This Girl for Hire (14 page)

“Look,” I said carefully. “Let's level a little, what do you say? You saw me through the window, liked
what you saw and decided to have some. Isn't that about it?”

He ran his fingers nervously through his hair. “Well—I—I wasn't going to hurt you.”

As I turned for the door, a rusted tin box caught my eye. It was surrounded by a collection of bright shells.

“Where'd you get that?” I demanded.

“What?”

“That metal case.”

He looked frightened. “I dunno. I picked it up somewhere. Why?”

“Where'd you pick it up?”

“In the water. It—was at the bottom in a nest of sea anemone.”

“Where?” I asked. “White's Landing? Little Harbor? You don't pick up articles like this every day. Where'd you find it?”

He made half gestures. “In the bay. Late yesterday afternoon. I'm an undersea diver. I work with the glass-bottom boats. Is something wrong?”

The initials RC were engraved in the top of the case. I opened the lid. No mistake. Rod had told the truth about owning lab equipment, but how in Hades had this case wound up at the bottom of Avalon Bay?

“Look,” I said to the kid, “a friend of mine lost this, and it's important that I find out where.”

The kid seemed confused.

“Could you locate the spot again if you
had to?”

“I—I guess so,” he said.

“Will you take me there?”

“Well—sure,” he stammered. “When do you want to go?”

“As soon as I can change into a swimsuit. Is that okay with you?”

I returned a few minutes later. He glanced at the V-slashed neckline of my tiger-striped suit, swallowed hard and introduced himself. “Name's Marble. Danny Marble. I bunk with a couple of guys from my home town. They went over to the mainland yesterday. I guess I've been lonesome. That's why I wanted to talk to you—”

“No explanation needed,” I said. “Come on, Danny. Let's go for a boat ride.”

We walked to the Pleasure Pier where Danny borrowed a small five-horse putter from a friend, and we headed out into the bay. The sun was blistering hot.

Danny cut the engine about a hundred yards off from the red-roofed Casino. “This is the spot,” he said de cisively. “I did a special dive here yesterday because there's a lot of Iodine Kelp for the people to see.”

“What's that?”

“Iodine Kelp is the ocean's tallest plant.” Danny handed me a face mask with an extra-large window. “Here! Stick your head over the side and take a look for yourself.”

I fastened the mask over my eyes and followed his instructions. The bottom was about twenty feet below the surface and very sandy. Giant ribbons
of green kelp twisted up from the ocean floor and, like weird ballet dancers, seemed to sway in a soundless, fantastic rhythm. It was beautiful, but I was more interested in the treasure that Dan had brought up from the deep.

I flipped off the mask and studied the surrounding area. Twenty yards away lay the three-masted schooner,
Decker's Dilemma
.

“Danny, do you know that ship?” I pointed at the large sea craft.

“Sure. She's been around for several days. A big television man owns her.”

“Has she moved at all to your knowledge?”

“I don't think so,” Danny said. “She's secured bow and stern.”

I held up the metal case. “How much would you guess this thing weighs?”

“About ten pounds, maybe less.”

“How far could you throw it if you wanted to?”

“I dunno,” Danny said, scratching his head. He examined the case. “You can grip it pretty easy by this metal handle.” He surveyed the waters around the putter. “I guess I could heave it about as far as that schooner.”

I nodded. “That was about my guess, too. Let's go over there.”

“Where?”

“The schooner. I want to go aboard.”

Danny groaned. “Are you crazy? You can't go aboard a ship just because you've got an urge to do it. Especially that one.”

“Why?”

“Rough crew,” Danny said. “Real rough. I think this television guy keeps 'em around for protection.”

“How do you know they're rough?”

The youth shook his head. “Couple of the boys and I got—drunk the other night during the
storm. We went for a boat ride and swamped near the schooner. We barely managed to climb aboard when these three big goons jumped us. And I really mean jumped! We put up a whale of a battle, but they had us on size, weight, experience, everything.”

“What finally happened?”

“What do you think? We got tossed in the drink. It was just lucky none of us drowned.”

