Max and Dan had driven by it and parked the car. Max in the lead, they came downhill through a stretch of trees, descending toward the back of the Westerland house. It was late afternoon now and the great flat windows sparkled and went black and sparkled again as they came near. A high hedge circled the patio and when Max and Dan came close their view of the house was cut off.
“Think she’s here?” Dan asked.
“We should be able to spot some signs of life,” Max said.
“I’m turning into a first class peeping torn. All I do is watch people’s houses.”
“I guess detective work’s like that,” said Dan. “Even the occult stuff.”
“Hold it,” said Max. “Listen.”
“To what?”
“I heard a dog barking.”
“In the house?”
“Yep.”
“Means there’s somebody in there.”
“It means Anne’s in there probably. Pretty sure that was Major Bowser.”
“Hi, pals,” said a high-pitched voice.
“Hello,” said Max, turning to face the wide bald man behind them.
“Geese Louise,” the man said, pointing his police special at them, “this sure saves me a lot of work. The boss had me out looking for you all day. And just when I was giving up and coming back here with my tail between my legs well, here you are.”
“Who’s your boss?”
“Him. Westerland. I’m a full-time pro gunman. Hired to get you.”
“You got us,” said Max.
“Look, would you let me tell him I caught you over in Frisco? Makes me seem more efficient.”
“We will,” said Max, “if you’ll let us go. Tell him we used karate on you. We can even break your arm to make it look good.”
“No,” said the bald man. “Let it pass. You guys want too many concessions. Go on inside.”
Westerland was opening the refrigerator when his gunman brought Max and Dan into the kitchen.
“You brought it off, Lloyd,” said Westerland, taking a popsicle from the freezer compartment.
“I studied those pictures you gave me.”
“Where’s Anne?” Dan asked.
Westerland squeezed the wrapper off the popsicle. “Here. We’ve only this minute finished a recording session. Sit down.”
When the four of them were around the white wooden table Westerland said, “You, Mr. Kearny.”
Max took out his pack of cigarettes and put them on the table in front of him. “Sir?”
“Your detective work will be the ruin of you.”
“All I did was look through a few windows. It’s more acrobatics than detection.”
“Nevertheless, you’re on to me. Your overprotective attitude toward Miss Clemens has caused you to stumble on one of the most closely guarded secrets of the entertainment industry.”
“You mean Anne’s being the voice of Major Bowser?”
“Exactly,” said Westerland, his round cheeks caving as he sucked the popsicle. “But it’s too late. Residuals and reruns.”
Dan tapped the tabletop. “What’s that mean?”
“What else? I’ve completed taping the sound track for episode 78 of Major Bowser. I have a new series in the works. Within a few months the major will be released to secondary markets. That means I don’t need Anne Clemens anymore.”
Dan clenched his fists. “So let her go.”
“Why did you ever need her?” Max asked, looking at Westerland.
“She’s an unconscious talent,” said Westerland, catching the last fragment of the popsicle off the stick. “She first did that voice one night over two years ago. After a party I’d taken her to. She’d had too much to drink. I thought it was funny. The next day she’d forgotten about it. Couldn’t even remember the voice. Instead of pressing her I used my hypnotic ability. I had a whole sketch book full of drawings of that damned dog. The voice clicked. It matched. I used it.”
“And made $100,000,” said Dan.
“The writing is mine. And quite a bit of the drawing.”
“And now?” said Max.
“She knows about it. She has thoughts of marrying and settling down. She asked me if $5,000 would be a fair share of the profits from the major.”
“Is that scale for 78 shows?” Max said.
“I could look it up,” said Westerland. He was at the refrigerator again. “Lemon, lime, grape, watermelon. How’s grape sound? Fine. Grape it is.” He stood at the head of the table and unwrapped the purple popsicle. “I’ve come up with an alternative. I intend to eliminate all of you. Much cheaper way of settling things.”
“You’re kidding,” said Dan.
“Animators are supposed to be lovable guys like Walt Disney,” said Max.
“I’m a businessman first. I can’t use Anne Clemens anymore. We’ll fix her first and you two at some later date. Lloyd, put these detectives in the cellar and lock it up.”
Lloyd grinned and pointed to a door beyond the stove. Max and Dan were made to go down a long flight of wooden stairs and into a room that was filled with the smell of old newspapers and unused furniture. There were small dusty windows high up around the beamed ceiling.
“Not a very tough cellar,” Dan whispered to Max.
“But you won’t be staying here,” said Lloyd. He kept his gun aimed at them and stepped around a fallen tricycle to a wide oak door in the cement wall. A padlock and chain hung down from a hook on the wall. Lloyd slid the bolt and opened the door. “The wine cellar. He showed it to me this morning. No wine left, but it’s homey. You’ll come to like it.”
He got them inside and bolted the door. The chains rattled and the padlock snapped.
Max blinked. He lit a match and looked around the cement room It was about twelve feet high and ten feet wide.
Dan made his way to an old cobbler’s bench in the corner.
“Does your watch glow in the dark?” he asked as the match went out.
