I hazarded a guess. "So, you," meaning Stuart, "were giving the orders and Jennings did what you told him to do, right?"
Stuart said nothing but Jennings said, "That's it in a nutshell."
"Where'd all that cash come from?" I asked.
Jennings said, "That was the crew's cut. I was told to hold it until we got to American waters and were in port and had passed through customs."
"How did they not find it?"
Mike answered, "There was a very clever false bottom in the safe."
I nodded. "How many of the crew were involved?"
"This bunch? That's too funny." sneered Stuart.
Jennings was staring at the man in disbelief. The mask had been pulled off and it was ugly. He blinked a couple of times, then looked over at me. "It was to be split between Stuart and me. Deladier told me to..."
"That idiot!" Stuart was a real piece of work. Jennings was in deeper than I thought.
I looked over at Stuart. "Why did you start something with Jennings only two months ago? And don't tell me it was because you fell in love with him."
Mike said, "To get the combination to the safe, that's why."
Jennings put his hands over his head. He was crying. He never saw it coming.
Chapter 4
Aboard The Flirtatious Captain
Newport Beach
Saturday, May 30, 1953
After sunset
Mike insisted, and he was right, that we call the Coast Guard. I took Captain Jennings forward and stood with him as he called in a report of catching a crewman smuggling. Mike and Carter stayed behind in our room to make sure Stuart didn't try to bolt.
By the time all the interviews were completed, it was almost dawn. The Chief Petty Officer in charge of the investigation gave me a detailed receipt for the ship and its contents since, of course, they were seizing it as a crime scene. I wasn't officially the owner but since he had arrested Captain Jennings, along with Stuart, he had to give the receipt to someone. And I was that someone.
I asked him about where I could put up the rest of the crew. He mentioned a motel on the coastal highway that he thought might have enough rooms. Once we were free to leave, I headed over to the payphone by the store in the marina and made that call.
Fortunately, they could take all of us. Carter agreed that we should all stay there together. I called the local taxi company and they sent out three cars to carry us over. All of our bags were inspected by the Chief Petty Officer along with a couple of his men. I gave him my office number, Jeffery's name and number, and the motel where we would be staying. He advised us, and me, in particular, not to leave the area without his permission. I simply nodded. By this point, I was exhausted.
Once the small flotilla of taxis arrived at the motel, the owner and his wife had set up all of our rooms.
The motel was probably ten years old. It was a single level in a horseshoe shape with parking in front of each room, freshly painted, and with immaculate grounds which included several swaying palm trees. There was a pool in the back, which sparkled in the morning light.
Once everyone had their rooms and keys, I sent Carter off to our room and talked to Mr. and Mrs. Kleinberg, the owners, about payment arrangements.
They were an older couple, who had retired to California from Michigan and seemed to be very much in love with each other and happy with their little retirement nest.
"I have this new Diners' Club card." I offered it for their inspection.
Mrs. Kleinberg took out her glasses and looked it over. "Oh my. I've heard about this. How does it work?" She handed the card back to me.
"I give it to the hotel and they make out a receipt. I get a bill at the end of the month for my charges the month before. Makes things really easy. Of course, I know you have to pay a fee to accept it."
Mr. Kleinberg folded his arms. "That's what I'll never understand. Why should I have to pay for something when I can just take the cash for free?"
"Oh, hush, Henry."
I smiled. "Of course, I can give you a check." I took out one of my "magic checks" and placed it on the counter for them to see. These were given to me by Bank of America and they seemed to say something that I couldn't see. Most of the time, most people knew they would be good for any amount. No one had ever called to verify funds in the eight years I'd had them.
This time Mr. Kleinberg looked it over. "Bank of America? Well, it looks fine. Of course, I'll want to call the branch this morning to make sure you're good for it."
"Henry!" Mrs. Kleinberg pointed her eyes over to the stack of morning newspapers that had been delivered while we were all getting sorted out earlier. Mr. Kleinberg looked at the front page and then at me.
"Well," he said.
"Mind if I look?"
