Juanita gave me a full-lip sneer. “What deal? Frankie was all talk. If bull was electricity Frankie would have been a dynamo. Soon as he left school he dropped a few hundred in the stock market and that kayoed his spirit too. Part of the loss was my dough, but I didn't kick. Can't expect to win every bet. All his education, his books and big talk—Frankie ended up a stock clerk, another one of the beer hounds at the corner dump. Although I have to admit the kid finally came through, made good.” She smiled at the blank look on my face. “We're collecting his ten grand G.I. insurance policy. You watch Irv and me hustle my share of that into some real salting money!”
“Ever hear of a man named Brown? Brother ever mention him?”
“Never heard of him. Should I have?”
“Guess not. What about Cissy Lewis?”
The lippy sneer again. “That drip. Frankie sure was lucky escaping her. Jeez, you don't suspect her, do you?”
“Just asking questions. Any other girls in Franklin's life?”
“Franklin—what a handle! No other dames—Cissy was for dancing and holding hands in the movies. There's a pro down the street who was hauling Frankie's ashes.”
“Tell that to the cops?”
“They never asked me. All they wanted to know was what 7 was doing at the time of the shootings. In case you're thinking of asking me, I'll tell you... I was waiting right here, with the folks, to talk Frankie out of the trip junk when he came in. Any more questions?”
“Not for now,” I said, heading for the door.
Without getting up she ran her eyes over me, asked, “How did you escape being a TV wrestler—big as you are? Well, I trust I've been of some help.”
“You're a regular real live doll,” I said, walking out.
I had over a half hour before I was due to call for Ruthie. I walked down the street to 515. This was a three-story brownstone; only now rooming-house fire escapes spoiled whatever beauty it once had. I walked down two steps to the basement, pressed the bell button next to the iron-gate door. After a minute, a man opened the inner door, asked, “Yeah?”
He was wearing sharply pressed slacks, a white wool shirt, and an expensive nylon sport jacket. He was tall and slim, long black hair carefully combed away from a face that was handsome in a kind of sensitive way, or maybe it was all the almost feminine mouth. One thing for sure—he spent a lot of time in front of a mirror. “Louise in?”
“Louise who? Whatcha want?” There was an uneasy whine to his voice.
“Louise.”
“You a dick?”
I nodded and he opened the gate and I followed him into what had formerly been a dining room but was now a one-room apartment with a kitchenette behind a cheap screen. It was furnished in standard installment-plan furniture, including a new model TV set and a square Hollywood bed with a fancy red throw over it.
Louise stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a white robe, lot of lace on it. She was a chunky girl with solid breasts. She could have been in her late twenties, maybe older. Jet black hair flowed to her shoulders and framed her face. The face was exciting and would have looked even prettier without the heavy blackened eyelashes. She had a heavy lush mouth, painted a deep red. She looked sexy—a man would stare at her on the street, without knowing why he looked—at first. She glanced at greasy-hair, asked, “Cop?”
He nodded and I sat down without being asked. I didn't have to ask if she knew Turner—his picture was on her dresser in a cheap gold frame!
She asked weakly, “Pinch or shake-down?”
“Neither. I'm a private dick.”
A big change came over pretty-boy. He put his hand on his back pocket, actually snarled, “Get out!”
The pocket seemed too flat for a gun. A knife. I said, “Take it easy, I'm not here for money or trouble. Only doing my job to...”
“Get out!”
“A cop has been killed, the police are looking for a fall guy. You'd rather talk to the police, all right with me.”
“Ain't going to tell you again to scram!” the man said, advancing toward me. He took a switch blade out of his pocket, a knife carefully wrapped in a white silk handkerchief.
My insides got awfully chilly as I tried to say in a steady voice, “Use your head, the police get rough when one of their own is killed.”
“Cliff, put that cheese sticker away,” Louise said. “Put it back in your pocket.” She had a nice voice, soothing. “What you want, mister?”
“Ask some questions about him.” I motioned at Turner's picture with my hand. I didn't take my eyes off Cliff, who mumbled something about, “Comes barging in, like he was taking over.” But he pocketed the knife, backed to the wall and watched me.
“Private badge—how are you in on all this?”
“I'm working for Turner's wife.”
The tense lines in her face softened as she said, “What do you want to know?”
“Why didn't you go to the police when Turner was killed?”
“I have an alibi!” Cliff sort of screamed. “I can prove I...”
