The Sartorial Senator (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 3)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  The story was captivating. I was about to ask what happened when Carter beat me to it.

  "You mind if I smoke my pipe?" asked O'Reilly.

  We all shook our heads. Mike took out one of his cigars, cut the end off, and lit it. Much to my surprise, it didn't smell like his usual dime-store brand. "Cuban?" I asked. He puffed on it and smiled. "Yeah. Thanks for the raise, Boss."

  Everyone laughed.

  By that time, O'Reilly had his pipe going and continued his story.

  "Well, you see. It goes like this. I'd been captain of a pleasure boat, a bit smaller than the Jules Verne--"

  I interrupted, "The Flirtatious Captain."

  The man's eyebrows went up. "You don't say?"

  I nodded.

  "Well, that might take some gettin' used to. Any particular captain you're referring to?"

  "Yeah, but that's a story for later, which you need to know before you agree to take on this job. But I want to hear yours first."

  O'Reilly smiled and nodded. "So, as I was sayin'." He took a puff. "I was captain of a pleasure boat and we were sailin' up to Monterey Bay and back for the last two weeks of April and the first two weeks of May. We were coming back down from Catalina on the final leg and I get a radiogram from Billy, tellin' me it's over and that I should move out and be out by the end of the day when we tie up in Newport Harbor.

  "I have to say I took it hard. We'd been together for almost 18 years, my Billy and me. Completely surprised me. I didn' know what to do other than pilot my vessel, so I did. We tied up and closed her down for a few days while my employers went home. A nice couple. He's a little daffy but she's alright."

  He took a couple of puffs on his pipe.

  "I get home and there's Billy in bed with some woman I've never seen before. She's a nice figure, I suppose, but I have no idea how to know from my own experience. I leave the fish in the sea, if you know what I mean."

  We all laughed. The waiter walked up and put down our beers. He then stooped over and spoke quietly in my ear. "When you have a moment, Mr. Williams, Miss Davis would like for you to join their table for a little chat." He stood up and I looked at him. "Miss Davis?"

  Bud said, "Bette Davis? Didn't you see her when we walked in? She was with a couple."

  "I knew she looked familiar." I nodded. "Fine. I'll be over in a moment. Thanks for passing the message along." I looked expectantly at O'Reilly. But the waiter stood there, waiting. I looked up again. "Yeah?"

  "I think she'd like to talk to you now, sir. They already have their check."

  I looked around the table. "Should I?"

  Everyone said, "Go!"

  I smiled and said, "Can you wait on the rest of your story, Captain O'Reilly?"

  "Oh, certainly. I can't wait to find out what she has to say to you, if you don't mind me being so forward."

  "Me, too." I stood up. "'Scuse me, gents. Back in a moment."

  Chapter 6

  The Arches Restaurant

  Saturday, May 30, 1953

  About a quarter until 8

  I walked back towards the bar and stopped at the table where I had seen Miss Davis lighting her cigarette earlier.

  She was seated with a couple. They were laughing about something. The man looked up at me and said, "Here he is," to Miss Davis.

  She turned and smiled at me. It was a winning smile. I'd seen here give that smile on the screen, sometimes genuinely and sometimes coquettishly.

  I returned the smile and said, "Miss Davis."

  She slid over in the booth and gestured that I should sit down next to her. I did.

  "Mr. Williams. How very nice of you to come join us for a moment. May I present my cousin Mr. John Favour and his lovely wife, Sally?" I nodded and asked, "How do you do?" They both nodded in return.

  "We just drove up from Laguna to have dinner here tonight." She looked around the room and I instantly thought of her appraisal of "The Cub Room" in All About Eve. "So cubby."

  In real life, she said, "The food here is good and solid and usually one can escape the cameras."

  I smiled. It was certainly interesting to be sitting next to an honest-to-god movie star. And one I liked very much. But still...

  She took a sip of a cocktail and said, "I suppose you must be wondering why I asked you here." She laughed. "That sounds much more serious than I mean." I nodded.

