“This friend of yours,” the manager began.
“My boss,” said Peel.
“You were doing the town last night?”
“But we were sober.”
“Look,” said Hobson, “I’m only a hack driver. I got to make a buck where I can, see…”
“Oh,” said Peel, “it’s like that.”
“Yeah, this boss of yours looks like a sport and he says to me he wants some action, see…” Hobson pantomimed the shaking and rolling out of dice. “…So I took him to Charlie’s; that’s all I know.”
Peel nodded thoughtfully. “And Charlie is up on Laurel and Mulholland?”
“Near there.”
“Okay,” said Peel, “let’s go.”
“Huh?”
“Charlie’s Place. Drive me up there.”
“What for? It’s only open at night.”
“There’ll be somebody there.”
“Uh-uh. The place is deserted in the daytime. They don’t open till around eight. You go up there now and all you’ll find is a bunch of padlocks and boards on the windows. It looks like a haunted house during the day.”
Peel rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. The taxicab manager, watching him, said, “We run taxicabs, Mister, that’s all. We take passengers where they want to go; what happens to them, ain’t our fault.”
“I know, I know.” Peel scowled, then sighed. “Okay, fellows.” He started to leave the garage, then turned back to the manager. “Mind if I use your phone?”
“There’s a booth right there in the comer. You can use it — if you’ve got a nickel!”
Peel went to the booth and thumbing through a grimy directory found the number of Sunset Athletic Club. Then he went into the booth and dialed it.
“Mr. Devol,” he said, when the club operator answered.
“Who shall I say is calling?”
Peel hesitated a second. “Otis Beagle…”
“Just a moment please and I’ll see if Mr. Devol is here.”
There was a short wait, then a voice snapped in Peel’s ear: “Hello, Otis…”
“This isn’t Otis, Mr. Devol,” said Peel. “It’s Joe Peel…”
“Who?”
“Joe Peel. I work for Otis Beagle…”
“Are you the fellow that Otis fired yesterday?” Pinky Devol snapped.
“Yes, but it was a mistake. Otis…”
“Baloney! And let me tell you, you got a crust telephonin’ me…”
“Hold it, Mr. Devol!” Peel cried. “It’s about Otis I’m calling…”
“Yeah, well, I can’t be bothered…”
“He’s disappeared!” yelled Peel.
He didn’t know whether he was too late or not. The connection was broken. Savagely, Peel looked for another nickel and finding one, dialed the Sunset Athletic Club once more.
“Mr. Devol,” he said to the operator. “Tell him it’s the man who just called and that it’s a matter of life and death. Otis Beagle’s life…”
“I’ll see if Mr. Devol is here,” the operator said, unruffled.
Pinky Devol came on the line again. “What’s this about Otis’ life…”
“You didn’t let me finish. Otis has disappeared. He didn’t sleep in his apartment last night…”
“So he’s in a kip with a blonde! What the hell!…”
“No,” said Peel doggedly, “I’ve been tracing him. A cab driver took him to Charlie’s Place on Mulholland Drive.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s the last anyone saw of him.”
Devol’s sneer rasped in Peel’s ear. “What’re you trying to hand me, Peel?”
“Nothing, Devol. I’m worried about Otis, that’s all.”
“What can I do about it?”
“I thought you might know Charlie.”
“Charlie who?”
“The Charlie who runs Charlie’s Place.”
“Say, who do you think I am?”
“Pinky Devol, who’s supposed to be Otis Beagle’s friend.”
“I am Otis Beagle’s friend,” Devol snapped. “But that doesn’t mean that I know every gambler in this town, does it?”
“How’d you know Charlie was a gambler?”
Pinky Devol suddenly had to cough, but when he spoke again there was less heat in his tone. “What do you want to know?”
“I want to know what happened at Charlie’s Place last night… I mean, to Otis…”
There was a pause, then Devol said, “Call me back in five minutes.”
Peel hung up and walked to a drugstore on the corner. He had a coke, then went into a phone booth and called the Sunset Athletic Club. He went through the same routine with the operator, then Devol came back.
“All right,” Devol said, “Otis dropped about twelve hundred…”
“Twelve hundred!” exclaimed Peel.
“Yeah, the way I get it, he had a run and was ahead three-four grand. But he tried to win the cloth off the table and wouldn’t quit, so he dropped it all and some of his own. It happens all the time.”
“What happened then?”
“Nothing. He gave his check and went home.”
“How? He went up in a taxi.”
“I suppose he called a taxi.”
“Can you find for sure — if he called a taxi?”
Devol swore. “If it was anybody but Otis…”
“I’ll call you back in five minutes, Mr. Devol.”
Peel hung up and went back into the drugstore. He spent ten minutes looking at the magazines, then reentered the phone booth and once more called the Sunset Athletic Club.
“No,” Devol said, “he didn’t call a taxi. One of the customers was leaving about the same time and Otis asked him for a lift down to Hollywood Boulevard.”
“Who was the customer?”
Devol chuckled. “I beat you to that one. It was an actor named Aleck Chambers. He was there with a cutie whose name I didn’t get. Charlie didn’t know her. I don’t know this Chambers myself, but you shouldn’t have any trouble running him down. You try the Screen Actor’s Guild…”
“I know Chambers,” Peel said.
“Well, ask him where he dropped Otis, will you. And let me know as soon as you find out something.”
“I will Pinky.”
Peel stepped out of the booth and going to the fountain ordered a ham sandwich. While it was being prepared he thought things over. Then the sandwich came and he took a bite of it. Munching, he returned to the telephone booth and looked up the number of the Horatio Oliver Agency.
He called it. A strange voice said, “Horatio Oliver Agency…”
“I want to talk to Wilma Huston.”
“Sorry,” was the reply, “she isn’t here today.”
“Well, what’s her home number?”
“Sorry; I can’t give you that information.”
“Oh, hell!” Peel said in disgust. He slammed down the receiver and went back to the directory. If Wilma had a phone it was an unlisted number and Peel left the drugstore, still chewing on his sandwich.
He walked back to the taxicab garage and flagged a taxi that was just leaving the garage. The driver was Gus Hobson.
“Now, what?” Gus sneered at him. “Now, you can take me to the Lehigh Apartments.”
“Yeah? What about the fin?”
“You had your chance at that. You get the meter and a ten-cent tip.”
“Sure you can spare it?”
“Easy come, easy go,” said Peel, climbing in to the cab.
19
Gus gave him a nice ride, slamming on the brakes at stop signs so suddenly that Peel practically slid off the seat a couple of times. But he got him to the Lehigh Apartments in record time.
Gus accepted his fare and the dime tip, without a word of comment, but as Peel started to enter the apartment building he heard a sound that was very similar to the one made by tearing cloth.