by Warren Court
“I got a lead on my man’s whereabouts. Holt’s former assistant.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but I can’t tell where this number is,” Armour said. He sat down in his chair and turned the bill towards her, pointing at the number.
“Why don’t you call it and ask?”
“I don’t want to tip my hand. I will call it eventually, but I want to be right around the corner when I do.”
She studied the phone bill. “Kingston,” she said.
“You sure?”
“Yup. I stayed two weeks in a hotel there. Had to give my mother the phone number because she wasn’t feeling well.”
“Is she better now?”
“Yes. Anyway, that’s a Kingston exchange.”
“Great.” Armour stood up. “Looks like I’m on the way to Kingston.” He paused for a second, remembering what Gim had told him. Ten days’ walk east of here. He figured that if he had to walk to Kingston, with breaks and overnight stays in roadside motels along the way, it might take ten days. The accuracy of the prediction sent a shiver down his spine.
“I’ll come with you,” Melanie said.
“Uh, no way.”
“Listen, buster, if this guy can tell us what happened to Colin, then I’m coming along. Besides, you need me to take care of you.” She patted her purse where presumably she still had her fake derringer. Armour leaned back and laughed and his jacket fell open, exposing the butt of his revolver.
“Looks like you can take care of yourself,” she said, and nodded at the protruding weapon.
He shot forward and covered it up. “Standard practice,” he said. “Thought you didn’t care about Holt?”
“Never said that. Said I wasn’t serious about him, but I want to know what happened. And I love a mystery. Have you read that pulp, The Black Mask?”
“I loved those when I was a kid.”
“A kid? It just came out, I thought.” She gave him an odd look.
“Uh. . . Yeah,” Armour said, confused.
“You got a car?”
“Yes.”
“We can be in Kingston by supper.”
“Don’t you have a show tonight?”
“Oh darn—right. Give me half an hour. I’ll take care of it. Where’s your car parked?”
“Across the street at the mechanic’s.”
“I’ll meet you there. Don’t skip out on me,” she said on her way out the door.
“Wouldn’t think of it,” Armour said. He got up and went to the doorway. “Olive, I’ll be out the rest of the day, maybe tomorrow too. Take it off if you want.”
“Okay, Mr. Black. I might do just that. Have to pick out the floral arrangements for the wedding.”
“When is it?”
“In two months.”
“That’s nice. I’m taking fifty dollars out of the fund. That just about does it for Roscoe’s down payment.”
“Speaking of payment. . .”
“Your cheque? Right. Take it out of petty cash. I plan on having this wrapped up tonight.”
Chapter 20
Armour stood out in front of his Ford. He had it all warmed up, ready to go.
Melanie came across the street, beaming at him. That told him she’d managed to get the night off. The men who were coming to the show to see the lead girl on those posters were going to be disappointed.
He heard the sound of cars pulling into the parking lot but ignored them. He was too busy admiring Melanie.
“All done. I got the night off. They want to give one of the other girls a tryout.”
“That’s swell,” Armour said. Melanie looked over his shoulder and he saw a worried look cross her face. He turned. Roscoe was getting out of a black Lincoln. Tom was emerging from the other side of the car.
“I was just coming up to see you,” Roscoe said.
Tom saw Armour and came around the car fast. Roscoe got in between them and put his hand against Tom, barely holding him back.
“You two know each other?” he said. He pushed Tom back hard.
“This is the guy I told you about. From the other day down at the docks,” Tom hissed.
Roscoe gave Armour a surprised look, and then smirked. For a moment, he almost looked like he was going to let Tom get at him. Armour’s hand twitched, ready to go for his gun.
“I was just walking by. Had nothing to do with it. I just don’t like seeing innocent people getting hurt,” Armour said.
“Innocent? You call those micks innocent?” Tom said.
“All they had were signs. Your guys had clubs and knives. The cops had guns.”
Roscoe nodded. “Get in the car,” he said to Tom.
“But Jimmy—” Tom said.
“Do what I say. Get back in the car.” Tom reluctantly did what he was told. “Who’s the dame?” Roscoe asked.
“Just a friend,” Armour said.
“What’s this all about, Armour?” Melanie said.
“This is the man who hired me to find Foley.”
“I need an update,” Roscoe said.
I have a lead on his whereabouts. I was just leaving.”
“We were,” Melanie said, and Armour shot her a look.
“I was just going to go follow it up,” Armour said.
“You spend all that money I gave you?”
“No. Well, some of it. On expenses.”
“You were spotted going into the Y.”
“Yeah. Building I was living in was condemned. Rats. Had to find new accommodations, quick.”
“Keep an itemized tab on these expenses. People I work for don’t like to get ripped off. We ain’t paying for your rat problem.”
“Who do you work for?”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Roscoe said, and he got back in his car.
“I’m still going with you, aren’t I?” Melanie said.
“Of course, doll-face, I was just putting down a smoke screen,” Armour said, doing his best Humphrey Bogart imitation.
“Why are you talking like that?”
“Sorry. Guys like that bring it out of me. Get in. We have a long drive.”
