That made her smile; that wide smile of hers was a honey.
We chatted for a good hour. Not that we had much catching up to do; a few months ago in Chicago, we’d done our reminiscing about our summer together, back in ‘34. Some of that reminiscing had been between the sheets, but Helen and I weren’t lovers, anymore. Not really.
But we’d always be friends.
“I’m surprised to find you working Nassau in the off-season, Helen,” I said. “The wartime nightlife here is a little limited right now, or so I understand….”
She shrugged; she’d finished her lunch and was smoking a cigarette. “It was a Red Cross fund-raising drive benefit. You know how patriotic I am.”
And she was. She was an FDR fan, as well as a self-styled intellectual who leaned a bit left, and had attracted non-nude attention when she spoke out for the republican forces in the Spanish Civil War; she’d also got publicity out of lecturing at colleges. In between getting arrested for public indecency, of course.
“Sounds like you’re getting respectable in…”
“If you say ‘old age,’ Heller, I’ll conk you with a conch shell.”
“…these troubled times.”
Her smile turned crinkly. “I am respectable. Saturday night, at the Prince George. The Duke and Duchess of Windsor were ringside.”
“Pretty posh audience at that.”
She lifted her chin, blew out smoke elegantly. “Not only am I respectable, but my perfectly round balloons…”
“You’ve always had perfectly round balloons.”
“Shut up, Heller. The perfectly round balloons I
That made me laugh, and she laughed along.
“Well, then,” I said, “it was
I referred, of course, to Wallis Simpson, the American divorcee David Windsor, aka King Edward VIII, current Governor of the Bahamas, had abandoned his throne to marry-“the woman he loved!”
“Wallis smiled and giggled throughout. Frankly, the Duke was the one who seemed ill at ease. Embarrassed.”
“These ex-kings have no sense of humor.”
“I’ll say. I hear he’s issued an official ban on reporting that the Windsors actually saw my act. Of course, that ban doesn’t extend to my press agent back home.”
“Of course.” I clicked in my cheek. “The poor royal dears…banished to a tropical Elba like this.”
She lifted an arching, plucked eyebrow. “Well, there always have been rumors the Duke is a Nazi sympathizer. Churchill
“What would I do, without a burlesque queen to explain world politics to me?”
She slapped my arm, but she was smiling. “You’re such a louse.”
“That’s what you like about me.”
“True. But I have to say, I really do
“Admire her? Everybody says she’s a shrew who pushes poor ol’ Dave around.”
“That’s ridiculous! You’re just threatened by strong women, Heller!”
“Sorry,” I said sheepishly.
She smirked. “In fact, both the Duke and Duchess have chalked up a lot of good works to their credit, in the short time they’ve been here. The local Negro population has benefited particularly…”
“Here we go.”
“Be good. Did you know the Duke started a CCC-type farm, for the native men? And the Duchess works in the local Red Cross clinic, side by side with black women…something the local whites certainly wouldn’t lower themselves to do.”
“Really gets her hands dirty, huh?”
“Yes she does. Personally, I think they’re a lovely couple….”
“You, and every starry-eyed bobby-soxer in America. This bittersweet romance, these tragic lovers!” I laughed. “I can’t believe you’re seduced by this royal horseshit, a left-wing fan-dancing fanatic like you.”
“Heller, you’re getting cynical in your…”
“Watch it.”
“…these troubled times.”
“Thanks. Actually, I’ve always been cynical.”
“You just think you are. That’s why I should have married you: you’re the biggest, most romantic lug I ever met.”
“Fooled you.”
“You said you were doing a job here. Who for?”
“Sir Harry Oakes.”
The green-blue eyes lighted up; lashes fluttered. “No kidding! He’s a real character! You should have seen him at the benefit…eating peas with a knife, swearing like a sailor. But I didn’t get a chance to talk to him. What’s he like?”
“Dead,” I said.
Helen’s eyes were still saucers when somebody tapped my shoulder and I turned to see another pair of those dignified black bobbies.
“You must return to Westbourne, sir,” said the one who’d tapped on my shoulder.
And in their company, I did.
I was ushered into the billiards room, where the lights were off but for a small lamp on a fancy wooden card table along one wall. The effect was moody, like the lighting in an old Warner Brothers gangster movie. Looming above the card table was a huge stuffed fish-a swordfish or a marlin or something, I’m a city boy myself-swimming in the darkness.
Two men in baggy suits and fedoras were shrouded in these shadows. One was a tall, ruggedly handsome character in his forties, who looked like what a police detective was supposed to. The other, a fiftyish, chunky, hook-nosed guy in wire-frame glasses, was what police detectives did look like.
If the melodrama of this underlit room and these imposing figures was supposed to intimidate me, I could only stifle a laugh. Once upon a time, I was the youngest plainclothes officer in the history of the Chicago PD, thanks to a little honest graft, and could give these bozos lessons in scare tactics and the third degree.
In fact, all I could think of, when I looked at this pair, was Abbott and Costello.
“Is something funny?” the tall one asked.
“Not really,” I lied, and stopped smirking.
“You’re Heller?” the shorter pudgy one drawled.
“Yeah. And who would you be?”
“This is Captain Edward Melchen,” the tall one said, gesturing to his partner.
“And this is Captain James Barker,” the short one said, with a similar gesture.
Maybe I should wait for the applause to die down.
“You’re Miami PD,” I said.
“That’s right,” Barker said. Unlike his partner’s, his Southern accent was barely noticeable. “Sit down.” He gestured to the little lamp-lit table and the chair beside it.
I stayed put. “Why don’t you boys turn on the lights, take off your hats, and stay awhile?”
“I don’t like this guy,” Melchen said.
“I don’t like him either,” Barker said.
“Who’s on first?” I said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Barker snapped.
“Nothing. What are a couple Miami dicks doing working a murder in Nassau?”
