[Celebrity Murder Case 08] - The Mae West Murder Case

by George Baxt

  “Gentlemen,” said Mae, “I’m truly glad to meet you. I’ve always been a fan of cops, retired or otherwise. Now I hope you don’t think it’s a comedown comin’ from police work to taking a job as a doorman. I’d hate to think you think it’s beneath you.”

  Timothy Madden said, “Miss West, the only thing beneath me is the sidewalk.”

  “Oh, really.” She smiled. “You sound like you got the makin’s of a gag man. It’s Timothy Madden, right?”

  “I’m the fourth Timothy Madden with which my family’s been blessed.” He raised his glass. “Here’s mud in your eyes, Miss West.” The others joined him in the toast.

  “When it comes to slingin’ mud, we’re in the right town. You got a family, Timothy?”

  “There’s me wife, Nora, and three daughters and two sons. They’re all off on their own. That leaves Nora, me, and the radio. It’s a relief to the wife and me that I’ll be out of the house part of the day. It’ll give us both some breathing space. And the salary Mr. Timothy has promised is quite reasonable. It’s not easy making ends meet on the pension we draw.” The others murmured assent. “So Mallory’s found us at the right time, bless his heart.”

  Al Schwartz, the smallest but lithest of the three, interjected. “We’re old friends, we three. Roscoe here and myself joined the force the same day.”

  “I was already there,” said Timothy with a sweet smile. “Sort of a one-man welcoming committee.”

  “Ah, Miss West,” said Roscoe Werber, “the stories we could tell.”

  “Not right now,” Mae said quickly. “Let’s decide who takes which eight-hour shift.”

  AI Schwartz suggested they do it in alphabetical order. The others agreed. So it was Madden, Schwartz, and Werber, in that order.

  Timothy Madden said, “If you boys don’t mind, since you’re both living on your own being widowers, I’d like to be considered for a daytime shift. I don’t like leaving Nora on her own at night. She being bleached blonde and buxom, the vampire killer might mistake her for one of Miss West’s impersonators.”

  Roscoe Werber said flatly, “Not possible,” and Timothy shot him a look. “I expect you want us to start right away.”

  “Yeah, boys, even though I got my bodyguards on the premises, I got my other tenants to consider. They could be in danger too. You never know what to expect from killers. If this here vampire is hyperthyroid, he just might kill anybody out of frustration if he can’t get me.”

  Werber looked at his wristwatch and volunteered to take the first shift at eight P.M. “Then Al can take over at four A.M. And, Timothy, you come in at noon and hold the fort until I resume at eight tomorrow night and so forth and so on.”

  Mae said, “Of course you boys have gotta have a day off. Well, I can spare one of my muscle boys, I’m sure. They’re so young and eager to please, and I’m so eager to be pleased. Now, my girl Goneril will bring down a Thermos of coffee and some sandwiches for you, Roscoe. Say, did you bring any protection for yourselves?” All had brought their service revolvers at Mallory’s insistence. Mae smiled. “You boys look like a walkin’ armory. That’s the way I like it. There’s a terlet in the basement for your necessities, and if anything else comes up, you can ring my bell. I’m a light sleeper but a heavy breather.” She smiled that smile that they would soon recognize as the one she flashed when she was kidding them. “Drink up, gents, let’s not waste good beer. Now if you’ll excuse me, my friends are waitin’ in the dinin’ room. Take your time, boys, there’s more beer if you want it. Roscoe, you’ll need a clear head.”

  “Not to worry, Miss West, one beer’s my limit.”

  After exchanging good nights, the men left and Mae joined Jim Timony and Seymour Steel Cheeks in the dining room. “Well, boys, my doormen are lookin’ good.” Jim was standing behind her chair waiting to seat her. “Thanks, Jim, I like bein’ treated like a lady. Oh, look at what Goneril’s fixed for the first course, vishy swah and with lots of chives.” She spooned some into her mouth. “Terrific. Now, listen, you two. Beverly’s train pulls into Pasadena sometime around noon tomorrow. I want you two to take the Rolls and meet her. Y’know, give her the royal treatment she’s expectin’ to get. I don’t know how much luggage she’s carryin’ but knowin’ Beverly, you better be on the safe side and hire a pickup truck to meet you there. I don’t know what I’ll do when it gets here, the guest bedroom ain’t all that big. It was designed for small guests. I’m takin’ Desdemona and Goneril with me to the studio in case I have to work late. I know they’re dyin’ to go to the party at the Tailspin, but I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why not, Mae? They deserve a treat every now and then.”

