White Heat

by Paul D. Marks

  It wasn’t as good as an E Ticket at Disneyland, but it was all I had.

  Joshua trees.

  Cactus plants.

  Blue skies.

  Clean air.

  Smooth breath.

  Breathing like a baby.

  Crazy dudes on bikes.

  Talking tuxedos.

  Desert rats.

  Need desert cats.

  Keep the rat population down.

  Spinning wheels.

  Red and black.

  Put your wad on a number.

  Hope it comes back.

  The game is rigged.

  Nothing to do.

  Do the best with what you’ve got.

  Showgirls and showtime.

  Kicking high.

  Dancing disco dollies.

  Fans waiting in the wings.

  Eager to lavish their favorites with flowers.

  And candy.

  And teddy bears.

  And—

  Never alone.

  People following.

  From L.A. to Calexico.

  Calexico to Reno.

  Good at hiding.

  Crawling under the woodwork.

  But there.

  Always there.

  Stalking.

  Stalked.

  Sleep.

  Perchance to dream.

  Perchance to nightmare.

  Sleep.

  Sleep.

  Sleep.

  The sun lunged in through a crack in the drapes, piercing my eyes with hot white light. Enough to wake me up. It was after eleven in the morning. I called the front desk, told them I’d be staying another night. My body telegraphed its desire to go back to sleep. The receiving station was down, the wires had been cut by the men in black hats. The brain wouldn’t listen. Forced the tired body out of bed and into a cold shower. That put the connections back together in a hurry.

  Before I left the motel, I got a shoe box from the desk clerk, put the Star and my private dick’s license in it and had them lock it in the safe. The clerk assured me that the safe was secure and had never been broken into or had anything stolen from it. That was good enough for me. Besides, crooks had better places to steal from than the Edsel.

  Bright sun belied brisk weather. I couldn’t stand my clothes anymore. It felt like I’d slept in them, because I had. I was sure that there were discount places in Reno, shopping malls, department stores. But I wanted to buy my new clothes at the stores in the Crystal Palace. Why spend a hundred bucks for a suit when you could spend three hundred?

  The Palace’s casino was booming. More little old ladies with blue hair than the night before. None of the tables were empty. I scanned the room for the Three Tuxeteers. Not around. Must be the nightshift. Other Tuxeteers abounded, but I figured they didn’t know my face and wouldn’t pay it any mind, especially after I got my new outfit.

  Jerome’s Men’s Wear was a pretty good-sized ye olde shoppe for a hotel. It had nice big MasterCard and Visa logos on its front window. That made me happy, since I hardly had enough cash for breakfast.

  The man himself helped me. I was the only patron in the store. He was eager and only too happy to please. His hair was neatly trimmed and slicked down above a beak-like nose. His own suit reeked of fine and expensive taste and fine and expensive perfume, er, cologne. Instead of a tie he wore an ascot. What would Jack have thought of that?

  Two other salesmen rearranged stock on racks and shelves.

  “Hmm, a dark suit,” Jerome said, after I told him what I was looking for. “Does it have to be black or might we go with a dark blue or gray?”

  “Doesn’t matter. But something sharp. No brown.”

  “Of course not. Brown, no way.”

  After measuring me, he pulled a couple suits off a rack. Had me try on the jackets. I needed a good suit. Jerome may as well have my business as anyone else. This was quality stuff. Maybe this was where the Weasel got his suit.

  Jerome spent over an hour with me. We finally settled on a double breasted gray suit, kinda snazzy, as mom would have said. While we were trying out various ties and shirts with it, another customer came in. Jerome beamed. One of his salesmen attended to the customer, while the other continued with the racks.

  “The pants are a tad long. I can have them tailored for you in a couple of hours, I think.” He smiled. Happy for the business.

  “Sounds good.”

  He marked the cuffs with chalk and pins. As I was changing, handing clothes to him over the short dressing room saloon door, I asked if he knew Jeanette Lyon. I wished I could have seen his face when he responded.

