The Pitiful Player (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 14)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  I nodded. "They might be visiting with Carlo Martinelli. He's in lockup."

  "No, they're not."

  "They're not visiting Mr. Martinelli?"

  "No, they couldn't be. In fact, I know they're not."

  "Would you have any idea where they would be instead?"

  "Heavens, no. Los Angeles is a huge city. They could be practically anywhere."

  I nodded. "So, they were here and then they left. Is that right?"

  "That's right."

  I nodded again. "Did you happen to overhear what they might have been saying when they left?"

  She smiled. "Oh yes. The taller one was talking about the judge and how happy he was about the decision."

  I was confused. "What decision?"

  "The decision by the judge."

  I nodded again. "Do you know what the judge decided?"

  "I haven't a clue. They all just seemed to be happy about it. I couldn't blame them, not really. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

  "Who is the judge who made the decision?"

  "Why Judge Mosk, of course. I've never met him but I hear he's very nice to everyone in his courtroom."

  "Thank you. You've been very helpful."

  She smiled. "That's what I'm here for. You have yourself a nice day."

  "I will."

  . . .

  "Judge Mosk is at lunch. May I help you?"

  After asking around, we'd finally tracked down the judge's clerk. He was about 45 and seemed to be distracted.

  "I was wondering about a decision he made today. It was in the case of State versus Martinelli."

  The man looked around his desk. "Martinelli. Let's see. I have it around here somewhere." He glanced up at me over his horn-rimmed glasses. "Wasn't that the Beverly Hills murder case?"

  I nodded. "Yes. Do you know what decision he made?"

  "I don't know. I know he met with Mr. Frankfurter, who's the District Attorney, and two defense attorneys in chambers. I had to run an errand for His Honor and was just getting back when he handed me the folder."

  His desk contained about five stacks of folders and binders and other legal debris. "I know it's here somewhere. I was going to have it entered right after lunch. Oh, yes." He walked over to a chair with another stack. "Here it is." He opened the folder and said, "Mr. Martinelli was released for lack of evidence." He looked up. "The case was dismissed with prejudice."

  "What does that mean?" asked Carter.

  "The District Attorney cannot charge Mr. Martinelli with the crime again." He frowned slightly. "That explains why His Honor was in such a bad mood on his way out to lunch. He really hates when Mr. Frankfurter acts in bad faith. Which is, unfortunately, all too often these days." He lowered his voice. "Particularly in those kinds of cases."

  I was happy that Martinelli was out but I wanted to know what the clerk meant. Carter, however, beat me to the punch. "What do you mean by 'those kinds of cases'?"

  The clerk smirked. "Perverts. Live and let live, I say, but Mr. Frankfurter seems particularly bent on going after them." He put the folder back on the stack in the chair and adjusted his glasses. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I really do need to find my sandwich and have at least a bite or two before I plunge into this paperwork."

  I nodded with a smile. "Thanks for your help."

  "Not at all," replied the clerk as he moved back behind his desk and muttered, "Now where did I put that?"

  Chapter 38

  4643 Los Feliz Blvd, Apt. 17-A

  Los Angeles, Cal.

  Friday, July 15, 1955

  Just past 1 in the afternoon

  I pulled the Buick into the parking lot next to Ben and Martinelli's apartment building. We were pretty sure that Kenneth and Benjamin would have brought Martinelli home. And, sure enough, I saw the Mercedes parked right next to Ben's big Chrysler.

  We jumped out of the car and made our way up to the back end of the second floor. I knocked on the apartment door and was happy to be greeted by Martinelli. He looked a little worn and a little thinner than I'd last seen him. He hugged me tight and lifted me up off the ground. "Hi there, Nick!" he exclaimed before giving me a kiss on the cheek.

  After letting me go, he grabbed hold of Carter and pulled him in for a hug and another kiss on the cheek.

  He sighed contentedly and said, "Thanks, you guys, for believing in me."

  I was happy as hell to see the guy but I was still feeling guilty that he'd had to spend as much time in jail as he did. But I smiled and said, "You had a cast-iron alibi, kid."

  He grinned at me and said, "You have no idea how much I missed Ben."

