I cut back through the port entanglement of crisscrossing streets and across the embedded freight train tracks, leaving the warehouses, slippery docks, and merchant freighters behind me. The city lights of Long Beach winked ahead in the distance as I shot down Ocean Boulevard, a slight detour coming up next on my agenda. I spotted the sign for my turnoff, cut across the Badger Street Bridge, and entered the Anchor Marina for a stopover on my sailboat the “Black Swan.” I didn’t waste any time exchanging my damp clothes and shoes for another change into some dry duds stored on the ketch. Afterwards, I planned to use the phone inside my pal, the dock master Leland Avery’s office, to call everybody I could think of for the next days’ party.
Leland’s tub the Excaliber wasn’t tied up next to my boat, as usual, so I figured he’d taken her out for a short cruise for a few days somewhere, maybe even a dry run to Mexico, but that I doubted. His sign “Gone Fishing” I noticed plastered on the front office door, when I’d first arrived, was possibly a good clue as to what he was doing, but not a guarantee. Whenever he was indisposed; fishing, drunk, or headed to jail, he’d leave me his key in one of my deck equipment boxes, just in case I was around to cover his ass should the marina owner inquire, “Who the hell is running my marina?”
Leland’s small squat wooden framed building fronting the marina was dark and quiet when I approached. From the few advertising circulars stuffed in the door frame, it looked like it hadn’t been occupied for a few days. Once inside the damp little office, I flicked on the lights, cracked open one of the side windows to let in a little fresh salt air, and made myself at home, sitting at his beat-up single pedestal oak desk. I’d brought along a half bottle of George Dickel whisky from the boat to ward off the blues, starting to creep in. I’d been thinking a lot lately about seeing the beautiful Lola for the first time. She was dancing at “Pandora’s Box” strip club in San Pedro and it brought back old memories, some pleasant and some dangerous, but all memorable. I poured out a tumbler full of booze, took several, man-sized sips to shake off the cobwebs, and fired up a Lucky before starting with the phone calls.
The first one on my list was Wes Canyon. Rhonda had made a copy of his phone numbers for me and I tackled the first one on the list, which according to her note, was his apartment. I let it ring several times and just before I hung up, a depressed voice that sounded like he’d been trying to wipe out a few memories himself answered.
“Yeah, who is it?” He grumbled.
“Canyon, Matt Thornton, here.”
“Oh, yeah…Thornton, ah-Hemingway’s private shamus. Got any ideas how I can unravel this nightmare I have hanging over my head yet? Or is it something else?”
“Yeah, maybe, but it’s not exactly what we talked about. It’s something else that might help though, interested?”
“Damn right, shoot,” he perked up and probably reached for a refill of whatever he was drinking.
“Okay, here’s what I need you to do. We’re going to do some surveillance tomorrow morning. Are you available? Want in?”
“I guess, so. What gives?”
“This may help dig you out of that commie connection, you were talking about at Rico’s. Here’s the plan. First, meet me at my office at 8:00 A.M. and then we’ll drive over to Majestic Studios. There’ll be three cars; me, Rhonda and you. With your lot pass, you’re going to take us on a tour of the studios. We’ll only be there on the lookout for someone that’s going to lead us to the “Golden Goose”. The tours just an excuse, got it?”
“I guess so, sounds simple enough. Care to elaborate?”
“I’ll give you more details when the right time comes. You’ll have to trust me. This is big, Canyon. Very big and will probably, blow the Majestic Studios right off its foundation when it explodes. You want to be on the right side, when it does…believe me.”
I didn’t trust that guy enough to fill him in on the commie-counterfeit connection. Not just yet anyway. So, it was up to him, if he wanted in on the bus ride with me or fall under the wheels when it rolled forward. His decision. One way or the other, things were in motion.
“Count me in, Thornton.” He sounded positive and eager to join forces with me.
“Okay, then.”
“I don’t get in on the big picture?”
