The Timid Traitor (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 10)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Pam and Diane were two of the most reliable people I knew. I began to worry about them.

  As I looked at Carter, I saw that he was waving down our waiter. The man walked over and asked, "Yes, Mr. Jones?"

  "We need our check right now. Something has come up."

  "I trust—"

  "The food is fine, as always. We just realized we need to be somewhere else right now."

  "Very good, Mr. Jones. I will bring the check right away."

  Fifteen minutes later we were all piled into the Roadmaster and heading up California Street towards Eureka Valley.

  . . .

  I pulled the car into our old driveway. The old house had been completely demolished. A new house was under construction. It was being built by Universal and was supposed to be a faithful reconstruction of a Victorian house according to some old drawings Henry had unearthed at the main library. The frame was up and I could see they were building out the floors.

  The lights at Pam and Diane's were off as we walked over to investigate. The house on the other side of theirs belonged to our friend Evelyn Key. The lights were on in her front sitting room, so we walked over there, made our way up the front steps, and rang the doorbell.

  After a minute or so, Evelyn, wrapped in a green silk kimono answered the door. She smiled at us. "What is this? Did the penguins escape from the zoo?"

  We all laughed as she invited us inside. After we had exchanged hugs, she said, "It's cold out there. Now,"—she looked right at me—"what brings you four boys over here on a night like this?"

  "Where are Pam and Diane?" I asked.

  She sighed. "Oh. They're out of town."

  I shook my head. "Out with it, Evelyn."

  "Mary!" That was her girlfriend.

  "What?" came the reply from upstairs.

  "Nick, Carter, Henry, and Robert are here."

  "Is it about Pam and Diane?"

  "Yep. Get down here. I don't want to have to do this alone."

  . . .

  Once we were settled in their sitting room, I asked, "What's going on?"

  Mary, who was in a pink flannel nightgown with her hair tied up in a scarf, leaned into Evelyn and said, "It's pretty bad but they left us with specific instructions that you are not to get involved."

  I looked around and realized everyone was staring at me. "Why?"

  "Because Pam wants to handle this on her own and she doesn't want some man to come to her rescue."

  I nodded. "Fair enough. Can you at least tell us what's happening?"

  Evelyn said, "They're up in—"

  Before she could finish, Mary put her hand over her girlfriend's mouth. "No. We promised."

  Robert leaned in. "It doesn't matter. We'll know where they are by the end of the day tomorrow. You can tell us now or we can find out on our own."

  Mary's cheeks turned red. "See! That's what Pam meant and I, for one, agree with her."

  Henry scratched his head and asked, "Why is whether Nick and Carter and Robert know where she is such a big deal?"

  Mary huffed. "Because Nick has a way of swooping in and fixing everyone else's problems when it's none of his business."

  Robert sat back in his chair and quietly said, "If Nick hadn't done that for me, I wouldn't be here with Henry."

  Henry added, "And I wouldn't be doing the work I love."

  Carter piped up. "And Henry and I would still be living horrible bachelor lives in a roach-infested cramped apartment in the Tenderloin."

  I laughed. "You guys never had roaches. I slept there half the time before we bought our place here. Remember?"

  Mary clenched her fists in frustration. "It's not that Nick isn't a swell guy. It's that Pam needs to work this out on her own. Can't you four get that through your heads?"

  I looked over at Evelyn who was nodding quietly. I sighed and said, "I solemnly promise not to interfere unless asked to. OK?"

  I looked at Mary who nodded and replied, "Thank you, Nick."

  "Now." I looked at Mary with the most serious face I could muster. "Is anyone dead or about to be murdered or under threat of being tortured by those two little terrors that they call pets?"

  That made Mary laugh. She seemed to relax a little. "No, as far as I know, that's not the case. This is all family drama."

  I nodded. "So, they're up in Coeur d'Alene, then. Right?"

  Evelyn sighed. "Right."

  "What happened?"