  “She comes in once in a while to buy something.”

  “She around today?”

  “Haven’t seen her.”

  I came out of the dressing room. His expression was calm enough.

  “Are you a detective?”

  “That’s a strange question.” It was. It got me thinking. “Hell no. I’m just trying to look her up for an old friend in L.A. But last night when I was asking around, some big dudes got in the way.”

  “Yes, they’re very protective around here.”

  “Over-protective if you ask me.” He handed me the charge receipt to sign. “Listen, don’t tell anyone I’m looking for her. I don’t need any trouble.”

  “I won’t, unless you want me to tell her.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Might be a couple days.”

  Great, a couple more days at the Edsel. “Great.” I left him my room number at the motel. The other customer left without buying anything.

  I spent most of the rest of the day wandering around, trying to nonchalantly ask if anyone had known Teddie. A couple times I even asked about Pilar. She’d been too young to work at the hotel, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. I checked messages at the motel. No calls. And the only ones who should have known I was there were Jerome and Jeanette, if he’d reached her.

  About 4:00 p.m., I picked up my suit. Changed into it at Jerome’s to see how the tailoring had come out.

  “Magnificent,” he said. I agreed. I looked pretty good. He offered to have my shirt and jeans washed and pressed and sent to the motel the next morning, no charge. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse.

  “I looked around a bit for Jeanette. She didn’t come in today.”

  “Will she be here tonight?”

  “I imagine. She’s here most nights. I’ll hang around a bit after closing. See if I can latch onto her.”

  “Thanks, Jerome.” I felt like I should have bought another suit. Maybe two. Up the hall from Jerome’s was a shoe store. Men’s and women’s. The selection wasn’t the greatest. I needed a pair of shiny black shoes to go with the suit so I bought the cheapest pair of loafers I could find with the shiniest paint job. The kid who waited on me had only been working there a week, his manager a few months. Neither knew Jeanette. Neither cared that I’d asked. And neither would bother to call the Tuxeteers.

  The hotel’s coffee shop hamburger was soggy, but it would do. There was no point trying to get backstage to see Jeanette. Calling her office only got the raspy voice again. Again I left no message. The Tuxeteers spotted me playing blackjack. Kept an eye on me, but kept their distance. I called the motel a couple times to see if Jerome had reached Jeanette. No messages.

  An acne-scarred pit boss, in a black suit with a black and white striped bow tie, closed down the blackjack table I was playing at. Everyone, including me, started to disperse.

  “Hang loose, buddy,” he said.

  When the table was clear the dealer picked up cards and money. The pit boss stood behind the table, beady black holes staring at me. “Why you lookin’ for Jeanette?”

  “News travels fast.”

  “We’re just one big family.” He grinned. Two gold teeth gleamed at me from the top of his mouth.

  “Happy no doubt.”

  “No doubt. We don’t like strangers comin’ and—”

  “There is no and. I
told your pals last night, I’m looking her up for a friend. That’s all. It’s not that important to me so I stopped asking and now I’m just playing.”

  “Cheap stakes blackjack.”

  “That’s my game.”

  “You’re not staying at the hotel.”

  “I’m sure you like taking my money anyway.” How’d he know I wasn’t staying there? Had I been followed last night?

  “Cop?”

  “No. But I’m getting awfully sick of this place.”

  “The air is a little bad in here. Bad circulation. Maybe you should stay out.”

  “You mean my money isn’t good enough. I like it here.”

  “Plenty of other casinos. Some with better odds. Try Harrah’s or Bally’s.

  “Hey, all I did was ask to see the lady. I didn’t send her a pipe bomb. Didn’t follow her home. What is it with you guys?”

  “Better odds down the street.”

  The Three Tuxeteers were waiting for me in my motel room. As soon as I opened the door I knew something was wrong. I’d left the bathroom light on and the drapes open. It was off and they were closed. It could have burned out. I didn’t think so. They grabbed me, threw me on the bed face down, spread eagled. Frisked me.

  “No gun.”

