The Timid Traitor (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 10)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Mike nodded. "Yeah. He could get us the facts to date. And then we could decide from there."

  I looked over at Mike. "And Sam?"

  Mike smiled. "I asked him to join us because I owe him at least one lunch on the house from working him too hard. But now that I've heard the story, I'm thinking we might oughta send him over to this Madame what's-her-name and have him butter her up in French and see if he can get any more out of her."

  Sam was putting the long tentacle of something in his mouth in that moment. I wasn't sure if it was animal or vegetable, but he seemed to like it and sucked it in cheerfully. Once he'd swallowed, he grinned at me and said some long string of words in what I guessed was French.

  My reply was simple. "Same to you, bud."

  . . .

  After dinner that night, I watched as Carter set up his private gymnasium. Back in November, we'd brought in a contractor who had dug out a section under the house that was adjacent to the garage. That was finally done and, while we were at work during the day, a big truck had arrived and had delivered all the equipment that Carter had ordered through his old trainer and friend, Sugar Joe, owner of a gymnasium and Turkish bath on Mission Street, South of the Slot.

  Ferdinand, our gardener and ersatz chauffeur, was doing most of the heavy lifting with Carter. Ferdinand had been going to Sugar Joe's and working out with Carter over the last few months, and his slim runner's body was quickly becoming something much broader and thicker.

  Gustav, our butler and valet, was his boyfriend. He stood next to the freshly painted walls of the room and watched the other two move things around and decide what needed to where.

  The gymnasium had a row of small windows along one wall that looked out at Taylor Street right at street level. All of those were open to let the room air out since it still smelled of paint. At Carter's request, the painter had even applied a couple of coats of thick gray primer on the concrete floor. I wasn't sure why painting a gray floor with a gray color made sense, but it was Carter's project and, in any event, I had no plans to spend any time in the room.

  As we were watching Carter and Ferdinand unpack a crate of circular weights, Gustav turned to me and asked, "Could we, perhaps, go outside for a walk in the park?"

  I nodded. I was beginning to feel a little dizzy from the fumes and, as much as I enjoyed watching Carter grunting and lifting heavy objects with a minimum amount of clothing, I was quickly becoming bored with the work at hand.

  I said, "Hey you two lunkheads. We're going out for a walk."

  Ferdinand stopped and looked at Gustav for a long moment and then at me. Before he could say anything, Carter replied, "Fine," and then grunted as he dropped a large weight on the floor with a resounding thud.

  I led the way out the door, past our two cars, and up the ramp that led to the garage door. Pressing the big red button on the wall, I waited as the door lifted up to let us out. Once we were outside, I stood at the edge of the railing and reached around to press the button so the door would close behind us.

  We walked up to the street level and then across Sacramento Street. The sun had set long ago. The City was mostly quiet considering it was a Tuesday night. We walked half a block along Sacramento and then turned up the short steps into the park. The two lampposts on either side of the top of the steps offered a ghostly kind of light. I looked across at the Huntington Hotel and could see fog settling in around the red neon sign on their roof that faced south.

  As we began to stroll along the gravel-covered footpath, I got the ball rolling. "What's up, Gustav?"

  He stopped walking, turned, and faced me. He was a couple of inches shorter than me. I couldn't see his eyes, but his chiseled facial features were accentuated in the dim light. "Mr. Nick, you are very much in love with Mr. Carter, no?"

  I nodded.

  "I have never heard you once have any sort of argument."

  I nodded. He wasn't exactly right. We did argue but had never done so in front of him or much of anyone else, for that matter.

  "Ferdinand." He looked down. "I love him. And have for a long time. But, I think he is not loving me so much."

  "How so?" I asked.

  Kicking the gravel with the toe of his shoe, Gustav said, "Oh, it is many things, I think. Now we argue and never we did before."

  "Before when?"

  "Before we came to America. To San Francisco."

  "What else?"

  "Well, lately he is refusing to have the sex with me. He is saying he needs to save his energies."

