“Now how would you know that?” I asked.
“Well….” He looked at me and then at his wife. “Jane lives here. She rents a room permanently from us. I’d refuse her, but we need the money. You see, Cambria is an off-the-beaten track community—and very seasonal. We depend on summer trade and therefore rent out whatever rooms we can on a weekly or monthly basis during the off-season months. I’m sure you can understand that.”
“Oh, I sure do. Especially with the Depression on and all. Well, good night, now.”
I walked down a little lane that led to my cabin, a little one-room and bathroom affair with a blue roof. It was getting on to about eight o’clock when I turned the key to my door. When it got dark out here in the boonies, it was pitch black. Only the sound of crickets and frogs could be heard coming from the little creek down the way. Then I thought I saw out of the corner of my eye, a figure dashing into the shadows and the snap of twigs beyond some trees not far away. I ran in, grabbed my coat off the bed and went for my .38. I waited until I thought the coast might be clear and quickly slipped out of my cabin. I crept toward the trees, but approached from behind, doing the old Indian trick. In a faint light coming from the reflection off the motel sign out on the highway, I saw a man smoking a cigarette. A twig popped under my foot and the man instantly spun around, drew a knife and threw it at me in the dark! I dodged and fell to the pine needles and shot once, hitting the man in the chest, probably right through his heart. It wasn’t hard to guess that this was probably one of the tails the Oculus liked to send my way, just to keep things from getting too boring in my life. I approached the body. Then I heard a voice behind me. “Now what are you going to do?” a fairly rough-hewn female voice chirped out.
I spun around with my revolver still in my hand. “Where did you come from?” I asked.
She didn’t seem too excited about the whole thing. “You won’t need the gun, Mister. I’m not the kind that chases guys, anyhow.” She studied my face as she approached. I put my gun away. “Looks to me like you’ve used it before. Well, at least this breaks up the monotony. You don’t look like the killer type. Who’s the mug you just creamed? He looks like a well-dressed hoodlum to me. I saw him hanging around here earlier, before it got dark.”
“He’s a messenger from some people who don’t happen to be very fond of me just now. Because I’m the guy at the other end of the law—you know, the one who’s supposed to clean up after thugs like him.”
“That figures. Yeah, you look like one of those guys.” She extended her hand. “I’m Jane Slaughter—and it looks like I’m your neighbor—at least for tonight.”
“Good to meet you, Miss Slaughter. And thanks for keeping this on ice. I’m—I’m Cable Denning. I’m a private dick—supposed to be on vacation, but I guess that hasn’t worked out so far.”
She snickered out loud. “A private what? Did I hear right, Mr. Denning?”
“A private detective—dick is short for that…you know…”
“Well, that isn’t how I remember it—at least not in East L.A.”
“You come from East L.A.? I was born there. Bred and born in Boyle Heights, across the river from Little Italy.”
“Yeah—well, what a coincidence. I know exactly where that is. Small world, eh?”
“We’ve got to get rid of this body, Miss Slaughter. Can you help?”
“Sure, we can dump it out at Leffingwell. Let’s drag it to your cabin around the back way and onto the seat of your car.”
As we were doing that, we spotted a flashlight coming down the lane toward us. We dragged the body behind the cabin and I told Jane Slaughter to stay put with the corpse. I quickly took out a Lucky Strike and lit it. “Say there, Mr. Denning, did you happen to hear a gunshot or something like it earlier? My wife swears she heard something. I was listening to the radio—the ‘F.B.I. in Peace and War’—so I didn’t hear a thing.”
“Naw, Mr. Anderson. Maybe a car backfired on the highway or something,” I lied, puffing away on my cigarette. “I just came out for a smoke. I don’t like to sully nice clean motel rooms with cigarette smoke. And I don’t like to sleep with those clouds hanging around all night,” I fibbed again. I did it all the time in my office, my bedroom, wherever I lit up. I was the all-time air polluter wherever I went. Filthy habits like smoking take part of your life away, I knew, but when you’re addicted at age 13, it’s hard to stop the momentum toward the early grave.
“How considerate. Well, then, Mr. Denning, have a pleasant night.”
