Dream Town, page 10
The bar wasn’t crowded yet but Archer knew that would change, particularly on a holiday. LA liked its booze and a place to sit and drink that was not home, particularly if you were married and your wife didn’t understand you.
He picked the booth that would allow his back to be to the door, but also have him facing the mirror over the bar, enabling him to see anyone coming in. The woman who escorted him to that booth asked for his drink order. She was petite, in her early twenties, brown-haired, slim-hipped, and full of spunky attitude.
“Make it a cup of coffee black to start and we’ll go from there. And make sure it’s fresh.”
“Oh, what a dream customer you are.”
He slipped the woman a five and she clammed up and went away to fetch the coffee.
Archer kept his hat on to hide the bandage. He got his coffee, which was good and hot, and watched as it started to rain, the chilly drops pitter-pattering the glass like liquid bullets.
Archer suddenly remembered he hadn’t had any food since his noontime breakfast. “What do you have to eat in this place?” he asked the waitress.
She leaned down with a pouty look and said, “Sandwiches, potato chips on the side. And a fat pickle.”
“Any good?”
She put her elbows on the table. “Tell you what, dreamy, for another five I’ll grill the rye and make it myself with love and kisses. A Reuben do it for you? We got real Russian dressing.”
“Sold, but go light on the Russian dressing.”
“Why?”
“Haven’t you heard? We’re in a Cold War.”
He ate while the rain drizzled down. The Reuben was warm and excellent, and Archer ate fast. He was finishing his last potato chip when, at seven on the dot, he saw her glide in. Cecily Ransome hadn’t changed clothes since he’d seen her before, only now she was wearing a man’s black fedora and a dark peacoat with a white scarf, because the rain had dropped the temperature. With the coat and her hair hidden inside the hat, she could have easily been mistaken for a man. She lowered her umbrella, looked around, and walked over to a corner booth on the other side of the room.
The jukebox had gone quiet for the moment, but the cadaver had come back from an extended performance in the john and was doing an Irving Berlin tune, badly. The growing number of people around the bar, both young and old, took turns glancing his way and probably wondering what the hell he was even doing here.
Then the cadaver stopped plunking keys. To Archer’s surprise, he walked over and sat down across from Ransome. They immediately started talking in low voices.
When his waitress came by Archer said, “What’s with the piano player?”
She followed his gaze. “We don’t have a piano player. Least not anymore. Guy we had quit months ago. They don’t pay nothing and the tips are lousy. And we got the jukebox now. They just don’t want to pay to have the piano moved out of here is all.”
“So what’s with that guy?”
“He just walked in tonight and started playing.”
“And nobody thought to ask him why?”
“Hey, it’s not my problem. If the guy wants to play, what’s the big deal?”
“He a regular?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Just to remind you, angel, I paid you ten dollars for a buck-fifty meal and thirty cents’ worth of coffee. Can I at least get a passable return on my investment?”
“Okay, okay, I’ve never seen him before.”
“That’s better. You know the lady?”
“She’s been in a couple of times.”
“Alone or with someone?”
“Alone. Hey, how was the sandwich?”
“Much better than the pickle.”
She blew him a kiss. “That’s what they all say, dreamy. See, I don’t make the pickles.”
A while later, Ransome leaned across the table and gave Cadaver a hug and a peck on the cheek before she left.
When the old man exited a minute later, Archer followed him out into the rain.
Chapter 21
RANSOME MUST’VE EITHER DRIVEN to Boleros or gotten into a cab, because Archer didn’t see her in any direction. Archer tugged up the collar on his jacket and angled his hat down farther over his face as the LA rain splattered over him.
Cadaver was up ahead and walking slowly. He didn’t seem in a hurry to get out of the inclemency, and Archer wondered why. And he also wondered what he and Ransome had been talking about. He was obviously the man she had arranged to meet during the call he’d overheard from her office. A call in which Archer’s name had been prominently mentioned. So that led him to suspect he wasn’t uselessly chasing a shadow down a one-way street. But the kiss and hug at the end had surprised him. He didn’t quite know what to make of that.
Cadaver surprised him again when he suddenly turned and walked directly up to Archer.
“You must be Mr. Archer. Name’s Sam Malloy.” He put out a pale, veined hand, which Archer shook.
“Little café around the corner. Know you already had coffee back at Boleros, but I could use one. At my age, this chill gets right in your bones. I don’t like LA this way. I only like the weather they have on the brochures. Sunny all day every day.”
Archer followed him around the corner and they got seated at a table near the back. Malloy took off his hat and set it on the chair next to him while Archer studied the man. He had tiny lines stamped all over his face. They were of such fine detail that any cartographer would have been proud to claim ownership. His face was hairless and he had no eyebrows. The eyes were a translucent blue that made his skin seem paler still. There was a discernible edge of spirited life in his manner, and intelligence in the man’s alert eyes. But Archer also saw in them pain, a bit of dread, and, finally, resignation. It was a lot to ask from a pair of eyes, he knew, but the man’s pupils somehow managed to deliver.
