The Timid Traitor (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 10)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Once he was gone, she said, "You know, I'm always reading scripts. I'm very choosy about the roles I take. I have a couple you might want to have a look at." She drained her glass and leered at me very briefly. "Back at the house."

  I nodded as the waiter returned with my card and the bill for me to sign. Once that was done, I stood and waited for her to do the same, which seemed to annoy her.

  . . .

  By the time we pulled into the driveway, she was snoozing quietly in the passenger seat. I turned off the car, quietly slid out from behind the wheel, and walked up to knock on the door. Before I could do so, it opened and the maid came scurrying out.

  Without either of us saying a word, I lifted her out of the car and carried her into the house and up the stairs. Once we were in her large bedroom, I helped the maid stretch her out on the massive bed. As we did, she came to and looked up at me. "Thanks, Nick, for taking care of that sicko bastard."

  I just nodded without replying. Retracing my steps, I quickly made my way through the bedroom, along the hallway, and down the stairs.

  As I was about to walk out the front door, the maid came running down the stairs behind me. I turned as she said, "Thank you, sir."

  I smiled and reached for my wallet. Pulling out five hundreds, I handed them to her. "For the groceries and the gardener."

  With wide eyes, she nodded, stuffed them in her apron, and put her hand on my arm for a long moment. A sound from upstairs sent her scurrying back up the staircase and, with that, I left the house, hoping never to return.

  Chapter 8

  4643 Los Feliz Blvd, Apt. 17-A

  Los Angeles, Cal.

  Friday, January 14, 1955

  Just before 8 that evening

  I handed the spoon to Martinelli who nodded. "It's good. You sure you're not Italian, Nick?"

  I smiled. "That's the best compliment I've ever gotten."

  The big man put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Can I talk to you about something?"

  I stirred the sauce one last time and then put the lid back on it. I was taking advantage of the fact that I could do some cooking of my own. Since we had a famous chef working for us, I rarely got to cook my favorites, like lasagna. I'd asked Ben if I could use his kitchen to make dinner and he'd happily agreed. He and Carter were sitting on their back porch. Carter had a beer and Ben had a martini. Martinelli and I were both drinking red wine in the kitchen.

  I turned the gas on under the big pot of water that would boil the lasagna noodles and turned around to give Martinelli my full attention. "What's up?"

  He took a deep breath. He had obviously been practicing whatever he was about to say. "I need a job, Nick. I'm going nuts here."

  I nodded and waited.

  He began to pace the floor. "I'm just so much arm candy for Ben. He's the one who's making contacts and meeting people. All I'm doing is going to Muscle Beach and the gym." He stopped in mid-pace and looked at me.

  I walked over and took his hand. "Are you still in love with Ben?"

  A tear came down his cheek. "Until I die. I just gotta find something to do."

  I leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "Well, Mike and I have already talked about it. We want to open an office down here."

  He stepped back in surprise. "You do?"

  "Yeah. And I think you and Micky should be the ones to get it up and running. He's a native and seems to know what he's doing."

  "Damn, Nick. That'd be the best thing ever." He smiled and let out a very deep sigh. With just those few words, his whole demeanor had changed.

  "I'm gonna suggest that Mike come down here for a couple of days and get things rolling. But, he's in charge. We all know that, right?"

  Martinelli grinned. "Yes, sir. We do, indeed." He knew that I was the one who needed reminding, not him.

  . . .

  As we sat around the small dining table and ate, I filled everyone in on my adventures that day. The only thing I fudged was the fact that I still had the film. I'd taken it out of the trunk of Ben's car earlier that day and stowed it in my valise.

  Once I was done, Ben asked, "You think she knew who it was all along?"

  I nodded. "Yeah."

  "Why didn't she just tell us?"

  I shrugged. "Who knows. But, don't go to Billy and tell him that it's handled. Let him come to you. I'm not sure we did any favors for her." I took a swig from my beer.

  Carter looked at me. "You think she's broke?"

  I nodded. "Yeah."

