Something Unusual

A Distant Siren sounded somewhere in the distance; my mind was fuzzy, like the morning mist which appeared from God only knows where. I felt like I’d been hit over the head with a bag of spanners, either that or I had a serious migraine. That’s Los Angeles for you anyways. I then heard the shrill ring of the office phone. I dragged myself out of my crumpled paradise of sleep and crawled towards my desk. Things weren’t going to get easier, that I was sure of.

“Yeah, this is Nash” I groaned “This had better be important”

“More than you realise fella” came the impertinent reply “My name is Dalton Hawks, I’m calling you on behalf of my client to help him with a little problem”.

“What kind of problem?” I asked “Seriously speaking, I don’t handle divorces or messy court cases”

“Can we meet in half an hour in Beverly Gardens Park?” he asked “I’ll explain everything then. You’ll receive a decent retainer. Will $100 cover it?”

“I’ll be there” I said “But please, don’t screw with me Mr. Hawks. I’m too old and too tired to start putting notches on the bedpost again”. Hawks laughed and then hung up. Screw going back to sleep; I dragged myself from the desk and threw on my powder blue shirt, my black trousers and pulled on my black sweater. I slipped into my shoes and brushed my hair. I strapped on my .45 automatic, grabbed my leather jacket and headed for my car. I drove towards the park and looked at my watch; it was six thirty in the morning; who is up at six thirty in the morning? The drive was about fifteen minutes, but felt like forever.

I parked my car by Minnie’s Eats and walked to the park. I looked in front of me, and there it was. It was like looking at the Garden of Eden. The park provided a lengthy green swath between the northern residential area and the commercial sections of the city. It featured many hundred-year-old cypress and ficus trees. Behind one of those tall ficus trees was a park bench on which was sat a man dressed in black, with a large cigar smouldering away; the pungent smell soon reached my nostrils. I walked up behind him and put my hand on his shoulder. He seemed to freeze; until I spoke.

“You Dalton Hawks? Or just an unusually keen botanist?”

“Quit the wisecracks” he snapped “Yeah, I’m Hawks”

“I’m glad” I replied “You know you can get done for a vagrancy charge”

“I don’t like your manner” Hawks replied

“Don’t worry” I snapped “I’m not selling it. Now what’s the job?”

He sighed and took out a long black cigar that when he lit it stank of burning rubber. He spluttered at the first drag but it soon became easier. He then smiled a disgusting yellow smile at me and then said

“You ever heard of Harlan Foster?”

“The screenwriter” I asked, in mock amazement “What does he want me for?”

“He saw your name in the phone book and liked the sound of it. He’s completely lyrical when it comes to names. He’s kinda queer ya know; but he’s married”

“Most artistic types are” I replied “But what’s the job?”

“He just wants somebody to keep an eye on him and makes sure he doesn’t wander from the straight and narrow”

“He a boozer?”

“Heavy” Hawks replied “But seems to be improving. But that’s not the main issue. Harlan’s concerned about his wife. He thinks that she is having an affair behind his back. Then again, Harlan’s had relations with a wealthy heiress...”

“I remember hearing about it” I replied “Gossip columnists love to babble. But I’m guessing their relationship went cold?”

“Right on the money” replied Hawks “But he’s worried that because of his old relationship resurfacing in the press that his wife is being unfaithful just to spite him”

“Alright Mr. Hawks I’ll take this case on” I replied

“How much are you charging Tony?” asked a voice from behind one of the cypress trees. I drew my .45 and walked towards the tree where the voice came

“It’s alright Mr. Nash” stated Hawks “C’mon out Harlan”. A Tall man of about thirty five came out from behind the tree with his arms in the air; he was wearing a dark blue sweater with blue shorts and white running shoes.

“Sorry about that Mr. Foster” I replied “I’m sure you understand why I got my gun out”

“I perfectly understand Mr. Nash” he replied “Old instincts from the army; you never forget them. So, what’s your price?”

“Well, $55 is my daily rate, plus an extra $5 for other expenses like gas, coffee, you get the picture”

“Alright Nash” replied Hawks “You’re hired”

Harlan Foster smiled at me and continued running. Hawks put $55 in my hand, and then reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a brown envelope.

“This is your hundred dollar retainer” he said and then disappeared behind a cloud of that foul cigar smoke. The cash felt snug against my ribs and I returned to where I’d parked my car in order to get a cup of coffee.

Minnie’s Eats wasn’t the nicest cafe in Los Angeles, but it made the best coffee. It was owned by a second rate Grifter called Melvin Simms. Simms had been an associate of Monk Morgan; Head of Los Angeles’ Criminal Elite until Simms got caught with his hand in the cash register and lost the use of his arm for a few weeks.

“Mornin’” he grumbled “The usual?” I nodded. The usual for me was a cup of black coffee with three sugars. I never ate much as I never really felt hungry.

I was finishing off my coffee when I heard Simms gasp at something. He had been listening to the radio. He turned it up so I could hear

“WEALTHY HEIRESS FOUND BLUDGEONED TO DEATH IN APARTMENT”

The story was about a wealthy heiress called Ramona Grayson. Apparently she’d been with somebody; presumably a man and was killed after being assaulted by her visitor and died during the struggle. I was wondering whether she’d been the one who’d had the affair with Foster. I threw my change on the counter and jumped into my car. I drove like a maniac before getting pulled over by a cop.

