by Helen Jacey
Soon the bright neon lights and signs gleamed like jars in a candy store seen through a kaleidoscope.
The old car glided through the main drag of the Strip. The nightclubs were at full throttle, swing bands blasting out from various venues. Creatures of the night glided in and out of clubs and restaurants, into taxis, into big fancy cars with exhausted chauffeurs holding open the door.
I turned again, down Genesee. I passed houses and apartment blocks. Soon, a velvety darkness descended where the odd bum and a black-and-white prowl car were the only signs of life. Then through a barren wasteland of roads where hoardings hid demolition sites, new structures towering into the darkness. Far beyond these stood deserted oil derricks like giant scarecrows in barren fields. Yesterday’s dream.
I checked the gauge. My gas wouldn’t last forever so I changed direction and returned to civilization.
Now I was back in the land of blocks with silent malls, shuttered newspaper stands, closed tobacconists. A dead city in the dead of night. But was it all so dead? Surely the fashion shops’ ghostly mannequins would whisper gossip once I’d gone by. And in the shoe shops, the high heels and gumshoes would be clicking their heels and dancing. In the millinery shops, hats would spin off their poles and fly through the air. And the giant cup of coffee on the roof of the oddly illuminated café, surely some being from the night sky would descend and drink it; a hand would take the giant plastic cone from the top of the ice cream parlor and lift it to the heavens.
What exactly was in that Zombie? I laughed, remembering Joyce had said it had a kick. I drove on, anonymous and safe, just another tiny car crawling through the big city.
Olive Harjo. An artist living out in the hills, mourning a dead lover.
A new lead? Or a dead end? Should I go there? Me, Elvira Slate. P.I. A charlatan by most people’s standards. But Beatty had encouraged me to turn stones over, and that was what I was doing. Being a professional, for the first time in my life.
This new responsibility filled me with a renewed sense of dread, simmering beneath the surface, ready to burst out. It would drag me down to a new kind of hell, where only I would perish.
I parked a few blocks from the Astral and walked the rest of the way. Just as I approached the motel, I felt an incredible sensation. An unusually warm current of the Santa Ana suddenly engulfed me. I stood still, pulling up my sleeves, and unbuttoned the top buttons of my blouse, letting the air onto my neck. I removed my hat and shook my hair. How could a wind feel this magical? I lifted my head to the night sky, standing there, breathing it in, letting it caress me. The wind was soothing me, encouraging me, empowering me.
I was being cleansed, refreshed, renewed.
You can do this, you can be this. You are Elvira Slate. You can be this.
And then I knew. The wind was blessing me.
As I turned into the parking lot, my stomach lurched.
Lauder’s car. The silhouette of his fedora in the driver’s window.
Had he seen my private Santa Ana benediction?
No, that was my moment. Not his, not anybody’s. He wouldn’t steal the effects.
What did he want at this hour?
My hat under my arm, I marched up to the open car window. His head was lolling awkwardly, in the manner of someone desperate not to be caught napping. So he hadn’t seen me.
‘Pretty late hours you cops work.’
He stirred, blinked and looked up at me. He coughed as if to assert he had been awake the whole time but his husky voice gave him away. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘Picture house. Then took an evening stroll, followed by a couple of cocktails.’
Lauder decided not to pursue it and got out of the car. He looked me up and down. ‘Kind of dressed up for a date on your lonesome. How’s the homework?’
‘Slow progress.’ If he actually came into my room, he’d soon realize I had got rid of all the papers. And if he got mad and poked around, he might discover Beatty’s cards and the car key in the cheap purse I’d bought to replace Violet’s.
Stay in control.
‘Want me to run an errand tomorrow?’
Please not tonight, anything but that.
‘Yeah. Minnie Groader has places to go, people to see. First thing. Figure that’s around eleven, for you.’
‘What?’
Minnie Groader!