He ambled off with his flashlight. I went around to the back of the cabin. Jane Slaughter and I finished pulling the creep’s body into Elisa’s little Ford. I was careful to check for any blood that might end up on any of us, on the car seat or where I shot the bloke. I’d have to check again tomorrow. We hopped in with the body on the rider’s side while the young lady sidled in tightly next to me. Quietly as possible, we drove out of the gravel driveway and on to Highway One, heading north.
It turned out Leffingwell was a small creek that emptied into the sea about five miles north of Cambria. We were on our way to a county garbage disposal site and bumped up and down over a rutty gravel road, the corpse constantly falling over onto Jane Slaughter’s shoulder. After about fifteen minutes, our headlights shone on a clearing, strewn with all the remnants from unloaded garbage trucks.
“Don’t you think the body might be discovered if we just toss it on a pile of debris?” I asked, beginning to enjoy the hard-nail gal in my company. She seemed compatible with my kind of man, maybe because we both grew up the hard way and appreciated what it was like to be out of the ghetto of East L.A.
“Recently, I was out here with Pinter, my boss at the bar. Someone cut down a huge pine tree and there are jillions of branches, over there at the far end. We can throw the stiff on the ground and then cover him with branches. Probably a better burial than the son-of-a-bitch deserves. I hate people who go around killing other people.”
“Yeah, me, too. That’s why I became a cop when I was twenty-four. I had this ideal dream that the good guys went after the bad guys and the good guys won. Well, Miss Slaughter, I found out it wasn’t always that way.”
“Jane to you. So what way did it go?” she asked.
“One side is just as crooked as the other. Hell, in L.A., you want someone killed? Pay off a cop a few bucks and the job gets done.”
“Yeah, figures.” We pulled the car to the edge of the chasm where hundreds of branches lay strewn in a dry creek bed. We took out the corpse, rolled it over the embankment, then jumped down and covered it with branches, the headlights of the little Ford lighting up the gulch. We made it look as natural as we could and high-tailed it out of that smelly maggot infested area as quickly as possible.
“By the way, Jane, you can call me Cable. How in the hell did you end up out here in nowhere land?” She was about five-foot five or so, reasonably slender with fair breasts filling out a light blue sweater. Her dark, non-descript hair flowed just below her shoulders, and a face that was a bit hard, as if she were wearing a mask. Underneath the facade, I saw a handsome young woman, who, with a little make-up would light up any man’s evening, I thought. Her eyes were washed-out blue and her thin lips were covered with something clear and shiny, but with no color.
“How does anybody end up anywhere? I guess I’m a drifter…here, there, everywhere…”
“How old are you, if I may ask?”
“Twenty-two. Like my friend, Cassie, she's the same age. What about you?”
“I’ll be thirty-two soon. Can’t believe it…just yesterday I was twenty-seven…time flies whether you’re having fun or not. Uh…about your friend—?”
“—Yeah, you can say that again.” She studied me. “You’ve got a handsome face, in a rugged sort of way. I’ll bet the babes really go for you, eh? With some guys, you can just tell.”
“I don’t know about that, but I guess I’ve had my share of beautiful dames. But I think they come in a close third to
chasing down bad guys and listening to The Great American Songbook in some smoky dive with a dish in a revealing sequined gown singing Porter or Berlin or Mack Gordon. Yeah, kid, I think those are now my priorities in this world.”
“You’re quite a guy, I can tell,” she said, punching me lightly on the shoulder from the rider’s seat. “I may not have the sequined gown, but I’m a singer, though, and pretty good too. That’s what I do at The Bucket of Blood.”
“Bucket of wha…? You’re putting me on? What the hell’s that? Son-of-a-bitch, and you’re a singer, too?” I was getting the willies inside. It seemed the fates kept throwing babes who could sing at me. So I had to make sure I didn’t make any advances on this lady, not to mention I was still mourning Adora a hell of a lot—and what was supposed to be a getaway rest for me so far had ended up being a series of strange occurrences under a series of strange circumstances. For example, where did the goon come from who threw the knife at me? Was it or was it not rather strange that this Jane Slaughter should happen to be staying at the same motel I chose—and did she say that she was a friend of Cassie’s?
