by P. N. Elrod
“And if Stan McAlister should happen to mention the encounter to your daughter …”
“I’ll be accused of doing all sorts of things for her own good,” he concluded with a sigh of long suffering, and shrugged. “She’s my daughter, but I’m damned if I know what’s going on in her mind all the time. She would accuse me of being too nosy or something. She likes to think she’s very independent and bitterly resents any implication to the contrary. If you have, or ever have children you’ll know what I mean. All I want is to get the bracelet back. After that it’s going into the safe until I’m gone, and then she can do what she likes with it.”
“Assuming we’re able to locate the bracelet, have you a preference for any particular method of recovery?”
“Since it was stolen, I thought you could steal it back. Stan wouldn’t dare squawk.”
“If he’s fenced it already, we may have to purchase it—if it is still in one piece.”
He grimaced. “I hope it is, or Marian’s feelings or not, I’ll have Griff fold the little punk in two the wrong way. The bracelet’s insured for fifteen thousand, I’ll go that high, but would appreciate if you could bargain things down to the lowest possible amount.”
“We’ll see what we can do. I unfortunately do not have any of my standard contracts with me.”
Pierce pulled out a wallet and casually gave us each a hundred-dollar bill. It was a sumptuous retainer when compared to Escott’s usual rate. “That’s all the paperwork I think you’ll need for now, Mr. Escott. If Griff trusts you, I can trust you. If the trust is misplaced, then Griff has ways of evening the score.”
“Of that I have no doubts. We’ll need a description of Mr. McAlister. In fact, I would like one of all the principals.”
He was prepared and gave Escott a sheet of paper with names, addresses, and a list of McAlister’s favorite haunts. He also produced another photo. “I took this at the party, it’s a little harsh because I didn’t get the flash right, but they’re recognizable. That’s my daughter.” He pointed to a sleek brunette. “Fortunately for her, she took after her mother in looks. Unfortunately for me, she has my temperament and quite a lot of her own, besides. The handsome fellow next to her is Harry, and the two blonds are Kitty Donovan and Stan McAlister.”
Escott carefully checked it over. “What does Mr. McAlister do?”
“Not very damn much, as far as I can tell. Stan has a taste for gambling and no inclination to work.”
“Does Kitty work?”
“Yes, but mostly for amusement. Her parents left her with a comfortable trust. She augments it by designing hats for one of the big stores around here, custom stuff. She glues a few feathers and sequins to a strip of ribbon and charges a fortune for it. That’s how she met Marian.”
“What about Mr. Summers?”
“Harry’s from a decent family. Not much money, but good people. Marian met him while he was working as a waiter at some party. He’d worked his way through school that way and now he’s trying to start up his own business in radio repair, so I give him credit for some ambition.”
“Does he also gamble?”
“No, Harry’s pretty much of a tight fist with his money, which is sensible if you don’t carry it too far.”
“You think he does?”
Pierce nodded, amused again.
“You approve of him, though?”
“He’s a cut above most of the lowlifes Marian’s brought home, but I’m not taking it too seriously. She changes boyfriends as frequently as I change socks. She’ll fasten onto someone else when she gets tired of going to the park and museums with Harry. They’re free, you know.”
“Does Marian work?”
“Has hell frozen over lately?”
Escott almost laughed. “Where may I reach you?”
Pierce mumbled and growled a little under his breath, and reluctantly parted with his home phone number. “But don’t call if you can help it, I’ll check with you every evening at about five.”
We wound things up and left Pierce at the bar ordering another sarsaparilla. As Griffin drove us back home, Escott studied the party photo by the intermittent light from the street lamps.
“An interesting group, wouldn’t you say?” he asked.
“I guess so. Funny how he’s so leery of his daughter finding out about any of this.”
“The extent that some fathers are dominated by their offspring would probably astonish you, and a man may go to absurd lengths in order to preserve the illusion of peace in his household.”
“While disrupting others,” I added.
