Million Dollar Tramp

by William Campbell Gault

  “And then your big mouth got working and you implied we had a leak at Headquarters. I resent that kind of charge.”

  “Because you’re honest,” I explained.“But don’t stand there and tell me you’re so dumb you think all police officers are honest. I happen to know you’re not that dumb. Can’t we ever talk straight without a lot of phoney copy-book attitudes jamming up the lines? I admire you. I always have. I’ll never like you, but I’ve always admired you.”

  “Come off it, Puma.” He didn’t believe me.“Okay,” I said resignedly.“So long, Sergeant. See you around.”

  He shook his head.“You have some questions to answer.”

  The interne came with the pills, and I said, “This talking is splitting my head. I guess I’d better rest, huh?”

  He was only an interne, so he looked doubtfully at Sergeant Loepke.

  Loepke said, “I’ll keep my voice down, Joe. I’ll be polite as long as you are. Don’t forget, it’s your assailant we’ll be looking for, and any leads you can give us will help.”

  I took the pills and swallowed some more water and told the interne, “I guess a few minutes of quiet talk won’t disturb me.”

  He looked relieved and went away.

  “All right,” I said.“Here’s the way it was.”

  I gave it all to him, all of Tampett’s monologue, and then went back before that and gave him the gist of my whole day.

  “Foy,” he said thoughtfully.“This Dr. Foy — he’s outside of my jurisdiction but Sergeant Donner can work on that. How about Mrs. Richards? She’s tied up some way with this Foy, if I remember.”

  “She’s being treated by him,” I answered, “and I want to ask you a favor about that, Sergeant. Until you get enough on him to book him, I don’t want Mrs. Richards to know he’s under suspicion.”

  He was silent, looking at me perplexedly.

  “It’s kind of complicated,” I explained.“Somehow, quack though he is, he’s helped Mrs. Richards psychologically. And she has a thing about him. I mean, he’s some kind of symbol to her; she needs to believe in him. Medically, she needs to believe in him.”

  “You mean she’s — punchy?” he asked.

  “About Foy. As we all are, about this or that. Nothing personal, but I hope you don’t think you’re normal, Sergeant.”

  He opened his mouth and closed it.

  “You’re about as normal as I am,” I said.“You have this antiquarian urge toward honesty and I have the temper of a three-year-old spoiled child. Neither of our afflictions are enough to put us in the loony bin, but they’re not normal. Am I reaching you?”

  “No,” he said, “but you never do. I guess we live in different worlds, Puma.”

  “We do. But will you promise me not to alert Mrs. Richards about Foy?”

  “I promise,” he said.

  Sergeant Donner came over to tell me he’d phone me in the morning to check on my ability to get down to the West Side Station. I told him there’d be no reason to phone; I could make it in the morning. They knew me at the West Side Station and trusted me.

  And then, in a rare and touching moment of warmth, Sergeant Loepke reached over to pat my hand.“Don’t worry, Puma,” he said.“We’ll get that damned Tampett!”

  People — people and their contradictions….

  They left, taking my neighbor along, the one who had phoned them. The homeward-bound traffic outside hummed steadily, but it seemed unusually quiet in the room. My headache dimmed, but a strange uneasiness pricked at me.

  I was startled by the jangle of the phone. I let it ring a few times, then answered it.

  It was Fidelia.“Are we eating together? Or did you plan to make your report over the phone?”

  “I’m resting,” I said, “on the studio couch in my living room. I had a little accident.”

  “Accident? What kind?”

  “I was shot about an hour ago. I’m all right. It was mostly shock. Nicked my ribs.”

  A silence, and then, “Joe, this isn’t some horrible attempt at humor, is it?”

  “Of course not,” I said irritably.“Now, why — ”

  “You’re so — so casual about it,” she interrupted.“I mean — my God, Joe, shot?”

  “Bob Tampett shot me,” I said.“I’m sure he was drunk. And I probably wouldn’t be talking to you now if his gun hadn’t misfired a number of times.”

  “You stay right where you are,” she said.“I’ll bring over something special, exactly what you need.”

