Pretty City Murder

by Robert E. Dunn

  Larry answered, “I’m busy.”

  “Busier than I am? I doubt it.”

  Larry thinks he’s outsmarted me.

  O’Hara started to speak, but Larry interrupted, saying. “Let’s do it. You bring one of your buddies, and I’ll bring one of my buddies, and we’ll have a foursome.”

  O’Hara felt his core engine getting hotter and faster. He stood up, offered his hand to Larry, and lowered his voice, saying, “You’re on. Set the date. Next Wednesday?”

  Larry and Hieu stood up.

  “What time?” Larry asked.

  “Tee time, ten o’clock. Are we agreed?”

  “Sure.”

  They shook hands. O’Hara leaned over and drooled into a golden spittoon on the floor. “I’m looking forward to this. You’d better get in a round before we meet. Otherwise, you and your buddy will be forced to pay the tee fees.”

  Larry let go of his hand quickly and said, “Fine. Trang, let’s go.”

  “What about your wife? She will love the trip to Ireland. How is she?”

  O’Hara watched Larry’s body twist in place. “She keeps me respectable.”

  “The leash around your neck is growing tighter every year, Larry.”

  “You should have one. And not around your neck.”

  O’Hara belly-laughed. It was a good day. He followed Hieu who followed Larry. All three of them filed past O’Hara’s secretary, and Hieu said good-bye to her. O’Hara couldn’t see the expression on Larry’s face but imagined that he wanted to reprimand Hieu on the spot for the courtesy.

  As Hieu and Larry left the outer office, O’Hara overheard Hieu ask, “Who’s Maureen Daley?”

  “His girlfriend.”

  O’Hara smiled and shut the door quietly.

  O’Hara smiled again when he faced Anita Keck and walked past her into his office.

  He sat down and pressed on the buzzer. “Get in here.”

  Keck opened the door and looked in.

  His voice softened. “Don’t be shy.”

  Ms. Keck pulled down on her skirt and advanced.

  “Make sure the humidor is filled with cigars. You’re doing pretty well so far.” He lifted the lid and said, “That’s the filter. Your shorthand is good, and you know how to answer calls. Where do you come from?” The velvet-lined lid dropped without a sound.

  “Long Beach.”

  “Where did you go to school?”

  “Charter College.”

  “What did you do before that?” he asked.

  “I started working as a model when I was sixteen.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember that from your application. Very good, very good. Do you live in San Francisco?” He didn’t have high regard for claims on an application, but this one stood out. Now he was about to capitalize on it.

  “Yes. I have a studio on lower Nob Hill,” she answered.

  “When did you move here?”

  “Two months ago.”

  “Any friends?” O’Hara asked.

  “No, not yet.”

  She sounded sad.

  “Well, if you do your best here, you may make some new friends. Are you good at that?” He stroked his cleft chin.

  “Well, sir, sometimes women say mean things about me. At my last job, one girl accused me of having...breast implants.” Ms. Keck looked down at the floor. “It’s untrue.”

  She’s got nothing to lose. She’s young, alone, and will take whatever she gets.

  “I don’t want to eat my lunch in the break room. Where should I go?”

  “Are you afraid of the female employees...or the men? My employees are good and hard-working. If one of them bothers you, tell me and I’ll put an end to it. As for lunch, you can eat over at Union Square. There are plenty of benches and lots of people to watch.”

  “How far is it?”

  “Two blocks.”

  “I bring my running shoes, so I can walk there.”

  “Good.” O’Hara leaned back in his chair. “I know all about women, but you’re different. You’re the sensitive type, aren’t you?” Her pale pink face turned the color of her fuchsia shoes. “You look like a girl who loves animals. Is that right?”

  “Yes. How did you know? I love cats. I had a cat when I was growing up, but my landlord doesn’t allow cats.”

  “Would you like to keep a cat here?” he asked in a deep, low-pitched voice.

