by Helen Jacey
Caziel’s hand slipped under the open top of the dress and cupped my breast. His body gave off an odor that was a fusion of onions and cheap aftershave, a sickening mix. He whispered in my ear. ‘Take it from me, Minnie Groader. You won’t get far with a name like that.’
‘You got any suggestions, sir? I appreciate your advice.’
Somehow I kept my idiotic smile fixed the whole time, willing myself not to kick him. Out of nowhere, he grabbed my arm and jerked it around my back, tight in an arm lock.
I gasped. ‘What are you doing, sir? That hurts!’
He tightened the twist. ‘Who told you about me?’
‘I told you, Shiralee. Why would I lie? I gotta work!’
Screw this asshole. If I could trap him in the joint and burn him I would. ‘Please! I’ll do anything you want.’ I pleaded, as pitifully as I could manage. ‘Pay me anything!’ I began to sob.
I could feel his erection on the back of my thigh. So he thought he was getting sex. Sorry, mister.
He pushed me hard away from him, kicked my foot from under me, and I stumbled, undignified, onto the floor. Caziel towered over me. ‘OK, Minnie Groader. Get up. Plenty of time to go crawling around on all fours. You’ll like that, won’t you, a whore like you?’
The fact he’d treated June well made sense. She would have been nervous, guilty. He’d have liked the role of persuader. Pushy but desperate little Minnie Groader ignited his misogyny and disgust. To him, she was bottom of the barrel.
Caziel grabbed my elbow and strong-armed me out through the French doors. These led to a rear porch with dried, splintery wooden steps down to the backyard. A rickety wooden table had been pushed against the wall, with a few empty beer bottles. Tumbleweed had done a good job of suffocating a forgotten and rusty child’s swing.
The muscle was finishing his cigarette and lumbered to his feet as soon as he saw Caziel. He was younger than his cheap suit and grimy fedora hat suggested. He gave a deferential nod to Caziel, then snuck a look at me, as if I was off limits.
‘This piece of pussy wants to show us what she’s got. Maybe you can help her, Jose.’
‘Si, boss.’ Jose grinned. He practically licked his thick lips.
Don’t get too excited, Jose.
22
Caziel pushed me into the lobby and slammed the door behind us. So here we were, at the heart of his seedy empire. I glanced around the tiny lobby with two doors off it, and a narrow wooden staircase.
I smiled. ‘Any place I can make myself pretty?’
‘Bathroom’s upstairs on the left. Strip, then go in there. Make it quick.’ He pointed to an open door.
‘All right.’
His eyes stayed on me as I moved towards the staircase. As I passed him, I glanced inside the room he’d pointed at. It was creepy and gothic, some remnant of a movie set. The walls and window were roughly blacked out with paint and black canvas. Gold candles adorned a slab of marble, on a table base. A piece of satin was flung over it. Where the hell was the camera?
He laughed. ‘If you’re having second thoughts, too late! Make it snappy.’
‘All right,’ I whimpered. As I climbed up the rickety staircase, I could hear him shout out something in Spanish.
Time to get to work.
Upstairs there were another two small doors and a patch of landing with tired linoleum, lifted at the edges by years’ worth of grime. The door on the left was slightly open and led to the bathroom, a dingy affair with a small tub coated in a thick layer of mineral deposit. A small window, covered by the purple petals of one of the climbers, was above the lavatory. I peered out. The bougainvillea wound around the building, forming a floral barricade. This was the climber I’d seen when casing the place at ground level.
I checked the other room, quietly opening the door. Bingo!
The dark room. Translucent amber strips of celluloid were pegged to a washing line stretched from wall to wall. I crept in and opened the curtains. I quickly examined the strips. Plenty of Minnies, but larger girls, in provocative poses. Perhaps it was just a matter of luck I hadn’t gone down the same path.
I looked at the last few strips. There she was. June. I didn’t want to look, so I yanked them all down and created a mound of celluloid on the floor.
But if a reel with another girl’s pictures was left in the camera, it wouldn’t really be payback for June, would it? True vengeance demanded I got rid of all the pictures.
