by Parnell Hall
The cabbie jerked his thumb in my direction. “You want me to bust his head?”
She frowned, looked at me. “What’s this all about?”
“I’m a private detective. I was hired to find you.” She recoiled slightly. I put up my hand, said, “Not by your parents, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“My parents!”
“No, no. Scratch that. I don’t know your parents, I know nothing about your parents, this has nothing to do with your parents. I’m just saying, if that was your thought, forget it. The fact is, there’s a guy wanted me to find you and ask you some questions. If you happen to know the answers, it might be worth some money to you. No one’s trying to hassle you at all.”
If I’d won the black cabbie’s heart, you wouldn’t have known it. “You want me to bust his head?” he repeated.
She put up her hand. “No. Thank you, no.”
I blinked. Thank you? The mind boggled. Did she really say thank you?
“Please,” I said. “If you’d be willing to just talk.”
She pursed her lips. “What’s this all about?”
I jerked my thumb. “Does a singles bar downtown ring a bell?”
She thought that over. Cocked her head.
“Buy me a cup of coffee?”
15.
“I DON’T WANT YOU TO GET the wrong idea.”
Hmm. Almost exactly what Sandy the bartender said. I wondered what it was about topless bars that made people afraid other people would get the wrong idea. I also wondered what the right idea was.
But I merely said, “Oh.” A time-honored private detective interrogative technique.
“Yeah,” she said. “Just because I work in a place like that. That’s not who I am.”
“Who are you?”
She frowned, set her cup of coffee down, and looked out the diner window at the traffic going by on 86th Street. After a moment she turned back, said, almost defiantly, “I’m an actress. That’s what I came to New York for. That’s what I want to be. There’s just too damn many of us. I can’t get any work.”
“Tell me about it.”
She looked at me in surprise. “You’re an actor?”
“I used to be.”
“Then you know. It’s a killer. I got talent too. I mean, real talent. Legit. I did the classics in school. Shaw. Chekhov. Hell, I’ve done Shakespeare. So the dancing—it’s not me. It’s to pay the rent.”
“I see.”
She shook her head. “No, you don’t. You’re looking down your nose, you’re thinking I should wait tables or some such shit. You happen to know what that pays?”
I didn’t, but it occurred to me it was probably about what I was making.
Fortunately, a comment was not called for. She forged right ahead. “So, before you’re so quick to judge me, you ought to look at the facts. Ten to one, your apartment’s rent stabilized, you’ve been in it for a while, the rent’s not so bad. But try renting one now. Try living in New York. Try making it as an actor.”
“Hey, I’m on your side. I know it’s tough.”
“Yeah, but you still disapprove. And you can’t know. I mean, if you were young and you had a chance to make the money dancing, are you telling me there’s no way you would?”
The thought No, but I wouldn’t put plastic in my chest either, sprang to mind.
She read it, averted her eyes. At least I assume she averted her eyes—she was still wearing the dark glasses. “Yeah,” she said. “I know. I had the operation. But I needed the job. So there you are. It is tough. I go for legit auditions, I have to strap myself down.”
I got the feeling I was hearing a spiel that had been repeated time and time again. I wasn’t unsympathetic. Still …
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Now, about the singles bar.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yeah, that. You know what I’m talking about? Then let’s pin it down. Thursday night. Third Avenue and 65th. You and the walking telephone pole.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well?”
She cocked her head. “You mentioned something about money?”
“If you are forthcoming, and tell me what I need to know, there’s a hundred bucks in it for you.”
“Oh, whoopie gee.”
“So whaddya expect for ten minutes’ work?”
“You’d be surprised.” She put up her hand. “No, scratch that. I’m not like that. You say ten minutes?”
“Well, you tell me. Will this take more than that?”
She sipped her coffee, thought a bit. “Okay,” she said.
“Fine. Let’s have it.”
“Huh-uh,” she said. “You first.”
I counted the bills under the table, trying to look like I was just being cautious. Actually, I didn’t want her to see how little I had.
I slapped five twenties on the table. “Here’s a hundred. Talk and it’s yours.”
She shook her head. “Huh-uh. Hand it over.”
“What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me?”
“Sure I do. But you’re the one who wants the information, you’re the one who has to trust me.”
I slid the bills across the table. They disappeared into the pocket of the yellow slicker.
“Okay,” I said. “What’s the story?”
She shrugged. “Perfectly simple. That guy—I was hired to have drinks with him.”
“Hired?”
“That’s right.”
“By who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
She stuck out her chin. “That’s right. I don’t know. I’m sorry if you don’t like that, but that’s the fact.”
“How does it happen that you don’t know?”
“I wasn’t told.”
