Neon Mirage

the mob’s race wire.”

“Well, he’s doing that, too. And building some goddamn gambling casino in the desert. Near Vegas. Pipedream, if you ask me.”

I shook my head wonderingly. “I guess I just don’t know much about Siegel-mostly just what I’ve read in the papers. If he’s thick with Raft, like they say, I may have an in. I did a job for George, once.”

“Raft’s real thick with Ben. They’re close pals.”

Last year, it seemed, Raft had gone to bat for Siegel in court, when Siegel and his crony Allen Smiley were arrested for bookmaking. Raft had been present, but wasn’t arrested, and later insisted on the witness stand that the three men, together in a hotel room, had merely been placing bets on the phone for themselves. Raft had behaved like a movie tough guy on the stand, barely skirting contempt (“Don’t I even have the right of free speech?” he demanded of the judge) and attracting headlines, which came back to me as Fred filled me in.

“Why would Raft put his nuts on the line for a guy like Siegel?” I wondered aloud.

“Hey, I like Benny, too,” Fred said, with a shrug. “He’s never shown his temper around me-and he pays his bills. He’s fun guy to be around, too. Charm the pants offa you.”

“You don’t mind if I keep my belt buckled for the time being, do you, Fred? If Bugsy’s killed half the people he’s said to have killed, not everybody would agree he’s fun to be around.”

“Make up your own mind, Nate. But you’re gonna be surprised.”

Fred had a black book with the unlisted numbers of various stars and other celebrities and Raft was in there. I called the actor’s house from Fred’s office and caught him at home. Raft immediately remembered me, immediately invited me out.

Fred loaned me one of the three cars the agency owned-a two-tone gray ’41 Ford sedan-and I discovered I’d been out here enough times now to find my way around okay. I pulled into Raft’s driveway as a sightseeing bus went by, gawking tourists looking out the windows, squinting in the sunshine to see if I was anybody. They seemed disappointed when I wasn’t, but then neither were they, so it evened out.

Raft, sitting in his poolside deck chair, was somebody. I wasn’t sure for how long, though. His association with Siegel was getting him the wrong kind of press; and he was constantly studio-hopping, balking at roles, taking suspensions, battling his bosses. When he was a hot property, fresh off of flipping his coin in Scarface, he could get away with it.

But at fifty years of age, Raft was not the combination tough-guy and Latin lover he had once been.

The nude young woman climbed from the pool, her bare backside to us; that goddamn ass could have been made of marble, so perfect was it. Only it looked considerably softer than marble, and was tan. All of her was tan. The blue water had hidden that. She turned and faced us and stretched her arms, embracing the rays of the sun. Her pubic patch was blond. She tugged the bathing cap off and shook her long blond hair to her damp shoulders and she smiled, looking a little like Betty Grable, one of Raft’s lost loves, or so the gossip columnists said.

She walked over regally and stood before the small dark man in the blue silk robe; she was taller than he was, and half his age. Hands on her hips, she said, “Thanks for the swim.”

“Thank you.”

“Thanks for everything.”

“My pleasure.”

“Would you like me to stick around this afternoon?”

“No, baby. That’s okay.” He dug into his robe pocket and withdrew a C-note, folded in half. He handed it to her and she smiled toothily and trotted off, cheeks of her ass wiggling and finally revealing themselves to have some fat content, after all, and she disappeared inside to wherever her clothes were and where the big band music was coming from.

The girl had never acknowledged my presence. I might as well have not been there.

Raft was conscious of me, though, and as he lit up a cigarette he said, “It’s easier with hookers. I had too many romances fall through. Take my advice, Nate. If you got the dough, stick with call girls.”

I couldn’t understand why a guy like Raft, who even at his age could obviously get just about any woman he wanted, would pay. I didn’t say this. Just thought it.

But he said, “I’ll give you an example. Just this week I find out I got to go to court. This nightclub singer I was taking out last year is getting divorced and I’m named in the suit.” He shook his head. “Stick with call girls.”

“That’s probably good advice, George, but I’m serious about this Peggy Hogan. I want to find her, before Virginia Hill gets her hooks into her.”

“Who is this Peggy Hogan, anyway? How’d she get from Chicago to Hollywood?”

“She’s Jim Ragen’s niece.”

“Jim Ragen…the wire service guy?”

“Yes.”

“Ben’s in competition with that guy. Didn’t he get hit, what was it, couple weeks ago?”

Raft seemed to be sincere in his ingenuousness. He wasn’t a good enough actor, I didn’t think, to fake it so well.

“Yeah. You remember the story from the papers? Remember the part about the bodyguard whose shotgun jammed?”

He looked out at the pool, where no nude girl swam. “Naw. I don’t read so good. I just heard Ragen got hit.”

“Well, I was his bodyguard.”

“Are you working for him, Nate?”

“Yeah. He paid my way out here. He thinks a lot of his niece. He wants me to bring her back home.”

I didn’t see any reason going into why she’d come out here; no need to detail to Raft the desire Peggy (and for that matter her uncle) had to determine whether or not Ben “Bugsy” Siegel had hired that hit.

“Why don’t you go talk to Ginny,” he suggested, smoke curling out his nostrils as he looked out at the pool, not at me. “She’s probably home, or will be soon. She’s renting a place in Beverly Hills.”

“Peggy might be with her,” I said.

“Isn’t that what you want?”

I didn’t know what I wanted, really; I didn’t know how to go about this. On the endless plane trip I’d tried to figure what I’d say to her, how I’d get her home. I was furious with her, of course, but I was also worried. And I felt a little battered, too. She was supposed to love me. She wasn’t supposed to run out on me like this.

I’d waited a little over a week before the worry and no sleep got me on a plane. She didn’t call or even write, I couldn’t get in touch with her, it was maddening and I was scared shitless for her, besides. Jim was concerned for her absence, too, got really worked up, especially after I leveled with him about Peg talking about checking up on Siegel, by becoming part of Virginia Hill’s retinue. I didn’t like seeing the patient I was guarding get upset; it couldn’t be good for his recovery-even though Dr. Snaden said he thought Jim was doing much better than expected and would be going home in a matter of weeks. So I worked with Drury to tighten up security at Meyer House, putting Lou Sapperstein in charge of A-l’s end, and then proceeded to go west, middle-aged man.

“I’d be glad to call over there and see if Ginny’s home,” he said.

“Better not,” I said. “I don’t know if Virginia Hill would consider me a friend. I better just go over there. Can you give directions?”

“Sure,” he said. “Or just buy a movie star map. It’s Valentino’s old mansion.”

“La Hill doesn’t go second class, does she?”

“She probably uses mink tampax,” Raft said. “Sometimes I don’t know what Ben sees in her-she’s a coarse broad. She swears like a fucking stevedore.”

“I know her,” I said. “Foul mouth or not, she’s a babe, or used to be.”

Raft smirked. “Take a look around you, Nate. Every street corner has the four most beautiful women you ever saw standing on it, and next to ’em are the four second most beautiful. Guy like Ben can pick and choose.”

“What’s the reason he keeps her around, then?”

“Could be business. She’s tied in with a lot of his friends back east. It’s a partnership. A sort of marriage. And, yeah, she is still a babe. I remember what Benny said, after that first night with her, up at the Chateau Marmont…”

Raft looked skyward, as if summoning a romantic memory floating on some cloud.