Built for Trouble

by Al Fray

It was my private point of no return, and I wasn’t going to head back. Up until now I could stay clear, could be pure and back out, but once I stepped ashore with the money I—but the hell with it. The dough was mine. I’d earned it, and I wasn’t going to chicken out on it. When the small boat was almost to the concrete rim of the lake, I tapped Nola on the shoulder.

  “Swing it around, then back down,” I said. She nodded, glancing quickly at Joe Lamb, and then the tiny craft was moving slowly backward toward the concrete embankment. When it was a couple of feet off, I stepped out on the deck, jumped ashore, and tossed the return chit into the cockpit.

  “Run it back,” I said, “and I’ll call you later, Nola. Have that dough on tap.” As the boat moved away I hurried up the embankment, piled into the rented Chevy, and wheeled away. At Clinton I swung left, then left again on Alvarado, went down to Wilshire Boulevard and turned right. I drove west, slower now, and when I got out to Westwood Village I pulled up in front of the Bank of America. It took a few minutes to rent a safe-deposit box, and before I dumped the cash into safe keeping I made a count. The dough was all there—a cool eight grand. I was perspiring freely when I left the bank, and even though I channeled the windwings so a double stream of air washed over me, I was still sweating when I returned the U-Drive job downtown and caught a cab back to Echo Park. We circled and came in slowly from the north side. The MG was nowhere in sight, but something else caught my eye.

  Red hair. Rust-colored hair and a girl alone in a year-old blue Plymouth. The girl was looking down toward my Ford against the curb and a block ahead I dropped back in the blind corner of the cab as we rolled past, then issued new orders.

  “Just keep going,” I said quickly. “Don’t stop at the Ford; I’ve changed my mind.” He nodded and made a turn onto Sunset. “Drive up a few blocks, then let me out,” I said.

  When I’d paid him off I walked back toward my car, wondering about the redhead. They wanted to know where I lived, of course, but what good did they hope that would do? Barge in with a gun? Force the return of their homemade aqualung? Hardly. They couldn’t hope to make me go with them to the post office and stand by me while I—

  But maybe they hadn’t quite bought my tale about mailing the thing around town. Maybe I still had a job of selling to do. If so, there was no time like the present to start. I got into my car, lapped the park once slowly and saw that the Plymouth was fastened on a good two blocks back but making all the turns. I headed for home. Slow. I didn’t want to lose Carol Taylor. When I drove into the parking strip for my building, I went carefully up the walk and purposely took my time getting the key into the lock. Fire Top rolled past before I let myself in, and then I stood at the curtains and watched the Plymouth cruise back past the building a second time.

  When I went out for dinner I stopped in at the dime store, bought a big roll of heavy wrapping paper, a ball of strong twine, a folder of stickers that said First Class Mail, and a booklet of gummed labels used for addressing packages. Back in my place again, I tore off two each from the first-class stickers and address labels and burned them. Then I cut a jagged edge into the wrapping paper, loosened the end of the ball of twine, and dumped the works into a bureau drawer.

  Now I was ready for inspection.

  Company didn’t descend on me by seven so I went out to the corner phone booth and called Nola.

  “The money is there,” she said, “but my car burned a bearing and I can’t drive down to get it. Unless you want to take me, we’ll have to wait, but I was hoping you’d be able to go. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about, Eddie, without Joe Lamb listening in.”

  I almost laughed into the phone. Of course Joe Lamb wouldn’t be there. He’d be here. Here at my apartment going over every corner, every hole in the wall. And Mr. Baker had suddenly become Eddie. Some schmooey!

  “Well, hell, if it’s the only way to get my dough, I’m for it,” I said, rolling with the gag. “When can we go? San Diego, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. In half an hour.”

  “Half an hour,” I echoed. “Suppose I pick you up in front of the apartment house. All right?”

  “That will be fine,” she said, and then the phone clicked.

  Eddie, I thought. Well I’ll be a sad bastard if this isn’t going to be a king-sized laugh. Eddie, yet.

