Hard Case Crime: Fade to Blonde (21 page)

“No,” I said. “I don’t.”

She was silent. Then she leaned forward and rested her face against my chest. “Nothing,” she mumbled, her mouth half-mashed against me, “nothing I ever do turns out any good.”

I kissed her hair and let my mouth rest there. We lay that way a moment, resting.

“Will you at least think about it?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Think about it seriously?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing? Yes.”

She lifted her head. “Well. That’s an honest answer. You’ll think about it. And we’ll talk about it later. And you’ll make him leave me alone, and get me his money, one way or the other?”

“Yes.”

“And we’ll split it fifty-fifty. And we’ll do it soon, whatever we do. And from now until then, you can have me any time it doesn’t interfere, all day if you want, and do whatever you like to me.”

“Nice of you.”

“No, it’s not nice. It’s intelligent. I don’t want you wandering off again. What, you’re not falling in love with me, are you?”

“Probably. You planning to lose much sleep over it?”

She lay back against the pillow and sighed as if she’d just had a big meal. “You’re not in love with me. You’re not that dumb. You still think I’m beautiful? For now?”

“Yes.”

“Not ridiculous?”

“Both.”

“You can call me ridiculous. You can call me anything. Come on,” she said. “It’s too early to get up yet.” I pulled the blanket up over her, but she kicked it away. “C’mon,” she said. She rolled over on her belly and worked her bony behind up in the air, and waggled it at me like a cop showing a dark gold badge.

I slapped her rump lightly and said, “Put it away. I’m done with it.”

She wriggled onto her back again. She smiled and had herself a good stretch. “Mmn. C’mon, slugger. Maybe you can find something I won’t do.”

“What fun would that be?”

“The fun,” she said with slitted eyes, “would be in
making me do it anyhow.” She lifted one leg straight up in the air and pointed her toes at the ceiling, then brought her foot slowly around and patted my cheek with it. “When we met,” she murmured, “you were going to kick me in the face.” She gave my chin a little shove with her toes.

“We hadn’t been properly introduced,” I said.

“In the
face
,” she said, and slapped my cheek lightly with her foot. She gave me a little jab with her toes. “You were gonna kick me in the face. In the
face
,” she said, jabbing my ribs with the other foot.

“Hey,” I said, and “Ow,” but she kept jabbing and slapping with her feet, leaning back on both elbows now with a hard delighted grin and both legs in the air, working, and the whole shooting match wobbling and rolling as I tried to guard my face and gut, until finally I rolled on top of her, and all the play went out of her and she went to work. She locked her knees against my ribs and began to move.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” I said between my teeth.

Between her teeth she said, “You think you knowing makes any difference?”

When I woke up next, she was gone. I didn’t think more than a couple hours had passed. It was almost eight by the alarm clock on her night table. I found my watch and checked it. Almost eight. Well, now we’d established that it was almost eight. We were making progress. I put on
my watch, sat on the side of her bed, and tried to think what I could do to earn my pay. There wasn’t a damn thing I could think of. I was tired of shaking trees with no fruit on them. I didn’t have a lever and I wasn’t getting any closer to one. What I had was Rebecca, and whatever she knew and hadn’t quit dancing around long enough to tell me yet, and she’d gone missing. Meanwhile, if I had to leave town tomorrow, or even move across it, I didn’t have much of a stake. I got out my wallet and counted, thinking about that dinner at Annie Jay’s. It was stupid, spending that kind of money. I’m an eater. It’s as bad as drinking sometimes. I put on my clothes and went down the sticky stairs. I didn’t run into Shade. I found where I’d left my car and headed over to the hiring hall on Welliver, even if it was eight-twenty already.

It was past nine when I got there. “Jesus,” Bergdahl said, from behind his old desk. “Look what’s here at lunchtime and wants work.”

“Hello, Bergdahl.”

“Hello, Ray. What are you doing here? It’s practically noon. I could’ve used you at seven.”

“I overslept.”

“Company?” he said, leering.

“I don’t know how I got this reputation.”

“Company, huh. Well, you got to tend to business if you want the business.”

“I know it.”

“We got a lot of early worms here.”

“I know it. I just thought I’d come by anyhow.”

