The Amorous Attorney (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 2)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  "Oh, you are from the south, aren't you?" I looked up at Carter and he just shrugged. She put her manicured hand to her chin and thought for a moment. "How about a big steak, rare? And some grilled tomatoes?"

  Carter smiled and, using his 5-star drawl on her, said, "If you could make it well done, then that would be just fine, ma'am."

  . . .

  Twenty minutes later, Carter was sawing his way through an oddly cut piece of meat. It was tough as shoe leather, just like he liked it. The tomatoes, of course, went untouched.

  We were at the table with Jeffery, Ben, and Carlo. The two honeymooners were holding hands and looking at each other. It was sweet.

  Ben told us that Rhonda, her girlfriend (whose name no one knew), and Taylor had left together after getting a bottle of tequila from the waiter. There had been talk of walking on the beach under the moonlight, or something like that.

  Jeffery was on his fourth margarita. I'd only had half of mine. They were too sweet for me. He hadn't really eaten much. He was starting to dissemble.

  "You know what, Nick?"

  I looked at him affectionately. "What's that, Jeffery?"

  "San Francisco ain't all there is in this world."

  Carter said, "Hear! Hear!" and lifted his glass of Coke.

  Jeffery leaned across the table and pointed at me. "You should get out of the City more often, Nick!" He took a big sip of his drink. "And, god! Look at you! So pale." He stood up, a little uneasily. "Go get out in the sun, snookums!"

  Ben snickered when he heard that word. It was a term of endearment that Jeffery had used from time to time when we were going together. It was based on a character in a radio show. I didn't much care for it. I also knew that he was now smashed if he was going to utter it.

  "Jeffery." It was time for him to go to bed.

  "What, baby doll?"

  Carter stood up. "Are you ready for bed, Jeffery?"

  "No! Besides, you're too tall. I don't want you." He lurched towards me. "Don't you remember how it was that year it rained so much?"

  I did. But I didn't want to talk about it.

  Carter reached over and put his hand on Jeffery's hand, the one that was holding his drink. Instead of trying to take the glass away from him, he turned it so that it spilled. This, he once told me, was a trick he'd learned from living with his old man.

  "Damn it, Carter! Look what you made me do!" He snapped his fingers. "Garçon!"

  I stood up. "We're not in France, Jeffery."

  He looked at me, his eyes were unsteady and so were his feet. "What do you know about France? You weren't there. You were in New..." He stumbled and fell on the floor.

  Carter reached down and said, "Get up, sleeping beauty. Time for bed."

  A muffled voice said, "I couldn't fuck you if I tried. Go away. I want Nick. He's fun to fuck. Knows how to take it. And he wiggles. Does he wiggle for you?"

  I was... Well, I was having a hard time hearing this. I didn't... Well, actually, I did. But still.

  Ben and Carlo stood up quickly. I said, "Goodnight, boys. Let's meet for breakfast at 8."

  Ben said, "Sure thing, Nick." They literally ran out of the room.

  Carter looked at me. "Wiggle? Is that what you call it?"

  . . .

  Carter and I carried Jeffery to his suite. It was empty. Taylor was obviously still out on the beach with his betrothed-to-be and her girlfriend.

  I undressed Jeffery while Carter hunted for aspirin. After he found them, he poured a glass from the bottle of water provided by the hotel and walked into the bedroom with two of the white pills.

  By this time, Jeffery was moving in and out of consciousness. While I was trying to pull off his trousers, he became aware of what I was doing.

  He smiled boozily at me and said, "I knew it would always be you, Nick."

  Carter was right behind me. He coughed. Jeffery leaned up on one arm and looked at Carter. "You. You ruined everything. 'Some Enchanted Evening,' my fanny."

  I decided he was as undressed as he was going to get. I took the aspirin from Carter, along with the glass of water, and said to Jeffery, "Take these and drink this."

  He said, "No." Then looked up. "Wait! I'll take them. But you have to stay with me. Promise?"

  I shook my head. "No, Jeffery. That was over a long time ago."

