by Bob Bickford
Halfway up the walk I fumbled with my keys. A movement caught at the corner of my eye. A woman came out of the Gardiner’s house. She wore a blue dress and a blue hat that looked as though it had been run over in the road. She looked over at me as she headed for the street. She was squat and walked with an odd shambling gait that seemed familiar. She reached the passenger door of a gray Dodge before I recognized her.
The last time I had seen her, she'd been using a shotgun to poke me in the ribs outside the Hi-Lo Club.
“Hey, wait!” I called, and started toward the car.
I was too late. The Dodge blew a smoke ring at me and rolled down the hill to the stop sign at the bottom. I was suddenly very worried about the Gardiners. Cleveland's people didn't often visit to socialize. I took their porch steps two at a time. The front door stood open behind the screen. I rapped on the wooden frame and peered in. I didn't see anyone. I pressed the doorbell and heard the chime somewhere inside.
The faint sound of a phonograph recording came from deeper in the house. I looked back at the street, deciding what to do. I rang the bell again. I wasn't really alarmed. Not yet. I tried to identify the music. I'd heard it before.
“Mahler,” the doctor said, appearing suddenly on the other side of the screen. “Symphony Number Five.”
“You read minds, too?” I asked, relieved. “That's a pretty good trick. Is your wife at home?”
“Do you know Mahler's Fifth?” he asked.
I shook my head, no, and we stood and looked at each other for a while. Then he turned and disappeared into the house. After a minute, Mrs. Gardiner appeared in his place.
“Did you just have a visitor?” I asked her.
“Annie Kahlo came here earlier,” she said. “For lunch...hours ago.”
“Just now,” I said. “Not Annie, someone else. A woman just came out of your house...in a blue dress.”
She looked concerned. “There was no woman here just now, Mister Crowe,” she said. “A blue dress? What's this about?”
“She just came out of your house. I saw her. Was your door locked?”
“We never lock during the day. Whatever for? We were in the back yard. We didn't hear anyone until you rang the bell.”
“Over and over,” the doctor said. She shushed him, and he turned and went up the hall.
“Why ever would someone come into our home without an invitation?” she wondered. “I don't much like the idea.”
“She's connected with a case I'm working, and she isn't a friendly party,” I said. “She may have been meaning to snoop around my place, and just found the wrong house. I came home early. It's just luck I was here to see her.”
“Can you tell me about it?” she asked. “It sounds terribly fascinating.”
I was unsure if I wanted to involve the couple. The woman had been inside their home, though, so maybe they deserved to know a little. “It's a long story,” I said.
“Then come in,” she said. “We were just sitting down to cocktails, and I could never tolerate a long story without a martini in my hand.”
I started to decline, but decided that a drink was probably a good idea. She held the door for me, and I followed her down the hallway that led to the back of the house.
“Don't be offended, but I'm skeptical about long stories,” she said from in front of me. “I mean, look at the Bible. Now there's a book with lots of words that run on. It certainly needs a drink if you're going to read much of the early part.”
She stopped suddenly, and I nearly ran into the back of her. She had turned around to admonish me. “Just when one is trying to read it aloud to a young person, it goes into all the generations, this one begat that one begat another one, the sons of sons of sons. It goes on almost forever.”
She looked fiercely at me, and I nodded politely.
“If anything ever wanted editing, it's that,” she said. “Boy, oh boy, I'd love to have the job, too. Just hand me the nearest machete. It wouldn't take me long.”
She was off again. The walls were warm wood, hung at intervals with water-colored paintings that were luminous, even in the half-light. They all looked to me like they had been done with the same hand, but I didn't know any more about art than I did about Mahler.
The doors at the end led into a glass-roofed conservatory and then outside from there. The air in the greenhouse was damp enough I wanted to wipe my face. Vines and plants with fat leaves covered everything, elbowing and reaching for the light. The room was hung with blossoms, and the fragrances were so heavy and alive that they were nearly oppressive.
“Pink,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “This is my husband's space. Pink is the only color he grows.”
I recognized lilies and orchids, but I didn't know the names of most of what I was looking at. All the foliage burst with blooms in various shades of pink.
“I like pink as much as the next person,” she said. “The roses outside are mine, and I grow every color I can think of, not just pink. I like a lot of color. We keep most of our paintings in the basement. I can go down there and lose complete track of time in all that color. Sometimes I'm gone for days.”
“You have a basement?” I asked. “I don't see many basements here. We had basements back in St. Louis.”
“We had it dug during the war. The expense was terrible. The construction people told us that usually a basement is dug first, and then the house built on top of it, not the other way round. I couldn't see why it made a difference, and I told them so.”
She motioned me toward the jewel-paned doors which led to the terrace outside. I saw the doctor already at the glass table, readying the drink tray.
“Close the door quickly behind you,” she said. “He'll be fussy for hours if you let his damned humidity out. He's very scientific about it.”
We crossed the stone tiles to sit down.
“We had a Japanese gardener,” she said. “Things were chaotic when the war started, and they were going to send Mister Tsukimoto and his family to a government camp. I had the basement made for them to live in. It was a very comfortable place to hide.”
