“The way it is now, somebody introduces me to a goodlooking fellow. He wants to take me to dinner. I rush home and take a shower, put on a party dress and war paint. We go out to dinner. He shows what he wants and what he expects inside of the first ten minutes. From then on it’s the same old routine and it turns out he’s a buyer from Los Angeles who has a wife and two kids. He’s crazy about his family but he thinks he’s a wolf, and I’m supposed to ride along.
“I’d like to spend an afternoon with a man sometime. I’d like to visit and get acquainted with new people. I’d like to go ashore in Rio de Janeiro and prowl through the shops with some interesting man who wasn’t thinking in terms of making your acquaintance, getting a pass to first base, stealing second, and crossing the home plate, all within two hours.”
I said, “You’ve been reading the steamship ads; some- body’s handed you a bunch of folders with pictures of a girl and a fellow outlined against a path of moonlight in tropical waters, with pictures of happy couples dancing to the rhythm of romantic music. You—”
“Don’t, Donald,” she said, laughing. “You’re taking all the joy out of it.”
There was a catch in her laugh. I turned to look at her. Her eyes were filled with tears.
I said, “You came here, Millie. You got in with a carefree bunch. Your friends are that type. All right, so you’re tagged. But why not go to a new place, get a job, make new friends?”
“How you talk!” she interrupted. “I’d have to give up everything I’ve worked for. I’d start out on a starvation salary and I’d die of loneliness.
“I need action, Donald. I want to get out and circulate. I want to see people. I crave action and variety. I’m no stick-in-the-mud. I’m no stay-at-home. I want to see good shows, listen to good music, dance at the best night spots. I want luxury.”
“You can’t have all that unless you have the connections — or money.”
“I can if I travel first-class.”
I said, “It’s a swell air castle, Millie, but you can’t get away with it.”
“Don’t tell me I can’t get away with it.”
“You’ll wind up facing a charge of perjury.”
“Don’t throw cold water, Donald. I’ve made a date with fortune. I’m going to keep it. Lots of times in my life I’ve been tempted not to do the things I wanted to do because of things that conceivably could happen. I’ve always found out that lots of things happened, but none of the things I was afraid would happen. If you don’t do something you want to do you very definitely haven’t done it. That’s final and complete and you’ll probably regret it. If you do what you want to do, you may get into a mess, but getting into the mess and getting out of the mess is better than shutting yourself up in a closet and hiding from life. Donald, I’m going through with it. I’m leaving for Rio.”
“When?” I asked.
She smiled. “The when and the how are secrets I’m not supposed to discuss, but I’m going and you’d be surprised if you knew how soon.”
“Okay,” I told her. “It’s your funeral.”
“Wrong,” she said. “It’s my wedding.”
“Send me an invitation, will you?”
“I sure will, Donald — Donald?”
“What?”
“Are you married?”
There was a wistful half-smile on her lips.
“No,” I said, and opened the door.
“I knew that would do it,” she said as I stepped out into the corridor.
I went to the Western Union Office and sent Elsie Brand another wire collect.
DISREGARD ALL CRIMES EXCEPT MURDER. STAKES ARE TOO BIG FOR ANYTHING SMALLER WIRE REPLY RUSH.
Chapter Ten
I had a bowl of chili and went to the telegraph office.
A wire was waiting for me.NO MURDERS ACTUALLY COMMITTED BUT ONE THREATENED IN THE OFFICE. YOU HAVE OF COURSE READ ABOUT MAURINE. COULD THIS BE THE ANSWER OR IS THAT TOO SIMPLE? LOVE.
ELSIE.
I was putting the message in my pocket when the operator said, “Wait a minute, Mr. Lam, here’s another one coming in for you. It’s longer.”
I sat around and waited while one of the operators took tape from a Teletype and pasted it on a message.
When they finally handed it to me I saw the clerk looking at me with that type of curiosity the average public reserves for famous criminals, private detectives, and prostitutes.
“Sign here,” she said.
I signed.
The message read:FOR YOUR INFORMATION G.G. WHO TOOK POWDER FROM HOSPITAL IS ABOARD UNITED AIRLINES FLIGHT NUMBER 665 LEAVING LOS ANGELES THREE P.M. ARRIVING SAN FRANCISCO AIRPORT FOURTHIRTY TODAY. HE IS TRAVELING UNDER NAME GEORGE GRANBY AND THINKS HE IS ALL COVERED UP. I GOT IT FROM CONNECTION MENTIONED ON PHONE SO KEEP CONFIDENTIAL. BERTHA BLOWING TOP EVERY THIRTY MINUTES LIKE OLD FAITHFUL GEYSER IN YELLOWSTONE. YOU MUST BE LOW ON MONEY UNABLE CHISEL FROM FIRM BUT AM SENDING YOU LOAN FROM PRIVATE SAVINGS TRY TO MAKE IT LAST AS THERE ISN’T ANY MORE. ALL MY LOVE TO SYLVIA. YOURS.
It was signed, Elsie.
“Do you,” asked the person behind the counter, “have anything to show your identity? A business card, a driving license, things of that sort?”
I showed her my driving license and my business card as a private investigator.
“Sign here,” she said.
I signed.
She started counting out money. Three hundred and fifty dollars in twenties and tens. It was one of the most welcome sights I had ever seen.
Gabby Garvanza’s plane would already be in, but I made a list of five of the principal hotels and started calling, asking if they had a George Granby registered.
In the third hotel I struck pay dirt. George Granby was registered and was in.
I waited on the line until a voice that sounded sullen and a little resentful said, “Hello.”
I said, “I want to talk to you about the Maurine Auburn case. I’m a private detective from Los Angeles. I’ve been cutting corners and the police have issued a pickup on me. I don’t want to be picked up and I don’t want to be quoted. I want to talk.”
Gabby Garvanza lived up to his reputation of being taciturn.
“Come up,” he said, and slipped the phone back on the receiver.
I took a taxi to the hotel and went up to George Granby’s room without being announced.
“Come in,” a voice called as I knocked on the door.
I hesitated.
“Come on in, the door’s unlocked.”
I opened the door.
The room seemed empty.
I stepped inside and could see no one.
Abruptly the door was kicked shut. The heavy-set gorilla who had been standing behind the door came toward me.
The bathroom door opened and a sallow-looking man, who was evidently Gabby Garvanza, closed in from the other side.
“Up,” the heavy-set man said.
I elevated my hands.
He was a big, burly fellow with a cauliflower ear and a face which showed the ravages of conflict. He gave me a complete and thorough frisking.
“He’s clean,” he said.
Gabby Garvanza said, “Sit down. Tell me who you are and what the hell you want.”
I sat down and said, “I’m interested in finding out what happened to Maurine Auburn.”
“Who isn’t?”
I said, “I’m a private detective. I’m working on a case.”
I handed him a card.
He barely glanced at the card, tossed it to one side, then thought better of it, took it up, looked at it again, gave it thoughtful consideration, and pushed it in his pocket.
“You’ve got a nerve, Lam.”
I said nothing.
“How did you find me?”
“I’m a detective.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything.”
“Think it over and it will.”