Shakedown (8 page)

She said, “A girl shouldn’t hide her—characterizing features. I’ve tried to buy Josie clothes that will emphasize her special charms. Women have really nothing to sell but themselves.”

“It should bring her to a higher-priced level,” I agreed.

Jean looked at me quietly, started to say something and seemed to change her mind. “How’s the lip?”

“I’ll live, I guess.”

Josie came out in a green suit with a frilly white blouse, and that passed our inspection, too. And then in a quilted, brightly patterned patchwork skirt and embroidered off-the-shoulder blouse.

I told Jean, “That’s what you wore when you came here. It looked a lot like that.”

“Mmm-hmm. It seems like a long time ago.”

Josie said, “Do you like them all, Joe?”

“You’re a knockout, Josie,” I said. “You’re a beautiful girl.”

She flushed and went back to change again.

Quiet. Then Jean said, “The girl likes you.”

Nothing from me.

“Everybody seems to like you,” she said, “but you can’t forget the police killed your father, can you?”

“Cut it out,” I told her. “Don’t make like a psychiatrist. You haven’t got the beard. I can’t forget what kind of a world this is, if that’s what you mean.”

“There’s justice in it,” she said quietly. “It may be crude, and sometimes we don’t recognize it, but we always pay for our sins, Joe.”

“All right, we pay. So the more money I get, the more I can pay for. I’ll buy my way to immortality.”

“Your father was Catholic, Joe?”

“And my mother Lutheran. Isn’t that a sweet set-up?”

“And what are you, Joe?”

“I’m a cultist. I worship money.”

She began to chuckle. “Well, anyway, you’re consistent.” She leaned over to put a finger into the basin of hot water. “That’s too cool.” She stood up and looked down at me a moment before taking the basin out to the kitchen.

I wondered if Florence Nightingale had her build.

Josie came back before Jean had finished in the kitchen. Josie said quietly, “You have a wonderful girl. She is an angel.”

“Yes,” I said. An angel? Jean Roland?

Then Jean came in and saw the dress Josie was wearing, the cheap cotton dress she’d worn when she came here yesterday.

Jean shook her head. “Not that thing, Josie. Burn it.”

“But those others are—so fine—I thought—”

Jean said, “Josie, if you want to be expensive, you’ve got to look expensive, inside and out. You have to get used to good clothes and good living so it all seems natural to you.

This was a little different from the palaver she’d been handing me. This was the way she
really
believed.

She said, “Girls haven’t the weapons men have, Josie. So they’ve got to look expensive, at least. Price is one thing all men understand and value.”

Jean looked at me. “What are you grinning at, ape?”

“I was thinking of poor, defenseless Jean Roland.”

Josie said, “Jean means like the Condor girl. It is the good girls who are defenseless.”

Silence. Jean put my hand gently into the new basin of hot water. She changed the cool, wet cloth on my lips. Josie went back into the bathroom. Jean lighted a cigarette and went to leaf through my stacks of records. Art Tatum was what she settled for and I had a lot of them.

“Hungry?” she asked.

“I could eat, if this lip doesn’t get in the way.”

“Soup?”

“Eggs. I’ll get ’em down.”

“Okay. You stay right here. I’ll feed you.”

We talked about Papa and Deutscher while she fed me, Charles Adam Roland had double-crossed partners before and it just isn’t a thing that’s done in the big con.

“And that Deutscher,” she said. “Dad brought him in for no reason I can think of.”

“Deutscher has something on him. Deutscher might be planning a cross of his own. Your papa may not be as smart as he thinks he is, teaming up with Deutscher.”

“Papa,” she said, “is exactly as smart as he thinks he is, no more or less. He can’t afford to underestimate or overestimate himself in his trade.”

“So—then what?”

“You could watch them.” She gave me a sip of coffee.

“Tail them? Which one? Not Deutscher! He’d know it in a minute. And your dad is probably conditioned to watch for tails.”

She shook her head irritably. “We’ve got to watch them, Joe. I know Dad checked out of the hotel. If you could learn where he’s staying—”

“Why?”

“Because last time, before he collected the money from my friends, he did the same thing, moved out of the place where I thought he was staying.”

“You think Willi’s that close to being sold?”

“Dad must think so. He and Willi are going to the ballet tonight. He’s moving right in there.”

