cut it!" Her eyes flamed. "He could have been killed."
Joe remained silent. His moment of hesitation could have cost Gunn his life. He didn't offer any explanation, because he didn't know how to explain his fear. A damp concrete bunker. Arms tied to a chair. The revolving cylinder. The click of the hammer.
Jacoby joined them. "After Pete's done talking to you, wait in my office. I need a statement from you." He led Edie toward the elevator and vanished.
Joe rapped on the door and heard a "Get in here!" Gunn was propped up with pillows. Joe stared at the floor.
"I heard that you were a pilot and a POW in Korea."
"Yeah," Joe answered.
"That was a rough one. I'm glad I got out of that war."
"Couldn't have been any worse than World War II."
"Different war, different times. It was a little clearer what we were fighting for."
Joe nodded. Only men who had survived combat understood what it did to you. Even in a war that wasn't your war, a war you got paid to fight.
"You can do me a favor."
"Anything," Joe said.
"Help me get the bastard who shot me."
For the first time Joe focused on Gunn. "We're going after Reeves?"
"Hey, cool your jets, flyboy. Whoever it was who shot me wasn't Cully or Bernie. They're muscle not brains. Reeves is mixed up in this, but someone else is pulling some strings."
"Any ideas?" Joe asked.
"Not yet. You're gonna be my legs. You'll need something to drive besides a cab. You still got my extra car keys?"
"Yes. Has it got anything to do with Kathy's murder?"
"I can't be sure yet, but it's pointing that way. Also you'll need to find Lenny too."
Joe juggled the keys in his hands. "What about Jacoby? Isn't he already doing that?"
"He does things his way; I do things my way. By the way, do you own a suit?"
"Not a suit." Joe shrugged. "A couple of sport jackets and slacks."
"Is there a tie in there somewhere?"
"Yeah, I got ties." He'd thrown the one Reeves had given him in the trash.
"If you're working with me, you need to dress better."
Joe glimpsed down – his loafers, dark brown corduroys, tan button down shirt and a leather jacket. "What's wrong with the way I dress?"
"You look like a combination of frat boy, cab driver and slob. Lose the corduroys. Makes too much noise when you move."
"Anything else?"
"You might need a little grease. Look in that drawer."
Joe opened the drawer by the bedside and picked up the only item in there – Gunn's wallet.
"Take the cash."
Joe counted almost five hundred dollars; he whistled.
"Now these are the people I want you to talk to," Gunn said.
oO0Oo
The Bedrosian homicide hadn't been assigned a Deputy DA yet. Leigh called in a favor to get the job. He didn't like doing that. Enough of the other Deputy DAs had already accused him of grandstanding, only wanting the important cases. He called Sgt. Jacoby to schedule a briefing that Thursday morning.
Jacoby was pacing the conference room, when Leigh entered.
"Isn't it a little early to get the DA's office involved?" Jacoby asked.
"Have a seat, Sergeant." Jacoby remained standing. "Normally," Leigh continued, "I would agree, but because of who she was and who she worked for, I thought it best to stay in close contact with you. I might be able to expedite any warrants or any other paperwork you might need. Please sit down." Leigh pointed to a chair next to him. He pulled a cigarette from his pack; he offered it to Jacoby.
"Don't smoke," Jacoby said.
Leigh puffed. "Where do we stand in the investigation? Any suspects?"
Jacoby relented and sat down. "Not officially."
"Unofficially?"
"I'm interviewing Macklin Reeves tomorrow."
"Reeves? How is he involved?"
"I don't know yet. I don't have a motive or an opportunity."
"You have means?"
"Bernie Moss, an enforcer for Reeves, had a wino buy the bottle of chloroform."
"Why not interview Moss? Why Reeves?"
"Bernie doesn't do anything without orders from Reeves. I want Reeves to know that he has stupid people working for him."
"I didn't know chloroform was lethal." Leigh touched the knot on his tie. He reminded himself to stop doing that. He crushed his cigarette out after only two puffs. He had to stop doing that too.
"It stops the heart when a person is given too much. It's amazing that there aren't more deaths from it. It's not like the people using it have a medical degree."
"And that's from the autopsy?" Leigh asked.
"Cardiac arrhythmia." Jacoby nodded. "And bruising on her arms and face."
"Have you traced her whereabouts for that night?"
"I know she started out at the Hall of Justice and wound up at the Sheila with a detour to the Mayfield. By the way, weren't you working that night? I saw your name on the deputies' sign-in book."
"Yes, I came in to work on the Burger case."
Leigh dropped his eyes to the files on the conference table. When his eyes returned to Jacoby, the detective had an odd look on his face. "Is that your preliminary report?"
"Yes. While I'm here I thought I question the other people whose names were on the sign-in log." Jacoby clumsily opened the file and removed the photos arranging them on the table. Leigh studied the crime scene photos with only a brief glance at the autopsy photos.
"Nothing to indicate who may have been in the room with her or why?" Leigh asked.
"No fingerprints, only smudges. No credible witnesses."
"Looks like you have a way to go on this investigation. Anything else unofficial?"
