. . .
About twenty minutes later, I was sitting on the Chesterfield, reading Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller. It was a copy Carter had found, along with Tropic of Capricorn, at an English bookstore in Paris called Le Mistral. It was just a couple of blocks away from a restaurant on the Left Bank that we had visited one night while we were there. The two books weren't for sale in the U.S. They were considered obscene. Technically, we'd smuggled them in on our airplane when we'd flown home from France. I was about a hundred pages into the book and wasn't sure if I liked it or not.
Carter had already read the one I was reading and said he liked it. He'd also mentioned maybe driving down to Big Sur, where Miller lived. The man at the bookstore in Paris had mentioned that Miller was a pretty good watercolor painter and that he sold his paintings out of his house down there. I wasn't that interested but if Carter wanted to go, I was up for the drive.
The phone rang. I put the book, spine down, on the Chesterfield and ran to grab the receiver before Carter woke up.
"Yeah?"
"It's Sam. He's dead."
I sighed. "That's what I was afraid of. What'd you find out?"
"He was found, face down, on South Van Ness. He had tripped, or something, and fell onto the pavement. Some Good Samaritan put him in his car and drove him to County Hospital. By the time the guy got there, Thomas was dead. I talked to the doc. He thinks it was blunt trauma from the fall. They're not gonna do an autopsy. The doc also said that based on his skin color, his liver was about kaput."
"Yeah. He'd been told he had six months if he stopped drinking. And that wasn't in the cards. Thanks for taking care of that, Sam."
"You bet. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
I put the phone down and looked over at Carter, who was awake and looking worried. "Dead?"
I nodded. "Fell on his face in the street." I thought of something. "Hold on." I called Sam back.
"Hello?"
"Sam, do you think you could get that Good Samaritan's name?"
"Might be able to. Why?"
"If you do, give it to Marnie in the morning and tell her to send him a care package. She'll know what you mean."
"Is that the secret thing you do when you help your tenants pay their rent?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He laughed as I hung up.
I stood there for a moment.
Carter asked, "Well?"
I looked down at him. "What do you think we should do?"
He nodded and tilted his head to the side. "You know what I think."
I sat down on the bed next to him. He ran his hand up and down my leg. "I know. You wanna go surfing."
Carter laughed. "Yes. And, I'm concerned about that gal and her kid."
"Why?" I asked.
He frowned at me which was something he rarely did. "Why are you gonna have Marnie send a care package to a total stranger?"
I shrugged. "Because it's the right thing to do."
He shook his head. "No, Nick. That's not how you work. Yes, it's charitable. Yes, it's kind. But that's never why you do anything."
I sighed. I felt like we were about to have another one of those conversations where Carter would tell me about me and I would just get confused.
He took my hand. "Look, Nick. I've been giving this a lotta thought."
"What?"
"When me and Mike joke about Nick being Nick, what are we really talking about?"
"I have no idea." And I didn't.
"You have some sort of gut thing that you do. You can say it's the right thing to do but most people wouldn't agree."
I shrugged again. "I dunno."
"No. You do know. You know and I know that at some point we're gonna get on the Lumberjack or one of your other planes and we're gonna fly with O'Reilly over to Hong Kong and we're gonna go find this Mai and Jerry and you're gonna set them up in Hong Kong, or wherever they wanna go."
I nodded. He was right. "But, I'm tired."
"Course you are. So am I. It's nearly 2 in the morning."
"That's not what I mean. I mean I'm tired of all this hopping around. Sure, it's fun to have our own airplane and to go wherever we want. But, we never do. We go where we need to go. That's what's tiring me out."
Carter held my hand but didn't say anything. After about thirty seconds of us just sitting there, I laughed. "What?" he asked.
"You're getting good at waiting and listening."
"I learned it from the master."
I leaned down and kissed my husband on the lips. "I love you, Carter Jones."
"I love you, too, Nicholas Williams."
"You know what that does to me when you call me by that name."