They ordered coffees and waited in silence for them to arrive. The rain picked up outside, and they could see people scurrying along to get out of it.
“What’s with the tux?” asked Archer when the waitress had departed after delivering their drinks.
“I like to dress up when I go out, though I don’t go out much anymore.”
“And the piano pecking?”
“Gave me a chance to watch you without you thinking I was a threat, or that I was waiting for someone like Cecily to show up. Plus, I used to be a good key plunker, although the arthritis has pretty much done me in on that score.”
“Then you played your part well, because you had me snookered.”
“You smoke?” Malloy asked Archer.
Archer nodded and drew out his pack. He offered one to Malloy, who shook his head.
“My health, what’s left of it, no longer permits. But I do enjoy seeing a man smoke. And drink, because I can no longer do that, either. What’s left in life after that, I’m not sure.”
“You got health problems?”
“Any man my age who does not have health problems is dead, Mr. Archer.”
Archer lit up and said, “Just make it Archer, Sam. Can you tell me how you knew who I was? Ransome never spotted me, I know that for sure.”
“I like to get to places early. Cecily has an eye for detail and she had told me of your distinctive car. I spotted it passing by, saw you drive around the corner and then walk to the bar.”
“Did you tell her I was there?”
“No. Cecily has enough on her mind.”
“And how do you know her?”
“She’s my grandniece.”
“Okay.”
“And I am, or rather was, with the LAPD. Started on the force longer ago than I care to remember, and worked my way up to detective before retiring. I say this with the utmost candor and pride: I was one of the honest ones. Back then we were few and far between. I could have spent my entire career arresting people who carried the same badge I did.”
Archer tapped his ash into the glass bowl on the table. “I believe that. So she called you to meet after I spoke with her.”
“And you must have overheard her conversation.”
“Something like that, yes.”
“I made some calls about you, Archer. You work with Willie Dash up in Bay Town, correct?”
“Why ask, if you already know?”
“Just the old cop in me. He and you have excellent reputations.”
“Willie is as good as they come and he taught me the same. But why did Ransome phone you?”
“Isn’t it obvious? She is concerned about Eleanor Lamb. I’m the only person connected to law enforcement whom she knows. She wanted my advice.”
“And what did you tell her?”
Malloy sipped his coffee. “How long have you been around Los Angeles?”
“About three years but some days it feels like thirty.”
Malloy nodded and put his cup down. “I’ve been here my whole life, and I have yet to even begin to understand what really makes this town tick. On a superficial level, of course, the analysis is easy. Money, power, fame. In that regard it’s much like any other city. But it also has the added element of Hollywood, which makes it totally unique, with a criminal element that is dead set on exploiting those in the movie business to the utmost degree and for myriad reasons. Thus, while the disease is easy to diagnose, its mutating variations are not so easily discerned, because they change so rapidly. And that makes a cure nearly impossible.”
Archer looked bemused. “I feel like I’m back in college listening to professors pontificating. But I usually came away from those lectures wondering what the hell they actually meant, so if you’d care to simplify? It’s just a request—I can’t make you.”
Malloy rested his bony elbows on the table. “Then let’s get down to it. I spoke with some folks I know at the county sheriff’s office. And what they tell me is that the man found dead in Eleanor Lamb’s house was a private investigator named Cedric Bender, from Anaheim.”
Archer didn’t bother to feign surprise, because Malloy didn’t look like he would have believed it.
“How did they track him down?”
“They didn’t have to. Someone at the county recognized him when his body was brought into the morgue.”
“Okay, where does that take us?”
“Bender had a good reputation. He was a careful man. The fact that this happened to him means we are not dealing with the usual sort of snot-nosed riffraff running around playing tough guy.”
Archer rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, I figured that out, too, not that I ever really thought that was the case.”
“PIs, as I’m sure you know, do not usually snoop around the house of their employer, so it is doubtful that Bender was working for Lamb.”
“Well, considering she wanted to hire me, I tend to agree with that. Most people only need a single gumshoe, and they grouse about paying one bill, much less two. But what if he was killed elsewhere and dumped there as a warning to her?”
Malloy looked intrigued. “Do you think that’s what happened?”
“I know you told me who you are, but you got some ID that shows you used to be a cop?”
Malloy took a wallet from his pocket and removed from it a card. “I kept this when I retired. My badge, of course, I had to turn in.”
Archer examined the card and then handed it back. “Okay. Lamb told me about a blue Ford that was parked on her street. She was concerned someone was watching her. I saw the car and checked the registration. It was Bender’s ride.”
“And if she had hired Bender she would have known it was his car?”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” said Archer.