With the help of a little lighter fuel, I could try to burn the dump down from this level alone. That could destroy the contents of the dark room, and I could run, but the risk was the fire might be put out before it consumed the rest of the place. I would have to go back downstairs, as Caziel had instructed. The camera had to be in that ornate room, maybe just out of sight from the stairs. I’d go down and light a fire in there, then I’d race back up and escape out of the tiny window in the bathroom.
Back in the bathroom, I picked up the gown Caziel had instructed me to put on. It was stained and practically see-through. It reeked of the same stale smell as the rest of the place. Fear and desperation, mingled with cheap fragrance.
Eau de Smutte by Caziel.
But I would put it on, just in case I needed to keep the act going a while longer. I kept my shoes on, the heels might help me get down the purple bush; bare scraped feet wouldn’t. I took my matches and lighter fluid from my bag, stuffed the dress back in the bag, and left Alberta’s hat in the basin. I felt bad; she wouldn’t get it back. I wondered what wages rich bitch Dede gave her hard-working maid.
I pushed the window wide open. I tiptoed to the dark room, and lit the celluloid.
I crept out and tiptoed downstairs. Some old ragtime music was playing. I caught a whiff of marijuana. The creeps were getting high, laughing from the backyard.
I slipped into the altar room.
The camera, on a tripod, stood at an angle behind the door, staring out like an accusing aunt. I opened the back of it and yanked the film out, leaving it dangling down.
I shook lighter fluid on the bottom of the strip of celluloid, lit a match and threw it down. The fire quickly caught its fuel. I jumped back as tiny green flames swarmed like water snakes over the Persian rug. The black satin draping would catch light next.
Job done, Minnie.
Thick blue smoke filled the room. I dashed back upstairs. On the landing, flames were spilling out of the dark room, stretching to the railings around the stairs. Smoke filled the landing and I gasped for air. The heat was so powerful. I dived into the bathroom and slammed the door.
In seconds, Caziel would smell it. If greed came first, he might die to save his work. Or force his muscle to risk it. Too bad. Minnie never existed. If anyone survived, they could identify me, but chances are nobody in this racket would stick around to be questioned by anybody.
Below, doors were opening and voices were raised – Caziel and Jose trying to work out what the hell was going on. The smoke was making them cough and splutter.
The bathroom bolt was flimsy and my hands shook as I slid it home. One kick could bust the door open. But would they risk the smoke and the fire?
Out of nowhere, a bullet bored the door. Shit! I darted to the side. Then another volley of bullets followed, hitting in random places. They had to still be downstairs, shooting up at me blindly through the smoke. The men were hoarse, coughing and shouting, torn between salvaging their precious images, saving their lives and drilling me with holes.
I crawled up onto the window ledge, scraping my shin badly, flinging the purse with my dress and the gun over the mass of climbers onto the sidewalk below. A branch caught the bag and the whole lot slipped down, out of my sight. I cursed, praying it was hidden. I’d have to retrieve it when I hit the ground. I crawled out onto the wall, quickly wriggling into reverse position, ass in the air, the branches prodding me. I grabbed thick branches in the hope they’d support me. Fat chance. They collapsed under my weight. Crying out, I was flung down, clutching at spindly
leaves and branches. I found myself dangling a few feet above a patch of turf around the house, my hands scratched to bits.
Thank God the street was quiet. I let go, wincing, ready to be grated like a slab of cheddar.
The rough wall raked my skin. I winced again. The heels were a bad idea after all – I twisted my ankle as I crumpled onto the grass.
I stood up and brushed myself down. Nothing that wouldn’t heal in time. There was a small path in the distance, an alley between houses. I’d hunt for the bag and dress, then run for it. I’d find a spot, like someone’s yard, where I could just slip my dress on and limp calmly away. I stepped backwards.
But I couldn’t move. What the hell?
Two arms around my waist. ‘Easy,’ a voice hissed.
I twisted, furious, kicking the shin, struggling, adrenaline killing the pain of my wounds. The arms tightened. I couldn’t breathe. The arms were in navy blue, the rough fabric of workmen’s overalls. ‘Let me go!’