"Of course, I do. Did I mention that Gustav said my boots arrived today?" This was a special-order pair that Carter had bought because I knew he would look particularly handsome in them. They were just like the ones that my father's chauffeur had worn when I was a kid. Ferdinand had a similar pair. That's how Carter had figured it out. I'd watched Ferdinand parade around in them a little too long one day.
I swallowed hard and put my finger on his smiling lips. "Lemme call O'Reilly first."
"You do that, son."
Chapter 6
1198 Sacramento Street
Tuesday, February 8, 1955
Just past dawn
I sat up suddenly and looked around. Carter was lying next to me, snoring lightly, and had a grin on his face. I reached over and kissed him, trying not to wake him.
After we'd fooled around, Carter had rebuilt the fire. It was down to embers. I could see Tropic of Cancer laying on the Chesterfield, right where I'd left it. The new boots were sitting at the foot of the bed, right where I'd left them.
I was trying to figure out what had made me wake up when I heard footsteps coming down the hall. That was followed by a light tap on the door.
I stood up, walked over to the door, and cracked it open. Leaning around the side of the door, I could see Gustav.
He smiled tightly. "There is a police here to see you."
I nodded. "Tell him ten minutes."
He nodded and beat a hasty retreat.
"What now?" asked Carter.
"Cops." I found a fresh pair of BVDs in the bureau and pulled it on.
"Why?"
"Dunno. Go back to sleep." I decided to put on the shirt and trousers from the day before and go without socks or shoes.
"Mmm."
I laughed quietly as I buttoned up my trousers and tucked in my shirt.
. . .
When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I could see that it was a cop I knew. Lieutenant Daniel Rostenkowski was our go-to at North Station for just about anything.
I hopped across the cold marble and got my feet on the rug in front of the fireplace as fast as I could. Rostenkowski, hat in hand, was sitting on the edge of the big sofa and looking off into the garden. The door was shut but it was still chilly without the fire going.
I said, "Morning, Lieutenant. How about some coffee?"
He stood up, smiled at me, and nodded. "Sure, Mr. Williams."
I pointed my head towards the kitchen. "We can probably get you some breakfast, too, if you're hungry." He followed me as I walked through the dining room.
"Well—"
"It's the best meal you'll have all day." I pushed the door to the kitchen open as I said that. All the staff were eating. Mrs. Strakova stood up. "Good morning, Mr. Nick."
"Good morning, everyone." They all nodded. I looked and saw that Mrs. Strakova's plate was full. "Have a seat. I'm gonna get the lieutenant and me some coffee and then, when you're finished eating, maybe you could scramble up some eggs for us."
"Yes, that's fine."
I walked over to where the coffee cups were kept. Mrs. Kopek stood up and shooed me away. "You go sit in dining room. I bring coffee."
I said, "I can—"
She shook her head. "No. Go."
I smiled and said, "Than
k you, Mrs. Kopek."
She replied in a sing-song voice. "You're welcome, Mr. Williams."
"Come on," I motioned to Rostenkowski to follow me and he did.
I sat down at my end of the table, by the kitchen door and said, "Have a seat. Breakfast will be ready in about seven minutes."
"But they're still eating and you said—"
I waved him off. "They don't ever listen to me." I grinned. "They do whatever they want. What brings you out so early in the morning, Lieutenant?"
He pulled out a notepad and a pencil. "I'm looking into the murder of Peter Thomas."
"Murder?"
"Yeah. After Sam Halversen called the doctor back and asked who the Good Samaritan was, that got everyone on duty at the hospital talking and they realized he might not have been such a Good Samaritan after all."
"Really?"
"Yeah. From all descriptions, it sounds like it was the Kid."
I nodded.
"I talked to your Captain Daniel O'Reilly."
I nodded again.
"He told me about his history with Thomas. He also told me that he brought Thomas over here on Sunday night and that the two of you got into a fight."
Right then, Gustav came out with coffee. He set us up with sugar and cream and then walked back into the kitchen.