  "Look. What I wanted to tell you was this. You go to Washington and give those no-good senators what for. I heard what you said to that fool George Hearst. The real thing, not what got printed in the blasted papers. And I salute you." She lifted her glass and downed the rest.

  "We really messed up that whole thing in '47 with the Hollywood Ten, believing that the Constitution would be worth something. I think that idiot McCarthy is treading thin ice doing what he's doing. The military isn't the same as a bunch of cockamamie writers from Hollywood. What is it they are really after, do you know?"

  I said, "I really don't know Miss Davis. I haven't even seen the subpoena yet."

  The man, Mr. Favour, spoke up, "When are you going?"

  "Not sure yet. I have some things to take care of around here."

  He winked. "We know all about that. Wherever you go, you do seem to make the papers a lot. I suppose Hearst has it out for you?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know, to tell you the truth. Besides, the Mexican police used the papers to try to flush out the real killer down in Ensenada."

  Miss Davis lit a cigarette, took a puff, and blew it above her head. "Such a tragedy. I suppose It Was Raining Then will never be made at this point. I heard that Mannix was in on it, by the way."

  I wondered at that. "In on what?" I asked.

  "Oh, you know. I've heard a few tongues wagging saying that he just went down there and took care of them both."

  I shook my head. "Not possible. I talked to him in L.A. just a few hours after Taylor Wells was shot. And, as for Rhonda Darling, we'll never really know, but my guess is that it was her girlfriend that got them killed in that crash."

  "Who do you think killed Taylor, then?" asked Miss Davis.

  I didn't think it could hurt since no real investigation would be happening down in Mexico. "Probably the brother of the local state police captain. He was a local gun for hire for the man who's likely to be elected the next Governor of Baja."

  Mr. Favour leaned in and said, in a whisper, "And I heard the two brothers died on your boat."

  My face went stony. I couldn't help it.

  "Now, look what you've done, John!" exclaimed Miss Davis. "You've obviously put your foot in it. And listen to us, nattering on like we were all in a beauty salon, for heaven's sake." She smiled at me in a very knowing way. She was one classy lady.

  "Look, Mr. Williams. You go to Washington and do what Truman did: Give 'em hell."

  I nodded. "I will. I promise. And I should let you get on with your evening." I stood up. "It was a real pleasure to meet you, Miss Davis. I'm a fan. I won't say for how long--"

  "Please don't!" She said that imperiously but with a touch of humor.

  "Thank you for your vote of confidence. Mr. and Mrs. Favour, it was nice to meet you both. Have a good night." I left them to it.

  On the one hand, it was nice to meet Bette Davis. On the other hand, I still didn't like Hollywood or anything to do with it.

  . . .

  Once I sat back down, everyone looked at me. Carter said, "Well?"

  I took out a Camel and let Captain O'Reilly light it for me. I took a deep puff and then blew it out up in the air. "Have we ordered yet?"

  The answer was no, so I looked around for our waiter who was on his way over. In short order, we had all made our selections and I had asked for a gin Martini this time. Dark Mexican beer was good, but I wanted something a little stiffer.

  Once that was taken care of I said, "I don't want to delay Captain O'Reilly's story but, in a nutshell, she told me to give 'em hell."

  Bud asked, "That was it?"

  I nodded. "In a nut
shell."

  Mike looked me over. "You just ordered a Martini and smoked a cigarette. What else happened?"

  I wasn't sure I wanted to lay it all out in front of just everyone, so I said, "There was some fishing for gossip by her cousin, the guy who's with her. But she cut that short. She's a good gal."

  Bud guffawed. "I wonder if anyone has ever called Bette Davis a 'good gal' before."

  I looked over at him with my stony face. He sat up and said contritely, "Right, Boss. Sorry."

  I smiled. "Don't sweat it." I turned to O'Reilly and asked, "What about the rest of your story?"

  He took out his pipe again, added a bit more tobacco to his pipe from a beat-up leather pouch, carefully lit it, and then started where he'd left off.

