by Craig Rice
“What’s all the comedy build-up?” I asked. My hand felt as if it had been pounded into round steak, and I was still annoyed with Russell.
Biff kicked me with his eyes. Then, when he saw the cop was too busy watching Alice’s strip number to pay any attention to us, he winked. I still didn’t get it.
The policeman was holding a green satin skirt in his red hand. It was Alice’s. I knew that if she had that off it was just about the end of her number. She finished with the music and just before dashing out for her bows she tossed Mike Brannen a chiffon hanky.
“You’re a baby doll to catch my thingth,” she cooed. The cop turned red and she rushed back onstage.
“Ohhhh, boyth, you don’t want me to take that off?”
The few customers we had convinced her that they most certainly did.
Alice still pouted and simpered, “If I take that off, I’ll catch cold.”
I didn’t have to watch her to know when it came off. Mike Brannen’s face was a dead giveaway. After a good look, he gulped, “She’s beautiful, ain’t she? She’s got a face like an angel.”
Alice may have looked like an angel, but he wasn’t looking at her face. He must have misunderstood my grunt, because he added quickly, “Oh, I think you’re pretty, too.”
I told him to save it, that I wasn’t having any, and Biff roared.
“See? What did I tell you about her? Always kiddin’!”
The policeman didn’t hear him. He was too busy wrapping Alice in her satin skirt. I stood it as long as I could, but when he got to the part about how much he enjoyed her dancing, I had to get away.
I walked toward the prop room. The props were all out on the ramp and after moving the bladders from the park bench I sat down. Biff joined me there.
“For a smart dame, you can be the dumbest I ever knew,” he said with no attempt to hide his disgust.
“And you can be the most aggravating,” I said. “All night long you hang around with cops. That isn’t enough. You have to drag them to the theater with you. And speaking of dumbests, that’s no mental giant over there, you know.”
We were behind the props and Biff had to lean over to see that Brannen couldn’t overhear me. “He doesn’t have to be bright. He’s a cop,” Biff said. “As for me sticking around with ’em. Well, you won’t be sorry when I tell you what’s up.”
He lit a cigarette for me and one for himself. “First of all, they found something interesting in connection with La Verne’s bankbook. On the day she was murdered she drew out ten thousand bucks!”
He waited a moment for that to sink in. “And they can’t find the dough!”
“Russell’s play! I’ll bet she got the money for him.” I was sure of it.
“Yeah, that’s what the cops figure. But they think Louie’s got the dough. He only got a couple hundred from the saloon and without the car that wouldn’t get him to Jersey City. Not only that, but the cops found the picture frame.
“No, not the picture.” He must have felt me jump, because he added that very fast. “Just the frame. It’s an old-fashioned kinda picture frame. In the back there used to be velvet or something, only the velvet’s gone now. It leaves a space big enough to carry a basket lunch, almost. Well, they pick around this back part and whadda you know? There’s a piece of paper that looks like it’s been torn off a …”
Biff heard the faint noise just as I did. It was someone tiptoeing past us. Biff held my arm and I held my breath. I had that same tight feeling in my throat that I get when I play hide-and-go-seek backstage.
Then I knew who it was!
My sense of smell, that was going to bring me close to becoming a well-dressed corpse, told me that Sammy, the stage manager, was up to his old tricks. The odor of “Tweed” was unmistakable.
It was a dirty trick, but I felt that someone had to break him of that ugly habit of listening to other people’s conversation. In a loud whisper I said, “I heard that Moss is firing Sammy.”
Biff picked it up. “Yeah, that’s what I heard.”
The sound of someone tiptoeing faded away. I had to work awfully hard to keep from laughing out loud.
Jake was the next one to disturb us. He apologized, but he needed the bench for the park scene. I was on next so I hurried upstairs to dress.
While I was dressing I realized that I hadn’t asked where Dolly had found the bankbook. I hadn’t found out what the paper was either. All I knew was that Russell was worrying plenty about that ten thousand dollars.
