The Question
Eternal
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DETECTIVE STORY
Sometimes life does imitate art. Looking out the window of this shabby little office that afternoon I got the DeLaCroix job, I guessed the weather had just seen the same Bogart picture I had. The DeLaCroix affair, looking back on it, was probably inevitable on a day like that.
She must have tried the buzzer a few times before she finally gave up and just knocked – the exasperated look on her face made her a member of a growing association of people who’d been there and done that.
“Oh my God!†she blurted when she saw me.
“Yeah, I know.†I took my feet off the cheap pine desk.
“You… you…†she stammered. “You look just like…†her hand went to her cheek. Poor dame looked like she wanted to pinch herself.
“Yeah…†I repeated. “I know.†Everybody’s got a twin, they say. Mine happened to be the star of “The Big Sleep†– and I knew walking out of the theater that afternoon the hell that was going to play with my business, because it would be the same hell that came with every single picture he’d been in. A shamus needs to be able to blend in, and the closest my puss had ever gotten to blending was the bottle in my desk drawer.
“You have something you need looked into.†I assumed, indicating that she should take a seat. I half hoped she wouldn’t; the broad wasn’t bad looking at all, if a little used maybe. All of five feet even, fit and confident enough to come across taller. Ice blue eyes, olive skin, cherry-chestnut hair in a loose bob cut… she looked more than a little like Bettie Page in a more manageable size, from her very kissable lips to her overcoat-covered, generous curves, down past a pair of gams that could make Marlene Dietrich’s eyes turn green, to her exquisite little ankles.
“Yes, I do.†she had finally gotten over the face, and that was fine with me. I don’t mind a laugh here and there, but I like getting paid even better, and prefer the shortest distance between the interview and payday, on general principle. “My husband’s gone missing, and I’d like you to find him. Mr. MacLeod, I’m afraid he may be somewhere held against his will. I’m prepared to pay you five hundred dollars to retain your services, and one thousand more when you’ve returned him safely to me.â€
“You’re making two mistakes right up front, sister.†I told her, pulling a Lucky from my pocket and lighting it up. “You don’t mind if I smoke, makes it easier to think.â€
“I most certainly – “ she started, then thought twice. “No, of course I don’t mind.†She was getting a little sore, now, and that was good for bringing honesty more clearly into the picture. “What mistakes would those be, Mr. MacLeod?â€
“First, you’re doing my job for me.â€
“Am I.â€
“You are.†I took a good pull on the butt. “He’s missing, that’s all you can really tell me. Finding out why and where is my job. If it’s kidnapping, I’ll know that before you do.â€
“Fine. And what’s the second mistake?â€
“It’s ‘Mac’ to you from here on out. Or Frank, take your pick. I don’t make my clients use my last name.†I put out the butt and put out my hand. She seemed a little shook up by the sudden change of mood, but she took it and gave it a nice, firm squeeze. She made out a check while I filled out the work order for her records and got the particulars on her mister.
NAME: Philip James DeLaCroix, III
AGE: 44
HEIGHT: 6 FEET, 6 INCHES
WEIGHT: 280 POUNDS, APPROX.
OCCUPATION: VICE PRESIDENT, DELACROIX SAVINGS & LOAN
PERSONAL WORTH: Over 2.5 million.
Yeah, that’s in U.S. of A. dollars. Good old American greenbacks – this guy and the little missus both were loaded; he thanks to his old man, Mr. Philip J. DeLaCroix, Jr. and an Ivy-league education hitched to a pretty fat trust fund, and she thanks to good choice of marrying stock.
There was more there in the notes. Medical history, dental, a brief sketch of his career, his acquaintances – a man with money like that either has friends or he has acquaintances, and Mr. DeLaCroix wasn’t one for friends. No real enemies to speak of, either, though – that would make this thing a challenge, to my mind, and my mind loves a challenge.
One thing I found out for sure right off that night – if Mr. Moneybags had taken it into his head to just skip town, there was no way he’d manage that trick without leaving either a mint most men would kill for, or a trail no one could miss.
While Mrs. DeLaCroix had done her talking, I’d done my notating. Now those notes were food for thought as I turned out the light and closed my eyes to let my brain make a meal.
The sun rises early this time of year – but I rise late all year round. And what got up on the wrong side of the office chair with me this morning was a battalion of suspicions. I’d check in with those in a minute, though. I had a couple calls to make first.
“Chris, it’s Mac.†I said when the phone at the division stopped ringing and that old familiar voice wanted to know who was it.
“Wanna run a name past you, possible missing person. The name is Philip J. DeLaCroix, the third.†I closed my eyes and let him get his squawking done. “Now, that’s just uncouth.â€
He wanted to know how in Lucifer’s green Hell I was mixed in.
“The wife came by my office yesterday evening, put me on the job of finding him.â€
He told me a little secret that kicked me up out of my chair and had me scrambling to pull my overcoat on. “I’ll be down there in 20 minutes – yeah. Oh, yes I will, you just watch.â€
That little secret? I didn’t need to find Philip J. DeLaCroix, the third – the cops had already found him, or what was left of him, fused to the inside of his Packard just off the railroad tracks at the edge of town.
I pulled up to the police tape at the crossing about fifteen minutes later, got a surprised look from Chris for a reward. It didn’t help my mood much, and my grand entrance didn’t seem to help his. Maybe if I’d got the Ford washed first. Probably not, though.
“I thought I told you not to bother showing up here, Mac.†He mopped at his big ironing-board brow with a filthy kerchief.