“Ah, it’s slow. I didn’t have much this morning either.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I was hoping to pick up something.”

“Well, come back Wednesday or so. I been hearing some things. I think by mid-week, Thursday the latest I can fix you up.”

“Sooner would be better. I don’t mind what it is. I’ll wheel concrete, if that’s what you’ve got.”

“Aw, you that stony?”

“I was hoping I could make a few dollars today.”

“Aw, hell. I wish I had something.”

“Well, don’t fret about it,” I said.

He got very interested in his desk blotter then. “I guess you got stuck on those Olindas roofs for Nestor,” he said.

“Yep.”

“Everybody did. That little spic stuck everyone. I’m sorry, Ray. I’m sorrier than hell. I should’ve known better.”

“We all know what he’s like, Bergdahl. I took the work. Don’t worry about it.”

“I just don’t like seeing my guys stuck. That’s the last time that rotten little spic hires out of this hall, and I told him so.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ve got nothing against a man just cause he’s a Mex, you know that. But I have no time for that rotten little spic. Well, I guess I’m not the only one’s tired of him.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t hear? You’ll like this story. Three big smokes broke into his office the other day and choked him with a chain until he opened his safe. They got away with two grand. He’s been going around showing everybody the marks on his neck.”

“Is that a fact.”

“Like it?”

“And that little beauty telling us all he was broke.”

“I thought you’d like that story.”

“The only way I could like it better is if I did it myself and had the two grand.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” he said, with a laugh that
didn’t quite jell.

“Now what sort of talk is that?” I said.

“Oh, I don’t mean anything. But I’ve seen you get hot, Ray. I just wouldn’t put it past you.”

“My buddy.”

“In fact,” he said, sort of unwillingly, “first time heard, I thought of you.”

“That’s right, Bergdahl,” I said. “It was really me. I’m three big shades, and I’ve got two grand in my pocket, and that’s why I’m here begging for unskilled work.”

“All right,” he said. “Don’t listen to me. I’m just giving you the needle.”

But he was having trouble meeting my eyes again.

I left soon after.

At home I had a shower and treated myself to a shave and a grilled cheese sandwich. Then I thought what the hell and called Mattie.

“How’s Lenny,” he said.

“In the pink,” I said. “Got anything for me?”

“James Lee Marron, born June 10, 1926. Six two, one ninety-five, blonde and brown. Former star running back of the Porter Eagles.”

“That’s Halliday?”

“That’s Halliday. Former president of the Porter Thespians Club. Scrapes with girls. Scrapes with cops, just kid stuff. Always talked his way out, except for the one time. Left Michigan ahead of a Mann rap in ’46. Family hasn’t heard from him since ’48. Any good to you?”

“Not that I know of, Mattie. But thanks. I appreciate the trouble.”

“You don’t sound so hot. You don’t sound like the gangster bit agrees with you.”

“I’m all right.”

“Why don’t you quit ’em, Ray? Why don’t you quit ’em
both before they suck you down and get you where you can’t? Come by and talk. There’s other things for a guy like you to do than this.”

“You’ve always been a friend, Mattie.”

“All right, I’ll mind my business. Well, that’s Halliday.”

“I appreciate it.”

“You want his family?”

“Sure,” I said. “Yeah, sure. Give me the family.”

He gave me the family.

After I hung up the phone, I sat there awhile at the desk, not doing anything at all. Then I thought I’d try a little finger-drumming. Then I drummed my forefingers lightly on the space bar of my typewriter, like playing the bongos. Then I decided to really make a party of it and rolled some paper in.

On the first sheet I typed out
Leave Town
, and then underneath,
W/ what $?
I started typing out a list of what I could pawn or sell. The car. The new clothes. My watch. My books. Not my books. My typewriter. What else? The typewriter wouldn’t bring much. Too old. Neither would the suit. Too big. I x’d them both out. It was a cheap watch, which left the car, and without the car, how was I going to travel? Catch a freight again? Hitchhike? Just go back on the bum, like that, after nine years? I pulled out the page and crumpled it up.