Chapter Eleven
I can’t say that I gave my usual sterling performance that afternoon. The first act seemed to run for hours. My number went badly. I couldn’t find the pins and when I finally did, eight bars too late, I stuck myself. The audience was very unreceptive. They didn’t even have the courtesy to yell, “Take it off!”
I was glad when intermission came.
Alice and Brannen, the cop, were sitting under the stairs with their heads close together, like they’d known each other for years.
“Gypper!” I turned when Alice called me. “Thith nithe man jutht ordered thome beer for uth.”
One glance at his face convinced me that the “us” was the wrong word. He wasn’t too happy when I sat down next to them on the trunk.
“A little beer will tathte tho good,” Alice cooed. “Not that I drink …” She let her voice trail off.
“Neither do I,” I added, “but on a warm day, well, you know …” I let my voice trail off, too.
Moey’s spiel began, and instead of listening to Alice sigh and the cop breathe heavily, I listened to him.
“Friends, through the courtesy of the California Confection Company from Los Angeles, California, I have here a little article. Spicy, daring, intimate. Now friends, you’re not children. A woid to the wise is sufficient. You’re here to have a good time and this here little book is just what you’ve been looking for.”
I hoped it wasn’t the same little book that he was selling last week. One pinch a week is enough.
Alice giggled. “Oh, Mr. Brannen, you do thay the funnietht thingth.”
I hadn’t heard what was said, but I had my own ideas of how funny it was.
“Now, friends,” Moey’s voice was getting louder. “This here little book looks like an ordinary book. But let me assure you that it is not! It is anything but ordinary. All you do is hold one of these pages up to the light or hold a lighted match behind one of these pages, and you will see men and women in many intimate poses. Yes, friends, in-ti-mate poses!”
“Oh, pleathe, Mr. Brannen!”
I looked quickly at the cop to see if he was getting ideas from Moey’s spiel. Everything was all right, though.
“Pleathe don’t talk about the murder,” Alice whimpered. “It’th too gruethome. And anyway, if all the polithemen are as thmart as you, they’ll catch that Louie right away.”
“Well, they’re not all as smart as me,” Officer Brannen admitted.
“You’re too modest,” I said, not too low. All I could think of was, this is what we pay taxes for.
The cop looked at me strangely for a second. Then he laughed. “Biff told me what a regular clown you are,” he said.
I started counting. If, when I got to ten, the beer hadn’t arrived, I decided I’d skip it. Nothing was worth the mental anguish of sitting through such dialogue.
“… For ten cents, one tenth of a dollar, you receive this darling book and three and one-half ounces of genuwine, delicious California Confection Bom Boms. I assure you that once you have examined this little book, you will not part with it for a ten-dollar bill.”
“And do you alwayth carry a gun, Mr. Brannen?”
“Nearly always. Now my idea is that he tried to ditch the car and beat it out of the country. Through Canada, maybe.”
“Seven. Eight. Nine.”
The stage door opened and the call boy came in. It was the first time I ever thought he looked like Santa Claus.
Our host gallantly opened the co
ntainers. “For you,” he said, handing me one. “And for you.” His chin scraped the floor when he bowed to Alice.
She fluttered her eyelashes and sipped daintily.
The call boy waited for the formalities. Then he turned on his heel. “I usually get a dime for doing errands,” he said distinctly, but the cop was too busy telling Alice about how he captured a desperado singlehanded.
Alice swallowed the beer and the story. They didn’t miss me when I walked away.
I stood in the wings and listened to Moey.
He was breaking in a new bit of business. “Stop the sale!” he shouted, and his assistants, who were milling through the audience, stopped and looked at him.
“I heard what that man in the third row said.” Moey sounded as though his feelings had been hurt. Then a vindictive note crept in. “He said that these prizes will not be given away this afternoon. That is a fabrication. In fact, it is a lie!”