“You will, as I said, when the right time comes. Good enough for now?”
“I guess, it’ll have to be.”
“All right then…I’m running late. Have a few more calls to make. See you tomorrow eight a.m. sharp. And don’t be late, Canyon. I’m depending on you. Adios.”
I hung up fast. Didn’t want to waste time with more idle chit-chat. The calls had to keep rolling. I poured out another couple of fingers full of Tennessee’s finest sip’n whisky, recorked the bottle, and tossed off a healthy amount, satisfied I had one piece of the team lined up. I kept my fingers crossed when I dialed up Rhonda. Hopefully she was back from her snooping assignment and still at the office. If I missed her, I’d stop by the Florentine Gardens later and catch up with her after her strip tease act.
After letting the phone ring, half a dozen times, I was disappointed to hear a substitute for the usual sweet-sounding “Little Miss Wind Chimes” from my answering service picking up my call. This one announced stiffly that my office was now closed and not recognizing my voice, suggested I call back tomorrow. I refreshed her memory of who I was and that I was paying for this setup and then asked her about Rhonda’s whereabouts. I was formally prompted like a memorized robotic message from outer space that I could reach her at her apartment, if I called before 7:00 P.M. I shook my head in annoyance at this impersonal character and told her thanks for the advice and hung up.
My watch read 7:15. I’d chance another call, but wasn’t optimistic. It looked like a visit to see Rhonda’s act was probably in the works as a backup plan. After we visited the Majestic tomorrow, my three-car surveillance caravan was necessary during daylight hours and I needed her to be part of it. She just didn’t know it yet.
I took another hit on the Dickel, dialed Rhonda’s apartment phone, and let it ring more times than normal. I was about to hang up when Rhonda’s breathy voice answered sweetly. I said, “Hi baby, it’s Matthew,” relieved she hadn’t left yet for her evening performance.
“Oh, Matthew, I’m just about ready to leave, can it wait? I’m rushing right now putting on my makeup here to save time at the club.”
“This won’t take long, angel. I’ll stop over to see you after your show tonight and fill you in on the details. What time do you go on?”
“I have two shows, One at 8:30 and one at 10:30, I think. That’s why I have to be there early. They change the times and order of the acts, depending on who’s scheduled. Last night the strip tease acts were sandwiched in between Orson Wells and his magic act sawing a woman in half. That was very scary, the woman screamed. You know who she was?”
“No idea.” I sighed. The conversation was going off the rails.
“Rita Hayworth, can you imagine?”
I laughed, “You show-biz people will do anything to get attention.”
She ignored my comment, continuing, “And following our strip tease, Uncle Oscar a funny ventriloquist with a wooden dummy. Who knows what’s scheduled tonight?”
I said, “That’s nice. Look, Rhonda, I need you to be at the office tomorrow at eight, okay? We’ve got some very important surveillance work to do in the morning.” I held my breath this wasn’t too tall an order for the show-stopper.
“Uh-okay. I’ll have to leave right after my last set though to get some sleep, if I’m going to be at the office…that early.
She sounded doubtful, but I knew once she’d put on her deerstalker cap again, she’d be okay. I changed the subject, to squeeze out a little more.
“What did you find out today with that ticket from the El Dorado Collectables Pawn Shop. Any luck?
“Plenty,” she said, sounding chipper again.
“It was a rare gold coin collection worth over $100,000 dollars and the man that sold it used a phony name on the register, but he matched the description of McCullen.”
I whistled and wanted more details, but would let it ride until we could discuss it in person.
“That’s more like it, baby. Anything else, happening in the detective business, I should know about?”
“Um- ah- oh yes.” Her thinking cap was now starting to heat up. “Ah- your friend in the lobby, Mr. Fast Eddy? He stopped me on the way back up to the office this afternoon.”
“I’ll bet he did.”
“He told me to tell you that Gimpy’s friend, the jockey at the Santa Anita race track? He’d seen Joey DeCosta squiring around, as he put it, several women.”
