I finally picked out Halliday in a hussar’s uniform, standing by a column. The next page showed Halliday saying hello to Esther Williams, and there was another still of just him in his old-time bathing suit, down on one knee holding a whistle on a lanyard around his neck, and smiling into the distance. There were a dozen pages of publicity stuff from
It was getting dusk but I wasn’t sure I felt like dinner yet. I had that sickish, sort of metallic feeling inside, like nothing I ate would taste very good.
What had I scraped up so far? A handsome little hood named Halliday who peddled smut because they wouldn’t let him be a movie star. What did he want? To be a bigger hood. To burn girls’ faces who turned him down. To say hi to Esther Williams again.
Then there was a bigger hood named Scarpa who’d been told off to keep an eye on Halliday. What did he want? To not be bothered with little punks like Halliday and me.
Then there was a great big hood named Burri who’d done the telling. What did he want? A nice civilized drink and some little dry cookies. He was an old man, and wanted everything nice. What would he do to someone who kept things from being nice?
Halliday was too ambitious for Burri, too podunk for Scarpa, too bughouse for Rebecca. It was nice to know he was everybody’s problem, not just mine. There ought to be a way to make that work for me. It was right there staring at me, if I had any brains.
That was a big if.
I took La Brea down to 10, headed west, turned off on National, and cruised through Palms. There were some nice little houses there, but nothing I’d picture a crime boss in. Halliday’s was at 3235 Shippie Avenue. It was a small two-story mock-Tudor with a half-timbered front, and the lawn was kept nice. The driveway was full of cars, and there were cars parked solid all up and down the block. There was someone standing in the driveway watching the cars go by. He watched me drive up, and he watched me keep driving on past. I wondered again what Halliday wanted with so many guys. I took the next left and thought about circling the block. Maybe I could park somewhere and find a way to work in close to the house. Maybe there was some way to hear what was going on inside. Maybe I could creep down the chimney like Old Saint Nick. The cars hadn’t looked nice enough to be capos’ cars. There hadn’t been enough light and noise for a party. It might have been Halliday rounding up his people for some kind of staff meeting. What kind? I drove around for a while, thinking thoughts. But only one of them turned out to be useful: I thought if I went down to Annie Jay’s and ordered a bloody ribeye, mashed potatoes, and apple pie with cheddar, it would be pretty good. And it was.
The pool at the motel is pretty nasty-looking and not many people use it. I’ve never been in myself except when I’m cleaning it, and I don’t clean it often. The next morning, though, I woke up to the sound of splashing. I peeked through the curtains and saw a little heap of clothes on the concrete and a woman in the water, swimming laps smoothly and very rapidly.
I couldn’t see her face, but she wasn’t wearing a cap and the hair streaming down her back was dark gold. Her arms and legs went on a long way. I put some pants and a shirt on and came outside. She didn’t seem to need to breathe. It took her two strokes to cross the pool the long way, and I had the idea she was shortening her stroke so she could fit two of them in. Each time she reached the end, she rolled smoothly under like a seal and reappeared moving fast in the opposite direction. I thought of how birds are awkward when they walk, but graceful in their own natural element. I thought a lot of the crap you think when you’re falling. I went inside and found a clean towel. When I came out again, Rebecca was climbing out of the pool, wearing a blue one-piece racing suit. Her hair hung in dark gold ropes down her face and neck. I handed her the towel and she dried her face and arms. She looked healthy and carefree and about fourteen. “I came snooping by the other day and saw you had a pool,” she said. “We don’t have one at home. I wish we did.”
“It’s pretty nasty in there.”
“Oh, that stuff doesn’t hurt you. That’s just algae. Didn’t you ever swim in a pond? Isn’t someone supposed to be skimming it, though?”
“They don’t pay me enough.”
“That’s the one thing I could always really do, swim. In high school I was northeastern champion three years running in hundred crawl and fifteen hundred back. I think if there was such a thing as professional swimmers, I wouldn’t’ve bothered with the actress stuff. But you can’t make money swimming.”
She looked blissfully happy. She bent quickly to towel her legs, then raised her arms and worked the towel roughly through her hair, smiling with closed eyes into the sun. She opened her eyes again and her smile turned mocking. I’d been staring at her endowments, and she’d noticed it first. I don’t look like the kind that blushes, and I’m not, but I felt my face redden and prickle. “Sorry,” I said. “They really are the eighth and ninth wonders, aren’t they? Jesus, imagine being you and having them around all the time.”
“You can touch one for a dollar,” she said.
“What?”
“Give me a dollar,” she said, drying her back.
After a moment, I took a dollar from my pocket and handed it to her. She folded it twice and tucked it under the right strap of her suit, then swung my towel around her shoulders like a shawl. Beneath it, she lowered her left strap. She took hold of my right hand, slipped it under the towel, and placed it on her breast. It was heavy and firm. The skin was still cold and goose-pimpled, but I could feel the heat inside.
She said, “Where the hell have you been for the last two days?”
I blinked and would have jerked my hand back, but she had a good grip on my wrist. Her eyes were pale and hard.
“Where the hell have you been?” she said.
“Working,” I said.
“Working how? For whom? I’ve been trying to call you for two goddamned days.”
“I was out.”
“Where?”
“First night? The Centaur. I wanted to see Halliday.”
“My God. You didn’t talk to him, did you?”
“Yeah, we had a nice chat. Rebecca—”
“Oh my God. My God. I’m surprised he didn’t set the dogs on you.”
“He did.”
“I wish they tore your head off. My God, what a bungler. Do you want to spoil everything? Do you want to get my face burnt off?”
I was having a hard time paying attention. I was pretty wrought up and afraid someone would look out a window and see. Rebecca was crisp and composed. The breast in my palm seemed to crowd out all my thoughts. I gave it a little squeeze. That seemed to be included in the rental. I said, “No.”
“And all day yesterday?”
“I did a little research. I checked out Halliday’s office.”
“Checked out?”
“I broke in and had a look around.”
“You broke in. In the middle of the day? And when he finds somebody’s broken into his office?”
“There’s no reason for him to need to know.” I couldn’t even talk properly. “Rebecca, I’m looking for a lever. There seems to be some rivalry with the Scarpa—”
“
“I didn’t, and you didn’t tell me. Becky, Halliday’s low man on the totem pole and trying to wriggle up. If he’s, ah, Jesus.” I took a breath. “If he’s been wriggling onto Scarpa’s turf, maybe we can use the threat of Scarpa to control him.”
“This is all pretty iffy.”