  She had a pitiable look on her face. “Is that possible? Would you allow it? I’m afraid of the dog. How could I keep a cat here?”

  “Duke sleeps all day and is harmless. He might even like a kitty cat. Housekeeping takes care of him, so he’s not one or your duties. Stand back.”

  She took a few steps back, standing straight as a toy rocket.

  “Very good. Where do you shop?”

  She opened a mouthful of teeth, as white as a brand-new picket fence and said, “Macys.”

  “Upgrade.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Take yourself to Neiman Marcus tomorrow, your day off, and ask for Tobias, the manager of the women’s section and my wife’s personal stylist. I’m going to call him and make an appointment just for you. He will pick out a collection of clothes that are more suitable for your position in this office as my girl Friday. Do you think you can be that kind of girl?” he asked in the same deep, low-pitched voice.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” The back of the chair straightened as he leaned forward. “His Girl Friday is the name of a movie from Hollywood’s Golden Age.”

  “Oh, I love that movie. My mother wanted to be an actress, but she never made it.”

  “Too bad. What about you? Did you want to be an actress?”

  “I did, but I wasn’t any good at it, and I wanted to move away from my family.”

  All he could see was a candy counter of red-hots and Valentine hearts, and he mugged for an invisible camera. “When you get to the appointment, tell Tobias I want more mini-skirts and silk stockings.” O’Hara grasped the edge of his desk and pulled himself forward. Out of the drawer came his personal check book.

  When she saw the amount on the check, her eyes grew to the size of sunflowers. “$2,000?”

  “That’s right. I want you looking good for me. Do you understand?”

  “I...think so.”

  “Good. If you need more, tell me and I’ll review. Your perfume smells good. Keep wearing it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His voice got louder than he anticipated, but he liked what came out. “I don’t like people who complain or whine...and get the gum out of your mouth. I don’t want any unprofessionalism in my office.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, get back to your desk and wait for my buzz.”

  She hurried to the door, dropped a pencil, and bent over. In seconds, she recovered and closed the doors quietly. Her leaving was like an antidote to delicious venom. He called Duke, who lifted his head. It took him several minutes to get up, and O’Hara made sure that cigar smoke did not reach the lazy superstar.

  Five minutes passed. O’Hara’s intercom buzzed.

  “Mrs. Daley is here, sir.”

  He met her inside his office. They kissed, but this time the doors to his inner sanctum had not closed all the way. At the elevator, he said, “In the future, Maureen, make sure you close the doors.”

  “Yes, dear. Where are we going?”

  “I reserved a table at The Rotunda for three thirty. Mind walking?”

  “No, I don’t mind walking. There’s lots of sunshine. We can do some shopping after.”

  “Which will make me sweat.”

  “I’ll carry your jacket, and it’s good for you to get some sun. You tan so beautifully.”

  “I can’t go shopping with you. I have to be back at the office.”

  “What for? It’s the end of the week.”

  “I told you I couldn’t see you for a few days, but you called ten times this morning. Fortunately, my secretary is new.
She’s a dumb-bunny but will do, and she’s not one to tell...”

  “James, be nice today.”

  She hung onto his arm on the way down the elevator, but on the first floor, he shook free. They passed by the front desk, close enough to hear the switchboard operator practicing her phone pitch.

  James ordered a scotch and water from The Rotunda bar and guzzled it down. He pulled out a white handkerchief and wiped the condensation off the glass.

  “You know, I had nothing to do with Cornelius’ death.”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  James looked up at the glass ceiling, and his eyes stayed focused there for a time.

  The waiter made James think Mexican. He might pull out a switch blade as soon as put a plate on the table.

  “Two lobsters.”

  He felt warm under the glass canopy. The constant droning of female shoppers put him on edge, and the buttery fragrance of the lobster failed to alleviate his worry.

  “Get me another napkin. You should know that. What’s your name?”

  “Jose.”

  The waiter returned with two and handed the first one to James, who grabbed it. Maureen thanked the waiter.