“Say buddy” he said “you’re drivin’ awfully fast”

“Quit bein’ wise will ya” I snapped “I’m an ex-cop on my way to see a client”

“I know you are Mr. Nash” replied the cop “I’ve been sent by Commander Patrick Rawlins to get you to the scene”

“Typical Old Rawlins” I mumbled. The cop jumped back in his car and gave me a police escort to the scene. When we arrived at the house I was greeted by a greying man with a receding hairline and a suit that almost matched his hair. The homburg hat perched on his head seemed battered and warn; rather like the veteran cop wearing it.

“Mornin’ Hendrick” came the gruff reply

“Hiya Pat” I said “I just heard about it on the radio; do you have any idea who it could’ve been?”

“We can’t blame the butler because he was out of town” quipped Rawlins

“Cut the wisecracks for a minute Pat” I snapped “I’ve just taken on a client who might have known the victim; he’s a screenwriter called Harlan Foster.”

Rawlins froze and called one of his sergeants to get Foster to come to the scene as soon as possible. Any potential witness, in Rawlins’ eyes was extremely important; even more so than catching the crook that killed this beautiful woman.

II

Ten minutes later Foster arrived with the police at the scene.

“Where is she?” he asked between the tears “Where’s Mona?”

“Follow me Mr. Foster” said Rawlins “I should warn you; it’s not a pretty sight”

We were led through the house and out into the garden. He led us to a little cabin at the end of the garden with fancy windows and decorated door frames. Inside it was lavishly furbished. There was a white carpet that went from wall to wall and looked like a fresh fall of snow at Lake Arrowhead. There were full-length mirrors with crystal and ivory doodads all over the place. The ivory furniture had chromium on it, and the enormous ivory drapes lay tumbled on the white carpet a yard from the windows. The white made the ivory look dirty and the ivory made the white look bled out. The windows stared towards the back of the prestigious house.

Lying on the white carpet, wearing nothing but her emerald earrings and a bathrobe was the lifeless body of Ramona Grayson. Her smooth and pale flesh turned almost as white as the carpet with a look of horror on her face. The side of her pretty little head had been smashed in with one of the ivory doodads from a coffee table. Foster collapsed on top of the corpse crying over her. Rawlins put a hand on his shoulder trying to comfort him. Rawlins signalled for two officers to move Foster away from the body.

Just then a very sincere looking man with white hair and a face that resembled a prune walked in. He was wearing a dark grey suit with a black tie. He had a look of deepened anger that was almost disguised by the amount of tears that were gushing down his face. He pushed past me and cradled the head of victim in his arms still crying.

He saw Foster crying also. He put her head down on the floor gently and went to sit next to him.

“If there’s anything you need son. I know Mona meant a lot to you” he replied “Just ask me”. With that the man left. I was rather confused at this man’s reaction.

“Who was that?” I asked Rawlins

“That was Franklin D. Grayson, father of the deceased” he replied “He loved his daughter very much; but created a life of fancy parties and boys which was away from his world of finance”

“Why did he comfort Harlan like that?”

“Before Mr. Foster was married, he was going to marry Miss Grayson. During his marriage he made several visits to see her as many times as he could; her father always had a soft spot for Mr. Foster and made arrangements that if he died, the estate was to split between Mr. Foster and his only child”

“How do you know so much about their personal affairs?” I asked

“You’re the ex-cop” said Rawlins “You work it out. In the meantime you should return Mr. Foster back to his home”

“I don’t know where he lives”

“24 Camden Crescent, in Beverly Hills” replied Rawlins. He lit his pipe and tipped his hat. I guided Harlan back to the car and drove him home. His wife was waiting on the doorstep with her hands on her hips.

“Oh my God Harley, are you alright darling?”

“I’d give him a minute Mrs. Foster” I replied “He’s had a severe shock to his system; he needs some brandy and probably a lie down”. Mrs. Foster helped Harlan into the house and sat him down on the sofa while I went to get him a drink.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced” she replied

“I’m Nash, Hendrick Nash” I replied “A Director from the studios your husband works at hired me to watch you”

“Why do I need watching?” she asked

“He was concerned about your welfare and that you may be cheating on your husband”

“You don’t want to listen to a man like Dalton Hawks; he was probably speaking about his failed attempts with the starlets he hires” she replied. She went back into the sitting room to comfort her husband and told me to help myself to coffee.

I poured myself a cup and drank it. I hadn’t really had a chance to get a decent look at Mrs. Foster. She had helped Harlan into the bedroom and returned to the kitchen; humming what I recognised as Tchaikovsky; to make herself a cup of coffee. It was then I got a decent look at her; and she was worth a look at.

She was wearing a Black Blouse which was missing three buttons; but it showed off her impressive figure. She had a tight fitting skirt made out of silk and flesh coloured tights which showed off her long and luxurious legs. Her luxuriously long brunette hair seemed to glisten in the sunlight as though it were some precious gem lost a long time ago. She had a set of sculpted curves that nobody had been able to improve on and she had a certain smile that I could feel in my hip pocket.

“I’m glad to see that you protect your clients Mr. Nash” she said

“Please, call me Rick; Mr. Nash was my father”

“And you can call me Leanna.” I was slowly becoming attracted to this mysterious woman with a body that only God could’ve created. She was the perfect woman.