  “Listen, Jim. You ain’t here with them like I am. Their life is one long treat. I’m sure they’ve both got boyfriends stashed away someplace and I know they both sock their money away for the future. Which is very wise of them. Goneril keeps tryin’ to feed me Aunt Jemima pancakes because she keeps buyin’ stock in the company. Come to think of it, I ought to look into it myself. Goneril’s just bought herself a new fur jacket. Seymour, you’ve been looking dejected all day. What’s eatin’ you? Is it the bodyguards?”

  “Well, I suppose I should tell you.” Mae suspected what was coming. “I’m very concerned about my future.” Mae was right.

  “You didn’t have any future until you met up with me. If I hadn’t caught you in the Thanksgiving parade on Hollywood Boulevard, wearin’ that sexy loincloth and stalkin’ them Pilgrims with your bow and arrow, you’d still be out there with no future. You want to try your luck in pitchers? It’s a thought. Like all the rest of them, you ain’t got no talent. It’s worth settin’ up a screen test. You want to do a test?”

  “I don’t think I’d be very good in the movies. There aren’t any good parts for Indians.”

  “Yeah, but think of it this way. The dialogue’s a cinch. ‘How,’ ‘Ugh,’ and ‘White man speak with forked tongue.’ Let me talk it over with my producer, Emmanuel Cohen. Manny’s one of the good guys, which is why I have an idea they’re soon gonna ease him out.”

  It wasn’t what Seymour wanted to hear. He was obsessed by the word he had heard in the limousine earlier that day after they left the gymnasium. He was obsessed with the word annuity. He didn’t know what it meant, but he was savvy enough to know it had something to do with money. Mae had offered Jim an annuity and overrode him when he professed not to want it. Seymour wanted an annuity. He wanted the annuity even more than he wanted to own real estate. It was three years since his father and mother scraped together enough money to send Seymour away from the reservation and out into the world to make his fortune, like his three older brothers before him. The eldest, Irving Steel Cheeks, was making good money in Chicago working in skyscraper construction. Indians were preferred because they were so sure-footed. The next oldest, Louis Steel Cheeks, was a trick rider with a carnival show that toured the country nine months of the year. He was saving his money to buy a ranch in New Mexico. Hymie Steel Cheeks wrote his parents and told them he was doing just great in “trading” up north in Portland, Oregon. “Trading” was a metaphor for housebreaking and robbery. He wrote his baby brother Seymour the truth of his chosen vocation but told him in these sorry economic times, robbery was better than selling his body on the streets. Seymour sought out Los Angeles because his father had read somewhere there were lots of rich women there who would happily sponsor such a magnificent specimen as he. His parents threw a weekend-long festival when Seymour wrote and told them he was being sponsored by the great white star Mae West. Being the good and generous sport that she is, Mae sent his parents some gifts along with a selection of autographed photos of herself. The government agents who monitored the reservation where the Steel Cheeks parents resided were getting a little bored with Mrs. Steel Cheeks’s perpetual invitation to “Come up’n see me sometime.”

  It was while Desdemona was serving coffee and petit fours in the living room that Herb Villon arrived with Jim Mallo
ry. Mae was genuinely delighted to see them. Herb apologized for not phoning ahead but he and Jim, coming from dinner, had cruised by the building, saw Roscoe Weber guarding the door, and stopped to chat with him. Jim explained, “When Roscoe said you were at home, I decided to come up and tell you what happened today.” Jim Timony elected to go out on the balcony to smoke a cigar and took with him a snifter of brandy. Seymour volunteered to go to the floor below and see if the bodyguards were comfortable, Mae having voiced some concern. Desdemona fetched demitasse cups for the detectives. After they refused Mae’s offer of brandy, Desdemona departed and the three settled down, Mae on her throne chair, Villon and Mallory on a settee. Mallory was tempted by a box of chocolates on an end table and helped himself to one.

  Villon told Mae the tragic circumstances of Felix Dvorack’s suicide. Mae, one hand on hip, said, “That was kinda sudden, wasn’t it?”