  James stopped his foot from tapping.

  “All right. Let’s go.”

  “No dessert?”

  “No. I’ve got to get back.”

  He left a hundred-dollar bill in the waiter’s folder.

  They arrived back at the Greenwich lobby, and he let go of her hand.

  Her light pink Pashmina wrap opened. “Let me give you a kiss good-bye.”

  James turned his face away, and her kiss landed on his ear.

  Pepper’s head popped up from below the counter.

  “I told Smith to return the keys,” he said, loud enough for Pepper to hear.

  “Who’s Smith? What keys?” Maureen whispered with a hand resting on James’ shoulder.

  “Bellhop I fired,” he said loudly. “Smith was set to be Cornelius’ replacement. Not now.”

  James wrenched his shoulder away and whispered, “For Christ sake, be careful.”

  She closed her wrap and said, “This feels good on a warm day. You always know what to buy a lady. I wore it just for you.”

  O’Hara pulled Maureen over to the three-seater and said, “I’ve told you before to be careful, and why were you in Cornelius’ room the day he died?”

  Maureen steadied herself against the furniture. “He gave me a little gift...for his troubles. Anyway, he’s dead now, and it doesn’t matter.”

  “In the future, let me know what you’re doing. You could get us in trouble.”

  James turned and headed for the elevators.

  When he opened the door of the second-floor accounting office, conversations ceased.

  He walked to the office in the rear and said, “Let me see the report for June.”

  A middle-aged Chinese lady with a plump face smiled, lifted the report off a file cabinet next to her desk, and passed it to him without a word.

  Despite ongoing building improvements, the cash flow from operating activities was just over $30,000.

  “Did you certify the report?”

  “Yes, sir, we did.”

  “Very good.”

  “Is Fletcher still bothering you?”

  “No. He finally stopped coming in here after I told him you had barred him from the office permanently.”

  “Buy some flowers for yourself.” He handed her a one-hundred bill.

  “I’ll buy them for the office.”

  “Suit yourself. Just keep up the clever work.”

  Ms. Keck stood up when he entered his office.

  “You’re doing fine, Keck. You can sit down.”

  He shut the double doors; he didn’t want Keck to overhear him.

  “What a good boy you are. Want some treats?” He stroked Duke’s ears. Duke raised his heavy head, and James scratched the dog’s jowls. James stood up and walked over to the wash basin, pulled out a Persian white towel from a drawer, and began cleaning the fleshy rope above the nose of Duke’s face. “There, now you’re all cleaned up.”

  Duke’s sad eyes made him feel better. He lifted Duke up and put him on the floor, and the sight of Duke’s wide stance reminded him of himself, broad shoulders, formidable features, people-oriented, exertive, gentle, and protective of family.

  I can face anything, bigger worries, bigger obstacles, bigger everything.

  He pulled out his cell phone and checked the stock market. He clicked on another app and made a fast donation to his favorite charity, the American Red Cross. He took a picture of Duke and sent it to Clare with the caption, “Your honey taking care of his boy.” Moments later, she texted back, “I heard my honey is nominated for the Bohemian Club Jinks Committee. It is true?”

  “Your honey is a popular SOB, and hijinks are my specialty.”

  “I love you,” she texted.

  “I love you more than anything.”

  “Will you be home for dinner?”

  “Yes. Tell Bessie to have two Porterhouses on the grill and her dark gravy. Oh, and there’s a surprise waiting for you at home!”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a surprise. Just remember, you are always safe with me.”

  “I know. You’re my hero. Bye.”

  He could imagine the look on her face when she opened the box with a dozen black roses from Podesta Balcocchi.

  He punched in another number.

  “Hello.”

  “Doll.”

  “James!”

  “You have a surprise waiting at home, Maureen.”

  “What is it? I love surprises.”

  I sent her a dozen black roses, too.

  “It’s not a surprise if I tell you.”