“Why did the police come to collect Harlan?” she asked

“Harlan was suspected to have been involved in the killing of a wealthy heiress called Ramona Jayne Grayson” I replied “I’m sure you’re aware that they were having an affair”

“I knew because Harlan had explained who the letters he’d been getting were off”

“What letters?” I asked

“At the start of every month, Harlan would get a letter sent to his producer from Miss Grayson’s father asking him to come and visit her” she replied. She left the kitchen and went into the sitting room; I followed. She was rummaging through a writing desk and soon found a large pile of opened envelopes and placed them in my hands “These were letters from that hussy wanting to get a hold of my Harlan”

“I can understand you being upset Leanna” I replied “But Mr. Hawks should’ve told me this when he hired me.”

It was then she started to cry. I walked over to the sideboard and poured a glass of brandy and sat her down on the sofa. I held her to try and comfort her. She was soft and warm; almost weightless. Her perfume was like a sweet promise that brought tears to my eyes. She looked up at me and put her glass down.

“I’m glad of what you’re doing for Harlan” she replied

“It’s all part of the job” I replied. She grabbed my jacket collar and pulled me towards her. She kissed me hard. She almost yanked my head clean off. It was like an explosion that blew away the dull, grey years between the now and those dark lonely years of crouching in the God forsaken Fox-hole all those years ago. She pulled back and started to shake

“I’m sorry about that Rick” she said “I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s alright Leanna” I replied placing my hand on her back “It’s happened to me a lot over the years; it becomes part of the job; if you get my drift”.

She laughed and stood up; she left me in the lounge to make myself comfortable while she went to check on Harlan. I turned on the radio as she’d told me to make myself at home. I heard Billy Eckstine singing “My Foolish Heart”.

I sat back and had a good think over what had happened over the past three hours. I’d been employed by a greedy director to watch the sultry wife of a Hollywood screenwriter. I get myself embroiled in the murder of an attractive heiress worth about $200,000, an emotional screenwriter who had had a fling with this heiress while being married to a temptress who just tried it on with me. I needed some fresh air; either that or another cup of black coffee to clear away all of the cobwebs.

III

Ten minutes later I made sure that Harlan was okay and set out on the job to keep my beady eye on Leanna Foster. I could see why Hawks’ accusations were true; having been kissed by the sultry temptress she probably could put it about a bit; but she was so loyal to her husband and naturally concerned when he returned home crying.

I hid in my car and watched her leave. I kept at a distance so that she couldn’t see me. I wouldn’t have minded if she did; it would be nice to be better acquainted with that hour glass figure and those luxuriously long legs. It had started to rain and the droplets made light sounding thuds on the canvas roof. I didn’t care, I was following a goddess around L.A. and it made a change from the usual cases of either tailing wanted crooks or having to quiz dumb broads who don’t give a damn about the whereabouts of their partners.

After about ten minutes, I saw her car, a maroon Buick coupe pull up outside a coffee shop. She parked up and got out. I waited until she’d left and parked up my car. I grabbed my camera from the glove compartment and went after her.

I followed her for about half a block before she turned right on 24th & Marne and went down an alleyway and towards a flight of fire escape stairs. They led to a flat platform on which was a door with a sign that looked rather worse for wear. The sign said DeVelt’s Agents Ltd. I noticed that when she reached the door and knocked, a short squat man with wild curly hair and a goatee beard answered. He was wearing a silk kimono with a red velvet cravat bursting out of the top. He seemed like a nasty piece of work, then I recognised the face. Maurice DeVelt.

Maurice Gregorian DeVelt; once a master manipulator and runner of cheap hookers on the L.A. Strip. He had once been responsible for many of the girls that actually walk the streets looking for “a good time”. Why would a nice woman like Leanna Foster go to a red light district agent? DeVelt had made it as a socialite confidante and was often seen with many attractive movie starlets on his arm.

I climbed up to the office and saw a small window. I looked in while trying to keep myself concealed. I wish I hadn’t looked. I saw them arguing and bickering. Leanna slapped DeVelt across the face. I got my camera and took several pictures and then made my getaway.

I felt so terrible about this. I got into my car and drove until I got back to my office. I got in and phoned Hawks’ office. I got through to the head honcho himself.

“Who’s this?” came Hawks’ gruff reply

“This is Hendrick Nash” I replied “I’ve got something you might want to see”

“Like what?” he asked, starting to become interested

“You were right to think something was fishy about Leanna, I’ve got photos of her with an ex-pimp having some kind of row”

“I’ll call round in three hours and have a look” he replied “You’ll get paid extra for this Nash” and with that, Hawks hung up.

I stood up from my desk and poured myself a glass of water. I stood by the open window in the office and sipped it and listened to the groundswell of traffic on Laurel Canyon Boulevard and looked at the glare of the big angry city hanging over the shoulder of the hills through which the boulevard had been cut. Far off the banshee wail of police sirens rose and fell, never for very long completely silent.

Twenty four hours a day somebody is running, somebody else is trying to catch him. Out there in the world full of a thousand crimes, people were dying, being maimed, cut by flying glass, and crushed against steering wheels or under heavy tires. People were being beaten, robbed, strangled, raped, and murdered. People were hungry, sick; bored, desperate with loneliness or remorse or fear of men with no brains and lots of bullets.

A city no worse than others, a city rich and vigorous and full of pride, a city lost and beaten and full of emptiness. It all depends on where you sit and what your own private score is. I didn't have one. I didn't care. There were occasional times I’d wish I’d been killed during the war so I didn’t have to return to all of this shit day in and day out. I needed a break; I need a damn vacation.

