“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Pook said, holding up two hands palm-down to keep the situation calm.
“Maybe I looked like someone else to her,” Shelly pleaded.
“Nobody else looks like you, Shel,” I said.
I got up and was about to tell them that we didn’t have much choice, that we’d have to call the police. Pook took a couple of steps toward the kitchen door. It opened and Kudlap Singh filled the doorway. Our eyes met. I automatically put both hands on my
“She’s dead,” I said.
“That I can see,” Forbes said. “I know a dead person when I see one.”
His face didn’t change, but his eyes were moist. He knelt at Luna’s side and touched her hair and her cheek, let out a deep sigh, and stood facing me.
“You are dead,” he said, waving his arm in a gesture that took in me, Jerry, and Pook.
“We didn’t kill her, Forbes,” I said. “She walked in and fell right there a few seconds before you walked in.”
“I said,” Forbes repeated. “You are dead.”
“Hey,” said Pook, stepping forward. “We’re just actors. Peters hired us to come in and play tough guys.”
“That’s right,” said Jerry. “Did you see
“Right,” said Pook. “And when she came in she said the fat guy killed her.”
He nodded at Shelly.
“He’s right,” Jerry agreed.
Shelly was too scared to speak, but his glasses were starting to slip down his nose the way they did when he had a particularly reluctant tooth in his pliers.
“Forbes,” I said. “She walked in right in front of you. How could any of us?. .”
“He here with you?” Forbes said, nodding at Shelly, who plunged his hands in his pockets to protect his fingers.
“Yes,” I said.
“No,” Pook stepped in helpfully. “He came late, just before the lady.”
Shelly’s mouth was open. He had lost his cigar. His brow was wet and he was shaking his head no and looking to me for salvation.
“Got it,” Lou Canton called from the door.
Forbes turned his eyes to me. They were very gray, very cold eyes.
“That’s two bucks extra for repairs,” Lou said, moving past us without noticing Luna’s body in the middle of the floor. “Plus it cost me two bucks plus to take a Red-Top cab here from Glendale.”
“You weren’t supposed to come today, Lou,” I reminded him.
Lou glanced at the trembling Shelly and said, “You teach her to dance and you can keep my pay.”
Lou was back working on the piano when he finally took a good look in our direction and saw the bloody Luna on the floor. He calmly began to collect his music and put it back in his portfolio.
“I just realized,” he said, facing us. “I wasn’t supposed to come today.”
“Nobody moves. Nobody leaves and nobody speaks,” Forbes said.
We all stood quietly while Forbes knelt, touched Luna’s hair, and muttered so low that I was the only one who heard him, “You were a bitch and a half, lady, but you made me feel alive.”
He stood up, adjusted the line of his trousers, and looked at each one of us to be sure he remembered.
“I start with the little fat one,” he said, looking at Shelly, “and then the rest of you.”
Lou strode over, his portfolio tucked under his thin arm, his toolbox in the other hand.
“What do I hear, threats?” he said. “You threatening me?”
“No, just shut up and go home, old man,” Forbes said wearily before he turned and pointed to me. “You know what Luna was to me?”
“Yes,” I said.
“No,” said Forbes. “You do not. She was nothing to me. I barely knew the lady. And that’s what I plan to tell the cops. And that’s what you tell the cops.”
“Why?” said Lou. “You already said you’re gonna kill them all. You gonna kill ’em twice if they tell the cops you were bouncing the babe?”
“I told you to go home, old man.”
“I’m going home,” Lou said. “Peters, drop by with cash and hand it to me if you still have fingers.”
And Lou was gone.
“Eight floors over our heads my wife is sleeping after a long night of making my life miserable,” Forbes said. “She is why I am telling you that I barely knew Luna. Play this on my side and maybe I’ll let the three of you live. But the fat one goes.”
“Sounds like a good deal to me,” said Pook.
“Me too,” said Jerry.
“Look at him, Forbes,” I said, pointing to Shelly. “He’s a goddamn dentist.”
“She pointed to him?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Jerry helpfully.
“Enough for me,” said Forbes. “He goes and your Fred Astaire goes with him. If Luna hadn’t got this thing in her head about Astaire. .”
He looked down at Luna once more, shook his head, and left the ballroom with Kudlap Singh two steps behind him.
“Don’t touch anything and don’t leave,” I told my quivering crew. “I’m calling the cops.”
“Forbes said. .” Jerry started as I walked toward the double doors.
“I’m calling the cops,” I repeated. “Shelly, go sit down and have a glass of water.”
“Fingers,” Shelly mumbled, looking at his hands. “Fingers. I’m a dentist. I need my fingers.”
“He said he was going to kill you,” Pook said helpfully. “Not cut off your fingers.”
“He could do both,” Shelly answered defiantly.
I went to make my call. There was a pay phone in the carpeted hallway. No sign of Forbes or the Beast of Bombay. I called the Wilshire District station and got a woman’s voice I didn’t recognize. I asked for Lieutenant Pevsner or Lieutenant Seidman. She asked me why. I said, “homicide,” and she put me through to my brother.
“Pevsner,” he answered as if someone had just jolted him from a nap and he didn’t like being jolted.
“Toby,” I said.
“I’m in the middle of something,” Phil said. “Call back.”
“Murder,” I said.
A long nothing on the other end and then a resigned sigh and, “Who’s dead?”
“Woman named Luna Martin. Ballroom of the Monticello Hotel. A few minutes ago.”
“Stay there,” he said and hung up.
I went back to the ballroom. Pook was leaning against a wall, arms folded. He glared at me when I came in. Jerry and Shelly were sitting on the edge of the bandstand. Jerry wouldn’t meet my eyes. Shelly would. He pointed at me and said, “You are going to get me killed. I volunteered to help you and you are going to get me killed.”
“No one is going to kill you, Shel,” I said.
“And who’s going to stop him?” Shelly said, trying to keep his glasses on his nose. “These actors? Gunther, who’s two feet tall?”
“Gunther’s out of town,” I said. “And he’s more than three feet tall.”
“Ah, so you’re going to keep me alive with a full supply of fingers? Comforting,” he said, turning to Jerry, who ignored him. “I can sleep nights now. Toby Peters is on the case.”
The four of us waited, trying not to look at the beautiful corpse, until Phil, Steve Seidman, and two uniformed officers showed up twenty minutes later.
Phil, a block of a man with short steely-gray hair, came in first. His tie was loose and his jacket was open, but reasonably pressed. My sister-in-law, Ruth, saw to that. There was a look of annoyance on Phil’s face that looked uncannily like the look on his face in the photograph in my office. Steve Seidman, a thinning-haired scrawny man, was four or five steps behind Phil, as he had been since they had become partners two decades earlier. Phil waved