I climbed out and squinted past him at the burned-up tangle that used to be ten thousand dollars worth of automobile. “I thought so, too, but I guess we were both wrong, ‘cause here I am, anyhow. Are your boys sure it’s him?†He gave me a look, but I wasn’t having any backtalk at this juncture, not even from Chris. “My license is still good, and I’m on a job, so just let’s play nice, what do you say?â€
He slumped a little. “The medical examiner’s on his way for the body, so it’s not a sure thing yet. But visual examination puts the guy at the right height. Weight’s hard to figure, condition he’s in, but the wife’s over there – “
I looked – sure enough, there she was, crying her pretty eyes out in between a pair of extra-large bookends in Detective’s blues.
“ – she gave a positive ID on what’s left of the suit he’s wearin’, and what’s left of the plates on the car make it a match for his.†He took up a thermos, poured a healthy gulp of steaming black coffee into the cup, and handed that over.
I guess the look on my face said I needed it. That look was right. Not for the money – hell, the five hundred would do me fine – I just felt cheated, somehow. I’ve had a few like this; the puzzle makes out to look solved right out of the gate. Seldom is it that the look and the substance of the thing match up, though. My gut was telling me this was too neat, too easy.
“I’d like to check in with my client, Chris, if it’s all the same to you.†I took a sip of coffee while he mulled it over.
“Sure, Mac.†He said after working his brain trying to find a reason to say no.
I wandered over, with Chris’s thermos in hand. “Mrs. DeLaCroix?†The bookends gave me a mean look, so I flashed them my Private Investigator’s License and told them to take a hike. They didn’t have to, of course, but I guess they were done with her anyway.
“Oh, Mr. MacLeod, it’s just dreadful!†she declared, folding herself into my arms and blubbering on my overcoat.
I couldn’t get a good look at the body from here, though, and I was running out of time, if Chris had been right about the Examiner being on his way for the fella in the wreck.
“Mrs. DeLaCroix, can you wait here for me for just a minute?†I asked, low enough so she could hear me but nobody else could.
“Well – what for?â€
“I’d like to have a look at the body before they take it away. Please.†I made with the charming-and-vulnerable look. Sometimes this face does have its uses.
“Why – “ she melted – “Why, of course.â€
Looking over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t being eagle-eyed by Chris or his boys, I leaned toward the charred frame of the driver’s side door. Something struck me about the driver right up front – he was sitting more upright than a man ought to who’s hit something in a car, or been hit. And there was something else…
I mulled that first thing over for a second while I tried to place the other thing. This car looked for all the world like it had been struck, and hard, then caught fire. It still stunk of burned leather and wires. But the corpse in the front seat didn’t have any fractures that I could see – nothing broken, just burnt to a crisp. In fact, the more I looked, the more it looked to me like he’d been crammed in the wreckage – the car was too smashed up and him not smashed up enough.
Then the other thing finally clicked. I turned to Mrs. DeLaCroix. “Were you straight with me about your husband’s dental history?â€
“His dental history? Of course I was!†she said crossly. Then she got the idea. “Why?†She stepped in a little closer, real ginger-like, like maybe she thought the car would reach out and grab her. But she came anyway, then kind of leaned over and peered in with me.
“Hey!†somebody yelled behind us, but we paid that no mind.
“You said he had all his own teeth?â€
“Yes,†she wasn’t seeing it yet. “But I’m sure with an accident like this, a man would lose a few – “
“This wasn’t an accident.†She looked a little pale when I let that out, but I let the cat the rest of the way out of the bag just the same. “And I doubt any accident could give a man a gold tooth he didn’t have to start with. Look there.†I pointed it out to her – it was almost on the side of his mouth facing away from the window, but this time she saw it. I caught her, and shook her gently to keep her from fainting, then put a finger over my lips to tell her to keep mum.
“What do you think you’re doing, MacLeod?†Chris demanded.
“It’s – it’s all right, Detective.†She spoke up. “Mr. MacLeod just had a question for me, and I was obliged to answer it. I’d like to go home now, if that’s all right.â€
“Certainly.†He answered her warmly, but was staring knives at me. Well, fat lip to him. He handed her his card. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything further. Shall I have an officer drive you home, Mrs. DeLaCroix?â€
“Mr. MacLeod has already offered.†Had I? I didn’t recall an offer like that, but I could take a hint.
We piled into my heap. It was a long drive back to her place, and aside from a terse instruction from her every now and then, we spent it mostly in a thick, uncomfortable silence. I suspect for her it was one of shock, but as for me, my hamster was running the wheel ragged.
Well, Mrs. DeLaCroix’s idea about ransom was out of the picture, at any rate. Somebody wanted it to look like Mr. Moneybags had taken the last train to nowhere, but who? The immediate answer was, Mr. Moneybags himself. The question then became: What was he running from? The express lane to the board room? A personal fortune? A beautiful wife?
I let her out at her front door, both of us still wrapped up in our own heads. She shut the passenger door, crossed in front, and almost kept right on going. Then she stopped, came back to the window.
“Mac…†she started, looking like she didn’t know what to do with her hands.
“I’ll find him.†She nodded, looking all choked up again as I let her fade in my rear-view mirror.
A few hours with my notes, Mr. Moneybags’ vital statistics and a good, long nap later, I pulled into the parking lot of The 21 Club, a cozy little establishment frequented by rambling boys of pleasure and ladies of easy leisure.