Just then the telephone rang. I answered.

“Is this Hendrick Nash?”

“No, it’s your Fairy Godmother” I said, growing tired of people checking to see who I was “Who’s this?”

“My name is Carmody, Lucius Carmody. My friend Dalton Hawks’ hired you regarding Leanna Foster”

“Yeah, what about it?” I asked

“I just want to make sure that none of this gets into the papers” he replied “Leanna used to be a big star on the screen, and Harlan’s writing is simply brilliant; when he doesn’t drink”

“What exactly do you want me to do Mr. Carmody?” I asked, growing more impatient

“I’m willing to pay you five thousand dollars to continue to watch the Fosters and make sure nothing happens to them” he replied. I stopped for a moment. Five thousand dollars is a lot of dough; and boy did I need it.

“Alright Mr. Carmody. You’ve got a deal” I said slowly.

“Nice. I’ll send you the money with Dalton”. Carmody hung up. What an asshole.

Three hours later there was a knock at the office door. I opened it to find Mr. Hawks beaming from ear to ear. I didn’t invite him in. He just barged past me and sat down at the desk.

“Well, where are they?”

“There they are!” I snapped “You happy now you sick bastard!”

“Calm down Nash” he said rather sheepishly “I didn’t expect this kind of reception”

“I thought you just wanted me to tail her; I didn’t expect to find a secret dealing of blackmail” I was starting to lose my patience with this moron “Listen to me very carefully; I don’t do that kind of work, I’ll have to be paid extra”

“You’ll not get another nickel out of me” replied Hawks rather primly “Despite what Carmody says I’m not doing shit. It’s your fault that you’ve become too attached to the Fosters; not exactly very professional”. I really lost it. I rummaged through my drawer and pulled out my .38 Smithern Western revolver, loaded one cartridge and grabbed Hawks by the lapel and forced the gun into his mouth.

“Listen to me you depraved fucker!” I snapped “Either you pay me the extra cash I’m owed or your brains are going to decorate the fucking wall behind you”

Hawks was quivering with dread. He tried to tell me something, but with the gun in his mouth I couldn’t understand him. I removed it but put it against the side of his head.

“You’ll never get away with this Nash” he said “I’ll tell Carmody about your threatening behaviour and your violence”

“I’ll load all the fucking cartridges and blow your brains all over that expensive suit of yours unless you agree to do as I said”. Hawks broke down in tears

“Alright, alright”. He stood up and threw an envelope my way. He pulled out a cigar and lit it. I opened a window to get rid of the smell. I got myself another glass of water and retrieved the pills the doctor provided me for my nerves. I took them and felt a damned sight better.

“I’ve got one thing on my mind” I asked “Why did you want me to follow Mrs. Foster?”

“Mrs. Foster was once Leanna Castle. She was known for her screen work; not in the cinema, in porn flicks with operations that belonged to a mobster from the East Coast called Joey Greenwald. Greenwald was feared because he had connections everywhere. Even the stiff-necked liberals knew who Greenwald was. But he found and made DeVelt into a powerful operator in the red light districts”

“And which gossip columnist did you get that from?” I asked

“It’s the truth” Hawks replied, still sweating “Believe me. Greenwald got eighty-sixed in his home last summer. The operations are now run by…”

“Monk Morgan” I interrupted “I wondered when I’d hear that bastard’s name again”.

Just then the phone rang.

“Hello, Hendrick Nash”

“Nash, it’s Deputy Linscott; I’m calling on behalf of Commander Rawlins”

“What’s up Deputy?” I asked “Old Pat in a jam?”

“Yeah of a kind” he replied
“What’s up?” I asked

“Harlan Foster’s turned up dead”.

IV

I raced over to Harlan’s house with Hawks in the passenger seat. He wanted to smoke but I refused to let him. He was so edgy that I explained about what happened in the office was a case of oppressed anger because of what the war did to me. I watched several people die in front of me, so I’m very used to death. We reached the house to find it crawling with police. I got out and Hawks wasn’t too far behind. I got talking to Rawlins who told me the situation.

“Mr. Foster was lying on the couch reading “Variety” magazine and the assailant crept through the backdoor and grabbed a cushion off the floor and suffocated him”

“Jesus” I exclaimed “Who found the body?”

“His wife” replied Rawlins “She returned from shopping in downtown L.A. and discovered him with the cushion over his face; she naturally though he was asleep that is until she went over to kiss him and felt how cold his hand was”

“Well bang goes the Warner deal” mumbled Hawks. I’d had enough of Hawks and his lust for money. I punched him square in the face. He reeled backward and crashed into two bewildered detectives.

“Is that all you can think of you fuck!?” I snapped. Deputy Linscott restrained me.

“Commander Rawlins, I wish to press charges on this gentleman for bodily assault” snapped Hawks wiping the blood from his nostrils onto a silk handkerchief.

“I’m sorry Mr. Hawks” replied Rawlins “I’m afraid I didn’t see anything; maybe I should arrest you for showing lack of care towards your client”. Hawks couldn’t speak and stormed off.

“I hate guys like him” I replied “They’re always thinking about money and themselves and nobody else”. I turned back to Rawlins“How is Leanna taking it?”

“Not very well Rick, she’s rather shaken up” he replied “Maybe you’d better talk to her”.

I thanked Rawlins and went inside the house. I found Harlan’s stiff body on the couch as he’d been found. Leanna was in the kitchen; when she saw me, she raced towards me and I hugged her.