  Mary said, "Last Sunday night, Pam got a call from her older brother, George. Their parents were being threatened with seizure by the county for back taxes. Only thing is that they don't owe back taxes. They've always paid on time. But, their house is right on the lake up there and in a prime spot where someone wants to build a casino."

  "Mob?" I asked.

  "Yes," replied Evelyn with a warning look on her face aimed at me.

  Robert asked, "Mob in Idaho?"

  I nodded. "They're in lots of places. It's not always obvious."

  Carter asked, "So, did they go up there on Monday?"

  Mary nodded. "Yes. They left the first thing on Monday morning. Diane called from the airport in Boise while they were waiting for their last flight and asked us to take care of the dogs—"

  "Where are they?" asked Carter. They loved him and he loved them.

  Evelyn answered, "They're upstairs. I'm surprised they haven't come down to see you yet."

  Carter grinned. "Do you mind if I go up—"

  Standing up, Evelyn said, "Not at all. I'll go with you." I could tell the conversation was making her very uncomfortable. I was sure Carter had seen the same thing and would find out what was really going on.

  As they walked upstairs, I asked Mary, "How're Pam and Diane making out?"

  She folded her arms and shook her head. "I'm under strict orders not to tell you."

  I sighed. "Fine. Then, how are you?"

  . . .

  After fifteen minutes, Carter came downstairs alone. Our conversation had moved into small talk. Mary and Robert were chatting casually about places in the U.S. they wanted to visit someday while Henry and I sat and listened. I hadn't made a move because, after Carter and Evelyn didn't come back down in the first two or three minutes, I knew something was up.

  Carter said, "Mary, we're going to leave. Thanks so much for filling us in." Robert, Henry, and I stood while Mary sat on the sofa and nodded quietly.

  "Did she tell you the other thing?"

  Carter nodded. He walked over, leaned down, and gave Mary a kiss on the cheek. "You know how to reach us if there's anything you need."

  She nodded but didn't get up. We all made our way outside and walked over to the car in silence.

  Once we were on our way, I asked, "What did Evelyn say?"

  He replied, "She has cancer."

  . . .

  Once we were in bed that night, neither of us had much to say. Carter had laid a large fire and we both sat up against the headboard. He held me close. We watched the flames as they danced and listened as the wood cracked and popped.

  Finally, I said what I couldn't get out of my head. "I don't know what to do."

  Carter pulled me in close but didn't say anything.

  I sighed. "You know I want to get on a plane right now and fly up to Idaho and take care of Pam's mess. And I want to wake Marnie up and have her find the best doc in the world who can make Evelyn better."

  Carter leaned over and kissed me gently on the cheek. "You're not gonna do the first one because I don't want Pam to kill you and I got the impression that was on her mind. According to what Evelyn said, at least."

  "I don't like feeling helpless. It was different during the war when we ran out of supplies. Or when Mike and I were living on his salary while I tried to find work. There was nothing to do but just bite the bullet and keep going on. But this is different. Pam's parents shouldn't have to—"

  "You've never asked me why it took me so long to buy a car."

  That stopped me cold. He was right. Carter and Henry
had made their way to California from Georgia in an old Ford that Carter sold as soon as they got to town. That was back in '39. We'd met in '47. I didn't tell him about my trust until the summer of '48 when I couldn't stand not to tell him. And that was only because he'd begun to suspect I was lying about something.

  I wasn't trying to protect the dough from some fortune hunter. Truth be told, I was ashamed to be that rich. I'd become more accustomed to it since those early days.

  We'd always shared our one car until six months earlier, in the summer of '54, when my car was pretty much totaled by a wannabe mobster and his brother. The next day, Carter had bought the Mercury that was in the garage two stories below our bedroom. And the day after that, I'd bought the Roadmaster that sat next to it. And Carter was looking around to buy a little sports car just for driving up and down the coast but he hadn't found one that he liked and that he could fit in.

