The Final Curtain

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Well—” Carmen asked in a puzzled tone, “what’s the difference?”

  “The difference is that us drunks don’t have to go to the meetings.” Ben shrugged.

  Carmen leaned forward, her eyes searching Ben’s face. “But if you’re a drunk, why aren’t you drinking?”

  “Don’t like the stuff,” Ben explained. “Gives me a headache.”

  “So you’re a drunk who don’t get drunk?” Earl asked. “Now that’s cool!”

  The drinks came thick and fast and then the steaks. They all ate hungrily. After they were finished, Carmen asked, “How was the steak, Ben?”

  “Real good,” he said. “Better than the one I get at Mom’s Cafe, back home.”

  “Where’s home?” Carmen wanted to know.

  “All over. My folks died young, and I’ve kicked around ever since I was a kid.”

  “Me, too,” she murmured. The room was dim, but a small combo was playing, and three couples made use of a postage-size dance floor. “Dance with me, Ben,” Carmen demanded.

  He got to his feet and followed her. She came into his arms, saying nothing all the time they moved across the floor. She was soft and fragrant, but he could make nothing out of her. She was a small woman, and when she leaned her cheek against his shoulder, he felt a strange gush of emotion. She whispered, “I like a man who doesn’t talk all the time. All actors do that.” When the music stopped and they went back to the table, she said, “It’s too early to go to bed. Let’s go someplace else.”

  “We could take them to Jimmy’s Hideout, Julio,” Earl suggested.

  They left and went to Jimmy’s place—then to three others. By the time they left the last one, in Greenwich Village, Earl commented, “I’m starting to talk careful. The way drunks do, you know?”

  “Yeah,” Julio nodded, observing the others with an owlish interest. “I think you are drunk, Earl. I’d better get you home—“fore you fall down. Lemme help you.”

  As he said this, he sagged, and Earl grabbed him. Holding him in one mighty arm, he winked at the others. “Yeah, I can’t stand up, Julio. You better help me.” Then he added, “You two be okay? I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow.”

  Savage and Carmen watched the two make their way down the street, Earl practically carrying Julio. “Pretty good eggs,” Ben decided. “Where do you live, Carmen? I’m lost myself, so I might as well take you home and start from there.”

  Her eyes were slightly unfocused, but she drew herself up, commanding, “No, you first. Call me a taxi.”

  “You’re a taxi!” Ben exclaimed, then laughed, adding, “I always wanted to say that!” He piloted her to one, put her inside, then gave his address to the driver.

  She spoke little on the ride, but when he got out and paid the driver, she followed him, saying, “Let’s go up to your place for a while.”

  The cab driver, a thin man with thick glasses, gave Savage a wink and took his money. “Some got it—some don’t got it,” he yelled out the window as he pulled away.

  “It’s pretty late, Carmen,” Ben warned, but she shook her head. “All right, but you’ve got to get home soon.”

  “You sound like my old man,” she muttered and stumbled as they went along the sidewalk. He shored her up, steering her into the elevator then leaning her against the wall while he found his key. She followed him inside and looked around at the apartment. It consisted of a combination sitting room and tiny kitchenette, and a bedroom just large enough for one bed and one chest, and a bath.

  “I’ll fix some coffee,” he offered and moved toward the kitchen.

  As he made it, she watched him sleepily. When the coffee was ready, he poured two cups. “Sugar? Black?” he asked, and when she said, “Black,” he took the cups carefully to the couch. She took it, drank a swallow, then reached over and grabbed at her purse, which was on the floor. She pulled a leather-covered silver flask from it and gave him a crooked grin. “I’m a drunk, too, Ben.” She removed the top, poured the liquor into her cup, and carefully put the flask down. “But I guess I really am a drunk. Not like you. You’re lying.” She swallowed the liquid, then said, “You’re a funny guy, Ben.”

  “About average, I guess.”

  “No. It only took you about two days to learn all those sets. That’s not average. And you don’t make passes. I was waiting for that. We all were.”

  “Who’s ‘all,’ Carmen?”

  “Why, me and Lily and Danielle,” she explained in surprise. “Lily and I made book on which one of us you’d hustle first.” She picked up the flask, took a long pull at it, then lowered it. “I sorta thought it’d be me—but you don’t make passes, do you, Ben?”

