by George Baxt
“Which half?” asked Bogart. He said to Herb, “I suppose it’s a matter of separating the riff from the raff.”
“He most certainly had enemies,” Herb confirmed. “There was never a reason for me to ask him who they were and he never called on me for help in the threat department. But he was involved with Lydia Austin…”
“Oh poor Lydia,” moaned Carole, remembering again that one of her protégées was among the missing.
Mayo said, “I always thought he was kind of sweet on her.”
“Lots of guys were sweet on her,” said Herb. “Lydia got around and made no bones about it. The only guy that I know she slipped up on was Cesar Romero.”
“Oh poor Butch”—Romero’s nickname—“he must have dated her because he needed a beard. I’ll bet that’s when they went out with Ty Power.” Carole asked the table, “Why do queer guys think if they’re seen in public with a beautiful broad, that’ll take the curse off the gossip?”
Gable hoped she wasn’t going to dissertate on her short period as Russ Columbo’s beard. He’d heard it too often and it had begun to nauseate him. Back in 1930 there had spread a rumor that Clark had permitted the once popular actor William Haines to service him in his dressing room at Metro. It was also rumored that Gable had caused George Cukor to be fired from Gone With the Wind because Haines, Cukor’s close friend at the time, blabbed to Cukor, who in turn took up the blab slack and spread the ugly word.
Bogart asked Herb Villon, “Got any suspicions you can share with us?”
“It’s too soon in a murder case to share anything. Hazel, what the hell are you scribbling in that pad of yours?”
“Anything I think is usable,” snapped Hazel.
“You mean salable,” said Mayo.
Carl Arden’s brain was whirling. The banter at the two tables was all too fast for him. This wasn’t like Washington where the men dressed like floor walkers and had floor walker mentalities.
Carole asked Arden, “I think your mind’s wandering. Don’t let it wander too far, it might get lost.”
Arden admitted, “You’re all too quick for me.”
Bogart said, “I think Lynton’s killer was too quick for him. He wasn’t murdered in his casino, eh? But he was found floating in the ocean. Doing the dead man’s crawl?”
“Not funny,” said Mayo. Carole resisted asking Mayo how she would know. The poor thing. Rarely gets acting jobs though she’s damned good, and refuses to settle for the oblivion of marriage. Hell, Bogart’s a great catch. She should be making the most of him.
Villon said, “Mike was probably on someone else’s boat.”
“Whose boat?” asked Carl Arden.
“Carl, if I knew whose boat, then I’d have a promising suspect.” Herb noticed that Romanoff and the drinkers at the bar were huddled around the bartender’s small radio. “I wonder what’s up at the bar?” Jim volunteered to find out. He had seen Oscar Levitt and Nana Lewis come in and ushered to no man’s land, the tables in the rear of the restaurant. He felt the urge to gloat and could see Oscar trying to cajole a better table out of the headwaiter. The headwaiter was adamant. Oscar had no reservation. This was the best the headwaiter could do, also implying that Oscar was free to try his luck elsewhere.
Jim spoke with Romanoff and then returned to his group.
“What’s up?” asked Herb.
“A Japanese ship was sunk. They think it was hit by one of the phantoms patrolling the area undercover. The Sarita Maru.” Herb stared at Carl Arden. That was the name of the steamer transporting Takameshuga and entourage back to Japan.
“Any survivors?” asked Arden.
“There didn’t seem to be any,” said Mallory.
Carl Arden didn’t try to hide his very pleased smile.
Eight
The radio never gave a latitude and a longitude when a ship was lost. Broadcasting executives assumed their listeners didn’t know one from the other and they were probably right. The Sarita Maru was sunk in Japanese waters, at Japan’s front door, and the Japanese hierarchy didn’t like it. They didn’t know for sure if it was an American phantom that had done the job but only U.S. phantoms were known to patrol the waters. The Japanese were equally derelict with their own spy ships. Earlier that year one had arrived at the North Shore of Long Island with engine trouble. The crew calmly went about repairing the motor despite knowing they were under the surveillance of the U.S. coast guard. The incident was kept from the media, and the submarine cast off, leaving behind only an oil slick.