“Yes, he did initiate this business in a somewhat unorthodox manner. At least it added a touch of interest to an otherwise commonplace case.”
“That’s what you figure?”
“This time, yes. The man didn’t strike me as a fool. If he thinks McAlister took the bracelet, then it’s likely to be true. We have only to find the fellow and verify things one way or another.”
“Sure you need my help, then?”
“Most certainly. I could cover all of the places listed here alone, bur it will go faster for your assistance…. Tell me, is Miss Smythe still head lining at the Top Hat?”
“For another month yet.” Two weeks ago Bobbi had landed the star spot singing in one of Chicago’s best nightclubs.
“Now, that is most convenient. It’s down here as a place frequented by Stan McAlister.”
I could see what he had in mind a mile off. “Aw, now don’t go asking me to mix Bobbi up with this business.”
“Miss Smythe need not be involved. All you have to do is look the place over and see if McAlister is present. Don’t you visit there each night, anyway?”
“Yeah, but only just before closing so I can drive Bobbi home. Her boss said no husbands or boyfriends during working hours for any of the girls, no exceptions. He thinks they take up valuable space.”
“He can’t object if you’re a paying customer. Mr. Pierce’s retainer should be more than sufficient to cover your expenses for now.”
He’d made up his mind, so there wasn’t much point arguing with him. Chances were, McAlister would be in some other joint and I could take Bobbi home as usual, with the added bonus of getting paid to catch her show. “Okay, I’ll go have a look. What’ll you be doing?”
“Checking some of his other haunts, and then I’ll run by his hotel to see if he’s in. If I find him, then I can sort things out right away.”
Griffin dropped us at home and drove unhurriedly away, the Packard’s exhaust a thick, swirling fume in the winter air.
“How you plan to handle it?” I asked Escott as I walked to my car and unlocked it.
“I’m leaving myself a wide range of options by not deciding that until I’ve met the man. If he’s reasonable, I’ll reason with him. If not ….” He spread his hands in a speculative gesture and walked away, taking the narrow alley between his building and the next so he could get his Nash out of the garage in back.
Since my suit was good enough for the Top Hat, I could start right away as well. The sooner we got the bracelet back, the sooner I could return to the typewriter and rescue Olivia from a horrible fate at the hands of the dreaded spider cult.
My mind was busy with permutations on the story’s ending as I made a U-turn and followed Griffin’s route out of the neighborhood. I was halfway to the club before I noticed the car following me. A couple of turns later and I was certain about the tail; not a new experience, but decidedly uncomfortable. For the time being I did nothing and drove to the Top Hat. As I parked, the coupe drifted past, looking for a spot of its own. It was a neat little foreign job I’d never seen before, driven by a woman who looked vaguely familiar. Maybe she was some friend of Bobbi’s, but I didn’t think so. I left my car, walked in the club entrance, and offered my hat and coat to the check girl.
The claim ticket was hardly in my pocket when the other driver charged through the door, looking a little breathless. She spotted me looking at her, pr
etended not to notice, and marched past to toss a wide silver fox wrap at the girl. She made quite a business of putting away her own ticket in her tiny purse and then pretended a vast interest in a placard advertising the club’s entertainment. I hung around the lobby, not making it easy for her.
A noisy group came in and she used them as an excuse to glance around, but I was still looking right at her. She flushed deep pink and went back to fiddling with her purse again, this time pulling out a cigarette case. I crossed the dozen feet separating us and fired up my lighter. Startled, her eyes flicked up to meet mine. They were huge, very round, and a pure and lovely blue. Her thick sable hair fell back freely from cream-colored shoulders. They were bare except for two braided metallic straps holding up the silver sheath of her evening gown.
“Thank you,” she said, and lighted her cigarette. She briefly locked eyes again, made a decision, and blinked prettily. “What’s your name?”
“Jack. What’s yours?”
She giggled, schoolgirl seductive, and shook her head, letting her hair swing a little.