  Villon said, “It took me by surprise. I hate surprises/’

  Mae understood. She asked, “So you think maybe Milton Connery’s our vampire killer?”

  “I don’t think that at all,” Villon corrected her.

  “I must have misheard you. You said you suspected this here Dvorack took a payoff from Connery, so naturally I thought Dvorack had the goods on Connery.”

  “What Dvorack had, I suspect, was a suspicion that Connery killed Neon Light.”

  “Why, that dirty dog!” Mae bristled. “That’s like killin’ the duck that laid the golden egg!”

  “That’s like also keeping Neon from going public with what he knew about the orgies and the blackmail.” Herb explained his theory about Neon possibly wanting the money, partially as a legacy to his brother and partially for a fling he’d never had an opportunity to fling before.

  “Yeah,” said Mae, “that sounds possible. Neon had all sorts of guilts about his brother. And Neon had all sorts of dreams about seein’ Paris and London and Rome and Coney Island. Herb, do you think Neon took part in these orgies?”

  “I think so. There are lots of men who find pretty boys dressed in drag as sexually attractive as the real thing.”

  “The ‘lean-back’ types,” said Mae.

  “The ‘lean-back’ types?” questioned Mallory.

  “Yeah. They lean back and say, ‘You do what you like, kid. I don’t do anythin’.’ There’s a lot of that goin’ on. It’s been goin’ on for centuries, I’m sure.” There was a faraway look in her eyes. “When I was a kid just gettin’ goin’ in show business, I could have gone bad like Neon did. I was offered plenty of opportunities. I began as a shimmy dancer, you might have heard.” Mallory had no idea what a shimmy was. “A shimmy dancer stands in one place and wiggles her hips and her behind real fast, but then she starts slowin’ down and soon she’s just doin’ this.” Mae was on her feet, hands outstretched horizontally and sinuously moving her body to the self-accompaniment of “The St. Louis Blues.”

  “You get the idea, boys?” They had gotten more than one idea but neither one had the courage to express them. “Nice to know I’m still up to the shimmy. The greatest was a lady named Gilda Grey. She even made a couple of silent pitchers here at Paramount. With the way she shimmied, she didn’t have to be able to talk. She did hers to “I Wish That I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate.” Y’know, it’s funny, Seymour and I went to see the new Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy musical, Rose Marie. There’s a scene in some saloon up in Canada, some guy at the piano playin’ honky tonk and some gal with a down deep and dirty voice singin’ along with the piano and would you believe it, that was Gilda Grey.” She shook her head from side to side. “I thought of lookin’ her up and then I thought, what’s the pernt? Let’s get back to business. Herb, you think Connery murdered Neon.”

  “Or had him murdered.”

  “But you ain’t got the proof, have you? You think he’s the vampire?”

  “No.”

  “You’re that positive.”

  “Connery’s a slimy bum. The vampire killer’s got class.”

  “Class!” Mae’s hands were on the hips, as always when agitated.

  “He’s got style. He’s original. He’s got a great imagination.” Mae said through a smile, “He sounds so temptin’ I’d like to have him up for dinner some night.”

  “He just might show up. Uninvited.” Villon wasn’t smiling. He watched Mae resume her place on the throne chair. “You see, Mae, I have to build myself an imaginary portrait of what I’m up against. Although I haven’t seen it for myself, I imagine he works in a cape with a cowl to hide his face.”

  “A cowl? What cowl? You mean like Jane Cowl, the Broadway star?”

  “Cowl as in hood. A hood attached to a cape.”

  “Well, if you mean hood why don’t you say hood? Although come to think of it, had you said ‘hood’ I might have thought you meant a smalltime crook. Go on, don’t let me interrupt too much.”

  “He has this instrument that simulates fangs. I can’t figure out what it is, whether it’s on a chain that hangs around his neck or maybe he had a dentist fashion some fangs that he attaches to his teeth.”

  “Yeah, that’s the best idea yet, exceptin’ I should think dentists read the newspapers and if they’ve read about the vampire, the dentist what made these fangs is sure to call you cops and tip you off.”

  “We haven’t had that tip so maybe no dentist was involved. The vampire’s too smart for that.”

