Down in the Valley (Vic Daniel Series)

by David Pierce

'Local guy?'

  'Out of town guy.'

  'Has he done any business yet?'

  'How do I know?' said Benny. 'Not last I heard, he was looking to unload in large chunks and he's not too well connected out here or the guy I got it from would never have heard about it.'

  'What was he asking?'

  'Five.'

  'Beautiful?'

  'Gorgeous.'

  'Pass a scanner?'

  'Not that gorgeous. But gorgeous.'

  'Do you think he might sell you a mere couple of grand's worth if you did him a favor?'

  'What favor?'

  'The favor,' I said, 'would be putting him together with someone who would take a large chunk.'

  'Yeah? Like who?'

  'Like me.'

  There was a pause. Then Benny said, 'If you want a large chunk, why do you want a small chunk too?'

  'I don't really want a large chunk, Benny,' I said patiently. 'I just want him to think I do so he'll sell you a small chunk as a favor.'

  'Ah,' said Benny. 'Ah ha. Aren't we being clever today? He's going to be edgy, though, I mean it is against the law.'

  'Really?' I said. 'God forbid you should get mixed up in anything illegal. Come on, Benny, give him a call.'

  'I can but try,' Benny said. 'Stay where you are, I'll get back to you.'

  He hung up. I stayed where I was. A few moments later he rang back.

  'We got lucky,' he said. 'He needs walking-around money. I can get two grand today if I sit on it for a week so as to give him time to move the rest.'

  'Well, you're going to sit on it, aren't you? You're going to give it to me, that's the same thing as sitting on it, isn't it?'

  'OK, OK. I'll lay out the five hundred and pick it up from you later. Now can I go back to sleep?'

  'Sweetest of dreams,' I said. I'd no sooner hung up than I thought of something, and called him right back.

  'Yoo hoo, it's me again. Benny, could a stranger get into a rock house and make a buy?'

  'Depends on the stranger. You, no.'

  'How about a black stranger? A kid. Obviously not the heat.'

  'Why not, if he's got the bread.'

  'Oh, he'll have the bread,' I said. I hung up again, satisfied; I seemed to be progressing. I called up Evonne; I had to arrange either to get into her school that evening sometime or to get in earlier, and stay on. The Apple of the Teacher's Eye, and mine too, if truth be told, was in, and working.

  'Hope I didn't interrupt anything important the other night when I phoned,' I said shamelessly.

  'You did, but not what you think,' she said.

  'How do you know what I think?' I said.

  'Easy,' she said. 'I just pretend you're a large, he-man type whose hormones are still working. And what can St Stephen's do for you today?'

  I told her. She thought the best plan was to come in the front way when school was getting out because Dev would be out back in the parking lot keeping his beady eyes on the kids. Then Mr Lowenstein could lock me in his office, for which he had the only key, and there I could idle away the hours until the coast was clear. Maybe brush up on my spelling. Did I know that a common denominator of most eccentrics and oddballs was poor spelling?

  'No, I did not,' I said. 'Anyway, my spelling's excellent. It's that damn geometry. Miss Shirley, there's something I've been meaning to ask you. Do you have any prejudice against men who are just that little bit taller, just a soupçon more manly, than your average American male?'

  'Yes,' she said. 'I feel sorry for them. Especially in movies. People behind them keep asking them to take their hat off and it isn't a hat, it's their head.' And she hung up. Well, it wasn't exactly the answer I'd hoped for but it wasn't bad, for a girl. I wondered what she'd be like in the prone position – firing at a target a hundred and fifty yards away down wind, I of course mean. Maybe she'd like to come with me someday and talk to the man who talked to God, the innocent I hoped to be talking to in about half an hour from then.

  But I never did get to go shooting. I was just locking up when an elderly gentleman walked up to me and asked me if I was Victor Daniel.

  I owned up.

  He said he was Raymond Millington, of St Charles, New Mexico, the one with the missing daughter Ethel, did I remember?

  I remembered. Ethel Ann, age fifteen, last seen at the Taos bus station early in February. I'd written him the week before taking myself off the case as it was hopeless.