I added some sugar to my coffee and had a sip. "It wasn't much of a fight. The man insulted Carter and I gave him a right hook above his left kidney. He socked me in the jaw." I leaned over so he could see the bruise that was almost gone. "And then I got him in the nose and he fell to the floor."
Rostenkowski sipped from his cup and nodded. "That's consistent with what the doctor noted. Looks like you broke his nose."
I shrugged. "It probably happened when he fell. I pulled his leg out and that surprised him. He didn't make any move to break his fall as he fell. I figured he was just too drunk to care."
"Yeah. The doc says his blood-alcohol level was sky-high."
"I'm guessing his liver and kidneys just weren't able to get rid of it anymore."
"Yeah."
"So what makes you think it was murder?"
"There was blunt trauma in two places on his skull. The one that killed him was on the back of his head. Looks like whoever did it then banged his head against the pavement to make it look like the man tripped. There were bits of rock and asphalt in his skin."
"You think it was the Kid?"
Rostenkowski looked at me closely. "I hear you know him."
I sat back and took a deep breath. "I only found that out yesterday. How'd you find out?"
He shrugged. "We got a tip."
I rolled my eyes. "From the F.B.I., I suppose."
"Couldn't say."
"You know those agents are rogue, right? My F.B.I. file has no instructions for surveillance. Or so I've been told. I also know where they got that tip from, by the way."
"Where?"
"That I can't tell you."
He frowned.
"But I can tell you that the source has dirt on everyone in the state of California. Politicians. Hollywood types. Everyone."
"You're not harboring a fugitive?"
Right then, Gustav returned with our breakfast. We got scrambled eggs, a couple of slices of ham, rye toast with butter, some orange marmalade, and more coffee.
Once he left, I took a bite of eggs and then answered, "Nope. I'm protecting an informant. What I can also tell you is that if you ever need to check something out, you can run it by me and I can confirm or not. I don't think he's getting any new dirt, but he's got stuff that goes back to at least '39."
"You are such a pain in my ass."
I shrugged. "That offer is always open. How're your eggs?"
"These are the best damn scrambled eggs I've ever had." He licked his fork and then pointed it at me. "And, breakfast or not, I outta haul you in for obstruction."
"Obstructing what?"
He sighed and nodded. "Yeah. OK." He took a couple more bites. "So, tell me what you know about the Kid."
"What's to tell? We ran around for about a year. Our last year of high school. At St. Ignatius. I never graduated because I stopped going. That was when I met Mike Robertson. He took me in after my father threw me outta this place."
Rostenkowski looked around. "Some swell digs you got here."
I shrugged. "It's a lot and we'd rather be back on Hartford."
"I heard you was rebuilding that house. Gonna move back in?" He took a bite of his toast.
"No. I dunno what we'll do with that house. I just didn't want to leave the lot vacant."
Rostenkowski nodded. "So, about the Kid."
"When I knew him, he was Ricky. Ricky Benvenuto."
"Did you know then that Frank Lanza was his godfather?"
I shook my head. "No. I didn't really know anything about him other than he was going to the same school as me. I knew he was part of some big Italian family. He'd complain about them."
"What did you two do when you were running around? Did you, you know..." He looked up at the ceiling.
I laughed. "I don't mean to shock you, Lieutenant, but you've seen Carter, right? And you know Mike. A scrawny little thing like Ricky was never of any interest to me. Besides, I don't know if he's even like that."
He nodded thoughtfully. "I think he is."
I sat back. "How would you know?"
"I've interrogated him a couple of times. Nothing ever stuck. Like always. But." He rubbed his face and sighed. "I tried something that, uh, we do sometimes. You know. Kinda buddy up—"
"By that, you mean, seduce."
"Whatever. It works with men like..." He looked up at the ceiling again. "Like you."
I crossed my arms. "So you got the feeling he was responding to that?"
"Yeah." He drank his coffee and avoided my gaze.