  "Maybe that's just some sort of program that Sugar Joe has him on."

  Gustav shrugged. "It could be. He spend so much time at that place." I could hear a note of frustration in his voice.

  "Not any more. Now he'll have the gymnasium in the house to use."

  "Yes. I suppose."

  I stood and waited. The night was getting chilly, and the fog was coming down. I looked over at the hotel again and could only see a red haze above the roof. I was wearing an old coat of mine over a thin sweater and some ancient khaki trousers that dated back to before the war. Gustav only had a green sweater on along with a pair of dark trousers and seemed to be almost shivering.

  "Are you cold?" I asked.

  He shrugged again. "No. It is never cold here. Not for me."

  Putting my hand under his chin, I lifted it up. He wasn't shivering, he was crying. The tears were streaming down his face.

  Pulling him into an embrace, I whispered, "It's OK, Gustav. He loves you. I see it in his eyes when he looks at you." And I did. Every day. It was a fierce and protective love. Even just standing there, embracing the kid, I was much more afraid of Ferdinand seeing us than I was of anyone else.

  Letting him go, I said, "Let's walk. You may think this isn't cold, but I'm freezing."

  "Yes. That is good. We walk across the park and then back. Ferdinand will worry if I am gone long."

  We walked a few feet before I asked, "Does that bother you?"

  "What?"

  "That he keeps track of you like that."

  "No." He sucked in his breath as we walked across the brick circle in the middle of the park. I had heard that the City was going to install a fountain right there. It looked like someone was already at work. A rope fence had been fashioned around the area. Bricks were being pulled up from the pavement and several feet of piping were bundled together and stacked neatly next to the pile of bricks.

  As we walked around the circle, Gustav said, "You cannot imagine how frightening it was to be in love with Ferdinand when we were in gymnasium." That was the word they used for high school over in Czechoslovakia, which was where the boys had lived until a year or so earlier. "Then, when Ferdinand won his medal in Helsinki and the authorities discovered our relationship, well..." His voice petered out.

  Mrs. Kopek, our housekeeper, had told us about how Ferdinand and Gustav had been sent to a psychiatric hospital in Prague that was supposed to cure them of their homosexuality. They'd been released when they both agreed to marry the two gals, Ida and Nora, who also worked for us. Ida was becoming a talented cook in her own right, learning from Mrs. Strakova. Nora, who worked under Mrs. Kopek and kept the house clean, was a natural artist. We'd set up a studio for her in the attic. Her paintings were certainly interesting. I didn't understand modern art and Nora was a modernist, there was no doubt. Her teachers had nothing but praise for her work, which was a nice thing.

  Legally, Ferdinand and Ida were married as were Gustav and Nora. But, in reality, Ferdinand and Gustav were as much in love as Ida and Nora. As I'd gotten to know the four of them over the previous six months, I'd begun to realize how lucky Carter and I were to have them working for us. Each was a hard worker, and their love was sweet to see and to be around.

  I let Gustav continue his thought if he wanted to. As we got to the far side of the park, I asked, "So, you feel safe around him?"

  "Oh, yes, Mr. Nick. Ferdinand has saved my life twice."

  "Really?"

  "O
h, yes. Once when we were in hospital, there was a guard who liked to pick on the boys like me and make us do what we didn't want late at night. He would come into the rooms where we stayed and pull us away into empty rooms. Then he would..." He faltered again. After a moment, he continued, "I do not know the words in English but I did not like, and one night I decided I would stab this guard. But with a small knife that I found. It would not kill him. Ferdinand found out and he convince me not to stab. So, I did not. Later, we hear that the guard was the son of a party official. He worked as guard because he was punished for some reason. If I hurt him, and was discovered, they would shoot me with no questions."

  I nodded and listened as we walked back around where the fountain was going to be installed.

  "The second time was here in San Francisco. Two months, I think, before we come to work for you, I was not paying attention and crossing on the Market Street. A car almost hit me. Ferdinand pulled me back and the car drove on. So, yes, Mr. Nick. I feel very safe with my Ferdinand."