  “ID.?”

  “Marion Rogers. Los Angeles.”

  “Business cards?”

  “Nope.”

  “Whadda you do for a living, Mary-un?”

  One Tuxeteer held my feet down. Another my arms.

  “Hey, man, it’s a new suit. Bought at—” I thought better about telling them I bought it at Jerome’s. If they knew, they’d come down on him. I shut up. They didn’t seem interested.

  “Well, we’ll try not to wrinkle it,” Hulk #1 said. A line of pain ran up my left leg. Then warmth. Wet. He’d slit my trouser leg up to the butt with a razor sharp knife—my own, which they’d taken off me when they frisked me. That wasn’t the only thing he slit. “Wanna tell us why you’re here?”

  “Vacation.”

  “And don’t you like the fringe benefits of your tour plan?”

  I was glad I’d put the license and gun in the safe. “Who’re you looking up Jeanette for?”

  “Shouldn’t that be, for whom are you looking up Jeanette? Don’t want to end with a preposit—”

  The fist with the knife slammed into my mouth. Luckily not the blade end. My mouth began to bleed. I didn’t want to think what the other end of the knife would have done.

  “We checked your car. Piece-a-shit rental job. We just don’t know enough about you. Wanna cut the jokes and be friendly now?”

  “I don’t know what else to tell you since the truth doesn’t cut it.”

  “Who’s the friend in L.A. wants to look up Jeanette.”

  Blood gurgled out of my mouth. It was hard to talk. I figured that worked in my favor. I also wished I’d called Rita and gone to see her instead. “Jamie. Jamie Tanberg. She asked me to look up Jeanette. See if she’s still here. If so, get her number, or give her Jamie’s and see if they want to get back together.” I didn’t know where I pulled that name from, but it sounded familiar.

  “Ja-mie Tanberg. One N or two?”

  “One.”

  He wrote in a small pad. “We’ll be seeing you, especially if Jeanette doesn’t know anyone with this name.” He threw two one hundred dollar bills on the bed. “Get yourself a new pair of pants and some mercurochrome. Have a nice day. The Three Tuxeteers left my Edsel of a room, leaving me with the taste of blood in my mouth and the memory of Jamie Tanberg, a girl I’d had a crush on in fourth grade.

  CHAPTER 33

  The Tuxeteers hadn’t found out anything and I wasn’t sure they wanted to. They wanted to scare me off of talking to Jeanette Lyon. They hadn’t succeeded in that either. The cut on my leg was only superficial. The bash on my mouth wasn’t bad either. I got some alcohol from the front desk, cleaned the wounds. I had a swollen lip. Nothing else noticeable. I also retrieved the Star and my P.I. license from the safe, slept sitting up against the headboard of the bed. Anyone who tried breaking in would regret waking up that day. .

  I overslept the next morning. I checked my service. No messages. I kept waiting for Warren to show up. At my door? In the casino? In a dark alley? Called information for Jerome’s Men’s Wear in the Palace. Before I could call him, the phone rang:

  “Mr. Rogers. This is Jerome.”

  “Jerome’s Men’s Wear?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You have my clean clothes ready?”

  “Yes, but—”

  The Tuxeteers might have bugged the phone. I didn’t want Jerome giving anything away. I interrupted him. “Why don’t we meet for breakfast. There’s a coffee shop across the street from my motel. Arnold’s. Bring the clothes and breakfast’s on me.”

  “But—”

  “See you there in half an hour. No smoking section.” It dawned on me that the Tuxeteers had sliced my only other pair of pants. I caught him before he hung up. “Jerome, meet me at the motel. Bring the jeans. Room 106.”

  I showered. Shaved. Waited. Towel around my waist. Exactly half an hour later a knock on the door. I grabbed the jeans, started to put them on. He sat in a chair by the front window.

  “I talked to—”

  My hand clasped over his mouth. I shook my head. Released my hand. “Thanks for bringing the jeans here.” I held up the shredded pants. He noticed my lip.