  Chapter 8

  IT’S ONLY A LITTLE OVER TWO HOURS to San Diego, just a short night’s work. I cleaned up a bit and when I dried my face on the towel and caught myself in the mirror, I grinned and shook my head. Remember one thing, I told myself sternly, this dame is an actress. And a good one. So don’t eat everything she hands you; just ride with the tide and keep your eye on the shore.

  It would be nice to know how I stood, whether or not someone really went over the apartment while I was away, so I thought about standing an envelope on the floor and against the door so it would fall when they came in. But there were two doors and anyone who came in the back would see the gimmick against the front. It was important to me that Joe Lamb and company believe their little search party to be a surprise affair. I glanced around the small living room for some other bit of business, then pulled out the drawer where I’d stashed my props to indicate I had packages to wrap and mailing to do. It took only a moment to arrange the loose end from the ball of twine over the top of the gummed address tags, the tip of the string ending right in the o of the from printed upper left, and then I eased the drawer shut. I was all set on the home front.

  On the way to Nola’s I gassed up the Ford and checked the tires, then drove on over to Los Feliz. She was standing just outside the big glass door when I came along and walked toward the curb as I stopped. I got out to swing the door; there just wasn’t any other way to treat something that looked like she did. Nola Norton was strictly the pick of the sultan’s harem. She had made some concession to travel—a hairband to keep that long black hair out of her face if we put the top down, a light coat carried over her arm—but she hadn’t gone to slacks or low shoes. Her dress was light and summery, a V-neck job in printed nylon with just a hint of bra showing through the material; the contour itself was considerably more than a hint. The green belt around her trim waist matched the hairband above.

  “You’re right on time,” she said, and handed me her coat. She didn’t smile; I was being conned, but Nola Norton wasn’t going to be too obvious about the thing. I grinned and folded her coat on the back seat, then ushered her into the front.

  “I suppose,” she said, as we drove toward the freeway, “I will be billed for transportation costs.” She looked at me, a smile in her eyes now.

  “Not at all. I make enough out of the business to pay these small incidental expenses.”

  The smile in her eyes spread to the lips. She shook her head. “You’re something of a puzzle, Eddie,” she said lightly. “I never quite know just how to take you.”

  “I’m in business. I didn’t ask to be here but that’s the way the waves washed in. I think I explained all that yesterday, so let’s not beat it to death with a ball bat. How to take me? Like any other business man; that way we’ll get along fine.”

  She looked up at me through long eyelashes. “I’ve known quite a few business men, Eddie, and they were all different. All different.”

  “You pay your money and you take your chance. Speaking of money, you aren’t stalling? It’s ready and waiting down in San Diego?”

  “Of course. I had some cash in the bank there and—but why would I be stalling?”

  “You wanted to talk on the way,” I reminded her.

  “Oh, that. I—later, I guess. I’d rather wait until you’ve been paid.”

  “It’s your party,” I said. We hit the freeway and sped south, whipped off at the temporary end, cut down to Compton and caught another freeway. We were a couple of hours getting to the outskirts of San Diego, and I’d been weighing my course of procedure all the way. I couldn’t act like a meathead—I’d have to show her I was watching out for Eddie Baker
and that I didn’t trust her any farther than I could swim with a blacksmith’s anvil. But I had to stop just short of catching her off base; it was almost a lead-pipe cinch that she was bringing my two grand down with her and would simply hand it over after she came out of her dad’s place.

  “What’s your address?” I asked, and took my eyes off of the road long enough to watch her. A thin smile of triumph crossed her face as she rattled off a street and number and then said something about telling me where to turn so we wouldn’t get caught in traffic. She had obviously expected the question. At the next light she called a turn, then put a hand on my arm and started to soften me up with those eyes.

  “You won’t mind if I run out to the house alone, will you, Eddie?”