  I wondered if that explained the gardener's jealousy that I'd seen rear its head from time to time. I thought it was more than that, but it wasn't really my business so I kept my mouth shut.

  As we approached the steps that led down to the sidewalk, I stopped and asked Gustav, "Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?"

  He looked down again. "I love my Ferdinand. I do not want him to go. But, I do not know."

  "Do you want me to talk to him?"

  Looking up, I could see his eyes at that point. They were wide and alarmed. "Oh, no, Mr. Nick. Please do not. This is for me and Ferdinand."

  I nodded. "I won't say a word. I promise."

  He relaxed. "But, I do have one question for you, if is OK."

  I smiled. "Shoot."

  "I think you and Mr. Carter have much more of the sex than me and my Ferdinand. How is this?"

  I laughed and put my arm around his shoulder as we walked down the steps. "That's all about Mr. Carter. Maybe you should tell your Ferdinand that Mr. Carter's muscles just keep getting bigger and bigger and he never stops wanting the sex."

  Gustav laughed. "Yes. This I tell him."

  . . .

  As I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom, I could hear Carter laying a fire in the fireplace. Our bedroom, designed by my grandfather, had several large windows that we usually kept open even when it was cold outside. We both liked having a fire going when we went to bed, even in the summer.

  Our big four-poster bed had a thick and comfortable mattress and three blankets under a thick bedspread. The room was chilly so I expected that Carter would build a big fire in the fireplace that would have looked large in a sitting room and was immense just fifteen feet from the foot of our bed.

  Once I was done, I turned off the bathroom light and walked into the bedroom. All of the other lights were off, so the only illumination, apart from the street lights along Sacramento, was from the fire that was just in the process of catching. Carter had removed his shirt but was still in his draw-string pants. He was kneeling in front of the fire and blowing on it to get it to spread to all of the kindling he'd placed above and below the big logs.

  I leaned against one of the bedposts and watched, mesmerized. His broad back was perfectly backlit by the fire and looked heroic from where I stood. For a man who'd only ever wanted to be a fireman, he was very talented at starting fires. Or maybe that was why he was so good at doing so.

  As I watched him, Carter asked, "What did Gustav want to talk about?"

  "He's afraid Ferdinand doesn't love him anymore."

  Carter stood up, turned, and made his way to where I was standing. Pulling me into his arms, he chuckled. "As soon as y'all left, Ferdinand started peppering me with questions about our sex life. Seems like he's on some kind of new fad diet and part of it includes abstaining from sex."

  I laughed and ran my hands up and down Carter's back. "Gustav did the same thing. He asked how was it that we had all the sex all the time. I think he meant that, considering how old we are—"

  "They're only six or seven years younger than us."

  "Well, I told him to tell Ferdinand that Mr. Carter keeps getting bigger and has as much of the sex that he wants."

  With that, Carter picked me up like I was his newly-wed bride, kissed me deeply for a long moment, and then tossed me on the bed. I once again mentally thanked my grandfather for having built such a sturdy bed as Carter stripped off his pants and jumped on the bed and landed right next to me with his big Georgia grin.

  Chapter 4

  Offices of Consolidated Security, Inc.

  Thursday, January 13, 1955

  Just past 11 in the morning

  Marnie called out, "Nick! It's that Ben White for you."

  "Thanks, doll." I picked up the phone with a grin and asked, "How the hell are you, Ben?"

  "Good, Nick. How are you?"

  "Fine."

  "Congratulations on the new building. We drove past it last night once we got into town."

  "Where are you?"

  "Where else? The Mark Hopkins. Are you and Carter free for lunch?"

  "Carter is down in Ventura on a job. You probably drove right past him on the highway coming up."

  "Actually, we flew in. Can you meet us here, at the hotel, for lunch?"

  "Sure thing, kid. You want me to—"

  "We already have a reservation for noon."

  "That'll be—"

  "Gotta go, Nick. See you soon." The line went dead. I looked at the receiver in my hand before slowly setting it down in its cradle.