“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Is that it?”
“No, of course not. He said it was usually just a couple of hot blonde bimbos, that he didn’t know anything about.”
“Great!” I interrupted, disappointed.
“No, no…there’s more, listen to this. He’d also seen him recently with another real beauty, the one that looks like that Ava Gardner woman in the newspaper photograph. She’s supposedly an actress at DeCosta’s movie studio.”
“Did he give you a name?” I swallowed hard, waiting for more.
“Certainly. Her names ah-ah-ah…”
She drew a blank and couldn’t remember.
I began sweating and said as calmly as possible trying not jinx this fountain of glad tidings. “Y-es, sweetheart? Her name, got a name?”
“It’s ah…oh, it’s…ah … Sherwood. Erika Sherwood,” she finally blurted out.
“Bingo! That ties in. Good work, doll.” Now, all we have to do is nail her down at the Majestic, but it might not help McCullen though.”
“Oh, why not? You’re on the right track, now aren’t you? That’s what you were paid to uncover and solve, wasn’t it?”
“Originally yes, but now it’s too late for just that. McCullen’s got much more serious baggage hanging around his neck that I’ve uncovered. An infidelity charge by his wife is the least of his worries now. I’ll explain more on that later to you after your show tonight, okay? Anything else?”
“One more thing, then I’ve got to get ready for my show. Oh, you know who’s going to be the feature stripper tonight?”
“No idea, who?” I wasn’t interested.
“Lili St. Cyr.”
That dish was a glamorous statuesque beauty and one of the biggest names on the strip tease circuit. She was also intimately connected with gangsters controlling all the major night clubs from coast to coast. They helped pave her way to the top and most of the other, big-name strippers in the business as well, by personally owning a piece of the action. That, Rhonda didn’t need. And, I didn’t like.
“You’re in with some big shots now, aren’t you, sweetheart? Be careful. I know you’re a big girl and ambitious, but some of those connections can rub off like rat poison. You don’t have to fall into that trap again.”
“Thank you for the concern, Matthew. I’m okay though. I know what I’m doing and besides, I like working with you during the daytime, I really do.”
I wondered how long that would last. I didn’t want her with those crumbs again. I lied and said, “Okay, that makes me feel better, too. Now, you were about to tell me about one more thing. Shoot, I’m listening.”
“I’m making progress on that stack of reports you want me to type up.” That wasn’t important and not on my list of anything I was really interested in, but I let her tell it anyway. “I called a couple of those insurance companies and told them you’d be sending them status reports soon. When, I didn’t say exactly, but they were happy I called and thanked me for keeping them informed.”
I could practically see her smiling face, proud to have taken the initiative to help me stall off those insurance bean counters with that growing stack of busy work piled up on her desk. I’d probably still have to hire another temporary typist anyway, just to reduce the overflowing pile into something I could see over, but didn’t mention it.
“Okay, baby. That’s all wonderful news, I just heard. I’ll meet you right after your act tonight and we can talk more. I’ll reserve a quiet table off to the side at the Florentine. See you later.”
“Okay, Matthew. I’m anxious to have you see my act. We have some new props the boss just bought. You won’t be disappointed.”
She sent me a kiss over the phone and we hung up.
I wondered what the new props were as I fumbled through my notebook for another phone number and took a pull on an empty glass.
My next call was to Doris at the Herald newspaper. I knew she’d be out, but left a message anyway. I wanted to know if there was any connection of the so-called suicide victim, Lowell Phillips with the Majestic Studios writers’ group. I’d call her back when I could.
After another couple fingers full of Dickel down the hatch, I made a long-distance connection with Captain Dan Blair at his sheriff’s office on Catalina Island.