I scanned the quiet decks of the schooner. “Nice guys! I'd like to meet them.”

“You're kidding!”

“Cross my heart. Want me to drop you somewhere first?”

The big kid swallowed hard. “I'll stick. I might get killed doing it, but I'll play along.”

I patted his cheek. “That's my boy! Let's go!”

Danny fired up the engine and we cleaved the short distance to Decker's schooner. Nobody appeared. He tied the boat to the landing ladder and we started up the steps.

“I hope you know what you're doing,” he said. “I've got to work this afternoon and I don't want to do it in splints.”

I didn't answer. My thoughts were concentrating on Decker's disappearance and the discovery of Rod's metal case near the TV king's yacht. Someone had stolen the lab equipment and apparently
brought it back to Decker's schooner. But why? Bob Swanson and Max Decker were around somewhere and I had a feeling I was getting closer by the second.

The three bodyguards suddenly popped up out of a hatch. They had more muscle than a herd of bulls. I was hoping, in contrast, they had less brains than a pack of fleas.

“Hey, you two!” the ugliest yelled. “Get off this ship before we throw you off.”

“I'll bet you three gentlemen combined couldn't throw an oyster into a pot of stew,” I answered.

They rose up out of the hatch with Herculean precision. They must have weighed two hundred pounds each.

“Lady,” the second ugliest boomed, “I could personally toss you over the Casino with my little finger!”

I laughed. “I'll bet your little finger is so muscle-bound you can't raise it high enough to scratch your own elbow.”

Danny was shaking all the way down to his toes. “What are you trying to do?” he whispered.

I smiled at him. “Don't worry!” Then I said to the three bodyguards, “If you're so tough why don't you take us on one at a time?”

They grunted. The ugliest came on, wrapped his hairy arms around my waist and squeezed. I got a leg up under him and ripped hard with my knee. He grabbed his stomach, bent over and I drop-kicked him neatly over the side. He made one tremendous
splash and disappeared.

T
HE SECOND MUSCLE MAN ADVANCED ANGRILY AND
reached for me. I caught him by the wrist, snapped his arm over my shoulder and leaned into the wind. When he hit high C, I flipped him in a circular arc. He hit the water head first.

The third pug, refusing to believe
his eyes, got off to a bad start even before he moved out of the starting gate. He made some King Kong noises, flexing and snorting as if he were working up to an appearance before the crowds. Then he was off and running. But he hit a newly waxed section of deck. The next time I looked, he was stretched completely out, pawing at the sky as he catapulted into the water, pancaking with a sickening swoosh.

By the time the three of them had surfaced, a thin, white-haired man in an expensive-looking robe came out on deck, swearing and waving violently at them.

“You bums,” he yelled. “You pasty-faced, weak-kneed rascals! You couldn't lick an old lady with her hands tied behind her
back. You're fired!”

He aimed a shotgun at the bobbing figures. “Swim for shore before I put a pound of buckshot in your yellow-bellied drawers!”

They headed for the beach, ripping the water open with their powerful arms. Danny Marble heaved a big sigh of relief. I approached the skinny little man with the shotgun.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Don't thank me,” he said angrily. “When I see more than six hundred pounds of beef being tossed around by a woman, I know it's time Max Decker got some new hands aboard this yacht.”

He introduced himself as Philip Hickman, president of the Radio-Television Corporation. “We own a sizeable interest in Decker's WES network.”

“I'm looking for Decker,” I said.

“Everyone is,” Hickman returned. “You a female cop?”

“Private investigator. Sam Aces was my client until he disappeared. I suppose you've heard about the blood-stained jacket?”

Hickman winced. “Yes, the police told me last night. I liked Aces. He had a lot of executive ability. Too bad this had to happen right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“During our meeting,” Hickman explained. “Four of us flew all the way from New York for this get-together. Unfortunately, Aces never learned of our decision.”

“I don't follow you.”