‘Shut up.’ The voice hissed, urgent. It was an odd command. I tried to turn.
Two cold turquoise eyes stared back at mine. He was tall, with very dark hair that looked almost navy in the light. His skin was ivory, stretched tightly over a prominent nose.
An unforgettable face. One I’d seen before only yesterday in Mikey’s bar.
But did he recognize me?
‘This is a police operation.’ He spoke low and firm. ‘You’re okay. Keep quiet.’
I panted heavily, my mind racing. The cop kept my arms behind my back. My eyes darted around.
Another man was up a ladder propped against a lamppost. He was silhouetted against the sun, and signaling furiously to my captor.
I hadn’t seen either of them on my arrival. They must have arrived when I was busy working on Caziel.
Talk about bad timing.
Survival instinct shoved me fast into Minnie mode. ‘Let me go! It’s a furnace in there! You gotta help them get out!’ I yelled, trying to turn.
‘What?’ The cop spun me around. He looked up at the building. On cue, a plume of blue smoke billowed out of an upstairs window. His eyes got even colder. He spat at me, ‘It’s burning?’
‘That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell ya!’ yelled Minnie.
‘Jesus Christ!’
The cop looked sickened, devastated even. He shouted to the other one. ‘Place is on fire.’
Another huge cloud of slate-gray smoke billowed out of the small rear window. The whole dive was going up fast. He turned around. ‘You did this?’
‘What? No! I just got out in time. That guy’s a creep! Professional photographer, my ass! Pervert! I had to get away.’
He studied my face. Intently. Coldly.
An engine suddenly roared from the front yard. The man up the ladder shouted, ‘On the move!’
He bounded down the ladder. Turquoise Eyes dropped my arms and ran to meet him. They were shooting furious looks at me, locked in some kind of debate. They were the same height, but my captor was white and the other was black. They reminded me of two knights on the chessboard, head to head.
While they debated, I’d be on my merry way. I edged back towards the wall to find my bag and began to poke around the bushes.
‘Lost something?’
I turned around, indignant. Turquoise headed towards me, furious. The other guy was running towards a car.
Damn! Dede’s gun was in the bag. ‘Yeah, a ring. Had it in my hand as I got out. Must have dropped it. That weirdo didn’t want me wearing nothing. That’s when I got the creeps.’ I pretended to scan the grassy area. ‘Look, I can’t help. I gotta run.’
Turquoise Eyes studied me, hands on hips. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Groader, Minnie.’ I stood proudly, as righteous as a girl in a stained dressing gown and stockings can be. I prayed he would see his error and let me go. Instead, he flung my arms behind my back and cuffed me. ‘What are you doing, sir? Let me go!’
‘You’re a material witness, or a suspect. Till I make up my mind which, you’re going nowhere.’
‘You got it all wrong! I’m a nobody!’
A muscle pounded in his cheek. He dragged me towards the truck and flung me inside and locked the door. At least he had the decency to avert his eyes.
I watched as he did the unthinkable and ran towards the building. Like a fool he scrambled up the bougainvillea, going in the same way I’d fled. Then he was gone, hidden in the cloud of smoke. He’d die in there. But that might be my only hope.
Cuffs still on, I sat on my hands, watching my handiwork. The guesthouse was a raging inferno. Odd they hadn’t called the fire brigade. It would be a matter of seconds before somebody did.
Mission accomplished for June.
Now I just had to get myself out of this jam.
23
Cigarettes littered the floor. An interview room. Not a cell. Not a cell. I had to remember that.
And now I’d been in here for quite some time.
Relax, he’s probably catching up on other cases. You’re small fry.
Turquoise Eyes had driven me here without saying a word. In a way, I had been kind of relieved he had got out of the fire, sooty but unscathed. I hadn’t had to wait for hours in that truck with the cuffs on. At least a cop didn’t die thanks to my efforts.
He’d had the decency to uncuff me, before driving us off.
I’d kept the Minnie act up the whole journey. How I was in a hurry, how I could tell him anything he wanted to know right there and then, I had no idea and the rest.
He had growled, ‘You can make your statement later, now shut the fuck up.’