I put up my hand. “Please. Start from the beginning. Assume I know nothing. Which is a pretty good assumption. How were you hired? How did you hear about this? How did you know what to do?”
“Actually, it was my agent.”
“Your agent?”
“Yeah. Well, not my theatrical agent. The other one.”
“The other one?”
“Yeah. You know. For dancing.”
“I see. So that agent called?”
“Right.”
“What did he say?”
“It’s a she.”
“What did she say?”
“Said a man called, wanted to hire me.”
“What did you say?”
“I said, no way. You gotta understand, I don’t do that sort of thing. I’m not a hooker. I dance.”
“Uh-huh. So what then?”
“She said it wasn’t like that. I’d get paid for my time, but all I’d have to do is have drinks with some guy.”
“So?”
“So, frankly, that didn’t sound any better. But Shelly said, no, she thought it was legit.”
“Shelly?”
“My agent. She said it was a legitimate job, it was just for two hours, and all I’d have to do would be to drink in this bar.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t either. But Shelly said it was perfectly simple. There was a man this guy wanted kept occupied for two hours.”
“What?”
“That’s right. All I had to do was go to this bar and drink with this guy for two hours. After that, I was free to do anything I wanted. I could stay there, I could walk out, I could ditch him, whatever. But for that two hours I didn’t let him out of my sight.”
“And you agreed to that?”
“I agreed to listen.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the guy didn’t tell me that. My agent did. Anyway, she talked me into listening to him.”
“The guy?”
“Right.”
“So then you met him?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh? I thought you said …?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t meet him. He called me on the phone. That
’s what I agreed to. To let him call me, tell me what he wanted.”
“So he did?”
“Yeah.”
“What did he say?”
“I was to go to this singles bar. I’d meet a man there. I couldn’t miss him because he was tall and thin. I was to have drinks with him, kid him along, keep him there for two hours. In return for which I would get five hundred bucks.”
“Less agent fees?”
“No, free and clear. What Shelly got was her business. The five hundred was mine.”
“And that’s all?”
“That’s it.”
“There was nothing special you were supposed to do?”
“No, just keep the guy there.”
“The guy on the phone—did he tell you anything else?”
“No, that was it.”
“And you never met him—the guy on the phone?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“And that’s all you know about him?”
“Yeah. Except …”
“Except what?”
“He had a funny voice.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Kind of low and strained. Like he was disguising it.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Was it someone you knew?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well, why would he do that if you didn’t know him?”
“I have no idea.”
“He didn’t sound like anyone?”
“I told you. No.”
“And what did he say?”
“Just what I said. I should go to the bar, five o’clock. When the guy came in I should talk to him, keep him there till seven.”
“That’s all he told you to do?”
“That’s all.”
“How did he describe this guy?”
“Said he was tall and thin, I couldn’t miss him.”
“That was the whole description, tall and thin?”
“And white. Tall, thin, and white. There’s a lot of tall black men. Not so many white.”
“Did he tell you his name?”
She shook her head. “No names.”
“No names?”
“Right.”
“Why do you say names?”
“Because I wasn’t given any.”
“No, why do you use the plural? Names. Who else’s name weren’t you given?”
“Oh. Well, the guy in the bar and the guy on the phone.”
“So you weren’t given his name either.”
“Right.”
“You had no idea who you were talking to?”
“No, but it didn’t matter.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“He’d already talked to Shelly. We already had a deal. So long as I said yes.”
“Which you did?”
“That’s right.”
I took a sip of coffee. “There wasn’t any other way you were supposed to know this guy? I mean, what if you’d gotten into the singles bar and there were two tall, thin white guys there?”
“I don’t know. But it didn’t happen. You really expect something like that to happen?”
I certainly did. From personal experience, had I been given that assignment, there would not have been two tall, thin white guys in the bar, there’d have been three.
Of course, in her case, everything had been fine.
“Okay, so what happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“You went to the bar, you met the guy, and then what?”
“What do you think? I sat down next to him, said hello, and he offered to buy me a drink.”
“As easy as that?”
“What, am I so unattractive? You can’t imagine someone buying me a drink?”
“No, I’m sure he did. So what did you talk about?”
“Nothing much. Just bullshit. What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Do you come here often? You know, the same old corny, cliché lines. Guys say ’em in a joking manner, goof on ’em. You know?”
“Actually, I don’t. But go on. What else did you talk about?”
“He told a few jokes—not very good, as I recall—and I laughed at ’em and he kept buying drinks.”
“How many did he buy?”
“More than he should. He must have had three or four, and he didn’t hold them well. You know, once he stumbled off to the men’s room, took his time coming back. In fact, I wasn’t sure he was coming back.”
“Did he?”
“Yeah. Eventually. But after that he wasn’t too coherent.”