I looked through the peephole. Moey was standing on the top step that led to the stage. He held up a hand and dramatically beckoned to a boy in the back of the theater. The boy walked down the aisle and handed Moey several large boxes. One of these Moey opened and held up to the audience.
“This here gift. Yes, I said gift, will pos-i-tive-ly be given away today. You can see that it is a valuable gift, a gift that any girl would be proud to own. One hundred and nineteen pieces of genuwine ivory praline, complete with satin-lined box!”
The audience smoked and, for the most part, ignored him completely. A man in the first row studied a racing form. I couldn’t see the customer who had “fabricated,” but then I didn’t waste too much time looking for him.
“And because the California Confection Company is anxious for the general public to try their superior Bom Boms, I am giving away free, and without charge, this pair of genuwine French Mignon opera glasses. Use them today, tomorrow, in fact, every day! See what you came to see!”
The man with the racing form became interested.
“Now, friends, my confederates will go through you.”
One man laughed with Moey.
“I mean will pass through you. I thank you.”
Moey walked up on the stage and through the wings to where I was standing. His kinky hair was standing on end. Streams of sweat poured down his face. “How’d you like the ‘stop the sale’ gag?” he asked, seeing me.
I told him I liked it fine and he took the container out of my hand. After a healthy gulp he went over to the peephole to check on the sales. He still clutched the beer, but that isn’t why I followed him.
I’d just remembered Gee Gee telling me how he was the one that tipped Louie.
I asked him casually if he knew Louie.
“Know him?” he said. “He’s a relative of mine; cousin or something. I don’t keep up with that family racket much.” His beady eyes were following the salesmen. If a candy butcher could clip Moey for a dime, he certainly had it coming to him.
“Do you think Louie killed her?” I asked.
He took another drink before answering me. “If he done it, I’m a monkey’s uncle. You wanna know who I think done it?”
I said yes.
“Well, I think one of the Chinee waiters is the guy. Who else would strangle a dame, huh? Don’t all them Chinese strangle? And wasn’t they there? Damn right!”
From upstage I could hear Alice romancing her cop. The musicians were getting noisily into the pit. There was a dank odor of marijuana coming from the basement. That would be Benny, the trumpet player, I thought.
“It’s the East Indians that strangle,” I said. “You got the Chinese mixed up.”
All Moey heard was “Chinese.” “Damn right they done it. And I allus trusted the Chinese, too.” He started away after that, beer and all.
“Hey! Gimme back my beer!” I yelled to him. He took one more gulp before returning it.
Just then I saw Sammy hotfooting it across the stage. He was completely out of breath, and with a wilder gleam in his eyes than usual, he asked me where the Princess Nirvena was.
“Me?” I pointed to myself as if he had asked me if I had spread the bubonic plague.
“Her number’s after the opening and she isn’t in. And I don’t know where she’s stopping. And—oh! Beer! Thank Gawd!” He killed the quart and shoved the empty container back in my hand. “Not only that, but Moss is out front; flew in from Hot Springs because of …”
His long legs took him upstairs in three leaps. Moey and I followed in a few more. By then we were at the landing. Sammy didn’t knock, but burst into the room. There was a scramble for kimonos and robes again.
“It’s like dressing in a goldfish bowl,” Gee Gee complained, and then added, “if I may coin a phrase.”
Sammy glared at her. “The Princess is missing!” he shouted, “and I gotta worry about knocking on doors yet.” He looked wild-eyed around the room. “Don’t any of you know where she’s living?” he asked desperately.
No one knew and no one cared, for that matter, but Jannine did suggest that perhaps her ladyship had got tired of throwing pearls to swine and had high-tailed it off with Louie.
“You’re nuts!” Sammy said, slamming the door behind him.
As soon as we were sure he had left, we all looked at each other and laughed.
“It’s too good to be true,” Gee Gee said.
Dolly added, “To get rid of both of ’em in twenty-four hours! Damn right it’s too good to be true.” A crafty gleam came into her eye. “If she was murdered,” she said slowly, “it would be pretty tough on the cops to try and pin it on any of us.”