“Nice of you,” I commented.
“It was, wasn't it? He was an exceptional gardener, and I wasn't going to find another one like him if he got locked up. I believe in being honest about things. There's nothing wrong with being selfish if you're doing good at the same time.”
I heard the peacocks rustling and settling for the night somewhere in the borders, but I didn't see them. The roses were as promised, pastel in the failing light. They trailed over trellises and climbed the walls behind the jacaranda trees. I hadn't paid them much attention the last time I had been here. Annie had been sitting across from me, and she tended to eclipse everything else.
“Are they still here?” I asked. “The Japanese family?”
“Oh, no. He found out I came from Hawaii, and got the idea that because of Pearl Harbor I would to try to capture him and his family and lock them up in the basement. As a sort of revenge, I expect. I tried to explain that I didn't hold him responsible, but he wouldn't listen. He gave notice and the very next day, mind you, took himself and his family away to live in Arizona, or maybe it was New Mexico. Anyway, some strange place, can you imagine?”
“You lived in Hawaii?” I asked. “I know Annie Kahlo had family connections there. Her parents came here from the islands, but I suppose you knew that, since you've known her for a long time. I was stationed at Pearl during the war. Strange coincidence we all know the place. Did you live there for very long?”
“How interesting,” she said, and sat up to watch what the peacocks were doing.
“Bourbon,” I said, when the doctor asked.
Mrs. Gardiner knocked back her drink. She usually sipped.
“Bitters, naturally,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “And tell him how many lumps of sugar you take, or he'll put too many. He always does.”
“No sugar,” I said. “No bitters. Just a glass, if you have one handy. Sometimes that passes for civilized w
here I come from.”
They both paused to look at me strangely. The doctor looked like he might refuse me.
“Where's the ocelot?” I asked, just to change the subject.
“I'm sure I haven't any idea,” she said. “We don't keep him prisoner, you know. He often goes over the wall to Annie's house and spends time with her when she's at home.”
It startled me. My own back yard lay between this one and Annie Kahlo's property. “He does?” I asked. “He goes through my yard?”
“You don't mind, do you? You don't seem to use it for anything, except to collect fallen walnuts.”
“How about the peacocks?” I asked. “Doesn't he bother them?”
“Ocelots don't bother anybody as a rule,” she said. “As long as they're kept fed, and this one is. Tell me about the woman in the blue dress.”
I tasted my drink.
“She's someone I'm worried about,” I said. “I think I'd better tell you all of it, starting with some things you already know.”
The Gardiners liked to hear edited versions of my old cases, but I didn't usually spill my guts about current ones. In this instance, I was being paid in birthday cake and didn't know if it was even a real case. Besides, my business with Sal Cleveland was personal, so I didn't mind telling them a little.
I told them about the avocado ranch. I told them it was Annie's strange inheritance, the place where her family had died, and where she had recently witnessed a cold-blooded murder. All of it centered on Sal Cleveland.
Annie Kahlo was in grave danger, I believed. I didn’t know if it was only because she had seen the Charlene Cleveland shooting, or if there were other reasons. Things were building, and I didn't think she would survive them if I didn't step in. I didn't mention that I had my own agenda for wanting Sal Cleveland brought down.
Dr. Gardiner sat across the table from me and watched his wife's face. His own was nearly expressionless. He reached across to pour more liquid from the pitcher into her martini glass when she needed it, and tonight she seemed to need it a lot.
“She knew Mister Cleveland when she was quite young,” Mrs. Gardiner said, and looked at me almost apologetically. “I don't think she's completely gotten over him, even after all these years.”
I was surprised. I had known Annie was friendly with the Gardiners, but I didn't imagine it as a very old friendship. Annie had only lived on the street for a little while.
“I've known Annie for her whole life,” she said, as though I'd asked. She concentrated on her martini glass and didn't elaborate. I waited for a moment and moved on.
“Two men were sent after Annie,” I said. “I don't know if they were supposed to kill her or to scare her. They can't do it anymore, because they were found in a State Street alley shot to death. Those men had instructions for me when they finished with Annie.”
“We don't need to know about this,” the doctor interrupted.
“Yes, you do. I don't know who killed them. I'm the obvious suspect, but I didn't do it. Sal Cleveland isn't going to take this sitting down.”
“This still has nothing to do with us.”
“The woman in the blue dress who came out of your house is named Raw. She's the widow of one of the two men. She's a nasty, dangerous piece of work, and she's going to be trouble. She ran off when I came along. You left your door unlocked, and you can't do that anymore.”
“Why ever would these people want to hurt us?” Mrs. Gardiner asked. “We haven't done a thing.”
“You have a connection with Annie, and that may be enough if they find out. I think you should steer clear of both me and Annie for a little while.”
“Because of some woman in a blue dress?” she asked. “You have no idea of the things I haven't steered clear of in my lifetime, young man. It's quite late for me to learn to steer clear of people and situations now. If she or her friends come back into my house uninvited again, they'll be in for a shock. You can be quite sure of it.”
The doctor filled her glass yet again. Her color was good, but otherwise she showed no signs of any martini effect. I thought to myself again that she must have been a hell of a good-looking woman in her day. Maybe she still was.