  "You said you loved me." I had forgotten that, although Jeffery quickly lost his ability to walk when he got drunk, his diction was never affected. He could have been reading the sordid transcript of a wire tap in open court and not sounded any more clear or precise.

  I put the tablets and the glass on the table and said, "Good night."

  I walked out and left Carter with the job of turning off the lights.

  When I got back to our room, I pulled out the tail of my shirt and began to unbutton it. I kicked off my shoes and went into the bathroom. I thought that brushing my teeth might take the rancid taste of the evening out of my mouth. More than anything, I couldn't believe I had spent good money to get us down here for this little scene. On the other hand, I did get a chance to see blatant corruption up front. It was refreshing to experience it directly, instead of just reading about it.

  Maybe refreshing wasn't the word.

  As I was rinsing my brush under the tap and wondering if that meant I couldn't use it again, I heard Carter come in.

  I wiped my face and then walked out into the sitting room area. "What took you so long?"

  "I got him to take the aspirin."

  "How?"

  "Easy. I promised to lay him out otherwise. He bitched but he took 'em."

  "God, you're good." I put my arms around his waist. "Also. You are never, ever to name that word again. Ever."

  Carter laughed. "Don't you worry, son. You just keep doin' it and I won't say one word."

  Chapter 14

  Hotel Riviera del Pacifico

  Tuesday, May 26, 1953

  Just before dawn

  I woke up next to Carter. I was facing the window. There was a faint light coming into the room. I remembered we were in an ocean-facing room, so the sunrise was behind us. That made me feel better. Otherwise I would have to get up and pull the heavy curtains across the more transparent ones. And I didn't want to move.

  Carter's arm was draped across me, just like I liked it. I must have woken him up because his finger started tracing my skin.

  "What time is it?" came his drowsy question.

  I pulled my left arm out from under and looked at my watch. "Quarter to six." I looked at my new ring. It looked good in the light of the morning.

  "Hmm..."

  "This is real good, right here."

  "Mmm... Hmm..."

  Suddenly there was a loud bang. We both shot out of bed. I could hear feet running away, down the path that led to the lobby. Even though I only had on my BVDs, I opened the door and looked to see who it was. They were gone. Carter pushed around me. He had trousers on, but nothing else. I went and grabbed mine to do the same.

  I walked in suite #104 behind him. Taylor was draped across the bed. Or, rather, Taylor's body was. Taylor, the man, was long gone. Part of his head was missing.

  Carter said, "Damn."

  "Yep."

  I walked over to the bed and looked for anything. The first thing was what, or rather who, I didn't find. And that was Jeffery. The clothes I had taken off him were also gone.

  I could smell the gunpowder, which was just confirmation that we'd heard what we thought we'd heard.

  I walked around to the far side of the bed and looked for a slug. I found it in the baseboard, about four feet from the bed. I left it there. It looked like a .41, which I thought was interesting.

  There was a knock on the door. Carter went and stood steadfastly in front of it, shielding whoever was there from any view inside the rooms.

  "What happened?" It was Ben. They had the suite on the other side of this one. Carter backed up and let him in.

  He walked into the bedroom. He was wearing
silk pajamas. He looked at the bed and said, "Oh." I watched him. He was turning extra white.

  I called out, "Carter!" He caught Ben before he fell over. After depositing our rookie in the sitting room, he returned.

  I asked him. "Well, Mr. Arson Investigator, anything strike you as interesting?"

  He looked around. Moving to the far side of the bed, he quickly found the same slug I had. He scanned the room from that perspective, he said, "Not a robbery."

  I looked where he was pointing. There was a wallet, a Rolex watch, a bunch of keys, and a passport on the bureau. But there was only one of these things. Jeffery had taken his with him. I looked around and noticed that Jeffery had taken all of his things. I knew the type of luggage he owned, and nothing matching that was in the room.

  I turned back to the bureau and looked inside the wallet. There was a California driver's license under the name, "Roland Henderson." The address was in Brentwood. I assumed that was Taylor's birth name.