  “Okay. I’m rushing home. Thank you for lunch.”

  “You’re welcome. You know you’re more special to me than anyone in the universe.”

  “Even more than Clare?’

  He stuck out his chin.

  Why does she have to ask that question every time we’re on the phone?

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Talk to you when I get home, lovey.”

  James rushed his words together. “Okay. Bye.”

  He felt good, and the future was looking bright. Could anything interfere with his plans?

  No, nothing.

  Chapter 8

  Friday, July 5

  Larry slipped into the Chevy and bumped his head on the door frame. The jarring motion was a painful reminder that Varton had been appointed lead investigator. Questions about how to proceed nagged at him like an agnostic throwing water on every supposition.

  Traffic was light.

  Hieu asked, “Larry, why did you accept that trip to Ireland?”

  “Do you think it’s a bribe? Why did he say it wasn’t a bribe? Does he want to influence the outcome of the investigation?”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “And he’s not owning up to the fact Fletcher failed to escort Cornelius.”

  With a glimmering eye, Hieu said, “Why would he leave Cornelius unprotected?”

  “We have more work to do. I’ll let Varton know about the tickets.”

  The screen on Larry’s phone lit up.

  “Leahy.”

  “Inspector, this is Sergeant Flynn. I have some information from Greenwich Security.”

  “Go ahead.” Larry punched the speaker button.

  “They reported that the front door to the Security office was found damaged the morning after the murder, and two nine-millimeter guns are missing from the gun locker.”

  “Thank you. Has Inspector Varton been informed?”

  “Yes, he has.”

  “Thanks.”

  Larry looked over at Hieu and said, “We’re headed back to the Greenwich.”

  His cell phone hit the floor.

  Hieu picked it up and said, “Larry, you have a missed call.”

  “I didn’t hear it ring.”

  �
�It’s a call from Lauren. It might be on silent.”

  Hieu turned the phone it on its side. “The silence button is in the ‘on’ position. Here, look at this.” Hieu showed him the tiny bar. “When you see red, it’s on silent. Just push the bar up. Green means the silence button is turned off. See?”

  “Yes. I’ll call her later. What time is it?”

  “3:20 p.m.”

  Larry shoved the cell phone in his pocket.

  At the end of Columbus Avenue, near Hieu’s home and Central Station, they made a quick U-turn, leaving behind a narrow strip of horizon sandwiched between gray and blue.

  Larry caught Hieu looking out the window. His fresh-faced appearance stimulated an urge in Larry to protect Hieu and give him a city that would be less depressing than a rained-out ballgame. That meant getting rid of the meat and flies of society and their homeless coalition taint at every street corner, even greasy-sweet North Beach. Work tethered Larry and Hieu to the city, but only one of them plotted making a run for Russian River, the resort where he had built an all-year cabin, and it wasn’t Hieu.

  A car backfired, sending a flock of pigeons across Columbus. A man sprinted across, and Larry had to apply the brakes to avoid hitting him.

  “Was that Gerald Smith?” Hieu asked.

  “How did you know?”

  “I think I saw his picture in the file.”

  “Nice. Hieu, let’s do some good today.”

  Larry smiled at the graduating rows of purple and white alyssum, white phlox, and blue hydrangea that filled long boxes and were bravely resisting spit and blowing litter in front of the Greenwich. An awning striped in green and white sheltered the boxes from the San Francisco damp that welds most bits of paper to the pavement.

  Sounds of hammers and voices came from one corner of the lobby. Brass fittings sprinkled the red and black carpet. Suspended near the barrier was the smooth, scorching smell of copper soldering. Ghost-like workers spoke muffled blue-collar axioms. The soldering smelled almost as good as fiery tar bubbling in a roofing bucket.

  Bunches of red daylilies in white, oversized vases stood in the corners, and a black and white drawing of an oversized wagon wheel in the foreground of a line of covered wagons hung on a wall.

  They walked down the steps to the parking garage.