  Now, what could that be? I was sure she hadn’t meant the first thing my mind had jumped to. Exactly what I needed? What I needed was more brains and less body.

  What she brought was a thick soup. It was a lentil soup, made fresh every week at an expensive Brentwood delicatessen. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I didn’t like lentil soup.

  “And cheese,” she added, “and the best rye bread in town — all the strength-restoring foods.” She leaned over to kiss my forehead, and then pulled a chair up next to the studio couch.“How are you feeling?”

  “Okay. Shaky, and a little sore in the ribs, but that will go away.” I studied her, wondering at her composure.

  She read my glance and my mind. She exhaled, slumped and said, “I had to babble. I didn’t want to break up.

  And I had to keep telling myself you’re — you’re indestructible.”

  “See Foy today?” I asked her.

  She shook her head.“I lied about the appointment. Why did you ask that?”

  “When was the last time you had an appointment with him?”

  She frowned.“Oh, it’s been over a week. Joe, what’s all this about?”

  “I don’t think you need him any more.”

  She stiffened.“What difference does it make? Joe, has something happened to him?”

  I shook my head.“Not that I know of. I’m thinking of you, not of him. You’ve come through some bad moments with your chin up.”

  “You can thank Dr. Foy for that.”

  “For the bad moments, or the stiff chin?”

  She was sitting rigidly now, staring at me doubtfully.“What are you trying to tell me? That Dr. Foy’s a murderer?”

  I shook my head slowly.

  “Damn it!” she said tensely.“If you have something to tell me, do it openly. Don’t play cat and mouse with my emotions. I can’t take much of that.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said quietly.“There’s really nothing to tell. I guess it’s that old animosity for Foy. I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re here, Fidelia.”

  She sniffed.“That’s more like it. I’ll heat that soup. Are you sure you’re all right, Joe?”

  “There’s nothing wrong that food won’t cure.”

  She stood up and looked down at me for a moment with those candid, turquoise eyes.“Monster!” she said softly.“What a man.” She went out to the kitchen.

  I heard her moving around in there and wondered if I shouldn’t have gone ahead and told her about Tampett and Foy. It seemed strange to me that she hadn’t asked about Tampett; she hadn’t asked me anything about Tampett’s reasons for shooting me. That wasn’t normal.

  She came back into the living room and said, “It will only take a few minutes. Do you want to eat here?”

  “No, we’ll eat in the kitchen.”

  She sat down in the chair again.“What was Tampett doing here? Did you have an appointment with him?”

  I shook my head.“I was sitting right here, and the damned door opened and he walked in with a gun in his hand. He said I’d put the police onto him and — boom!”

  “And as soon as I walked in, you started talking about Dr. Foy. Is there a connection, Joe?”

  “Connection? Where?”

  “Between Dr. Foy and Bob Tampett?”

  I started to answer, and stopped. I looked at her thoughtfully.

  “Tell me, if there is,” she said.

  “I have no proof that there is.”

  She rubbed her forehead and looked at the floo
r.“Another of your hunches?”

  “Let’s not talk about it tonight. I’m hungry and irritable.”

  “All right.” She stroked my hair.“Puma, the indestructible. Puma, the avenging devil.”

  “Angel is the word,” I corrected her.“It’s avenging angel.”

  “Not Puma. Were you frightened when that gun was pointed at you?”

  “I cringed. I whined.”

  “I’ll bet.” She leaned over and kissed me.“Are you weak? Are you helpless?”

  “I’m hungry,” I said.“Once I’ve eaten, I won’t be weak. What did you do today?”

  “I lounged around the pool, hoping somebody interesting would show up.”

  “And did someone?”

  She made a face.“Tourists!” She nibbled my ear.

  Lassitude moved through me, lassitude spiced with awareness. I asked, “Don’t you have a home somewhere?”

  “In Bel Air,” she said, “but I never stay there. It’s so isolated, up there in the hills.” She caressed my jawline with her soft lips.“I rent it. I can use the income.”

  “Easy,” I warned her.“I’m so hungry that I can’t afford to get excited. I’d pass out.”