Old Moneybags had carried home more than a few receipts from this joint. Apparently, he’d expected the little woman to favor his stories of rendezvous between his nose and the grindstone over suspicions of rendezvous of another kind. And this was certainly the place for rendezvous of that other kind.
The scenery in the place was colorful and plentiful – and that was just the clientele. Moneyed gents in suits I’d never afford mingled, to varying degrees, with ladies in varying degrees of dress and morals, while a three-piece band stood in the corner and inflicted abuse on the latest Count Basie number. Expensive sconces lit cheap tables, and the smell of high-dollar cigar smoke mingled with high-proof booze.
I handed off my coat and hat to a fresh-faced kid at the door and made my way to the bar to see what I could get out of the squat, balding, troll-faced man with the giant leather hands and the smallish vintage apron.
But he didn’t get to me before the girl did.
“Hiya, dick.†She purred, taking the stool next to mine and crossing legs ten years too well built for her face.
“Say, kid, how’d you get past the door man?†I gave her a disapproving look. “What grade are you in at school?â€
She pursed her inexpertly painted red lips in a pout that dropped her age to maybe fourteen, then batted her too-grown-up lashes at me. “Now, what kind of question is that to ask a girl?†She had a good, stiff County Cork accent to match her mane of Irish red hair.
“What kind of girl is in a joint like this? And on a school night, no less. I oughta have you thrown out.†I waved the bartender over, meaning to do just that.
“Aw, you don’t want to do that, mister.†She rested her head on my shoulder, and it took some thought not to slap it off.
“Oh? Why’s that?â€
She stared up at me with doe eyes, still offending my shoulder’s sensibilities, and let out, “Because you want to know where Phil is. Don’t you?â€
“What’ll you have, friend?†the bartender croaked at me, late but eager as all bartenders are.
“Double scotch on the rocks,†I suddenly couldn’t look away from those big brown eyes of hers for some reason. “And go easy on the rocks.†The bartender hustled, and this girl and I had our own little piece of the world again. “I suppose you’ll tell me he’s in your lunch pail.â€
“Don’t be wise.†She snapped, and relieved my shoulder. “Do you want to know, or don’t you?†She stood up, and the set of her was formidable. Nothing in particular seemed threatening, really, just looked like maybe she could make it that way if she wanted to, like she didn’t mind getting rough if she got a chance, maybe.
“I know where he is already.†I told her, taking half of that double. Her eyes got a little bigger, so I added, “He’s in a freezer at the county morgue.†I finished off my drink and turned back toward the bartender.
“That’s not true and you know it!†she insisted.
Okay. I put down my glass, and put down my arm – now I knew she wasn’t bluffing. “And I suppose you’re going to tell me to back off the job, is that it? I think you and I are due for a trip downtown, miss.â€
“Oh…†she laughed in a way I didn’t much care for. “I don’t think so, dick.†She made for the door, and I followed.
I got outside just behind her – so I thought – but she was nowhere in sight. I turned back to the door, remembering my gun was in my coat, and my coat was inside –
She’d played me for a sucker, and played it right. I hadn’t got a solitary step back toward the place when I ran right into her. She smiled sweetly up at me, and before I could take that step back she’d wrapped her slim, ivory-skinned arms up and around my biceps, behind my shoulders, twined her fingers into the hair of the back of my head and pulled me in for a hot, wet, fierce kiss.
I didn’t know what to do for the first second – and after that, it was too late. She had me fixed like a crooked horse race, and there was no getting loose of her. I’ve never been bear-hugged and kissed at the same time by a girl like that before, and I hope to the God I don’t put stock in never again.
I wasn’t in good shape to make an argument out of it when she piled me in the back of my own car and got behind the wheel.
The sound of a girlish sing-song voice woke me. “Frank T. MacLeod, Private Detective… well, I know that! Hmmm…†she thumbed through something – my wallet, I guess. “Oh! Here we are! 11572 East Washington Street, Suite 406! Telephone… six oh two, four seven three…â€
“Don’t you know it’s impolite to rifle through a man’s things?†I don’t know what gave her more of a start, using the angry father voice on her, or just me speaking up at all.
She recovered fast, though. “Oh, darling, you’re awake! How wonderful!†She cracked the driver’s door open and swung one shapely leg out, which wasn’t hard to do in as little skirt as she had on. She pulled me out of the back seat with another unasked-for view of that immodest white blouse and most of its contents.
“Do you always pick up boys this way?†I asked as she hauled me out by the armpits.
“Goodness, no!†she shook her red hair at me. “I usually pick up boys this way!†she put one of her little hands in a place no girl her age should, and I found myself looking straight down at that pretty red hair. “Do you always faint when girls kiss you?â€
I had an answer for that, but I was too busy trying to breathe to give it to her. I tried flailing around, wagering I could land on my feet and be back in the car if she’d only drop me.
“Don’t be foolish,†she admonished in that lilting little girl voice. “I swear, I won’t drop you. I might just throw you, though, if you don’t cut that out.â€
I cut it out.
She let me back down, but down to one shoulder, and carried me backward into a house that looked of hearth and home and sounded and smelled of dinner and well-maintained, expensive leather and that same high-dollar cigar I’d smelled at the 21 Club. How cozy.
“Well, now!†a slightly older female voice greeted my derriere. “And this must be Mr. MacLeod, then!†Very slightly older, maybe a whopping sixteen.