I sat there for a moment. I tried to remember if Ricky had ever given me a hint that he might be a homosexual. He hadn't. Or at least I'd been more interested in Mike than I would have been in Ricky. By far.
Rostenkowski pushed his chair back and stood up. "Thanks, Mr. Williams. I think I got what I needed."
I stood and offered my hand, which he shook. "I appreciate... We all appreciate your help and are happy to help you whenever we can."
"But you won't hand over your informant?"
I shook my head. "He's not really mine to hand over. You can try to get him through the Bureau, but he's out of your jurisdiction. He lives down south. He might even be out of state. I really don't know." And, I didn't. That was a perfect example of why it was better for me not to be involved in day-to-day operations at Consolidated.
Right then, Carter appeared. "How are you, Lieutenant?" They shook hands.
"I'm just leaving. Thanks again, Mr. Williams. I'll see myself out."
I nodded and watched as he made his way to the front door. Carter took the seat where the lieutenant had been. I called out, "Gustav!"
"What was that about?"
I explained what Rostenkowski had asked about and how he thought that Thomas might have been murdered.
Gustav came in from the kitchen. "Yes, Mr. Nick?"
"Can you bring Carter some coffee and ask Mrs. Strakova to make two new breakfasts?" I looked down at my barely-touched plate. "I let mine get cold."
He removed the plates and the lieutenant's cup and was gone.
Carter asked, "How'd you sleep?" He gave me his sweet Georgia smile.
"Fine. You?"
"Not long enough, but good." He rubbed his big hand up and down my knee under the table.
"You have any appointments this morning?" I asked.
He shook his head. "You?"
"Nope."
He looked at me for a long moment. I called out, "Gustav!"
He poked his head out the door. "Yes?"
We both stood as I said, "We're gonna skip breakfast. We'll be upstairs until we—" I had to stop talking. Carter was looking at me in that way that made my mouth go dry.
> "Yes, OK," answered Gustav as he disappeared.
Carter pulled me in close and kissed me. He whispered, "Yes, OK?"
I nodded as he led me through the great room and up the stairs. "Yes, OK."
Chapter 7
1198 Sacramento Street
Tuesday, February 8, 1955
Mid-morning
We were standing under the shower together when the phone rang. Carter sighed. "I guess the day had to start at some point."
Through the spray of water, I kissed him and said, "The day doesn't start until Gustav walks in here to tell us who called and why. Maybe it's not for us. Maybe it's the butcher calling about a special cut of meat he's holding for Mrs. Strakova."
Carter laughed and kissed me deeply until we heard Gustav knock on the open bathroom door. "Mr. Nick?"
I pulled away from Carter just enough to reply, "Yeah?"
"It's the boat captain on the phone for you."
Carter sighed and leaned over to turn off the water. I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around my waist, and climbed out of the enormous claw-foot tub. My father claimed it was the same size as the one President Taft had installed in the White House.
I walked into the bedroom while Carter hummed in the bathroom. Gustav picked up the phone by the bed and covered the mouthpiece with his gloved hand. "You must dry your hair and your hand before you touch. I do not wish to call the ambulance."
I looked at him with a grin and obeyed by pulling off the towel and using it to rub down my hair. When I was done, I noticed he was looking at the ceiling. I wiped both my hands carefully and took the phone from him. "Thanks, Gustav."
He nodded and fled around the bed and down the hall, closing the door behind him.
"Yeah?"
"This is O'Reilly, Mr. Williams."
"Good morning, Captain. How are you doing today? I hope you got some sleep last night."
"Not much what with talking to the police and making arrangements for Pete. I'm wondering about your plans for going to Hong Kong now that—"
"Can you come into the office?"
"Well, sir, I'm here already."
"Fine. We'll be there within thirty minutes." I looked around for my watch and couldn't find it. "What time is it?" Carter walked past me at that moment and swatted me on the ass. I turned and grinned at him. I got a wink in reply.
The Sodden Sailor (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 11) Page 6
