I am not ashamed of being a ghost writer, nor is it a secret. You will find my name on the title page of Forty Years a Cop as well as the name of the Chief - in small print but it is there: "with Edison Hill."
"How did you like the show?" Hazel asked, when I had ordered a round.
"I liked you," I said, softly enough to keep it private. "I can't wait for the next show to see more of you."
"You'll see more," she admitted and changed the subject. I gathered an impression that she was proud of her figure and liked to be told she was beautiful but was not entirely calloused about exhibiting it in public.
Estelle leaned across the bar to Jack. "Jackie Boy," she said in sweetly reasonable tones, "you held the lights too long again. It doesn't matter to me in that pose, but you had poor old Hazel trembling like a leaf before you doused the glim."
Jack set a three - minute egg timer, like a little hourglass on the bar. "Three minutes it says - three minutes you did."
"I don't think it was more than three minutes," Hazel objected. "I wasn't tired."
"You were trembling, dear. I saw you. You mustn't tire yourself - it makes lines. Anyhow," she added, "I'll just keep this," and she put the egg timer in her purse. "We'll time it ourselves."
"It was three minutes," Jack insisted.
"Never mind," she answered. "From now on it'll be three minutes, or mamma will have to lock Jackie in the dark closet."
Jack started to answer, thought better of it, then walked away to the other end of the bar. Estelle shrugged, then threw down the rest of her drink left us. I saw her speak to Jack again, then join so customers at one of the tables.
Hazel looked at her as she walked away. "I'd pad that chippie's pants," she muttered, "if she wore an
"A bum beef?"
"Not exactly. Maybe Jack is a friend of yours - "Just an acquaintance."
"Well ... I've had worse bosses - but he is a bit ( jerk. Maybe he doesn't stretch the poses just out meanness - I've never timed him - but some of the poses are too long for three minutes. Take Estel Aphrodite pose - you saw it?"
“Yes?”
"She balances on the ball of one foot, no costume all, but with one leg raised enough to furnish a fig leaf. Jack's got a blackout switch to cover her if she breathes but, just the same, it's a strain."
"To cover himself with the cops, you mean."
"Well, yes. Jack wants us to make it just as strong as the vice squad will stand for."
"You ought not to be in a dive like this. You ought have a movie contract."
She laughed without mirth. "Eddie, did you ever to get a movie contract? I've tried."
"Just the same - oh, well! But why are you sore Estelle? What you told me doesn't seem to cover it.”
"She - Skip it. She probably means well."
"You mean she shouldn't have dragged you into it?”
"Partly."
"What else?"
"Oh, nothing - look, do you think I need any wrinkle remover?" I examined her quite closely, until she actually blushed a little, then assured her that she not.
"Thanks," she said. "Estelle evidently thinks she's been advising me to take care of myself later and has been bringing me little presents of beauty preparations. I thank her for them and it appears to be sheer friendliness on her part.. . but it makes me squirm.
I nodded and changed the subject. I did not want to talk about Estelle; I wanted to talk about her - and me. I mentioned an agent I knew (my own) who could help her and that got her really interested, if not in me, at least in what I was saying.
Presently she glanced at the clock back of the bar and squealed. "I've got to peel for the customers. 'Bye now!" It was five minutes to twelve. I shifted from the end of the bar to the long side, just opposite Jack's Magic Mirror controls. I did not want that bright light of his interfering with me seeing Hazel.
It was just about twelve straight up when Jack came up from the rear of the joint, elbowed his other barman out of the way, and took his place near the controls. "Just about that time," he said to me. "Has she rung the buzzer?"
"Not a buzz."
"Okay, then." He cleared dirty glasses off the top of the bar while we waited, changed the platter on the turntable, and generally messed around. I kept my eyes on the mirror.
I heard the two beeps! sharp and clear. When he did not announce the show at once, I glanced around and saw that, while he had the mike in his hand, he was staring past it at the door, and looking considerably upset.
There were two cops just inside the door, Hannegan and Feinstein, both off the beat. I supposed he was afraid of a raid, which was silly. Pavement pounders don't pull raids. I knew what they were there for, even before Hannegan gave Jack a broad grin and waved him the okay sign - they had just slipped in for a free gander at the flesh under the excuse of watching the public morals.
"We now present the Magic Mirror," said Jack's voice out of the juke box. Somebody climbed on the stool beside me and slipped a hand under my arm. looked around. It was Hazel.
"You're not here; you're up there," I said.
"Huh - uh. Estelle said - I'll tell you after the show The lights were coming up in the Mirror and the juke box was cranking out Valse Triste. The altar was in the scene, too, and Estelle was sprawled over it much she had been before. As it got lighter you could see red stain down her side and the prop dagger. Haz had told me what each of the acts were; this was the one called "The Altar Victim," scheduled for the one o'clock show.
I was disappointed not to be seeing Hazel, but I had to admit it was good - good theater, of the nasty sadism and sex combined. The red stuff - catsup guessed - trickling down her bare side and the hand of the prop dagger sticking up as if she had be stabbed through - the customers liked it. It was a natural follow - up to the "Sacrifice to the Sun".
Hazel screamed in my ear.
Her first scream was solo. The next thing I can recall it seemed as if every woman in the place was screaming - soprano, alto, and some tenor, but most screeching soprano. Through it came the bull voice Hannegan. "Keep your seats, folks! Somebody turn the lights!"
I grabbed Hazel by the shoulders and shook her "What's the matter? What's up?"
She looked dazed, then pointed at the Mirror. "She’s dead... she's dead ... she's dead!" she chanted. I scrambled down from the stool and took out for ii back of the house. I started after her. The house light came on abruptly, leaving the Mirror lights still on.
We finished one, two, three, up the stairway through a little dressing room, and onto the stage almost caught up with Hazel, and Feinstein was do on my heels.
We stood there, jammed in the door, blinking at the flood lights, and not liking what we saw under them. She was dead all right. The dagger, which should have been faked between her arm and her breast with catsup spilled around to maintain the illusion - this prop dagger, this slender steel blade, was three inches closer to her breastbone than it should have been. It had been stabbed straight into her heart.
On the floor at the side of the altar away from the audience, close enough to Estelle to reach it, was the egg timer. As I looked at it the last of the sand ran out.
I caught Hazel as she fell - she was a big armful - and spread her on the couch. "Eddie," said Feinstein, "call the Station for me. Tell Hannegan not to let anyone out. I'm staying here." I called the station but did not have to tell Hannegan anything. He had them all seated again and was jollying them along. Jack was still standing back of the bar, shock on his face, and the bright light at the control board making him look like a death's head.