“Rick, I’m so scared.” She was trembling like the last leaf on a dying tree. I once again smelt that perfume and the tears started gushing down my face like rain water down a gutter “What if they come for me?”

“Who’s they?” I asked

“The people Harlan knew in New York.” After saying that she lowered her lashes until they almost cuddled her cheeks and slowly raised them again, like a theatre curtain.

“How did you know about that?” I asked “You could get hurt just by mentioning names in cesspool like L.A.”

“Harlan told me before I left. He said that an old friend of his from the Big Apple called Xander Morgana who was operating here in L.A.”

“Who’s Xander Morgana?” I asked

“Monk Morgan” replied Rawlins, who had just entered the room “He was a hired gun for the Syndicate in New York; but after being arrested on a racketeering charge, he moved down here to look after Joey Greenwald and between them they made a large gambling empire which runs from Long Island to Santa Fe. He’s currently running the Central book from his club in Burbank”.

I decided to set up a meeting with Morgan. I knew his gambling den in Burbank. It was co-owned by a front man; red light district kingpin and socialite confidante Maurice DeVelt. DeVelt liked to try and show himself as an upstanding pillar of society; so it would be hard to make anything on him stick. Rawlins walked me out of the Fosters’ house and stopped me before I got into my car

“Being a copper I like to see the law win. I'd like to see the flashy well-dressed mugs like Monk Morgan, and Maurice DeVelt spoiling their manicures in the rock quarry at Folsom. Like me; you’ve lived too long to think I'm likely to see it happen. Not in this town, not in any town half this size, in any part of this wide, green and beautiful U.S.A.”

“I get it” I replied “We don’t run our own country; crooks and corrupt political types do”. Rawlins smiled at me and threw me a box of lemon drops. He smiled wryly and walked away.

I drove away from that house of sorrow and headed back to my office to prepare for a visit to Monk Morgan’s casino in Burbank; surprisingly called “The Monk’s Place”. When I got in, I found I had a visitor; a tall slim latin type in a white jacket with a black polo-shirt and matching slacks. His wingtip shoes glistened with the polish and finish of Fred Astaire’s. He was smoking a cigarette and holding a .38 Smithern Western Detective Special Revolver.

“Hiya fella” he said “I hear you’re wanting to see the Monk?”

“That’s right gringo” I replied “Now what’re you gonna do with that pop-gun?”

“Listen here fuckface” he snapped “I’m Alberto Grandi, you fuck with me, I fuck with you. If you wanna meet the monk, you’re gonna have to come with me”.

I smiled at this greasy son-of-a-bitch and thought it’d be so easy to grab the luger under my arm and plug him; but I’d already threatened enough violence for one day. I decided to be calm about this.

“If you’ll give me a moment to change into something more suitable, then I’ll come with you”. He seemed to like that and disappeared out of the room. I changed out of my clothes and dug out my faded grey suit, my white shirt, and my black necktie. I strapped the luger under my arm and found my old overcoat and threw that on. All I needed was a black trilby and I could give Humphrey Bogart a run for his money.

Sure enough Grandi was still waiting with a large black Cadillac sedan with a tall slim guy in the front, and a round podgy guy getting out of the car. This was going to be fun. Grandi got in the front of the car and handed the gun to the podgy guy. Podgy pulled out a gun and pointed it in my direction. I moved with it and then got in the car. I decided to just sit back and try to enjoy the ride.

I knew who would be there before I even arrived; the Monk would be at the head of the table, next to him would be his muscle men, then DeVelt, and his guys. The other members of the table would be Judge Eastley, District Attorney Pearson and a mixture of high-ranking corrupt cops. The latest member of Monk’s entourage was a good time girl made celebrity, Legs DiCicco, a broad with a taste for fast living and even faster sex. I soon discovered that this DiCicco dame went both ways; if you know what I mean.

The Cadillac pulled into the parking lot of “Monk’s Place”. As I was ushered out of the car, I could hear loud jazz music from inside. This might not be such a bad experience, I hoped. Then felt the cold hard barrel of the gun in my lower back. We headed inside

and I soon got a nasty shock when I saw Franklin D. Grayson talking and glad-handing Monk Morgan. My blood started to run cold.

To describe Monk Morgan would be as difficult as describing a Rembrandt painting to an infant. Morgan was in his late 40’s. He was very plump, but that wasn’t fat, I discovered from Deputy Linscott before embarking on this sit down that it was pure muscle. He usually wore black suits with red, pink or occasionally white shirts with fancy neckties often with polka-dots or stripes and, like me never smoked or drank.

Grandi soon released me. The other two men, who Grandi called Flint and Buck stayed close with me as we went towards the “High Table”. Morgan was sat at the head of the table with a blonde sat on the arm of the chair. The mixture of greying faces made me feel like I was in a graveyard; which knowing Morgan was where many people ended up. He smiled and nodded towards Grandi. I soon felt something heavy hit the back of my head. Then everything went black.

V

When I came to my senses I found myself in an easy chair in a large back room. In front of me was a long oak table with several crystal doodads on and several port and brandy glasses at each place. Sat in front to me was the greasy Alberto Grandi holding a long bladed stiletto towards the nape of my neck. The man called Buck and the man called Flint were stood by watching with eager anticipation.