  As Carter punched Martinelli playfully on the shoulder, I asked, "Where's Kenneth?"

  "They're in the living room."

  I nodded and then whispered, "We'll grab them and take them to lunch. I imagine you two..." I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

  He nodded and whispered back. "Thanks, Nick. I didn't quite know how to tell them to, you know, get lost."

  I shrugged. "You and Carter wait here. I'll take care of this." I walked around Martinelli and through to the living room. Ben White, Kenneth, and Benjamin were standing in the middle of the room as Benjamin was telling some story about some gal.

  "So, she says—"

  I said, "Party's over. Lawyers out. Lunch is on me. And we're going to the Brown Derby. Our two lovebirds need to have a real reunion, if you know what I mean."

  Benjamin looked at me and said, "Hi, Nick." He seemed perturbed at being interrupted until the light dawned and he said, "Oh, right. Come on, Kenneth. Let's hit the road."

  They both filed out of the room. I walked up to Ben and kissed him on the cheek. "Have fun, kid."

  He was grinning from ear to ear and just nodded.

  I tussled his hair and made my way out to the front door, pulling everyone else behind me, as Martinelli slammed the door shut and locked it behind us.

  . . .

  "What?" That was Micky. Since he lived just downstairs from Ben White and Martinelli, I wanted to stop by and let him know the good news. He opened the door in just a pair of draw-string cotton pants. He was shirtless and his hair was pointing in every direction. When he got a look at the four of us, he blushed and stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind himself.

  "Hi, everyone. What's up?"

  I grinned. "Martinelli got sprung, thanks to these two." I jerked my thumb over my shoulder at Kenneth and Benjamin.

  "Oh, great. Yeah, that's really great. I'll, uh, go up there later and, uh, check in on them."

  Carter dryly said, "I wouldn't. I think they're gonna be busy the rest of the day."

  Micky ran his hand over his hair in an attempt to flatten it down. He frowned. "Oh, right. I guess that makes sense." As he moved his arm, I got a strong whiff of B.O. from him. He really did need to learn how to wash.

  "You got company?" asked Carter with a grin.

  "Matter of fact, I do. So, um, if you guys don't mind, I'll just head back inside and I guess I'll see you tonight up at your place at 6, right? That still the plan?"

  I nodded. "As far as I know. Why don't you give a call around 4 and check in with Mike? You have the number, right?"

  "Sure." He thought for a moment and then said, "Yeah, I got it last night before Tom brought me back here." He blushed. "That was real weird, seeing him up there. Never woulda put the two of you together like that."

  "Oh?" I asked. "Why not?"

  "Him being such a cop, you know? I always thought he'd stick it out, I guess."

  I nodded. "Everyone has their breaking point."

  He ran his hand through his hair again, and I got pelted with another whiff. "Well, I guess I should let you guys go."

  I nodded. "Yeah. Don't wanna keep him waiting."

  Micky blushed even more red. "No, I guess not."

  Carter said, "See you tonight."

  "Yeah," replied Micky, as he opened the door behind him. "I guess you will. OK. Bye everyone." He slipped back
into his apartment and locked the door after he closed it.

  I held up my finger to let everyone know to wait. I leaned against the door as Carter hissed, "Nick!"

  I could hear someone else talking. "Was it them?" asked the voice.

  "Yeah. Carlo's been sprung."

  "Good," replied the voice. I heard the sound of bare feet flapping across the floor. "Now come in here, kid. You and I are gonna go over the basics of personal hygiene." As the voice said that, I nearly burst out laughing.

  Micky's very loud and very audible reply was, "Oh, Daddy, talk dirty to me."

  I turned and pushed everyone down the hall. We tried to run along quietly even though we were all giggling. As we jogged down the steps and made our way to the parking lot, Kenneth asked, "Who was that in there with him?"

  I shook my head and let myself burst out laughing after mostly holding it in. "It was Tom Ruggles."

  Benjamin put his left hand on his chest and his right hand on his hip as we laughed. He said, "Oh, Daddy, talk dirty to me." He got Micky's voice right on the money.

  Chapter 39

  The Brown Derby

  1628 North Vine Street

  Hollywood, Cal.

