Find This Woman (15 page)

I ordered one last drink while I examined the idea, then grabbed a cab and had myself driven downtown to Fremont Street. People were whooping it up and having their kicks as I pushed through them and went into a store where all sorts of costumes were rented and sold and a lot of knick-knacks and gadgets were on display. I went inside exhaling fumes of bourbon. I looked around for a few minutes, then got the clerk, a young gal about nineteen, and pointed to a set of brightly colored clothes.

"Miss. Like to rent that and put it on here."

"Sure. In back. You want the Mexican outfit?"

"That's the one." It was the one. Starting from the top, there was a big, floppy, black sombrero with a brim that would hide part of my face. Then there was a scarlet jacket covered with intricate needlework and silver spangles, and a pair of flaring trousers of black cloth with silver stitching up the outsides of the pants legs. The girl got the stuff and I changed into it in back, then bought a brightly colored serape to go over my shoulders.

I took a look at myself in a mirror, and I looked like a rainbow, but there was still my face staring out at me from under the floppy brim of the hat. This wouldn't do—not if I were going to barge right into the Inferno. Then on a table I saw some gadgets that gave me another idea. Like two or three of the stores on Fremont Street, this one had quite a collection of jokes and novelties: imitation ink blots, leaking or "dribble" glasses, marked cards. Cute things like that. But there were two disgusting little items side by side among all the rest that might solve my problem. One of them was called "Goofy Teeth" and the other had no name because there was probably no name gruesome enough to describe it. It was a pair of eyes. Bulbous, white, red-veined eyes with brilliant blue half-inch circles painted around the pupils, and the pupils were quarter-inch holes through which your own eyes could look out. There was a curved metal band to fit over the wearer's nose, and attached were ghastly bulging eyes.

If you have ever seen a man wearing a pair of those eyes over his own, and a set of fanglike, twisted Goofy Teeth jutting from under his upper lip, then you know that there is absolutely nothing more hideous that can ever happen to that man's face. It happened to mine.

I bought the teeth and eyes, slipped them on in front of the mirror, and yanked them off before they scared me while the little clerk laughed and laughed.

"Thanks," I told her. "Pretty awful, huh?"

"Pretty awful. You going to a party?"

"Yeah. You got a black eyebrow pencil somewhere?"

She squinted at me curiously, but she came up with the pencil. I blacked my eyebrows with it after she told me to go ahead and ruin the pencil if I wanted to, then I tried the eyes and teeth again. It was even worse than before.

But I paid the girl and left with her laughter still bubbling behind me. I left my own clothes in the store, saying I'd pick them up later. I had my gun strapped across my chest under the scarlet jacket, and my teeth and eyes in the jacket's pocket. The floppy sombrero rested on my head, the serape was draped over my shoulders, and I was one God-awful mess. I'd gone into the shop as a fairly respectable Sheldon Scott, Los Angeles private detective; now I was Señor Scott, the private
ojo.

I had another quick drink to keep my courage up, then caught a cab and got out in front of the Inferno. People still streamed in and out of the Devil's mouth, and I pulled the floppy sombrero down over my face, slipped in my teeth, popped on my eyes, and went in.

Chapter Fifteen

BOURBON bubbled pleasantly inside me and I was feeling a mite dizzy. It occurred to me that, just possibly, Señor Scott, the private
ojo,
was more than a bit plastered. But I had to find my Sweet Lorraine, and after all the trouble I was going to, she'd better be ready to talk. I went into the Devil's Room wishing I had some of the instruments of torture depicted on its walls. Say a whip or a club or a thumb screw. Then if she wouldn't talk I could whip it out of her or beat it out of her or use the thumb screw on her. I hunched over and headed for the dining room.

Music was blaring from the room; the last floor show was on. What the hell did I do now? I slipped inside the door and waited among the tables at the back of the room. Nobody noticed me because everybody was watching the show, and because the big room was in darkness except for the stage. As long as the club lights were out I was O.K., but if they suddenly came on there was a chance I'd feel foolish. With the stage on my left, I walked straight ahead to the far wall, stopped, and turned around. A tall brunette finished singing, bowed to the applause, then went backstage through a curtained archway at the side of the orchestra stand. Backstage was where I wanted, but I couldn't use the same route getting there that she'd used. There had to be another way to get there without climbing up on the stage in front of all these people. I kept peering through my quarter-inch holes till I saw, dimly, another door in the wall at the right of the stage. That probably led back where I wanted to go, and I was getting ready to wander over when the MC announced, "The star of our show: Lorraine," and she came on.