“Thornton, Matt Thornton? Haven’t seen you in a while,” he answered in a friendly, but authoritative tone as usual. “Planning to sail that beauty of a ketch of yours the Black Swan over our way anytime soon? I’ll tell’m to reserve you a good anchorage if—”
“That’s not it, exactly, Dan,” I said, cutting him off. “I’m expecting Carson McCullen to be on Catalina soon, maybe even later tonight. You know who he is, don’t you? I was told he has a cottage somewhere on the island, probably Avalon and is right now on his 40’ Matthews sport fisherman called the Sundancer.”
“Yeah, sure. Know him well. Nice guy. Lives in a secluded section near the old Zane Grey estate. Always stops by when he’s on the island. Big member of the Tuna Club. Nothing but high-rollers belonging to that fishing fraternity, you know. What’s cooking, shamus?”
“Dan, he’s a client of mine and I think…a hot potato with the law. Could be wrong, but don’t like what I’ve been collecting on this bird so far and don’t want to jump to conclusions too fast either.”
“Care to fill me in? What’s that got to do with Catalina Island? I should know, if it’s serious.”
“He’s tangled up in several situations that I can’t divulge without legally breaking the confidentiality agreement I have with my client, but I’ll tell you this much. If you’ll call me back at my answering service as soon as he arrives and with some more information, you’ll be the first one I contact if and when more action is required. I’d like someone to do a confidential surveillance on him and find out what he does with the load of supplies he’s carrying. I’m not talking about boating supplies. These are sealed cardboard boxes or crates and several small barrels. That’s very important and he also has two crew members with him. Find out where they’re staying too.”
“Okay, Matt. Can do, but if it’s anything that looks dangerous or illegal remember, I’m responsible for upholding the law over here on this little slice of paradise and I don’t want anyone and that includes you, to mess it up. So, the minute you have something that substantiates we have a lawbreaker holed up here, I want to be informed…immediately. Clear?”
Dan was another ex-GI drill sergeant and was just as serious about his authority in the Sheriff’s department on Catalina as he was kicking the behinds of Army recruits headed off to World War II. I liked and respected that. I said, “Agreed, Dan, and thanks.”
Before we rang off, he said as an afterthought, “You know, Thornton, I just remembered something. Someone told me a while back they’d seen McCullen drive through town in a small rental pickup truck hauling several wooden crates that must have been shipped over from the mainland. They were also heavy, as the truck was struggling up that hill, you know the one behind the casino that leads to his estate near the top. Wonder if there’s any connection to what you’ve been telling me?”
“Possibly and if there is…that explains even more.”
“Okay, we’ll watch his moves when he arrives.”
I gave him my answering service telephone number thanked him again, told him I’d probably be seeing him sooner than he expected, and hung up.
My clock was ticking off the time for my evening and I wasn’t finished with calls.
Joshua Keys needed to be brought into the loop on some of this business connected with Shanghai Ruby’s. I dialed up the number to Shampy’s Saloon in the town of Val Verde that he’d nervously scrawled on a scrap of paper outside a burning warehouse. I hoped it was correct and had no idea who was going to answer, where he was or how the little pink haired Candy was doing.
Someone picked up after the sixth or seventh ring, mumbled something that sounded like, ”Ahh-ah-who der?” And before I could answer, they must have dropped the phone as it crashed in my ear.
I repeated the call, “Hello, hello, I’d like to speak to…” but all I could still hear was talking and laughing in the background and then a fumbling disconnect as the line went dead again. I sighed, glanced at the time on my wristwatch and decided to give it one more shot.
Third time around, the pickup voice sounded a little sharper in spite of the music, chatter, laughter, and background noise,.“Shampy’s Sa-loon, Juba speak’n.” I could hardly hear her but thought, now we’re getting somewhere.
“Juba, Aunt Juba? My name’s Matthew Thornton.” No response. “I’m a friend of Joshua’s?” Still no response. Obviously, Joshua hadn’t mentioned me. “Joshua Keys’ friend?”