  She chuckled and stood up.“That soup should be hot enough now. You probably aren’t a lentil soup fan, but this is going to be a new experience for you.”

  She was right. I had never had any lentil soup like this, thick and rich, filling the stomach and replenishing the bloodstream, bringing back my manhood.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Delicious,” I agreed.

  “A girl would never need to cook with soup like this for sale.” She looked around.“And this place wouldn’t be bad, with some new furniture.”

  I looked up, startled.

  She laughed.“I was teasing.” And then she looked at me gravely.“Would it be so horrible, married to me?”

  “Only for you,” I told her.“You could never get used to poverty, Fidelia.”

  “And you’d be too proud to live on my money?”

  I pretended to give it some thought.“Well, maybe not. Maybe something could be worked out.”

  I saw the withdrawal in her face and this time I laughed.“Don’t back off. It was your idea.”

  We were going after the cheese when my doorbell rang. It was Lou Serano.

  He looked at me doubtfully.“I just got the word. Tampett came for you, eh?”

  I nodded.

  He looked at the roll and the cheese in my hand.“Eating?”

  “No,” I said, “I always walk around with food in my hand. I suppose you could use a cup of coffee?”

  “If that’s the best you have.” He came in and followed me to the kitchen.

  There, he looked at Fidelia and said, “Well, well, my favorite heiress! And eating paisan food.”

  Fidelia looked blankly at Lou and questioningly at me.“When did you two get to be buddies?”

  Lou grinned.“When we learned we have a common enemy. Right, Puma?”

  I nodded nervously.

  “And who is the common enemy?” Fidelia asked quietly.

  Lou looked at me, chagrin on his face. I said easily, “Robert Tampett.”

  “You’re lying,” she said. She looked at Lou, who was now seated at the table.“He is lying, isn’t he?”

  Glib Lou Serano, big-mouth Lou Serano, looked helplessly at me. He said nothing.

  I met Fidelia’s gaze.“I’ve explained to you, lady, that you must believe in me. I can’t give you your money’s worth unless you do.” I sat down.“Let’s have some coffee.”

  “Let’s have some truth, first,” she said evenly.“It’s Dr. Foy you two are fighting, isn’t it?” Lou looked at the table top.

  I said calmly, “I’m investigating everybody who could possibly be connected with the death of Brian Delsy. That’s what you hired me to do, Fidelia. Do you want me to quit?”

  She was breathing heavily now, her mouth slightly open. She licked her upper lip and stared between us.

  “Even if you weren’t paying me,” I soothed her, “I’d be on your side. Damn it, either fire me or believe in me.”

  She continued to stare. Then suddenly she got up and went into the living room. I stood up and went to the doorway of the kitchen. I could see her from there. She opened her purse, took out a small bottle of pills, and headed for the bathroom.

  “Fidelia,” I called, “wait!”

  She turned at the bathroom door.“Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything foolish. Ask your new friend Lou what’s in the bottle.”

  From behind me, Lou said, “I know. It’s all right, Joe.”

  I came back in to sit down.“What’s she on?”

  He shrugged.“Nothing dangerous. Seconal, allonal, veronal. One of the barbiturates. She’s a high-strung girl.”

  “You know her pretty well, huh, Lou?”

  He studied me.“Here we go again! Jealous? Hell, no, I don’t know her the way your Latin mind is thinking. I know about her, because I’m trying to help her and I tried to learn about her. Calm down, hothead.”

  “You can say ‘wop mind,’ Lou. You’re one, yourself.”

  “I’m sure as hell not an Arab.” He poured himself some coffee.“I heard a weird one today — and from one of the weirdies.”

  “From one of the swishes?”

  He nodded.“This punk swears that Brian Delsy learned something about Foy that burned him up and he was on his way over to tell Fidelia that on the night he was killed.”

  “Don’t you think you or your informant should have given the police this information?”

  He looked at me sourly.“Two of the many guys who don’t go running to the law much could be Lou Serano and a queer. We haven’t got your pipelines, Puma, and the law takes a dim view of us generally.”

  “Maybe the law would take a brighter view of you if you’d cooperate more.”