“Ah!†a gentleman, this time, distinguished. Moneyed, you might say. Heavy footsteps approached, but even though I couldn’t see a face to match to the pictures in the notebook back at my office, I had no doubt I was in the presence of Old Moneybags. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. MacLeod!â€
“I’d shake your hand, Mr. DeLaCroix, but I’m in no position, you understand.†The girl under me giggled.
“Hand him to me, sis, let’s have a look at him.†The older of the two said.â€
“Oh, I haven’t hurt him any.†The younger protested, tightening her grip on me. My head was considering an ache over the potato-sack impression she had me doing. I didn’t much care what happened next, as long as my blood got a chance to get its course straightened out.
“Sure, and you won’t mind letting us have a look at him, then, will you, Siobhan Mhairi Brennan.â€
“Fine.†The younger pouted, and handed me up to the older.
The older sister was Black Irish to the younger’s Red, with long, loose obsidian tresses, skin as pale and perfect as her siblings, but without so many freckles, and eyes as green as the Isle itself. “Now, then.†She announced at me. “I’d like you to meet your mystery man. And you’ve a hand loose now, so no excuse for rudeness, Mr. MacLeod. Say… do you know you look very much like that Mr. Humphrey Bogart from the motion pictures?â€
“I hadn’t noticed.†I deadpanned, and the rafters got a lot closer, a lot faster than I would have liked.
“You don’t want to be smart with me, Mister MacLeod.†She advised. “My hand to God the father, you surely don’t.â€
“Molly,†Mr. Moneybags pleaded. “Let him down.â€
“You apologize for being flip.†She ordered. I looked over at an ornate gold-inlaid oak ceiling fan whirring six inches to the right of my face, and decided it might not be such a bad idea.
“Well, now, that’s fine.†She lowered me to my feet. They’d grown unaccustomed to the floor, and she braced a hand behind my back while I got reacquainted with standing upright.
“Okay, Mr. DeLaCroix.†I got in a proper handshake. “I’ve got questions.â€
“I expect you do.†He waved me toward a stuffed leather chair with a gigantic gesture of his gigantic arm. “Please. Let’s be comfortable while I answer them.†I took that seat, and he asked the Celtic ingénue double-feature to fix us a couple shots of brandy.
As he explained things to me, it came out that I’d been played for a sucker right from the beginning. He, the Brennan sisters and Missus DeLaCroix had reached an understanding – the missus didn’t want him anymore. He didn’t want her anymore. His family wouldn’t stand for a divorce. The Brennan sisters wanted him. Missus DeLaCroix wanted a piece of his fortune, and there was enough fortune to go around. And what the married couple both wanted most of all was freedom from each other.
But there was the family to think of – old money and old morals. They would fight a divorce gold-plated tooth and diamond-studded nail, and she wouldn’t see a penny. And even though he didn’t want her anymore, he still loved the girl dearly – so they cooked up the idea that he would die. No divorce, no disowning, no army of lawyers. Just a tragic accident, and a new start.
And the man with the famous face? A mere formality. But the missus hadn’t counted on me spotting that gold tooth.
“Who was the man in your Packard, Mr. DeLaCroix?†I wanted to know.
“A poor, wretched soul from Shanty Row.†he stared into his brandy sorrowfully, then set it aside. “We found him lying with an empty bottle in his hand. We suspect it was the drink that killed him.†He looked up sharply. “We certainly didn’t harm him in any way, you must believe that.â€
“I’d be lying if I said I do.†I shook my head, then added quickly as I saw the Sisters Olympic taking a mean step apiece toward me, “Not that it matters. So you disappear for…â€
“Mexico, most likely.†DeLaCroix interjected.
“Okay, let’s say Mexico. And everybody wins.†I polished off the brandy in my glass.
“Including you, Mr. MacLeod.†The elder sister interjected, then sat opposite me.
“How’s that?†I didn’t figure.
“Yes, yes!†the old man said excitedly, like this was somebody’s Christmas morning. He reached into the expensive-looking, mile-wide tartan smoking jacket, and pulled out a fat manila envelope. “This is your retainer, Mr. MacLeod. The one thousand my wife promised you, ten-fold. In exchange…†he pulled back the envelope before my fingers got to it, “…for your, shall we say, understanding in thr.â€
I had to think about that for a minute. Ten grand, just to keep my yap shut about what I’d seen in the car. “Say that works with me. The medical examiner’s going to see that gold tooth, the same as I did. You can’t pay off the entire Phoenix Police Department, DeLaCroix, not without somebody blabbing.â€
“He won’t have to.†Siobhan the Younger spoke up.
“We’ll be in…†he started, then started again. “Well, we’ll be gone from here in a few days, and they won’t find us before then. If you agree to my proposition, that is.â€
“And if I don’t?†I tested.
Siobhan the Younger sidled over and caressed me in a way no girl her age should do to a man my age. “I suppose I’ll have to give you another kiss.†She said. “Only you might not wake up from the next one.â€
“Somehow that just ain’t as romantic as a fella might like.†I told her. I thought a minute. I thought a minute longer.
I needed the money. That’s the only way I can rationalize what I said next. “Okay.â€
She drove me back to the 21 Club, that pretty little girl with the deadly little kisses. I sat and watched the scenery whizz by, trying not to feel the fat, oversized envelope in my hands, trying not to feel like the world’s biggest boob.
Before she got out and I slid over, she leaned into me and kissed me one last time. I panicked a little, I guess, because she giggled a little but didn’t do anything more dangerous than that. Before she let me go, she whispered, “We’ll be watching you.â€
She disappeared into the club a few seconds later. I didn’t bother sticking around for another drink. That hadn’t gone so well the first time.