“Willi—going out with a man?”

“Why not? Wouldn’t you go to a show with a man, or a fight? Willi doesn’t mind cultured men—except sexually.”

I thought about the two of them together. “And he’s got the gab, too. He might not need you and me at all.”

She gave me the last of the egg. “And what can we do about it?”

I said, “It would be best to tail your dad. He doesn’t know my car and he wouldn’t be as quick to spot a tail.”

“Tonight when he brings Willi home?”

“A good idea. I’ll do that. I think I can get Josie lined up in a job today. You phone me when Willi and your dad leave.”

She stood up and leaned over to kiss my forehead. “I’ve got to run. Willi will be wondering. I’ll phone you.” She studied me a few seconds. “I suppose Josie doesn’t want—honest work?”

“Do you?”

“Oh, shut up. Well, it’s her life. You keep your hands off her, understand?”

“That’s a promise.”

She waved and went into the bathroom to say goodbye to Josie and then left.

Art Tatum kicked an oldie around on the record player and I thought back to the day Jean had first come here. She seemed to sail for me and she wouldn’t be a bad partner for a life I intended to get used to.

Josie came out of the bathroom in her new quilted skirt and embroidered blouse. She wore sandals and no stockings. She smiled at me and put a towel over her skirt before going into the kitchen to do the dishes.

I phoned Jack Budd and caught him at home.

“Joe Puma, Jack. How’s business?”

“Fine. You in the market for something?”

“No, thanks. Are you?”

“Always. What have you got?”

“A very lovely girl who’s had some experience, was tied up with Target. Latin type.”

“Mexican, you mean?”

“Come and see her.”

“I could. It’s not far. This is something new for you, isn’t it, Joe?”

“What are we arguing about, Jack? If you’re not interested, say so.”

“I’m interested. What do
you
expect to get out of it?”

“What’s the usual cut?”

“Fifty dollars, if they’re really first rate.”

It was like finding money in an old suit. I said, “You won’t know if she’s first rate unless you look at her. And one more thing, she doesn’t want to stay in this town.”

“She won’t need to. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I went into the kitchen where Josie was putting away the dishes. “Your new boss is on the way over. He’s got even finer clients than Target had. You’re going to make a lot of money, Josie.”

She nodded, not looking at me directly. “Just so I get out of this town. I hate this town.” She took a deep breath and faced me squarely. “You are trying to do what’s best for me, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “Are you happy about it?”

“I am,” she said. “Believe me, Peter, I am.”

“My name is Joe, remember?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry. For a moment, my mind—I don’t know why I should think of Peter Deutscher.” She put a hand on my arm. “That Jean is a fine girl. You be good to her, won’t you?”

“Of course, Josie.”

She was sitting on the davenport, the full skirt spread neatly, her black hair glistening in the afternoon sunlight when Jack Budd came.

His face showed his surprise. “Well,” he said. “Well and well, again.” He looked at me. “Lovely.”

Clothes will do it, every time. She did look lovely. I said, “I wouldn’t waste your time with trash, Jack. Josie is all lady.”

“Stand up, dear,” he said.

She stood up, and the full feminine attraction of her full bodied figure was outlined by the window behind her.

He took a breath and said, “Get your clothes, dear. I’ll have you on a plane for Phoenix tomorrow.”

She went to get her clothes, and he came over to slip some bills into my hand. “Experienced, is she, Joe?”

“A little,” I answered. One of Target’s upper level girls until he got the knife. High class.”

“Sure—those clothes—you can always tell.” He looked at my lip. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Walked into a door.”

Then Josie was coming with the suitboxes. She held out a hand. “Good-bye, Joe. Remember—about that girl.”

“I’ll treat her right.” Josie’s hand was warm and strong.

They went out and I checked the bills he’d given me. Two twenties and a ten.

He’d paid top dollar.

J
EAN PHONED AT SEVEN-THIRTY
to tell me they’d left for the ballet. “Want to come up here and wait until a few minutes before they’re due back?” she asked me.

“It might be risky,” I said. “I’ll stake out and wait for him.”

Her voice was cool. “In other words you don’t want to be alone with me?”

“There’s nothing I’d like better. But I’d rather put it off until we can be alone and rich.”

“Is Josie there?” There was meaning in that.