Carl Arden shared this information authoritatively while some at the table worried about this vulnerability, the easy access the Japanese and probably the Germans had to America’s coast lines.
“Sayyy!” cried Carole. “Do you suppose the Japanese were spying on us when Mike Lynton’s body cruised in?”
Carl Arden said simply, “Probably.” The word gave Carole and the others cold comfort. The war in Europe was escalating. Poland had fallen to the Nazis, and France, it was predicted, was next in line despite their supposedly impenetrable Maginot Line, which one American general likened to a tinker toy construction. Carole worried about Clark. Though he was almost forty, she knew he wouldn’t resist the lure of the air force and would enlist at the earliest possible moment should America be forced into the war. He had already been involved in several wars, the Civil War in Gone With the Wind, the World War in Hell Below, Chinese pirates in China Seas, to name the more prominent ones. She’d think by now he’d had enough of war. She looked at Gable with an expression reflecting a powerful love. Bogart saw the look and envied Gable. If Mayo looked at him that way, she’d be measuring the distance between him and the vase she was preparing to send hurtling in his direction. Mayo also saw the look on Carole’s face and dismissed it as a foolish fancy. Only Clark was oblivious to the way Carole looked at him. He was too involved with Herb, Jim, and Carl Arden, going from the subject of the Sarita Maru to Mike Lynton’s murder to the joys of hunting as though he were bobbing for apples. In between he attacked the T-bone steak he had ordered while Carole toyed with her chef’s salad. She was scheduled to start shooting Mr. and Mrs. Smith in a few weeks and for the past month she’d been stuffing herself with everything placed before her.
Now her mind dwelt on the Sarita Maru and the watery grave of Ito Takameshuga. She sought Carl Arden’s ear. “Carl, the sinking of the Sarita Maru doesn’t end it for you, does it.”
“Not by a long shot. There’s a lot of investigating to be done out here.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “We have to avoid any possible sabotage.”
“Oh?”
“It’s no secret so I’m able to tell you there are a lot of Japanese agents and sympathizers at large in California.”
She asked innocently, “How much of at large?”
“Do you have a Japanese gardener? A pool man? A laundress?”
“We have one of each.” She felt a bead of perspiration trickling down her spine. Those three could be a threat? But they were lovely people. They had charming families. The laundress frequently brought her grandchildren to the ranch. True, they were little devils but a swift boot to their rear ends calmed the imps down. She said to Arden, “Are you telling me to trust no one who is Japanese?”
“Of course they’ll do you no harm. But should you suddenly discover they’ve disappeared…” He said nothing further. Nothing more needed to be said. He speared a slice of tomato, consigned it to his ample mouth, and chewed contentedly, like one of their horses.
Hazel had been eavesdropping and Carl Arden reminded her of radio newscaster Gabriel Heatter, who had been labeled a warmonger. He was always warning the nation to prepare because he knew the U.S. was not prepared for any conflict should one arise. Hazel said to Carole, “Carl makes making movies seem very unimportant. What’s the matter? Still worried about Lydia Austin?”
“I’ve got this feeling that there’s a link between her disappearance and Mike Lynton’s murder. I wish those damn fools woul
d quit discussing hunting and think about hunting enemy agents.”
“Now calm down, Carole. The enemy isn’t in the lobby of Grauman’s Chinese.”
“Oh yeah?” Carole was feisty again. “You got inside information? And how will you feel when you see Herb marching to a new kind of cadence?”
“I’ll feel very proud.”
“Who writes your corny dialogue?” Hazel said nothing. Carole was sorry for what she said. Her voice softened. “I’m sorry, Hazel. Herb’s too old for a war.”
“He’s no older than Clark. Jim’s the youngest among them.”
“Oh poor Jim.” Carole stared at Mallory across the table and then thought that with his luck he’d have flat feet. She wondered if Clark had flat feet. He had never mentioned it. Well, when the time came, if he didn’t have flat feet, she’d flatten them for him.
In the rear of the restaurant Oscar Levitt returned from a trip to the bar. He apologized to Nana for staying away so long. “I was catching up on the sinking, the Sarita Maru.”
“It was a tub,” said Nana while pouring sugar into an iced tea.