“I knows who Joshua is. He my nephew.” Then with her hand partially over the speaker, she suddenly shouted into the background, “Hushup, you fools. I talk’n wid an im-portant fren a Joshua.” From the authoritative booming voice shouting into my ear, I envisioned a barrel-shaped heavyweight and felt sorry for Shampy’s customers in her line of fire. Then she continued back in my direction, this time much clearer and with less interference. “What’s dat you wants wid him?”
“I need to tell him something. Is he around there right now?”
“No, he ober playing to-night at dat Alabam club on Central Ave-nues. You know’s where dat is?”
“Uh, yeah, sure I’ve been there a few times before.”
“Dat’s good.”
“Christ, I guess I’ll have to go over there tonight to see him then. I just don’t have the damn time though.” I muttered that more to myself than to Juba, but she caught some of it and let me have a broadside volley as well.
“What’s dat you say’n? You swer’n?”
“Oh- uh, no. It’s nothing. I was just ah- that’s a nice club he’s playing at, isn’t it?”
“I su-pose so, I ain’t neber been der,” she said, cooling down fast and launched into another subject without stopping. “You know dat skinny lil white chil wid dat funny color hair, dat Joshua bring here? Cookie or Candy or sumpin else you eats, I fo’gets.”
I held my breath and said carefully, “It’s Candy. Yes…what is it, Juba? A problem?”
“No, Joshua he been tak’n real good care a her. They laugh’n and hav’in a good ol’time. She doin jes fine.”
What a relief that was.
“That’s good to hear, now Juba…”
She plowed on ignoring me and started talking louder to overcome the escalating background racket. I moved the phone away from my ear and winced. “She been eat’n my cook’n and get’n fatter. Likes dem collard greens an fatback, wid cornbread and some fri-ed chicken. Um, um, umm. Jes tink’ing about dat soul food make a body warm all ober, don’it?”
“Yeah, mouth, watering. Juba, listen I called…”
She cut me off again, muffling the speaker, but I could still hear the noisemakers in the background getting another blast. “You ain’t listen’n back der? You sees who talkn’n on de phone ober here? Keep dem mouf shuts or I slaps you up aside yo head!” After a little laughter followed by more dead silence behind her, she continued where she’d left off. “Dat lil chil she been staying quiet, Mr. uh- uh-” I didn’t help her out with my name. “She mostly hid’n indoors, listen’n and sing’n wid de radio and wear’n dat ol’do-rag Joshua give her. She kinda shy, ain’t she?”
I wasn’t surprised the kid was still wearing a masquerade. By now she must have been thoroughly fed up being stashed away in the middle of nowhere with these characters, anxious to return back to her normal life again.
But now, even more important, I needed to hold my ground on this call or I’d never finish. I tried not to breathe as I shoved my way back in with the purpose of my call.
“I suppose so, now listen Juba, tell Candy to hang on a little longer and I’ll call her back in a couple of days when it’s safe to return home okay?” I took a breath.
“Dat fine wid me. I tells her later dis eve’n after Shampy close.”
I poured on another non-stop, “I have another message this one’s for Joshua tell him I said not to go to Shanghai Ruby’s for a couple of days it might be dangerous for him got it?”
“I got’s it, but why you talk’n so fas? You sound like some uh Shampy customer dat been drink’n heavy Mr. ah- ah, what’s dat you called again?”
“It’s Thornton. Matthew Thornton.” I sighed, telling her for the last time.
“Okay, I wrote bof a dem message down, Mr. ah- ah-Tor’ton.”
What a miracle that was. I wondered if they’d ever get delivered.
I let Aunt Juba get back to the bar business and after that conversation, I definitely needed another couple of hits on the Dickel myself. No wonder they got plastered at Shampy’s.
I made my last call to the big Irishman, Capt. “Tank” Sherman L.A. police detective in charge of the Blue Parrot murder case.
