Searching for Edgar's Five Dancers

by Efren O'brien

  Quinn could see that there was something bothering Katrina that day. “My uncle Joel doesn’t want me to spend time with you,” she said.

  “I can sense that,” said Quinn. “He’s hardly ever there anymore when I come over.”

  “It’s not that he doesn’t like you,” she said. “It takes him a long time to open up to strangers,” she said.

  “Let me ask something, Katrina. Are you able to correspond with your family in Germany at all?” asked Quinn.

  “No, I don’t think so…I don’t know the last time we heard anything from them. I don’t know how they’re getting along. Things were getting bad when we left several years ago,” she said.

  “There are stories coming out of Germany and the other occupied countries, and they don’t sound good, “Quinn said. “Many people have been displaced from their homes, and Jews in particular have had all their possessions, money, and property taken from them.”

  “I try not to think about it too much, but my family back in Germany really has suffered,” Katrina said. Her shoulder-length blonde hair fluttered in the air as a breeze picked up.

  They walked through Fort Marcy Park that evening. The moon was about three-quarters full. The unique sounds and noises of the animals of the night began to come alive. Several sparrows tweeted in the background, and the crickets started making their unique chirping sounds. There were other romantics in the park that night, all attempting to be as discreet as possible. Quinn pulled out a cigarette and lit it as they walked. You could tell where lovers in the park were that night by the lit cigarettes exposed like fireflies in the darkness.

  “Why do you come by the gallery so often?” Katrina asked.

  “I like the art, but that’s not the real reason. It’s because of you,” he finally said. “I come by to see you,” Quinn said again.

  “I’m so happy it’s because of me,” she said. “That’s very nice of you.” The two stopped. They were standing less than one foot from one another. Quinn pulled her to him in a close embrace, and they kissed for a significant amount of time. “Ever since I met you on that cold night in Albuquerque you’ve been on my mind,” Quinn said.

  “You’ve been on my mind too,” she said.

  “Once this war is over, maybe we can make some real plans,” he said.

  “I don’t think the war’s ever gonna end,” she said. “I pray every day for my family overseas. I told you that my uncle and I haven’t heard anything from my family in Germany, but my other Uncle Ariel sometimes gets information about them,” she said.

  “Your other uncle?” said Quinn. “I thought your Uncle Joel was your only relative in the US?”

  “Oh I never told you…I have another uncle here too,” said Katrina.

  “Where is he at?” asked Quinn.

  “Well, I’m not really sure right now,” she said. “He travels around a lot. Sometimes we don’t hear from him for a while and then…”

  “What does he do?” asked Quinn.

  “Oh, I really don’t know…He works for the government, I think,” she said.

  “Well, maybe I’ll get to meet him someday?” said Quinn.

  “He only contacts us by letter every now and then. But you never know,” she said.

  They were in a section of the park where there were other lovers hiding in the small forested area. Quinn placed his hand on her waist and brought her to him. “Katrina, no matter what happens with this crazy war, and this crazy town…I want you to know I’ll be here for you as long as you want,” he said.

  Their lips met again. For that brief period of time that night in early October 1943, all that mattered was that they were in each other’s arms. All that mattered was that they had each other.

  Chapter XLIii

  As 1943 turned into 1944, there was good news for the Allies on the war front, but things didn’t appear to change much in Santa Fe. In fact, the weather was unusually warm and there was little to no snow. The roads were dry. Quinn worked his day job, staking out the only real department store in town, F. W. Woolworth Co., located on the southwest corner of the Santa Fe Plaza. It wasn’t a bad gig, and the pay was good. His job was to watch employees suspected of stealing; and then mingle around in the store to see if he could catch any shoplifters. He had been doing this for about three weeks now, and had actually caught three shoplifters. He even was able to buy another car. He bought a used shiny 1942 Buick Coupe with a detachable roof with whitewalls.

  Quinn left the store about 4:00 in the afternoon that Thursday. The sun was still shining. Surprisingly, it was a perfect day to take a little drive along the newly constructed and paved State Highway 20, built through the foothills surrounding Santa Fe. Quinn got behind the wheel of his new Buick and started to drive. This was a two-lane road that wound its way up into the foothills for about five miles and then twisted back down out of the hills to the east side of the main plaza.

  Part of the drive was totally obscured from the general public as the road had been cut into and through the foothills. The road was designed to be a shortcut into Santa Fe from the main highway. Quinn drove at a leisurely 35 mph. On his right side was the side of the mountain; on his left was a steep, rocky embankment descending hundreds of feet to the canyon below. Quinn had the entire road to himself, climbing into the foothills for about three miles before he looked in his rearview mirror and saw the black car behind him. The sedan either had a tinted windshield or some sort of a screen in the glass as Quinn couldn’t get a glimpse of the driver at all.

  The car approached quickly from behind. Smash!… the large black sedan crashed into the rear of Quinn’s smaller Buick as Quinn jammed on the brakes, causing him to lose traction and nearly spin out of control on the narrow road. The big black car rushed in again and crashed into Quinn’s Buick again, obviously no accident.

