1981 - Hand Me a Fig Leaf (12 page)

"Small. Not your kind of money, Mr. Raiz, but we want it cleared up. Can you tell me where I can find her?"

At this moment a girl came out of a room at Eke far end, by the band dais. She came across the big room with long, graceful strides. I reacted to her like steel filings react to a magnet. She was around twenty-two, above average height with silky, long, black hair. She wore skin-tight jeans and a skin-tight T-shirt that framed her breasts. She was the sexiest menace to men I had seen for a long time.

Raiz glared at her.

"Piss off, Be-Be," he snarled. "I'm busy."

She came up to the bar and smiled at me. She had sensual red lips and even white teeth.

"Cheapie has to act tough," she said. "Excuse him. He's only just started to wear shoes. Who are you?"

"Dirk Wallace." I eyed her, thinking one night in bed with her would put me in an intensive-care unit, but it would be worth it.

"Hi, Dirk!" She thrust her breasts at me, made a face at Raiz, then she went around the bar and pointed to a bottle of Cutty Sark. "Give Dirk a drink and stop acting like a greaser, Eddy."

"This sex symbol is Be-Be Mansel. She works here and screws everything except elephants," Raiz said. He reached for the bottle and poured three drinks. "Ignore her. Her brains are strictly between her legs."

Be-Be giggled.

"Don't listen to him. Just because he never got there, he's sour." She raised her glass and emptied it in one long, thirsty swallow.

"Will you piss off now, baby?" Raiz said in a soft menacing voice. "This is business."

"I heard. Handsome wants to know where he can find Stella. Why make a thing of it?" she said. "Be your age, Eddy. Tell him."

It happened so quickly, I had no chance to intervene. Moving with the speed of a striking cobra, Raiz hit her with his open hand across her face, sending her crashing back against the rows of bottles, bringing a number of them tumbling down on the floor behind the bar. Then he grabbed hold of her belt, flung her over the bar, sweeping away my drink. She landed on all fours, was up and of like a startled deer to the door by the band dais and disappeared.

Raiz gave me a thin smile as I gaped.

"Forget it, Mr. Wallace," he said. "In my trade you have to know how to handle broads. I'll get you another drink." As he poured, he went on, "Stella Costa? That's interesting. She worked for me for a long time. She was my best stripper. That kid, Be-Be, isn't bad, but she hasn't the real touch." He placed the drink before me. "To be tops, a girl has to have just a little extra something."

"I guess." I used some of the drink. "Where do I find Mrs. Stella Costa?"

"Yeah." He gave me another of his thin smiles. "Howard & Benbolt? They must be rolling in the green. What's the reward worth?"

"No reward. I told you. We want to clear up the estate. If you must know, she was left three thousand dollars. That would be chick-feed to you, wouldn't it?"

"Who left it to her?"

"I wasn't told. Who cares? Where do I find her?"

His face turned blank.

"I wouldn't know. She quit a year ago. She started to put on weight." He drank, shook his head. "She must have been shoving forty. My clients like them young."

"She just quit?"

"Well, maybe I persuaded her." He produced his thin grin again.

"Didn't she say where she was going?"

He looked bored.

"I didn't ask."

Another goddamn dead end, I thought.

"Well, thanks for your time, Mr. Raiz. We'll now have to advertise."

His eyes shifted.

"Who cares about a whore?"

"Was that what she was?"

"Do you have to have it in big print?"

"We'll advertise. Should be a boost for your club. Will Stella Costa, stripper and prostitute who worked at the Skin Club, please get in touch . . . " I gave him my knowing smile. “ You know the guff."

"You don't mention my club!" There was a sudden snarl in his voice.

"Why not? Lots of tourists would like to know where they can find a stripper, plus a whore. It'd be food for trade, Mr. Raiz."

He leaned forward, glaring at me.

"You mention the name of my club and I'll sue!"

"Okay. Then I'll go along to the cop house and ask them. They might come up with more information than you're offering."

"Get the hell out of here!"

chapter five

W
here?" I asked I asked as we got into my car.

"Straight ahead. Left at the traffic lights. Left again at the next junction." She put her hand to her cheek. "That bastard hurt me."