  'Can we go inside?'

  'Of course.' I unlocked the one lock I'd had time to lock and in we went.

  'Are you busy right now, is this a bad time for you, sir?'

  I said, no, sir, it was fine, I had some time.

  We sat down and took each other in. You know more or less what he took in, a sort of Stewart Granger type who, as the hayseeds put it, looked like he'd been rode too hard and left out wet too often. What I took in was a tired, fifty-plus and looking it, man in his best blue suit, tie still done up despite the heat, with old, well-polished black boots and a black cowboy hat which he took off and carefully placed on the desk between us.

  'I'm not here to complain,' he said, 'in fact, I appreciated your being honest with me in your last letter, but I just couldn't leave it at that. My wife says it's only me being stubborn again and she could be right, it's been known to happen.'

  'Her being right or you being stubborn?'

  'Both,' he said. 'But it's terrible not being able to do anything, especially when you're used to doing most things by yourself. I thought at least I could come out here and see for myself.'

  'See what?'

  'I don't know,' he sighed. 'See you. See if you did everything you said you did and charged me for. See Los Angeles, see why she wanted to come here. See if it's hopeless, get it out of my system. I got the time, I took it off. I got the John Deere agency back home, it can look after itself for a few days. It's not like the car business which I used to be in once, you don't get customers coming in saying I need a twelve-foot disk harrow and I aim to drive it out of here today.'

  He smiled briefly; so did I. There was a pause.

  'I don't know what to tell you, Mr Millington,' I said finally. 'As far as finding your daughter goes I can't think of anything else to do. Maybe there isn't anything else to do but wait, hard as that is. Usually kids do get back in touch with their parents, often at Christmas or their birthdays, if that's any help. As far as the work I did for you, or claimed I did for you, I don't know what to do about that, either. I could show you my files but you've already had a copy of everything in them. You could call my brother, he's a cop, he could tell you I'm honest – but who'd believe a cop, let alone a brother?'

  He looked at me for a moment, then offered me a stick of what looked like cinnamon gum. I declined with thanks. He helped himself to two sticks, then crumpled up the wrappers and put them neatly in my new ashtray. Then he said, 'You said, usually they get in touch with their parents, or something like that. Is that from your own experience or is it just something you say?'

  'Experience, statistics,' I said. 'It's true all right, although I might have said it anyway.'

  'You do a lot of this sort of thing?'

  'I used to do more,' I said, 'and could do a lot more now if I wanted to.' I didn't tell him the reason I didn't want to was because it was more often than not a waste of time – mine – and money – some desperate poor parent's. But he wasn't dumb; he got the message.

  'What do you do these days, then?' he asked a little bitterly. 'Solve murder mysteries?'

  I understood his bitterness.

  'Hell, I don't usually see a mystery from one year to another,' I told him. 'Not what you'd call a real mystery, like a puzzle. People keep doing things that are a mystery to me why they do them, but that's about it.'

  'Well, it's a mystery to me where my girl is,' he said. 'We're not even sure why she left. Her mother and I aren't monsters, we're ordinary people living in an ordinary town and we do what people like us do . . . ' He took off his glas
ses, then put them back on again. I thought he'd already given me three good reasons for leaving.

  'Look, Mr Millington, I know you're going crazy with worry about your girl,' I said, 'but like I said, I can't think of anything else to do that might help. You want your money back, you can have it. If you'd like me to suggest another agency, a larger one, just say the word. If you'd like to talk to someone in the police who's involved with this sort of work, no problem.'

  He waved one hand.

  'I don't mean to take it out on you,' he said, 'it just came out that way. I guess I don't know what I want, aside from a miracle.'

  'I got an idea,' I said. 'You want to see something of LA, see why she wanted to come here, maybe wander around where kids hang out. Just because it's one in a million against your spotting her on some street corner doesn't mean you won't feel better if you have a look.'

  He shrugged, then rubbed his face.

  'Why not?'

  'I'll see if I can get you a guide. Got a car?'

  'I rented one at the airport. Needs a tune-up but it works all right.'