“It’s five thirty.”
“The magician was right. We’re in trouble.” “I’m wondering,” said Max, striking another match. “You’re wondering what the son of a bitch is going to do to Anne.”
“Yes,” Max said, spotting an empty wine barrel. He turned it upside down and sat on it. “And what’ll he do with us?”
Max started a cigarette from the dying match flames. “Drop gas pellets through the ceiling, fill the room with water, make the walls squeeze in.”
“Westerland’s trickier than that. He’ll probably hypnotize us into thinking we’re pheasants and then turn us loose the day the hunting season opens.”
“Wonder how Lloyd knew what we looked like.” “Anne’s got my picture in her purse. And one I think we all took at some beach party once.”
Max leaned back against the dark wall. “This is about a middle-sized room, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. The only architecture course I took at school was in water color painting.”
“In six hours you’ll be a middle-size elephant.” Dan’s bench clattered. “You think this is it?” “Should be. How else are we going to get out of here?” “I smash the door like a real elephant would.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s great.” “You should be able to do it.” “But Max?” “Yeah?”
“Suppose I don’t change?” “You will.”
“We only have the word of an alcoholic shoemaker.” “He knew about Sausalito.” “He could be a fink.” “He’s a real magician. You’re proof of that.”
“Max?”
“Huh?”
“Maybe Westerland hypnotized us into thinking I was an elephant.”
“How could he hypnotize me? I haven’t seen him for years.”
“He could hypnotize you and then make you forget you were.”
“Dan,” said Max, “relax. After midnight if we’re still in here we can think up excuses.”
“How do we know he won’t harm Anne before midnight?”
“We don’t.”
“Let’s tr
y to break out now.”
Max lit a match and stood up. “I don’t think these barrel staves will do it. See anything else?”
“Legs off this bench. We can unscrew them and bang the door down.”
They got the wooden legs loose and taking one each began hammering at the bolt with them.
After a few minutes a voice echoed in. “Stop that ruckus.”
“The hell with you,” said Dan.
“Wait now,” said Westerland’s voice. “You can’t break down the door. And even if you could Lloyd would shoot you. I’m sending him down to sit guard. Last night at Playland he won four Betty Boop dolls at the shooting gallery. Be rational.”
“How come we can hear you?”
“I’m talking through an air vent.”
“Where’s Anne?” shouted Dan.
“Still in a trance. If you behave I may let her bark for you before we leave.”
“You louse.”
Max found Dan in the dark and caught his arm. “Take it easy.” Raising his voice he said, “Westerland, how long do we stay down here?”
“Well, my ex-wife will be in Rome until next April. I hope to have a plan worked out by then. At the moment, however, I can’t spare the time. I have to get ready for the party.”
“What party?”
“The New Year’s Eve party at the Leversons’. It’s the one where Anne Clemens will drink too much.”
“What?”
“She’ll drink too much and get the idea she’s an acrobat. She’ll borrow a car and drive to the Golden Gate Bridge. While trying out her act on the top rail she’ll discover she’s not an acrobat at all and actually has a severe dread of heights. When I hear about it I’ll still be at the Leversons’ party. I’ll be saddened that she was able to see so little of the New Year.”
“You can’t make her do that. Hypnotism doesn’t work that way.”
“That’s what you say now, Padgett. In the morning I’ll have Lloyd slip the papers under the door.”
The pipe stopped talking.
Dan slammed his fist into the cement wall. “He can’t do it.”
“Who are the Leversons?”
Dan was silent for a moment. “Leverson. Joe and Jackie. Isn’t that the art director at BBDO? He and his wife live over here. Just up from Sally Stanford’s restaurant. It could be them.”
“It’s a long way to midnight,” said Max. “But I have a feeling we’ll make it.”
“We have to save Anne,” said Dan, “and there doesn’t seem to be anything to do but wait.”
“What’s the damn time. Max?”
“Six thirty.”
“Must be nearly eight by now.”
“Seven fifteen.”
“I think I still hear them up there.”
*
“Now?”
“Little after nine.”
“Only ten? Is that watch going?”
“Yeah, it’s ticking.”
“Eleven yet. Max?”
“In five minutes.”
“They’ve gone, I’m sure.”
“Relax.”
“Look,” said Dan, when Max told him it was quarter to twelve, “I don’t want to step on you if I change.”
“I’ll duck down on the floor by your feet. Your present feet. Then when you’ve changed I should be under your stomach.”
“Okay. After I do you hop on my back.”
At five to twelve Max sat down on the stone floor. “Happy New Year.”
Dan’s feet shuffled, moved farther apart. “My stomach is starting to itch.”
Max ducked a little. In the darkness a darker shadow seemed to grow overhead. “Dan?” “I did it, Max.” Dan laughed. “I did it right on time.” Max edged up and climbed on top of the elephant. “I’m aboard.”
“Hang on. I’m going to push the door with my head.”
Max hung on and waited. The door creaked and began to give.
“Watch it, you guys!” shouted Lloyd from outside.
“Trumpet at him,” said Max.