"I'm reviewing the Bryce Hunter case to see if and how they may be connected."
"Bryce Hunter? That was one of my first cases as prosecutor. This is connected to that?"
"There was a notebook belonging to the deceased that had a page torn out of it." Jacoby singled out a photo from the stack. "The previous page was missing, torn out. I rubbed a pencil lead over it and uncovered that name and phone number. Turns out that this guy is a friend of the deceased. Also he's the cab driver who dropped her off the Mayfield after he picked her up from the Hall of Justice."
"You know how she got from here to the Mayfield, but not the Sheila?"
"Right, but what makes this interesting is that a day later Mannix, the cab driver, gets beat up by Cully Roberts and Bernie Moss."
"It all keeps coming back to Macklin Reeves."
"Oh, and that cab driver with assistance from Peter Gunn found one of the Bryce Hunter missing films left in his cab by a guy named Lenny McAvoy."
"So you have one of the missing films. How did this McAvoy fellow get ahold that? Who is he?"
"Don't know. I haven't got back a report on him from R&I."
"I'll be interested to know how your interview with Reeves goes. Thank you, Sergeant for the briefing. " Leigh stood.
"I'll send over copies of my reports."
"Excellent. Thank you again." After Leigh ushered Jacoby out the door, he lit another cigarette. He had work to do.
oO0Oo
Leigh heard the phone ring once and then Bernie's voice trying to sound tough.
"Yeah?"
"Let me speak to him."
Reeves had insisted never use their personal names on the phone. He assumed his phones were bugged.
"You know better than to call here," Reeves said.
"Listen, there's a guy named Mannix who's trying to frame you for the Bedrosian murder."
"Mannix? Yeah, I met him. He's a lightweight."
"He's a friend of that Bedrosian woman. He's convinced you killed her."
Reeves snorted. "If the cops aren't knocking down my door, I'm not worried about some 'friend' of the deceased."
"Watch your back."
Reeves hung up.
One shoe dropped, Leigh thought. Time to drop the other one. His next call was to Delaney.
oO0Oo
Late Friday morning Reeves arrived at the Georgia Street Station accompanied by Cully and Bernie. Cully strutted to the desk sergeant. "Sgt. Jacoby?"
The desk sergeant didn't say anything. He picked up the phone and dialed two numbers. He said, "He's here," and listened and nodded. "Okay," and he hung up the phone. "That way." he pointed. "Room 4, on the left."
Cully started walking ahead of Reeves, Bernie a step behind.
"Just him," the sergeant said. "You two stay here." He pointed at a bench across from his desk.
Reeves nodded his consent to his men and strolled down the hall to Room 4. He agreed to be interviewed by Sergeant Jacoby, because for once in his life whatever it was he knew he didn't do it.
The door opened into a room slightly larger than a bathroom with a scratched up table and two tired chairs. One wall held a large mirror. Reeves slipped off his gloves. He didn't sit. He fixed his eyes on the mirror and said, "Anytime, Sergeant."
A few moments later the door opened and Jacoby squeezed in carrying a small box. To Reeves Jacoby looked like the typical civil servant in an ill-fitting suit.
"Sit down." Jacoby pointed at the seat furthest from the door. He took the other one.
Reeves surveyed the chair before depositing himself in it. "Sergeant Jacoby, what can I do for you?"
Jacoby pulled a white silk handkerchief from the box and placed it on the table in front of Reeves.
Reeves arched his eyebrows in question.
"Look at it," Jacoby commanded.
Reeves picked it up. "So?"
"I was hoping you could help me. Your label's on it. Maybe you could identify the owner?"
Reeves mulled over it and smiled. If this was all the cops had on him, he had called his lawyer for nothing. "You know how many of these we sell in a year? This is very popular item. In fact if you spend a certain amount of money in the store, we add a half dozen of these to your order as a gift." He dropped it to the table. "I could know more identify who this belongs to than I could raise the dead."
"Really? Interesting choice of words. Did you know Katherine Bedrosian?"
"Wasn't she the reporter that was found dead?"
"You know a guy named Joe Mannix?"
Reeves answered after a moment. He was reminded of Leigh's warning. "Not personally."
"Where were you last Saturday night?"
"Last Saturday night? Now let me see . . ."
Jacoby placed a pen and paper in front of Reeves. "Names and telephone numbers."
Reeves made no move to pick up the pen. He was trying to think past the fear growing in his chest.
"Am I under arrest?"
"Possibly."
"That handkerchief and this . . ." Jacoby pulled a three-quarter full chloroform bottle from the box. "was found at the crime scene. You own the Sheila. That's where her body was found. Your boy, Bernie Moss, paid a wino to buy this."
"I'm asking again. Am I under arrest?"
"No, you can go." Jacoby carefully repacked the evidence in the box. "But don't leave town." Jacoby left Reeves alone.
Reeves was positive that he had only used enough chloroform on that reporter to knock her out for an hour or two. He only wanted to get photographs of the pages of her notebook because that stupid bitch, Flora Moore, couldn't manage it. He didn't trust Cully or Bernie to do the job without them messing it up.