  "Why then?" I asked.

  "Because I didn't need one."

  I turned and looked at him. "What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?"

  He reached down and poked me in the ribs. I yelped. "Be nice, Boss, or you're gonna get it."

  "OK. Fine. But, can you explain to me what you're really saying here?"

  "Lemme ask you a question."

  "Shoot."

  "Why didn't you buy one for me on my birthday some year?"

  I looked at the fire. That was a good question. And the answer was complex.

  "You know how I was about giving gifts before."

  He nodded. "I do. And Christmas before last, when you suddenly decided you could spend money on presents for everyone, don't you think you went a little overboard?"

  I shrugged. "I guess." I had spent one glorious afternoon on a spending spree in a way that I'd never done before that.

  "Look. I'm just saying that before that Christmas, you were only giving things to people who needed them." He listed off people we'd both helped in the past few years. And he was right. "And what about the care packages?"

  "What about them?"

  "The whole point, and I entirely agree, is to give money to people without them knowing who it came from. Why do you do that?"

  I sighed because I suddenly understood what he was trying to say. "Because I don't want them to feel obligated."

  He turned on his side and began to run his hand over my chest. "Right. And I think that's why it took you a whole year to tell me about the trust. You didn't want me to feel—"

  "No. Not true. That was pure selfishness on my part."

  Carter smiled in his sweet southern way. "You were embarrassed, right?"

  I nodded.

  "Why?"

  "Because of how, back in the 30s, my ass of a father forbade us to give those starving men any money. How he told us that there were plenty of jobs and how they were just lazy. Neither Janet nor me bought that for a minute."

  "You didn't want to be rich, did you?"

  I shook my head. I wanted a Camel but my pack was in my coat over on the sofa and I didn't want to get out of bed.

  "You following me here?"

  I nodded. "Yeah. I can see Pam's point of view. She wants to be the one who helps her family. And, if anyone can do it, she can."

  Carter reached over and kissed me on the cheek. "Damn right she can."

  "But what about Evelyn? Why can't we find the best doctors in the world?"

  Carter sighed. "Because there's no good treatment for what she has. And she only has a few months."

  "What is it?"

  "She wouldn't tell me, but I got the feeling it had something to do with her, you know, lady parts."

  "And they're sure—"

  "There are things they can do. But she doesn't want to do any of them."

  That hit harder than anything else.

  Carter continued, "She wants to end with a bang. And on her own terms." That sounded like Evelyn. But it still hurt like hell. "But I did make her agree to one thing."

  "What?"

  "To let us take her and Mary and whoever else she wants to the house on Kauai when she decides she's ready to go."

  I nodded. That, at least, was something we could do.

  Chapter 10

  Offices of Consolidated Security, Inc.

  Monday, January 17, 1955

  Around 10 in the morning

  Sam walked into my office with Mike towering behind him. Without saying a word, they both sat down across from my desk, took off their hats, and sighed. I almost laughed because it was like watching a Mutt and Jeff act, it was so perfectly synchronized.

  "What's up?" I asked.

  Sam squirmed in his chair. "Annie's missing."

  I sat up. "What?"

  Mike ran his hand through his hair. "I had Lester keeping an eye on her place. She must have figured it out because she gave him the slip."

  I nodded and waited. I had a feeling there was more. It wasn't a good feeling.

  Sam sighed. "I think she knows where Razzie is." Mr. Laframboise's last name translated to "raspberry." Sam had given him that nickname. Although that made it easier for the rest of us when we were talking about the man, it wasn't a friendly gesture on Sam's part. I was worried that Sam was getting too close to Annie.

  I looked at Mike. "Do you have anyone covering him?"

  Mike shook his head. "Rostenkowski told me he would handle it and for us to stay out of it. That's why I was able to put Lester on Annie. He would have covered..." Mike couldn't pronounce the man's last name any more than I could.

  Sam piped up and said, "Razzie," with a grim smile.