  “Don’t bet on that.”

  She sat there, her eyelids heavy, and there was a pause between her sentences when she spoke—as though the lines were down and the messages from the brain had trouble getting through. With her smooth features and full figure, she was an intensely attractive woman, in a sensuous fashion. Her entire manner revealed that she was accustomed to being pursued by men. As she sat there, her dark eyes studied Savage carefully.

  “I know men pretty well,” she bragged. Taking another drink, she swayed slightly, adding, “Too well, maybe.” Then her eyelids drooped, and she brought them up with an effort. Her eyes were slightly out of focus. “Whatsa matter?” she demanded suddenly. “I’m not good enough for you?”

  Ben shook his head. “You’re drunk, Carmen. Time to go home.”

  She seemed not to hear him and went on in a sullen fashion, “Not good enough! Not good enough for him!” She began to mutter and shook her head angrily. “Thinks he can get rid of me! But he can’t!”

  Ben asked quietly, “Who can’t, Carmen?”

  “You know! Everybody knows!” She began to cry, and he reached out and pulled her to her feet. “Let me take you home, Carmen.”

  “No! Don’t wanna go home. . . ,” she muttered. Then she put her arms around his neck and whispered, “Love me, Jonathan! Love me—like you used to!”

  Savage held her up, and she held tightly to him. How could he get her to a cab? Even as he considered it, she passed out, going limp in his arms. With a sigh, he placed her on the couch then went to the bedroom and pulled back the bedcovers. Returning, he scooped her up, carried her to the bedroom, and deposited her on the bed. He pulled off her shoes and went to the closet for the extra blanket he’d stored there. Snatching a pillow off the bed, he went back to the living room and tossed both on the couch.

  For a long time he sat drinking coffee and thinking about the complications of the case. Finally he lay down and was just drifting off, when he heard Carmen calling. He rolled off the couch and moved to the bedroom. It was dark, but he could see by the light from the living room that she was rolling around in a frenzied manner. When he stooped to take her arm, she cried out, “You killed her—you killed Amber!”

  Ben stopped his attempts to awaken her. He asked softly, “Who killed Amber, Carmen?”

  She shook her head, and her eyes were wide open. “I—saw you! I saw you put the real bullets in the gun!”

  A great tremor shook her body, and she cried out, “Sir Adrian! Sir Adrian! Why did you do it? Why did you kill Amber?” Abruptly, she shut her eyes, moaned, and seemed to slip back into a restless sleep.

  For a long time, Ben stood there, looking down at Carmen. Finally he went back to the couch and sat there. He stared at the wall for ten minutes, trying to put what Carmen had said into perspective—but the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. Finally he lay down and went to sleep.

  When he awoke the next morning, Carmen was gone. Rubbing his stiff neck, he thought about what she had said in her drunken stupor. Not enough to convict anybody—but enough to make Lockridge a suspect, he thought.

  Though she had only visited Tom Calvin’s church a few times, Dani had gotten over the feeling of being just a visitor. On this Sunday before the play was to open, prior to the service the pastor had come down the aisle and
greeted her. Tom performed an introduction: “This is Danielle Morgan. She’s in the cast of Out of the Night.”

  “Oh, yes, I have two tickets for the performance tomorrow,” Reverend Edwards exclaimed. “I’m an old fan of Jonathan Ainsley’s. I wish you’d ask him to come to church with you.”

  “I will,” Dani agreed at once. She expressed her appreciation for his sermons and sat there with Tom during the service, contented and at peace. Afterward they went to eat at a nearby cafeteria that featured Italian food. As Dani downed a healthy serving of spaghetti, she said, “I love to go to church. I know some theologians have given up and that philosophers are talking about the ‘post-Christian’ world—but they’re wrong, aren’t they?”

  Calvin grinned at her. “Yes. God isn’t dead. I thought so for a long time, but when I was converted, it was like someone’s turning on a light.”

  Dani leaned back, thought about that, then nodded. “What a nice way to put it, Tom!” Then she looked at her watch, saying ruefully, “Time to go to rehearsal. I wish we didn’t have to.”

