FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
WASHINGTON, D.C.
J. EDGAR HOOVER, DIRECTOR
The fingerprint laboratory of the Federal Bureau of Investigation has examined the unlabeled wine bottle submitted this date and reports its findings as follows:
Four sets of fingerprints exist on the bottle, two indistinct and two distinct. The conditions of the indistinct prints make it impossible to state with certainty that they are not the fingerprints of a known person whose fingerprints are on file with this Bureau. The two distinct sets of fingerprints are those of the following persons:
(1) One set are the fingerprints of one Angela Burns Damone Latham. Angela Burns Damone Latham was born in Yonkers, N.Y., on May 21, 1918. She was arrested by Postal Inspectors on March 11, 1941, in White Plains, N.Y., on a charge of stealing from United States postal facilities, i.e., mail boxes. Counterfeit money was also found in her possession. She pleaded guilty to mail theft and was sentenced to five years imprisonment. She entered the Federal Reformatory for Women on June 20, 1941—
Jonas flipped the sheet. He didn't want to read any more about Angie.
(2) The second set of fingerprints are those of Maurice Cohen. Maurice Cohen was born in New York, N.Y., on April 26, 1882. This Bureau possesses fingerprint records of Maurice Cohen as follows:
a. Subject was arrested on May 3,1900, in New Orleans, La., on a charge of larceny by fraud. This charge was subsequently dropped.
b. Subject was arrested on August 8, 1900, in New Orleans, La., on a charge of larceny by fraud. Subject was convicted on this charge and sentenced to one year of imprisonment. Subject entered a Louisiana state prison farm on September 21, 1900, and was released on September 21, 1901.
c. Subject was arrested in Houston, Texas, on March 17, 1903, on a charge of public vagrancy. He was sentenced to thirty days on a road gang and was released on March 18, 1903.
d. Subject was arrested in Detroit, Mich., on June 4, 1927, on a charge of being accessory to murder. The charges were dropped for lack of evidence, and he was released from the Wayne County jail on August 19, 1927.
e. Subject was arrested on January 23, 1932, in Lucas County, Ohio, on a charge of violating the National Prohibition Act and the Ohio state laws prohibiting the sale of alcoholic beverages. Subject was convicted on this charge and sentenced to three years imprisonment. He was received at the Ohio Penitentiary on February 27, 1932, and was released on parole on May 2, 1934.
The subject Cohen is reputed to have been a member of the "Purple Gang."
This Bureau has no further record of the subject Cohen.
Jonas grinned at Bat. "So that's who Morris Chandler is," he said.
"It makes me wonder what we'd find out if we ran a check on Nevada Smith," said Bat.
Jonas's face darkened. "No!" he yelled. "Don't even think of it. Don't even— Son of a bitch!" He grabbed a vial, popped off the lid, and shook a tiny pill into his hand. He shoved the pill into his mouth and sat silently for a quarter of a minute, eyes closed.
"Can I do anything for you?"
Jonas shook his head. "The pills take care of it," he said.
Bat stood staring at Jonas, his mind filled with things he might say, with thoughts to which he would not give voice. God, it had to be hard on a man to—
"Listen to me," Jonas grunted. "Don't you ever think of running any kind of check on Nevada. He was a better man than you'll ever be."
"Better than you, too?" Bat asked. It was what popped out; he had not meant to challenge Jonas at this moment. "I mean— "
"Yeah," Jonas interrupted. "Better than me. Better than the old man. I mean my father. Some ways. Nevada knew some special things about ... life. I wish you'd known him better. I wish— " He paused, as if his breath came hard. "So ... Chandler is Cohen. Felony record. By God!"
27
1
BAT SAT ACROSS THE TABLE FROM MARGIT LITTLE, in a cozy candlelit Czech restaurant in Beverly Hills: the kind of place more likely to be found on the Upper East Side than in Los Angeles. They had finished their dinner and were sipping the last of their wine. Bat's hand was on hers.
"Margit," he said in a low voice. "What I'm going to ask probably won't come as any surprise to you. Will you come to the hotel with me?"
"I don't think that's a very good idea, Bat," she said solemnly.
"Sometimes the best things in the world are bad ideas."
She sighed softly. "I'm not surprised. I knew if I came out to dinner with you again, you'd ask. I guess if I didn't want to hear you ask, I shouldn't have accepted your invitation."
This was the fourth time he had taken her to dinner. From their conversation over those dinners, he had learned that Margit was no naïf. To the contrary, she was cunning and focused; she knew what she wanted, and she thought she knew how to get it. What was more, he could detect no sign that she carried any burdensome emotional baggage. She was pretty and talented, and she knew it. She was fresh and vivacious before the TV cameras. She was potentially a bigger star than Glenda Grayson ever dreamed of being, and she knew that, too.
"If you're not offended by my asking, I won't be offended if the answer's no," said Bat.
"I'm not offended. I expected you to ask, sooner or later. Everybody does. It's just that I don't think it's a good idea," she said.
"Why?"
"Your father. He'd be furious. Wouldn't he?"
"Well, in the first place, he doesn't have to know. In the second place, he doesn't own you. Has he told you he loves you? Has he asked you to marry him?"
She shook her head.
"So ... " said Bat. He tossed back the last of his wine.
Margit turned her hand over, palm up, and closed her fingers around his hand. "All right, Bat," she said. A faint but playful smile came to her face. "I guess a girl can never have too many friends."
2
They coupled on the couch, and when that proved too constricting, they rolled off onto the thick carpet and finished there, too fervently involved to interrupt long enough to get up and walk to the bedroom. He was enervated when they were finished and was astonished at how exuberant it left her. She scrambled to her feet and pirouetted around the living room of his suite. Bat watched her, fascinated. He'd never before had sex with a girl who shaved her crotch. She shook her head, tossing her ponytail around, and then she sat down on the couch beside him.
"Do you have any Old Bushmill's?" she asked. She had acquired a taste for the Old Bushmill's Irish whiskey Jonas had introduced her to and always ordered it for her before-dinner drinks. "I feel like a drink."
"I'm a lecherous seducer," he said. "I ordered a bottle put on the bar, expecting to get you up here and break down your inhibitions with alcohol."
He poured two drinks, on the rocks.
"To next year," he said, lifting his glass.
"To next year," she agreed.
"It will be a great year," he said.
For a moment Margit stared thoughtfully at him, then nodded and lifted her glass again.
"The Margit Show," he mused. It had been his suggestion that the show they were putting together be called that instead of the Margit Little Show.
Bat sat down beside her on the couch and drew her into his arms. He put a hand on the soft bare flesh of her genital lips and gently fondled them. Margit sighed contentedly.