The P.D. operator connected me with the homicide department and as my luck was still holding, Sherman hadn’t left his office. He was probably nodding with a soggy stogy in his kisser as usual, his feet propped up on his desk covering a pile of overdue paperwork. He’d also be predictably grumpy as usual when he answered.
“Tank? Matt Thornton here. Got something important I need to run by you, got a minute?”
“Not really, shamus. I’m very busy. But I suppose if I don’t agree, you’ll pester the hell out of me or worse, you’ll come down to the station and I’ll have to see your ugly mug. What is it? Trying to find out about that blonde stiff over at the Blue Parrot?”
“I wasn’t calling about that, but what about her?”
“Damn it,” he muttered. “Her fingerprints indicate she’s a small time, hustler and sometime prostitute by the name of Gina Slade. Short rap sheet on minor stuff. Been working at the Pike amusement park in Long Beach in one of the concession stands. Apparently hangs out with a tough bunch.
Her ankle chain’s still a mystery. Must be a thousand jewelry stores in Los Angeles County alone. That’s going to take more time.”
“What’s with the poison, I read about in the paper?”
“Arsenic. Small traces found in her system. Someone’s been trying to kill her the slow way with rat poison. Gives you a hell of a stomach ache.”
“That it?”
“No … God damn it. The cigar butt in the ashtray? She was entertaining a high roller. It’s an expensive commercial brand that we’re still tracking down.”
“Was the cigar band on or off the stogie?
“What? Who the hell cares?”
“What did he light his cigar with?”
“God, more stupid questions. I dunno. There weren’t any matches, just a couple of spent cardboard tips left in the ashtray along with her cigarette butts. Maybe the killer dropped the matches back in his pocket. Who the hell knows.”
“Okay, okay…sex?”
“Yes, another big surprise, Thornton? According to the autopsy she had sex before she was killed and from the bruises on her body it was rape.”
“What’s your theory on the motive?”
“Simple. It was rape and her purse was missing so it must have been robbery, too.”
“From a high roller she was entertaining? He’s just sitting there relaxing, puffing on his cigar in a room they registered in earlier and she’s enjoying a cigarette, too. All of a sudden, he jumps up and decides to rape, strangle and steal her money?
“That doesn’t make any sense, Sherman. Must be more to it than that? Was she tied up or restrained in any way? Any witnesses remember what the person looked like that she registered with?”
“No rope burns or any other restraint marks and not much help with witnesses either. The Blue Parrot’s turned into a “cash and no questions asked” joint in the past few years, so most everybody keeps their mouth shut and their eyes closed as to who comes in and who goes out. Except another couple we questioned, shacking up in the next room for the weekend. Each mentioned seeing somebody go in and out of her room, but each was vague on the description and refused to say more.”
So far the police were still way off base with my client’s involvement in the murder, but McCullen was in over his head on everything else, so it was only a technicality as to what was his more serious crime, anyway.
“Anything else?”
“That’s where we are so far, Thornton. There are still a lot of empty holes on this case. We’re not done yet, so don’t push it, okay? That’s enough. Now, what the hell did you call me for? I hope it’s important.”
“Thanks for the info on the blonde, Tank. I know you’re going to like what I called for and it’s getting late, so I’ll keep it brief.”
“Just give me the facts, will yuh, Thornton. I’ve got more God-damned reports to write up before I leave and I’m already falling asleep over here, so make it snappy or I hang up.”
“Are you sitting down?”
“Of course, I’m working. Step on it for Christ’s sake.”
I was right on all predictions.
“Okay, here it is. I need you to connect with the Feds in town that are working on the case with counterfeit dough being circulated.”
“How in the hell did you know about that?” he shouted into the phone, his chair making a screeching sound on the hardwood floor.
I guess I had his attention now.
“Can do?”
“That’s supposed to be confidential, Thornton. That counterfeit case is under Federal wraps…not street knowledge for peepers like you. My department only got involved when those two agents got bumped off on my turf. You’re getting ahead of yourself, shamus. Better watch out.”
