Laugher Read online

  The doors closed and the tiny room moved upwards. The man looked at me in a friendly, touristy way.

  “Where you from?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Where you in from? You are staying here, aren’t you?”

  I had no bags, no towels, no key card in my hand. Either this guy was looking for an excuse for conversation, or just plain dumb.

  “Actually I’m just meeting someone.”

  “Oh.” He laughed, embarrassed. “Excuse me. I’m James Lawson. In from Tennessee.” He offered his hand and I shook it.

  “Marshall Santone. Pleasure.”

  The doors opened. We both hesitated until James put his arm out as if to say “after you” and I stepped out.

  “Which room are you looking for?”

  “Five-oh-seven.”

  “You must be kidding.” He smiled again. “I’m in five ten just a couple doors down.”

  “How about that?” I said and politely nodded, ready to be rid of him.

  “Listen, I hope I’m not being a pest here, but...Well I’m here on business for the week and I don’t know anybody. Was wondering if you’d let me buy you a beer and maybe you could show me around a little?”

  “Oh, uh...I wish I could help you, pal, but my schedule recently got pretty full. I’m here on business too. Sorry.”

  He waved a hand. “No no, don’t be sorry. It’s okay. Really. Just thought I’d ask.”

  A door with a plate inscribed with 507 appeared before me.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, James.” This time I initiated the hand shake. “Good luck to you.”

  “Are you sure you couldn’t show me around? I’d promise to reimburse anything it may cost you.” He stepped closer to me and didn’t let go of my hand.

  “Maybe we could hit that titty bar down the road?” He raised his eyebrows and curled his lips into a sleazy grin.

  “Good night, James.” I said and pulled my hand away.

  His grin faded and he backed away, feeling a little embarrassed, I imagined. “Good night.”

  I knocked on 507 and waited. James headed a couple doors down to his room. He inserted the key card and as he opened the door, tossed another look at me and he was gone.

  The sound of a dead bolt turning stole my attention from James. The door cracked open just enough to extend the chain. It was dark inside and I couldn’t tell if there was a person standing there or not.

  “Nora Massey?” I muttered.

  “Yes,” came a frigid, innocent voice from inside.

  “Marshall Santone. May I come in?”

  “The detective?”

  “Detective, dick, shamus, Pink, gumshoe. I could go on if you’d like.”

  The door closed and I heard the chain fall, then it swung open again and standing in front of me was an hourglass disguised as a woman with brown hair and perfect lips.

  “How do you do?” I said.

  She stepped back allowing me to pass. When she shut the door behind me, she didn’t lock it. People rarely did. They want to open the door quickly to insure my exit is swift.

  She walked to the bed and flicked on the lamp hovering above it. The room was a single; one queen-sized bed, a dresser, television, couple of lounge chairs, etc. Her suitcase sat neatly in the corner, untouched, it looked like. But what was certainly not untouched was the half-drunk bottle of vodka on the nightstand, and the glass with rocks beside it.

  “Drink?” she asked, going to the bottle.

  “I would, but you only have one glass.”

  “There’s another in the bathroom. I’ll get it for you.”

  I stole the opportunity to check her from the back when she walked past me and into the bathroom. I couldn’t help feeling guilty about it, with Charlotte mad at me and all, but how could I resist? I’m only human and this woman was a goddamn Adonis.

  She came back out with the glass. “Rocks?”

  “Please.” I like my scotch straight, but vodka tastes like the Devil’s piss without ice. She scooped my cup into the ice bucket and poured mine first, but gave herself more.

  “Nice room” I said taking my first sip. “May I sit?”

  “Yes, please. I’m sorry. It was rude of me not to ask you to sit down.”

  “Not at all. Would you care to join me in the other one? We’re going to be talking for a while.” I sat down. She looked at me nervously, then finished her drink and sat down across from me. I pulled out my spiral notepad.

  “You don’t have to be frightened. I’m here to help.”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m sorry, this is just a...an unnerving situation.”

  “I understand. But in order to help you I’m going to need information. All the information you can give me about Denny. Is that okay?”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “Okay. First off, when’s the last time you saw Denny Granger?”

  “This morning. Our plane landed at nine fifteen. Denny and I were walking through the terminal to baggage claim and I had to make a stop to the little girl’s room and he waited for me. I would’ve gone on the plane, but I’m claustrophobic and those airplane bathrooms make me choke. Anyway, when I came out of the bathroom, Denny was gone.”