  There were five American Express traveler's checks for one hundred dollars each. "Look for the American Express receipts. I bet they're in one of his bags."

  Carter started snooping. I went back to the wallet. There was another fifty dollars, or so, in various denominations.

  He had a Diners' Club card that looked like mine. It also said "Roland Henderson."

  There were a couple of snapshots. One was of a couple who were squinting in the bright light of a sunny day. They were standing in front of a farmhouse. There was a chicken coop to the right. I could see that Taylor got his looks from his father, who was actually more handsome, if that was even possible.

  The other snapshot was from a photo booth. It was of Jeffery and Taylor and looked like it was recent. Jeffery was kissing Taylor right on the lips. They both looked very happy. I took this one and put it in my pocket and returned the other one to the wallet.

  "Found them." Carter was holding the white receipts that guaranteed replacement if the checks were lost or stolen. I asked, "How much?"

  He counted. "A thousand bucks."

  "Interesting. He's only got five hundred in his wallet. And maybe another fifty dollars in bills."

  "No pesos?"

  "I don't think you really need them this close to the border."

  I thought for a moment. "Give me the receipts." Carter handed them to me. I folded them over and stuck them in my trousers.

  I heard Ben moan in the other room. "Why don't you take a look at sleeping beauty in there?"

  Carter went in and asked, "You OK, kid?"

  I quickly opened all the drawers and ran my hands through all the clothes in the way I was very good at doing. I had long ago figured out how to make it look like I hadn't disturbed anything.

  I didn't find anything of interest.

  I looked back at the bureau. I picked up the passport. It was issued in 1951. And it only had two stamps. Entry into the United Kingdom on March 15, 1951, at London Airport, which I remembered was now called Heathrow. Re-entry into the United States on April 21, 1951, at New York International Airport or, as most people called it, Idlewild.

  I looked around the room one last time. I walked over to the bedside table that had drawers. There was a bible in the top one. And nothing otherwise. I opened the bottom drawer. There was something pushed in the back. It was the proverbial little black book.

  I could feel that it was time to go alert Marge and deal with all that would mean. I quickly put the book in the same pocket as the traveler's checks receipts and the photograph and said to Carter, "Let's go tell Marge."

  I walked into the sitting room. Ben was in a chair with his head between his knees. "Buck up, kid. The first corpse is the worst."

  He looked up and said, "I'm sorry Nick. I've never..."

  I laughed and said, "Tell me later. We need to get out of here."

  I pulled him up and we followed Carter out the door. I said, "Go back to your suite and wait there with Carlo. Don't go anywhere until one of us comes to get you. Understood?"

  He nodded.

  "Go."

  He went.

  We walked back to our suite.

  As we entered, I said, "No shower. Just get dressed. Then we go together to talk to Marge. No matter how hard she flirts, you deflect her questions to me. Understood?"

  "Yes, Boss."

  I laughed.

  . . .

  Marge looked fresh as a daisy, even at 6:30 in the morning.

  We walked into the lobby and around to the reception desk. She was standing there, looking at some papers.

  "Good morning gentlemen." was her cheery greeting.

  I asked, "Can you step away from the desk? It's important."

  She looked at Carter and then at me. "Must be. Wait right there." She put out a bell and a little sign that said, in English, "Ring bell for attention." I assumed that the other sentence was the same, but in Spanish.

  She walked behind a wall and then emerged through a small door. As she did, I could see that she was actually wearing flats, which was not how she had been dressed last night. She caught me looking and said, "I know. I prefer a higher heel, but some days I need to give my feet a break."

  I motioned her to the outside terrace. Carter went ahead and opened the door. She followed him. I pulled the door closed behind me. I noticed, for the first time, that it was a beautiful day. The waves were not too high and there was a nice ocean breeze.

  "So, what can I do for you gentlemen?" She was, like yesterday, looking up at Carter.

  I answered, "Taylor Wells was murdered about thirty minutes ago in his room."