His mind raced. Were there any witnesses to his coming and going at the Sheila? He had been careful to come in the back entrance and avoid the lobby even though there were only drunks and a desk clerk to worry about. He knew the clerk wouldn't say anything, but he couldn't be sure that there wasn't some other eyes in the lobby.
Leigh's words haunted him. Watch your back!
The price for the Bryce Hunter films was suddenly very high.
oO0Oo
Mannix settled back in the driver's seat. He had taken Gunn's advice and dressed up. Shaving was still a problem, but in a few days he would be back to normal. He hadn't had on a tie since he graduated Western Pacific, since before Costa Verde. He let that drop from his mind. He wasn't going there again if he could help it. He wanted to remember the good times and let the bad time disappear into the fog of time. Change how you react to what it did to you. He had made that promise to himself at the pistol range. He knew he could do this.
Mannix opened the glove compartment of the Thunderbird. After the overlook he had returned Gunn's spare pistol. He took it out again and held it in his hand. His hands wanted to shake, but he willed them steady. He still didn't want to use a gun, but if he had to . . . Everybody wore guns in shoulder harness or in a belt holster; he had neither. He put the gun in his waistband in the small of his back. He wiggled around a bit to make it feel more comfortable. Later he would practice reaching for the gun. Wouldn't do him any good to have it there and not be able to reach it.
What he couldn't believe was the phone in the Thunderbird. To the right of the steering wheel and attached underneath the dash was a car phone. He had heard of this but didn't know of anyone who actually had one. Gunn gave him the number and told him to not abuse it.
The first thing he had to do was find Lenny before anybody else did. Gunn turned him on to one of his information sources.
oO0Oo
The bell dinged when Mannix opened the door to Humphrey's Pool Room. Two of the three pool tables were occupied by the Friday afternoon crowd. He scanned the players; he wasn't sure who Babby was. Gunn had described him as the best dresser in the place. Joe suddenly glimpsed the crown of a hat moving by itself. A small man in a porkpie hat and a custom tailored blue sharkskin suit with a black shirt and no tie pulled a small box by rope from around the far end of the farthest pool table. Gunn hadn't mentioned Babby was a little person. Something Mannix noted for himself, as a private investigator, you had to know a lot of different kinds of people.
Mannix found a vacant seat on the shoe shine stand and watched as Babby ran the table and collected his winnings. The loser slunk away and Babby began setting up the table for the next sucker.
Mannix walked over. "Gunn sent me," Joe said.
Babby looked up from his shot. "So?"
"He said you could help me find a guy named Lenny McAvoy?"
"Never heard of him. Who are you?" Babby aimed and blasted the cue ball into the pack. He stepped off his box and pulled it to the other side of the table.
"Mannix. Joe Mannix."
Babby studied the balls on the table. "There a reason you're interested in this Lenny McAvoy?"
"Heard of the Bryce Hunter films?"
"Everybody's heard of 'em, nobody can find 'em."
"Lenny's got them."
Babby stopped lining up his shot and leaned on his cue stick. "Can't help you." Babby went back to studying the table. "You play pool?"
"When it's necessary."
Babby pointed to the cue rack on the wall; Joe grabbed a cue. Babby re-racked the balls. "You break. Eightball."
Joe broke and the balls scattered. He didn't see a shot, but Babby did. Without hesitating, he ran the table with the stripes. With one ball left to win he looked at Joe, didn't aim, and missed. Joe's turn. The first ball sailed into the corner pocket. Another and then another. Mannix got down to the eight ball and missed. He left Babby an easy shot on purpose. Babby sunk the eight ball.
"What does he look like?"
"Caucasian, a little shorter than me, on the baggy side, about 160 pounds, brown hair, and wears a newsboy cap."
"Not much to go on."
"Gunn said you didn't need much."
"Where can I get ahold of you?" Babby asked.
Joe realized he didn't have any business cards. Definitely not a good idea to give him the number to the Y. "You got Gunn's car phone number?"
"Yeah."
"That or Mother's." Joe laid a fifty on the table. Before it had a chance to kiss the felt it was in Babby's pocket.
"I'll be in touch."
"Another fifty if you call me back today."
Babby nodded; the urgency was noted.
oO0Oo
Mannix dropped his cigarette to the sidewalk and smashed it with his foot. He shifted the rolled up newspaper to his other hand as he pushed through the ornate brass-handled door of the Mayfield. It was starting to get dark at 5 PM, earlier in the evening than when he dropped Kathy off almost a week ago.
"Good evening, sir," the desk clerk said. She waited with polite attention.
"Were you on duty the night when she came in here?" Mannix showed the clerk the front page of Tuesday's Los Angeles Observer.
The clerk rolled her eyes. "Who are you?"
"An interested party." Mannix unfurled a page of the newspaper to reveal a ten dollar bill.
The clerk sniffed. "Not interested enough."
Mannix moved another page to reveal another ten dollar bill.
"I told the police I really didn't notice her. She didn't stop at the desk. She knew exactly where she was going. Straight to the elevator."