“Don’t do that Berto” snapped a thickly accented voice. Grandi moved back and I felt a hand prop me up. I turned round and saw a large mass of pink flesh with two glazed blue eyes of somebody either very rich or somebody very dead, a large nose that almost resembled a hawk’s beak and a fat mouth with fish lips. The face moved back a bit to allow me to finally sort myself out

“Good evening Sergeant Nash, or can I call you Hendrick?”

“Hiya Monk” I replied “What’s the dodge?”

“I might ask you the same question Nash” he replied. There was something about his voice that reminded me of diction coaches; he pronounced every syllable in every word. His speech was immaculate and very well prepared; for a second rate killer, Monk had really improved his character

“The main reason I wanted to see you was because Harlan Foster is pushing up the daisies” I replied

“Would you translate that into some more understandable dialogue please?” replied Monk with hints of sarcasm in his voice. The man called Buck whispered something in Monk’s ear and then Monk’s rosy face soon froze and went an almost ghastly white.

“What do you mean he’s dead?” Monk replied in a voice that sounded almost upset “Who killed him?”

“Damned if I know” I replied

“Poor Heinrich” replied Monk

“Who’s Heinrich?” I asked

“Harlan Foster was just his pseudonym” replied a familiar voice that came from behind me. I turned round to see a stumpy greying middle-aged man. The voice belonged to Lucius Carmody. “Harlan’s real name was Heinrich Fleischer; a street kid who found a job hawking papers and then getting a job writing obituaries”

“When he moved out here, he wanted a new life” replied Grandi “He came looking for me as I was a friend of Monk’s. I managed to “persuade” the editor of the Los Angeles Times to give him a job writing articles”

“That’s how I noticed him” Carmody butted in “I decided to set up a meeting with him after getting Hawks to pass on some relevant information about a jewel robbery involving a Melvin Simms and a Maurice DeVelt”

“By the way; where is DeVelt?” I asked

“Couldn’t say” replied Monk “He’s been trying to blackmail Leanna and I heard you’ve got pictures; that’s a perfect way to get rid of him”

“Why do you want to get rid of DeVelt? He’s a good earner for your racket?” I asked with genuine curiosity. Just then I heard a voice that sounded like honey in my ear; I turned round and saw a glint of blonde hair. Then the next thing I felt was a thick cloud of perfume hit me right in my kisser. I pushed away the cloud of perfume and beheld a well stacked blonde. I thought a first was it Marilyn Monroe Then I looked her over; nope, certainly was mistaken.

“The main reason that DeVelt needs to be “persuaded” to retire is because he’s been pushing serious quantities of H and smack around these nightclubs and the cops won’t allow anything like that; plus the fact he’s been seen with young waiters in his private room”

“Hey Monk” I said “This your brains?” The blonde slapped me across the face and put her hands around my chin.

“I think you’re a very stupid person” said the blonde “You look stupid, you sound stupid and you’re in a stupid profession”

“I get it” I said “I’m stupid”. She slapped me again. She was about to do it again, but the man called Buck restrained her.

“I apologise about her Mr. Nash” Monk replied “Legs can be a little hot blooded. But I’ll pay you $10,000 if you can bring Maurice DeVelt and Leanna Foster to me as soon as possible”.

“I know where to find Leanna” I said “But what does she have to do with this whole thing?”

“That’s up to you Nash” replied Carmody “You figure it out; it is what Hawks originally paid you for”. He then left the room. Monk beckoned Grandi to his side and whispered something to him. Grandi smirked and with that Monk left with a gracious bow.

“What was that all about the el gaucho?”

“Just relax” he said removing a long needle from his jacket pocket. I struggled but the blonde must’ve socked me on the back of my head. I remember seeing nothing but black; there was a deep whirlpool in front of me and I jumped in head first. There was smoke all around me. I felt a strong grip at my feet; I tried to fight it until I caught a glimpse of who it was.

“Hiya Pat” I replied “Where am I?”

“The parking lot of Monk’s casino” he replied “How’d it go?”

“They were surprised about Harlan’s death and want Maurice DeVelt in the same situation; then Monk ordered his poncho carrier to get me as crazy as two waltzing mice”

“Jesus Christ” exclaimed Rawlins “Sounds rough”

“That wasn’t the half of it; Harlan’s wife has been caught up in some serious blackmailing scheme” I replied slowly “In my opinion this is one massive mess”

“You really aren’t well” he replied “You’re making sense for once”. He seemed rather flustered and then said “The main reason I’m here was to see if you were alright”

“Thanks Patrick” I replied. He picked me up and drove me back to the office in his squad car. I slept for what felt like a whole month; but the following morning I was disturbed from my crumpled paradise by the shrill ringing of the office phone.

“Not again” I moaned as I threw myself out of what was left of my drugged stupor “Listen, the office is closed...”

“Is this Hendrick Nash, Private Investigator?” asked a very quivering voice at the other end

“No this is your fairy godmother” I replied. I’d already used the line; but I was too tired to think of another one.

“Listen to me Nash” the voice snapped “I hear from my sources in Monk’s organisation; namely the proprietor of Minnie’s Eats Melvin Simms. He told me that there was a contract on my head and that Monk is going to pay you ten grand to have me killed”

“Alright Mr. DeVelt” I replied “What happens if you were to leave town and never return and told him I’d done the job myself?”

“Maybe Mr. Nash. I’ll keep you in the loop”. He hung up the phone.

