by Peter Corris
'Aw, Hart told me his sister was in close with some church or other. Some Chinese Christian malarkey.'
He gave me a salute and followed the others out of the commissary. Violating all the rules, I stayed sitting at the writers' table. I lit a cigarette and wanted a drink. I was still sitting there when Loren Duke came to get me to watch screen tests for other actors in the picture that wasn't scheduled or written and would never be made.
A private eye who can't match up a phone number with an address isn't going to get anywhere. The cops have a book that makes the match and various other people buy the information from the cops. I knew a guy who had a copy of the match book and I phoned him just before I left Paramount.
'A ten spot in your mailbox tomorrow,' I said. 'Beatrice Trudeau, Pasadena 6598.'
'That's 129 Shakespeare. You want me to spell it?'
'You'd charge extra,' I said, 'and probably get it wrong. Thanks.'
'Just make sure you say it ten times tomorrow, Dick.'
I finally shook Duke off by telling him I was too tired to grab a beer. All I wanted to do was go to bed, I said.
'I hear you've got company at the Bryson.'
'That's right. An adult female. Any law against that?'
He shook his head and sighed. 'Nope. This town being the way it is, I'd say I downright approve. Call you in the morning.'
I drove to Venice to the address May Lin had given me. The apartment block was standard Californian, which is to say Spanish with some of the frills missing. It was three storeys high, built of brick, painted white, with a flat roof and a series of small balconies and landings reached by stairways running up the outside of the building. There were white stones and palm trees in small courtyards at ground level, and every apartment had a car parking space allotted to it in a big, open-fronted garage at the back of the building. It was a classy place and I wouldn't have minded living there myself. You'd be able to see the water from the higher levels, and those balconies looked like nice spots to catch a bit of sun and sip a few cold ones.
I wasn't so seduced by it as to be careless, though. I drove around the block a few times, noting the cars parked in the streets and the people moving around on the street. Nothing suspicious. May Lin had apartment ten and there was no car in her slot. I parked my Olds there, backing it in so that I could take off quickly if need be. It didn't seem likely. Venice is different from most of LA, or was then. The place gives off a relaxed feeling, as if you can leave the pressures behind you on the road and come down here to a more comfortable way of life. I was regretting that I'd ever left it. Then I remembered the circumstances—the threats of death or worse24—and I shed the feeling.
I scouted around in the courtyards until I found the steps leading to apartment ten. It was on the second storey, at the front and would command a respectable water view. I couldn't guess at the rent—well above mine at the Wilcox, maybe around what someone was paying at the Bryson. Weird thoughts. In cheap places you get snoopers, bored people with nothing on their minds so they pry into other people's business. Good for investigators, not so good for the citizenry. In better locations you get privacy. May Lin had it here. There were a few lights on in the apartment block, but no fluttering curtains, no inquisitive eyes. The cactus sprouted just where May Lin said it would and I snagged my sleeve, just as she said I would if I wasn't careful. I slid the key out and opened the door.
I liked the smell—incense, perfume, the smell of a woman. I went down a spiral staircase into the living room which was big and square with large windows and a lot of pot-plants. I switched on the light. Good carpet, settee, a couple of chairs, some cushions and magazines scattered about. I'd been right—through the window I could see the dark ocean rolling in. After the long day I was ready for a beer and I found a couple of bottles of a brand I didn't recognise in the refrigerator. I uncapped one and drank—thin and sweetish, but not too bad. There was wine in the fridge and a selection of the sort of food a person living alone can whip up quickly. I liked that, the confirmation that May Lin lived here alone.
I drank most of the beer while sitting in a chair in the living room and looking out at the sea. It was philosophy time—a feeling that comes over me about once every ten years. I had an impulse to take stock, to review my life's successes and mistakes and wonder if I could cut down on the one and build up on the other. As usual, no decision. I looked at the paintings on the walls which were pleasing—about as far as I go in art appreciation. I sighed and put down the bottle. There was only one bedroom. I opened the door and turned on the light. Double bed, unfussy room. Built-in closets with a full-length mirror. I heard a sound, felt a movement, saw something and then I was hit from behind not too far from the place I'd been hit before. The room spun.
