by P. N. Elrod
I held hard to the wheel and hunched down. She wasn’t mad at me—God help me if I ever worked her up into such a state—but the force of it was such that all my instincts said to take cover until the storm passed.
Eventually the pacing in the cold April wind got her cooled down to the point where she could come back inside again. When she was settled in I shifted gears and drove toward her hotel at a sedate pace.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” I returned, with a touch of uncertainty.
“That’s thanks for not asking anything obvious until I could talk without biting your head off.”
“Am I safe now?”
She breathed in deep and let it out slow. “I think so.”
I waited so she could draw in a few more gallons of air, then ventured to ask what had happened on the dance floor.
“You saw all the goings on up there?” she asked.
“The showstopper stuff, yeah.”
“It was his way of flattering me. Get me out there, throw in a surprise, make me the center of attention so everyone thinks I’m really important.”
“You are important.”
“I know that, but I also know where I am in the world with it and how few people have actually heard of me. Archy was trying to improve things, which is great as far as it goes, but he’s doing—doing—” She broke off, gulping a lot before hitting the side of her fist against the door. “I could kill that rat. I could dangle him over a vat of acid and lower him in an inch at a time. How dare he!”
We were getting close to the hotel. I took an early turn.
“Where’re you going?” she asked, her flare of temper interrupted.
“Around the block until you’re okay. You don’t need to take this inside your home.”
She gaped a couple seconds, then fell on me, planting a solid kiss square on my mouth. I nearly swerved up onto the curb, but hauled us straight again just in time. She seemed not to notice any of it, but was slightly more relaxed when she flopped back to her side of the seat.
“Now,” I said, “what’s the rest of it?”
“I can’t quote him, it’s jumbled up in my head, but he was smooth and amusing and really, really focused on me. If there’s one thing a girl likes, it’s to have a man act like that with her, but not so he’s overdoing it. Archy knows just how to play that game and make it be like he’s never tried it before with anyone else. He makes you feel happy inside about yourself. That’s what he was doing to me, an A-one first-rate, head-to-toe seduction.”
“All that during a short turn on the dance floor? With me looking on?”
“He’s good, Jack. And it seemed like forever to me.”
“What’d you say to him?”
“The way he did it, there wasn’t a lot I could say. He didn’t come right out and ask me to go to bed with him, but it was all hiding there under his words—like a cockroach under a rock.”
That description was reassuring to hear.
“The way it ended I pretty much told him I needed time to think.”
My reassurance wavered. “Think?”
“And talk to you. Oh, don’t worry, I was just giving him a line, but I had to act like I was interested and leaving the door open.”
“Until after the broadcast.”
“Yeah. He’s smart that way. He won’t use the broadcast against me. It would be pushing things too much to say if I don’t sleep with him, then I don’t go on. He’s going to use it to make me grateful to him instead, and then dangle other gifts under my nose to draw me on.”
“Like more guest spots on his show?”
“Probably. If not that, then something else. I’m not going to go with him, but he got to me, Jack!”
I kept watching the road. “How so?”
“With all that. He knew exactly what to do and say to make me like him or at least be grateful and friendly. It was as if he’d been crawling around inside my head like some kind of a swami mind reader and picked out all my weak points to use them against me. Am I that transparent?”
“No, but he’s had a lot of practice.”
“I’ll say he has. Everything he did tonight should have worked—would have worked. Most of the reason why I got so mad was that not so long back I’d have let him sweep me off my feet and to hell with the rest of the world. That’s what happened with Slick, what he did for me. I was set up to do it all over again with Archy.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I might have. That’s what’s so upsetting. If I hadn’t met you, I might have.”
I shook my head. “No, you wouldn’t.”
“Why d’you say that?”
“Because you’re not who you were anymore. You’ve grown up past Slick and that kind of trap.”
“With your help.”
“Maybe I speeded things up a little, but you do it yourself, you just don’t always realize it. The important thing here is that you nailed Archy on what he was up to, and you’re not going along with it.”