  Ben said, "Billy said she's planning on getting married."

  "Who to?" asked Carter.

  "The guy who runs Pepsi. I don't know his name."

  . . .

  Once we were finished eating and everyone was settled in the living room, I walked back to the kitchen and pulled out the bottle of champagne I'd picked up earlier and had successfully hidden from everyone.

  I removed the metal cage from the cork and grabbed a towel. Walking back into the sitting room, I said, "I have some big news for everyone."

  Ben looked up at me with a slowly spreading smile. "Nick, did you—"

  I nodded and popped the cork off the bottle. Everyone jumped to their feet and began to pepper me with questions. I took a swig first and then handed it Ben who had some. He passed it over to Martinelli who handed it to Carter who grinned and asked, "What have you done, Nicholas Williams?"

  I pulled the option out of my coat pocket and handed it to Ben. "This."

  He opened it up and read it. His mouth dropped open in surprise. He didn't seem happy. "You're kidding, right?"

  I shook my head. "Nope. That's what we talked about. There's your first picture, kid."

  He stepped back and looked down at the paper again. "I don't know, Nick."

  Martinelli walked up and looked over his lover's shoulder. After he read the first part, he frowned at me. "You think this is a good idea?"

  I nodded. "I do."

  Ben looked right at me. "But, Nick. This... This..."

  "Is cursed?"

  He nodded. "Yes."

  I laughed. "No. That cabana at the Riviera del Pacifico might be haunted. A stretch of highway down in North San Diego County might be haunted. But that movie ain't cursed. It was waiting for you."

  Ben shook his head.

  Martinelli said, "I don't think—"

  "Look at it this way. You're gonna come on the scene as the brash young kid from San Francisco who's taking Hollywood by storm. You'll hire some of those blacklisted writers down in Mexico. You'll get a better script. You'll hire some up and coming talent, the cuter, the better. And, before you know it, you'll be the talk of the town."

  Ben just stood there, in shock, and shook his head at me. "This isn't what I meant, Nick. I wanted—"

  I walked up to the kid, grabbed him by the shirt, and pulled him in close. "You wanted what? What?"

  Carter pulled on my arm. "Nick, back off."

  I wasn't angry but, after a year and a half, I had just about had it with the whining snot. "Look, kid, I just handed you fifty thousand bucks. I'm prepared to give you a lot more." I let go of his shirt and backed up a step. "The reason is because I believe in you. But you gotta step up to the plate. It's like what Mike said to you back in '53. The worst thing that could happen is you'll sit around all day making money. But this is different. This is where your heart is." I put my finger on his chest. "I know it. I can smell it. You're gonna knock this one outta the park. You know how movies work."

  He just stood there, looking at me. I could tell he was wavering between shock, outrage, and relief. I hoped he would settle for relief, but I wasn't sure.

  I moved up into his face, put my arms around him, and kissed him soundly on the lips. I put my right hand behind his head and pulled it in close. Whispering in his ear, I said, "You're gonna make this happen. I really do believe in you, Ben."

  He'd been stiff up until that moment. As I whispered, he relaxed and began to cry. I looked up at Martinelli, who'd been hovering very clos
e, probably getting ready to slug me. I let go of Ben and stepped back. The big man reached over, pulled his lover in close, and began to kiss him deeply and passionately.

  Carter reached around my chest and pulled me away bodily from the other two. Putting his hand on my neck, he marched me into their guest bedroom and closed the door.

  Shoving me down on the bed, he stood there for a moment and looked at me. He then got down on the bed next to me and pinned my arms above my head. He looked into my eyes and said, "That was the most fucking amazing thing I've ever seen you do, Nick Williams. I love you so much right now, I just wanna—"

  . . .

  The next morning, Ben and Martinelli drove us over the hills to Burbank to catch an early flight home on P.S.A. Once Ben pulled the big Chrysler up to the terminal, I said, "Don't forget. Call Kenneth Wilcox on Monday and get him started with setting up a company. Go talk to Freddie and figure out your next steps. And, Ben."