  “Did anybody see him go?”

  “None that I asked. But I went to baggage claim and looked for him there before I started asking questions.”

  “And nobody saw him there?”

  “No.”

  “Does he carry a cell phone?”

  “Yes and I tried calling it...it must have been thirty times, but every time it’s sent me straight to voicemail and he hasn’t called me back.” I was writing all this down, of course.

  “Is Denny, would you say...popular?”

  “In what sense?”

  “Famous. Do people recognize him walking down the street? Fans.”

  “Oh, of course. Happens all the time in New York.”

  “Only in New York?”

  “Mostly. He’s a regular at the popular clubs. Gotham, Comic Strip, Caroline’s, a couple others. And he’s been on Comedy Central a couple of times.”

  “What’s Comedy Central?”

  “You don’t know what Comedy Central is?” She said this like I’d never heard of Jesus.

  “Sorry,” I muttered while dropping vodka down my throat.

  “It’s a television network. They air a lot of standup comedians in specials and showcases. Denny’s appeared twice.”

  “I see. When did you tell Jack Slavas that Denny was gone?”

  “Not until I got here to this room.”

  “When was that?”

  “About eleven or so. He was furious. This weekend is supposed to be his big salvation and he wanted everything to go perfectly. I left him the number for the hotel. We haven’t heard from Denny all day and Jack called to say he looked you up on the internet and made an appointment.”

  “Why didn’t he, or you, just phone the police?”

  “I told Jack we should do that instead, but he needs Denny back ASAP and he thinks the police wouldn’t act fast enough. They don’t even declare someone a missing person until they’re gone forty-eight hours, right?”

  I nodded. “Does Denny have any contacts here? Friends or family?”

  “I’m sure he knows people, but nobody he’s close with. He lived here for a little over a year before

  going to New York, but didn’t have any success. He’s never mentioned any personal relationships with anybody here, at least not to me.”

  “Slavas told me Denny’s been known to do stuff like this before. Is that true?”

  “He has a bit of a reputation for causing trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Rough housing at clubs, fighting with hecklers, things like that, but he’s never put a gig on the line. I mean, he’s never been unprofessional like this, not showing up for a show.”

  “Any of those incidents ever happen here?”

  “Maybe. I didn’t start managing
Denny until he was in New York and he hasn’t been here since then. Though, come to think of it, I do remember him telling me that he had been arrested here once.”

  “On what charge?”

  “I don’t remember. He went to jail, but I don’t know how long.”

  “How long ago?” I asked.

  “Oh God. I’m not sure. Maybe seven or eight years.”

  I made a special note of this: ARRESTED. Next to it wrote the name GORDY in big underlined letters.

  “Is there anyone who might be holding a grudge against Denny, or want to do him harm?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, usually, grown men don’t simply disappear, especially in a crowded airport. You say he’s

  never done anything unprofessional like this before and--”

  “You think Denny was kidnapped?”

  “At this point anything’s possible, Miss Massey. I like to consider the worst case scenarios first. It comes as more of a relief when I find out I’m wrong.”

  “Why would someone kidnap Denny?”

  “Attention, most likely. Denny’s a public figure and maybe some lowlife wants his fifteen minutes of fame.”

  “I’d like to hold off on that theory right now, if you don’t mind.”

  She rose and went back to the nightstand and poured herself another drink. I dropped the kidnapping plot for the time being.

  “What room was Denny supposed to be staying in?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The room Denny was booked for.”

  “Actually...this one.”

  “You were staying here together then?”

  She didn’t answer. She took another swig of vodka then stood like a wax statue for a few moments.

  “Miss Massey? Are you all right?”

  “Mr. Santone, in your profession is there a certain level of...confidentiality? I mean, are you allowed to repeat information from private conversations like this?”

  “Only what’s necessary to complete the job.”

  “...Then I’m going to tell you something that you must promise not to tell anyone unless absolutely necessary. Not a soul. But I’m telling you because I want to find Denny more than anything and you’re a professional so you need to know every bit of information that might be useful, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right...Denny and I are in love. We have been for some time and are planning to get married soon.”

  “Uh huh.” By the look of her, and the picture I’d seen of Denny, it was obvious she was much older than him. Maybe ten years or so, but a woman like Nora Massey could’ve had a man twenty years younger if she wanted.

  “We haven’t told anyone. We don’t want to make it public yet so please swear that you won’t tell anyone.”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  She came back to face me. “Was it unnecessary for me to tell you that?”