“You know the boat?”
“Was on it once. Just before Takameshuga made his fadeout. He took me and Mala Anouk down to the pier for some clams. The ship was docked there and Mala was curious about it. He said he knew the captain. He sure did. The captain invited us aboard. He gave us the five cent tour. Most of the boat was restricted to visitors, but I didn’t care. It gave me the creeps. The crew looked as though they hadn’t bathed and shaved in weeks. It smelled something awful.”
“Strange the Japanese would make their getaway on a tub like that.”
“What I didn’t say was that it looked like a tub. You know the old one, looks can be deceiving. I had a suspicion there were arms on the boat, like maybe a couple of cannons and some depth charges.”
“You actually saw this?”
Nana said, “I didn’t see anything. Like I said, the boat had a lot of restricted areas, restricted especially to civilians like us.”
Oscar Levitt looked away from her to Carl Arden. “I wonder if we should tell this to Carl Arden.”
“Why?”
“He’s with the FBI, for crying out loud. He might value information like this.”
“What information? I only mentioned a supposition. That and a dime will get you a bus ride to Anaheim.” Levitt made a motion to rise and Nana put a hand over one of his. “Don’t crash their party.”
“I just want to tell Arden—”
“It can wait. Carole and a few of the others saw us coming in. If they wanted us to join their party, they would have waved us over instead of letting that snotty headwaiter consign us to Antarctica.”
Oscar sat back. “You know, I really don’t get it. Why would the sinking of a tub like the Sarita Maru be newsworthy?”
“It’s a maritime disaster, Maritime disasters are very popular. The newsreels love them. And some Japanese who were working in L.A. were rumored to be aboard.” Oscar questioned her with a look. “Well, does anybody know for sure?”
Carole was coincidentally asking Carl Arden a similar question. Arden said, “It’s a good excuse to send newsreel planes into the territory. Like when Amelia Earhart disappeared. Our planes had a field day searching for her. They photographed the entire area in that region of the Pacific.”
“And you’re going to tell me they were very revealing.”
“I’ll say they were very useful and let it rest at that.”
“You’re sure you can afford to take the time off to go hunting?”
“I can afford as much time as Herb Villon can.”
“Good man, Herb. He looks after us celebrities. He protects us when we need protection, and when don’t we need protection. Hey! Here’s Kay and, well I’ll be darned. She’s turned back the clock and found Herbert Marshall.”
Carl Arden was impressed. “That’s Herbert Marshall?”
Carole squinted. “Well, it used to be. Oh sure it’s Herbert. Hey, come on over and have a drink. Herbert, this is Carl Arden, FBI.”
“Very impressive,” said Marshall dryly. “I suppose Kay’s met everyone at Miriam’s party.”
Carole asked, “Why weren’t you there?”
“Too much to do these days. No time for parties.”
“But he found time for me,” said Kay gaily. “Hasn’t this been a day! A dead body and the sinking of a ship. I wonder if Lola Kramm foresaw any of this.”
Herb said, “I wonder if she’s foreseeing a brutal hangover tomorrow.”
Carl Arden added innocently, “Maybe she’s fighting off Carroll Righter.”
“Why?” Carole was wondering if Kay and Herbert were picking up where they left off eight years ago. They both needed a shoulder to rest on. Marshall was recently divorced and Kay was doing the deadly free-lance bit. True, she’d landed some plum roles of late, not as a star, but as a supporting player. Still, the parts were good and her salary was as formidable as it had been at Warner Brothers. It took courage to swallow her pride and her ego and accept mother roles. By the same token she took to horseback in a Randolph Scott western, When the Daltons Rode. to be shown next year. Kay was one of Hollywood’s shrewder actresses. She saved her money and invested wisely. As she had told Miriam earlier at the party, “They won’t have to throw any benefits for me.” Miriam wished she could say the same for herself. She was one of the smartest actresses in the business, but she had no money sense. She assumed she’d always be earning. Her Warners contract was very lucrative. And now she was to do The Old Maid with Bette Davis and was already plotting how to sabotage her co-star’s performance.