  "Have you called—"

  Mike interrupted me with some heat. "Yes, Nick. I just got off the goddam phone with Rostenkowski. He blew me off." He pointed out me. "I fuckin' know how to do my job."

  "I know, Mike. Sorry."

  He huffed and ran his hand through his hair again. "No, I'm sorry. I'm worried about this, that's all."

  "Me, too."

  . . .

  The three of us piled into my Roadmaster and headed over to where Razzie lived. According to what Walter had dug up, he lived in a little one-room place on Eddy Street, between Jones and Leavenworth. As I drove by, I noticed that the five-story building was for sale. It had seen better days. We drove past. Through the rear-view mirror, I saw a police car pull up in front. Two cops got out and made their way into the lobby. I mentioned that to Mike.

  "Swing back around and park about fifty feet behind them, if you can."

  I did just that although we ended up just right behind the patrol car. So that we didn't look too conspicuous, Mike and Sam got out and walked across the street. Mike went into a cigar store while Sam placed himself inside a phone booth and began to pretend to make a call. I pulled my hat down and made it look like I was having a snooze.

  After about ten minutes, the two cops exited the building and got into the patrol car. It appeared that they were calling in a report. Sam made his way across the street and walked up to the driver's side door. He leaned down and began to gesticulate wildly. I could only catch bits and pieces of what he was saying, but it sounded like he was acting like a lost tourist with a thick accent.

  I glanced over at the cigar shop as Mike walked out with a box under his arm and a big smile on his face. He stretched for a moment, looked at his watch, and began walking east on Eddy. After about fifty feet, he crossed the street and doubled back.

  Right about then, Sam shrugged dramatically, stood up, and walked in the same direction that Mike was approaching from. I was amused to see Mike nonchalantly hand Sam his cigars at the moment the two passed each other.

  As Mike got closer, the cops started their car and pulled into the light traffic that was passing by. They slowly cruised up to Jones, made a left at the corner, and were gone.

  I got out of the car in time to see Sam come running back in our direction. I met Mike in front of the apartment building at the same time as Sam.

  "Let's get up there," was the first thing Sam sa
id.

  "What?" asked Mike.

  Sam shook his head. "His apartment's been ransacked. The manager locked the place up. They're going on another call. A sergeant is on his way." Sam was raring to go.

  Mike put his big hand on Sam's chest. "No. You stay here and keep an eye out for that sergeant. I'm gonna find the manager. Nick will do the breaking and entering."

  . . .

  Ransacked wasn't really the right word to describe what had happened in the small third-floor apartment. Turned out, turned over, gone through, and plundered. Those were better descriptions. Every pillow had been slashed. The mattress on the Murphy bed had been shredded. Every drawer in the bureau had been turned out. The clothes in the closet had been pulled off their hangars and scattered on the floor. It was nearly impossible to walk around without stepping on something. I moved as gingerly as I could but didn't want to disturb anything. It was police business. But, one thing was for sure. Annie didn't do the ransacking. Someone else had. For my money, it was a professional. But I also had the thought that it was overkill.

  As I carefully closed the door behind me, I could hear a man coming up the stairs. He was having a difficult time breathing. I waited at the landing until he made it to the top. He took a moment to catch his breath. He put his left hand on the banister. I noticed a long white scar on the back of his hand as he held on. I also noticed he was tall and stooped. This was obviously Razzie.

  Looking at me with a weak grin, he said with a French accent, "I have the trouble with the lungs."

  I nodded and pulled my hat down as I began to move slowly down the stairs. Once I was on the landing between the third and second floors, I stopped to listen to how he reacted. I heard the scrape of his key being inserted into the lock and then the sound of the door opening.

  He whispered something to himself that I didn't understand. Then I heard him hit the floor.

  I ran back up the stairs and over to where he was clutching his heart and wincing in pain. He looked up at me and tried to speak. I knelt down and said, "Don't say anything. Just breathe."