“Good idea.” Dan gave a violent angry elephant roar.
“Jesus!” Lloyd said.
The door exploded out and Dan’s trunk slapped Lloyd into the side of the furnace. His gun sailed into a clothes basket. Max jumped down and retrieved it.
“Go away,” he said to Lloyd.
Lloyd blew his nose. “What kind of prank is this?”
“If he doesn’t go,” said Max, “trample him.”
“Let’s trample him no matter what,” said Dan.
Lloyd left.
“Hell,” said Dan. “How do I get up those stairs?”
“You don’t,” said Max, pointing. “See there, behind that stack of papers. A door. I’ll see if it’s open.”
“Who cares. I’ll push it open.”
“Okay. I’ll go find a phone book and look up Leversons. Meet you in the patio.”
Dan trumpeted and Max ran up the narrow wooden stairs.
The elephant careened down the grassy hillside. All around now New Year’s horns were sounding.
“Only two Leversons, huh?” Dan asked again.
“It’s most likely the art director. He’s nearest the bridge.”
They came out on Bridgeway, which ran along the water.
Dan trumpeted cars and people out of the way and Max ducked down, holding onto the big elephant ears.
They turned as the road curved and headed them for the Leverson home. “It better be this one,” Dan said.
The old two story house was filled with lighted windows, the windows spotted with people. “A party sure enough,” said Max.
In the long twisted driveway a motor started. “A car,” said Dan, running up the gravel.
Max jumped free as Dan made himself a road block in the driveway.
Red tail lights tinted the exhaust of a small gray Jaguar convertible. Max ran to the car. Anne Clemens jerked the wheel and spun it. Max dived over the back of the car and, teetering on his stomach, jerked the ignition key off and out. Anne kept turning the wheel.
Max caught her by the shoulders, swung around off the car and pulled her up so that she was now kneeling in the driver’s seat.
The girl shook her head twice, looking beyond Max.
He got the door open and helped her out. The gravel seemed to slide away from them in all directions.
“Duck,” yelled Dan, still an elephant.
Max didn’t turn. He dropped, pulling the girl with him.
A shot smashed a cobweb pattern across the windshield.
“You’ve spoiled it for sure,” cried Westerland. “You and your silly damn elephant have spoiled my plan for sure.”
The parking area lights were on and a circle of people was forming behind Westerland. He was standing twenty feet away from Max and Anne.
Then he fell over as Dan’s trunk flipped his gun away from him.
Dan caught up the fallen animator and shook him.
Max got Anne to her feet and held onto her. “Bring her out of this, Westerland.”
“In a pig’s valise.”
Dan tossed him up and caught him.
“Come on.”
“Since you’re so belligerent,” said Westerland. “Dangle me closer to her.”
Max had Lloyd’s gun in his coat pocket. He took it out now and pointed it up at the swinging Westerland. “No wise stuff.”
Westerland snapped his fingers near Anne’s pale face.
She shivered once and fell against Max. He put his arms under hers and held her.
Dan suddenly dropped Westerland and, trumpeting once at the silent guests, galloped away into the night.
As his trumpet faded a siren filled the night.
“Real detectives,” said Max.
Both Anne and Westerland were out. The guests were too far away to hear him.
A bush crackled behind him and Max turned his head.
Dan, himself again, came up to them. “Would it be okay if I held Anne?”
Ma
x carefully transferred her. “She should be fine when she comes to.”
“What’ll we tell the law?”
“The truth. Except for the elephant.”
“How’d we get from his place here?”
“My car wouldn’t start. We figured he’d tampered with it. We hailed a passing motorist who dropped us here.”
“People saw the elephant.”
“It escaped from a zoo.”
“What zoo?”
“Look,” said Max, dropping the gun back into his pocket, “don’t be so practical about this. We don’t have to explain it. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Max.”
Max lit a cigarette.
“I changed back in only an hour. I don’t think it will happen again. Max. Do you?”
“If it would make you feel any better I’ll spend the night before Lincoln’s Birthday with you and Anne. How about it?”
“How about what?” said Anne. She looked up at Dan. “Dan? What is it?”
“Nothing much. A little trouble with Westerland. I’ll explain.”
Max nodded at them and went up the driveway to meet the approaching police. Somewhere in the night a final New Year’s horn sounded.
Stories smell. No, that’s too blunt. They have aromas, flavors. Some are redolent of the city, all smoke and noise and anxiety. Others have a corresponding country flavor, laid-back and grassy and full of prose that couldn’t be ruffled by the most intrusive verb imaginable.
There are some that reek of the shore, long strings of adjectives crashing like heavy surf against immovable nouns. There are stories that speak of pained childhoods, and extensive travels, and inner twists of mind and fate.
Then there is elegance, a literary quality not much in vogue today. Light and fine as champagne and as difficult to lay down in bottles. Speaking of bottles, here is an elegant story about one, by perhaps the most elegant writer of short modem fantasy. Some stories grow on you. Those of John Collier, like the aforementioned champagne, merely bubble and get better with age.
Smart Dragons, Foolish Elves Page 20