  He turned around in the driver's seat and looked at me. He was positively glowing. "What, Nick?" he asked with a grin.

  "Kill the people."

  He nodded. "I will."

  I reached forward and put my hand on Martinelli's shoulder. "And, you."

  He put his hand on mine. "What?"

  "Be good to this kid. He deserves it. You both do."

  Martinelli nodded and said, "I will."

  . . .

  Once we were seated in the DC-4, Carter said, "Good work, Boss."

  I shook my head. "No. There's a loose end. I'm worried about it." Even after our passionate end to the night, I had been awakened by a terrible dream around 3 in the morning that I couldn't remember. But I immediately thought of Peter Markinson once I was awake. And I hadn't been able to get the man off my mind ever since.

  "What?" asked Carter.

  Before I could answer, the stewardess came by to make sure our seat belts were fastened. Once she was gone, I said, "I kept the movie."

  "What movie?" asked Carter.

  As the plane began to taxi to the runway, I said, "The one I said I destroyed."

  Carter turned in his seat and looked at me. "You did what?"

  I nodded. "I know. I just couldn't get rid of it. I don't know why. It's like Taylor's little black book that I found in Ensenada. I don't want to read it but I can't get rid of it."

  Carter patted my hand, which I suddenly noticed was gripping the armrest. "Just put it in the safe with the black book. When the time is right, you'll know what to do."

  I nodded as the plane began to pick up speed and lift off.

  "But what about Markinson?"

  "What about him?"

  "That's the thing. I feel like there was something I forgot to do and I can't remember what it was."

  Chapter 9

  1198 Sacramento Street

  San Francisco, Cal.

  Sunday, January 16, 1955

  Half past 8 in the morning

  The sound of Carter closing the bedroom windows woke me up. I sat up in bed, gathered the covers around me, and watched as he put a couple of logs in the fireplace and got them started.

  Once the fire was going, he jumped back in bed and ran his cold hands over my warm belly. It tickled. He wrapped himself around me and began to gently bite my ear, one of his favorite things to do. After a few moments, he whispered in my ear, "We need to talk."

  "What about?" I whispered back.

  "How you hate the new building."

  I tried to pull away from him but he held me tight. And, as muscled as he was, I really had no choice but to let him. He'd proven to me a number of times that, when he wanted me in place like that, there was nowhere for me to go. Not that I really wanted to ever leave his arms but I wasn't particularly ready to talk about that subject.

  "How could you do that to Henry?"

  I sighed. I was surprised it took six days for Carter to say that to me. I knew from the look on his face when I said what I said that Henry was his first concern. And he wasn't wrong.

  "It's not that I hate it—"

  "Then why did you say you did?"

  I squirmed a little. He squeezed more tightly.

  "You know how I am about getting the truth out of people. You've seen me do it."

  "I just miss our old life, that's all."

  He opened his arms and began to run his hands up and down my back. "See? That's all I wanted you to say."

  I put my head on his shoulder and breathed in deeply. "I want things to be like they were. You working at the firehouse and coming home smelling like smoke and me cooking dinner for you. I miss our house and that Buick Super and never really ever having a clean house because we were too tired or too busy humping."

  "I know. I miss it, too."

  He kissed me gently under my right eye. It was one of my favorite places for him to kiss me and I had no idea why.

  "Can I mention at least one thing that has gotten better since we moved in here?"

  "Sure." I wasn't sure I could be convinced of anything. I wanted to whine a little longer.

  "Your father is an actual human being now, capable of joy and love."

  "That was all you and Lettie. If you hadn't—"

  "No, Nick. Listen to me."

  "OK."

  "Your father was being crushed by this house. It really is a big pile of rocks, just like you said. Your father lived here out of obligation and because it protected him from the rest of the world. Now he's in that apartment across the park and he's alive. He's in love. And he's doing good things with his life. He's becoming like you."