I recognized her now and wasn’t happy about it. Sebastian Pierce had been very insistent about keeping his daughter ignorant of his business.
“You always follow strange men around?”
“Only the ones I might like.”
“That can be dangerous, Miss Pierce.”
Her head jerked in surprise, then her eyes dropped. “So I’ve been found out. Are you going to tell Daddy?” She looked up from under her bangs, as appealingly as possible.
“Depends. Why don’t you drop the high school flirt act and we talk about it?”
Now she did blink. I might as well have smacked her face with a wet towel. “You—”
“You’re right, and if you’re so innocent, you shouldn’t even know such words.”
She took another breath, held it, and indecision flashed over her face. She would either cuss me out or smile. I got lucky and she burst into laughter; the genuine article this time.
“Drink?” I gestured to the bar in the lounge, a smaller, quieter room away from the stage show.
“Why not?”
As we turned to leave, I heard the orchestra finish its fanfare and Bobbi’s voice soared up, filling the next room. I couldn’t help but pause, and it was a physical effort to resist the urge to go in and see her.
“Something wrong?”
I was a man in love and bound to turn sappy at any given moment. “No, not a thing.” Marian Pierce latched on to my arm and led off in the wrong direction. Not that she didn’t promise to be attractive company and was part of the job at hand, but she just wasn’t Bobbi.
A waiter read the signs right, at least the ones Marian was giving out, and seated us in the back, behind a row of short palm trees. She ordered scotch and water. I ordered only the water.
“Trust Daddy to find another teetotaler,” she said, pretending world-weary disapproval.
“I drink, but not on the job.”
“Oh, are you working or something?”
“Would you have followed me if I weren’t?”
She puffed on her cigarette and thought it over. “Actually, I was following Daddy.”
“Any reason why?”
“No.”
It was going to be one of those nights. “Then you started following me. Any reason for that?”
She smiled, trying to charm her way out again. “I liked your looks better than your partner’s.”
And maybe she thought she could more easily get around someone who seemed to be closer to her own age. “I’ll be sure and tell him.”
“No, promise you won’t tell anyone you saw me.”
“Daddy wouldn’t like it?”
Her eyes went down. “Something like that. Why did he hire you?”
“Your father is a client, which means I don’t talk about his business.
You won’t talk about yours, either. We’re not going to get anywhere fast like this, Miss Pierce. One of us needs to go home.”
“My name’s Marian, but then if you’re following me, you already know that.”
“Why do you think I’m following you?”
“I really wouldn’t know. Daddy … well … maybe he thinks I’m just a teeny-weenie bit too wild.” She was back doing the vulnerable-little girl act again. Any more of it and, job or no job, I’d leave to watch the rest of Bobbi’s show. Escott could have my half of the retainer and good riddance to it.
“Why?” Impatience crept into my tone. It couldn’t be helped, I was impatient.
“I can’t really talk about it. But really, there’s nothing to talk about.”
“Well, that’s too bad, then.” I made to go and she caught my arm.
“No, please wait.”
“For more runaround? Make up your mind, lady.”
“All right. You can’t tell me why you were hired, bur can you tell me why you weren’t?”
“Maybe.”
“Did my father want you to spy on me?”
“No.”
She sighed. “Well, that’s something, at least.”
“What are you hiding?”
“Nothing, but I do like to know what’s going on around me. Daddy still treats me like a six-year-old.” Her drink arrived and she put hall of it away as though it were my glass of water. “How many six-year-olds can do that, Mr…. ?”
”Jack Fleming,” I reminded her.
“That’s a nice name. Why did you come to the Top Hat if you weren’t spying on me?”
“My girlfriend works here.”
“You would have a girlfriend, wouldn’t you?” She pretended hurt. “Which one is she?”
“Let’s never mind that.”