“Well,” Hickman continued. “Decker owns the largest block of stock in World
Broadcasting System, but a board of directors actually runs the network. None of the board, including myself, have been too happy with Max's operation of the Western net at Television Riviera. This has been going on for more than a year. He's incompetent when it comes to mixing with people and personalities. So the board voted to move Decker back to WBS headquarters in New York and replace him in Hollywood with Sam Aces.”

I caught my breath.

Hickman continued. “We had only one obstacle, that was Decker. He'd always been jealous of Aces for some reason. But Max finally gave in last Monday morning and agreed to turn his desk over to Sam.”

“Why didn't someone tell Aces?” I demanded. “That was one of Decker's stipulations. Aces wasn't to be notified until after the Catalina trip.” Hickman shook his head. “I don't know exactly why. Max is a strange man.”

“You can say that again. Did you know Decker had been secretly planning to oust Aces?”

“No, I knew nothing about such a thing.”

“Did you know Bob Swanson was hoping to take over as producer of his own show after Aces was fired?”

“I cant believe that,” Hickman said.

“Why not?”

“Swanson's a lousy producer. I've even hitched about his job as director. This was another example of poor executive power on the part of Max Decker.”

“Do you think Swanson could be blackmailing Decker?”

Hickman put away his
shotgun. “I doubt it. Max is a powerful man. If he wanted to, he could break Swanson down to a latrine keeper.”

“Maybe,” I said. “That all depends on whether Swanson saw a certain party dump a quantity of arsenic in a glass two weeks ago. And whether that certain party was Max Decker.”

“I—I don't follow you,” Hickman stammered.

I smiled. “You should sometime. I'm told it's like watching a cobra about to shed its skin.”

Hickman tried to catch my humor but it didn't penetrate. Danny Marble and I climbed down the ladder into the boat.

“Where to?” he asked, “I don't know of any wars that need to be won. How the devil did you manage those three guys anyway?”

“Judo and a little deck wax,” I said. “Don't worry. If they'd had an ounce more brains between them we'd have been in trouble, you can bet on that.”

The wind was rising cool off the water. “Looks like we might have another storm,” Danny said, scanning the sky.

“That's all we need. What time do you go to work on the glass-bottom boat?”

“Soon as the steamer arrives. About twelve-fifteen.”

“Could I go down with you?” I asked.

“Sure,” Dan said enthusiastically. “So you're a private detective, huh? This ought to be fun.”

We landed again at the Pleasure
Pier and walked down Crescent Avenue to the Jolly Inn. I wanted to talk to the bartender, Joe King, an old friend of mine from Lake Arrowhead. Joe had been the power behind the bar at The Chalet for many years. He was a dark-complected, nervous type with more ulcers than a sultan has wives.

“What'll you have, Honey gal?” Joe asked.

“A fat man,” I said.

“Never heard of one,” Joe teased. “What's it made of, vinegar and brandy?”

“Blubber and belly,” I corrected. “This one's bald, weighs about three fifty, needs two stools to sit. Seen him around?”

Joe grinned. “Sounds like Max Decker.”

I nodded. “When's the last time you saw him?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“Was he with anyone?”

“Yeah,” Joe said. “Cute little doll. He called her Lori, as I remember.”

“Smart remembering,” I said. “Do you ever watch the Bob Swanson show on TV?”

“Never miss it. Swanson was in here this morning.”

“What?”

“About an hour ago. He looked bushed, like he hadn't slept for days.”

I practically crawled over the bar. “Did he say anything to you, Joe? About where he's been staying or what he's been doing?”

“He didn't say a word. Just tossed down a double and walked out. He was pretty
dusty. I'd say he'd been on a camping trip or something.”

“Thanks, pal. What would private eyes like me do without open-eyed guys like you?”

“Live a little longer,” Joe said. “Get out of here! I'd rather associate with alcoholics. At least they're having fun while they're trying to kill themselves.”

Outside the Jolly Inn, warm mist dampened the side walks as Dan and I headed up the street toward the steamer terminal. The massive white hulk of the channel liner,
Catalina
, was sliding into view around the Casino, its decks jammed with waving, wet tourists.