"Do you have any other guests you don't notice?"
"Maybe."
Mannix took the cue and displayed another ten tucked in the society page. "What floor the elevator stopped on?"
"Not really. There's a back entrance that our guests use when why wish to be discreet."
"Yeah, where?"
"It's over there." She pointed to a hallway on Mannix's right. "The employees' entrance. A few of our more shy patrons use it. Service elevator is further down to the right. Leads to the back alley."
"So nobody monitors that entrance."
"Only employees taking a smoke break."
"Like you?"
"Smoking's bad for my complexion."
Mannix played with the newspaper. He patted it against the desk and surveyed the empty lobby.
"Who's on duty at night besides you? A maintenance man, maid?"
"We have a couple who live on the premises in return for being available for nighttime emergencies."
"How about a bell hop?"
"People arriving at this time of night usually carry their own bags." She leaned closer to Mannix. "I'm off at midnight."
Mannix handed her the paper and looked around again. "Don't announce that you've been talking to me. Midnight, eh?"
The clerk winked as she placed the paper under the overhang of the sign-in desk.
Mannix went down the hallway. He passed the service elevator as he arrived in the alley behind the hotel. He pulled out a smoke and inspected the area. He looked past the dumpsters and the trash bins down the alleyway to Central. He smoked and watched the cars cruise by. At the end of his cigarette break, he counted three empty taxis among the traffic passing by the alley entrance. He walked around the hotel to the car.
oO0Oo
Saragoza lounged against the fender of his Red & White company cab parked across the street from the Greyhound Bus Station. He watched a pale blue Thunderbird slide in behind it. A toothpick danced between his lips. He smiled when he saw the driver get out.
"Que pasa, Jose, looking good. Where'd you get the wheels?"
Joe had gotten used to Saragoza using the Spanish version his name; he did that to everybody. He towered over Mannix's six foot, one inch frame. Joe often wondered how he managed to slip so gracefully behind the wheel of his cab.
"Gunn doesn't like slobs driving his car."
Saragoza snorted. "If that was my car, you wouldn't be driving it at all." His eyes lingered over the curves of the fenders. "You working for him?"
"Mostly helping out. Need some information."
"What else is new?"
"Saturday night between 10 P.M. and 11 P.M., anybody pick up a fare, woman, late twenties, dark hair at the Mayfield and drop her off at the Sheila."
"Why you need to know?"
"It's personal."
"How personal?"
"She was a friend of mine."
Saragoza chewed on his toothpick. "About five foot six, wearing a gray suit?"
"Yeah!"
Saragoza chewed a bit more. "I did." He continued. "Saw her picture in the Observer. Decided better to keep my mouth shut."
"Why? If you have information that'll help find her killer . . ."
"I'm not interested in winding up on a slab like her, Jose."
"Then why you telling me?"
Saragoza spat out the toothpick "'Cause you've always been straight with me. And I can trust you."
"What can you tell me?"
"Rainy night. That's probably why she took a cab instead of walking. The Sheila's only about ten blocks away. I couldn't figure why she wanted to go there. She wasn't dressed like a hooker. At that time of night that's usually who I'm taking there. She came out of the alley behind the Mayfield. I was almost ran over her. Before I could say I'm off duty, she jumped in. She was fidgety, you know, nervous. She told me to take her to the Sheila. I was going by there anyway, so no big deal. On the way I noticed a car following me. Dark colored, musta been a cop car."
"Why a cop car?"
"It had one of those long aerials on the back fender like they have for their radios. I got the tingling, you know, on the back of my neck. My hairs were standing at attention."
"Did you see the driver?"
"Nope, decided it wouldn't be healthy to. I split as soon as I dropped her off. 'Cause I was supposed to be on my way in, I didn't write it in my log. Good thing I didn't."
"Anything else?"
"Nah. If anybody else had asked, I wouldn't have even copped to it."
Joe reached in his pocket.
Saragoza stopped his hand. "Was she a close friend?"
"Sorta, we went to the same high school. I know her family."
"Keep your cash. You can do something for me some day."
"That's a promise."
"Get any dings on that T-bird, miho, if Gunn don't shoot you, I will." Saragoza opened the cab door. "So you're going to be a private eye now."
"Just playing it by ear."
"Don't let your 'ear', get your head in the wringer." Saragoza slammed the door and drove off.
oO0Oo
As Joe stepped out of the lobby of the Y he saw Art's car parked across the street. He's here? He realized it must be 6 PM and one of their days to play half-court basketball. He wheeled about and headed for the court. Squeaks and bounces sounded on the wood floor. As Joe entered, a ball flew toward him. He positioned himself under the basket and passed the ball to Art.
"You're not dressed for basketball." Art bounced the ball.
"Helping out Gunn." Joe cleared his throat. "He told me if I'm working with him, I need to dress better."
"So you're working with him now?"
"Just until he can get back on his feet."
"Yeah."
They fell into their old routine of playing Horse, but Art shot first. They went back and forth until they were even at four shots apiece.
"Hey, no street shoes on the court!" The attendant yelled.