  “You make him sound like he’s got a college degree.”

  “He probably does.”

  “Oh, yeah.7 He’s got class. He’s got style. He’s got a college degree. What a catch. Well, don’t snicker. I don’t get many of them intellectuals crossin’ my path, and when they do, they don’t stop for too long a look. I ain’t the kind of gal you can take home to your mother unless your mother’s Sophie Tucker. So am I wrong in thinkin’ Agnes the witch is mixed up in this someplace?”

  “I’d appreciate your remaining very friendly with her.”

  “Which means you think she’s mixed up in this someplace. The poor sap. Y’know, boys, I’m really quite fond of Agnes. If she’s gone wrong, I hope she ain’t gone too far wrong. I suppose even though she’s no erl paintin’, that won’t keep her from gettin’ hung.”

  “If she’s anything, I think she’s the go-between who rounds up the participants in the orgies.”

  “Yeah, Agnes has always expressed this here desire to be a talent scout. And y’know, all these actors and actresses who are probably involved ought to have their heads examined. Better still, they should have their contracts examined. Y’know there’s a morals clause in every Hollywood contract. If you step out of line, they can cancel your contract and you’ll probably never work again in this town.”

  Villon asked, “You got one in your contract?”

  “Sure I do,” she said with a sly smile, “but it was written with invisible ink. Ha! They can try, but they’ll never catch me at anythin’. Herb, let me tell you about me in case you haven’t already caught on. My act is all a joke, a put-on. I don’t smoke, I rarely drink and only then maybe some wine or sherry, and I try to go to church most Sundays. Can’t say as I ever get there, but I put in plenty of time tryin’. And that if only for some peace of mind.” Jim Timony had returned from the balcony and sat behind Mae, his legs crossed. “As for me, sure there’s been men, a steady stream of them when possible, I’m only human. But you know somethin’, I ain’t really ever known genyoowine love, you know, like that junk they write about in romantic novels. Oh, I’ve had my crushes and my infatuations but they always canceled each other out. Somethin’ always comes up to take my mind off it. Y’see, I’m a narcissist. I just can’t love anybody the way I love myself. That’s why I can kid myself and kid my audience and give us all a good time while I’m doin’ it. When I lose that, I’ll retire. Maybe settle in some villa in the south of France like the serial queen Pearl White and learn me some French. Trouble is, to retire is to grow fat, and I’m always havin’ to watch my diet. You know the s
creen puts ten pounds on you, and I don’t need any more curves than what I already got. So what happens now. Herb? What’s the blueprint?”

  “Tomorrow night, we keep our eyes and our ears open. If Milton Connery zeroes in on us, then I’ll leave it up to you to enchant him.”

  “I’d do better with a cobra although there ain’t much difference. What about Agnes?”

  “Your usual chummy self.”

  “I got that part down pat, so that won’t be a problem. Say, Mallory, you got yourself a date for tomorrow night?”

  “I sure do.”

  “Oh, yeah? Who is she?”

  “Her name’s Beverly West.”

  Mae laughed and then said, “Jim, you’re a good sport. And you won’t know how good a sport you are until you’ve spent an evening with Beverly. The nicest thing about her is she don’t shovel her food on the fork with her thumb.” She paused for timing. “She uses her index finger. Timony, I know you’re there. You’re awful quiet.”

  “You know I prefer listening to chiming in.”

  Mae told the detectives, “He’s pullin’ up stakes and headin’ back to civilization soon. I’m gonna miss him.”

  Timony wished that it was so.

  Villon asked Mae, “Mae, did you ever meet Neon’s adoptive parents? Their name was Williamson.”

  “No, I didn’t. It’s like I told you, Neon sidestepped personal questions. He was pretty quick on his feet where those were concerned. Like I told you before, he cared the most about his older brother, even though he wouldn’t give up the impersonatin’ the way his brother wanted him to.”

  Villon now told her, “Mae, I’ve had Neon’s body exhumed.”

  “Meanin’ what?”

  “Dug up. It’s in the morgue. The coroner’s going to perform an autopsy some time tomorrow.”

  “I know what autopsies are. They’re indecent. Cuttin’ up a body when it can’t fight back.”

  “I think the autopsy is very necessary. I want to know if maybe he was slipped something before his skull was crushed.”