  Quinn’s Buick swerved back and forth and nearly careened off the road and over the edge of the steep hill and into the canyon below. The black sedan sped by as Quinn’s car teetered, balancing on the edge of the cliff. Quinn had a bloody gash across his forehead and felt acute pain above his left knee. He was badly injured, and he knew it. He sensed the momentum of his vehicle and its weight going over the cliff. With a herculean push he was able to jump out of the driver’s side door just as his car went over the cliff’s edge. Quinn now lay face up on the shoulder of the road as his Buick rolled down the steep and rocky slope. The vehicle hit a large rock and somersaulted backwards vertically in the air, landing upside down. The buick continued to slide down the hill before stopping and coming to rest against a large tree stump. Quinn could smell the gasoline leaking from the vehicle nearly 400 feet away and permeating the air. Quinn had suffered a bad wound to his head and a broken left leg. About 30 seconds later, the Buick exploded and erupted into flames. Had he not jumped from the vehicle when he did…Quinn would have either been crushed by the weight of his own car as it tumbled down the rocky slope or simply blown to bits.

  The pain to his head was excruciating, but luck was on Quinn’s side that day. His Buick had broken through the guardrail adjacent to the roadway and his left rear tire and left rear quarter panel had been ripped from the car on the roadway’s edge prior to the Buick coupe descending the hillside. The evidence was plain for any passerby to see that an accident had just happened there. A city utility vehicle passed by 15 minutes later, and the driver noticed the debris. Quinn ended up being rescued before he bled to death on the side of that obscure road.

  Chapter XLIv

  Quinn was transported and treated at Bruns Army Hospital in Santa Fe. The hospital was built as a military hospital but handled civilian injuries in the community as well. It didn’t look like your typical hospital. It was a plain, long, thin building constructed in the shape of a bland military barracks. The accident had severed two arteries in Quinn’s left leg. Quinn had also suffered severe head trauma. He was treated and admitted for recovery.

  Three days after his accident, he had some visitors. The first wa
s Katrina. “I heard you were here,” she started out. “What happened?” she asked.

  “While I was driving, I think another car hit me from behind and ran me off the road, Katrina.”

  “You could have been killed!” she exclaimed.

  “You’re right,” Quinn retorted.

  “I brought some flowers for you,” she said as she held up a brightly colored bouquet.

  “Thanks, you can put them in the empty vase on the window sill,” Quinn said.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said. “When I heard you were here, I had to come and see you right away,” Katrina exclaimed. “Is there anything I can do?” Quinn struggled for a moment with his thoughts before remembering.

  “Actually, yes, there is…and I would be grateful, ” Quinn stated. “My weekly rent is due at my motel. My wallet is in the first drawer of the armoire. Take $23 out of my wallet and pay my rent for me, please,” Quinn requested. “Tell the guy at the front desk I’ll be back in a few days. And remember to get a receipt. Thank you so much, Katrina. I’ll be by the gallery, and we can go out as soon as I’m released,” Quinn said as his eyelids started getting heavy and he began to nod off.

  Katrina came to the side of his bed. “I’m going now Quinn, but I’ll be back. I’ll take care of your rent at the motel, don’t worry. If you need help with anything else I’m here for you. I’ve missed you terribly!” she said as several tears rolled down her face. They kissed goodbye before Katrina left that day.

  Later that afternoon Quinn had another visitor. It was Marika. Quinn was asleep when she entered. She gasped as she entered his hospital room and saw his head nearly fully bandaged. As she entered his room she woke Quinn up. “I heard about the accident from your partner when I came to your office. I hadn’t seen you anywhere for a while and thought maybe you had left town. It looks like you took quite a spill, ” she said.

  “Oh, just another day in the life of a private detective,” Quinn said.

  “I told you to back off the art thing,” she said as she looked out of the hospital window room. “I warned you…you’re messing with some very dangerous people,” she said.

  “Who did this to me?” asked Quinn.

  “I don’t know,” she answered, “but if I had to guess, Laszlo Tibor had something to do with it. You went too far, and you got closer than they wanted you to be. Look, I came here to see you,” she stated, “but I may be in some trouble myself, and I may need your help. I can’t talk about it now though. When are you being released?”

  “I guess I’ll be here for a few more days. They’re worried about a hematoma or something like that,” Quinn said.

  “When you get out, come up to Alex’s. I’m there just about every night. We can talk there or make plans,” Marika said. Just then one of the nurses came in and announced visitation time would be over soon.

  “Okay, I’ve got to leave now…but don’t forget Alex’s.”

  “I’ll be up there when I’m released and I’ll look for you,” Quinn said.

  “Wonderful,” she said as she gave Quinn a liberal kiss on his right cheek.

  “If I knew I’d be kissed like that, maybe I’d be here more often!” he said.

  One week later, Quinn was released. His left leg was in a cast where it would remain for another month. He still had bandages wrapped around his head, and he used crutches to walk.