Joe looked down at his loafers and smiled at the interruption. He passed the ball back to Art. "Yeah, no street shoes." Art joined him as he left the court.
"Monday, the usual time?"
Joe nodded. Outside the Y, Art whistled when he saw Joe get into Gunn's car.
"Gunn's letting you drive his car?"
"Somebody's got to do it."
Art crossed the street. He noticed that after Joe pulled away another car did too, a dark blue sedan with a long aerial. As it passed him, Art recognized the driver, Jerry Delaney out of the Central Precinct.
oO0Oo
Evening and still no word from Babby. Mannix sat in the T-bird on Beacon and Fifth in San Pedro outside of Mother's. He cursed himself for not giving Babby the phone number to the Buck. Now he would either need to sit in the car and wait on the call from Babby or go into Mother's. The sky had clumps of clouds waiting to spoil this dry spell. Mother's it is.
Mannix stepped into Mother's. The red and white plaid tablecloths, the covered chairs. The musicians were returning to the bandstand directly in front of him, the bar to his left. He watched the bartender ring up a drink on a cash register that had probably seen Prohibition. The older woman sitting on a stool near the register watching the crowd was probably Mother.
"Who are you?"
"Joe Mannix."
Mother's eyes narrowed at his name. "You're the one who got Pete shot."
He took a breath."Guilty."
Mother stood. It wasn't often that a woman stood eye-to-eye with Joe Mannix. "Find yourself another bar," she said.
Barney arrived and blocked Mannix in. He wiped his hands on his cloth apron.
"I'm sorry about what happened to Gunn. I"m trying to make up for it. I'm doing his legwork while he's recovering. Besides I told Babby he could reach me here with some information. I can't leave."
"Go sit by the phone. Over there." Mother pointed to a table next to the phone on the wall.
"Sure."
Barney stepped back to let Mannix pass. He looked to Mother. "Watch him," she said.
Mannix sat near the phone when he musicians returned and began warming up their fingers and lungs. Edie Hart emerged from a door in the back. She smiled at the crowd as she took her place behind the microphone. Her wrap around dress did her figure proud. Mannix could understand Gunn choosing her over the Duchess. Her face frowned when she saw him.
Barney returned to mingling with Mother's regulars. Mannix's cigarette merged with the already smoke-dense air. He wanted to order a drink, but Barney would probably poison it.
The band played the intro in a slow Latin style. Edie sang the jazz standard "Yesterdays".
Yesterdays, yesterdays
Days I knew as happy and sweet
Sequestered days
He remembered the melody from the concert, but Dizzy's version had been an uptempo instrumental. He liked Edie's slow and sultry rendition better.
Barney plopped a mug of beer on Mannix's table. "Bad for business when someone's sitting at a table without a drink," he said and ambled away.
Mannix sipped and settled back to listen to Edie.
Olden days, golden days
Days of mad romance and love
Then gay youth was mine
Near the end of her song the phone rang. He jumped to get it.
"Mannix?" the voice on the other end questioned.
"Yeah?"
"I got what you need."
"Be right there." Mannix hung up, gulped more of his beer and put a couple of bucks on the counter. "Thanks," he said to Barney. As he left Mother's the song ended and the applause started.
oO0Oo
Jacoby recreated his interview with Reeves in his mind. He leaned back in his chair and rocked. The motion soothed his brain when he was trying to puzzle out his homicide cases. Reeves had been happy to joust with him until he brought up the chloroform bottle. The bottle didn't place Reeves at the scene. He couldn't prove Reeves had ever seen it. Everything was strictly circumstantial. What was Reeves' motive? The Hunter films?
Blaney had shown up and admitted defeat with Pete's find of Bedrosian's notebook. Seemed that she was using a code in addition to the Reporter's Notehand. Earlier Jacoby handed it over to Lee Jones at SID. Let him have his experts take a whack at it.
He was also surprised and annoyed by Deputy DA Leigh's insistence on a briefing. Not like he had a suspect to charge. He put that in his brain to stew along with wondering if someone else could have entered the room later.
Someone knocked on his door. Before he could say come in, Malcolm opened the door.
"What?" He noticed that Malcolm was dressed in gray sweats with perspiration marking his armpits.
"I just left Joe Mannix at the Y and I saw something you might be interested in." Malcolm stepped closer to Jacoby's desk. "I saw Jerry Delaney tailing Joe."
"What?" Jacoby bolted upright in his chair.
"Yeah, I don't know if he saw me or not, but as soon as Joe drove away, Delaney was on his tail."
"Delaney!" Jacoby picked up his phone and dialed a friend of his at Central Division. He knew Delaney came over from the county. So far he hadn't heard anything either way about him. Being a former Los Angeles County Deputy Sheriff made Delaney suspect in Jacoby's eyes.
"Hey. Mike, Lou, what's Jerry Delaney up to?"
"The usual. We got him working burglaries. He pulls his weight when he's here."
"Is he working today?"
"In fact, he called in sick. Is this something I shouldn't know about? Why the sudden interest? Something up?"