  “What happened?” he whispered.

  I put my finger across my mouth. After I dressed, I landed the gun in my pants. Covered it with the windbreaker. His eyes popped on seeing it. I ushered him out.

  Smoke from the Smoking Section infiltrated the No Smoking Section. The Star could’ve solved that situation, but it’s impolite to shoot smokers in restaurants. We sat in a corner booth in the back. No one was in the booth next to us. We were both quick to order. The Double Breakfast: pancakes, hash browns, bacon and eggs. OJ. And a double side of cholesterol.

  “What’s going on?” he said, aflutter. He loved every minute of it. The intrigue. The suspense. A chance to do something more exciting than sell suits. “Some of the hotel security men were asking about you.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  “No. Just what you bought.”

  I hadn’t noticed them watching me there. More two-way mirrors? “Anyone follow you to my hotel?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Between you and me?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m trying to find people who knew Teddie Matson.”

  “The TV star that was just murdered?” His eyes lit up like Vegas after dark. I guess he just wanted to be part of something.

  “She worked as a chorus girl at the hotel a few years ago.”

  “Yes, I remember hearing about that. And that’s what you want to talk to Jeanette about?”

  “Would she have known Teddie? Seems a lot of people come and go.”

  “Lotta drifters. Some-a the pit bosses been around a long time. I’m not sure about Jeanette.”

  “You?”

  “Me? I’ve been in the hotel a couple years. But I never met Teddie.”

  “At the motel you started to say you’d talked to someone. Who?”

  “Jeanette, of course. She was going to call you in your motel room.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? We might miss the call.”

  “You didn’t want to talk on the phone. Think the lines are bugged?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “I can call her. Maybe we can go to her place.”

  I popped a quarter in his hand. He got up, headed for the phone. I hoped he wasn’t calling hotel security. What was their interest in all this anyway? He came back just as the breakfasts were being set down.

  “She says we can come by.”

  I jumped up.

  “What about breakfast?”

  “We’ll get it to go.”

  “She’s not dressed y
et. She said in an hour.”

  Long enough to dress. Or long enough to get the Three Tuxeteers over?

  “She live near here?”

  “Not far. In Sparks. It’s a suburb of Reno.”

  I was hungry. I wolfed my food down.

  Jeanette Lyon’s house was one of those flat-roofed, cheap boxes that developers in the ’60s seemed so fond of. No ornamentation. A few cactus plants in a gravelly dirt bed around the house. We parked in front. She met us at the door. Bright red hair stood up on her head, cascading down in back. It looked natural. Her skin was peaches and cream perfection. That white-white skin redheads often have. Very striking. She wore a black body suit and high-heeled pumps.

  Before we entered, I double-checked the street. No sign of a tail. There hadn’t been one all the way over. The Tuxeteers probably figured they’d scared me off.

  The living room was tastefully decorated. A couple Diebenkorn prints. A mock fireplace with mock wood. Sliding glass door opening to a dead-grass plot of land a little larger than a double burial plot. Rusted swing set. No other sign of kids.

  Introductions were short and sweet.

  “Jerome says you’re looking for people who knew Teddie Matson when she worked here.”

  “Yes.” I showed her my license.

  “You looking for her killer?”

  “Yes, but I can’t go into any details.” Were the Tuxeteers going to burst from behind a closed door and try to make me?

  “What do I get out of it then, if I don’t even get to know the dirt?”

  “You get the glorious good feeling of knowing you helped someone.” I smirked.

  “Good feelings don’t pay the bills.”

  “I don’t have any money to offer you. If you know something and want to talk, I’m all ears. If not, I’m outta here.” That’s when I expected the Three Tuxeteers to erupt through the door. Nothing. Maybe they weren’t there.

  “People are asking about you. Saying to stay away.”

  “So why’d you invite me here?”

  I sat on one end of the couch. Jeanette on the other. Jerome in a chair facing us. His head didn’t move. His eyes followed us back and forth, as if he was at Wimbledon.