  I got the Silvetti number from information and dialed it. The twerp answered.

  'Yeah?'

  'It's your old pal the private eye.'

  'Oh God,' she said.

  'What are you doing?'

  'Writing, what do you think I'm doing, making cookies? What are you doing? Is there any news?'

  'I'm detecting, what do you think I'm doing, roasting marshmallows? And no, I'm sorry, no news about you yet. Anyway, want a job? Come to think of it, want two?'

  'Doing what?'

  'Get over here and you'll find out.'

  'Do I get paid?'

  'Of course!' I said. 'What do you think I am, an exploiter of child labor?'

  'At least,' she said. 'OK, see ya when I get there.'

  'Girl's coming over,' I told Mr Millington. 'Weird but bright. Very weird. She'd be better than me at taking you around. I know some places where kids go, she must know thousands.'

  'Can't hurt,' he said. 'Thanks.' Then he told me if I had any work to do to get on with it, he'd sit quiet in the corner or go for a walk or something. I said, no, I'd be happy to chew the fat with him til Sara came.

  'So what kind of work do you do exactly?' he asked me after adding a third stick of gum to his wad. I suspected he'd rather have a good chew of tobacco but was minding his manners in the big city. 'If you don't spend all your time solving murder mysteries of Hollywood stars in swimming pools after all. If you don't mind me asking. I never met anyone in your line of work before.'

  'I don't mind,' I said. 'What do I do? I do what I did for you, or what I claimed I did.'

  'Forget that,' he said.

  'It doesn't look much on paper,' I said. 'I go places and look for things, mostly.'

  'That's it?'

  'Sometimes I go to other places and ask questions. Once a month I get to follow someone. I take pictures. Sometimes I guard people. I guard things a lot. It's like any business, a combination of knowing people, experience, telling lies, and knowing a good, cheap tax accountant.'

  'What about danger?' he asked. 'What about helping people? What about shooting people? What about them things?'

  'Oh, them,' I said. 'I never think about them.' I got another one of his thin smiles.

  Sara came slouching in a little while later, after ten or fifteen minutes, when he was telling me some things about St Charles, New Mexico that didn't materially increase my desire to ever see the place. Mr Millington got up when she came in, I didn't. I introduced them; they shook hands.

  As he took in her get-up I could hear him thinking that maybe his Ethel was wandering around town in a similar state, lost to him for ever to the land o' fruits and nuts. I thought Sara was looking pretty normal, all things considered, I liked her drawn-on, inch-long eyelashes, liked the gold and silver glitter stuck on each cheek, liked her bandanna halter top, liked her paisley bermudas and adored her green cork wedgies. As a purse she was using a Yogi-Bear tin lunch box.

  She wanted to know what the score was pronto, otherwise she had work to do at home, she was in the middle of an epic about a surfboard that suddenly grew wings. I filled her in, briefly. I asked Mr Millington how long he was planning to be around. He said he had a return ticket for the following day but he didn't know for sure, it all depended. I asked him if he'd excuse us for a moment; he said, sure, and went outside and looked around without a lot of interest.

  'Take him around,' I said. 'He wants to see LA. He wants to see his kid standing on some street corner.'

  'Fat chance,' she said. 'Like my nailpolish?' It was white, except for the thumbs, which were orange.

  'Hate it,' I said. 'Take him where kids go. VD clinics, police stations, riots. Burger-Queens.'

  'Ha ha,' she said. 'What do I get paid?'

  'About nineteen dollars,' I said.

  'Where is it?'

  'It's coming off your bill, which is about nineteen dollars so far,' I said.

  'You cheap turd,' she said. 'What about expenses?'

  'OK,' I said. 'You want expenses you got expenses, but that makes it official.'

  I handed her over a five-dollar bill and counted off with pretended reluctance five additional singles.

  'This is your first official duty as temporary, underline temporary, assistant to Victor Daniel, licensed private investigator for the State of California. I shall therefore want from you a written report of all your activities and, underline and, an itemized list of expenses by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.'

  'Don't I get a badge, too?' she said, putting my hard-earned money away in her lunch box. 'I didn't know they piled cow pats so high til I met you.'