I started to plan a method of deduction. I rummaged around in my desk drawer and pulled out a dusty chessboard. I set up a Semyon Abramovich Furman vs Anatoly Bannik game and thought about everything that had happened over the past few days. Just then the phone rang. I left my game and answered.

“Nash, it’s Hawks, listen I need your help”

“What’s up Hawks?” I asked “Still upset about your lack of income?”

“Listen to me you fucking moronic pig!” he yelled “Somebody is trying to…” Just then three loud gunshots cut off the speech and then the line went as dead as Hawks was. I hung up and redialed the Sheriff’s office. I eventually got through.

“Hi Patrick, get round to Dalton Hawks’ place as soon as you can, I think he’s just been shot”.

VI

The police squad cars surrounded the apartment where Hawks had lived. There were several reporters around asking anybody questions; goddamned vultures. Rawlins caught a glance of me coming through the crowd.

“You were right Rick” he replied “Plugged three times; the body was discovered by a mutual friend of yours; Mr. DeVelt”. So the powderpuff was connected with Hawks; who would’ve thought. Just then, almost by chance, DeVelt turned up. He was wearing a fur coat with a red beret and red tinted sunglasses.

“Afternoon gentlemen” he said “Isn’t it just terrible. Poor dear Tony was such a pet. Despite his age he was rather good when he wanted to be”

“Yes thank you Mr. DeVelt” I said “If I were you, I’d allow the charming Deputy here to arrest you to escape Monk’s gunmen”. DeVelt nodded slowly and turned towards a gawping Deputy Linscott.

“I’m stumped Rick” Rawlins replied “It couldn’t have been DeVelt as he’s only just arrived. Monk and Carmody wouldn’t want him dead, he’s too valuable. I’m not sure who that leaves?”

“I think I’ve got an idea” I said. I left the building and drove towards Beverly Hills. Just then three familiar faces stopped me. Buck, Grandi and Flint.

“Say mister, can you help us?”

“Why should I, after you filled me up on high-class dope?” I asked

“Please” Grandi pleaded “I think Legs is dead”. I pulled my car over to the sidewalk and followed him into the park. There lying on top of one of the benches, with a garter belt wrapped around her neck was Legs DiCicco; lifeless and still; with a look of fright on her face.

“What time did you find the body?” I asked

“About twelve thirty” he replied “She’d told me she’d be working in this area. She told me some widow wanted to see her on a pressing matter of pleasing a certain sexual urge”

“Did you say a widow?” I asked very quickly “By any chance a widow of a writer?”

“Yeah” he replied. I told him to call the police and to tell them to follow me to Leanna’s house as soon as possible. I had a feeling that this was going to be the last time I’d ever see Leanna; other than her pictures in the paper.

I drove up towards the house and I could see Leanna carrying two large suitcases to her car. I pulled up to the curb; making sure my Luger was loaded in case of any trouble she might give me.

“Hello there Rick” she called as she saw me getting out of the car.

“Where are you going?” I asked

“Mexico” she replied “There’s nothing left for me here since Harlan died”

“Can we talk in side for a minute Leanna” I replied “There’s something I need to tell you”.

VII

We entered the sitting room where she poured me a cup of black coffee. She sat down and sipped her coffee slowly.

“Did you know a Maurice DeVelt?” I asked slowly

“No” she replied “I don’t think so”

“Or a Legs DiCicco?” I asked in the same way

“Why should I?” she asked “I don’t know either of those people”

“Allow me to jog your memory” I replied and delved into my jacket pocket. I pulled out one of the crumpled photographs I’d kept after refusing to give them to Hawks. I showed them to her and she seemed to almost freeze

“Where did you...” she started

“I took them myself; on the orders of the late Dalton Hawks” I said “Allow me to tell you what happened. You came out to Los Angeles, six years ago in search of fame and fortune as many naive girls do; but you came into the clutches of the Mob who used you in their red light districts. You’d left your home in Kansas because you were caught; not with a young man as your file states; but with a young girl who worked with you in the newsagents”

“How did you know?” she asked

“A Slight hint from Legs DiCicco, she spoke in the same way as you; and she was the girl you were caught with in the stockroom licking you out on the newspapers. You came out to the Big Orange to escape from your past, in search of fame; but you were instead introduced to Maurice DeVelt; a second class pimp who hired you out to different customers including Dalton Hawks, Lucius Carmody, Alberto Grandi and many other men connected to DeVelt’s boss Monk Morgan. After that you went out on your own setting up whore houses across the entire of Beverly Gardens. It was there you decided you preferred both men and women; that’s how Legs got in contact with you. You welcomed her into your world and you became responsible for her, and for the clients she brought in”

“That’s enough Rick” she snapped “That’s enough”

“I haven’t even started yet” I replied “Then you met a budding young reporter called Heinrich Fleischer, soon to become award winning screenwriter Harlan Foster. You were smitten with him and you insisted on seeing him whenever you could; but you see he was planning to marry the daughter of Franklin Grayson. Then when he became Harlan Foster; on the night he was to propose to Ramona Grayson; you made sure he was delayed and would return to marry the second girl of his choice; you. After that, you started to feel better; but Ramona would always prove a worthy opponent”

“I don’t even know who Ramona Grayson is” she protested. I ignored her protests and continued

