The Prince of Beverly Hills

by Stuart Woods

“It’s the suit.”

  “Most of the boys entering the program are nineteen to twenty-two,” Chelton said.

  “I’ve got over three thousand hours in about fifteen types,” Rick said, “including about two hundred hours of aerobatics.”

  The officer looked more interested. “We need instructors,” he said.

  “I’m a lousy instructor. Tried it, was no good at it, don’t want to do it again.”

  “What’s your educational background?”

  “BA from UCLA and a year of law school.”

  “What have you been doing since then?”

  “I was a cop for eight years. Now I’m a movie producer.”

  Chelton laughed and shook his head. “Only in LA,” he said. “You could land something cushy with the Navy, making training films.”

  Rick shook his head. “I’m only interested in combat flying.”

  “Well, I guess maturity is a qualification for the program,” he said. “You healthy?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Think you can keep up with a bunch of kids in physical training?”

  “Yep.”

  “Married?”

  “Not yet, but planning to.”

  “When do you want to go? We’ve got a new class starting the first of every month.”

  “Consisting of what?”

  “Six months at the naval air station in Pensacola, Florida. If you live through it and don’t bust out, you get your wings and a commission, then back to San Diego for advanced instruction and gunnery training and eventual assignment to a carrier.”

  “I’m not ready yet, but . . .”

  Chelton grinned. “But you’ll get drafted anyway, right?”

  “Right. I heard the news on the radio.”

  Chelton took a sheaf of papers from his desk. “Fill these out. I’ll keep them in my desk drawer. I’ll schedule a physical for later this week, and I’ll keep that in my desk drawer, too. We won’t mention your flying experience. The instructor’s corps would grab you immediately.” He handed Rick a card. “Call me when you’re ready, and don’t wait until you get your draft notice.”

  Rick filled out the application, made an appointment for the physical and left the recruiting office, feeling better than when he had come in.

  58

  WHEN RICK GOT HOME, he was greeted by Glenna, who was in tears. She threw her arms around him. “I heard the news on the radio,” she said. “That’s you they’re talking about.”

  “We can’t worry about that now. We don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  “Let’s get married now,” Glenna said. They had been talking about this for weeks.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Rick said.

  “You thought it was a good idea as recently as yesterday,” she said, obviously stung.

  He led her to the living room sofa and took her into his arms. “Of course I want to get married,” he said. “But we’re headed into uncharted waters, here. We don’t know what’s going to happen, and I think we ought to get a better handle on it before we make that decision.”

  She pushed back and looked at him. “You’re afraid you’ll get killed, like Clete, aren’t you?”

  “No, but it’s a possibility. Thousands and thousands of people are going to have to face it.”

  “I don’t want you to talk about even the possibility of your getting killed,” she said. “I want to marry you, no matter what, and if you don’t tell me right now that’s what you want, too, then I’ll just go right out and find myself another fella.”

  Rick laughed. “All right, all right, we’ll do it whenever you like.”

  “Let me finish my picture—that’s next month. How about September?”

  “Whatever you say. What kind of wedding do you want?”

  “I’d just as soon run off to Reno or someplace and do it in the dark,” she said, “but Eddie Harris would kill us both.”

  “You’re right about that. He’s going to want to do it up for the fan magazines, lots of guests and pictures.”

  “If he makes us do that, then let’s make him pay for the wedding.”

  “I like the way you think. Eddie’s due back from New York tomorrow. I’ll talk to him about it.”

  He didn’t tell her about his visit to the Navy recruiting office.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, before Rick could go to see him, Eddie called him in and told him to sit down.

  “How was your flight?” Rick asked. It was the first time Eddie had been coast to coast in the studio’s new DC-3.

  “Best flight I ever had,” Eddie replied. “Good weather both ways; headwinds weren’t too bad coming back.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Did you get a lot done?”

  “Yes, including seeing Luciano.”

  “No kidding?”

  “I know somebody in New York, never mind who, who knows Meyer Lansky. Lansky arranged a meeting up at Sing-Sing. We met in his cell.”

  “And what was that like?”

  “Big enough for four men, maybe eight. Table and chairs, a real bed, not a bunk. A couple of Italian landscapes on the wall.”

  “Did he have a phone in the cell?”

  “If he did, I didn’t see it, but the guards were deferential. They called him ‘Mr. Luciano.’ ”

  “And what did you two talk about?”

  “You know what we talked about. I ran down our list of grievances about Stampano, but of course he wanted something, too.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He wanted to buy into the studio. He’d been talking to Ben Siegel, of course.”

  “I hope to God you didn’t—”

  “Of course not. I’m already dealing with Siegel more than I like, since he’s gotten his hooks into the extras’ union. I’m not about to take him on as a partner, no matter how legitimate they want to make the deal.”

  “What did Luciano have to say about Stampano?”

  “Oh, he’s a bad boy, sometimes, but he’s a good kid at heart. He’s the son of a woman Luciano knew when he was younger, dead now. You want my opinion, he’s Luciano’s bastard. Anyway, he promised her he’d look out for the boy. I suggested he could look out for him better if he was closer to home; say, in New York.”