“But he came back to you?”
“He came back to the bar, yeah.”
“And you kept on drinking with him.”
“Yeah, sure. That was the deal.”
“And he kept talking to you?”
She shrugged her shoulders, wrinkled her nose. “Like I say, he’d had too much to drink, wasn’t relating really well. I sat there with him, trying to make small talk, kid him along. I don’t think he was really interested at that point.”
“How long did you stay with him?”
“Until seven. Like I was supposed to.”
“What happened then?”
“I left.”
“With him?”
“Don’t be silly. Why would I leave with him?”
“I don’t know why. I’m just asking if you did.”
“Of course not. Seven o’clock, I got up and went.”
“So anyone who says the two of you left together would be wrong?”
She pulled back, cocked her head. “Who said that?”
“I didn’t say anyone said that. I’m just saying if they did.”
“They’d be wrong.” She frowned, looked at her coffee cup. “I suppose someone might have got the wrong idea.”
“Oh? How is that?”
“Well, he got up when I left, and I think he followed me out. Not that I waited for him—I got the hell out of there fast as I could. But someone who saw him follow me might think we left together.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No, we didn’t. I left by myself and went on home.”
“And what happened to the guy?”
“I have no idea.”
“The guy who paid you to do this—you ever hear from him again?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“What about your agent?”
“What about her?”
“She hear from him? Was there any feedback on the job?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Did you ask?”
“No. Why would I ask?”
“I don’t know. Just curiosity.”
“Yeah, well, the answer is no. In something like that, you wouldn’t expect to hear from the client unless there was a problem. Since I did the job, there wouldn’t be any problem. So I wouldn’t expect to hear.” She looked at me. “Is that it? Can I go now?”
I put up my hand. “Just a couple more things.”
“A couple?”
“Yeah. First off, what’s your name?”
“Oh,” she said. She blushed somewhat. I assumed it was the realization I knew her only as Marla Melons. “It’s Lucy. Lucy Blaine.”
“And your address?”
She held up one finger. “Huh-uh. That you don’t get. I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid. I don’t give out my address or my phone number. You want me, you call my agent.”
“Actually, that was the other question,” I said. “How do I reach your agent?”
“Her name’s Shelly Daniels. She has an office on Eighth Avenue. I’ll give you the phone number.”
She didn’t have to look it up. She had it memorized. Her dancing agent. I wondered if I’d asked for the number of her legitimate agent, if she’d have had to look it up.
It occurred to me, Christ, was I getting old and cynical.
I pushed back my coffee cup, picked up the bill. “Well,” I said, “shall we go?”
Sh
e shook her head. “Huh-uh. We don’t do anything. I sit here and you go.”
“Is that really necessary?”
She grinned. “You think you’re the first guy tried to follow me home? Forget about it. You go out there, you hail a cab, and you go. I’m no dummy. You leave first.”
She was no dummy.
I left first.
16.
CRANSTON PRITCHERT SOUNDED PEEVED. “I told you not to call me here.”
“I know, but I got something for you. Can you talk?”
“What do you mean, can I talk?”
“Is it safe to talk on the phone? If not, can you come to my office?”
“Not this morning. I’m up to my ears in work. Can’t this wait?”
“Sure. I’m sorry I bothered you. Just wanted to tell you I found the girl.”
I hung up.
I suppose I shouldn’t have done it, but I couldn’t resist. The guy was being such a prick.
The phone rang ten seconds later. I picked it up, said, “Hastings Detective Agency.”
“God damn it,” Pritchert said. “You hung up on me.”
“I thought you didn’t have time to talk.”
“Don’t be an asshole. You say you found the girl?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Who is she? What’s her story?”
“You want this over the phone?”
“Not really, but I don’t have time to run over there. So give it to me fast. If I start talking business, it means someone walked in.”
“Okay,” I said. “The girl’s name is Lucy Blaine. She works as a topless dancer under the stage name Marla Melons.”
“What!”
“That’s right. If you’d like to catch her act, I can take you to the bar. Anyway, you’re absolutely right about it being a setup. She was paid five hundred dollars to have drinks with you.”
“She was what?”
“She was paid to have drinks with you in the bar. Her instructions were to keep you there until seven o’clock that night.”
“Keep me there?”
“So she says. She was to hang out in the bar, meet you, get you to buy her drinks, and keep you busy until seven o’clock. After which she simply left.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Pritchert said. “That isn’t what happened at all. I told you. One moment I’m drinking with this girl, the next I wake up on someone’s front steps.”
“She said you might have followed her out.”
“Followed her out?”
“Yeah. When she left. She said you were pretty drunk, but she thinks you might have followed her out of the bar.”