He handed me a copy of the Los Angeles Examiner. There I was on the front page. I briefly glanced at the article. It was the usual Hearst gimmick of stringing stories out over several days. They were now doing an in-depth exploration of my sordid past. I looked to see and, sure enough, there it was: a photograph of Uncle Paul from the Pan-Pacific Exposition of '15, which was a world's fair to announce that San Francisco was back on its feet after the '06 earthquake (and fire). This was the one the Hearst papers used whenever Uncle Paul's name was mentioned. He looked particularly rakish, almost lascivious, as he stood in front of the Palace of Fine Arts, arm-in-arm with one Joseph Davidson who, according to Uncle Paul's diaries, was his lover at the time. Davidson was also a fireman. Fortunately, no one else knew this. I had no idea where that photograph came from.
Mr. Kleinberg said, "Well, I guess you're good for it, after all."
"If you'd prefer cash, I can get some as soon as the bank opens."
Mrs. Kleinberg said, "Nonsense. A check is perfectly fine. And, young man, you are welcome to stay here as long as you want. I mean it."
This surprised me. I simply said, "Thank you."
Mr. Kleinberg looked me in the eye. "Her Uncle Nab was called in front of the House committee as a fellow-traveler in '50. He wouldn't name names and they put him in jail for contempt for six months."
Mrs. Kleinberg was dabbing her eyes. "All because he went and fought for the Spanish Republic in 1936. We were so proud of him and I just can't believe these bullies are allowed to do this. So, you and your friends are all welcome here and we're proud to have you."
I nodded. I could feel my eyes getting wet.
. . .
I knocked on the door of our room and Carter opened it. I walked in and looked around. "There's only one bed in here."
Carter laughed. "You noticed that, too?"
I smiled and told him about the Kleinbergs and her Uncle Nab.
"So, what about Washington, now?"
I said, "Ask me again in three hours."
With that, Carter began to strip. I looked at him appreciatively.
"Make that four hours. Being interviewed by the Coast Guard makes me... You know."
"Aye, aye, Captain," was Carter's grinning reply.
. . .
A taxi driver who'd been part of our flotilla earlier in the morning came by at 11:15 to pick us up. We walked into the local branch of the Bank of America at 11:30. We were gonna need cash to pay the crew and get the ball rolling with repairs and renovations, so I withdrew seven thousand dollars and asked if I could borrow a briefcase, which their branch manager obligingly offered. I ended up buying it from him for fifty bucks. He graciously accepted the cash and asked if there was anything else I needed. I offered him my thanks and we went on our way. I had the feeling I had wiped out their cash reserves, since I got an odd mix of denominations.
Next, we had the taxi driver take us to his company dispatch so we could set up an account for our guys to use their service and have it billed to me.
Then, it was on to the local Hertz desk. We said good-bye to our obliging taxi driver, thanked him with a twenty, and walked inside to inquire.
Thanks to the magic of the account that Marnie, my
secretary, had set up for me, we left in a green two-door '53 Pontiac Chieftan Convertible. It was similar to my Buick Super at home, but not quite as nice.
We headed back to the motel. As soon as we were in the room, there was a knock on the door.
I opened it and Mike stood there, looking around above my head. "Hey Carter, ya seen Nick around?"
Carter, who had been playful all day, got down on his good knee, the right one, and lifted up the bedspread. Up until recently, he'd been hobbling around on a cane. His left knee had been hurt in a run-in with a fire truck a few months earlier. "I thought I saw him crawl under here, but I don't see him now."
I rolled my eyes and stood my ground. Mike kept it going. "Well, if you should find him, let him know he's in the paper again."
Carter walked up behind me, reached his arms around me, and pulled me in tight. "Of course he is, Mike. Nick's famous."
Mike stayed at eye level with Carter and said, "The most famous homosexual since Oscar Wilde."
Carter said, "I was thinking he's more famous than Alexander the Great."
Mike laughed. "Well, old Alexander was almost as rich..."
I sighed. "You guys are a real laugh riot."
Carter pulled me out of the door so Mike could walk inside the room.
"What's up?" I asked Mike.
"So, are you gonna go to Washington now, or not?"