Louise said gently, “Baby, shut up.” Then she smiled at me, that wonderful sensuous big mouth. “Why should I go to the police? I don't like cops, and I didn't do anything wrong. Sure I knew Ed Turner. He was a pest.”
“He was an unbathed louse,” Cliff put in.
Louise asked me, “What's your name?”
I gave her and greasy-hair one of my cards, said, “Let me get a few things straight. Turner was in here just before he was killed. That's why he was parked in his car down the street.”
Louise nodded, looked around for a cigarette. I threw her my pack. She lit one and tossed the pack back to me, said over a cloud of smoke, “Here's the whole story: Cliff had me working a hotel, and Ed Turner was in on a raid. Whole thing was hushed up, a payoff. My Cliff has connections. But Turner got my address and the next thing we knew he was hanging around here, for free. He was a little nuts, I think.”
“He was a miserable bastard!” the pimp said.
“Cliff, let me do the talking. I never had no trouble with cops, Mr. Harris. The hotel had its own protection and around here I just have a few local regulars. I play it smart, never let business get so big I attract attention. With Turner, at first all he wanted was to be on the free list. All that man had on his mind was bed, like a vitamin rabbit. It went on like that for a couple of months. That's all. As you say, I suppose he was leaving here when the fireworks started in the street. I don't know a thing about that.”
“And Franklin Andersun?”
She chuckled. “A once-a-month customer, afraid to even nod to me on the street.” She made a face and crushed the cigarette. “Cliff, cigarette me.”
“Told you I was out.”
“Go around the corner and get me a pack.” She turned to me. “I can't smoke anything but mentholated ones.” She turned back to her pimp, said slowly, “Gowan, Cliff. It's okay.”
To my surprise Cliff slipped on a pork-pie hat and went out. When he was gone and we heard his steps on the sidewalk, Louise pulled a chair over beside mine, and she had an odd perfume or smell to her that my nose liked. She looked at my card, said, “I'm going to tell you all I know, so help me. But don't get Cliff in no trouble. In this racket a girl needs a man behind her and Cliff is tough, yet he's like a kid that needs a mother.”
“A kid with a big switch blade.”
“Sure, he's a mean kid at times. Know what we do? Sometimes when I knock off work, in the middle of the night, Cliff and I get into his MG and we race out to Long Island, or up through the mountains, going nowhere, but it feels fine to be tearing through the night knowing you're as good as anybody else, feeling like a big apple. Pretty hard in this world to feel like you're somebody. Anyway, Cliff is my personal business and I don't want to see him hurt. I used to hate Ed Turner's guts for his petty graft—a lousy free lay—but after a time I felt sorry for him. He needed mothering too. Trouble was, he fell in love with me. That was big trouble.”
She lit one of my cigarettes. I didn't know what to say, so I said, “I'm listening.”
“That's the truth. He drove me crazy. He loved me the way Cliff does. He wasn't jealous of any of my customers, they didn't count, but he didn't want Cliff around. Once he pulled a gun on Cliff and the poor guy had a nervous stomach for days. Believe me, it wasn't for me. Ed would have killed Cliff. I kept telling him I needed Cliff—hotel work is my main income—but Ed said he'd get me a better pad. But I didn't care for Ed like I do for Cliff, and anyway, his being a cop made me nervous—never know when a cop will throw you to the wolves. Ed began hanging around in his car outside this house, watching for Cliff. Got so I was afraid to go to the hotel some days, afraid he'd arrest Cliff, kill him. And in this business you can't hang up no days. They want you there when you're supposed to be there. That's the way it was on the night of the killings.”
“What way?”
“Ed was in his car outside, mad as a boil, waiting to see if Cliff came in. Tell you, Mr. Harris, I know lots about men, and with whores they love 'em so much they hate 'em. For a time Ed used to get a bang out of slapping me around, playing tough. Then he started taking my money—got a joy out of leaving me just enough to eat. And that got Cliff so mad he wanted to take a knife to Ed. But after a day or two, Ed would show up with a gift worth twice the dough he took. A diamond ring once, then a watch. I still have the watch, but the ring is in hock. I'll show you the pawn ticket if you want.”
“Not necessary. Tell me more about Turner.”
“Not much to tell. Sometimes he'd be here every day, then I might not see him for weeks.”
“When did you first meet him?”
“This has been going on for about... nine or ten months. He was so funny. Sometimes we'd go to bed and he wouldn't touch me. And at times he'd wake up in the middle of the night and start bawling, mostly about the deal he was giving his wife. Some guys enjoy two-timing their wife; with others, it