“Bucket of Blood…a dirty, filthy tavern in downtown Cambria, west of the post office. Being it’s Prohibition and all, these places should, by rights, either be closed or serving soda and non-alcoholic beverages. But there are three fully stocked bars in Cambria. On the south-side of Main Street, there's Camozzi’s…then Reali’s, which is on the corner opposite the Bank of Cambria—and The Bucket of Blood, located down a small street where residences start to blend with businesses. Believe me, if I didn’t need the work, I wouldn’t be caught dead in the place….which, by the way, is what happens to a lot of guys who hang out there. Or might just as well be…”
“Now whatta ya mean by that?”
“Hard-drinking men come in, gamble, whore around, shout, yell, spit and pinch my rear for kicks. A certain other group of men, however, slip a Mickey to some poor bloke, and when he passes out, they conk him over the head, take his money and clothes and toss him aboard a vessel waiting off shore in Pirates Cove sailing for China—"
“—or maybe Siam,” I interjected. “In other words, these guys get shanghaied to unknown ports of call for an unlimited duration, right?”
“Yeah, how’d you know?”
“When I was a cop, we busted up a ring of these hijackers at San Pedro. But for every one you arrest, there are twenty more to take his place. So, in the end, very little gets accomplished.”
“That’s how I kind of figure it. Anyway, I sing there with an old beat up piano playing old beat up tunes three nights a week, mostly for tips.” She looked over at me with a very faint smile, but probably it took Jane a long time to even come up with that. “I think I’m gonna like you, Cable. You’re not like the other guys. You’re rough and tough, the way I like a man to be, yet sensitive and observant. And I like your voice—the way you talk…”
“Thanks, Jane. Truth is, I’m supposed to be on leave of absence, healing up from a recent tragedy. It just hasn’t worked out that way so far…”
She looked over at me as I lit up a Lucky Strike and she could see my face more clearly by the match light. “So that’s the pain in your eyes. You’ve lost someone dear to you—I mean, more than just a break-up—"
“—I’m sorry, I really don’t want to talk about it. Just know that I lost someone I can’t replace—and let’s leave it at that, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, settling back into her seat.
“So…you mentioned before that you have a friend named Cassie. Coincidentally, I am here to see a Cassie Olson at the request of her mother. Any chance your friend is one and the same? And, if so, can you maybe introduce me to her tomorrow? I promised her mother I’d drop in on her before I mosey on my way.”
“Well, I'll be…! Sure…Cassie Olson! She gets off work at five or so. Mother? She’s never said a word about a mother—are you sure?”
“Yep. Her mother and I shared an interesting adventure together.”
“She was pretty good in the sack, huh?”
“No, not that kind of adventure but something a bit more out of the ordinary. But I don’t want to talk about that, either.”
“You sure carry a hell of a lot of secrets, Cable. Don’t you trust anyone? You can’t go through life like that, you know…sooner or later you gotta let go and find yourself in the here and now—like I have to do—and realize things ain’t necessarily gonna be better tomorrow.”
“And maybe meet someone along the way you can trust?”
“Yeah, that’s it…sometimes we get lucky—it can still happen, you know. I don’t depend on luck or fate or that shit, though.”
“Well, Jane, it’s not finding someone you can trust—it’s life itself you can’t trust. Settle in with someone and you’re bound to experience hell and damnation, some good laughs and a lot of tears along the way. Show me a couple who after two years of marriage aren’t either disinterested or at each other’s throats and I’ll show you a pipe dream.”
“Damn, I like the way you talk, Mister. Are you that intense in the bedroom? I’ll bet you are. Women love you because you seem unattached—and that makes ‘em clamor for you, doesn’t it?”
“Well, for now, Jane, I’ve about had it with the romance department of my life. So I really don’t want to talk about it. I don’t know where I am anymore. Ever get to that place when you have to play it day to day, otherwise you might jump overboard?”
“Oh, yeah, try every other day or so. So…what does a private detective do to bring him to the brink of—of destruction?”