I looked over at Carter. "Not sure yet. We need to get this crew taken care of."
Mike smiled. "Well, I may have found you a new boat captain."
"Really?"
"Friend of Bud."
"Who's Bud?" asked Carter.
"I guess you could call him my boyfriend."
I smiled and said, "So, it's getting serious?"
Mike curled his right hand so he could look at his fingernails and not me. "Yeah. We've even talked about living together once the ship is harbored in San Francisco."
"What?" I asked. "You'll let him see your apartment, when I never have?"
"About that Nick." He lifted his head and asked, "Um, do you think you have a two-bedroom apartment in one of your buildings that's for rent?"
I nodded. "I'm sure we do. But why?"
"Well, the reason no one has ever seen my apartment is because it's a small studio and the building is falling apart. I barely pay any rent on it, as it is."
I wasn't concerned about it, but I knew Mike, so I asked, "Will you be able to afford a two-bedroom? These aren't the days of $35 a month rent, ya know."
Mike shook his head. "Sure. I have a lot of dough saved up. Plus..." He looked a little embarrassed. "Bud just told me he's getting a big raise."
"I can't comment about my employee's confidential information but hell, yes, he just did." I grinned. Then, I added. "I've been meaning to ask you. Did you just get a raise as well? Or not?" During our first, and only, meeting for Consolidated Security, as the founder and C.E.O., I had set everyone's weekly draw at two hundred, except for Marnie, who would get two-fifty since she was working more than the rest of us combined.
Mike grinned. "Budget cuts at the City and County, so yeah."
I nodded. "Good. I was hoping so."
We were all standing in the middle of the room. I asked Mike, "Why don't you invite Bud and his captain friend to dinner tonight? My treat. Let's say 7? I'll set it up and let you know where in a few. Sound good?"
Mike nodded. "I hope you don't mind me asking about this."
I laughed. "Thank god you did. I was beginning to think I was gonna have to be the captain myself."
Carter turned to me and asked with an injured tone in his voice, "How can you captain a boat when you're lying next to me on the top deck?"
We all laughed.
Chapter 5
Trail's End Motel
Newport Beach, Cal.
Saturday, May 30, 1953
Early afternoon
As I walked into the motel office, Mrs. Kleinberg was standing behind the desk making notes in a big ledger.
She closed the ledger, looked up, smiled, and asked, "What can I do you for, Mr. Williams?"
"I want to take some friends out for a nice dinner tonight and wonder what you might recommend?" If Carter had been there, he would have probably commented about what he liked to call my "high hat" language. I just thought it was a respectful way to speak.
"Oh my. Are all of you going? I don't know who could accommodate such a large party." She looked down at a list she pulled out of a drawer. "Let me see..."
"Actually, Mrs. Kleinberg, it will only be five of us. I'm hoping I've found a new captain for the ship."
"Oh! An interview? Well that was fast and lucky for you. Oh, I do hope it's Dan O'Reilly you'll be talking to. He's a fine ship's captain. And, to be honest, he needs to get out of town and I understand you were moving your yacht up to San Francisco, although I'd heard you might be making repairs here, which is always nice for all the men who do such things." She stopped to take a breath.
"I don't know who it is exactly. He's a referral."
"Oh, I see. Well. You can't do better than going to The Arches. The food is superb. It's perfect for a business meeting. Lots of large red leather booths that are private. Plus, you'll probably run into other celebrities you know."
This caught my attention for two reasons. First, that she thought I was a celebrity, which made me both smile and inwardly groan. Second... "Like who?"
"Oh, you know. The whole Orange County Hollywood crowd. Like John Wayne." She almost made a face but didn't.
I smiled. "Well, I hope for his sake that he doesn't show up tonight. After what I said to George Hearst the other day..."
This had the effect I was hoping for. She looked scandalized, covered her mouth, and laughed in spite of herself.
. . .
Someone knocked on the door right as I was adjusting Carter's red tie. I gave him a kiss and then went to see who it was.
Mike, his new squeeze Bud, and a short square man stood there. The short man's skin was bronzed by the sun. He stood about 5'7", had sun-bleached hair that was thinning, and was both muscled and stocky.