  "So, there they were, the two of 'em, in bed and naked as two jaybirds. I just turned around and went right to that motel where you're staying."

  "Are you still there?" I asked.

  "Yes, indeed. Nice folks those Kleinbergs."

  Bud prompted, "Tell them what happened next."

  O'Reilly took a deep puff. "Well, it's like this. Next thing I know, Billy is goin' over to see my employer. He has no reason to do this. Just pure spite, I expect." He took another puff. "So, I'm gettin' a phone call informin' me my services are no longer needed, thank you very much. It was him that called me. She, meaning the wife, was much more sensible and sent me a nice severance check with an apology, if you read between the lines."

  He looked right at me. "So, there you have it, Mr. Williams. You won't be gettin' any glowin' references from my former employer but I can certainly refer you to others who will put in a good word. I'd like the job, if you'll have me, and that's a fact." He looked off in the distance as he said that last sentence.

  I said, "Thanks for giving it to me straight, Captain O'Reilly." I thought for a moment. He obviously left something out about Billy and why he was so spiteful. But I had a feeling he wasn't going to talk about that in this crowd. "Let me sleep on it. We can talk more about it in the morning, if you don't mind."

  "Don't mind at all." He nodded in my direction. I could see that he was relieved.

  At that moment, our food arrived and, once we were served, we all tucked in.

  . . .

  When we were done with dinner, I took care of the bill after we all had a round of brandy for the road. It's not my favorite, but it did go down nice.

  As we stood to leave, I noticed the restaurant was mostly empty. I looked at Mike, who said, "Same as L.A. They roll up the sidewalks early around here. We're probably the last group to leave."

  Right then, a harried looking man walked up to me and said, "Mr. Williams?"

  I nodded.

  "I'm Charles, the manager. Seems like some press got wind you were here. You can go out the back, if you like."

  Carter jumped in and said to the man, "That'll be fine. Thanks for letting us know."

  We all filed back through the kitchen, where everyone was busy cleaning up for the night. The manager let us out the back door and said goodbye.

  Mike said, "You two," meaning Carter and me, "Stay here. Gimme your keys." I handed them over. "We'll bring the car around."

  O'Reilly said, "Don't you worry, Mr. Williams. You won't have any trouble here tonight." He looked up at Mike who was standing next to him. "We'll take care of things." Bud nodded vigorously.

  I smiled and said, "Thanks."

  They walked off around the side of the building. Looking up, I watched the fog scurrying above us. It gave each of the few street lights a halo. That reminded me of home.

  "What do you think of O'Reilly?" I asked Carter.

  He looked down at me. "Seems like a good guy. And it was smart to wait until tomorrow when you can talk to him without Bud or Mike around."

  I nodded. "I want you there."

  Carter said, "Sure. Of course."

  "No, I mean it. I want you more involved in these things. For the first time I'm really spending money and, you know what? The world ain't endin', like I somehow thought it would. And I haven't gone crazy."

  "No, you haven't gone crazy. And I'm happy you asked. I haven't been sure how much of my opinion you wanted."

  "Carter Woodrow Wilson Jones, I always want your opinion."

  "You know what I'm thinking about right now, son?"

  "What?"

  He smiled very slowly.

  I replied, "Message received, buddy."

  Suddenly I heard a loud ruckus coming from the front of the building. It stopped just as soon as it had started. Then came the sound of an engine roaring to life. The rental Pontiac came charging around, headlights blazing in the dark. The front door popped open and Mike yelled, "Get in!"

  I got in first and Carter squeezed in next to me, pulling the door closed just as Mike peeled out of the parking lot and onto the coastal highway. As we went around the front of the building, I could see two men on the ground just outside the front door with one man standing over them.

  I asked, "Do I want to know what happened?"

  Mike laughed. "They wanted to know what we thought about you and we told them."

  O'Reilly laughed from the backseat. "Yeah. And they won't soon forget."