“Damn right I’m not. But he isn’t going to like my answer. I’ve heard stories about how Ike LaCelle arranges things for him. All this tonight—he fixed it up. And I think it was my fault.”
“It’s not your fault he’s a jerk.”
“But it is that he knew where to find me tonight. He overheard me talking to Adelle about the date I had with you.”
“He was at the dance rehearsal, too?”
She made a growl of exasperation. “He was everywhere today. He wasn’t intrusive or anything, but just around, acting friendly, not overdoing it.”
“What’s Adelle think of this? She keeps a close watch on him.”
“Not now. She’s read the writing on the wall and shifted her attention to Gordy.”
“Has Adelle got a diamond bracelet? A new one?”
Bobbi shot me a surprised look. “Yes, she was showing it off last night. What’s that got to do with things?”
“I heard from Gil Dalhauser that that’s Archy’s standard good-bye gift to his girls.”
Now it was a distinct snarl of exasperation, and she hit the side of the door again. “So it’s the queen is dead, long live the new queen—meaning me? How dare he expect me to fall right into line?”
“Because he’s a rat?”
“If I’d just kept my mouth shut—”
“No, it’s better this way. You know for sure he’s a rat and can be on guard against him. I figure he told Ike where you’d probably be tonight and he got there ahead of us and arranged the whole thing with the band and the photographers.”
“That had to be it. While that was going on I saw you talking with Gil Dalhauser and then Ike.”
“Yeah, Gil tried to warn me to fade from the picture, then Ike came by to fix a deal with me to get out of the picture, but he changed his mind. He won’t be fixing anything else for Archy with you.”
“What’d you say to him? And how?”
“We came to an understanding. He’s not going to do any more favors for Grant as far as you’re concerned.”
“Jack, you didn’t—”
“Yes, my dear, I gave him a triple evil-eye whammy—but not one word of it had to do with your career.”
She relaxed slightly.
I told her what Dalhauser had told me, then what I’d put into LaCelle’s head. “He’ll get with Archy and thoroughly discourage him about bothering you again, but make him think it’s not coming from you at all. Or even me. Gordy’s already warned Ike to leave us alone, but Ike decided to ignore him. This way it just seems like Ike is the one who changed his mind.”
She thought that one over a long time. “It’ll work fine for Ike, but I don’t think so for Archy. If you’d heard the way he talked to me, you’d know. He’s determined enough to not listen to Ike, I’m sure of it.”
“I trust your call. Will you be able to put him off until after the show?”
“Since there’s no need to worry about reprisals from Ike, yes.”
“How in hell are you going to be able to work with Archy knowing all this?”
“Oh, that’s nothing. It’s just being professional. I’ll get through it without a hitch. It’s afterward that things will get sticky. He’ll have expectations. I can handle it . . . but I don’t want to. I can give Archy the air and do it easy so we’re all friends, but it’d take a while. I don’t want to be around him, have to play the game he’s set up or give him the chance to know more about me than he already does. He’d just use it against me. Besides, whenever I think of him I want to knock his block off.”
“Would you like a shortcut?”
She looked at me, big hazel eyes full of wistful appeal. “Yes.”
My heart instantly turned into mush. “One triple-deluxe evil-schmevil, mind-changing whammy at your service, ma’am,” I said. “If he’s awake and sober—even if he’s only sober—I can have him doing a tap dance on the Wrigley Building during a lightning storm.”
“Holding golf clubs?”
“Wearing a suit of armor.”
She threw her arms around me for another kiss; this time I prudently stopped the car.
9
WHEN I got up Tuesday night Escott had left the papers, unclipped and open to the right sections, on the kitchen table. They all had pictures—above the fold—of Bobbi and Grant dancing, smiling, and otherwise looking like they were having a terrific time with each other. The fruitier captions suggested that a new romance was brewing between Chicago’s own radio celebrity Archy Grant and beautiful, talented club singer Bobbi Smythe. They even spelled her name right.