They waited as Carter grabbed his hat, handed me mine, and closed the door behind us.
Mike said, "Nick Williams, this is Daniel J. O'Reilly." I shook the man's hand. He had a solid grip. I turned and said, "And this is my husband, Carter Jones." They shook. I noticed that O'Reilly was taking stock of Carter's build. I wondered if he also lifted weights or was, as we'd said in the 40s, a student of physical culture.
We piled in the Pontiac. I put the car in gear and away we went to dinner.
. . .
I had made a reservation for us over the phone. I'd been told we might not get a table immediately at 7, but that we could wait at the bar. That was indeed the case. So at the bar we waited.
I asked Mike, "Do we get an introduction to your friend?"
He blushed a little. It was a little amusing to see him tower over Bud. And over O'Reilly, for that matter.
Bud stuck out his hand, "I'm Bud Dixon, Mr. Williams. I work for you."
I shook his hand and said, "I noticed. And nice to meet you, Bud. Call me Nick."
Carter stuck out his hand. "And call me Carter." I noticed Bud was a little struck by Carter. Probably for the same reasons I was.
About then a woman in a tight red dress, all curvy, and with big brassy blonde curls walked up to us and asked me, "Hey? Aren't you Nick Williams?"
Our corner of the bar got quiet. I nodded and said, "Yes, ma'am, I am."
"Well, good for you, buddy." She was a little unsteady on her feet. "I hate them Hearsts. You go to D.C. and tell Joe McCarthy that he can blow it out his hole. You're all right with me, pal." She sloppily saluted me. I smiled and said, "Thanks." She nodded and walked away.
The crowd around us started talking, much louder this time.
O'Reilly asked, "That happen much?"
"More and more these days."
The hostess walked up and said, "Your t
able is ready, Mr. Williams. This way." She moved over towards the dining room. As we walked through, I could see John Wayne sitting at a booth. He saw me and stood up. He looked like he had something he wanted to get off his chest.
Carter grabbed my arm and pulled me away from that table. As he did, Wayne took a long look at the group of us and seemed to realize he was no match for this gang and sat down in a huff. I whispered, "Thanks."
Carter whispered back, "Anytime, son."
We came around a corner and I caught the eye of a woman I thought I recognized. She was lighting a cigarette and smiled at me as she did. I nodded and we walked on. Our table was actually a large booth all the way in the back corner, which suited me fine.
Considering how big Carter, Mike, and O'Reilly were, we all fit in comfortably. It was quieter than it had been in the bar and that made it easier to talk.
Our waiter came over and asked about drinks. I put in for a gin Martini while Carter asked if they had any Mexican beer, like Negra Modelo, which he'd come to enjoy during the couple of days we'd been in Ensenada. The man replied in the affirmative. Mike, Bud, and O'Reilly all had the same. I changed mine to beer because it did taste so damn good.
Once that was taken care of, I got down to business. "So, O'Reilly, I've already had a good reference for you. Even before we met."
He looked over at me. He had bright green eyes and looked a little amused. "That so?" he asked. He had a very slight Irish accent.
"It is. The owner of the motel, in fact."
"Mrs. Kleinberg?"
"Yes. She said she hoped I would hire you and get you out of town."
He looked down. "Damn," he whispered.
Bud said to his friend, "Go ahead and tell him."
"Tell me what?"
"I've a broken heart. That's what."
I nodded.
"You see. My two great loves for many years have been the ocean and my Billy."
Mike asked, "Who's Billy?"
"Billy is the love of my life. I met him when I first came to California back in '35. He's one of them Okies. He'd only arrived a day or two ahead of me. I'd been livin' in New York City but didn't like the weather so I thought I could do for a change. So, I bought me a bus ticket and came out the slow way. It's a mighty-fine country you have here, even if parts of it are too parched for my taste. But when I first saw the Pacific Ocean, I knew I was home. Been here in Newport ever since. And, until two weeks ago, I was spending my days on land with my sweet Billy."
The Sartorial Senator (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 3) Page 3