"Nothing much. Just asking. Thanks, Mike."
"Yeah, Lou."
Jacoby dialed another number. "This is Sgt. Jacoby. Did Officer Delaney sign out a vehicle anytime in the last week?" Jacoby waited for the light duty officer assigned to the motor pool to check through the sign out log. "Okay, thanks." He turned to Malcolm.
"So what's going on with Delaney?" Malcolm asked.
"He called in sick and hasn't checked out a city vehicle in a week. He's our county connection."
"What?"
"Pete thought the guy who shot him at the overlook was driving a county unmarked."
"What's Delaney got to do with this?"
"Don't know, doesn't figure."
"Do you know anybody at the LA County Sheriff's Department who's reasonably honest?"
"Damn few."
"Delaney one of them?"
"Might have thought so until now. Makes me wonder why he transferred to the LAPD."
"I'm sure Chief Parker had him checked out before he approved the transfer.
"Parker's not perfect. Delaney could be a plant."
"Yeah, but who planted him? And why?"
Jacoby's phone rang; he listened and said, "Thanks," as he replaced the handset. "C'mon." He grabbed his hat. "Babby's got some information for us." He led Malcolm out of the door. "It's about Mannix."
oO0Oo
Babby was waiting under a street lamp on the sidewalk when Jacoby and Art arrived. "What you got for me?" Jacoby asked.
"That Mannix fella Pete's working with came by to pick up an address on Lenny McAvoy. When he left, I saw him hustled into Macklin Reeves' car."
"You sure it was Reeves?" Malcolm asked.
"He's the only person I know that owns a black stretch Chrysler Imperial. Besides." Babby pointed to the Thunderbird parked across the street. "You think Mannix'd leave a car like that in this neighborhood willingly?"
"Where's McAvoy?"
"He's in a dump over in Bunker Hill – 529 West Third Street, the Lima Apartments."
"Thanks, Babby," Jacoby said.
Buzz! Buzz! Jacoby knew that sound. "Answer it," he said to Malcolm. "It's Pete's car phone."
Malcolm hopped out and put the phone to his ear. "Yeah. . . don't know . . ." Jacoby saw Art searching around the dash. "No keys . . .okay."
Before Malcolm asked, Jacoby pulled a key from a ring and tossed it to him. Jacoby saw the surprised look on Malcolm's face. "What? Edie's got a spare too."
"Gunn wants me to pick him up."
"Okay, go get him and meet me at the station. I'll pick you both up there."
Jacoby radioed R&I for Reeves' car registration, then he put out an APB for the its location. Do not approach, location only. By the time Jacoby picked up Gunn and Malcolm, he'd already dispatched a car to Lenny's address and received a sighting on Reeves' car turning onto Mulholland going west from Laurel Canyon.
oO0Oo
Delaney shadowed the black Chrysler Imperial onto Mulholland. Twice going around curves he'd doused his headlights long enough for them to think they weren't being followed. Good thing he knew the road well. When he was a deputy, he patrolled here.
He listened with half an ear to the police band. When he began to hear the chatter get busy, he turned up the volume.
"All points bulletin. 1955 Black Chrysler Imperial,Ocean-William-Adam-7-7-0. Location only. Repeat-location only. Do not approach. Notify King-41 on Tac2."
The message repeated. Delaney's eyes swiveled around the road. That license plate belonged to Reeves' car. What the hell? He had a mind to change to Tac2, but then he thought it might be better just to get the hell out of there. He prayed no one going the other direction noticed him driving a county unmarked.
oO0Oo
The Imperial slowed as it hit the dirt and gravel of the Hollywood Bowl Overlook. Its headlights swept the darkness. No other cars were playing lover's lane tonight.
Cully shoved Mannix out of the car. "Told you I'd seen you again, punk." Cully dropped Mannix to the ground with a punch in the gut. One of his already bruised rib gave way. His breath was in snatches.
"I hear from my sources that you're trying to frame me for that reporter's murder. I thought we had a deal. You bring me the Hunter films and I let you live."
Mannix struggled to his feet. He knew Cully was in front of him with Reeves to his left in the headlights' glare. Where was Bernie?
"I told you before . . . don't have anything to do . . . with that. I'm not the guy you want to talk to," Mannix said.
"Who should we be talking to?"
Mannix pressed his mouth closed.
"Loosen his lips." Reeves told Cully.
Bernie reached for Mannix from behind like the last time. Before Bernie got a lock on his arms, Mannix pivoted, grabbed Bernie and tossed him into Cully knocking both of them down. He reached behind his jacket and yanked at the butt of the pistol. Before he could get it out, Cully clamped him in a bear hug. Stabbing pain from his ribs. Mannix rammed his foot down on top of Cully's. Cully released him, grabbed his foot howling in pain.
Mannix staggered a few steps away from the headlights. He heard moans. Probably Bernie. Cully rushed him. Mannix managed to untangle the pistol from his belt. Mannix fired and fired again. Cully fell face forward into the gravel.
Mannix stumbled a step and doubled over. The pain in his ribs screamed at him. Shallow breaths, keep breathing. He straightened up and paced.