“She’s gone. Tomorrow she’ll be out of town. The man was very pleased with her.”

“All right. I’ll phone you tomorrow. Or you can phone me. Willi knows you’re investigating this Company.”

“I’ll phone you in the morning.”

As I hung up I wondered if I’d annoyed her. She was the kind of hot-head who might queer the whole deal over a slight. But she was also the kind of girl who’d cherish a man she wasn’t too sure of. I had to be solid with her. Until the pay-off.

I put a stamp on the letter Josie had written to Deutscher and put the letter in my inside jacket pocket. It was a letter Deutscher would undoubtedly destroy soon after he received it. I would need to be there when he got it.

I found a place with an eight o’clock pick-up and mailed it on the way to dinner. I had a good meal, and a few drinks and then went down Sunset to park about a half block from the luxury apartment building that housed Jean Roland.

I sat there in the Chev, figuring the angles. Of all the people involved in this steal, only Willi Clifford could run to the law. And she could only complain about Charles Adam Roland. Would Roland tell her I’d taken the money? That would be the crux of it.

If he did, the law would come for me, but he’d be implicated. They might not find me. I’d rather they didn’t even have a reason to look for me. But Roland probably wouldn’t squeal on me to the law. What he would probably do is milk Willi of a few more dollars, and take off, himself.

And here was another angle I was overlooking: would Willi run to the law? Willi was a member of a very prominent Eastern family. And a Lesbian. Would she risk the possibility of that being uncovered in an investigation? I doubted it like hell. I was probably safe from Willi. Which left the Rolands, who’d undoubtedly be miffed about my steal but hardly in a position to go to the law. I didn’t fear them any other way.

I could grab the boodle and leave town and only the Rolands would know I had the money.
If
I could get my hands on the money. I couldn’t plan that until I learned how the money was to be transferred. But a gun could play a big part in that. And I had a gun.

The big cars moved by, a siren wailed a few blocks down. Beyond the apartment building, I could see the lights of the city below. I turned on the radio and got a Long Beach platter program. I was still listening to it when Roland’s Cad slid in toward the curb a half block down. It was a green curb zone, which meant fifteen minutes of parking. He was probably only going to see her to the door.

He couldn’t have taken her any further than the elevator. He was out in a couple minutes and hurrying toward his car. He moved like a man who had an engagement.

He had a hundred and ninety horses under his hood. I had about ninety. That didn’t matter, in traffic, until we’d be stopped by a light. Then he’d be halfway into the next block before the Chev’s clutch took hold. In most towns a Cad’s rudder tail-lights are distinctive enough to make the car easy to spot. In this town there were too many Cads.

But I stayed with him as he cut down to Santa Monica Boulevard and headed west on that toward the ocean. He really moved on Santa Monica. There were a couple times he made a light that I didn’t and I thought I’d lost him. But he stayed right on the Boulevard all the way to Santa Monica. In Santa Monica he turned left on Lincoln Boulevard. It wasn’t hard to follow him through town. But once on the flats beyond Venice, that big heap started to move.

I kept his tail-lights in view and hoped he wasn’t going too far along this highway. Then, way ahead, I saw him swing off on Culver Boulevard, heading toward Playa del Rey. There were very few turn-offs on this road. I let him get far enough ahead so my lights wouldn’t mean anything to him.

Flat lands on both sides of us, and then the hills of Playa del Rey began to appear to our left. It’s a community on the shore, built on sand, a mixed community of very fine and very crummy homes. He cut off Culver Boulevard on Vista Del Mar, and now I had to be careful because it was hilly here and he could turn off when I was on the wrong side of a rise. And I couldn’t crowd him, not on a road as little traveled as this. This was a strangely isolated place for Charles Adam Roland to be bedding down in.

I topped a rise, and a block below I saw the Cad turn to the right. I slowed because he couldn’t be going very far down that street. It dead-ended at the ocean, a half block down. I didn’t make the turn but drove past, over the next rise, and pulled off onto the sand next to the road. I turned off the lights and walked back.

Below me now, parked in front of the small frame cottage at the beach end of the street, there were two cars. The Cad and a Plymouth that looked like Deutscher’s Rendezvous. The bastards were probably going to plan the cross. Willi must be almost ready. Or at least Roland thought she was going to come through eventually.