‘As far as I know,’ he said, ‘nobody’s been looking for Miss Gardner. She made a picture recently in Spain, but we had no involvement in that. Nobody’s asked to interview her, and there have been no police here asking about her. Does that answer your question?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I think that about does it.’
‘We’re done?’ he asked.
‘I am,’ I said, standing
‘Very well,’ he said, ‘I’ll walk you back to your, uh, car.’
At the cab he stood by while I opened the door.
‘When can we, uh, expect a call from Mr Sinatra?’ he asked.
‘I suggest you get in touch with his representative,’ I said. ‘They’ll get back to you.’
‘We’ve been trying, but-’
‘They’ll get back to you this time.’
‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
I started to get in, then paused. He seemed so damned uncomfortable at that moment.
‘Tough times around here, huh?’ I asked.
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he said. ‘Television! This place has made some legendary movies. It’s a damn shame.’
‘And nobody’s runnin’ the place?’ I asked.
‘You know, I don’t even have an office,’ he answered and shook his head.
As I drove through the front gate the guard said, ‘You get what you wanted?’
‘Pretty much,’ I said ‘but things sure sound grim around here.’
‘Yeah,’ the man said, ‘I’m, thinkin’ of makin’ a move.’
‘Sounds like a good idea,’ I said.
TWENTY-NINE
Driving back to the Beverly Hills Hotel from the MGM lot I thought again about the question Jerry had asked me that morning, before I left.
I had not identified myself to the clerk or the manager before going to Ava’s room. How, then, had someone managed to be in the lobby in time to hear me being paged, and see Larry pick up the call?
Had I been followed from the hotel? If so, why? Nobody knew I was in L.A., or why I was there, except Frank, Jack, Ted Silver from McCarran Airport, and Ben Hoff from LAX. I knew Frank and Jack would never talk, felt fairly sure about Ted.
That left Ben Hoff.
I’d have to go to the airport to talk to him, and I wanted to take Jerry with me.
And if the airports weren’t safe — if information was being sold, or the airports were being watched — I’d have to rent a car to take Ava back to Las Vegas with me.
If somebody was looking for Ava did they have enough juice to cover airports and rent-a-car companies? Might be I’d have to borrow a car.
A better one than the cab I was driving.
The first time I realized I was being followed was when I heard tires screech behind me. Apparently, whoever was following me had been cut off by another car and had to swerve to miss it. That brought the dark sedan to my attention.
I made a few subtle turns, nothing obvious. I didn’t want them to know I knew they were following me. But I sure couldn’t drive back to the Beverly Hills Hotel. I was going to have to stop somewhere and give Jerry a call.
I spotted a likely place to stop: a hotdog stand beneath a faded Burma Shave billboard, with a pay phone alongside. I was pretty sure if I made a call, my tail wouldn’t find it curious, or unusual. I was right. They pulled over, but didn’t get out.
I pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the stand, walked over and ordered a hotdog with the works. Then I took it with me to the phone and dialed the Beverly Hills Hotel. I told the operator to connect me to Lucy Johnson’s bungalow, number 6.
‘Hello?’
‘Jerry?
‘Hey, Mr G. What’s goin’ on?’
‘Looks like whoever’s looking for Ava, it’s not cops, or they would’ve gone to the studio.’
‘So who are they?’
‘We only know who they aren’t, Jerry,’ I said. ‘How’s Ava?’
‘Gettin’ antsy.’
‘What is she doing?’
‘We’re playin’ cards. Gin. I owe her like a million bucks.’
‘Well, keep playing. I’m on my way. It might take me a while because I’ve picked up a tail.’
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘You still drivin’ that cab?’
‘I am.’
‘You think you can lose ’em?’
‘I hope so.’
‘Go someplace where there’s lots of cabs, Mr G. Ya can lose ’em that way.’
‘Jerry, that’s brilliant.’
Leave it to the criminal mind.
‘And what are we gonna do next, Mr G.?’
I had to take a moment to swallow the bite of hotdog I’d taken.
‘Mr G.? Whataya eatin’?’
I’d forgotten who I was talking to. Jerry could hear chewing from miles away.
‘Oh, I’m at a hotdog stand.’
‘You went for hotdogs?’ he asked, sounding hurt. ‘Without me?’
His tone made me feel bad.
‘Did you have your pancakes?’
‘Well, yeah, but. . hot dogs.’
‘I’ll bring you some.’
‘Hey, Miss Ava. Ya want a hotdog?’
I heard Ava shout, ‘Yes!’
‘Don’t forget the mustard,’ Jerry told me. ‘And the kraut.’
‘Jerry,’ I said, warning him, ‘these are not Brooklyn hotdogs.’
‘Then bring plenty of mustard,’ he said, and hung up.
THIRTY
Lots of cabs, Jerry had said.
If I knew L.A. well enough that would’ve been easy. Just drive to where all the cabs are — a cab company parking lot, a lot where they keep repossessed vehicles, or. . a big hotel with a cab line outside. Or, for that matter, the airport.
A big hotel seemed most likely. Just driving around I’d have to find one, eventually.
It didn’t have to be a famous hotel. Just a big one. I checked my gas gauge. I had half a tank. Hopefully that would be enough to find a hotel, ditch the cab, and get back to the Beverly Hills Hotel. Or it was enough to drive to the airport and then back to the hotel. But not both.
I felt bad about dumping Larry’s cab, but at least I would be able to tell him where it was. Or he’d be able to get it from wherever they towed it to. I’d make sure he didn’t have to pay to recover it.
On the side of his cab it said ‘Horizon Cab Company.’ I didn’t know if Larry was just a driver, or an owner/operator. The fact that he had loaned me the cab led me to believe he owned it. I hadn’t seen another Horizon cab on the street, but then I hadn’t been checking out cabs. There were plenty that were yellow, but I hadn’t been looking for names.
I checked the meter, which I was supposed to have kept running but had forgotten. Beneath it was a radio. It was off. I turned it on and immediately heard a voice calling out addresses for pick-ups. OK, even if Larry did own the car, he was still taking calls from the dispatcher.
A gravelly voiced guy kept calling out addresses which didn’t help me. Even when he gave out the name of a hotel, he didn’t give an address. Experienced cabbies were supposed to know where all the large hotels were.
After driving around for half an hour — with a bag of hotdogs in the back seat — I decided I needed help. I picked up the transmitter, pressed the button on the side, and said, ‘Larry’s cab to central.’
I’d heard the other cabs talking to ‘Central,’ whoever that was.
‘Who is that?’ the gravelly voice called out.
‘My name’s Eddie,’ I said. ‘I’m drivin’ Larry’s cab and I need some help.’
‘Hey, are you the guy from Vegas?’
‘That’s right.’
‘OK, everybody, radio silence,’ he ordered. ‘Ya got me. Radio silence for a few minutes while I talk ta this guy.’
The chatter on the radio suddenly went dead.
‘How did you know I was from Vegas?’ I asked.
‘I talked to Larry at the hospital,’ the guy said. ‘He told me he loaned you his cab because you needed wheels. Said you were doin’ something important, and for helpin’ he was gonna get some free tickets for shows in Vegas. That go for anybody who helps ya?’
‘It sure does, friend.’
‘Well, my name is Louie, Mr Vegas,’ gravelly voice said. ‘Whataya need?’
‘I’ve picked up a tail, Louie, and I wanna lose them,’ I explained. ‘I thought I could do that someplace where there’s more cabs. A hotel, the airport, maybe a parking lot-’