“Yeah, yeah. Look, I know the two stiffs weren’t F.B.I. as the papers led you to believe. They were Treasury Department agents, right?”
“Jesus, you’ve got more ears to the ground than a family of gophers.”
I laughed, “I get around. Listen, I’m working on a case that I think exposes who’s doing the printing and who is buying and peddling that junk. Interested?”
“Damn right I am. You better be on the level with this, Thornton, or I’ll have your head stuffed and used as a soccer ball, got it?”
“This is big Sherman. Very big. It may be even too big for you. I’m giving you some straight dope, so pay attention. You might just get a promotion if you follow what I’m saying.”
“Okay, okay. Shoot, but I don’t want no promotion. I’m close to retirement. I just want to disappear from this damn sewer I wade in every day, collect my pension, and relax my final years in a nice quiet little cabin in the woods somewhere up by Lake Arrowhead.”
“Great. I’m still working on the printing part of this operation, but the sooner you alert the T-Men to a local buyer of a load of the counterfeit dough the sooner they’ll nab them before it’s distributed.”
“Where is it?”
“Chinatown…”
“What the hell?”
“Don’t interrupt, Sherman. It’s a joint called the Full Moon House of Pleasure on Bamboo Lane off of Hill Street. It’s a joy house masquerading as a massage parlor and probably connected to the Tong.”
“What’s the Tong?”
“What a dumbbell,” I muttered to myself. “It’s an oriental Mafia that goes back to the old country, still controlling everything that isn’t nailed down in Chinatown. A Dragon Lady nicknamed the Apricot Blossom is the slippery owner and the one that made the buy tonight.”
“Hmm- I like some of them China dolls too, Thornton.”
“Don’t let her name fool you, pal. You couldn’t handle that one. That dame’s a beautiful Cobra that would kiss you deadly with her forked tongue and you’d probably want more, but wouldn’t live long enough to brag about it.”
“Yeah, I guess I’m getting too old for some of them spitfires anyway.”
“Look, forget about that. Just focus on what I’m telling you, okay? The drop just took place earlier tonight, so the Feds. still have time to wrap this one up, before the phony dough hits the street and the trail gets cold.
“Where do you get this shit Thornton? Don’t you ever sleep?”
“I’m beginning to wonder myself.”
“Who’s that dame buying from?”
“I’m still working on that end. Maybe the Feds have a handle on that part already.”
I doubted they did or they would have been in place to nail those crumbs already. I purposely left that vague until I had more information. My client McCullen’s involvement in the printing end was clear and if all went as planned for the next day, I could finally connect all the dots.
“Ah- ah, all right, I guess so. This sounds too good to be true, but I’ll take a chance and make contact and see what they want to do about it. But, that’s the best I can do, shamus.”
“Look, I’m sticking my neck way out on this one too Sherman, but let’s do it before the dough slips through everyone’s fingers back out to the street, okay?”
“You better be right, Thornton, or I’ll be in the shit so deep, the Feds will be able to bury me alive with just another spoon full.” He sighed. “I sure hope my cabin in the pines, ain’t just a picture on the wall,” he mumbled, his voice trailing off as he dropped the phone in the cradle with a clunk.
I was getting tired and decided I’d had enough planning, phone calls, and conversations for one evening. Maybe that big Irish windbag Sherman was right. A good night’s sleep didn’t sound like such a bad idea after all.
I decided a good hot shower at the marina’s men’s room and a quick meal afterwards from my boat’s galley was better than driving back into L. A. at this time of night anyway.
So, I dropped the near empty bottle of Dickel into Leland’s desk drawer, wiped out the tumbler I’d been drinking out of, closed the office side window, flicked off the light switch, and locked up his office door, before heading back to the boat for my toilet kit.
But after a cool bracing shower, my batteries were recharged again. I was starved and looking forward this evening to seeing Rhonda’s striptease act at the Florentine Gardens as promised.