DETECTIVE STORY
Sometimes life does imitate art. Looking out the window of this shabby little office that afternoon I got the DeLaCroix job, I guessed the weather had just seen the same Bogart picture I had. The DeLaCroix affair, looking back on it, was probably inevitable on a day like that.
She must have tried the buzzer a few times before she finally gave up and just knocked – the exasperated look on her face made her a member of a growing association of people who’d been there and done that.
“Oh my God!†she blurted when she saw me.
“Yeah, I know.†I took my feet off the cheap pine desk.
“You… you…†she stammered. “You look just like…†her hand went to her cheek. Poor dame looked like she wanted to pinch herself.
“Yeah…†I repeated. “I know.†Everybody’s got a twin, they say. Mine happened to be the star of “The Big Sleep†– and I knew walking out of the theater that afternoon the hell that was going to play with my business, because it would be the same hell that came with every single picture he’d been in. A shamus needs to be able to blend in, and the closest my puss had ever gotten to blending was the bottle in my desk drawer.
“You have something you need looked into.†I assumed, indicating that she should take a seat. I half hoped she wouldn’t; the broad wasn’t bad looking at all, if a little used maybe. All of five feet even, fit and confident enough to come across taller. Ice blue eyes, olive skin, cherry-chestnut hair in a loose bob cut… she looked more than a little like Bettie Page in a more manageable size, from her very kissable lips to her overcoat-covered, generous curves, down past a pair of gams that could make Marlene Dietrich’s eyes turn green, to her exquisite little ankles.
“Yes, I do.†she had finally gotten over the face, and that was fine with me. I don’t mind a laugh here and there, but I like getting paid even better, and prefer the shortest distance between the interview and payday, on general principle. “My husband’s gone missing, and I’d like you to find him. Mr. MacLeod, I’m afraid he may be somewhere held against his will. I’m prepared to pay you five hundred dollars to retain your services, and one thousand more when you’ve returned him safely to me.â€
“You’re making two mistakes right up front, sister.†I told her, pulling a Lucky from my pocket and lighting it up. “You don’t mind if I smoke, makes it easier to think.â€
“I most certainly – “ she started, then thought twice. “No, of course I don’t mind.†She was getting a little sore, now, and that was good for bringing honesty more clearly into the picture. “What mistakes would those be, Mr. MacLeod?â€
“First, you’re doing my job for me.â€
“Am I.â€
“You are.†I took a good pull on the butt. “He’s missing, that’s all you can really tell me. Finding out why and where is my job. If it’s kidnapping, I’ll know that before you do.â€
“Fine. And what’s the second mistake?â€
“It’s ‘Mac’ to you from here on out. Or Frank, take your pick. I don’t make my clients use my last name.†I put out the butt and put out my hand. She seemed a little shook up by the sudden change of mood, but she took it and gave it a nice, firm squeeze. She made out a check while I filled out the work order for her records and got the particulars on her mister.
NAME: Philip James DeLaCroix, III
AGE: 44
HEIGHT: 6 FEET, 6 INCHES
WEIGHT: 280 POUNDS, APPROX.
OCCUPATION: VICE PRESIDENT, DELACROIX SAVINGS & LOAN
PERSONAL WORTH: Over 2.5 million.
Yeah, that’s in U.S. of A. dollars. Good old American greenbacks – this guy and the little missus both were loaded; he thanks to his old man, Mr. Philip J. DeLaCroix, Jr. and an Ivy-league education hitched to a pretty fat trust fund, and she thanks to good choice of marrying stock.
There was more there in the notes. Medical history, dental, a brief sketch of his career, his acquaintances – a man with money like that either has friends or he has acquaintances, and Mr. DeLaCroix wasn’t one for friends. No real enemies to speak of, either, though – that would make this thing a challenge, to my mind, and my mind loves a challenge.
One thing I found out for sure right off that night – if Mr. Moneybags had taken it into his head to just skip town, there was no way he’d manage that trick without leaving either a mint most men would kill for, or a trail no one could miss.
While Mrs. DeLaCroix had done her talking, I’d done my notating. Now those notes were food for thought as I turned out the light and closed my eyes to let my brain make a meal.
The sun rises early this time of year – but I rise late all year round. And what got up on the wrong side of the office chair with me this morning was a battalion of suspicions. I’d check in with those in a minute, though. I had a couple calls to make first.
“Chris, it’s Mac.†I said when the phone at the division stopped ringing and that old familiar voice wanted to know who was it.
“Wanna run a name past you, possible missing person. The name is Philip J. DeLaCroix, the third.†I closed my eyes and let him get his squawking done. “Now, that’s just uncouth.â€
He wanted to know how in Lucifer’s green Hell I was mixed in.
“The wife came by my office yesterday evening, put me on the job of finding him.â€
He told me a little secret that kicked me up out of my chair and had me scrambling to pull my overcoat on. “I’ll be down there in 20 minutes – yeah. Oh, yes I will, you just watch.â€
That little secret? I didn’t need to find Philip J. DeLaCroix, the third – the cops had already found him, or what was left of him, fused to the inside of his Packard just off the railroad tracks at the edge of town.
I pulled up to the police tape at the crossing about fifteen minutes later, got a surprised look from Chris for a reward. It didn’t help my mood much, and my grand entrance didn’t seem to help his. Maybe if I’d got the Ford washed first. Probably not, though.
“I thought I told you not to bother showing up here, Mac.†He mopped at his big ironing-board brow with a filthy kerchief.