She was wearing a dark blue evening gown that clung to her white skin. That black hair was loose down her back and she was smiling as she moved over the polished floor. This was no fire dance, but I had an idea it would be good because she was still the full-breasted and wide-hipped wanton I remembered from the Pelican. And remembered, too, from last night. I wanted to watch, but it seemed a good time for me to try that door while all the guests were staring at the shapely body gliding over the dance floor.

I walked to the wall and turned the knob on the door, and it opened. I went on through and pulled the door shut behind me. I was in a short hallway much like the one I'd been in at the Pelican, except that at my left, behind the stage, a flight of stairs led up to what were probably dressing rooms above. I moved to my left, to a spot a few yards from the archway through which Lorraine would come when her act was finished, and waited in the dim light from overhead bulbs.

The music ended and there was a loud burst of applause that hurt my head, then Lorraine came through the archway, turned around with her back to me, and waited. She had on a lot more clothing than she used in her fire dance, but the whole outfit couldn't have weighed more than a few ounces, and for some reason that pleased me.

I went "Psst!" at her, but apparently she didn't hear me. The applause kept up out front and she went back to bow again. I found myself wishing I were ringside so I could applaud and yell for more like the rest, and watch her bow.

Then she was back.

"Psst," I said. "Pssssst!"

She turned around just as she started up the flight of steps to the dressing rooms and she looked straight at me. I'd forgotten temporarily about the way I must look, serape and teeth and eyes and all the rest, but Lorraine got it all at once as I caught her eye. The way I looked I must not only have caught her eye, but practically yanked it out.

Her eyes lit up like light bulbs and I thought she was going to scream. There is a certain slang expression meaning "look at" in a certain startled manner. It is "eyeball," and there is no word that better describes what Lorraine did to me. She eyeballed me till I thought her eyeballs were going to go
spoc
and jump clear across ten feet at me. I thought they were going to fly across space like bumblebees and smack me in the kisser.

She looked horrified, startled, incredulous, and nauseated, not by turns but all at once. She sucked in her breath with a little squeaking sound and stood staring at me. She was paralyzed and squeaking, and I suddenly realized what was the matter.

I pawed at my face and got my ghoulish eyes and teeth off and said cleverly, "Lorraine. It's me!"

She stopped making noises but her mouth dropped open.

I pushed my sombrero back on my head and said, "It's only me. I won't hurt you. C'mere."

Some of the expressions faded from her face till all that was left was a kind of pained horror. "
You!
" she said.

People were still applauding like mad out front, but they were missing the best part of the show. The best part of the show is always backstage, anyway. And I had an idea they could applaud till their hands were pulpy and Lorraine wouldn't take another call. I don't think she could have made it. She was leaning against the wall with one hand on her breast and her mouth still open and sucking in air. She looked too weak to climb the stairs and, looking at her skimpy costume, I decided I'd carry her.

She stared at me, recognizable now, and she said, "Well, yippee-ti-yo. Are you cracking up, Dad? What happened?"

"Couldn't just walk in. Told you last night. Got to talk to you."

"For all I knew, you were dead. Are you? You look like something fresh from an old grave."

"Look. Can't stand here. Got to talk to you."

She sighed hugely, blew air out of her mouth, puffing her cheeks, and said, "Come on. I want to get a good look at you."

She turned and went up the stairs with me right behind her. When she took that good look she wanted at me, we'd be even. At the top of the steps we went into the first dressing room and she shut the door, locked it, and leaned back against it.

She looked at me some more, shaking her head. "Don't you ever do anything like that to me again," she said. She put a hand over her heart and seemed surprised to find that all she had on was a gauzy bra and an abbreviated pair of shorts. I wasn't surprised; I'd known it all the time.