“Perhaps,” said Escott, who stood in the hall doorway, “this fellow is operating under the belief that if one says an untruth often enough it will be believed, even by those who know better. From the evidence presented here I’ve assumed your evening out with Miss Smythe did not go as planned.”
“You could say that. He bushwhacked us for a publicity stunt and Bobbi had to play along with it or look bad.”
“How unfortunate.”
“She’s gonna kill him for this,” I said, skimming a caption festooned with exclamation points and question marks.
“What about your own reaction?”
“I should have taken care of him last night.”
“If I may ask, what were you planning to do?”
“Just a little mind changing. I wasn’t going to punch him out; now I’m not so sure. On the other hand, Bobbi will probably beat me to it.”
“Would you bring me up to date on this business? If she’s going to assault the man, I’d like some background to enhance my appreciation of the event.”
“The business will be all over after tonight.”
“Then I should like to know what I’ve missed.”
I brought him up to date.
He shook his head and tsked when I finished. “I must commend you for your singular show of restraint.”
“Yeah, well, you won’t be seeing much more of it. Publicity for his damned show is one thing, but this gossip about a romance is over the limit. Bobbi threw a conniption when he made his pitch to her; she’s gonna boil right over for this.”
“Which has likely already occurred since these editions have been out all day.”
“Jeez, I better call her.”
He went upstairs to give me privacy while I attacked the kitchen phone. I dialed the right number, but it just kept ringing unanswered. Bobbi must have been getting a lot of calls on this. Next time I dialed I let it ring once, then hung up and dialed again. It was a code we’d worked out long ago for those times when she wanted to be unavailable to the general populace.
“Hello? Jack?” She sounded both anxious and hopeful.
“Right here, angel. I just woke up and saw. You all right?”
She let out a long sigh. “Yes, I’m fine, but the phone’s been going off since this morning. I never knew I had so many friends and that there were so many other people pretending to be my friends. There’s also been reporters from every rag you can think of, a woman from Radioplay magazine came by the hotel trying to get an interview, and some cigarette company wants me to do an ad for them. I don’t even smoke!”
“So? Just pose for the picture and pick up the check.”
“I turned everyone over to my agent. This is driving me nuts. When I first saw the photos I laughed; now it’s not so funny.”
“I thought you wanted to be a star.”
“I still do, but because I’m good at my job, not because they think I’m Archy Grant’s girlfriend. That’s what this is all about—him, not me.”
“He’s going to be taken care of tonight, I promise. You gonna be okay for the show?”
“That’s the least of my problems. I can do that standing on my head.”
“Wear some pants, then.”
She made sputtering noises and dropped the receiver. I heard some strange, distant choking sounds, then something like a hen laying an especially large egg. A few clatters and clunks later she came back, breathless and with laughter still in her voice. “God, but I’ve missed you all day.”
“You’ve got me for all night. I’ll try and make up for it.”
“Just hang Archy out to dry for me.”
“First chance.”
“I’m going to have to leave for the station in a few minutes. See you there in an hour?”
“Me and Charles both.”
“Good, I can have one of you on each side to protect me from the curious public.”
We said good-bye, and I went upstairs to get ready. It was to be the white tuxedo again tonight, but with a fresh shirt and tie. Bobbi and I had pretty much rumpled those the other night. I put on a pale, pearl gray topcoat and yelled toward Escott’s room to ask if he was ready.
“I’m downstairs,” he called from the hallway below. “And yes, I’m ready. I was just about to bring the car around.”
“We can take mine.”
“It’s no trouble.” I heard the kitchen door bang as he went out. By the time I was set, he’d brought the Nash up to the front door. I locked things, climbed in the passenger seat, and we were off.
“That’s sharp,” I said, nodding at his own topcoat. It was a rich dark wool and brand-new.