  “Why?” I slowed the car in order to watch her more closely. I’d figured there would be some kind of hocus pocus but she was going to have to come up with a pretty good pitch before I parted with the Ford. “Why can’t I drive you out to the house?”

  “Well, my father read all about the rescue and he thinks it was legit, of course, and he’s not an idiot. He’d certainly wonder if maybe something wasn’t a little odd, my showing up with you.”

  “Okay. I’ll drop you at the curb and come back for you.”

  “That wouldn’t work either. He’s—they’re strictly old country, in some ways. Dad would hit the ceiling if I came down with someone and didn’t even bring them in to meet my people. He’d be insulted. It’s bad enough as things are; I have to slip in after dark, now that they live here in San Diego, where I—well, you can see how it would be.”

  “Sure,” I said, but I wasn’t sold. It all added up to her wanting my car. Why? What the hell was she going to do with it? I’d be a fool to have cached the package of evidence in the Ford. Surely she didn’t think I was that simple. I drove a couple of more blocks before I decided that whatever it was she was trying to do, I’d be better off letting the ball roll and watching where the hell it went. I couldn’t give in too easy, but I was going to bend eventually.

  “You sure you’re leveling with me, baby?” I asked.

  “Of course I am. All I want to do is borrow this long enough to stop in and get the money. Please, let’s do this my way. After all, you’ve got us so tight we can’t afford any games. Isn’t that true?”

  “I like to weigh these things,” I said shortly. We came to the street where she claimed her old man lived. I passed it by, then drove to the next business area, pulled up to a pool parlor, and got out. “I’ll watch a few games of snooker. Come by and toot the horn—how long will it be, roughly?”

  “Between thirty minutes and an hour, if it’s all right with you. I can’t run in and pick up the money and dash right out, but I’ll make it as short as I can. Will that be okay?”

  “I’ll be waiting,” I said, and went into the pool room. As the Ford pulled away from the curb, I eased back out into the sheltered area and peeked into the street. Nola passed the first three intersections, made a left turn at the fourth, and disappeared.

  A couple of pool hall bums were drinking beer at the front counter. They’d caught my performance. They were grinning as I came back inside, and I laughed a little myself, then pulled out my fold of bills and slid a five off the top.

  “Suppose there’s anyone in the house who needs a fin? I want to hire a man with a car for about ten minutes’ work.”

  “Like what?” The nearest guy set his beer down and wiped his mouth on a sleeve of his blue-work shirt.

  “I loaned my car to the frill,” I said, scratching my chin. “You know how it is, some of these dames are out to cross a guy every time. I’d like to have someone see if she’s at a certain address.” I scribbled the number Nola had given me on a piece of paper.

  “Anyone interested?”

  “Could be. You don’t want nothin’ but to know if she’s there?”

  “That’s all,” I said, and added my license number to the paper. “It’s a last year’s Ford—soft top and it’s up, cream color. There’s the number. She’ll be parked in front of the joint or maybe in an alley. You know this address?” I turned the paper toward him and he put a stubby finger on it.

  “I know the street. That number won’t be hard to find.”

  “Good. Now she left here and drove to the fourth corner up, then turned left. How’s for starting that way, then going to the address from there?”

  “Sure.”

  Grinning, he raised an eyebrow toward the man he’d been drinking with. “I’ll take Bob here along. That okay?”

  I assured him it was, then ordered a beer and sauntered back to watch some pool games. There was the usual scattering of pool hall customers, all the way from bums to a couple of dudes in loud sports jackets and bow ties. I hadn’t even finished with the beer when the guy I’d just hired came steaming in. I followed him back outside, and he jerked a thumb up the street.

  “She didn’t go very far, Mac. Your car’s just two blocks from the corner where you saw her turn, and a few yards down a side street.”

  “The hell it is!”

  “The hell it ain’t. And I hope you got nothing in the car pocket you can’t afford to lose, because she’s running through it with a flashlight.”

  “She’s what?”

  “Ain’t that right, Bob?” the poorman’s private eye asked, and turned to his friend.