I was giving a statement. That was all.
I glanced out of the window as we shot through Wilshire Boulevard, staring wistfully at the passing glimpse of the Miracle Mile Hotel off the main drag. Minnie certainly didn’t belong there, but I wanted to.
Eventually, as the streets got busier, he turned into a public lot and parked the truck. ‘Put this on.’ He produced a rolled-up trench coat. I wouldn’t have to walk the streets in the negligee. He was giving me some dignity, then. Except when I stepped out of the cabin I almost tripped over the hem, like a bad silent movie comedienne.
We’d walked around the block to Precinct. I gazed down. My ankle was swollen, red and shiny. He caught me looking but didn’t drop his pace to take into account my obvious limp.
Nice guy.
I ran through the cards I had to play. They had nothing on me. He looked like the thorough type and would grill me, that’s all. He had no idea I’d bungled his surveillance on purpose, and would see Minnie was just an idiot on the make. I’d soon be free.
I could do this.
I could relax.
I wanted to throw up.
There was a jug of water and a small glass on the table. I took a sip. It was lukewarm and tasted stale.
The door opened. A gray-haired secretary popped her head around the door and said, ‘Won’t be too long now.’
‘Ma’am, could you tell the detective I’m in a hurry?’
She nodded and shut the door. Like hell she would.
My stomach grumbled with hunger. A fly buzzed around the room, flaunting its freedom in my face.
There’s always a fly. Nosey Parkers of the insect variety.
You stupid bitch. You did a favor, you got soft, now look!
I had been a first-rate idiot to let soft-heartedness eat at my conscience. Why hadn’t I left June in Dede’s hands and got the hell out? Who had I been kidding? I was not a nice person and never had been.
I’d had a chance to run and I’d blown it.
Idiot! When would I learn?
The world screwed you, you don’t have to repay anyone.
I slumped with my head on my arms and closed my eyes.
‘Wakey-wakey,’ a voice said, followed by a slight cough. I lurched upright in my seat, rubbing my eyes.
Turquoise Eyes had freshened up, changed into a dark suit and a jazzy necktie. He held a f
ile, a pen and a witness statement triplicate form.
I said, ‘Don’t you look as fresh as a daisy? All right for some I guess.’ I had to stay in role. Indignant, hassled, a girl down on her luck.
No smile. Instead, he just eyed me with cold curiosity.
‘Your partner okay? He catch that creep Caziel?’
‘Leave the questions to me, Miss.’
I had my work cut out. ‘Don’t suppose anybody found my ring?’
He ignored this. ‘I’m Detective Randall Lauder. Now, how do you spell Groader? G-R-O-A-D-E-R, right?’ Randall Lauder opened his notebook. I could see scrawled notes in illegible handwriting.
I nodded. ‘Groader rhymes with toad, that was the teasing I got in junior high.’
Lauder finished writing on the form. He looked up at me. ‘Start from the beginning. What exactly were you doing in Gordon Grove?’
I exhaled dramatically, as if it was a relief to finally offload. ‘Only went for some portraits for my book. What a joke. I just want to forget the whole thing,’ I sniffed.
Detective Lauder didn’t offer a tissue so I dabbed my eyes with a sleeve of the raincoat.
Time for the sob story.
‘Things ain’t been exactly easy since I got here. I came here to act – start as an extra, work my way up. But all the agencies, the ones that bothered to see me, took one look at my book and said my pictures didn’t make the grade. Now, I sure ain’t no dummy! I’d been warned by pals to avoid the studio guys who sign a girl up and promise her castings, getting her hopes up over dinner, and next thing you know she’s doing things she’d never do, all for a movie role that never existed in the first place! Mr. Caziel looked pretty neat, nice suit, serious-looking kind of guy. Met him at some hotel bar, can’t remember where exactly. And he had fancy shoes. Mama always said, you can tell a gentleman from his shoes. He said he did portraits for girls’ books, and did I need help in that department? I told him I was flat broke. Our deal was he’d keep some of my shots in case I made it big, then he’d make his dough back like that. Sounded fair enough to me.’