"Not as much as I hurt him," I said, as I started the engine.

"Goodie! I've had it up to here with him. I'm quitting."

I drove to the traffic lights, turned left, slowed, then at the first junction turned left again.

"That dump on your right," she said.

By a miracle there was parking-space and I pulled up outside a shabby, five-storey building.

"This it?"

"Yes, handsome. My stinking little pad." She slid out of the car and walked up broken steps to a battered front door. She kicked it open, walked down a dark corridor, fumbled in her bag, found a key, unlocked a door and entered. I kept close behind her.

We entered a tiny room that contained a camp-bed, a portable wardrobe, a small table and chair. A dusty, threadbare carpet covered the floor. A door to the left that stood open revealed a toilet and shower.

I closed the door and looked around.

"Is this your home?" I asked.

She went over to the bed and sat on it. It creaked and sagged.

"It's somewhere to sleep." She shrugged. "I spend all my waking hours at the club. Sit down, handsome." She motioned to the chair. "The bed won't hold the weight of both of us, so don't get hopeful ideas."

I sat astride the chair and regarded her.

"Why do you want to find Stella?" she asked.

"I don't. I want to find Johnny Jackson who I think is her son.

She ran a finger along the crease in her jeans.

"What makes you think Stella had a son?"

"Didn't she?"

She gave a giggling little laugh.

"Why do you want to find Johnny Jackson?"

"His grandpa left him a frog-farm. Someone wants to buy it. Without Johnny's say-so the farm can't be sold."

"Is it worth much?"

"Enough. Look, honey, don't let's waste too much time. If I find Stella, I could find Johnny and I could relax and forget about this minor deal. Do you know where I can find her?"

She fingered her cheek. A small bruise was now showing. "I've had it up to here with Eddy. I'm quitting. Suppose you give me a hundred dollars. I need a getaway stake."

"Why should I?"

"I could tell you about Stella and Johnny so you can relax."

I took out my wallet, extracted a $20 bill and offered it.

"What's that for?" But she took it.

"Start talking, honey. The rest will come if you give me what I want."

"Stella died of an overdose. She had been on heroin for months. That's why Eddy booted her out."

"Eddy told me she had been killed by a hit-and-run."

She nodded.

"He would say that. He's sensitive about drugs."

"Stella got her shots from him?"

"I didn't say that, did I?" Her eyes turned cold. "Stella's dead."

"You knew her?"

"Of course. She taught me the stripping trade. I've got her job now."

"Did she tell you Johnny was her son?"

"Did she say who the father was?"

"Another $20 buys the answer to that one."

So I gave her another bill.

"She told me the father was a soldier out in Vietnam."

"Were they married?"

She grimaced.

"Who wants to get married these days?"

"Did she talk about her son?"

"Not often, but every now and then when she was high she did."

"What did she tell you about him?"

"She said he ran away when he was a kid and she was damn' glad he did."

"Did she say why?"

"He was in the way. She had her boyfriends who didn't want a kid around." she nodded to herself.

"Made sense to me."

"Did she know where he went?"

"Why should she care? He went, period."

So far, I was getting nowhere fast.

"Did you ever meet Johnny?"

She gave me a bright sly smile.

"You've taken a long time to ask that, and let me tell you, handsome, that's the sixty thousand dollar question."

I had an instinctive hunch that I was going to strike gold. What was fifty dollars to the Agency? I peered into my depleted wallet, found fifty and gave it to her.

"I repeat, did you ever meet Johnny Jackson?"

"Two months ago, the day before Stella died."

"Come on, honey," I said impatiently. "Tell me."

"Give me a cigarette."

I took out my pack, gave her a cigarette, lit it, lit one for myself and waited.