“Yes, I thought I would follow your example and augment my wardrobe as well for such an important occasion.”
“Tuxedo, too?”
“Of course.”
“I’m impressed.” We passed a tavern with a red neon sign, and that reminded me of my visit to Moe’s last night. After leaving Bobbi in the very wee hours, I’d swung by McCallen’s house to check for him, but he was still gone. Before the dawn blotted everything out for me, I wrote another note to Escott and left it on the kitchen table. I mentioned Jim Waters and his guess that McCallen might be a communist. “Have you asked Miss Sommerfeld if she knows anything?”
“She’s barely speaking to me. Our lack of progress is wearing thin with her, and we’ve come to the limit of the daily retainer she paid out, yet I feel honor-bound to present her with some sort of resolution.”
“With McCallen making himself scarce it’s kind of hard to wind the case up. We can go by his house after the party and see if he’s decided to come home yet. If he has, then I’ll finish things. It’ll be good for the agency’s reputation.”
“I hope so. She’s most unhappy with her hotel stay. Is Miss Smythe all right?”
I told him about Bobbi and her busy day fighting the phone and fame. “Archy gets his walking papers tonight, though.”
“I’m delighted to hear it. What a uniquely sordid arrangement he must have with Ike LaCelle. Playing the procurer, indeed.”
“Not anymore—at least with Bobbi. And Ike’s no longer a problem. Him I was able to fix last night.”
“Good. I remembered that I have a file on him in my office.”
“Why does that not surprise me? What about Gil Dalhauser?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve quite a lot of information on him. We had a bit
of a run-in about two years ago when I was working on a case that caused our paths to cross. To resolve my client’s problem it was necessary to pass some bookkeeping information I uncovered on Mr. Dalhauser to the Internal Revenue people. He managed to avoid going to jail, but eventually had to pay them a whacking great fine. They’ve had their eye on him ever since.”
“If he sees you at the party, is there going to be gunfire?” My question was only ninety percent joke. The other ten percent was entirely serious, inspired by past experience with my partner.
Escott tutted, something only the English can do right. “I hardly think so. There were no reprisals back then; I doubt any will be forthcoming after all this time. He might not even recognize me.”
Parking in the heart of the city was a problem, as always. Escott found a place a block away, but the hike to the Wrigley Building was no real hardship. It was cool, but dry for once, taking the bite out of the wind whipping around the buildings. We arrived in plenty of time, and joined up with other polished-looking people riding the elevator to the studio’s floor.
Unlike the restaurant there was no hitch about getting in; the tickets Bobbi reserved were ready and waiting, then we went in to find our seats.
She’d outdone herself and put us right in the middle of the front row. I looked around trying to spot anyone I knew and waved at a few faces from the nightclub. Gordy was not among them, but I figured his attention tonight would be on Adelle Taylor’s performance in the review. You do not progress in a romance by ignoring the lady’s interests.
Escott looked the place over as well. He had plenty of stage experience, but none in radio that I knew of, and seemed engrossed in what he saw. I got to play native guide for once and pointed out the sound booth and a few other things.
“What’s that table over there that looks like a jumble sale?” he asked.
For English jumble, I translated American rummage. “Sound effects.”
Escott had it pegged as looking strange. Set up within easy reach of the soundman was a frame about a foot square with a miniature door set in it, but with a full-sized knob and latch. Nothing makes a noise quite like a shutting door as a door itself, I explained. A flat pan filled with cornstarch was a good imitation of footsteps in snow, and a pair each of men’s and women’s shoes stood ready on a square of wood to provide other footstep sounds. The rest of the inventory was just as oddball, including a small gun, a jug full of water and a big pail, a box of metal junk, another of broken glass, two unbroken glasses, a taxi horn, a large sheet of tin that could be the cracking thunder of a storm, and a typewriter. And those were just the larger objects, not counting bells, horns, whistles, and other debris necessary for building the illusions the script called for.