  “You’re a funny kind of actress, Danielle,” Tom remarked as he helped her on with her coat. “All of that breed I’ve known have been totally self-centered.”

  “Oh, I’m not much different,” she quickly protested. When they were on the street, heading toward the theater, she asked idly, “What about your family, Tom? Do you have a large one?”

  “No, just one sister and a few cousins.”

  “What about your father? You said once that he and Jonathan were great friends.”

  “Why, I guess they were once.” Tom’s hands clenched so tightly they turned white. Grimly he continued, “Dad was a very gentle man. And when Jonathan was an unknown, he just about took him in to raise.”

  “How nice!” Dani affirmed. “You must have loved him very much.” Then she asked tentatively, “How did he die, your father?”

  “Of neglect!” Tom’s lips were compressed, and he said nothing for a few moments. Bitterly he cried out, “Dad got sick, and we were always pretty broke. He called Jonathan and asked for help. I was there when he called. I’ll never forget it, Danielle! Dad spoke to him, and when he hung up the phone, he had the most beautiful smile on his face. He said, ‘It’s all right now, Tom! Jonathan is going to help me!’”

  Dani waited for him to go on, but when he remained silent, she prompted him, “What happened, Tom?”

  “Nothing!” Calvin snapped, his eyes narrowing. “Dad died—and without a word from his good friend—the great man, Jonathan Ainsley!”

  Calvin suddenly shook his head. “I—I didn’t mean to sound off, Danielle. I’ve never told anyone else about it.”

  She put her hand on his arm, saying only, “I know it’s been hard. That’s the hardest thing for a Christian, isn’t it? Forgiving a person who’s hurt someone you love.”

  He seemed anxious to change the subject, and they talked about the play. When they got to the Pearl, it was time for rehearsal to begin, and she had no chance to speak with him.

  It was a good rehearsal. Afterward the cast gathered to listen to Nero tell them briefly about opening night. Jonathan followed with a word of encouragement.

  Dani went to her dressing room and changed out of her costume, then left, thinking of the opening performance. As she passed from backstage to the outer stage, she heard a woman’s voice, speaking angrily. Carmen was being held by the detective, Jack Sharkey.

  “Let me go, you dirty cop!” Carmen cried and tried to break away, but the big man held on tightly. Dani started toward them, but Ben was already there.

  “Let the lady go,” he ordered quietly.

  Sharkey moved with amazing speed for a big man. He loosed Carmen and threw a punch that caught Ben high on the temple, knocking him to the floor. At the same time, Ringo Jordan appeared, coming out of the left side of the stage. He moved toward the policeman with a slight shuffle, his left fist raised and his right arm bent close to his body.

  Sharkey laughed hoarsely. “You stumblebum! I’ll cream you!” He threw a terrible punch at Jordan, who picked it off easily with his left then sent a solid right into Sharkey’s paunch. The blow made a slight booming noise, and the policeman’s mouth opened. No sound came, and his lungs began to heave as he tried to breathe. Ringo grabbed him by the shoulders, whirled him around, and hauled him off as easily as if Sharkey had been a ten-year-old.

  Carmen ran to Ben, who was getting up. “Ben! Are you hurt?”

  “No,” he soothed her. “What was that all about?”

  Dani had stopped when Carmen stepped to Ben’s side. Dani wanted to go to him, but knew that it would not be in keeping with their ruse. She stepped back and would have left, but she heard Carmen say, “Oh, nothing. He’s just a womanizer.” In a lower voice, Dani heard her add, “Ben, I left my purse in your apartment. Did you find it after I left this morning?”

  Dani missed a step, then threw her head up high, not hearing Ben’s reply. She didn’t look back, and when two or three people spoke to her she failed to hear them. Outside, she turned and walked blindly down the street, heedless of her destination. She came to a red light and waited for it to change. As she started to cross, she felt a hand on her arm.

  Whirling, she turned to find Ben standing beside her. He was bareheaded, and the streetlight cast uneven shadows over his square face. He was looking at her intently, and she felt like a fool. “What is it?” she demanded.

  “You’re going the wrong way,” he pointed out. “Your apartment is the other way.”