Chapter 21
The drive took the better part of the day. Provincial Highway Number Two took them to Kingston. It was a two-lane stretch of road that snaked through every small town and some larger cities like Oshawa and Belleville. If Armour hadn’t been focusing on his hunch that Roscoe was tied in with Tom and those strike-breaking goons down at the docks, he might have enjoyed it. Especially with Melanie sitting next to him,
They pulled into a motor hotel on the outskirts of Kingston. The lights of the main street down the hill could be seen from where they parked.
“That’s the military college there, on that precipice.” Melanie pointed. “We toured it when we were here for a show; had nothing else to do. Pretty boring town.”
“I doubt we’ll have time to do that. I want to find this guy and get James Roscoe out of my hair.”
“What do you intend to do when you find him?”
“Not sure, really. All I’m being paid to do is locate him. I guess a phone call to Roscoe giving him the location will suffice. Then, if he catches up with Foley, I get paid.”
“You trust them to pay you?”
“To be honest, I don’t care either way. I just want to close the book on this.”
The motel office was deserted. Understandable considering the late hour, Armour thought, but they were advertising vacancy. Melanie tapped the bell on the front desk and a man came in, yawning and pulling his suspenders over his shoulders.
Armour was going to pay for two rooms.
“Why?” Melanie said. “There are two beds in each room.”
“That’s correct,” the manager said. “Two singles. A sink and kitchenette.”
“We won’t need the kitchenette,” Melanie said. “Just the one night will do.”
“You sure about this?” Armour said when the manager slid a single key across the desk. Armour signed them in as Mr.
and Mrs. Black, and Melanie giggled.
“Two rooms,” she said to the manager and scoffed. “He’s so old-fashioned.” She slipped her arm through Armour’s. It sent a bolt of excitement through him. “We’re eloping.”
“That’s nice,” the manager said, giving them a skeptical look.
The room was tiny. The beds were singles with a nightstand in between them. There was a wood stove in one corner and candleholders on all four walls with half-used candles in them. Armour picked up some matches that were on the stove and lit them. The kitchen was a cubbyhole cut into one wall and had cupboards with doors hanging loosely from their hinges. There was an empty, warm icebox and a toaster, and that was it. There was a strong odour of pine and mothballs in the musty room.
“Lavatory must be outside,” Melanie said.
Next to the kitchen was another cubbyhole the size of a closet with just a sink and mirror in it for washing up. There was a window above the nightstand. Armour had to stand on his tiptoes to look out.
“Anything interesting?”
“No. Just the outhouse.”
“Charming,” Melanie said
“Seriously, we should get you your own room. There’s no privacy.”
“That sink room has a curtain. I’ll change in there.”
“Into what?”
She reached into her large shoulder bag and produced a pink silk nightie. “I keep it in my dressing room. We did a number on stage in these until the cops told us to stop. Too risqué.”
“Oh, come on,” Armour said. “I can’t see you in that.”
She held it up to herself and posed seductively. “Oh, really? I bet you can if you try.” She laughed as he blushed.
She went into the sink room and pulled the curtain shut. For extra privacy, he lay on his bed and turned to the wall. A few minutes later he heard the curtain being thrown back and the candles being extinguished. She had to lean over him to blow out the one above his bed. Then he heard the springs on her bed creak.
“It’s safe to turn around now.”
He rolled over and could see the outline of her face. She lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The covers were bunched up in her hands and tucked under her chin.
“Place doesn’t even have electric light. What kind of a cheap date are you?” she said, and laughed again.
“We’re on a budget. Besides, I don’t want to be seen in town tomorrow until we start to look for this guy. I suddenly got a real bad feeling about the whole thing.”
Armour was about to confess that he didn’t really know what he was doing. Despite the evidence that he had been a cop and had established a private investigator’s practice, he felt deep down that he was faking the whole thing. And that he was putting Melanie’s life in jeopardy.
“Oh, relax. This is fun. Funnest thing I’ve done in a long while.”
“When did you start dancing?” Armour said, changing the subject.
“I’ve been hoofing since I was six. Vaudeville and carnival shows, beauty pageants, talent shows. I’ve been all over—down east to New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. Montreal and here in Kingston. Even up north.”
“When do you leave for your cross-country trip?”
“In a month. You going to miss me?”
“Yes,” Armour said.
“That’s sweet. I’ll write.”
“Please do.”
“Okay, buster. It’s been a long day.” She yawned and rolled over to the wall.
“Good night, Melanie,” Armour said.
Armour had fitful dreams. He kept dreaming of being on a boat with the water commissioner and his wife, whom he called Bess. James Roscoe was there too, at the helm. Foley was down in the engine room and popped his head up just as a terrible blow picked up. The storm pitched the boat back and forth. People were washed overboard. Melanie was suddenly there, clinging to the rail, and the commissioner’s wife was down near the stern holding onto the flag pole. Both were screaming at him for help. He was paralyzed. Which one to save?
“Armour, wake up.” Melanie was leaning over him, her nightie hanging down so that her cleavage was exposed. He grabbed her and pulled her close to him and kissed her. She engaged him for a split second and then pulled back.
“No time for that. We have to go.”
“What?”