“So placing his body at her home was a warning to her, you were suggesting?”
“A stiff in your house will scare anyone.”
“But what was Lamb involved with that required her to be warned in such an extreme manner?” mused Malloy.
“If I knew that, this thing would practically solve itself. You said Ransome is your grandniece and you’ve been in LA all your life. But she’s a recent arrival?”
“Her mother is my brother’s daughter. They live back east. Cecily graduated from college there and came here to make films. She’s doing very well.”
“So I heard.” He hunched forward. “Can I ask a candid question?”
“What other types of questions should a detective ask?”
“In hair and dress Lamb is, albeit on a smaller frame, a carbon copy of Ransome, eccentric, so to speak. Two dark, moody straight-hairs in a wavy blond cutie-pie Hollywood pond. Anything else there I should know about?”
“In what way?”
“In any way.”
Malloy pressed his pale lips together tightly for a moment. “While I am of a generation that does not condone those who are attracted to the same gender, this town is full of them. Thus, I can neither confirm nor deny what you are so obviously thinking, Archer.”
“And would you have a problem if Cecily falls outside of the conventional?”
“Cecily has always fallen outside of the conventional. That’s why she has become as successful as she has. In case you’re wondering where my loyalties lie, I am immensely proud of her. And while I admit that I would prefer that she adopt a more traditional approach when it comes to matters of the heart, I have seen enough of life to know full well that my fellow human beings come in all sorts of packages and desires. My dear wife would be horrified to hear what I am saying, which is why I never say it to her.”
“What else did you tell your grandniece?”
“She told me that she had retained you to find Lamb, and after I checked into it I informed her that she was in good hands.”
“You two could have done all that over the phone.”
“Yes, but I wanted to see her. She is very busy, as young people so often are, while I have nothing to do except sit and wait for my time on earth to end. I can’t see her face over the phone. And I wanted to see her face.”
Archer nodded. “And thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“What’s your next move?”
“The Jade Lion Bar in Chinatown. Lamb seemed to have been a frequent visitor there.”
“I almost died twice in raids we made on some Tong gangs in Old Chinatown back in the twenties. Kill you as soon as look at you.”
“And new Chinatown has some wild parts to it, under the Hollywood facade.”
“People are people, so whether it’s old or new some of them like things on the wrong side of the law and always will.” He tapped a bony finger against the table. “So, you have no idea what Lamb is mixed up in that could cause her to believe that her life was in danger?”
“Not yet. Did you ever meet her?” asked Archer.
“Twice. Once at a party Cecily invited my wife and me to, and another time at a movie premiere, where I loved her film without really understanding a bit of it.”
“So what was your take on Eleanor Lamb?”
The pale blues suddenly took on a fiery spark, like living, pulsating Bunsen burners.
“For what it’s worth, I didn’t like her, Archer. I would never trust her. And I don’t think you should, either.”
Chapter 22
IT WAS TEN O’CLOCK AND THE CHILLY RAIN was persisting when Archer walked through the West Gate on Hill Street and entered Chinatown.
A dull crack of lightning speared toward the earth nearby and was followed by a hollow sound of thunder. The new year seemed to be looking for trouble as it stumbled out of the starting gate.
As Willie Dash had alluded to, the current Chinatown had sprouted up after the original Chinatown had been bulldozed to make way for Union Station. Filmmakers and set designers had helped create the look of the new Chinatown, and thus Archer passed by a veneer of architecture that one might have seen in Hollywood pictures about China. To him, it deprived the place of any real, granular identity.
He passed dragons on walls, Chinese characters graffitied all over, and locked roll-up gates in front of shops because thefts and burglaries happened here just like everywhere else. The streets were mostly empty, a few bikes splashed down the street; he saw a car turning left, its brake lights burning the rain the color of fire. He saw only Chinese people, who gave his white face wondering looks before hurrying onward in the rain.
The Jade Lion was a four-story brick building that sat robustly on a corner lot at an intersection that was neither major nor insignificant. The eponymous lion in the form of a greenish marble statue stood guard outside the bar’s garishly red-lighted exterior. It looked angry and patient all at the same time, as though just waiting for a passerby to make a mistake before pouncing.
A white man in a gray suit was standing in profile under the bar’s narrow covered entrance smoking a cigarette, so Archer couldn’t get a good look at him. But he noted the Chinese man standing next to him was wearing colorful garb, including a close-fitted, fur-lined cap. On the man’s belt was an empty knife holder made of what looked to be bronze. Archer wondered where the knife was.
As Archer headed up the sidewalk, the man in the suit turned and quickly went back inside.
The Chinese man stepped forward to block Archer’s path. He was heavyset with no neck and a long, stringy mustache that bracketed his mouth.
“Yes?”
“I’m here for a drink.”
“Name?”
“Why? Is that required to get a whiskey and soda in this place?”
“Name?”