  “I’m going to do a little shopping,” she said. “Let go of my arm.”

  “I need a few things myself,” he commented. “But isn’t this a bit pricey?” He stared in the window of an exclusive dress shop. “When they’re this fancy, with no price tags, you’ve got to watch out, Boss. Bet this little number would take your whole paycheck.” He nodded at a white evening outfit.

  She stared at him, then shrugged. “All right, so I’m angry.”

  “No, you’re jealous,” he corrected her. “You don’t want me, but you don’t want any other woman to have me either. The old dog-in-the-manger trick.”

  “Jealous of you!” Dani’s voice cracked a little, and she forced herself to laugh. “You have the most enormous ego, Ben Savage.”

  “We did this scene once before,” he commented. “Reminds me of when I first worked for you—on the Case Bearing affair. I had to get some information from a woman. Remember what happened?”

  Dani did remember. She had gone to Ben’s room and found him with a coarse woman of the street—and had fired him on the spot. Later she had discovered he had been getting her to agree to testify for one of their clients.

  Ben saw the memory come into her eyes.

  “All right—so Carmen stayed all night at your apartment,” she said, forcing herself to be calm. “I’m not interested in your personal life!”

  “You’re not?” he exclaimed in surprise. “I’m interested in yours, Boss. But do we have to stand here in the middle of the street? Can’t we have a cup of coffee or something?”

  She nodded stiffly. They found a small cafe around the corner. The coffee was not good, but the place was almost empty. In a booth in the rear, he gave her the details of the preceding evening. “So she was in a stupor, and you can take it for what it’s worth.”

  Dani sipped the bitter coffee then shook her head. “I don’t buy it.”

  “Why not? Lockridge had a motive. Matter of fact,” Ben pronounced slowly, “he had two motives. He hated Ainsley for the way he’s treated him, and he admitted to you that Amber almost ruined his life and his marriage. Now Amber’s dead, and Jonathan’s out on bond, under suspicion of manslaughter.”

  Dani shook her head. “I know, Ben, but—do you think he did it?”

  Savage looked down at the tablecloth. “I don’t know, Dani. Carmen hates Ainsley, too. She could have staged that scene last night.”

  “She doesn’t know we’re detectives!” />
  “No, but she knows the police are looking for a nice suspect to fry—and she could hope that I’d spill the beans to Goldman.”

  Dani bit her lip, thinking hard. “This can’t go on for long, Ben. Either somebody will recognize me, or the killer will get Ainsley—”

  “You’ve got that right,” Ben agreed slowly. “Look, I’ve got an idea. If we can prove that Lockridge had some live thirty-eight shells, that could be something we could give Goldman. Sir Adrian has insisted all along he’s never bought any shells, never even shot a gun.”

  “How can you find out a thing like that?”

  “Burgle his apartment, of course,” he announced, surprised that she would ask.

  “Ben! You could go to jail, if you get caught!”

  “Better not get caught, then,” he said. “Look, it’s easy. You lure the Lockridges out of their apartment, and I’ll burgle it. They like you, don’t they? Work on it.”

  “Ben, I don’t like it.”

  “It’s the only game in town. And here’s another thing. I might just come up with the typewriter that was used for the first notes.” He saw the hesitation in her face, and insisted, “Look, Boss, it’s time to play hardball. I like the old couple, too, but that doesn’t mean a thing. They say Hitler loved dogs. We’ve got to dig up something!”

  Dani sighed, then nodded. “You’re right, Ben. I’ll do it. Maybe I can get them to go out for lunch Tuesday.”

  “Tell them you’re nervous,” he suggested. “They’re too nice to turn you down.”

  “And while I’m buying their lunch, you’re looking for evidence that will send Sir Adrian to jail for the rest of his life.”

  Ben stared at her. “You’re all mixed up again, Boss. This is the real world, not the one Norman Rockwell painted. He always showed the kind of world he wanted—nice old ladies saying grace at the truck stop, puppies, and kids in love. But he never once painted a picture of some drunk on Skid Row or a teenage girl shooting up heroin.”

  Dani dropped her head, then lifted it. “I know the world’s hard, Ben. I just like to see the other side of it.”