Lauder leant against his bonnet, crossing his legs. He looked me in the eye. ‘Don’t dress so fancy. Minnie’s desperate, as I recall?’ The sarcasm was obvious.
‘You found Caziel?’
He peered into my face. ‘Who’s asking?’
‘Oh, I get it. The big lure.’ Hairs stood up on the back of my neck.
He noticed my surliness. ‘We have a deal. You do what I say, when I say. No questions. Not like you’ve got anything better to do.’
My own investigation, for starters.
I would have the last word. The new me would. ‘Some deal.’
It was dark, but was that a small smile on Lauder’s normally straight mouth? He looked aside for a second. ‘Make sure you’re ready.’
45
The mid-morning sun was already like an oven. I’d overdone the make-up and cheap scent, and my skin was starting to sweat. Going as Minnie Groader meant wearing my old blue dress. I plonked on Alberta’s hat. It stank of smoke from the fire.
I hadn’t dared creep out to Tina’s to call Beatty and fill her in on my conversation with Joyce. That would have to wait.
There was a rap on the door. Eleven on the dot.
Well, Lauder was a stickler for timekeeping.
An unlit cigarette dangled from his mouth as he stood in the doorway. Cool as a cucumber. He looked me up and down and gave an affirmative grunt. ‘You look the part. Good.’
I nodded, suddenly nervous.
‘All right. You ready?’
‘You tell me. Last time I was Minnie Groader, I didn’t know what I was walking into but at least I had a weapon.’
‘Let’s go.’ Lauder turned away.
Lauder kept his eyes on the road. We drove in silence, the odd couple on a bizarre mission together. I asked, ‘Aren’t all detectives supposed to have a partner anyway?’
‘Sick leave.’ He gave a mind-your-own-business grunt.
That, and the knot in my stomach, put an end to the small talk.
The journey seemed to go on forever. Finally, a drab suburban stretch turned into an industrial zone. There was no traffic, no pedestrians. I peered out as we passed lumberyards and depots selling sanitary ware, sand, cement and building supplies. The places that pop up to serve a hungry, ever-expanding city but that can be ripped down fast. Factories and warehouses that the war had laid waste to still lay empty, with broken windows and boarded-up gates. We passed a car pound where turn-of-the-century motorcars were stacked high like dead bats in a belfry, the soft tops hanging down like decaying wings on rusting metal skeletons.
Finally the car slowed down. Just before a dead end, a strip of painted beige warehouses edged the road.
Lauder pulled up in front of a large truck parked at the side of the road. It was covered with thick dust as if it hadn’t been driven for years. He looked at me. ‘Get out, turn around and go left. You’ll see three warehouses. Head for the one in the middle. Jackson’s Linoleum. Go in, and announce yourself. Say you’re here for work.’
‘What?’
‘You heard. And use your eyes and ears. Note anything that strikes you.’
‘What kind of work?’
‘Use your imagination.’
‘Sounds like fun. So long.’ I began to open the passenger door, my mouth dry. Great. Minnie would be stripping for creeps.
‘Wait.’ Lauder bent down and handed me something. It had been so long, I almost didn’t recognize it.
Violet’s handbag! Intact, musty and battered as ever.
‘Open it.’
I opened the clasp. Inside, scrunched up in a ball, was Prison Governess Seldon’s
handkerchief with the violets on.
And another unexpected item.
Dede’s pistol.
I met his dark eyes. ‘You think I’m going to need this?’
He shrugged. ‘If you don’t want it, fine.’
I glowered at him and clutched the bag closer.
Lauder checked his watch. ‘All right. Bang on time.’ With that, he leant back, and stretched out on the front seat, adjusting his hat to lessen the glare from the sun.
A fine time for sunbathing.
I didn’t want to go inside, but there was no choice. I hesitated.
‘Beat it.’ Lauder said, from under the hat.
I had no choice. I got out of the car for my rendezvous with a perv.