Through the fog of pain, he heard an engine roar. Reeves! Headlights swerved catching him in its beams. He jumped aside as the Imperial missed him by inches. Pain forgotten, he aimed the pistol and fired at the receding taillights. He saw the reverse lights pop on and race for him. He fired again. He hit the rear window but the glass didn't shatter. Bulletproof? He went for the rear tires. Pop, Pop. A tire exploded sending the car twisting to a stop. He ran and jerked open the door dragging Reeves out of the driver's seat.
"You know how many bullets I got left? I don't," Mannix yelled. "You're gonna find out." Mannix forced the barrel into Reeves' temple and squeezed. Click. He remembered how loud the sound of an empty chamber could be.
"Are you crazy?" Reeves struggled against Mannix's grip.
"You killed Kathy!"
"I didn't." Reeves held up his hands. "I swear!"
"Then who did?" Joe spun the cylinder again and held against the gangster's temple so hard it left a mark. "Who did?"
"I – don't – know!"
Click. The cylinder spun again. Mannix wrenched Reeves' face close to his. He put the gun barrel in Reeves' mouth.
"Joe, stop!"
His trigger finger tensed. Just a little more pressure . . .
"Joe!"
Mannix hadn't heard the sirens or the squad cars skid to a stop a few feet from him. He blinked at the headlights beams and people surrounding him. He glared at Reeves and released him.
Jacoby came from the shadows and escorted Reeves to one of the other squad cars.
"Is that mine?" Gunn asked.
Mannix handed him the 38 and slumped against the Imperial's trunk. Art reached in and turned off the motor.
"I could have killed him, Art."
"But you didn't."
"But I could have."
"But you didn't!"
"Only because you and Jacoby and Gunn showed up."
"Look, Joe, you were kidnapped and beaten half senseless. You just got a little crazy defending yourself, that's all. That's what my report will say and I'm sure Jacoby's will say the same."
"I wanted to kill him because I know he killed Kathy."
"Leave it to Jacoby. Let him do his job," Gunn said.
"He was there. In that room. I know it!"
"If we can shake Cully or Bernie loose from him, maybe we'll get him yet. Why don't you get in the car and we'll get you to a doctor. I got something to do," Art said.
Gunn guided Mannix to Jacoby's squad car. He moved slowly. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the pain from his injuries returned.
"You gonna be alright?" Gunn asked.
"No."
"That's what I like, an honest man."
Art watched his friend limp away. This whole thing was a mess. It was his turn to make it messier.
Art spied Jacoby was busy directing the uniformed officers in cordoning off the area. Art marched over to the squad car Jacoby parked Reeves. Reeves glanced up as Art opened the door.
"Who are you? What do you want?" Reeves asked. "I want him arrested. You saw what he was doing to me."
"Patrolman Two Arthur George Malcolm, badge number 1517. I'm letting you know right now that if anything ever happens to Joe Mannix, I'm coming for you."
"Why would I do anything to him?" Reeves swept the dirt and dust from his clothing.
"Doesn't matter why, just don't." Art strode away.
` "Officer Malcolm, I'll have your badge. You threatened me!"
Malcolm charged back and shoved his face close to the gangster's "I don't threaten. I promise." Fear flashed cross Reeves' face; that's what Malcolm wanted. He wanted Reeves to think twice about any retaliation against Joe. That might be enough to keep Joe alive. For how long, he didn't know.
Jacoby ambled over and did an inquiring look from Malcolm to Reeves. "Is there a problem here?"
Art dared Reeves to say anything. "No, Sgt. Jacoby, no problem."
oO0Oo
When Delaney returned home, he reviewed his options. The Observer's front page photograph of Katherine Bedrosian stared at him. Leigh had him follow her off and on for a couple of weeks.
He had been on pins and needles since transferring from the Sheriff's Department to the LAPD. He had the reputation, undeserved, as one of the few honest deputies. He wasn't really; he was just picky about what he got himself involved in. Now it was murder. He didn't do it, but he had a good idea who maybe did.
He had to decide who's side he was on. Usually he picked himself. With Leigh he wasn't so sure anymore. Leigh had smooth-talked him into the transfer. He had to admit he enjoyed the fact that Chief Parker didn't know as much as he thought he did.
When he had called Leigh to tell him where the reporter finally landed, he'd been told to go home, but he didn't. He stuck around to see what would happen next. He moved his car two blocks away to First. When he returned he noticed Reeves and his goons sneaking out the rear entrance. He found a vantage point in the lobby right before Leigh arrived. Dressed down for the occasion but still recognizable. Whatever happened Leigh hadn't stayed long. That made Delaney think that Leigh had stumbled on her already dead body. He looked shaken when he left. Delaney thought about how he could use this information later.
oO0Oo
Victor Fortune very rarely called his people to his home in Brentwood, but this time his personal touch was needed. He left Macklin Reeves to stew in his den while he wined and dined his east coast brethren. Refilling his brandy snifter Fortune excused himself the drawing room and strode across the hallway. Reeves rose from his seat when he entered.