  “How’d that go down?”

  “He says Siegel needs him on the coast. I don’t believe that for a moment. I think Ben would be happy to be rid of him.”

  “Did you mention that?”

  “I sort of alluded to it, but I didn’t want to go too far.”

  “I can understand that. No need to piss him off. Luciano would make a bad enemy.”

  “He did make one friendly gesture,” Eddie said.

  “What was that?”

  “He said you should watch your ass.”

  “No kidding?”

  “His very words. ‘Your boy should watch his ass,’ he said.”

  Rick didn’t like that much. “Well, I guess he’s a pretty authoritative source.”

  “Yeah. My impression was, it wasn’t coming from him, it was Stampano’s personal score to settle. He said he couldn’t interfere with that. ‘A matter of honor,’ as he put it. And another thing: Since some of those photos were found in Siegel’s safe, he’s got to be involved in the blackmail scheme. And he’s not going to like the fact that you sent somebody into his safe.”

  “Well, I’ll just have to deal with it,” Rick said.

  “I’ll speak to Al.”

  “No, at least not yet. I’m not prepared to go that far.”

  “You going to sit around and wait for Stampano to make the first move? That could be fatal.”

  Rick shrugged.

  “You’re at a disadvantage, Rick, waiting for him to move. You won’t know where or when; he’ll just be there.”

  “I still go around armed, when I’m not at the studio.”

  “I think that’s the very least you should do. You’ve got to think about Glenna, too.”

  “Oh, there was something
else I wanted to tell you: Glenna and I are going to be married in September, after she finishes her picture.”

  Eddie smiled broadly. “That’s wonderful news, Rick. Now, I know Glenna’s dad is dead, so I want to play father of the bride.”

  “Right, you can give the bride away.”

  “More than that, the wedding’s on me.”

  “That’s very generous of you, Eddie, but it’s not necessary.”

  “It’s necessary for me. Now let’s not say any more about it. We’ll get Glenna and Suzanne together and have them work it out. I’d suggest having it at our house. It’s perfect for a big party.”

  “Whatever Glenna and Suzanne work out is fine with me. I’m just going to be along for the ride.”

  “You thought about a honeymoon?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Sol Weinman has a very nice house down in Acapulco that’s yours for the asking, and you won’t have to ask. We’ll send you down there in our new airplane.”

  “If it’s okay with Glenna.”

  “You get out of here and go talk to her,” Eddie said. “Leave the rest to Suzanne and me.”

  “Eddie, something else I need to talk to you about.”

  “Shoot.”

  “You heard about the new draft.”

  “Yeah, I knew it was coming, I guess.”

  “I’m not going to let myself get drafted.”

  Eddie looked alarmed. “You’re not going to enlist now, are you?”

  “No, but I stopped by a Navy recruiting office today and investigated their flight program. When the draft board starts sniffing around me, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “I might be able to help with the draft board.”

  “No. Thank you, but no.”

  “I understand,” Eddie said, sounding resigned.

  “I just wanted you to know what’s coming.”

  “I appreciate that. Have you said anything to Glenna?”

  “She knows I’m going to have to go. We talked about that, but she doesn’t know I’ve talked to the Navy.”

  “If you have any trouble getting into the program you want, I know a couple of senators and a few congressmen.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary, with my flying experience. The only thing that might work against me is my age.”

  “Your age!”

  “Yeah, the Navy thinks I’m pretty old.”

  They had a good laugh over that.

  Rick shook Eddie’s hand and went back to his office. He called Glenna and reported on his conversation with Eddie. “What do you think?”

  “I think he’s right. Leave it to Suzanne and me,” she said.

  “Just tell me when and where to show up.”

  “I’ll give you at least an hour’s notice.”

  RICK TRIED TO GO BACK to work, but he couldn’t think of anything but Stampano. He called Ben Morrison and told him what Luciano had said.

  “This is not a good development, Rick,” Morrison replied.

  “Gee, I didn’t think so, either. Have you been keeping an eye on Stampano?”

  “Sort of. I’m going to put two guys on him today. In the meantime, you watch your ass.”

  Rick certainly intended to do that.

  59

  THE SUMMER PASSED QUICKLY. Glenna finished her picture and was spending nearly all her time with Suzanne Harris, planning the wedding. Rick tried to stay out of the way.

  In late August, with the wedding only a couple of weeks away, Rick finished shooting on his film. He called Glenna. “You want to come to a wrap party?” he asked.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” she said. “I’ve got to work on the seating chart for dinner, so I’m sticking close to home.”

  “I’m going to have to be there,” he said. “It’s my duty.”

  “Yeah, sure. Don’t tie one on. I don’t want to worry about you driving drunk.”

  “I’ll take it easy, don’t worry.” He hung up and began working through the pile of stuff on his desk. He wouldn’t be starting another film until after the honeymoon, but there were still dozens of post-production details to take care of, and he was at his desk until nearly eight o’clock.

  He was on his way to the party, locking his office door behind him, when he heard the telephone ring. He ignored it. Whoever it was could wait until tomorrow. He drove over to the soundstage where the party was on and plunged into the merriment.