I rolled in a new page and wrote
Move Across Town
. L.A. was a big place. Scarpa wouldn’t waste time looking for me. Hell, I could go stay with Joanie in Baldwin Park. Sure. Her and me and Lewis. Of course, Hollywood, Culver City — every reason I had for being in this town was on the West Side. Right in the middle of Scarpa’s patch. So if I wanted to, I could go crawl into a corner somewhere and live the way Rebecca did, looking over my shoulder every time I left my room. And again, what money was I going to use until I got set up? Sure, sell the
car. And how was I going to get around? Or get to my new job, once I got it? I pulled out the paper and crumpled it, then smoothed it out, then crumpled it again and threw it away.

I rolled in a new page and wrote
Talk to Scarpa
. No. There wasn’t a damn thing I could say to Scarpa, nothing I could offer him. I could show him newsreel footage of somebody else burning down his whorehouse and he’d want me gone or dead just the same. He was tired of thinking about me.

I x’d out
Scarpa
and wrote in
Burri
. But that wasn’t any good either. Burri got a kick out of me, but I’d shut down one of his lieutenants’ businesses. One of his businesses. Could I convince him I hadn’t? And even if I could, the old man might like to ride Scarpa a little, but he wasn’t going to bang heads with him over some yegg he’d just met.

I wondered what Round Head and Green Eyes were doing just then. I could see them coming up my walk. Going to see the cutie, one last time.

I thought about making another grilled cheese sandwich.

I rolled in a fresh sheet and wrote
Exterior. Day.

I started with a medium shot of a young woman swimming. She was swimming beautifully, and you got the light moving on the water after she went by, but that’s not a shot to open on, and I x’d it out and tried a long exterior of a convertible coming down a dirt road. There were half-built houses all around. A woman behind the wheel. A little dust coming up behind the car and hanging in the air. Her hair was loose, but that was all you could tell. You couldn’t see her face, so you kept watching. Her face could wait. You knew she was beautiful. That was all right as far as it went, that would photograph, but what then? She was in trouble, she was on the run. In a car like that?
Sure. Maybe. She was going to meet somebody. She had high hopes and the world on a string, but he was going to set her up, he was going to betray her. He? I felt the air coming out of it. There had to be a guy, but what sort, for a woman like that? I thought of a few and set them talking to her. But she only looked their way because it was in the script, and all that came out of anyone’s mouth was Noël Coward crap. I couldn’t get them going. All I really had was her moving beautifully and silently, in the water or a blue convertible, no one getting anywhere near. I’d never seen a movie like that, and I didn’t think I’d buy a ticket if they made one. I killed a few more sheets, then lay my arms on the desk and my head on my arms. When I opened my eyes it was dark, and someone was hammering on my door and weeping.

I opened the door and Rebecca half-fell inside. “You wouldn’t open up!” she shrieked. “You just sat there!”

Her nose had bled down her chin and neck, long enough ago that the blood was drying and her nose was running mucus now over the blood. There was a scrape on her forehead and her hair and dress were filthy with dry red dirt and something that could have been oil. It was a party dress with a satin yoke collar, and it had been ripped down one side so that she had to hold it up with her hand, and the bottom hem was ragged and dangling. One knee had been bleeding and was bleeding again. Her feet were bare and dusty and her stockings hung in dark shreds from her ankles. Her red eyes kept squinting and widening. “You just sat there! I saw you through the window! I
saw
you. Lorrie’s dead,” she cried, “he’s dead, he’s the only one who didn’t think I was a liar, and now he’s dead, and he’ll kill me, he’ll kill me next.”

I held her. Her back was damp with cold sweat. I took her purse and dropped it on a chair. She let go of her dress. It slid down her ribs, and a sharp stink of hysteria
rose from inside. “Where’s Halliday now?” I said, stroking her cold back.

“I don’t care, I don’t care,” she said, sobbing. “He can kill me if he wants. But I just can’t be running
around
like this anymore.”

“Becky, does Halliday know you’re here?”

“Nobody knows,” she sobbed. “Nobody knows.”

“Becky. If Halliday’s coming, I have to get ready.”

“I told you he doesn’t
know
. He
left
me out there. He
left
me. Lorrie tried to save me, and he killed him, just shot him, and I thought he was going to kill me too, but he just — ” Her voice had risen to something that was almost a whistle, and she had to force the words out. “He took my —
car
! And he was
beating
me! And I was running, and he was
laughing
at me!”