  As soon as the bandages were removed, and despite his other injuries, he took Manny’s Cab up to Alex’s with the hope of seeing Marika there. A swing band was playing that night. The all-male band was comprised of several men on trumpets, trombones, one clarinet, two saxophones, and one set of drums. They all wore the same style jacket. A young woman in a nice dress provided the vocals. They played swing and slow ballads; Glen Miller, Artie Shaw and Benny Goodman type stuff.

  Marika was sitting at a table with her lady paramour and several other people laughing and drinking when Quinn came in. Quinn went up to the bar, crutches and all, and took a seat. The place was packed that night, but he had to speak with Marika. He had a couple of his usual libations— bourbon, soda with a shot of Curacoa. The drinks brought his inhibitions down some.

  During one of the band’s breaks, he decided to approach Marika. As he approached the circular table, he noticed everyone was laughing profusely with one another. “Well, I see there’s a festive crowd here tonight!” Quinn said with a smirk on his face as everyone turned their heads and stared at him.

  Everyone was formally dressed that evening and Marika looked very sexy with one of her slinky dresses. “Darling!” she said. Just then the leader of the band announced a break. “Grab a chair and join us…”

  “Well, thank you, and I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’d like to talk with you for a minute if possible,” Quinn said.

  “Well, of course,” Marika said. Several of the guests at the table indicated they had to leave, and three seats quickly opened up.

  “Baby,” Marika said to her paramour, “be so kind as to give us a few minutes, please,” as she kissed her girlfriend on the side of the cheek. Her lady friend got up with her cigarette case and purse. She smiled and walked off.

  “Well, I see you survived,” Marika stated.

  “I’ve got to find out who did this to me Marika,” Quinn half asked and half stated. “Do you know anything? If you do, you’ve got to tell me!”

  “Is it really worth knowing? After all, you survived,” she said.

  “Yes, I need to know! I could easily have been killed that day.”

  “As I’ve told you before, my little birdy friends clue me in on things every now and then,” she said. “I’ve inquired, but I haven’t heard anything yet about your accident,” she said. “I would tell you if I knew.…But I’ve also told you before to walk away from the Degenerate Art investigation. There are people involved who will go to great lengths to avoid being identified or having their smuggling ring disrupted. You’re a threat to expose these people if you keep looking. Somebody tried to kill you and failed this time. They may not fail next time!”

  Just then the band at Alex’s returned to the stage to start up again. “Listen,” Marika said, “I need to talk with you about something else. I need your help. But not here, not now. We need to meet in private away from everyone and everything before I can talk about this.”

  “Anything for you Marika,” Quinn said with a hint of tenderness.

  “We’ll meet on the north end of the Guadalupe Street bridge Thursday afternoon at four o’clock, if you’re up to it. I can talk freely there,” she said.

  “Maybe you’ll hear some chirps from one of your little birds that will be useful for me in the meantime,” Quinn said.

  Chapter XLv

  The problem was he had now lost his vehicle, and his current living space was two miles from his work. New Mexico did not require motor vehicle operators to carry automobile insurance during the war years, and Quinn did not have insurance. He also did not have the available cash to replace his car at that time. He was now at the mercy of local cab companies or his own two feet, when he could move any reasonable distance on crutches. His solution to this problem was simple. There was a small motel called The Pueblo, three blocks down from the office on Cerillos Road. On the 25th of January he changed motel addresses and moved in. He still used crutches, which made foot travel difficult, but he had the use of Manny’s cabs, which gave him some independence. This was the way Quinn wanted it.

  On most mornings Quinn could be seen using crutches and hobbling the three blocks to his office and back to his motel. The Pueblo was a one-story structure built out of adobe in the Spanish style, and Quinn’s room opened up to the outdoors and the motel parking lot. So on this day he hobbled back and noticed a young lady peering into the trash cans at the far end of the motel. Quinn saw her carefully removing the metal lids to two cans and setting them gingerly on the ground. Then she began wading through the trash. She had short sandy blond hair, wore a red shirt with suspenders over and one stra
p broken, under a worn brown wool coat. She appeared slightly disheveled.

  Normally, Quinn wouldn’t have cared or paid her any attention. He had seen the hobos all around Albuquerque scrounging coal chips along the railroad tracks all throughout the Depression, and he couldn’t help but have some empathy for their situation. But something about this lady drew his attention. Maybe it was the way she carefully removed the lids and seemed to surgically sift through the trash. As if she had done this so many times before.

  “Hey…you there!” Quinn yelled out. “What are you doing?…You’re trespassing!” he yelled as he moved towards her on his crutches.

  The young girl pulled her hands out of the trash and looked up. “I was just pickin’ through the trash, mister,” she said back. “It’s just stuff people are throwin’ away anyway. I’m not hurting anything.”

  “Well,” Quinn said as he walked over to her and tried to think of a good answer. She was a small woman, about five foot five. She had a thin face, blue eyes, and a chipped front tooth. Why Quinn continued to pursue a conversation with this girl he couldn’t explain or answer, but he did. He just felt he should.

  “What’s your name?” said Quinn.

  “Dixie,” the young woman answered. “What’s yours?”

  “My name doesn’t matter. Do you live around here?” he asked.

  “No, sir,” she stated. “I live down by the river. In the camp down there,” she said.