  Friday, July 15, 1955

  A quarter before 2 in the afternoon

  "Can we get a booth for four? In the back?"

  The hostess smiled, slipped the folded twenty I'd handed her into her skirt pocket, and nodded. "Of course, Mr. Williams. Please, follow me." We did as she asked. The place was hopping. Not as much as the Sunday before, but it was still buzzing. And, as before, there were all sorts of faces that I recognized. I got a few smiles, some courteous nods, and more than a few dismissive frowns.

  After we were seated, a waiter came by and asked for our drink orders. Once those were placed, I looked at Kenneth and said, "I want the whole story about what happened this morning with Judge Mosk."

  Beaming, Kenneth looked at Benjamin and, in a low voice, said, "It was all my husband."

  I glanced at Carter who winked at me. "Husband?" I asked. When I'd first used that word to describe Carter in front of Kenneth, he'd been shocked and dismayed.

  Kenneth waved me away. "It's 1955, Nick." He then sighed. "I'm such a lucky guy."

  "Yeah, yeah," I said impatiently. Looking at Benjamin, I asked, "What happened?"

  He shrugged. "It was just a matter of being in the right place at the right time."

  "How so?" I asked.

  "I just cornered the judge and told him what was really going on."

  "Cornered? How?" I knew there was a story and I wanted to hear it.

  Right then, the waiter returned with our drinks. We stopped to place our lunch orders. I ordered a broiled fish of some sort. Carter put in for a steak, of course. Kenneth and Benjamin both asked for their famous Cobb Salad.

  After the waiter left, I said, "Just tell us what the hell happened."

  Benjamin grinned. "We were sitting outside His Honor's chambers and trying to figure out how to storm the barricades. His clerk wasn't letting us in so we just waited and watched. Pretty soon, His Honor had to make a quick trip to the necessary, so I, thinking quick on my feet, hopped to it and followed him in. Once he'd done his business and was washing his hands, I locked the door and begged His Honor for the privilege of his time. After threatening to charge me with kidnapping, he finally agreed when I said the magic words."

  "Which were?" asked Carter.

  "Alexander Frankfurter is framing my client for murder."

  "How'd you know he hates Frankfurter?" I asked.

  "It's amazing what you can discover when you're just sitting around an overcrowded courthouse."

  Kenneth smirked. "We heard Judge Mosk complaining about Frankfurter to his clerk yesterday."

  Benjamin nodded. "So, once His Honor agreed to let us meet with him in chambers, I unlocked the door and managed to dodge the threats and the fists that were aimed my way by the men who'd had to hold it and made it back to my snookums who was sitting on the bench in the hallway awaiting my triumphant return."

  "Oh, brother," was the only clever retort I could come up with.

  Benjamin grinned at me and continued, "Anyway, somehow the judge managed to find Frankfurter and dragged him into chambers. His clerk was out getting His Honor's back pills, or something like that, otherwise he would have done that. Once we were all gathered together, Kenneth laid out the facts and the judge saw red, to say the least. After chewing out Frankfurter and threatening disbarment and contempt of court, the judge signed off on an order releasing Carlo and dismissing the case with prejudice. So that's that."

  "Congratulations, Counselor."

  He grinned at me and said, "Thanks, Nick. And now, we need to eat and run." Looking over at Kenneth, he said, "We need to get home."

  Kenneth looked at me. "There's going to be a funeral for Gilbraith here on Tuesday, so we'll be coming back down for that if you're here."

  "I hope we'll have all of this wrapped up long before then."

  He nodded. "Well, we need to get home to take care of some things there so that's why we're leaving tonight."

  I was going to suggest they take the DC-3 back to San Francisco with all the movie stars. That reminded me of Walter and that the incoming flight would arrive around 5 at Burbank. I looked at my watch to check the time. It was was ten past 2. I looked up and said, "Damn it."

  "What?" asked Carter.

  "We missed the pick-up." I stood, pulled out a twenty, and gave it to Kenneth.

  He frowned up at me. "What goes on here?"