  I could feel the tears start to come to my eyes. What Carter had said hit me in the heart and did make some sense out of all the loss we'd suffered the summer before. It was as if the fire that took away everything actually made it possible for everyone to have more than any of us thought possible. And it had nothing to do with money or possessions. It had to do with love.

  There was more love in my life on that chilly January morning than I had ever thought possible. It occurred to me that we had outgrown the house on Hartford, as cozy as it had been. I missed it and probably would forever, but somehow, in thinking about how my father had changed, it made much more sense and seemed worth it.

  Carter pulled me in tightly again. "Now, let's talk about Henry."

  "What?"

  "You know he considers you his brother."

  "And I feel the same."

  "Then why don't you call your brother on the phone and get him and his husband over here for dinner tonight? And, I want you to tell him every damn thing you love about that building, even if you have to make shit up."

  "Yes, sir," was the only thing I could say in reply. He was right. I hadn't really told Henry how proud I was of him. And I was.

  Carter put his hand under my chin and said, "Good boy."

  . . .

  Sunday night was one of the nights off for the staff, Mrs. Strakova included, so we decided to invite Henry and Robert to dinner at the Top of the Mark. I figured swank above the fog was the best place to talk about his skyscraper anyway. We all decided to wear black tie.

  The doorbell rang at half past 6. Carter and I had just come down the stairs from getting dressed as it did. Since Gustav and Frederick were at the movies, I answered the door. Henry and Robert both looked handsome in their tuxedos as they walked in. They were both wearing overcoats with matching cream-colored silk scarves.

  "Brr," said Robert. "It's cold outside. It's this wind." He shivered. "It's so damp, it goes through your bones."

  As Carter walked up, I asked, "Ready?"

  Henry smiled and said, "Sure. Thanks for the dinner invitation. Neither of us wanted to cook, so this is perfect."

  I took Henry's arm and led him to the door, out onto the porch, and down the steps to Sacramento Street. Robert and Carter brought up the rear as we walked through the park over to California.

  I asked, "How are you, Henry?"

  He nodded. "Good. I've been getting some interview requests from all over
the world about your building. Neil and I were interviewed on a television panel show on Friday night." Neil Zorbach was the architect who'd executed Henry's vision of a perfectly square building sitting on the compass points in the middle of Market Street as it cut across the off-compass grid at odd angles.

  "How'd that go?" We made a left on California and walked in tandem with a slow-moving cable car.

  "Oh, there were a few jokes about The Lipstick building. But, for the most part, it was a good discussion. Neil has been getting some calls about designing similar buildings in places like New York and Seattle. We've decided to join our firms together. We haven't come up with a name yet, but I think it will be a good fit."

  By then, we were at the corner of Mason and just across the street from the Mark Hopkins. As we waited for the light to change, I turned to Henry and said, "I'm so proud of you, Henry."

  He looked at me and smiled. "Thanks, Nick. I know it's probably too modern—"

  "No. It's perfect. It's taken me a few days to get adjusted to it, but now I couldn't be more happy with what you did."

  "And, Pam. Don't forget her."

  The light changed, we crossed California, and made our way into the hotel and up to the restaurant in the sky.

  . . .

  As Carter was sawing into his well-done Porterhouse, he asked Henry, "Why weren't Pam and Diane at the grand opening?" Pam was the owner of Universal Construction, the firm that had built 600 Market Street. Diane was a school teacher. They were what Carter referred to as a "lady couple." And they lived next door to the house we used to own on Hartford over in Eureka Valley.

  Henry frowned slightly. "I don't know. I talked to Diane about this time last Sunday. She said they were both planning on being there. But then, when they didn't show up, I was surprised."

  "Have you talked to them since?" I asked.

  Henry shook his head. "No. As a matter of fact, I've called their house a couple of times. Pam and I were supposed to meet this last week to talk about another project we're working on, and she sent that Troyer instead." He was her right-hand man, having worked for the previous president of the company before he was murdered the summer before. When all that happened, I had bought Universal and then gave Pam a forty-nine percent stake in it. We'd made sure to keep Troyer on board since he had the most experience with the firm.