Around the corner, the three warehouses occupied a gravel yard divided by chicken wire. The yards of the end two were piled high with junk but the middle one had been cleared out at some point. Weeds inhabited the cracks in the tarmac, the only sign of life.
I entered the yard, wondering if eyes were already on me. It felt deserted, but there was no telling.
The main door was half open. I pushed it and stepped inside. A layer of dust already soiled my fine white gloves. ‘Hello?’ I called out, in Minnie’s drawl. ‘Anybody home?’
I stood on a bundle of unopened mail and peered into a gloomy corridor. Fishy. ‘Hello?’
Silence. Keeping my hand on the pistol concealed deep within the purse, I edged down the dark corridor, doing my best to tread lightly on the concrete floor. There were a couple of doors on each side; both were padlocked. At the end, a sign announced Main Office. I approached. I went to knock. The door swung open at the touch of my hand.
Large metal-framed windows, divided into smaller square sections, lent the room sunlight. It was bright but cold, as the broken panes let in a permanent draft. The only other features were a high stack of rolls of colored and patterned linoleum, and a long wooden bench with nothing on it except a broken pencil. A stool with a broken leg lay on its side.
Pushed or kicked?
I paused, alert. Surely Lauder’s information was old. No telephone anywhere. No sign of life. Certain no porno studio. Wait! The stack of linoleum rolls was propped up against two sides of some kind of inner office sectioned off in the corner of the room. The door must have been on the other side, not obvious. I approached cautiously. Something was in there! Music? It was a tinny buzzing sound, like a radio stuck out of range, in desperate need of tuning.
I crept up to the door, hidden by the end of the stack of rolls. Through the deeply marbled glass panel, I could just about make out a figure. A man’s figure, dark-suited. He seemed to be dozing, head on desk. I called out, ‘Hi, there. I got an appointment.’
I gritted my teeth, coughed loudly and approached the door. ‘Hello?’
No answer. The buzzing noise was very strange.
I knocked again with my free hand. Nothing doing. I turned the metal handle and pushed the door.
A swarm of bluebottles buzzed angrily at me.
An appalling stench hit my nose. A putrid miasma of rottenness. I gagged. Somehow I lifted the gun and pointed it. Nobody was moving. Certainly not the corpse slumped over the desk.
The back of his skull had been blown to bits, leaving a wide crater edged with dark, dried blood. His arms weren’t visible, hanging down limply. What must have been the rest of the man’s brains formed a violently splattered brown and black spongy mudpack on the back wall, with dried brown rivers flowing down, like open veins. A lank and mousy toupee lay on the desk, floating in a pool of dark blood. The same toupee I’d seen before.
Elmore Caziel.
Dead at his desk.
The impulse to heave threw me back.
Had Lauder sent me in here, knowing this all along? Damn him! Lauder was lazing in the sun outside. I wanted to run out to him, to yell at him for risking my life. But wait! Was this all a set-up? His way of pinning a murder on me?
I had a gun on me. Maybe Lauder had already used it on Caziel. That’s why he wasn’t here. Were the cops about to storm in?
Just run!
I backed out of the office. I had to flee. This would be my only chance to loosen their grip on me. Somehow, I had to escape the notice of Lauder.
No. Wait. Be reasonable.
Lauder had given me a gun to protect me. Maybe he just wanted to check if Caziel was really here. Maybe I was meant to just injure Caziel if he got nasty, so he could arrest him.
But I couldn’t be a witness. Lauder knew that. So was he killing two birds with one stone? Lauder could be finally done with me.
I was paralyzed, rooted to the spot. To bolt or not to bolt. To trust or be proved a fool.
Seconds going.
Going, going, gone.
If I was going to run, it had to be right now.
I swallowed hard. I’d choose trust, today. And maybe live to regret it tomorrow.
Eyes and ears. Find something. Brownie points.
Covering my nose with Seldon’s hanky, and with the gun in the other hand, I went back in.