  “Sure as hell is. We saw the damn car as soon as we got close and we drove on past the intersection and I got out to walk back past it. Had one of them little fountain-pen lights and was taking everything out of the glove compartment and sorting things out. Just parked right there at the curb, she is, going through your junk.”

  “I see,” I said, and nodded toward the door. We went in and I bought them both a fresh beer and turned toward the back again.

  “You want to take a run up there? Glad to take you.”

  “No,” I said, “I’ll just watch a while here until she comes back and—wait a second.”

  I turned back to the two boys at the counter. “Want to add a sawbuck to that fin? Hop into your car and run back there to keep an eye on her. If she pulls away, hang on and see what happens. Shouldn’t run into more than an hour at the most. When she comes back to pick me up, I’ll stall until you come in the back way with the word. A damn dame—you never can tell what the hell they’re going to do next.”

  “Sure, Mac. You payin’ the sawbuck in advance?”

  “Half now,” I said, handing over another five. “You get the rest later.”

  “It’s a deal. C’mon, Bob.”

  There were a couple of nibbles for some snooker pool at a buck a game and one guy wanted to run off a few games of scratch but I wasn’t interested. I sat on a high bench, my eyes hardly seeing the colored balls as they rolled toward the pockets. They were checking on me, all right. Joe Lamb was most certainly running through the apartment, probably with the loving help of the redheaded Carol Taylor. And just to make doubly sure, Nola was going over the car. But what did she hope to find in the glove compartment? I was still sure they didn’t think I would hide the snapshots and the Lucky Lager can there. What was the angle, why the big search?

  It didn’t make sense. If they went through my place looking for the can and photographs, that added up fine. If they weren’t sold on my song about mailing out the package at post office substations, then a search of the premises made good sense. And I couldn’t be happier. They were going to turn up the string and the mailing stickers and the wrapping paper, plenty of evidence that Baker was mailing out the merchandise.

  But it still didn’t answer the question at hand—Nola and my car. I slid off of the bench, picked a cue out of the rack, and nodded to the guy who had offered to shoot some pool. But I couldn’t get interested in the game. I kept thinking about my car and wondering what the hell she hoped to find and how she made out.

  We played three games and then I heard the horn out front. I went through to the door, pool cue still in my hand, and held up thr
ee fingers to indicate I’d be out in three minutes. When I went back to the table, my henchmen were slipping in the back way.

  “She was still there,” one of them said, “still running through your junk, and then she drove around the block and came back here. She’s out in front now.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and tossed him the other five-dollar bill. I dropped a quarter on the table to cover the game, mumbled an apology to the guy I was playing with, and went out and slipped behind the wheel of my car.

  “Get it?” I asked.

  “Of course.” She handed me a white envelope. I glanced at the green bills inside, then slipped the envelope into my pocket. We balled along on the run north, Nola seeming in quite a cheerful mood. When we were just below Carlsbad she caught my arm and looked up at me.

  “Eddie, I want to talk to you.”

  “I’m right here. Fire away.”

  “No, find a place to stop for a few minutes. This is important and I want your full attention.”

  “Any spot in particular?” I tried to make it sound casual.

  “No. Just any place at all.”

  “I’ll turn one up somewhere,” I said. She smoothed her print dress and leaned back against the seat. I wondered what the pitch would be. In Oceanside I pulled off of the highway to the right, cruised slowly on to the corner, and saw no cars behind me. I swung right again, drove slowly to the intersection, crossed, and went on down to the water. No lights followed me, and when I swung right and headed north I found a deserted parking lot. I drove in and nosed the car out toward the sea.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Con me.”

  “Con? Please, Eddie, try to look at this in a reasonable light. We’re in a spot. So are you—in a way I’ll bet you haven’t even considered.”

  Get on your overshoes, Eddie boy, I thought. Here comes the snow. Aloud I said, “Clue me. I haven’t caught you yet.”

  “For one thing, an under the table pay-off of seventy-five thousand dollars just can’t be made.”