19
It was the mirror that saved me. I'd got just enough of a glimpse of danger to duck and reduce the force of the blow to my head. I went down but I wasn't unconscious. I lay doggo while Charles Tan, aka Mr Brown, rubbed the side of his meaty hand that had delivered the rabbit punch.
'Mr Browning,' he said. His voice oozed self-satisfaction. 'We meet again. So pleased.'
He reached down to grab the front of my shirt. I remembered the pliers; fear and panic sharpened my reflexes. I rolled away from him and reached behind me for the .38 in its holster lying against my spine. I got a clean grip and a quick draw. I had the gun up and cocked and pointing at his gut before he could make another move.
'Hey?' he said.
I was too scared to do anything other than what I did. I got to my feet and hit him above the left ear with the barrel of the gun. He sagged and I hit him again. I wanted him down and not moving. His knees touched the floor and I almost repeated the dose, but his dark, slanted eyes rolled back and I stopped in mid-swing. I was woozy and still very afraid. I looked at him, collapsed and still beside the bed and felt sick. Don't spoil it, Dick, I thought, keep it classy.
I waited until I was sure he was out; then I put the gun on the bed within reach and took off his tie. I pinioned his wrists and strapped them tight. After that I felt more secure. He wore braces. I unfastened them and used them to tie his ankles. I remembered what he'd said about trussing a person so that any movement caused strangulation, but I wasn't that much of a tough guy. I went into the kitchen, wet a dishcloth and opened another bottle of beer. Back in the bedroom I took a long suck on the bottle and felt the pain in my head settle down into a dull ache. I squeezed the cloth over Tan's head and let the water run into his eyes, nose and mouth. He spluttered and I slapped him across the face with the cloth. I was tough enough for that.
'Wake up, Charlie,' I said. 'Sore head?'
He groaned.
'Mine was, too. Still is, a bit. We're sharing a lot of experiences, aren't we? I'm pleased to see you again as well.'
He glowered at me.
I shook my head. 'Maybe you're not as pleased as you thought. Maybe you'd like to help things along by telling me what you're doing here.'
'You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Browning,' Tan said. 'You're way out of your depth, Limey.'
'Australian,' I said. 'I think I've met some of your folks out there—market gardeners and such, nice, quiet people. I think they'd be ashamed of you, Charlie. What're you doing in May Lin's apartment?'
'She's my little sweetie pie. I was waiting for her to come back so I could fuck her again.'
I hit him hard with the wet cloth. It left a red mark across his smooth face.
'You've bought every woman you've ever had,' I said. 'You haven't got a nice enough personality to get 'em any other way. But you interest me, Charlie. How'd you know not to come back to the cabin?'
He sneered at me. 'Like I say, Browning, you don't know shit. I found that out when I put the pliers to you. You'd have sung like Nelson Eddy if you'd had anything to give. I saw your pal on the track above the cabin. Hank was just about useless anyway. I thought I'd leave it in the lap of the gods. It didn't make any difference to me which
way it came out.'
That was cold-blooded enough for anyone. Suddenly, I felt very uneasy around Mr Tan, even if he was tied up. I had the feeling that if our positions were reversed, I might go sailing out the window down on to the hard white stones in the courtyard. I drank some beer and reached for the gun. No-one's ever praised my acting, but sometimes we rise above ourselves. I put the .38 up against Tan's right eyeball, under the lid.
'May Lin's my girl,' I said. 'I'm in love with her and your boys gave her a rough time. I don't like that. There's a cop in Santa Monica named Martingdale who's not too happy about the way things went down in that cabin. He'd like to tidy up a little. You're a dirty guy, Charlie, and I get the feeling Martingdale doesn't like Orientals. Then there's Singapore Sam, who doesn't like his niece being abducted. Everyone'd be happy for me to serve you up on a plate.'
'You wouldn't have the guts,' Tan said.
I removed the pistol from his eye socket. 'I'm not sure myself,' I said. 'I killed a lot of men in the war, but I was a sniper. Up close might be different, but somehow I don't think so.'
The red mark stood out more boldly as his face lost colour. 'You don't know what you're doing.'