  "We missed a very important appointment." Kenneth knew about the distribution system but I didn't want to remind him that we were about to go out and break the law. "If you can wait until 6, you can take the DC-3 outta Burbank. Also, don't forget that you're supposed to chew me out about the Monumental Studios deal."

  Carter stood and said, "I gotta hit the head before we go." I nodded as he walked in that direction.

  Kenneth waved me away. "I can do that by phone. And we'll grab the next P.S.A. flight if we can. Otherwise, I'll call Robert about getting on that DC-3. We'll leave the Mercedes at the house and get a cab from there."

  "Thanks, you two." We all shook hands. I then headed to where Carter had gone. As I did, it seemed like all eyes in the restaurant followed me. I couldn't wait to get home.

  Chapter 40

  On the way to 733 Orme Avenue

  Los Angeles, Cal

  Friday, July 15, 1955

  A quarter until 3 in the afternoon

  The day was heating up and the smog was thick. After leaving the parking lot at the Brown Derby, I made a right on Vine. I then made the next right onto Hollywood Boulevard. After a couple of blocks, I followed the signs and got up on the Hollywood Freeway. Traffic was moving slow and the fumes from the other cars were noxious. After passing under the interchange for the Pasadena Freeway, I veered to the right and took the Santa Ana Freeway until I got to the 7th Street exit. I made a left on 7th. Carter was doing all the navigating, using the Thomas Brothers map.

  Somehow, I missed the left turn on Orme Avenue. After some mild cussing on my part, Carter said, "Make a left here." The street was called Camulos and I did as I was told. "Make a left on Oregon. It dead-ends on Orme. The house will probably be at the dead-end."

  At the turn for Oregon, I stopped, stuck out my arm to indicate I was turning left, and waited for a slow-moving '37 Ford to drive by before making the turn. Once it had chugged by, belching smoke from its tailpipe, I made the left.

  As we drove along Oregon, I saw a black '52 Ford parked on the right side of the street towards the end of the block. It was the only car parked on the street and there were two hat-covered heads sitting up front. I quietly said, "Cops on the right," and smoothly passed them by without looking at them. When we got to Orme, I put out my hand and pointed up to indicate a right turn as I came to a full and complete stop. I slowly turned right and then drove to the next street, which was Whittier Boulevard. Keep
ing my eye in the rear-view mirror, I hung my arm out the window, pointed left, and said to Carter, "Tell me when it's safe to make a left."

  We sat there for about half a minute while traffic on Whittier whizzed by in both directions. Just as Carter said, "Now," I saw the '52 Ford come around the corner, turning onto Orme from Oregon.

  I pulled out onto the street and proceeded back towards the freeway in the distance. Checking the mirror, I saw the Ford make the same left.

  "They're tailing us. Maybe."

  Carter was flipping through the Thomas Brothers and said, "If you get back up on the highway, we can head north and then take the San Bernardino Freeway heading west. If that was L.A.P.D., they'll have to head back east at some point."

  "Yeah." I stopped at the red light at Boyle Avenue. The '52 Ford was two cars back and in our lane. Once the light turned green, I followed the flow of traffic and then made an awkwardly-placed right turn for the ramp that led onto the Santa Ana Freeway. Northbound traffic was moving faster than the southbound had. As I merged into the right lane, I saw the '52 Ford come up behind us. Staying in the right lane, I asked Carter, "How far to the San Bernardino Freeway?"

  He pointed out the window at the sign suspended over the freeway. "Coming up. Are they still following us?"

  "Yeah. They're right behind us. Don't look."

  He snorted. "Yes, Boss."

  I grinned at him and put my hand on his thigh. He covered my hand with his and squeezed it.

  As I made the veer to the right, the Ford did the same. I followed the bend around, slowing a little, but still in the flow of the cars around ours. When the freeway straightened out, I could see the cop in the passenger seat of the Ford using the radio.

  "They're calling something in. Are we still in Los Angeles?"

  Carter looked at the map for a moment. He turned the page and then looked up and out the window. "This is the Soto Avenue exit we're coming to. About a quarter mile after this, it looks like we'll be in the county."

  "Home free."

  He laughed. "Yeah. You think that was a trap?"

  "I do. I'm also now worried about Anita."