  . . .

  Even though the Mark Hopkins was an easy walk from the office, I decided to take a cab up the hill. Throwing the guy a folded five, I let the doorman open the door, and made my way into my favorite hotel in the City.

  As I made my way across the lobby, I looked at my watch. It was right at noon as I walked up to the maitre d'.

  "Table for White."

  The man smiled and said, "Yes, sir. They're waiting for you."

  I nodded and followed the man towards the back of the dining room to a secluded table. As I approached, Ben smiled and stood up. Once the maitre d' left, he extended his hand and I shook.

  "Good to see you, Ben."

  "You, too, Nick."

  I turned to my left and found Ben's lover, Carlo Martinelli standing with a big grin on his face. He stuck out his hand and said, "Good to see you, Nick."

  "You, too, Martinelli. How's L.A. treating you?"

  "Can't complain."

  I nodded as Ben said, "Nick? May I introduce our friend Billy Haines?"

  I reached across the table and shook hands with the seated man who offered a smile and said, "Nice to meet you, Nick."

  I replied, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Haines."

  Ben said, "Let's all sit, shall we?"

  I tried not to laugh at Ben's "high hat" talk, so I just smiled and had a seat.

  "So what brings you three to town?" I asked.

  Ben smiled slightly and said, "Let's order, and then we can talk."

  I nodded and took a cursory look at the menu. I wasn't really hungry, but I was dying of curiosity.

  . . .

  William Haines had once been a big movie star with Metro. He'd started off in the silent era and had easily made the transition to talkies. But then Mr. Mayer had asked him to get married and to stop living with his lover, whose name I couldn't remember. Billy had refused and walked away from the movies. The two had become successful interior designers and were a couple I'd thought a lot about in the last couple of years. I had very little interest in anything having to do with Hollywood, but the two of them seemed to be doing just fine.

  . . .

  After we'd ordered, I watched as Billy had a sip of coffee. He was somewhere north of 50. But he looked good. His dark hair was receding but it accentuated his silver screen good looks. His smile was handsome and lit up his face. His eyes were a lot harder. I knew the man had been through a lot and I admired
him for it. But I also figured he wasn't someone you would ever want to get on the wrong side of.

  "So, Nick. How's business?" That was Martinelli.

  "We're busier than ever. Mike has over twenty guys and gals working for him now."

  Billy leaned in and asked, "And, from what I hear, they're all in the life."

  I nodded. "Most of them and mostly."

  Billy smiled and asked, "How're the papers treating you these days?"

  I shrugged. "I don't read the papers."

  Ben, who seemed to be nervous, said, "I hate that name they're using for your building."

  "The Lipstick?" I asked.

  Ben nodded.

  I laughed. "You know me, Ben. I don't give a damn about any of that."

  As soon as I spoke, I saw a look pass from Ben to Billy and back. Right then, the waiter rolled up with the salad cart and began to ask how we wanted ours prepared.

  . . .

  Once we were eating, I looked over at Martinelli. "Looks like you're going to the gym."

  The kid nodded. "Yeah. I've got a regular place. Not as good as Sugar Joe's but I'm doing good."

  Martinelli and Carter had worked at the same firehouse for several years. Carter had started the kid on a program of what had once been called "physical culture" and had become known as "weight lifting" or "bodybuilding." Whatever the name, I always liked the results. Martinelli was almost as tall as Carter but had never built as much muscle as my husband. He filled out his tailored coat quite nicely, however.

  I glanced over at Ben and realized how good he was looking too. Living in the Southland seemed to agree with him. He was lightly tanned, like most people down there, and seemed to be full of energy. He was a former cop who'd met Martinelli through Carter and me on that infamous night in '53 when I'd told off George Hearst just above where we were sitting at the Top of the Mark.

  Ben, Martinelli, Mike, and Carter had all been fired from their jobs as policemen and firemen because of their association with me, an avowed homosexual. I'd been trying to make it up to all of them and hoped I was.