I grabbed a pillow off the bed and rammed it up against the side of his head. I jammed the gun against it. 'I've got a feeling I can do it, Charlie. Tell me what I don't understand. That's the second time you've said that. Enlighten me. Convince me. I just might leave you alive here and send your mother and brother to get you. I just might.'
The mention of his mother and brother seemed to take something out of him. His eyes dropped closed for a moment and he looked older and tired. There was a trickle of blood coming from above his ear. It ran down his face and wet the collar of his linen shirt. He noticed and grimaced.
'I'll say this for you, Browning,' he muttered, 'you've got more balls than I gave you credit for. But take my advice. Stay out of this. I'm just about ready to give it the big miss myself.'
I wiped the neck of the beer bottle and put it to his mouth. He took a long swig. 'We're talking about the Sun, Moon and Stars, are we, Charlie?'
He nodded and winced as his head hurt. 'Yeah, I was going to have one last throw at it. Thought the May Lin broad might know something.'
'Why so negative? You're a tough guy, ex-marine. You swing a mean pair of pliers. This stuff's worth a fortune. You wouldn't just walk away from it.'
'When a piss-ant like you can take me, it's time I did. But that's not it. Look, I'll tell you everything I know about it and you let me go. Okay? No Santa Monica cops, no Reverend Moon, nothing. Okay?'
I nodded. 'If you convince me.'
It took about half an hour, another bottle of beer and some more gentle use of the dishcloth. I wiped the blood away and cleaned the cut on his head, which was more than he would have done for me. At first, he said he wanted a hand free to smoke. That he couldn't talk without tobacco. I laughed at him and he talked anyway. He said he'd become aware of the plan to get the Chinese treasures to America by overhearing conversations between his mother and brother and other members of their organisation.
'They're going to move the stuff to Taiwan. Then get it across the Pacific to the States. I don't know where and I don't know when, but I was expecting to find out. I heard that Sallust's wife had spilled a few beans and Sallust was writing about it. That's why I snatched you and May Lin.'
'Not Sallust? You haven't got him?'
'Would I have fucked around with you if I had him? No, that's the problem. There's someone else interested and it's someone very heavy.'
'What d'you mean?'
'My car got burnt out early this morning. My place got tossed.'
'Like you tossed mine?'
'Worse, much worse. And my woman was roughed up bad.'
'Where were you?'
He sighed. 'I was on an opium toot. I tell you, I got problems, Browning. I was looking for this big score to get me clear, but I think it's more likely to get me dead. I've had enough.'
I gave him a cigarette then, taking it out of his mouth to let him exhale and putting it back to let him suck the smoke down deep. He looked like a man at the end of his tether. I believed his story.
I thought aloud. 'Sue Cheng, Sallust's wife, says she didn't know where he got his information from. Have you got any clues on that?'
Tan thought about it. 'Maybe from the guy who grabbed him. Maybe he figured Sallust was a big-mouth and had to be shut up.'
'Maybe,' I said. 'If that's it we probably can't expect to see much more of old Hart.'
The beer and tobacco had put some toughness back into Charlie. He shrugged, as far as you can shrug when you're tied up like that. 'Who gives a shit?'
'I do,' I said.
'You're a fool. Let it go. Let the crazy Chink bastards jerk each other around.'
He was a very angry man with a lot of problems, as he'd said. I wondered whether I could just release him. I wondered about a lot of things. I got up off the bed and stubbed out the cigarette he'd only half smoked.
'Hey,' he said. 'What're you doing?'
'I came here to get some clothes for May Lin,' I said. 'Your boys left her a bit bedraggled.'
'My boys,' he spat out. 'Those punks. When they found out she was Sam's niece they couldn't get rid of her quick enough.'
I tucked the .38 back in its holster and made sure there was nothing sharp around that Charlie could get his hands on. I lifted a corner of the bed and put it down between his trussed legs, just above the ankles. He lay there and cursed me. I opened a closet and took down a selection of clothes—a couple of dresses, some slacks on hangers, a light coat. 'This'll take a few trips,' I said. 'I'll take this lot down to my car and think about what to do with you, Charlie.'
'We had a deal!'