I climbed out and squinted past him at the burned-up tangle that used to be ten thousand dollars worth of automobile. “I thought so, too, but I guess we were both wrong, ‘cause here I am, anyhow. Are your boys sure it’s him?†He gave me a look, but I wasn’t having any backtalk at this juncture, not even from Chris. “My license is still good, and I’m on a job, so just let’s play nice, what do you say?â€
He slumped a little. “The medical examiner’s on his way for the body, so it’s not a sure thing yet. But visual examination puts the guy at the right height. Weight’s hard to figure, condition he’s in, but the wife’s over there – “
I looked – sure enough, there she was, crying her pretty eyes out in between a pair of extra-large bookends in Detective’s blues.
“ – she gave a positive ID on what’s left of the suit he’s wearin’, and what’s left of the plates on the car make it a match for his.†He took up a thermos, poured a healthy gulp of steaming black coffee into the cup, and handed that over.
I guess the look on my face said I needed it. That look was right. Not for the money – hell, the five hundred would do me fine – I just felt cheated, somehow. I’ve had a few like this; the puzzle makes out to look solved right out of the gate. Seldom is it that the look and the substance of the thing match up, though. My gut was telling me this was too neat, too easy.
“I’d like to check in with my client, Chris, if it’s all the same to you.†I took a sip of coffee while he mulled it over.
“Sure, Mac.†He said after working his brain trying to find a reason to say no.
I wandered over, with Chris’s thermos in hand. “Mrs. DeLaCroix?†The bookends gave me a mean look, so I flashed them my Private Investigator’s License and told them to take a hike. They didn’t have to, of course, but I guess they were done with her anyway.
“Oh, Mr. MacLeod, it’s just dreadful!†she declared, folding herself into my arms and blubbering on my overcoat.
I couldn’t get a good look at the body from here, though, and I was running out of time, if Chris had been right about the Examiner being on his way for the fella in the wreck.
“Mrs. DeLaCroix, can you wait here for me for just a minute?†I asked, low enough so she could hear me but nobody else could.
“Well – what for?â€
“I’d like to have a look at the body before they take it away. Please.†I made with the charming-and-vulnerable look. Sometimes this face does have its uses.
“Why – “ she melted – “Why, of course.â€
Looking over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t being eagle-eyed by Chris or his boys, I leaned toward the charred frame of the driver’s side door. Something struck me about the driver right up front – he was sitting more upright than a man ought to who’s hit something in a car, or been hit. And there was something else…
I mulled that first thing over for a second while I tried to place the other thing. This car looked for all the world like it had been struck, and hard, then caught fire. It still stunk of burned leather and wires. But the corpse in the front seat didn’t have any fractures that I could see – nothing broken, just burnt to a crisp. In fact, the more I looked, the more it looked to me like he’d been crammed in the wreckage – the car was too smashed up and him not smashed up enough.
Then the other thing finally clicked. I turned to Mrs. DeLaCroix. “Were you straight with me about your husband’s dental history?â€
“His dental history? Of course I was!†she said crossly. Then she got the idea. “Why?†She stepped in a little closer, real ginger-like, like maybe she thought the car would reach out and grab her. But she came anyway, then kind of leaned over and peered in with me.
“Hey!†somebody yelled behind us, but we paid that no mind.
“You said he had all his own teeth?â€
“Yes,†she wasn’t seeing it yet. “But I’m sure with an accident like this, a man would lose a few – “
“This wasn’t an accident.†She looked a little pale when I let that out, but I let the cat the rest of the way out of the bag just the same. “And I doubt any accident could give a man a gold tooth he didn’t have to start with. Look there.†I pointed it out to her – it was almost on the side of his mouth facing away from the window, but this time she saw it. I caught her, and shook her gently to keep her from fainting, then put a finger over my lips to tell her to keep mum.
“What do you think you’re doing, MacLeod?†Chris demanded.
“It’s – it’s all right, Detective.†She spoke up. “Mr. MacLeod just had a question for me, and I was obliged to answer it. I’d like to go home now, if that’s all right.â€
“Certainly.†He answered her warmly, but was staring knives at me. Well, fat lip to him. He handed her his card. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything further. Shall I have an officer drive you home, Mrs. DeLaCroix?â€
“Mr. MacLeod has already offered.†Had I? I didn’t recall an offer like that, but I could take a hint.
We piled into my heap. It was a long drive back to her place, and aside from a terse instruction from her every now and then, we spent it mostly in a thick, uncomfortable silence. I suspect for her it was one of shock, but as for me, my hamster was running the wheel ragged.
Well, Mrs. DeLaCroix’s idea about ransom was out of the picture, at any rate. Somebody wanted it to look like Mr. Moneybags had taken the last train to nowhere, but who? The immediate answer was, Mr. Moneybags himself. The question then became: What was he running from? The express lane to the board room? A personal fortune? A beautiful wife?
I let her out at her front door, both of us still wrapped up in our own heads. She shut the passenger door, crossed in front, and almost kept right on going. Then she stopped, came back to the window.
“Mac…†she started, looking like she didn’t know what to do with her hands.
“I’ll find him.†She nodded, looking all choked up again as I let her fade in my rear-view mirror.
A few hours with my notes, Mr. Moneybags’ vital statistics and a good, long nap later, I pulled into the parking lot of The 21 Club, a cozy little establishment frequented by rambling boys of pleasure and ladies of easy leisure.