"Well, Stella and I were in the club. We were there alone. It was the dead time. Eddy was in his office. We were talking." She grimaced. "Then these two came in. I've seen fags often enough, but these two were really something to see. One of them was black. He was the bull. The other was his boy: pretty, fair, dressed to make your eyes fall out with beads and bracelets. The black stood at the entrance. The pretty boy came mincing across the room: little steps, hips swaying. I don't have to tell you." She grimaced again. "I hate fags. They spoil the trade. They're everywhere now like a rash of cancer. He came up to our table and simpered at Stella. I thought she was going to spit at him, but instead she just sat like a waxwork. I mean that. She had gone the colour of snow and she scarcely seemed to breathe. 'Hi, Ma,' this abortion said in a high shrill voice. 'I'm short. Lend me fifty, will you?' She just sat there, staring, so I yelled to him to get the hell out. My voice seemed to break the spell. Stella said, 'My God, Johnny! What have you done to yourself?" He grinned at her. 'Come on, Ma! What have you done to yourself? Give me fifty. I'm short!' Stella started crying, so he reached for her bag and, as he was opening it to help himself, I threw my coke in his face. He started back, screaming 'You've spoilt my clothes!' Then the black came charging across the room. I thought he was going to kill me, but he grabbed hold of Johnny and hustled him out. Stella got up, still crying, and went up to her room. That was the last I saw her alive. She took a treble shot."

The jigsaw pieces were falling into place. Johnny Jackson, the son of Mitch Jackson, drug-pusher and a Medal of Honor hero, was a homosexual. This explained why the girls at Searle's school couldn't make an impression on hip; And also why all those I had talked to had said he was a nice kid, but "soft.” I felt, at last, I was getting places.

"Do you know where I can find him?"

"He could be anywhere. No, I don't, and couldn't care less. Look, handsome, I'm taking off so how about the other ten dollars?"

"Where are you going?"

She shrugged, her expression stony.

"I don't know. I've had enough of the Skin Club." She stared at me. "Do you imagine a girl with my looks and my thing will starve?"

"You must be going somewhere."

"That's for sure. New York, maybe. Somewhere where the action is. All I know right now is I want to get away from Eddy. How about the ten dollars?"

"Baby, a hundred won't get you far. New York? That's miles away from here."

She held out her hand.

"Ten bucks, handsome."

"Tell me about Eddy Raiz."

Her eyes widened.

"You crazy? That's one creep I don't talk about. Come on, handsome, I've told you about Johnny, now let's break it up."

"Eddy's in the dope racket," I said. "You don't have to tell me. It's in the big print."

She got up, walked across the room and opened the door.

"Screw the ten dollars . . . out!"

I looked at her and felt sorry for her. She was a beautifully built girl, adrift, and struggling to survive as so many kids, her age, are struggling to survive.

What had they to offer? Nothing anyone wanted except their beautifully built bodies and their willingness to drop on their backs on a bed. It never crossed their young, stupid-minds that the years move on and they would become less and less attractive. Men hunted for the young. Right now, with all the assurance her young body gave her, she couldn't imagine the time would come when some other kid, struggling to survive, would push her down the lust-queue to the waiting perverts and the drunks who would grab anyone in the shape of a woman.

"Honey, pause a moment. Think ahead. You are walking into a mess," I said. "Stella walked into a mess. Isn't there something else you can do except stripping?"

She stared at me for a long moment, her eyes hostile.

"Go shake your goddamn tambourine someplace else," she said. "If there's one thing I can do well, it's to handle my own life." She pointed to the door. "Beat it!"

I walked away from her, realizing that no talk could influence her, as no talk will ever influence the kids of today unless they want to listen.

As I walked down the sleazy passage to the street, I heard her door slam.

Getting into my car, I drove down the street, turned right, saw a car edging out of a tight parking-space. I slammed on my brakes and beat another quester by a whisker. He glared at me as he went on to hunt. I locked my car, then walked fast back to Be-Be s street.

As I walked, I was jostled by the milling crowd. I found a 'doorway that gave me a clear view of Be-Be’s apartment block door. I climbed the three steps, propped myself up against the door post, lit a cigarette and prepared to wait.

Be-Be interested me. I wanted to see where she was going.

After a ten minute wait, the door behind me opened and I glanced around.

A big black buck, wearing an orange shirt and black satin trousers, moved by me. He stank of cheap scent. He took two steps forward, then stopped, turned and stared at me with menacing, bloodshot eyes.

I gave him my cop stare.

"You want something, white man?" he demanded in a gravelly voice.