  I waited to see her reaction. Two different emotions passed over her face. One was shock. And that one read authentic. The other was relief. That was curious.

  She then brought her hand to her mouth as if she had forgotten to display emotion. "How?"

  "Someone came into the suite, shot him point blank against the left temple with a Colt police revolver, and then ran away."

  I waited again to see what she said.

  "Are you sure it was a police gun?"

  That was a curious question.

  "Pretty sure. The blast was large enough to blow away a significant part of his skull and brain."

  She turned green. That was, as far as wondering if she did it, a very good sign in her favor.

  "Oh my god." She said this softly.

  "Do you know of anyone who could have done this?" I knew this question would provoke some sort of reaction.

  She looked up at Carter. "That would be your department, wouldn't it? Nobody down here knew who he was."

  Carter looked down at me, she followed his lead, and I said, "There's no movie theater in this town?"

  "Oh, of course. I hadn't thought about that. But, who would kill him because of a movie?"

  "You need to call the police."

  She shook her head. "Can't we do something else?"

  "Why?"

  "What if it was one of the pistoleros who killed him? They use that kind of gun."

  She was right. That was the gun that Maldonado's handsome friend had shown me last night. I wondered how she knew it.

  I said to her, "Well, then the police will cover it up. But you will, as a loyal Mexican citizen, have done your duty."

  This seemed to get through.

  "Right. I see what you mean."

  I waited for her to think this through further.

  "What if they arrest one of you?"

  I shrugged. "Isn't your husband an attorney?"

  "Yes, but they arrest first and then look for evidence."

  I nodded. "We'll take our chances. Go call them. Do it now. We've already waited too long."

  She ran quickly into the lobby. I looked up at Carter. "How's your first murder case, so far?"

  He smiled briefly. "Easier than arson, I can tell you that much."

  Chapter 15

  Hotel Riviera del Pacifico

  Tuesday, May 26, 1953

  About ten before 6 in the mornin
g

  We went back to find the boys. On the way there, we stopped at Rhonda's room, which was the first in the series of what Jeffery had referred to as "queer row."

  I listened to see if I heard any signs of life. No one was speaking at least.

  I knocked on the door. "Rhonda?"

  Now there was some movement.

  After about thirty seconds, a disgruntled voice asked, "Who is it?"

  It didn't sound like Rhonda, so I assumed it was her girlfriend.

  "It's Nick Williams and Carter Jones. We need to talk to both of you right now. Something has happened."

  "Hold on," was the surly reply.

  I looked at my watch. It was now 6:50. I wondered how quickly the local police would arrive. The only reference I had were the stereotypes that were often bandied about. People talked about Mexico and the mañana way of taking time to do things. But, as I had discovered in the South Pacific, there was usually a little bit of truth behind these stereotypes but mostly a lot of laziness that pointed to an arrogance on the part of the ones who used them.

  Presently, the door opened and a very disheveled Rhonda Starling stood there. She was wrapped in a silk robe whose green color really favored her skin tone. Even with mussed hair, she looked beautiful.

  She smiled lazily. "Morning, fellas. What's on your minds?"

  I asked, "Can we come in for a moment? It's bad news."

  I heard the girlfriend sigh dramatically.

  Rhonda looked put out but she walked away from the door and let us show ourselves in.

  "What's up?" she asked. She stood by the door to the bedroom. The girlfriend was sitting at the edge of the double bed closest to the door which was the only bed that had been slept in. She was wearing a man's white undershirt and boxer shorts. It was really cute, actually.

  "Taylor's been murdered." I looked at both of them.

  The girlfriend said, "Well, fuck me."

  Rhonda threw her a look and then started to cry.

  It was the most amazing piece of acting I'd ever seen. In two seconds, she was the scolding mate. Count one and she was the grieving bride-to-be. Unbelievable.

  Carter pulled out his handkerchief and offered it. She waved it away and walked into the bedroom, over to the bureau, and grabbed one of her own, holding it to her nose and covering her mouth.