Old Moneybags had carried home more than a few receipts from this joint. Apparently, he’d expected the little woman to favor his stories of rendezvous between his nose and the grindstone over suspicions of rendezvous of another kind. And this was certainly the place for rendezvous of that other kind.
The scenery in the place was colorful and plentiful – and that was just the clientele. Moneyed gents in suits I’d never afford mingled, to varying degrees, with ladies in varying degrees of dress and morals, while a three-piece band stood in the corner and inflicted abuse on the latest Count Basie number. Expensive sconces lit cheap tables, and the smell of high-dollar cigar smoke mingled with high-proof booze.
I handed off my coat and hat to a fresh-faced kid at the door and made my way to the bar to see what I could get out of the squat, balding, troll-faced man with the giant leather hands and the smallish vintage apron.
But he didn’t get to me before the girl did.
“Hiya, dick.†She purred, taking the stool next to mine and crossing legs ten years too well built for her face.
“Say, kid, how’d you get past the door man?†I gave her a disapproving look. “What grade are you in at school?â€
She pursed her inexpertly painted red lips in a pout that dropped her age to maybe fourteen, then batted her too-grown-up lashes at me. “Now, what kind of question is that to ask a girl?†She had a good, stiff County Cork accent to match her mane of Irish red hair.
“What kind of girl is in a joint like this? And on a school night, no less. I oughta have you thrown out.†I waved the bartender over, meaning to do just that.
“Aw, you don’t want to do that, mister.†She rested her head on my shoulder, and it took some thought not to slap it off.
“Oh? Why’s that?â€
She stared up at me with doe eyes, still offending my shoulder’s sensibilities, and let out, “Because you want to know where Phil is. Don’t you?â€
“What’ll you have, friend?†the bartender croaked at me, late but eager as all bartenders are.
“Double scotch on the rocks,†I suddenly couldn’t look away from those big brown eyes of hers for some reason. “And go easy on the rocks.†The bartender hustled, and this girl and I had our own little piece of the world again. “I suppose you’ll tell me he’s in your lunch pail.â€
“Don’t be wise.†She snapped, and relieved my shoulder. “Do you want to know, or don’t you?†She stood up, and the set of her was formidable. Nothing in particular seemed threatening, really, just looked like maybe she could make it that way if she wanted to, like she didn’t mind getting rough if she got a chance, maybe.
“I know where he is already.†I told her, taking half of that double. Her eyes got a little bigger, so I added, “He’s in a freezer at the county morgue.†I finished off my drink and turned back toward the bartender.
“That’s not true and you know it!†she insisted.
Okay. I put down my glass, and put down my arm – now I knew she wasn’t bluffing. “And I suppose you’re going to tell me to back off the job, is that it? I think you and I are due for a trip downtown, miss.â€
“Oh…†she laughed in a way I didn’t much care for. “I don’t think so, dick.†She made for the door, and I followed.
I got outside just behind her – so I thought – but she was nowhere in sight. I turned back to the door, remembering my gun was in my coat, and my coat was inside –
She’d played me for a sucker, and played it right. I hadn’t got a solitary step back toward the place when I ran right into her. She smiled sweetly up at me, and before I could take that step back she’d wrapped her slim, ivory-skinned arms up and around my biceps, behind my shoulders, twined her fingers into the hair of the back of my head and pulled me in for a hot, wet, fierce kiss.
I didn’t know what to do for the first second – and after that, it was too late. She had me fixed like a crooked horse race, and there was no getting loose of her. I’ve never been bear-hugged and kissed at the same time by a girl like that before, and I hope to the God I don’t put stock in never again.
I wasn’t in good shape to make an argument out of it when she piled me in the back of my own car and got behind the wheel.
The sound of a girlish sing-song voice woke me. “Frank T. MacLeod, Private Detective… well, I know that! Hmmm…†she thumbed through something – my wallet, I guess. “Oh! Here we are! 11572 East Washington Street, Suite 406! Telephone… six oh two, four seven three…â€
“Don’t you know it’s impolite to rifle through a man’s things?†I don’t know what gave her more of a start, using the angry father voice on her, or just me speaking up at all.
She recovered fast, though. “Oh, darling, you’re awake! How wonderful!†She cracked the driver’s door open and swung one shapely leg out, which wasn’t hard to do in as little skirt as she had on. She pulled me out of the back seat with another unasked-for view of that immodest white blouse and most of its contents.
“Do you always pick up boys this way?†I asked as she hauled me out by the armpits.
“Goodness, no!†she shook her red hair at me. “I usually pick up boys this way!†she put one of her little hands in a place no girl her age should, and I found myself looking straight down at that pretty red hair. “Do you always faint when girls kiss you?â€
I had an answer for that, but I was too busy trying to breathe to give it to her. I tried flailing around, wagering I could land on my feet and be back in the car if she’d only drop me.
“Don’t be foolish,†she admonished in that lilting little girl voice. “I swear, I won’t drop you. I might just throw you, though, if you don’t cut that out.â€
I cut it out.
She let me back down, but down to one shoulder, and carried me backward into a house that looked of hearth and home and sounded and smelled of dinner and well-maintained, expensive leather and that same high-dollar cigar I’d smelled at the 21 Club. How cozy.
“Well, now!†a slightly older female voice greeted my derriere. “And this must be Mr. MacLeod, then!†Very slightly older, maybe a whopping sixteen.
“Ah!†a gentleman, this time, distinguished. Moneyed, you might say. Heavy footsteps approached, but even though I couldn’t see a face to match to the pictures in the notebook back at my office, I had no doubt I was in the presence of Old Moneybags. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. MacLeod!â€
“I’d shake your hand, Mr. DeLaCroix, but I’m in no position, you understand.†The girl under me giggled.