"Mr. Fortune."
"Please, stay seated. This is an informal meeting." Fortune took a seat opposite Reeves. "Leave Joseph Mannix alone."
"What?"
"I don't repeat myself. He has friends in the right places. Anything that happens to him will happen to you."
"But, Mr. Fortune . . ."
"I don't want any more trouble with the LAPD than I already have. Capiche?"
"Yes, sir."
"Lee."
The Mafia soldier by the door appeared next to Reeves and escorted him from the room. A moment later a door from the other end of the room opened. Y. Franklin Leigh ambled into the room and seated himself on the davenport.
"Is that what you wanted?" Fortune asked.
Leigh nodded.
"Now, let's talk about the Hunter film you have." Victor Fortune swirled his brandy and sipped.
oO0Oo
Saragoza swung to the curb outside of Mother's and dropped off Art Malcolm. Art had heard of the place. It wasn't on his beat and he wasn't that fond of jazz. He did his drinking and bitching at the Shield, the cop bar on First.
Art hadn't seen Joe since he came back from Kathy's funeral. He didn't even show up for their last basketball session. Mac didn't know where he was. He still had his room at the Y, but he never seemed to be there. Finally Art had asked a few cabbies and found Saragoza and Saragoza found out Joe was at Mother's.
"Thanks." Art said to Saragoza.
"Anytime, Arturo. Take care of Jose."
"I will."
So this was Gunn's hangout. He pictured Gunn's hangout as more swank. To him Mother's was a dump on the wrong side of San Pedro smelling of salt air and fishing boats.
Art entered Mother's. The Monday evening crowd was a few patrons and the murmur of too much alcohol. No band, no Edie, no Gunn. Joe Mannix slumped at a small table in the corner with his back to the front door. Art walked over to a woman camped on a stool near the cash register end of the bar.
"Are you Mother?" Art asked.
"Who are you?"
"A friend of Joe's. How long has he been here drinking?" Art asked.
"Since we opened," Mother said.
"Why didn't you stop him?"
"He'd go somewhere else. At least here we can keep an eye on him. He's not making any noise and he's not bothering anybody. Besides," Mother said. "If Pete can forgive him, so can we. Joe's among friends here."
"Thanks."
Mother nodded and returned to her accounting.
Art approached his friend. He had never seen Joe drunk. A couple of drinks, yes; seven eighths of a bottle of Chivas Regal, no. Joe glanced up from his glass, his eyes red enough to do a Bloody Mary proud.
"Hey, Art."
"Joe, how you doing?" Art slid into the chair across from his friend. The cuts on his face were no longer covered with gauze and tape; the bruises had faded. What he worried about were the scars he couldn't see.
"I'm fine. Real Fine." Joe stared at his empty glass. "Need another drink." He grabbed the bottle; its lip wavered in the vicinity of the glass. Art steadied his hand.
"Thanks. Barney, a glass for my friend, Art . . . what's your poison? Wait minute, I remember bourbon. Bourbon for my friend."
Art signaled 'no' to Barney. "So Jacoby says you're thinking about becoming a private detective. Gonna work with Gunn? Put some of that pre-law degree to work?"
"Nope, Gunn works alone. Said he'd get me on with a guy he knows – Harry Forrest. Because I don't have a law enforcement background, gonna hafta work with a licensed PI for about three years."
"You could always join the LAPD for that experience." Art watched as Joe struggled to bring the shot glass to his lips.
"Nah, tired of uniforms."
"You know that Hunter film disappeared from Property. Jacoby's thinking Delaney might have had something to do with it. SID still working on that code in Kathy's notebook. Lenny's dead and no sign of the rest of the film. Couldn't get anything out of Cully or Bernie about Kathy's murder. Cully'll be out of the hospital in about another week and Bernie will be on crutches for another couple of months. You know, you could press charges for kidnapping and assault."
"I don't want him in jail for beating me up. I want him in jail for Kathy's murder. I promised her father."
"There's no statute of limitations on murder. Jacoby's working on it and he won't let it go. He wants Reeves just as bad as you do." Art noted Joe's bleary eyes trying to focus.
Joe upturned the bottle. A drop leaked out. "Hey, Barney, another bottle."
Art shook his head and Barney stayed behind the bar.
"Maybe I should take you home."
"Don't want to go home. Nobody to go home to." Joe slammed the empty glass on the table. "You call the Y a home?"
"You can come home with me."
"Nah, don't want to mess you up with Helen."
"Let me worry about Helen." Art moved the bottle away from the edge of the table. "Joe, what happened in Costa Verde?"
"Nothing."
"You think I believe that?"
"Why do you care? I don't care. Not any more do I care."
"You wanted to talk."
"We're talking."
"Yeah, we're talking, but you're not saying anything."
Joe blinked at the empty bottle of Chivas Regal, his eyes unfocused. A shiver rippled through him. Joe's grip was white knuckled. He pulled a crumpled ticket from his pocket and glowered at it.
"There was this girl . . . ," his voice trailed off into the memory. ". . . you know, Art, there's always a girl. . ."
The End