“Sure.”
Brenda eased herself out of the chair and took a leisurely trip across the black-and-white checkerboard rug and out of the room. I heard her off somewhere giving orders in something that might have been Spanish. She was back in a few seconds.
“Carlotta will bring your drink in a few moments,” she said, going to the piano, picking up another cigarette, and putting it back down again. She was nervous. Maybe it was me, seeing me again and remembering some bad times. Maybe it was something else.
“Has Talbott had any threats?” I asked. “Any problems?”
“Richard’s primary threats are to his liver, and his primary problem is his capacity to serve as a receptacle for the entire importation of scotch into California.” She smiled prettily as she spoke and searched for something to fiddle with.
“Lady, you are a real expert in picking your men,” I said.
“I do seem to have a certain talent for it, don’t I?”
“Talbott,” I said.
“Yes, Richard.” Her sigh lifted her breasts under her dress and demanded my attention. It was her scene, and I let her play it. “He and a producer are out for a late-morning business session at one of Richard’s favorite bars, of which there are several within vomiting distance.” She looked out the window and then up at her portrait and touched her hair before going on. “It’s some sort of big foreign deal, and I doubt if they will be back for some time. Do you plan to tell me what it’s all about? This scene could stand cutting …”
At which point Carlotta, wearing a black dress and being very tiny, came in and handed me a tall lemonade with ice and a little smile. Brenda drank nothing. Carlotta walked out. The whole thing was very elegant, and I wasn’t.
“There’s a nut who’s got it in for Talbott and a few other movie people,” I said. She looked at me seriously.
“Richard is used to that,” she said. “So are most stars.”
“This one has probably killed someone.”
Something hit her in the gut, and she didn’t have time to be pretty about it.
“So, I’d like to find Talbott, talk to him, warn him, and maybe set up some protection for him while he stays off the streets till I catch the guy,” I went on.
Brenda moved toward me. I gurgled some lemonade, which was too sweet, and looked for some place to put it without leaving a ring. There was no place. I held it.
“There was a call yesterday,” she said. “Richard said it was just a stupid fan, but he was shaken by it. It might …”
“It might,” I agreed, handing her the glass. She took it, stared at it without seeing it, and placed it on a shiny black table. “I think I’ll just wait here till he gets back, if it’s all right with you.”
“Of course,” she said. The act was dropping fast now. We had gone beyond her usual lines, and the scene wasn’t going to end in a seduction or a burst of anger. Maybe I’d get a glimpse of the Brenda Stallings buried under a decade and a half of Brenda Stallings. Her pink mouth opened slightly. I remembered that pink mouth. She started to say, “Toby, Mr. Peters I-”
“Hold it,” I jumped in. “This producer Talbott is with. Did he know him? I mean before.”
“No,” she said. “He called this morning and … you don’t think?”
“Sometimes I do, like right now. What did the guy look like?”
I got up and walked over to her. The front was dropping fast. Her hand went to her forehead and brushed away her hair.
“I didn’t see him. I was upstairs. Richard-”
“Did he have a name? The producer?”
“I’m trying to think.” And she was. She pressed her hand to her forehead to urge the memory out. “Resnick, I think.”
“How about Ressner,” I cued her, taking her arms.
She nodded weakly.
“That’s my man,” I said.
“It’s going to happen again,” she whispered and sank against me. She felt soft and good and smelled great, but I put her down gently and fast. “Where does Talbott like to hold his meetings? Brenda, where?”
“I’m trying,” she said. And she was. I backed away to give her some space. “Let’s see. He’s taken me to Buddy’s on Gower, the Manhattan off Fairfax, Trinity’s American on Hollywood Boulevard, the-”
“I’ll start with those,” I said, “and call you if I strike out. If he checks in, tell him that Ressner is a dangerous nut and to get away from him fast, find the nearest cop, and duck. You got that?”
She nodded.
“Toby, I’m sorry I shot you.”
“Apology accepted.” I went out of the room and just barely danced past Carlotta, who had been eavesdropping and didn’t have time to get away.
“Try the Manhattan first,” she whispered.
“Gracias,” I whispered back and ran out the front door and toward my new Ford.
The sky was closing in again as I pulled onto Santa Monica and tried to keep from going over the speed limit. I pushed the outer edges, flipped on the radio, which sputtered and gave me nothing, turned it off, and reached over to the glove compartment for my.38, which, of course, wasn’t there but back in my room in the white box.
Traffic started to back up on me, and I didn’t know how long I was taking. My watch didn’t help, the radio didn’t work, and my inner clock was foul. A Yellow cab with a sign on top saying GROUP RIDING IS PATRIOTIC GO YELLOW stopped abruptly in front of me and I almost plowed into him. Something did hit me from behind and the sound of metal hitting asphalt tinkled in my ear. I leaped out just as the guy who had plowed into me sped past with his head hunched down. My rear bumper lay in the street. I picked it up and shoved it into the narrow backseat through the front window. The car was too small to take the whole thing into the rear, so some of it had to stick out the passenger window.
“There are days, God,” I said to myself, “when even I don’t appreciate your sense of humor.”
There was no parking space open on Fairfax. I hadn’t expected one. I pulled in next to a fireplug, got out, and ran for the Manhattan. Outside, I pulled myself together, tried to stop panting, and stepped into the near-total darkness.
There were eight or nine people in the place. Three at the bar, the rest in booths. Even this early a guy was playing the piano and singing “It Ain’t Necessarily So.” I looked around for Talbott but didn’t spot him. I still didn’t know what Ressner looked like.
The bartender was a young guy in a red vest, white shirt, and red tie. I hurried to the bar.
“What will you have?” he said.
“Richard Talbott,” I answered. “I’m from Paramount. He has an urgent message. Has he been in here today?”
The bartender looked me over, wondering about the mugs studios hired to deliver messages.
“He was here with another guy,” he said.
“The other guy. What did he look like?”
The barkeep shrugged. “Dunno, kind of tall, dark glasses.”
“When did they leave? Where did they go?” I pushed.
“They didn’t leave,” he said. “They’re in the back.”
The back was apparently behind some heavy velvet red drapes. I pushed away from the bar and headed for them. Behind me I heard someone at the bar calling for drinks.
Beyond the drapes was a small alcove and a narrow corridor. Just inside the corridor was a men’s room and a ladies’ room. Beyond that were two doors. I pushed open the first door, which led to a medium-size private room with a few tables, a bar in the corner, and chairs. The room was empty, but an amber light was on in the ceiling and a Dewar’s Black Label sign glowed over the bar. I moved to the bar where two glasses stood and touched a small red liquid pool near one glass. It looked thick and brown in the light. It felt sticky and familiar.
Drops of the liquid spotted the tile floor and left a trail to the corner of the room where an emergency exit