“Try life in L.A., for one. The Depression makes me depressed, and it seems like I’m jinxed to lose a lotta people in my life—especially those I dare to love. Add to that—I’ve seen some things I…I wasn't supposed to—and you’ve got one screwed up guy.”
She reached over and grabbed my arm. “Seen things? Like weird stuff that doesn’t make sense?”
“You might say that.”
“Whoa, Nellie! So have I, Cable. And it has to do with—with Cassie Olson, my friend. I still can't get over that you came here to see her, met me and….well, anyway, finish what you were saying.”
“Yeah…strange how things sort of fall together like that. Well, it doesn’t really add up to much. Most of what I do to make ends meet is pretty boring. I snap photographs through bedroom windows of unsuspecting husbands or wives in the throes of some erotic tryst. They get used as evidence when I present the photos in divorce court to a bored judge. It’s all about money, Jane, that’s what I’ve learned about this fucking world. Follow the money trail and that’s where the action is. Whether it’s about a wife getting everything she can from a philandering husband or a gangster in a speakeasy—it’s all about dough. Toss in the yen for power and control, add some sex and you’ve just described human existence for the folks upstairs who run the world.”
“As I said, I sure like the way you talk, Mister. It’s kind of a cross between your tough upbringing and what you’ve forced yourself to become in order to survive the L.A. jungle. Hell, I’d like to leave this area and maybe join you in the city. Got room for a female private investigator? I could be your undercover assistant…”
The more I was in the company of this rough-hewn young woman with a good head on her shoulders, the more I liked her. I laughed. “You could get killed, lady. I wouldn’t like that. I forgot to tell you about the seedier parts of my job. It’s a violent world out there.”
“Ha! Tell me! You don’t have to go to the city to see that. Just spend a night at The Bucket of Blood and you’ll get a craw full.”
We drove up to the front of my cabin. I turned the engine off. “So what about Cassie? You said she was strange?”
“I’ve just seen things, that’s all. I should let you be the judge. How about if we all meet tomorrow night at The Bucket of Blood? I’ll even sing for you, if you don’t mind a rickety old piano that’s out of tune and a drunk piano player--me.” Then she studie
d my face there in the dark with only the light from the street sign to go by. “I think I like you, Cable. And I’m serious about being a female detective. Maybe you could teach me. I have really good instincts about things….if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do…you gotta have ‘em razor sharp to survive out there, Jane. And it takes guts. Maybe your L.A. school of hard knocks chiseled you out a bit, eh? But I don’t know if you can teach that kind of thing. You’re going by the seat of your britches most of the time.”
“I like the danger, Cable. I always have. Three punks cornered me when I was about sixteen. I had hitchhiked to Bakersfield to visit an uncle and they picked me up. Somewhere along the way, they turned off the highway and found a secluded spot and forced me out of the car. I could feel the fear and excitement in me. I knew they wanted to rape me—and maybe either kill me or leave me abandoned and bleeding out in the fields off Highway 99. What they didn’t know was that my brother Chester taught me some Chinese martial arts stuff—you know, how to defend yourself with some fast moves? Well, when the first two guys came at me, I started to unbutton my blouse as if I knew I couldn’t fight off all three of them. Then, when they were about to grapple me, I chopped one of them on the neck with a lethal blow, kicked the other in the groin really hard and they fell. The third guy got scared, got into the car and took off, leaving his buddies to their fates with me.”
“Damn, Jane, that’s a hell of a story. You’re a brave babe. I wouldn’t wanna tangle with you. Thanks for the warning!” I said, admiring this doll who could take care of herself.
“You wouldn’t have to worry about tangling with me, Cable. I like you. I would probably want you to tangle with me. It’s been a long time between guys for me. You’d better watch out,” she snickered.
“I’ve heard of this Chinese stuff. What’s it called?”
“Kung Fu. It's some kind of training for 'unarmed' self-defense. It's a martial arts thing.
“Crap, I’m so old-fashioned—I’m still punching guys out like Tom Mix cowboy style. Maybe you could teach me a few moves…”
Love Me or Kill Me (The Cable Denning Mystery Series Book 2) Page 20