Her face lit up with wicked mischief. “If you say so.” She abruptly leaned over and fastened her mouth to mine like a lamprey on a fish. I could taste the scotch on her tongue. She fell back, looking flushed and triumphant, and finished the rest of her drink.
“Any reason for doing that?” I asked.
“Because I felt like it.”
“That can be dangerous, too, you know.”
“Oh, pooh, you’re all right.”
“looks can be deceiving.”
“That works both ways, darling. I could be a terrible vamp.” She leaned back in the booth, crossing her arms to emphasize her cleavage.
“Then I’d better get out of here while my virtue’s still intact.”
“What?”
“Marian, you’re a wonderful girl, but I have to be going.”
“But why?”
“Uh-uh, we’ve already been down that street. I can’t talk and you won’t, and that makes for a dull evening.”
She uncrossed her arms and moved in closer. I braced myself for another assault. This time I tasted the cigarette mixed in with the scotch. She released me, but didn’t fall back. “It’s about time you learned there’s more you can do with your lips than talk,” she stated, her voice husky and mature all of a sudden.
I showed my teeth and shook my head. It was safe enough to do this time; my canines hadn’t lengthened by even a fraction of an inch. Like I said, she wasn’t Bobbi. “Thanks, but maybe some other night, sister.”
“Don’t you like me?”
“Kid, you make a great first impression. I’m going to remember you for the rest of my life….”
Then some bozo grabbed a fistful of my suit and yanked me from the booth onto the floor. What breath I’d drawn in order to talk got knocked out when I landed, not that he gave me much chance to say anything. Marian screeched a name, which I didn’t catch, because the guy slammed into my ear with his knee. My head took a wild spin in the other direction, and I flopped out flat with the man towering over me like a building.
He got his balance fixed and carefully drew back one of his rough leather toes to kick my skull into the next county. I could disappear and let his foot sail through empty air, but this was the wrong place for that kind of fancy work—too many people and too many eyes. J
ust in time, I got my hand up and caught his ankle. He grunted at the initial shock and then gasped when I squeezed and twisted. He had to turn with it or suffer a green-stick fracture. Arms pinwheeling, he hopped once on his other foot and crashed into a waiter who had come up to stop the ruckus.
Both of them were on the floor in a sloppy football scramble. The guy that hit me started to hit the waiter, but I still had his ankle and gave it a sharp pull to remind him. He grunted out a very ripe curse, which upset some lady into calling for the manager at the top of her lungs. Another woman told her to shut up and a drunk said he would put ten bucks on the skinny guy in blue.
“Harry, how could you?” This from Marian, who had slid from the booth and was standing over us both.
Harry was in no mood to discuss motives and tried to kick me with his free foot. He hit my collarbone—hurting, but not breaking it—then he tried to slam sideways and get my other ear. I got my hand up in time again and twisted him pigeon-toed. He yelped, sat up, and tried once more to belt me, this time with his fists.
The waiter spoiled his aim by crawling out from under him just as another man was coming up. Together they tried to haul Harry away from me. I released my grip, still plenty mad, but content to let them handle him until it became clear they’d want help themselves. I got my feet under me, leaned over, and carefully pulled the punch I poked into Harry’s gut. He only needed the breath knocked from him, not burst organs.
It worked. You can’t fight if you can’t breathe, and normal humans do need air on a regular basis. Harry stopped struggling with the waiters and rolled on his side, probably burning one of his own ears for a change as he scraped against the carpet. He made choking sounds trying to refill his lungs.
A man in a tux appeared, took the situation in with an experienced eye, and jerked his head toward the exit. The waiters picked Harry up and marched him away, presumably to throw him out. He didn’t fight them, but his mottled red face was eloquent. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be in for an ambush when I went out for my car.
“I apologize, sir, I trust you are not injured?” The tux was not a happy man. I told him I was fine, and then he apologized to the dozen or so people who had watched with varying degrees of interest. Two or three left, and the rest settled down to discuss the fight and wait for signs of more entertainment.