“Hand him to me, sis, let’s have a look at him.†The older of the two said.â€
“Oh, I haven’t hurt him any.†The younger protested, tightening her grip on me. My head was considering an ache over the potato-sack impression she had me doing. I didn’t much care what happened next, as long as my blood got a chance to get its course straightened out.
“Sure, and you won’t mind letting us have a look at him, then, will you, Siobhan Mhairi Brennan.â€
“Fine.†The younger pouted, and handed me up to the older.
The older sister was Black Irish to the younger’s Red, with long, loose obsidian tresses, skin as pale and perfect as her siblings, but without so many freckles, and eyes as green as the Isle itself. “Now, then.†She announced at me. “I’d like you to meet your mystery man. And you’ve a hand loose now, so no excuse for rudeness, Mr. MacLeod. Say… do you know you look very much like that Mr. Humphrey Bogart from the motion pictures?â€
“I hadn’t noticed.†I deadpanned, and the rafters got a lot closer, a lot faster than I would have liked.
“You don’t want to be smart with me, Mister MacLeod.†She advised. “My hand to God the father, you surely don’t.â€
“Molly,†Mr. Moneybags pleaded. “Let him down.â€
“You apologize for being flip.†She ordered. I looked over at an ornate gold-inlaid oak ceiling fan whirring six inches to the right of my face, and decided it might not be such a bad idea.
“Well, now, that’s fine.†She lowered me to my feet. They’d grown unaccustomed to the floor, and she braced a hand behind my back while I got reacquainted with standing upright.
“Okay, Mr. DeLaCroix.†I got in a proper handshake. “I’ve got questions.â€
“I expect you do.†He waved me toward a stuffed leather chair with a gigantic gesture of his gigantic arm. “Please. Let’s be comfortable while I answer them.†I took that seat, and he asked the Celtic ingénue double-feature to fix us a couple shots of brandy.
As he explained things to me, it came out that I’d been played for a sucker right from the beginning. He, the Brennan sisters and Missus DeLaCroix had reached an understanding – the missus didn’t want him anymore. He didn’t want her anymore. His family wouldn’t stand for a divorce. The Brennan sisters wanted him. Missus DeLaCroix wanted a piece of his fortune, and there was enough fortune to go around. And what the married couple both wanted most of all was freedom from each other.
But there was the family to think of – old money and old morals. They would fight a divorce gold-plated tooth and diamond-studded nail, and she wouldn’t see a penny. And even though he didn’t want her anymore, he still loved the girl dearly – so they cooked up the idea that he would die. No divorce, no disowning, no army of lawyers. Just a tragic accident, and a new start.
And the man with the famous face? A mere formality. But the missus hadn’t counted on me spotting that gold tooth.
“Who was the man in your Packard, Mr. DeLaCroix?†I wanted to know.
“A poor, wretched soul from Shanty Row.†he stared into his brandy sorrowfully, then set it aside. “We found him lying with an empty bottle in his hand. We suspect it was the drink that killed him.†He looked up sharply. “We certainly didn’t harm him in any way, you must believe that.â€
“I’d be lying if I said I do.†I shook my head, then added quickly as I saw the Sisters Olympic taking a mean step apiece toward me, “Not that it matters. So you disappear for…â€
“Mexico, most likely.†DeLaCroix interjected.
“Okay, let’s say Mexico. And everybody wins.†I polished off the brandy in my glass.
“Including you, Mr. MacLeod.†The elder sister interjected, then sat opposite me.
“How’s that?†I didn’t figure.
“Yes, yes!†the old man said excitedly, like this was somebody’s Christmas morning. He reached into the expensive-looking, mile-wide tartan smoking jacket, and pulled out a fat manila envelope. “This is your retainer, Mr. MacLeod. The one thousand my wife promised you, ten-fold. In exchange…†he pulled back the envelope before my fingers got to it, “…for your, shall we say, understanding in thr.â€
I had to think about that for a minute. Ten grand, just to keep my yap shut about what I’d seen in the car. “Say that works with me. The medical examiner’s going to see that gold tooth, the same as I did. You can’t pay off the entire Phoenix Police Department, DeLaCroix, not without somebody blabbing.â€
“He won’t have to.†Siobhan the Younger spoke up.
“We’ll be in…†he started, then started again. “Well, we’ll be gone from here in a few days, and they won’t find us before then. If you agree to my proposition, that is.â€
“And if I don’t?†I tested.
Siobhan the Younger sidled over and caressed me in a way no girl her age should do to a man my age. “I suppose I’ll have to give you another kiss.†She said. “Only you might not wake up from the next one.â€
“Somehow that just ain’t as romantic as a fella might like.†I told her. I thought a minute. I thought a minute longer.
I needed the money. That’s the only way I can rationalize what I said next. “Okay.â€
She drove me back to the 21 Club, that pretty little girl with the deadly little kisses. I sat and watched the scenery whizz by, trying not to feel the fat, oversized envelope in my hands, trying not to feel like the world’s biggest boob.
Before she got out and I slid over, she leaned into me and kissed me one last time. I panicked a little, I guess, because she giggled a little but didn’t do anything more dangerous than that. Before she let me go, she whispered, “We’ll be watching you.â€
She disappeared into the club a few seconds later. I didn’t bother sticking around for another drink. That hadn’t gone so well the first time.
