Douglas Fairbanks was an unhappy man. He stood, arms akimbo, decked out in full pirate garb, glaring at the lights through narrowed eyes. The crowded scene with all the pirates on deck had not gone the way he wanted, and he and Director Parker had their heads together as they discussed possible solutions to the lighting problem. Technicolor filming was so untested. Wringing the maximum value from it involved a good deal of experimentation. Filming in color required more light than filming in black and white, but no one knew how much was enough. Fortunately, Douglas regarded this as another challenge to overcome, one he attacked as vigorously as he did the dastardly pirates. Parker showed less enthusiasm.
‘All right, everyone,’ Parker called through his megaphone. ‘Take an hour. We’re bringing up some additional lights.’
It was late – after two o’clock – and I was as hungry as the Starving Chinese, but I had something more important to do than eat. Mike Allenby’s law office was not far from the studio, and I wanted news of David. In my new touring car, I whisked over in half the time it would have taken had I hopped a Red Car. Luckily, his secretary indicated her boss was in. She waved me into his office, a cave-like corner room with dark leather furniture and open windows that drew in a fresh cross breeze.
‘I’ve been out of town,’ I began, ‘but I’m home now, and I wanted to know how David was doing.’
‘I haven’t seen him since we last spoke,’ he told me without inviting me to sit. I sat anyway.
‘When will you be visiting him next?’
He sighed. ‘Probably not until after the first of the new year. There’s just no reason to. Nothing to talk about.’
‘You could deliver my letter.’ I placed the long letter I’d written last night on his desk. In it, I told him all about Vesa Leka and how she’d avenged her family at the cost of her own life. I told him Myrna and I had moved into his house and bought some furniture with his funds. And a motorcar. He’d know which funds I meant. I told him he should send future letters to Jessie Randall at the Whitley Heights address. I never told him I’d lost my job on account of his trial, but he’d probably figure out that bad publicity had brought about the name change.
‘I’m no mailman. I can’t spend half a day going all the way to the prison to deliver a letter.’ I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t burst out with something I would regret later. It wouldn’t help David to antagonize his lawyer. ‘Look,’ he said, taking in my pained expression, ‘it’ll get there just as quick if you put it in the mail. The guards are gonna read it either way.’
‘I wasn’t concerned about the guards reading it, I just wanted to hear from you how he looked. How he was doing. He hasn’t written …’
‘Lotta times they don’t write. Hell, what have they got to say? Their days are all the same.’
The telephone on his desk burst forth with such a loud, harsh jangle, I jumped. The lawyer picked up the receiver and identified himself. ‘Allenby. Yeah … yeah … yeah? No kidding? Yeah. Well, thanks.’
He looked at me, his lips stretched in a wide grin, as he replaced the receiver in the cradle.
‘Well, this is good timing, you being here. You’ll like this. Remember that Joe Ardizzone fella who set your boy up for a fall? Well, listen to this: cops raided a big warehouse this morning down on East First and seized thousands of cases of liquor and more dope than you could imagine. They’re still counting. Evidently it was his gang’s main hoard. Wooo-eee!’ he said, slapping his hand on the desk. ‘That’ll knock old Iron Man off his gold-plated throne.’
‘Has he been arrested?’
Allenby shook his head. ‘No chance of that,’ he said. ‘His lawyers will have shielded him from the warehouse. He’ll claim he knows nothing about it, and there will be nothing to tie him to the liquor or the dope. But he’ll suffer, that’s for sure. Thank God I just laid in a couple bottles of whiskey last weekend. This’ll bring on a scramble and prices’ll shoot sky high, at least until the gang restocks. Could take weeks. Hell, that’s news Carr will want to hear! Better add a P.S. to your letter.’