Mike Romanoff came to personally escort Kay and Herbert to their excellent table in the center of the restaurant. They were two of his favorite people, highly civilized, highly intelligent, and he loved Kay for telling him when Warners had dropped her and he had commiserated, “Bless you, Mike, but don’t wowwy about me. I’m a highly twained executive secretary,” and she truly was.
Kay and Herbert took their leave of the Gables and the others and followed Romanoff to the table he had prepared for them. It featured a bowl of gardenias and a grateful Kay kissed Romanoff’s cheek. He always remembered her gardenias.
At the Gables’ table, Hazel said to Carole. “I hope Kay’s aware there’s a very young lady in Herbert’s life.”
“Kay is aware of everything,” said Carole. “They’ll be singing no sad songs for Kay,” little knowing that ten years in the future Miss Francis would be a hopeless alcoholic, and on her death would leave her millions to the Seeing Eye.
The Bogarts were having a heated conversation with W. C. Fields and Carlotta Monterey. Fields held sway, ignoring the corn flakes and milk Carlotta had ordered for him. “We have nothing to fear from Japan. My gardener, who is of the Oriental fraternity, assured me. He’s in constant touch with his cousin, a samurai, whatever that is. Maybe it’s a fraternal organization like the Elks or the Fallopians.”
Mayo enlightened him. “The samurai are an order of ferocious warriors.”
Fields pushed the corn flakes and milk aside with distaste. “I’ll have an order of pot roast with very crisp potato pancakes, gravy on the side.”
“You can’t eat that sort of thing,” Carlotta cautioned. “You must pay attention to your doctor.”
Fields said to the Bogarts, “It seems I have this ulcer. When the doctor first told me I thought he said I had an ulster and I told him no I don’t I have an ordinary overcoat. Waiter! Waiter! On the double.” The waiter smiled at him. “You have lovely teeth,” said Fields coldly. “Now bring me pot roast, very crisp potato pancakes, gravy on the side, and three cold bottles of Mexican beer.” The waiter looked at Carlotta for corroboration, she having warned the staff a long time ago of Fields’ odd and dangerous eating habits. Fields raised his cane and shouted, “I’ll clobber both you conspirators. Fie and hie, varlet,” he said to the waiter, “and be quick about it.”
Mike Romanoff always
cautioned the bartender about his radio. It was usually unnecessary, as the din in the room drowned the radio out. Every restaurant patronized by the movie crowd had a radio. It was a necessity because just about every columnist in Hollywood had a news program. Louella Parsons on Sunday night at nine was a must because she was followed at nine-fifteen by Walter Winchell’s frenetic program. There was Jimmy Fidler’s Hollywood, also a must, and numerous others. Now the habitués at the bar were engrossed in the news of Mike Lynton’s murder.
Jack Warner, listening in his living room, was delighted the corpse had landed just off Miriam Hopkins’ private beach. Just the mention of her name could stimulate box office for her coming opus, Virginia City, in which her sparring mate was young Errol Flynn.
Carole and Kay Francis joined the barflies and listened intently. The Mike Lynton item was followed by an update on the sinking of the Sarita Maru. While Carole was absorbed, Kay went back to her table. The news commentator seemed to relish his descriptions of limbless and decapitated bodies caused by the tremendous impact of a series of explosions. Nana Lewis’s suspicions were right on the nose. There had been a tremendous store of explosives and ammunition in the ship’s hold. Kay hurried back to her table to share the news with Herbert Marshall. Carole rejoined her group, eagerly sharing all the gruesome details.
Mayo Methot said, “Carole, you’re so bloodthirsty!”
Carole rejoined swiftly, “That’s something we have in common, hee hee hee!”
Clark asked Carl Arden, “Did you suspect the ship was carrying all that ammo?”
“We didn’t suspect. We knew.” Arden crunched down on a stalk of celery. As he chewed, he spoke. “We had an informant on board. He was very good. We’ll miss him.”
“How cold-blooded!” said Carole.
Carl explained. “I didn’t know him. I never met him. I never saw his photograph. To me he’s just a cipher. I’m sorry he’s dead, I’m always sorry when someone dies in the line of duty.”
Carole asked, “Were you sorry for Amelia Earhart?”
“Amelia was a terrific gal.”