"I need a drink," I said.

"
You
need a drink." She grabbed a dressing gown off a hook and squeezed into it. "I need half a dozen after that. I thought you were something that had come to get me. What are you doing here, anyway?"

I grinned at her, "Why, Lorraine. It's such a nice night that I thought—"

"Now, wait a minute," she said quickly, but smiling. "You didn't creep back here in that getup just to ask me out in the balmy night air again. Not after the ruckus you had with Dante here last night. Now, what
do
you want?"

I said, "Last night, downstairs before I started the ball rolling, you said you'd like to help me. You mean it?"

"I guess so. I still don't know what you were talking about. But look, we can't stay here. How about my room?"

"You through with the show?"

"Yes. And we can't get a drink up here. I think I'll die if I don't get a drink." She peered at me. "You know, I had you set as a big, rough-looking guy. Not a bad-looking guy at all. A guy I could kind of go for, all things considered." She shook her head. "But I don't think you'll ever look quite the same to me again. I'll always see you plucking out your eyes."

"I promise not to do it again. And your room's fine, but I'll have to get through the crowd without being recognized."

"We can make it, all right," she said. "You can wear your. . . Ugh. Just don't look at me."

She stepped to a folding screen, did highly interesting things behind it, then stepped out fully dressed in a white blouse and brown skirt, and with spike-heeled shoes on her nylon-stockinged feet. She said, "We won't have to go through the crowd below. Come on."

I
followed her out of the dressing room, down the hall to another door, then through it onto the second floor of the hotel and down the long corridor lined with rooms. She led me to 232 and unlocked the door, and we went inside.

She went straight to the phone and called room service for bourbon, ice, and ginger ale. Then she turned to me and smiled. "Well. . . " she said.

"Yeah," I said. "Well, uh. . . " It was fairly obvious that we were both remembering the same thing. We'd been pretty sad-looking people the last time we'd seen each other.

She said, "Well, what did you want to talk about?"

I'd gone to a lot of trouble to ask Lorraine some questions; it was time I started. I grinned at her. "Before—before we left the Inferno last night, I asked you some questions and you said you didn't know what I was talking about, remember?" She nodded, and I added, "I, uh, sort of forgot to bring the subject up again."

Her smile got wider, then it faded and she said, "I do remember. But you never did really explain what you meant. About your car, and that fellow getting killed."

She sprawled on the bed and I pulled a chair over near her and told her the whole thing. I made it short and fast, but got enough of it in so it would make sense to her if she didn't already know all of it. I made it pretty strong about Dante's wanting to kill me, and the part she might have played in causing Freddy's death, and also told her about Carter.

When I finished she sat quietly for a few moments, biting that sensually curved lower lip. Then she turned her blue eyes on me. "I didn't realize. . . " she said softly. "I honestly didn't. But if I could have had anything to do with that Freddy's getting killed—" She stopped, then went on, "I did tell Dante about seeing you in the limousine. It could have happened exactly the way you said."

There was a knock on the door and I was on my feet with my gun in my hand before whoever it was finished knocking.

Lorraine stared at the gun for a moment, then looked at me. "I guess you're not kidding," she said quietly.

"Baby, get it through your head once and for all. This is nothing to kid about."

She nodded and went to the door. I stood aside, but it was only the bellhop with the liquor. Lorraine took care of him, then locked the door and carried the bottles to the dresser. She mixed two drinks, putting a splash of water in mine when I told her that was how I liked it, then gave me my drink and took a long swallow at hers.

Then she said, looking at me, "I'm sorry. I'm awfully sorry, Shell. What do you want to know?"

"First, why wouldn't you talk to me at the Pelican?"

"Dante. Victor Dante." She went over to the bed and curled up on it again. I swallowed part of my drink and I could tell that I'd already had plenty because it was turning to steam in my stomach. Lorraine sure looked terrific on that bed. She went on, "He came down just a little while before you showed up that night." She stopped, sighed, then said, "It was sure nice while it lasted." She waved a hand in an all-inclusive gesture. "Star billing here. Free room. Everything on the house like I worked for RFC. It's all for exactly what I'm not doing now: keeping my mouth shut."