'Did we?' I opened drawers in a cabinet beside the bed until I found the underwear. I grabbed a handful—all black silk—and felt a sexual shudder run through me. I was anxious to see May Lin in black silk underwear while I told her what a hero I'd been. I stuffed the frilly things in a pocket of the coat and went out of the bedroom.
I struggled up the staircase with the clothes, along the passageway, then braced myself against the wall as I put the door on the latch. Then it was out into the soft night and down the steps to my car. I dropped the stuff across the roof and lit a cigarette. I had to think what to do about Tan. I smoked and thought but nothing came. I got the car key out of my pocket and, just as I was unlocking the door, all hell broke loose. The night quiet was blown apart by sirens and gunfire. I dropped to the ground and pulled out my gun. My breath was coming in short gusts. I'd had enough action for one night. I could hear tyres screaming; blue lights winked from the road as glass broke and people shouted. I kept low. But the centre of the activity moved down the street and I was left panting on the gravel, my gun hand wet with sweat and a pair of black silk panties on top of my head.
Doors were banging and windows were opening in the houses and apartments along the street. A pair of dogs howled long, mournful off-key notes at each other from either side of the road. It was an unusual event for that part of town at that time of night, but not unknown. Black hopheads sometimes cruised down from east LA looking for trouble and the occasional desperado took a crack at the occasional liquor store on Venice Boulevard. Nothing to do with me. I put the gun back and stowed the clothes in the car.
I strolled back into May Lin's apartment thinking that it would be nice to spend a night or two here with her when this mess was all over. I was just about ready to bail out, like Charles Tan. Why not leave the whole thing alone? Convince May Lin that the secret agent stuff was for the birds. Maybe take her to Australia where she could meet some of the people in Little Collins Street and Dixon Street and we could all sit around over the chop suey. I looked into the kitchen wondering if there was anything here May Lin would need. I couldn't think of anything except maybe a few bottles of the beer which, I'd decided, was a fairly potent drop. I hauled the last two out of the refrigerato
r along with a bottle of Californian white wine, and set them on the bench.
I checked the living room over with the same question in mind. Maybe she'd like some of her records. There was a phonograph in the Bryson apartment and a little dance music seemed like a good idea. I flicked through the discs, but it was all opera and classical stuff. I pulled out the 'Emperor Concerto' by Beethoven and 'Bolero' by Ravel which I vaguely remembered having heard and recalled because they had a bit of life. I made some noise doing this and I wondered why Charlie was so quiet. Surely he should have been showing a little interest in my state of mind. He must have heard the shots and sirens through the window too. Why so quiet, Charlie?
I unshipped the .38 and slid along the wall to the bedroom door, cocking an ear at the hinges, but hearing nothing. I waited. Still nothing. I couldn't stand there all night. I crouched and sneaked a look around the door. Charles Tan lay where I'd left him, his bound legs pinioned by the bed. The only difference was that his head was at an odd angle to the rest of him. Not a natural angle—the sort of angle that means your neck has been broken and you're dead.
20
I wouldn't say I panicked, but I wasn't icy cool either. I took one good look at Tan. His eyes were wide open in surprise but whoever had killed him must have found the job easy. I felt a stab of guilt and then thought what Charlie might have done to me if I hadn't got lucky. I remembered the pliers. I swept a look around the room, noticed nothing, and jerked open a closet to get another handful of clothes—skirts and blouses this time. I slung them over my arm and went out of the bedroom without looking again at Tan.
I picked up the records in the living room and the bottles in the kitchen and left the apartment. I was on the steps to the ground level before I realised what a sitting duck I made—arms full of clothes and junk, gun in holster, blood pressure high. But nothing happened. I made it to the car and threw the stuff inside. I forced myself to take three deep breaths before starting the engine. I didn't need a flooded motor. All I needed was to be out of there. The motor caught and I revved it gently and took off smartly, thankful that I'd backed the car in. There was no movement in the courtyard or the street. All the excitement seemed to have died down. I was five miles from Venice, on the way back to Hollywood, before I remembered that, as well as leaving a corpse, I'd left my fingerprints on a dozen record sleeves, several cigarette butts and three beer bottles back in May Lin's apartment.