“There are men outside looking for you. I heard one of them say your name.”
He sat bolt upright, pushing Melanie back. She was grabbing at their clothes.
“Here—get dressed.”
He had slept on top of the blankets in his undershirt.
“Who’s out there?”
“I don’t know. They just pulled in. It woke me up. I heard one of them say, ‘What is this fella’s name?’ The other one said, ‘Armour Black.’ I swear it.”
Armour grabbed at the holster looped over the chair and pulled the revolver free. He peered through the slit in the curtains.
“I don’t see anyone.”
“I wasn’t dreaming it,” she whispered.
He pulled his shirt on. While he had been looking out the window, Melanie had pulled the nightie off and put her dress back on. For that brief second, she had been just in her underclothes. That kiss they’d shared – she had kissed him back. Damn it, Armour, concentrate. Get the two of you out of here and to safety.
There was the crunch of footfalls on the gravel outside.
“We can’t go out the front,” Armour said.
“The back window,” Melanie said.
“It’s too small.”
“Nonsense. Here, help me.”
Armour, gun in hand, backed up to the window. Melanie slid it open. It was very narrow indeed. She pushed the metal screen out and cool night air rushed in.
“Come on.” She threw her handbag out and then was up on the night table and out the window in a flash.
Armour put his gun away and strained and struggled to get through. “I’m stuck.”
“Suck it in.”
Armour finally wiggled through, but not without scraping his left side pretty good.
They made their way to the front of the motel. There were shapes moving in the shadows of the rooms, pausing at each window. Armour’s car was cloaked in the shadows of a large maple tree.
“Get in,” Armour said as they crept up beside the Ford. He kept his gun trained across the hood of his car on the men searching the rooms. They were moving further away from him. Melanie opened the passenger door slowly, so it didn’t creak, and got into the car. Armour went to the front, primed the handle and gave it a good crank. His car backfired like a cannon, but at least it caught on the first try.
He heard someone shout as he dove into his car. Melanie released the hand brake for him and Armour, still not the best operator of this car, surprisingly made all the right moves with the clutch and accelerator and they flew out of the motor hotel’s parking lot. The car backfired again, or maybe it was a gun shot; he couldn’t tell.
The lights of downtown Kingston were now extinguished as they descended the hills into the centre of the city. Armour kept one eye on the road and the other on his rear-view mirror in case they were followed. Had someone been after him at all? Melanie might have imagined hearing his name spoken aloud out outside their room. They could have just been guests, travellers, checking in late.
“Hey, look! It’s Kingston Pen. Lot of bad people locked up in there,” Melanie said as they drove by the grey stone walls of the maximum-security penitentiary. The entrance to the prison was awash in bright light, in contrast to the rest of the sleeping city.
“I had no idea it was right in town,” Melanie said. “Kind of scary.”
“Not really. Last thing an escaped prisoner would do would be to stick around here.”
They pulled into the parking lot of a closed restaurant to wait for the dawn. Armour backed into a spot in case they had to make a quick getaway. There was only sparse traffic on the streets, mostly milk trucks and newspaper delivery vans.
As the sky lightened, Armour saw several women approaching the restaurant. They went around the back and half an hour later the restaurant opened. A famished Armour and Melanie were the first customers.
They took a booth overlooking his car and tucked into a full breakfast. Melanie ordered additional sides of pancakes and bacon, and she put all of it away. Armour was amused. All this seemed natural, the two of them spending time together. Like they were old friends.
He felt a pang of guilt. That woman, Mrs. Holt – he should be attending to her, even in her bereavement. Maybe he could spark up a friendship with her. And maybe after a suitable time for her to grieve, it could go somewhere. Why? he thought. Because she had a passing resemblance to his wife? He shook his head and Melanie looked at him funny.
“Damn bug,” he said, waving away an imaginary fly.
He remembered his dream of being on that boat, both Melanie and this faux Bess calling to him for help. Even fully awake, his mind was tortured as to which one to go to.
Then he remembered Melanie’s kiss. Now, that had been real. He should try it again, he thought, see what happened.
“Okay. I’m refuelled,” Melanie said, and pushed back from her plate. “What’s next, gumshoe?”
Armour bristled at the term.
“What?” she said. “I guess I’m a gumshoe’s partner. A gun moll?”
“Not exactly. An interested party, maybe. Seriously, I don’t want to put you in any danger.”
“I can handle myself.” She pulled a cigarette from her purse and made a big show of lighting it with her pistol lighter. “Pow,” she said, and blew the pretend smoke from the tip of the barrel before putting it away. She saw him watching her. “Oh, I’m sorry – did you want one?”
“No, I don’t smoke,” Armour said. “Neither should you. Bad for you.”
“Ahh, what do they know? What’s our plan?”
“I have the phone number here. I think I should call them, make up some excuse and see who answers.”
“No, I should call. They won’t get wise if a girl phones.”
“There’s a phone over there.”
“Perfect. Let’s have the number. I’ve gotta get the address out of them, right?”
“Correct.”
Melanie left the door to the small phone booth open and dialled. She waited while it rang and rang and finally someone answered. Armour realized they hadn’t really thought about what Melanie should say.