  "Mike! Did you break another camera?" He'd done that a few days ago outside a bungalow on the grounds of the Beverly Hills Hotel.

  O'Reilly replied. "No, it was me. And there were two of them."

  "Who should I send the check to?"

  "George bloody Hearst," was O'Reilly's reply.

  I heard Carter whisper, "Oh, lord." I grabbed his hand in the dark and squeezed it.

  Chapter 7

  Harbor Restaurant

  Sunday, May 31, 1953

  Half past 8 in the morning

  The next morning Carter and I took O'Reilly to breakfast at a local diner recommended by Mrs. Kleinberg.

  After we got settled into a booth, I asked O'Reilly point blank, "What did you leave out of your story last night?"

  He looked up at me, genuinely surprised. "Well, you do get right to the point, don't you, Mr. Williams?"

  Carter said, "Depends on the topic."

  I rolled my eyes and waited.

  O'Reilly looked down at his hands for a moment and then looked up. "Billy was trying to blackmail me. That's what I left out."

  I nodded and gave him room to continue at his own pace.

  "You see, when we were first going together, before the war started, we had quite a lively correspondence."

  I nodded and put out my hand. "You don't have to say anymore, if you don't want."

  "I appreciate your sensitivity, Mr. Williams. It still hurts."

  "I have another question, though."

  He looked down again. "Yes?"

  "Why was he blackmailing you?"

  "Trying to blackmail. I never paid up. And, frankly, I don't know where he thought the money would come from. I suppose he thought I could hit up my employer."

  He looked up at me. "So, I can imagine you might not want to hire me on that basis alone. You might become a target."

  Carter and I both looked at each other and laughed.

  I asked, "When was the last time you looked at a newspaper, Captain?"

  He smiled. "Oh, I know all about your troubles."

  "But that's just it. They aren't troubles. I can't be blackmailed. The worst is already done."

  The captain rapped his knuckles on the wooden table. "I wouldn't tempt fate talkin' like that if I was you, Mr. Williams."

  I smiled. "They can take everything away from me. I didn't ask for it. But, you're right. Let's just say that the risk is yours to assume. You being associated with an avowed homosexual is a risk you're taking."

  The captain's eyes twinkled and he smiled broadly. "I took that vow long ago and have never broken it."

  I smiled at him. "But, why?"

  "Why was he doing it?"

  "Yes."

  "He needed the money. He's become a heroin addict. I don't know when it started a
nd I only know now because of what some others have told me since I left him."

  I nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that. That's a hard thing to kick."

  O'Reilly looked down. "Yeah. My heart breaks for him. But I've seen this before with men I've worked with. They have to want to give it up. And I don't think Billy does. Yet."

  We sat there for a moment. The waitress dropped off our plates and we ate in silence.

  "You need to tell him," prompted Carter after he'd finished his toast.

  I nodded, wiped my hands on my napkin, and took a sip of coffee. "Last night I mentioned the new name of the ship."

  O'Reilly smiled. "An unusual name, if you don't mind me saying."

  "Not at all. You may have read about it in the papers. Two men died aboard the ship."

  "The two men in Mexico?"

  I nodded. "They were brothers. One of them is probably the man who killed Taylor Wells. He was a hired gun who was taking over his boss' organization. His brother was a state police captain by the name of Nacho."

  I stopped for a moment. Carter continued the story.

  "It's a long story O'Reilly, but Nacho had become a friend of ours. His brother shot him and he died in Nick's arms."

  I added, "But not before Carter gave him a last kiss. It was something to see." I took another drink of coffee.

  O'Reilly was watching us both very closely. "Was he more than a friend?"

  Carter shook his head. "Not for trying. But, no."

  O'Reilly nodded. "Ah, well, now I understand. I would be honored to captain a ship with a name like that." He looked away in the distance and said, "Honored indeed."

  . . .

  We went back to the motel after breakfast and parted in the parking lot. Once we were in our room, I asked Carter, "What do you think?"