“You found out that Harlan was being unfaithful to you; or was he? He was still seeing Ramona Grayson; but not in the way that the papers or you perceived. In reality; Harlan was collecting information for his latest script and not actually fucking her. But you were sure they were having an affair, so you started to return to Maurice DeVelt and his rackets. DeVelt didn’t object in the slightest and was glad to be able to “talk” with you again and immediately Hawks found out and that’s why he hired me”. I paused for a moment to sip my coffee and then continued

“You still saw Ramona as a threat; so you had to get rid of her. You told Harlan that you were going into town with some friends for a drink; he was too busy with his latest script for Hawks. You had previously written to Ramona; using Harlan’s typewriter, telling her to wait for him in the little cabin at the end of the garden in her bathrobe and he’d give her an answer. Naturally the poor girl was confused but she did as the letter said; and you went down to the little cabin by climbing over the wall around the garden. Ramona was lying facing towards the drapes over the large window; she didn’t see you sneak in through the door at the front. You kissed the nape of her neck. She naturally thought it was Harlan, but when she turned around and saw you, she was frightened. You tried to fuck her and when she resisted, you grabbed one of the ivory doodads and clobbered her over the head with it”

“That’s a damned lie” she snapped, tears gushing down her face

“There’s no use denying it Leanna” I snapped back “This hurts me as much as it hurts you. I didn’t think you were like this; not one bit”.

“What did I do next?” she asked wiping away the tears

“You left the scene the same way you entered it. When Harlan found out Ramona was dead; her father comforted him and later told him that in one of those so-called love letters that Ramona was expecting to have a rendezvous with him in the cabin. Harlan didn’t understand and then slowly started to put one and one together. That day when I brought him home, you said you’d made him comfortable; you’d given him a sedative to keep him calm. Then after your connections with DeVelt; you returned to finish the uncompleted job of finally killing your husband. You came through the front door, and found him on the couch reading a magazine; you walked up next to him and then placed the cushion over his faced and pressed down hard until he stopped struggling. Two down”

“Why would I want to kill Harlan?” she asked very coolly “I loved him”. I looked at her carefully before giving my answer.

“But you loved your old life more; I say you loved it, you loved the money, and you loved the kind of attention the job got. That’s why you continued fucking random men and women and doing the dirty of Harlan; even on the day of his funeral. You left the funeral early just so you could let some random stranger fuck you and all because Maurice DeVelt said so. But then things went sour after Monk Morgan wanted to see DeVelt killed. But you’d also found out that Hawks had been lying to you. He was the person who fed you the ideas about Harlan having an affair with Ramona. You decided to get even with him. You organised a way of discussing Harlan’s estate. However, things didn’t go according to plan. There was struggle and he escaped. He called me and then you shot him. However, you were observed by Maurice DeVelt who told Legs DiCicco who wanted you and her to run away together and escape the menace of society’s view of dykes”

“So what did I do?”

“You had her number from DeVelt’s office and you phoned her up and told her to wear nothing but fishnet stockings, a garter belt, crocodile skin heels and a long black trench coat. That’s part of your quirky mind for pleasure. You then told her to meet you in Beverly Gardens Park, behind one of the cypress bushels, but you weren’t meeting there for a romantic reunion. You made her remove her coat and you started to romance her by taking off her garter belt; the next thing she felt was the garter belt around her throat getting tighter and tighter until she collapsed against you. You moved her to a nearby bench after fucking the dead body”. I threw my cup of coffee on the floor and yelled “You’re a fucking depraved animal!!”

She responded by grabbing a gun from behind a cushion and trying to get by me. Just then Rawlins knocked the door; she gestured to me to open the door. When I did Leanna fired at Rawlins twice, only winding him, but she pushed me over and got into her car and drove away. I stayed with Rawlins and the officers who’d been in their car followed after Leanna.

Rawlins made a full recovery but retired to Santa Fe with his wife and their children. A Few months after Leanna’s escape, I heard word from an old friend in Mexico. He told me a sultry brunette had started up a prostitution ring in the city. When the law came round to arrest her, she was found hanging from a ceiling fan naked, with her bowels hanging out and with a garter belt round her neck. Maybe it was Grandi’s way of getting revenge for Legs DiCicco.

Rawlins came round to my apartment for a catch up and a chat. We were talking about a variety of stuff and the topic of Leanna Foster and the gruesome discovery of her in Mexico came up.

“How did you know all those things about Mrs. Foster?” Rawlins asked

“It’s simple Pat” I said “I called the police station in Kansas where she lost her job after the tonguing incident in the stockroom. After that, I checked most of the records and then remembered how much she wanted to return to her old life”.

“Well all I can say is that this has certainly been something quite strange” Rawlins replied knocking his pipe on the windowsill “I wonder who finished her off?”

“I can’t bring myself to think” I replied “But who could?”

Rawlins shrugged. We finished our coffee and he left. I looked round my ramshackle apartment. I sighed heavily and then remembered something I’d wanted to do for a long time. I withdrew all the money from my savings account and planned my great escape.

I needed a break. I needed a vacation away from the hustling and corruption in Los Angeles. I packed everything I owned into two suitcases. I put my apartment up for sale and asked to have to the money sent to me in Toronto. I drove my car within a short walk of the nearest train station by a scrap yard. I sold the car to them for $300 and decided to get out as soon as I could. I walked towards the ticket booth and took one final look at the bustle around me. I wouldn’t miss it where I was going; I was going to start a fresh life somewhere calm, somewhere where there’s no crime, no corruption, no indecency and certainly no murders. All in all, these past few weeks had been something unusual, to say the least.