Caziel’s feet were neatly pressed together under the desk, although his knees had fallen open at a strange angle. His dapper shoes were sprayed with fine blood spatter.
Bluebottles bounced up, their feasting disturbed. The more blasé among them didn’t rise from the wound.
This was not a fresh killing. I’d seen one of those firsthand in London and would never forget it. Billy’s eyes. Scarlet, glistening, new blood.
Suicide? Surely his head would be flung back?
I looked around for any sign of the weapon, on the desk or the floor.
Nothing.
Caziel and his ilk would always have plenty of enemies. Someone could have forced him to shoot himself and then shoved his face onto the desk.
No briefcase, no possessions. I approached the side of the desk. Flies circled around my face. I waved them off. I would have to drop either the hanky or the gun to feel inside Caziel’s pockets. I slid the gun back in the purse. Through the hanky, I took a deep breath then bent down and slid my hand into each of his inside pockets. His hands hung low between his legs, near his dick. Revolting. It was odd, confirming my thought he’d been positioned. Directly beneath his hands, a pool of blood had formed. It could only mean one thing.
He had been shot in the genitals.
I tried to stop my thoughts bouncing around. I forced myself back to the task, shut my eyes and plunged my hand into all visible pockets.
A few dimes, a lighter. Nothing of significance.
Time to go. I moved towards the door.
Wait! There was a tiny shred of something cream and fluffy, stuck between an edge of linoleum and the plinth. It was too clean, out of place amidst the grime.
I kneeled down and plucked it out of the crack.
A feather, silky and fragile. I slipped it into my purse.
I finally left the office, and as soon as I stepped into the larger work areas, the nausea got the better of me. I heaved, vomit splashing the base of a linoleum roll.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. I glimpsed a white hand.
Lauder.
I glanced around, through retches.
He held a gun in his hand. Had he been covering me the whole time?
46
‘You knew he was there, didn’t you? You sent me in there,’ I mumbled, my legs jelly, wobbling towards the rear passenger door. My only desire was to curl up like a baby. I slid in and pulled the door shut, collapsing on the seat.
Lauder got in and slammed the door.
He turned on the engine. ‘Didn’t know the asshole was shot to pieces!’
I said, ‘He could have killed me…somebody could have…I wouldn’t have stood a chance in there.’
Lauder spun around. ‘Shut up!’ Suddenly he began to slap the steering wheel hard. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’
I slowly sat back up, confused. I’d never seen him lose it. Now he was punching the living daylights out of the front passen
ger seat. His rage abated. He cursed, and swerved the car around the truck, the wheels crunching on gravel. He checked on me once in the rear mirror. His eyes were like steel.
He and his temper tantrum could stuff it. It was hardly my fault Caziel was dead. I wouldn’t tell him about the feather. Lauder didn’t deserve clues. Caziel’s death meant one person off a long list of people who were after me. Who gave a shit if the killer got justice or not? Not me. I should be sending the killer a gift basket and a big bouquet.
Good riddance to bad rubbish.
I yanked off the gloves, my hat, anything that the stale stench of death might have permeated. Had I left any trace of myself there? No, I had worn the gloves. That had been Lauder’s instruction. So he hadn’t wanted evidence of me there, either.
Then I sank back into the seat, my breathing slowly becoming controllable.
‘Want some?’
A silver flask appeared, offered by Lauder’s hand stretching backwards. I sat up and took it. ‘Thanks.’ I unscrewed the lid, sniffing before I drank.
Brandy.
I gulped it down, spilling some down my chin.
So what.
I glugged more. I lay back, shutting my eyes again, willing away the image of a rotten skull. ‘That’s why you let me have a weapon. An untraceable weapon. I could have been killed!’
‘But you weren’t.’ Lauder snapped. ‘What did you see?’
‘You saw it yourself, didn’t you? A carcass and bluebottles.’
He shot me a look via the mirror to shut up. ‘I mean, any clues? You were in there longer than me.’
