Читать книгу The Lucky Duck Affair - Mel Gilden - Страница 5

CHAPTER TWO

BEYOND THE THREE-MILE LIMIT

Polly thought it would be too cold out on the water for her new gown, so she wore a much older and heavier silver number that she had always liked. True wore what he called his admiral suit: a double breasted blue blazer with gold buttons. In addition, each of them packed an overnight bag.

As Polly had predicted, the air was cold, and it pummeled them with light fists as it brought them far-off recorded dance music. The smell of cheap grilling meat wafted down the strand from the food stands.

“After today’s lunch I didn’t think I would ever be hungry again,” Polly said. “But there really is nothing like the heady fragrance of hot grease.”

“I’ll have Otto’s chef make up some for you special,” True said.

Polly stuck out her tongue at him.

They walked arm in arm through the light crowd to the end of the promenade where a small power boat with a green hull bobbed gently at the far end of a short pier. A single leather seat ran around the back and down both sides of the boat’s cockpit. Sitting behind the wheel was a well-bundled man with his hands in his pockets. He had a broad face, and points of dark hair strayed out from under his flat cap.

A few miles out on the water True could see the lights of what could only have been the Lucky Duck. A big searchlight swept the area around it. “Is that the hell ship?” Polly asked.

“That’s it. But don’t let Otto hear you calling it that,” True said. “He has always prided himself on running a refined operation.”

“No wonder the two of you got along so well,” Polly said.

When he saw he had customers, the pilot gathered himself together and stood up. “Going out to the big ship?” he asked.

“What’s the fare?” True asked.

“A quarter for each of you to go out. Coming back is free.”

“That sounds about right,” True said.

“Somehow, I am not encouraged,” Polly said as True helped her into the small boat. They huddled together in the stern as the pilot started the engine. It coughed twice, suddenly roared, then settled down to a happy chuckle.

“Hang on tight, folks. The ocean is mighty wet.”

True and Polly got a good grip on each other, but except for the sociability of it they needn’t have bothered. The boat putted slowly past a few rowboats and a magnificent sailboat with its sails furled, and then out into the bay.

“First time out?” the pilot asked.

“That’s right,” True said.

“I thought so. Haven’t seen you before. Never forget a face.”

“Well, Amos has that kind of face,” Polly confided.

True glanced at her, eyebrow raised.

“Yessiree, bob. I’ve seen ’em come and I’ve seen ’em go.” He laughed. “They arrive with a pocket full of money and a head full of dreams and leave wearing a barrel.”

“You mean they lose their shirts?” Polly suggested.

“Among other things,” the pilot agreed. “Sometimes I have to loan ’em change so they can call a friend to drive ’em home.”

“Say,” True inquired, “does this tub ever go any faster?”

“Oh sure. We could win the derby in this thing.” The small boat continued to putter along.

“I think that was a carefully veiled suggestion,” Polly told the pilot.

The pilot looked back at her with a surprised expression. “Oh sure. I get ’cha. Yessiree, bob.” He pushed a throttle forward and the engine roared, making the boat seem to leap into the air. True and Polly clutched each other as the boat flew along, seemingly slicing off the tops of the waves as spray spattered their faces. They would soon arrive at the Lucky Duck. The other advantage was that the engine was now making too much noise to allow conversation.

The lights of Santa Monica fell behind them and seemed to join together until the coast was a single bright bracelet. They broke through wisp after wisp of fog, and the lines of the Lucky Duck became more distinct. True had to keep revising upward how big the ship was. Many windows were lit, making the ship look like an office building lying on its side. It was held in place by hawsers as thick as a strong man’s arms.

The pilot swung the boat around, throwing up a wall of water, and giving True a temporary queasy feeling before the boat bumped gently against a floating landing stage that was connected to the ship by a wide gangway. There was enough room on the stage for a hundred people or so, but at the moment there were only two. The pilot tossed a line to a man dressed like Donald Duck—plus pants—and he wrapped it around a cleat in the stage. Standing near the Donald Duck man was a slim woman with long dark hair that caught the light shining from big lamps on the deck of the Lucky Duck.

