Laugher Page 5

  “I assumed that’s why you were here.”

  “I wish it was.”

  Her voice turned suspicious. “Then why are you here?”

  “Jack.”

  “What?”

  “Jack Slavas.”

  “What about him?”

  Her bottle of vodka was still on the night stand. I would have stolen a swig or two had there been anything more than a drop left.

  “Detective?” she called.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “What about Jack Slavas?”

  “Oh, uh...I’ll wait till you finish up. It’s not something that should be shouted through closed doors.”

  “Okay...” She said with suspicion. The sound of a blow dryer fired up.

  When Nora re-entered the room, I was adjusting my tie in the mirror.

  “So?” She said, and it suddenly hit me that I really would have to break the bad news to her. I’d broken bad news to clients before, but never something like this. How would she take it?

  “You might want to sit down for this.”

  She didn’t sit, just gave me a concerned look. “Is everything all right?”

  I took a breath. “No. Not exactly. Please sit down--”

  “--Tell me.”

  I took another breath. “Jack Slavas is dead.” I waited in silence. “Miss Massey?” She stood still. Perfectly still. “Miss Massey are you all right?”

  “Oh my God,” she uttered, shaking. “What happened?”

  “He was found in the club. Hanging from a rope.”

  “Was he killed?”

  “...They’re calling it suicide unless they find evidence otherwise.”

  “Do you think it was suicide, Detective?”

  “...No.”

  “Are there any suspects?” Her voice turning desperate.

  “Not yet. You really should sit down.”

  She hugged me instead. Clung to me while the clatter of crying teeth clicked in my ear.

  “Miss Massey. Please.”

  I moved over and sat her down on the bed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m...I’m not good with death.”

  “I’d be concerned if you were. Did you know Slavas well?”

  “I’m not sure ‘well’ is the right word, but I’ve booked a lot of comedians for his club.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Five years maybe. But we weren’t close. It was only business with us. This is all such a shock to me.”

  “I understand.”

  “Why would someone kill Jack?”

  “I don’t know, but the why will come later. First they need the what and the who. But that’s not my job. My job is to find Denny.”

  “Is?”

  I nodded.

  “I can pay you whatever Jack was—“

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “No. No, what’s your price?” She grabbed her purse from under the night stand, opened it, and removed her check book.

  “Miss Massey, please.” I took the book from her and set it on the table. She reached for it, but I grabbed her hand and stopped her. We were still for a moment, then I let go of her hand.

  “Detective...” She started, “You must want something in return.”

  That burning in the pit of my stomach came back. But I hadn’t drunk any alcohol.

  “It’s taken care of.” I uttered. “Slavas put down a retainer.”

  “Oh,” She said. I backed away, toward the door. She put the checkbook back in her bag.

  “I’ll let you know when I find something.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Good day, Miss Massey.” I was out the door and a few steps down the hall when she stopped me with her voice.

  “Detective...Please. Call me Nora.”

  Chapter 5

  The concierge was behind the front desk. He saw me first and called my name. We went to his office. I pulled out my notepad and noticed his name plate -- “Richard Brennan – Concierge” -- and remembered that I forgot to ask his name.

  “Please, have a seat.” Brennan said and I did. “Mr. Lawson had booked his room for the week, but for some reason he changed his mind.”

  “What time did he check out, Mr. Brennan?”

  “About ten o’clock.”

  “And how long had he been staying here?”

  “Only a few hours. Very odd.”

  I wrote this down. “You said might know where he went.”

  Brennan closed the door and sat down behind the desk. “When I got in this morning, there were two police officers waiting for me. They were also looking for Mr. Lawson.”

  “What for?”

  “Last night he was at The Long Walk.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “It’s, uh...a gentlemen’s club.”

  “Okay.”

  “Anyway, they said he was there last night causing trouble. He was drunk, he was screaming at the girls and trying to touch them. When the bouncer came to remove him, he got violent. He threw a beer bottle and cut the bartender’s eye, then ran away. The owner called the police.”

  “Why’d they come to you? How did they know he was staying here?”

  “Oh, he was complaining about the hotel. I don’t know why.”

  “I see. What did you tell the police?”

  “I looked up his information in the computer and that’s when I saw he had checked out. That’s all I knew.”

  “And this...incident, it happened after Lawson checked out last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you don’t know where he is now?”

  A puzzled, almost guilty look came over his face. “No. You asked if I knew where he went and he went to the Long Walk.”