“Anyway, the ocelot is here,” she said. “Those people wouldn't like to run into him.”
“I thought you said he wasn't dangerous.”
She looked at me archly. “Anything and anyone can be dangerous if the situation dictates it,” she said. “The sweetest thing in the world can be deadly if it's wronged in just the right way.”
I finished my bourbon and watched the jacaranda trees for any sign of the ocelot, but if he was around he didn't show himself.
“What do they call those shoes?” I asked.
Danny Lopez stretched a foot out so we could both admire his sandal.
“Huaraches,” he said. “Hand-made, very comfortable.”
“Little bit hard to be a Latin gangster in those, isn't it? They don't make you look very tough.”
He leaned back against the picnic table and lit the end of a cigar stub. When he had it going, he puffed on it a few times and looked over at me. “You be tough, mi amigo,” he said. “I prefer comfortable.”
The odors of frying food drifted from the drive-in. I wasn't hungry. It was pleasant in the seating area under the trees; the sun felt soft and I could smell the beach a few blocks away. Traffic on Chapala was light. Lopez watched the cars go by.
“So there's been trouble,” he said.
“There's been trouble,” I agreed.
“What do you know about the people got killed?”
“It was the same two guys who I chased off my street. Twice.”
“Twice?” he raised an eyebrow. “I didn't know about twice.”
“First time, I told them I'd kill them if I saw them again. It didn't scare them enough, I guess, and they came back. Cop named Earnswood was parked on the street watching, and he stepped in and shooed them off.”
“Earnswood's dirty,” he said, shaking his head. “He doesn't work the street. He's been in an office on the top floor of the police station for many years now.”
“He struck me as...wrong,” I said. “I still don't know why he was parked watching those guys.”
“Maybe he was watching you.”
A carload of young Mexicans pulled in, with a girl in sunglasses and scarf behind the wheel. They piled out and headed for the counter, chattering voices and animated laughter.
“There's something we don't see yet, amigo,” he said. “You represented the Cleveland woman.”
“Charlene,” I said. “Her name was Charlene.”
“She gets the divorce from Cleveland, and so he kills her himself, which is unusual. You weren't a witness to it, and there's nothing you can do about it. So why does he go after you at all? If it were a different man, maybe it would be to set you as example, but Sal Cleveland never rocks more boats than he has to. He does what he does quietly, from behind. Not like this.”
I stayed quiet and let him think it through.
“He preys on the weak,” he mused. “And you aren't weak. Far from it, so why stir all this up?”
“Their names were Raw and Lowen,” I said. “Virgil Lowen and Douglas 'Dog' Raw. Know them?”
“We know of them,” he nodded. “I heard it was them. They were sick men, like Cleveland is sick. They rode around in an old car, one that would gain no attention in the poorer neighborhoods. People went missing from time to time. Putas y borrachos.”
His face had darkened. He waved a hand at the neighborhood around us. “They called the one 'Dog' because it is said he told people he was looking for his dog, and that's why he rode around hunting. The story made people who should know better relax. Some of his victims would help him look for his dog is what I hear. Even the mothers here tell their children to watch for that old blue car, and run from it if it appears.”
“They won't have to anymore.”
The group of teenagers carried a tray of hotdogs and dr
inks to a nearby table. They eyed Lopez as they passed. They knew who he was and kept their conversation at a respectful level while they ate.
“If you who killed those two, amigo, then I owe you a personal obligacion.”
I shook my head, no.
“If we find out one day, I will shake the man's hand,” he said.
I told him about the rope found in the back of the Nash, and the police theory that someone may have been tied up in the back seat, gotten loose and shot Raw and Lowen from behind. The bodies of the two gangsters still had their own guns pocketed. Whoever had done it hadn't taken any weapon away from them.
“I don't see how they could have kidnapped someone without frisking them,” I said. “Doesn't make sense that someone was tied up with a gun in their pocket.”
“Perhaps it was someone they weren't afraid of,” he said. “Someone they didn't imagine would be armed. They picked the wrong victim, simple as that.”
It was almost noon, and several people drifted to the drive-in counter. The lunch rush was starting. Lopez stirred. I knew he needed to get back.
“There's another possibility,” he said. “You saw the police captain, Earnswood, talk to the two men. The rope, all of it, could have been staged by the police.”
“Could be. Too many missing pieces to say...yet.”
“Yet,” he smiled, and clapped me on the shoulder. “Yet. You're sure you'll find out. I like that.”
He stood up and stretched. It looked like the stretching troubled him, and I was reminded of his age. His personality was strong enough to make me forget he was an old man. He looked at me, somber. “If Cleveland thinks you killed his men, he is going to send more, you know,” he said. “He won't like losing those two, Raw especially. They were together for a long time.”
“I think it's already started,” I said.
I told him about the woman in the blue hat I had seen lurking around the Gardiners' house next door to mine. I said it was a woman who tended bar at the Olive Street dive that Cleveland owned.
“Ugly woman?” Lopez asked. “Short woman? Looks more like a man, if the man a sapo?”