The pilot and the Donald Duck man helped True and Polly up onto the landing stage—which was something of a trick because they had to wait until the boat and the stage were in sync, rising and falling at the same time. When the trick had been performed, the pilot handed up their overnight bags and waved at them. “Good luck,” he cried. “Don’t take any wooden nickels! Keep your powder dry!” He turned off the engine and hugged himself against the cold.

“Welcome to the Lucky Duck,” the slim woman said gaily as she picked up a bag in each hand. “I’m Juanita Núñez, the hostess and official greeter. If I can help you with anything, please do not hesitate to ask.”

True introduced himself and Polly, and immediately Miss Núñez’ became serious. “Yes, of course,” she said. “Mr. Kepler told me to expect you. He’ll want to know you’ve arrived. Would you come this way, please?”

“Not expecting any more guests this evening?” Polly asked.

“Not tonight,” Miss Núñez said. “You’re part of a very exclusive group.”

Polly raised her eyebrows at True, and he shrugged.

True and Polly had trouble maintaining their dignity as they tried to get their sea legs on the rocking platform, but it was a pleasure to watch Miss Núñez walk across the stage and up the gangway as if she’d been treading the bucking surface all her life. At last they were up the gangway and on the deck of the Lucky Duck, which by comparison seemed as solid as a continent.

Miss Núñez led True and Polly through a revolving door that gave the impression it was the entrance to one of Los Angeles’ better hotels. Inside the illusion continued.

“Not much of a crowd tonight,” True said as he looked up and down the beautifully appointed but empty hallway.

“As I said,” Miss Núñez explained, “we’re having a private party this evening. You two are the last to arrive. Everyone else is in the main salon for dinner and dancing.” In the brightly lit hall True could see she had olive skin and an exotic face. She was wearing a green sheath that shown with golden highlights as she moved. Altogether, she was quite lovely. “This way, please,” she said and gestured for them to follow; they did so. True seemed to be fascinated by her rolling gait.

“She has a movement like a fine watch, don’t you think?” Polly whispered.

“I hadn’t noticed,” True claimed innocently.

“Of course not,” Polly agreed with a more or less straight face.

Miss Núñez showed them to adjoining rooms, leaving one bag in each room. “Call me if you need anything,” she said.

“I have my tooth brush,” True said, “but you never know.”

“I must see to our other guests,” Miss Núñez said. She smiled at him and escaped as True began to unpack. He finished and sat down on the bed to wait for Polly. When she came to the door a few minutes later, he could see that she had refurbished her makeup.

“What now?” Polly asked.

As if in answer to her question, someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” True called.

A dark well-chiseled man entered. He looked like a high-ranking movie gangster; even in his tuxedo he couldn’t hide his muscles. However, his smile was pleasant and he met them cordially. “I am Marv Kepler,” he said, “Mr. Laird’s assistant.” They shook hands all around.

“Welcome to the Lucky Duck,” Mr. Kepler said. “I will tell Otto that you are here. He suggested you have dinner, dance if you’d like, and look around a little. No hurry.”

“When we spoke earlier, I got the impression that something was bothering him,” True said.

“Otto will speak to you about that. This way, please,” Mr. Kepler said and made a gesture that suggested they follow him out the door. As they strolled along the hallway, music began and became louder. True recognized “The Way You Look Tonight.”

Mr. Kepler led them to a large room tricked out like a nightclub. Over the door, in letters designed to look like seaweed it said Neptune’s Hideaway. The décor was a mix of items that suggested both the sea and the casino: sea shells caught in nets, paintings of sailing ships at sea, leaping fish, craps layouts, roulette wheels, card spreads—the result was a little confusing, but it let the guests know what sort of experience they were in for. In a corner, three waiters watched the scene glumly. The band, whose members were dressed like sailors, was doing its best to create some excitement, but only one couple was dancing on a floor big enough for basketball. The man, with a face that was florid from exertion, was large and round and much older than his partner, who was Clair de Lune, a strikingly beautiful woman wearing a low cut gossamer gown that left no doubt that she was female and had a terrific figure.