  I sat and thought a minute.

  “I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?” Brennan asked. He was a very cautious fellow.

  “No,” I said, “No, not at all.” I handed him one of my cards from inside my suit jacket and stood up. “Where is The Long Walk?” I asked.

  “On La Cienega just above Holloway. There’s a big sign and a picture of a pair of legs. You can’t miss it.”

  Close to the Chuckle Hut, I thought. I reached out and shook hands.

  “Mr. Brennan, you’ve been a big help. Can’t thank you enough.”

  “May I ask what you need to find him for?”

  “...Just a friendly concern.”

  He nodded, said “I see” and probably knew I was lying. But I saw Lawson outside the Chuckle Hut just before I found Slavas’s body. Coincidences are inevitable, but I never treat them that way, and Brennan was a good man. I didn’t want to put him in a tight spot by giving him information. When people start dying, information can be as lethal as bullets.

  --------------------------------------

  I lit up a cigarette in the car outside the convenient store. It felt like eternity and a half since I had one. The sunset looked nice though. The clouds were thick enough to filter the light into a dark red, mild enough to look directly into. I sat and watched until the day was over and night awoke.

  When I went to turn the ignition, a certain key caught my eye and jostled my memory.

  “Shit!”

  I was speeding into Glendale on the 134. I forgot about Charlotte again! Two days in a row, she would never forgive me. But a man had been murdered. If I just explained, she would have to understand. Or maybe another man would be murdered.

  The porch light was on. I crossed the lawn and approached the front door, saw that it was cracked open and I went inside. In the den was an open suitcase, half-packed, sitting on the couch.

  “Charlotte?” I said.

  Footsteps came from the kitchen.

  “Charlotte, I’m so sorry. I can explain everything.” I said as I moved to meet the footsteps.

  “Hi, Marshall.”

  The footsteps stopped when she stepped around the corner.

  “Rose?” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  “What you were su
pposed to be. Talking to my sister.” She said as dry as the Sahara.

  I scoffed and headed for the stairs. “Charlotte?” I called as I climbed.

  “She’s not here.” Charlotte said. “She’s at my house. She asked me to come by and pack some things.”

  “Rose, you better tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “Charlotte is staying with me for a while.”

  “The hell does that mean? She’s leaving me?”

  “She needs time to think about things.”

  In other words, work up the nerve to dump me. I descended the stairs.

  “When is she coming back?”

  “I don’t know. When she’s ready.”

  I moved to the den and sat on the couch, next to the suitcase and looked at it.

  “Rose, you have to let me see her. If she knew what happened today, what I had to do...”

  “You had your chance to explain, Marshall. You missed it. It’s Charlotte’s decision now.”

  My hands rubbed my forehead like it was the place where all my problems were and I could wipe them all clean.

  “I’m sorry.” Rose said.

  I stood up and headed for the door. “Just tell her...Tell her that I love her. I do.”

  -------------------------------------

  Scotch. I still had it in my house. On a day like this, it was unfathomable that I hadn’t had a drink yet. I needed it...but I had to find Lawson. Something told me finding Lawson would help find Denny, whether Lawson had something to do with Slavas’s death or not. I get these...I don’t know, hunches I guess, all the time, usually drunk when I do, and wrong. But this time I was sober so I deemed it worthy of consideration. Besides, it would take my mind off Charlotte.

  I pulled into the parking lot of The Long Walk just after nine o’clock. A cigarette dangled between my lips. It was a high class joint —- well, high class as far as titty bars go. A lavender awning stretched out over the entrance attended by a burly bouncer with a rock-jaw face. I never did catch his name so I’ll call him “Fred.” I approached Fred and asked if I could speak with the owner. He asked who was asking and I flashed him my license.

  “Police?” He asked.

  “No,” I replied. “Private investigator.”

  “Oh, like the, uh...the Bogus movies.” Bogus. Bogart. Whatever.

  “...The Bogus movies. Exactly.”

  “What are you here for?”

  “Something I’d like to discuss with the owner. Is he in?”

  “Nobody sees Mr. Grossman without being invited.”

  “I’m looking for a man who was here last night. James Lawson. Hoping Mr. Grossman could help me out. Could you check for me, please? I only need a minute.”

  “Tonight he ain’t got a minute. It’s busy.”

  “In that case, I’d like to go in as a paying customer.”