  “No. No.”

  “It’s just that I want to know how important Denny is to me. As a person, not just a client.” She had been avoiding eye contact with me the whole conversation, but at this moment we made it. They were a deep blue. The kind you can swim in. Possibly drown.

  “I understand.” I set my glass down on the window sill. “I’m going to need all the information on your flight. Do you still have your itinerary and boarding pass?”

  “Of course.”

  She went to the suitcase in the corner and unzipped one of the pockets. She pulled out a folded piece of paper and that little brochure they keep your boarding passes in. American Airlines. She handed them to me. I unfolded the itinerary and examined it. They left JFK airport at midnight last night, had a layover in Chicago, and arrived in LA this morning at ten.

  “The redeye,” I said.

  “Don’t remind me. That was Denny’s choice, by the way. He wanted to come in a day early."

  "I’ll make a copy of this and get it back to you.” She nodded. “And do you have a picture of Denny?”

  “Yes, I have his headshots.”

  She reached in another pocket of the bag and pulled out an eight by ten picture of Denny. The same one posted in front of the Chuckle Hut.

  “Does Denny have any distinctive features? Piercings? Tattoos?”

  “One piercing on his left ear. He had a tattoo removed last year, but it was his only one, I believe.”

  “Where was the tattoo?”

  “On the inside of his left arm. It’s just a scar now.”

  I wrote that down. “I’d also like to have his cell phone number, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Certainly.” She wrote it down on the hotel stationary on the table, with the hotel’s watermark on it.

  “I’ll need your number also.” I said.

  “Yes.” She wrote her number next to Denny’s and tore off the page and gave it to me. I folded it up and stuffed it inside the notepad and put it away.

  “Are you planning on spending a lot of time outside of this room?”

  She shook her head “no,” she seemed to be shivering.

  “Well, I think that’s all I need for right now, Miss Massey. Hope I didn’t take up too much of your time.”

  “Not at all. Thank you very much for coming.”

  My wallet contained a few business cards so I gave her one and told her to contact me with any questions or information, then said, “Thanks for the drink. I can show myself out.”

  “Please find him.” She pleaded, but no words came out of me, only an assuring nod.

  Walking down the hallway to the elevator I felt something burning in the pit of my stomach. I told myself it was the alcohol and didn’t think anything more of it.

  It was almost ten when I got back in the Beemer. I was a little tipsy. My house was in Culver City, a ten minute drive, while Charlotte’s was in Glendale. I decided to go to her anyway. I was already in trouble. What more harm could I do?

  The lights were off when I pulled into her driveway and I figured she’d already gone to bed, probably watching Will & Grace reruns in her bedroom. It was a routine for her except on “special occasions.”

  A silver key on my key ring had the letters GHM inscribed on it. I didn’t know what those letters meant, maybe the manufacturer, but that key opened Charlotte’s front door.

  She was in bed when I went to her room. But no TV. No Will. No Grace. I took this as a bad sign as I snuck to the bed and sat down beside her. She was snuggled in her sheets and her comforter. So peaceful. My hand stroked her warm cheek and tucked her hair back behind the ear.

  “Don’t do that.” Came a muffled voice from the sheets.

  “I’m very sorry.” I whispered.

  Her head turned and soon her whole body was sitting up in the bed. She reached over to the night stand and turned on the lamp.

  “I know you’re sorry, Marshall.” She said and I waved bye-bye to the peaceful look on her face. “I need you to tell me something.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t lie to me. I want the brutal truth.”

  “Okay.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “What?”

  “Us. Where is this going? You know I want a family, Marshall. I want a husband, I want children, I want dirty diapers and sleepless nights and Dora the Explorer on the TV in the living room. I’m ready for that. And I want it with you.”

  I’d heard all this a hundred times and it never got any easier.

  “But you obviously don’t. You won’t move in with me. You can’t even give me the courtesy of remembering our dinner!” She looked at me like I was on the witness stand. I looked at her like I was guilty as charged.

  “Tell me if that is going to happen.”

  “Charlotte, you know that I--”

  “Now.”

  The only thing that would have gotten me out of this was if I had actually wanted all that stuff, but I couldn’t lie to her. Even if I did, she’d never believe me. It was more likely that a unicorn would fly through th
e window. So I pulled the old you-know-I-love-you-but-I’m-just-not-ready bit. She wasn’t happy with it.

  “Get out.”

  “Baby, come on.”