'How's my wife?' Earl demanded.
'Your wife is just fine, Mr. Swagger,' the doctor said. 'She's not bleeding anymore, and she's going to recover very nicely.'
'And?'
'Yes,' he said, 'congratulations. You have a son.'
Epilogue:
1947
Chapter 68
He didn't have any trouble finding Beverly Hills but Linden Drive proved difficult. Finally, he stopped on a street corner where a kid was selling Maps of the Stars.
'You're almost there, sir. Three blocks up to Whittier Avenue, then left and Linden is the next one on the left.'
'Thanks, kid.' He handed the boy a quarter.
The house was big. A star's house should be big. It had that Southern California Mexican palace look to it, with a crown of red tiles over white stucco, some kind of towerlike or churchlike assemblage in the front, immaculate gardens and lawns. He'd seen something like it in China, but the ones in China had all been smashed to rubble by Mao's Pioneers or Chiang's shock infantry.
He parked, checked his watch, saw that it was exactly 7:00 and went up the flagstone walk toward the dark wood front door, a massive slab of carved oak. It was still, and the sim was oozing through the trees toward the Pacific on one comer of the sky. It was so quiet here, the plush quiet of a very rich neck of the woods, where voices were never raised, dinner was served at 8:00 and the only noise would be the solidity of the Cadillac limo doors being gently shut by buders or drivers.
He knocked, and a man answered.
Tm here to see Mr. Siegel,' he said. 'I think he's expecting me.'
'Yeah, come on in,' said the fellow, some sort of flashily dressed Hollywood type. 'I have to pat you down. Just to be sure. You know.'
'No problem,' said Frenchy.
He turned, assumed the position, and felt the quick, frightened ran of hands across his body. It wasn't well done. He could have brought in at least three pieces if he'd wanted to.
'I'm a director,' said the man. 'I never thought I'd end up frisking guys. But if you're Ben's friend, you move in Ben's world.'
'What would you do if I had an automatic?' asked Frenchy.
'I don't know. Probably scream, then faint.'
Frenchy laughed.
'This way. I'll tell him you're here. He's upstairs with Virginia's brother and his fiancee.'
'No problem. I'll wait. I've got plenty of time.'
The man led Frenchy to some kind of living room at the rear of the house, or maybe it was a den. Who could tell in a house so big and plush? It was full of rococo touches, like a statue of Cupid, on tiptoes with his little bow and arrow in bronze. Some English dowager looked as if she were Queen Mab in an oil painting over the mantel but the coffee table had a French country look to it. Then a huge picture window displayed a rose trellis across the backyard about twenty-five feet, festooned with bright explosions of blossoming fire, like gunshots frozen, somehow. It was June and the roses were out. He studied the trellis in some detail, looked at the lay of the yard, the height of the wall, the location of the gate and even the lock on the gate. All very interesting.
In time, the man himself came into the room. Frenchy had never seen him before. He was shorter than he'd imagined, with a movie star's tan and white teeth, his blond-brown hair brilliantined back like George Brent's, his muscular, broad-chested body creamily bulging against the beautifully tailored glen-plaid double-breasted suit he wore, with a tie perfecdy tied, perfecdy centered. His eyes were bright and sharp and everything about him radiated sheer animal heat.
'I'm Ben Siegel,' he said. 'And Mr. Lansky said I should see you but not to ask the name.'
'My name is a Top Secret,' said Frenchy.
'You with the feds?'
'Not the feds that you need to worry about. Another outfit. We work overseas. Handling things. Very hush- hush. I just got back from someplace I can't even tell you about, or I'd have to kill you.'
Ben looked him up and down.
'You're pretty young for that kind of thing, ain't you, kid? Shouldn't you still be sipping milk from a carton in the school cafeteria?'
'I'm smarter than I look and older than I seem.'
'Okay, so? What's this all about? How're you in with Meyer?'
'I don't know Lansky. I know some people who know some people. Calls were made because favors were owed and I had something you might find useful. It happens also to be useful to me. That's why I'm here.'
'Is this a touch?'
'It won't cost a cent.'
'Okay. Sit down, Mr. Mystery Man.'
'Thanks.'
Siegel sat on a flower print sofa; Frenchy sat in a high wing chair, also flowery.
'So?'
'You want the name of a man in Arkansas. I happen to have some experience in Arkansas.'
'You don't look like a country boy.'
'I'm not. But I spent some time there and I worked for a law enforcement unit and I met the man you want to know about. I know all about him.'
'How did you know I wanted to know about him?'
'You remember a guy named Johnny Spanish?'
'Yeah, whatever happened to Johnny?'
'Big mystery. But whatever happened to Johnny also happened to your old friend Owney Maddox.'
'I hear Owney's in Paris,' said Siegel.
'Somehow, I don't think so. I don't think he's in Mexico, Rio, Madrid or Manila, either.'
'I've heard that too.'
'Anyhow, Johnny Spanish told me of your interest in this individual.'
'The cowboy. He packed a punch, I'll say.'
'So I hear.'
'Fuckin' yentzer hit me so hard I can still feel it. I sometimes wake up dreamin' about it. So what's the bargain?'
'I know who he is. I know where he is.'
'What do you want in exchange?'
'A good night's sleep.'
'I don't get it.'
'Put it this way. This man and I were colleagues at one point. Then we had a policy disagreement and I was forced to make certain other arrangements. I don't know if he knows about them. I don't know what he knows. He could know everything, he could know nothing. It didn't matter when I was overseas, but now it looks like I'm going to be in the States for a bit, while I go to a language school. I don't want to worry about him showing up for a discussion.'