  “Sorry, pal. Can’t go in.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’re at capacity.”

  At that moment, three couples came to the door. Each man was dressed in a suit much nicer than mine and the women were Bel Air blondes in skimpy skirts. Fred opened the door and they disappeared inside.

  “Capacity, huh?” I said.

  “That’s right. Full capacity.”

  I pulled out my wallet and held out a twenty.

  “If I’m not out in thirty minutes you can throw me out by my tie,” I offered.

  “Not for that price.”

  I pulled out a second twenty. He shook his head and pointed upwards with his thumb. I pulled out a third.

  “Sixty then.” I held out the bills. “Deal?”

  He took the bills and slipped them into his inside jacket pocket. “Thirty minutes. A second longer and you’ll be on your ass.”

  “How generous of you.”

  He opened the door and I checked the time on my phone. 9:17.

  “Thirty minutes,” He reiterated, but I planned on being out much sooner. If this guy got his hands on me, I’d lose more than just sixty bucks.

  Inside was nothing surprising. Loud house music, swivel chairs with red leather, gold banisters, dim lighting, alcohol consumption. Oh – and topless girls dancing on poles, of course. The benches along the walls were filled with laps and a few dancers. I made my way to the bar where a handsome chap in his late-twenties was tending. His eye wasn’t cut. It must have been a different bartender there the night before.

  “What can I get ya?” He yelled, barely audible over the music.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Grossman.” I yelled back.

  “Mr. Grossman?”

  “That’s right.”

  “He isn’t here.”

  “Who’s in charge?”

  “Well, he is, but he doesn’t come in for another forty minutes or so.”

  “Forty?”

  “Yeah, not till ten o’clock.”

  Son of a bitch, I thought. Fred took my money knowing Grossman wasn’t here and wouldn’t be until my time was up.

  “Can I get you anything?” the bartender said again.

  “I’m supposed to meet with Mr. Grossman tonight. Would you mind letting me know where his office is so I can wait for him?”

  “Sure, it’s, uh, right back there, you see?” He pointed. In the far corner behind the stage was a small hallway.

  “I see it.”

  “End of the hall and up the stairs. His office is on the left.”

  “Is Mr. Grossman usually on time?”

  “On the dot. Every night.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  I crossed the floor, trying not to look at the girls. If I did, I might have gotten distracted and then Fred the Bouncer would have to snap me out of it.

  The hallway was lit like the rest of the joint. The bathrooms were there, along with an emergency exit and another door with a sign that read “Performers Only.” The steep, skinny staircase was on the right hand side.

  At the top was another hallway, not lit like the rest of the place, not lit at all except a single fluorescent that needed new wiring. It flickered so damn much I thought I walked into lightning. The walls were cement not unlike the Chuckle Hut. I checked my watch. 9:23. Still plenty of time.

  The door to Grossman’s office was plain brown. No nameplate or anything. I tried the knob and it didn’t turn. My lock picking tools were in the dash of the Beemer, but if I left, there’s no way Fred would let me back in. The whole thing felt fishy to me, but I couldn’t do anything about it right now. I decided I should come back tomorrow, and call ahead to make sure Grossman was here.

  But as soon as my back turned I heard a noise from within the door -- a kind of groan or maybe the creek of wood. I held my ear to the door and listened. There it was again. Definitely a groan. I knocked on the door.

  “Hello?” I said and knocked again. “Mr. Grossman? Are you in there?” The groan got louder, as if whoever it was was shouting through cloth.

  The crack at the bottom of the door was about as thick as my thumb, but it was too dark to see anything. Another muffled shout.

  I stood and grabbed the handle again and used it as leverage when I heaved my body into the door. It didn’t budge. The groans grew louder, desperate, panicked. I tried again, and again. Damnit. There was no way I could get in without my picking tools, but I couldn’t leave whoever was in there. Maybe it was Lawson. Maybe it was Denny. I told him to hang on and went back downstairs.

  I scanned the room looking for the perfect helper and found him sitting on a bench. Young college athlete type, much more than half drunk. I felt guilty using the innocent for my own purposes, but this was urgent. I sat down next to him.

  “Hey, pal,” I said.

  “I ain’t yer pal. Fug off” he drawled and suddenly I didn’t feel so guilty anymore.

  “I got something for you.”

  “The fuck you talkin’ about, man? Are you queer?”

  “Nah, man, I got a girl for you.”