  I patted her with mock fondness on the red side of her head; she jumped a foot.

  'Run along now, child,' I said. 'Ol' Uncle Vic's got grownups' work to do.'

  'What's the other job? You said there were two.'

  I told her, at some length.

  'That's more like it, man!' she said. Then she fluttered her eyelashes at me for some unfathomable reason, and went out in search of Mr Millington.

  I hoped they'd be happy together.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The following afternoon, someone, I don't know who, stuck a large, sealed envelope in through the mail slit in my door. Inside was Sara's report, neatly typed, with only two spelling mistakes. I insert it here as it seems to belong here:

  CONFIDENTIAL

  22 May

  Report

  From: Agent S.S.

  To: V.D. ('V.D.' ha ha, never noticed that before)

  (From notes taken in the field)

  Found Old Fart staring into taco store window

  Entered and ate two (2) burritos each, served by fat Mex

  With too much lipstick. Bill $4.20. He paid.

  Expenses: 00.00

  Went looking for kids.

  Found some at West Valley Clinic,

  Sprawled on floor,

  Waiting outside,

  Several babies.

  O.F. (Old Fart) found daughter's particulars typed on

  File card thumbtacked to bulletin board among many

  Others similar.

  Suspected your work, V.D. (Ha ha).

  O.F. talked briefly with young,

  Mucho hung

  Doctor about (a) anonymousness of patients

  (b) privacy of files (c) heat.

  Contribution to donation box on wall, $5.00

  He paid.

  Expenses: 00.00

  Next stop: No-Name Hamburger hang-out on Riverside:

  Too early, not much action, like, man,

  Couple 'a pushers, couple 'a punks,

  Couple 'a bikers,

  One kid hooker with bandage on neck, strung out much?

  Walking ad for herpes.

  Two Cokes. $1.20. He paid.

  Early, it was too early, where to go, brain, brain,

  Get movin'! Venice!!

  So next stop – Ve
nice Beach, an' all the freaks were out,

  Black freaks, white freaks, yellows, browns, reds and blues . . .

  Dot dot dot

  Not a winner in the bunch, says I to the O.F.

  Cokes at Carlos Broasted Chicken, $1.80.

  I paid.

  Expenses: 01.80

  Lotsa kids for the O.F. to oggle/goggle/break his heart over.

  Kids on skates,

  Kids on boards,

  Kids on uppers,

  Kids on downers,

  Kids on the boardwalk,

  Kids on the sand,

  Kids playing volleyball,

  And a one-man kid band.

  We walked miles going nowhere,

  Then miles to get back.

  In the Beginning he kept seeing Ethel

  Almost.

  Once he almost had a fight when he went running across

  The beach,

  After a girl, after a girl,

  But it wasn't her, natch.

  I'm not even sure it was a girl.

  Once he asked me searching questions about Youth Today

  And you. I lied;

  How I lied. I said we were both okay, tip top, old sport,

  A-fuckin' number 1.

  I said, do not be

  Misled

  By V.D.'s outré appearance, clothes aren't everything,

  And in his case, not even that.

  Ice cream, one (1) only, double strawberry, from

  Tacky No-Name stand.

  I paid $1.00.

  Expenses: 01.00

  Watched the Muscle Builders in their cage.

  A cage is the right place for them.

  O.F. said he'd wrestled in high school.

  I said, me too, with boys behind the gym.

  Needed new ballpoint pen.

  I paid, 69 cents.

  Expenses: 00.69

  Coast Road, Ventura Freeway, V. Mall,

  Lotsa kids. Not runaway kids, like his,

  Or left kids, like me, but kids, boring, normal kids.

  Kids with money. Yecch. Awesome. Gross.

  Money begged from Daddy or gotten from Mummy

  Who got it from Daddy for spoiled little Snookums.

  Good old Daddy. Good old Mummy.

  They make you look bright, Stoopid.

  Across the Hills to H*O*L*L*Y*W*O*O*D*,

  Drove up and down H*O*L*L*Y*W*O*O*D* Blvd.