“Will you dance with me, Amos?” Polly asked wistfully.

“I’ll squire you around the floor,” True said. “But I make no promises that what I’m doing will be dancing.”

There were forty or fifty small round tables scattered around the perimeter of the room, each with a small shaded lamp in the center. Most of the tables were empty, but at a few of them people were sitting and eating. At one table a handsome young man had food in front of him, but he ignored it in favor of watching the dancers with his arms crossed. Others were browsing at a long buffet table. Almost everyone was in formal evening clothes.

“Who’s that wrestling with Clair de Lune on the dance floor?” Polly asked Mr. Kepler.

“That’s Bernard Cathcart.”

“Is he somebody?”

“I believe he has money, Miss St. Jough.”

“I suspect that everybody here tonight except us has more money than is good for them,” True guessed. “Is this a charity function? Otto didn’t say, but I wouldn’t think Miss de Lune would need charity.”

“Still, in a manner of speaking, that’s what it is,” Mr. Kepler said. “Mr. Windsor,” he nodded at the unhappy young man sitting alone at one of the tiny tables, “and Miss de Lune are looking for people to invest in a new picture.”

“I see. Well, let us at the buffet. We’d better eat before Otto remembers that I’m just a detective with limited resources.”

Mr. Kepler laughed. “Have a nice dinner. Otto will speak to you soon.”

True and Polly strolled across the room to the buffet table and began to put food on big plates. True accidentally bumped into a short chubby man with enormous features on a round deeply-lined face. “Excuse me,” True said automatically, and then broke into a smile. “Freddy! Is that you? Look, Polly, Frederick Peregrine.”

“I’m surprised you remember me. You haven’t been down to the Fabulous Falcon Club in months.”

“He’s been busy detecting,” Polly confided.

“Oh, yes,” Peregrine said. “The two divas. I read all about it in the papers. That’s no excuse.”

“I suppose not,” True said. “Interested in getting into pictures?”

Before Peregrine could answer, a woman wearing a dark blue business suit and practical shoes turned to them. “I am,” she admitted in a good loud carrying voice. True, Polly, and Peregrine looked at her as if she were some new kind of animal.

“I’m Ruth Booth,” the woman said, and waited as if she expected they would know her.

True did the honors from his side.

“Amos True, the detective!” Miss Booth exclaimed. “I’ve been reading about you in the papers. Very clever of you to figure out which diva was which.”

“I feel sure I should know you, Miss Booth,” Polly said, her forehead wrinkling with thought.

Miss Booth smiled. “I do my best to make it easy,” she said. “I write books for children: The Get-Around Family. It’s a series.”

“I don’t have children myself,” Polly admitted, “but I think I heard you being wise and witty on one of the late night shows.”

“That’s right.”

“Shall we sit?” Mr. Peregrine suggested. “I think there will be enough room for all four of us if we push two of those tiny tables together.”

“Very good,” Miss Booth said. She took Mr. Peregrine’s arm and steered him to an empty table. True and Polly followed. By the time they arrived, Miss Booth had pushed another table up to the first one. Even with two tables, the seating was intimate, and they had to be careful with their knees and elbows.

“Who is that man over there?” True asked. The man had very short hair, and his darkly tanned face was drawn, almost skeletal. He wore a sport coat, slacks, and a collared powder blue shirt without a tie. Before him was a plate of raw vegetables, which he picked up a piece at a time and nibbled on, rabbit-like.

“I don’t know him,” Mr. Peregrine said.

“I believe that’s Art Field,” Miss Booth said. “You know, of Field’s Gyms?”

“You certainly are well-informed, Miss Booth,” True said.

“I like to stay on top of things,” she declared. “I live life.”

“Certainly the best thing to live,” Polly agreed.

“Yes,” Miss Booth said as if she were unsure exactly what Polly meant by that.

“He doesn’t look very happy to be here,” True said as he nodded in the direction of Mr. Windsor.

“You can’t please everybody,” Miss Booth said.