  It was nearly eleven when an assistant director found him. “The studio operator has an important call for you,” he said. “I told her to put it on the phone in your production office.”

  “Thanks.” Rick walked across the soundstage to the office he used when shooting and picked up the phone.

  “Mr. Barron?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a call from a Mr. Ben Morrison. May I put it through?”

  “Yes, please.”

  There was a click. “Hello?”

  “Rick?”

  “Yes, Ben, what’s up?”

  “I’ve been trying to find you all evening.”

  “Ben, what’s up?”

  “We’ve lost Stampano.”

  “What do you mean you’ve lost him?”

  “I’ve had a man on him ever since he got back to LA, but earlier this evening he went into Schwab’s Drugstore and apparently left by the back door, got into another car and disappeared.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Rick said. “Can you get a man over to my house right away? Glenna’s there alone. I’ll start home now.”

  “I’ll have somebody there in ten minutes.”

  “Thanks, Ben. Call me at home if you hear anything else.” He hung up.

  “Rick?”

  He turned to find the director of his film standing in the doorway.

  “Some of us are going over to the Trocadero. Durante’s opening tonight, and we can make the midnight show. You want to come?”

  “No thanks, Harvey. I’ve got to get home.” He went back to his office in the administration building for something he had forgotten. He slipped into his shoulder holster, checked the .45 and stuck it under his arm.

  It was eleven-thirty before he turned into his driveway, and the first thing he saw was a flashing red light illuminating the trees. He sped up and nearly ran into an ambulance parked next to Glenna’s car. Two men were bringing a stretcher down the front stairs, led by a police detective.

  Rick ran up to him. “What’s happened?” he demanded.

  “Mr. Barron, I got here half an hour ago and found Miss Gleason on the floor in the living room.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “She’s been badly beaten,” the man said, “and she’s unconscious.”

  Rick ran to the stretcher and walked alongside it, taking Glenna’s hand. Her face was covered with gauze patches and an ice pack, and a young doctor walked on the other side of the stretcher. “I’m going to the hospital with her,” Rick said.

  “All right, there’s room,” the doctor replied.

  Rick turned back to the cop. “Call the Judson Clinic. Have them find Dr. Judson and have him meet us at Cedars-Sinai.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rick got into the ambulance and sat next to the doctor. “How badly hurt is she?” he asked.

  “She’s had blunt force trauma to the face and the upper body. She has a couple of broken ribs. She’s unconscious, but I think she’ll come to soon. Don’t worry, she’s not going to die.”

  “What was she beaten with? Did you find a weapon?”

  “No. My guess is fists.”

  Rick held Glenna’s hand all the way to the hospital, and he wouldn’t let go of it until they made him, when they took her in for treatment. He didn’t want her to wake up without his being there.

  DR. JUDSON SHOWED UP a few minutes after they arrived at Cedars-Sinai and had a word with the attending physician, then he came to Rick.

  “We’re going to sedate her, keep her under for at least twenty-four hours.�
��

  “Whatever you say, Jim,” Rick replied.

  “She’s stable and doesn’t have any life-threatening injuries, so you needn’t concern yourself about that.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “You should go home and get some rest, Rick. She’s in good hands, and she won’t wake up, so there’s nothing you can do here.”

  “I want to see her face,” Rick said.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “All right, I’ll go home.” Somebody called a taxi for him, and as soon as he was through the front door he picked up the phone and called Ben Morrison. “It’s Rick. Have you found Stampano?”

  “No, not yet. I’m sorry, Rick. My man was there in a hurry, but—”

  “It’s not your fault, Ben. Just find Stampano.”

  “I’ll call you when I do.”

  “I’ll be by the phone.” He hung up and looked around. A lamp had been knocked over, and so had the coffee table. He went around straightening up, willing the phone to ring with news of Stampano’s location.

  Then, suddenly, he knew exactly where to find him. He looked at his watch: just after one A.M. He ran down the stairs to his car, then decided not to take the cream convertible. He’d drive Glenna’s black coupe, instead.

  He thought of calling Tom Terry, but he wanted to do this alone.

  60

  RICK SAT HALF A BLOCK up Sunset from the Trocadero, waiting. A floodlit sign proclaimed the opening of Jimmy Durante’s show. Rick knew that Stampano would not miss an opening at the Trocadero.

  Shortly past one o’clock in the morning, a trickle of customers began leaving the club, then a flood, and by one-thirty the crowd had become a trickle again. Then a waiter came out onto the sidewalk and gave the parking attendant a ticket, and a black Cadillac was brought to the door. A moment later, Chick Stampano emerged, escorting a beautiful girl in a sparkling evening gown. They got into the car and drove west on Sunset.

  Rick let a couple of cars get between them, then followed. After a few blocks, Stampano turned right, into the Hollywood Hills, and Rick turned, too, switching off his headlights. He could drive into the hills following Stampano’s taillights and not be noticed in the rearview mirror.

  The Cadillac made a couple more turns, then entered a driveway and drove behind some trees. Rick stopped a hundred yards away, then made a U-turn and parked facing down the steep street. He got out and walked back toward the driveway, looking around for other cars. There were none. The street was deserted at this hour.