  He sighed and shook his head.“Oh, Lordy! Lectures, yet, from Muscles Puma. What the hell are you being so righteous about? You always work clean, maybe?”

  “As clean as anyone in my profession.”

  He grinned.“Me, too. I’m the straightest hustler this side of the Rockies. Well, I just dropped in to see if you were okay.” He finished his coffee and stood up.“I guess I’m never going to make your inner circle of friends, am I, Puma?”

  “Thanks for what you’ve told me,” I said.“And thanks for dropping around. I appreciate it.”

  I was walking to the door with him when Fidelia came out of the bathroom. She looked at both of us coolly.“Is the gossip session over, girls?”

  Lou smiled at her and winked at me.“Be good, kids.” He went out, closing the door behind him.

  Fidelia said, “I thought you couldn’t stand hoodlums.”

  “He’s no friend of mine, honey. I didn’t invite him here. But I’ll use any ally I can find when I’m looking for a killer.”

  She went into the kitchen and sat down again. She poured herself some fresh coffee.

  I sat across from her.“How many pills did you take?” “Two. Two aspirin.” “Honestly, Fidelia?”

  She didn’t answer. She asked, “What did Lou tell you? What did he tell you that I should know?”

  “He told me he heard that Delsy was on his way to see you when he was killed. That’s the kind of information I’m trying to keep from you. I’m supposed to be your shield, remember?”

  She expelled her breath.“Okay, okay, okay. I’m sorry.”

  A silence. I drank coffee, she drank coffee. From the apartment next door came the sound of a news report on

  TV. Outside, traffic went buzzing by. But in my little rat’s-nest, silence.

  She looked up and her gaze held mine gravely. She said, “We were so cozy here and then that — then he had to come along.”

  “The night is young,” I consoled her.“Have some more cheese.”

  “Stomach,” she said.“You’re all stomach and mouth and biceps. Damn your insensitive soul.”
<
br />   I stood up, began to pick up the dishes. As I reached for one at her end of the table, the bandage pulled, and I winced.

  “Joe!” she said quickly.“Don’t do that. I’ll pick up the dishes. You go and relax. Joe — please?”

  I smiled my forgiving, martyr’s smile and went into the living room and back to the studio couch. I thought back on the visit of Lou Serano and realized I should have pressed him for more details about Brian Delsy’s motives in coming to see Fidelia. I would have to talk further with Lou. Or his informant.

  An easy assumption could be that Delsy, also a patient of Foy’s, had learned something detrimental to the good doctor’s reputation. But Fidelia had been hearing that sort of thing from professional sources; she was well aware of what other people thought of Foy.

  It was dark outside now and the headlights from Wilshire Boulevard made moving patterns on the wall I was facing. Big, bustling, buzzing, humming, continually moving town. Where were they all going? Some place they hadn’t been? Some place they’d never find?

  Fidelia came in from the kitchen and sat in the chair next to the couch. She stared quietly out the window at the headlights.

  Finally, she said, “Are you brooding?”

  I shook my head.“Thinking.” I smiled at her.“About you, mostly.”

  “I’m a brat,” she said.“But you’re not the most rational man in the world.”

  “I know. I was explaining that to Sergeant Loepke late this afternoon. Come over here and stroke my hair again.”

  “You know where that will lead,” she warned me.“And we don’t know if you’re well enough.”

  “If I start to get weak, I’ll warn you,” I promised.“I’m lonely. Aren’t you?”

  “I took some Seconal,” she said.“I’d fall asleep, and humilate you. Joe, is sex your answer to everything?”

  “Lacking money, yes. Where else, today, do you find a really honest communication?”

  “P. I. Puma,” she mocked me, “the slant-head’s philosopher.”

  I moved over closer to the wall and stretched out. I watched the lights play over her face and tried to imagine her youth, tried to guess what kind of childhood the rich had, what kind of fun.

  The only light in the room was the dimly reflected light from the kitchen and the passing lights from the cars. All around us were other small and occupied apartments, but it was momentarily peaceful here, possibly because we were the only humans in sight who weren’t moving.