Jannine stopped with one hand on the door. “What makes you think she was murdered?” she asked.
Dolly didn’t answer. She was busy brushing her hair. At least she looked busy.
“And even if she was, how come the cops couldn’t pin it on any of us?” Jannine had walked over to Dolly and thrust her face so close that the brush nearly clipped her chin.
I wouldn’t have liked it if someone had pushed herself on me like that, but Dolly answered with a half laugh and kept right on with her hair.
“None of us knows where she lives, do we? And we all left together last night, didn’t we? And the joint was full of cops watching every one of us, wasn’t they?” She finished her brushing with a flourish and thumped the brush on the shelf. “Well then, how could any of us do it?”
The crafty gleam was gone. One of triumph had taken its place.
Jannine sniffed and left the room. At the door she turned. “You got it all figured out good,” she said. Then, as an afterthought: “I wouldn’t get so far out on the limb for a guy like Russell!”
Chapter Twelve
There was no Princess for the first matinee. We struggled along beautifully without her. Louie was still missing and that was a different matter altogether. Someone really wanted him: the police.
Biff said it was because they needed a fourth at their pinochle game, but Alice settled that once and for all.
“I don’t think he knowth how to play pinochle,” was her topper.
As soon as the curtain was down Sammy called a rehearsal. The chorus went through its routines on the stage and we rehearsed the scenes in the ladies’ lounge, out front. It was a large, airy room with comfortable wicker furniture. Long mirrors covered the walls and the windows were draped with satin damask that was probably left over from the heyday of the Old Opera.
Sammy told me I was doing the bride in the wedding finale so I started worrying about my wardrobe again. I had promised to make a strip costume for Gee Gee; I had two to make for myself, and now a wedding dress!
“And we’re doing the ‘Gazeeka Box,’” Sammy added. “You done the third woman before so I got you down for it.”
Well, I didn’t have to worry about that costume; three yards of chiffon and a rhinestone clip would do.
Biff and Mandy were rehearsing “Slowly I Turn.” I watched them through the mirror and in the reflection it looked like
there were six Biffs. At first I thought how nice it would be. Then I remembered the cops and decided that one Biff was plenty.
“Look, Punkin.” One of the six approached me. “I got a new twist on the ‘Gazeeka Box.’ When Phil does the ‘Ala gazam, ala gazam’ with the first woman, we go right into the ‘Pickle Persuader’ bit!”
A new twist! I looked at him coldly, but he continued.
“They want a full stage scene in the spot and we just did the old version of the ‘Gazeeka Box,’ so …” He grinned when I took it up from there.
“So you’re rewriting it?”
“Yeah.” Still grinning. It was a waste of time trying to be subtle with Biff.
Phil joined us and we talked the scene through. It was one of Moss’ favorite scenes. He liked the prop, the “Gazeeka Box”; said it reminded him of a sarcophagus. I had to look that one up. It turned out to be a mummy’s coffin. Cheerful thought!
But I had to agree with Moss on one thing. When Jake painted the box and lined it with red satin, it was a nice background for a girl. The old version was one of those “She’s been dead for two thousand years” things. Then the comic looks at the first woman and she winks at him.
He says, “For a dame that’s been dead for two thousand years, she knows class when she sees it.”
Of course, every comic has his own version of the scene. Biff’s idea of combining the “Pickle Persuader” wasn’t bad, but I was too annoyed to give him the usual encouragement.
“What are ya going to use for a blackout?” I asked in a cold voice.
“Oh, you get the seltzer water in the pants.”
Just like that he tells me! I get the seltzer water in the pants! That’s what I mean when I say one Biff is enough.
I could tell by the too innocent look on his face that he expected me to blow up, so I didn’t give him the pleasure. With my usual dignity I told him to get another naked woman.
“And what’s more, funny man, I’m not working any of your scenes from now on!”
