the right, away from the set, down a dark row of shelves to a caged room that looked like a tool storage space. The dog was sitting in the middle of the room, looking up at us and wagging his tail.
“I’ll have to take him,” I said.
“That’s fifty bucks and a good gag ruined,” he said. “And how do I know you’re who you say you are?”
“I’ve got a number you can call. Ask for Eleanor Roosevelt. Tell her who you are and ask her if she knows who I am,” I said, reaching for the cage.
“I’ll trust you,” sighed Keaton.
“Buster,” came the woman’s voice from across the warehouse.
“Coming,” said Keaton, opening the cage door.
The dog came running to us wagging his tail and leaped up in Keaton’s arms. The dog stuck his tongue out and licked the actor’s face.
“Likes the taste of makeup,” Keaton said.
“Looks that way,” I said, holding out my arms.
He shrugged and handed me the dog, which was heavier than I thought-which surprised me-but smelled like a dog, which didn’t surprise me. The dog didn’t like me as much as he did Buster and let out a whining sound.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” Keaton said, petting the dog. “Think you can get my fifty back from those two guys?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.
We had reached the front door through which I had come. The rain was still coming down hard and Keaton reached over to pet the dog once more. “I’ll need a cab,” I said, remembering that Jeremy had taken the car.
“Wait here,” Keaton said, “I’ll have April call one for you.”
Before he could turn, I glanced out the window in the door and got what was probably the shock of my not- young life. The rain soaked hulk of Bass shot up from below the window, blotting out the outside light and glaring at me. I almost dropped the dog, which let out a yelp, and Keaton turned to see Bass stepping through the door.
Bass, a dripping monster, hulked into the warehouse accompanied by thunder and the sound of dark pouring rain. I backed away clutching the whimpering dog and bumped into Keaton.
“The dog,” Bass said. His hands were out reaching for the dog.
“You owe me fifty bucks,” Keaton said solemnly.
“Let’s let that drop for now,” I said, backing away as Bass, his yellow hair dripping down in front of his eyes, reached out an arm to swat Keaton away.
Keaton dropped to a squat so quickly that Bass’s swinging arm cracked into a metal shelf. Bass’s face showed no sign of pain or feeling.
“The dog,” he repeated.
“Why does Lyle want the dog back?” I asked reasonably. “He just sold it, got rid of it.”
“The dog,” Bass repeated as I backed into a stack of crates and felt the rough wood against my back.
“Excuse me, Keaton interrupted, tapping Bass on the shoulder. “I paid fifty bucks for the dog. I say Peters takes it and you give back my fifty.”
Bass turned his head to the little actor, who barely came up to his chest. Keaton’s jaw jutted out the way it did in
“He’s a killer,” I warned.
“Don’t worry,” said Keaton. “I won’t hurt him.”
Bass was surprisingly fast for a big man, but Jeremy had told me he was. But that was fast for a wrestler. He had never met a Keaton. Bass reached for Keaton’s scrawny throat, but the actor dropped to the floor, rolled over once and came up on Bass’s rear. The dripping killer had a moment of confusion and then turned suddenly as Keaton ducked under his arm. Bass’s hand took the little hat, crushed it, and threw it at the actor, who caught it expertly.
Bass was now clearly distracted and challenged by this elusive gnat who he obviously didn’t recognize. My impulse was to try to help, but to do that I’d have to put the dog down, which might lead to losing him. Besides, Keaton was doing fine without my help. There wasn’t much room in the small lobby area, but it was too much for Bass to get his hands on Keaton. It was no match. Bass kept trying to cut off the space like a good clobbering puncher in the ring, but Keaton kept ducking right, left, or under his arms.
After two or three minutes, Bass was panting and damned mad and a voice behind me said, with exasperation, “Come on Buster, you can play with your friends later. We’ve got a crew waiting.”
The man called Jules stepped into the space, towel around his neck, and watched for a few seconds before turning to me to whisper, “Big guy’s not bad. Kind of scary. We could use him in the picture.”
“I don’t think he’s got the calling,” I said as Bass bellowed and took a massive plunge at Keaton, who seemed about to run into the front door, but made a sudden, impossible stop, pushed off the wall with his right foot and barely cleared Bass’s outstretched arm. Bass crashed heavily, headfirst into the wall, sagging apparently unconscious to the floor.
“Christ, Buster,” Jules grunted. “If you’ve hurt that guy, we can’t even pay the doctor bills.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Just lock him in the cage back there and feed him once a week.”
Keaton brushed himself off and moved to my side to pat the panting dog once more. He wasn’t even breathing heavily.
“I’ll have April get the cab for you, and we’ll call the cops to take our friend away,” said Keaton.
Our backs were to Bass and Jules had shouted, “Let’s get back to work.”
Something hit me hard and low and Keaton bounced away from a whirring arm. I spun into a corner and found my hands reaching for something to keep me from falling, which was why I knew I was no longer holding the dog.
When I did hit the wall and slumped down, I could see Bass in the doorway holding the barking dog. Keaton took a step toward him, but Bass had had enough. He opened the door and disappeared into the rain.
“I’ll get him,” Keaton said.
“No,” I groaned. “He’s my responsibility.”
I did a poor imitation of a man running and followed Bass into the rain, but he was out of sight by the time I hit the street. A car, big and dark but not Lyle’s Chrysler, was kicking up mud from the parking lot. I ran toward it but it made a right and shot off along the railroad tracks.
Keaton was still in the warehouse lobby when I sogged back in.
“No luck,” he said.
“I’ll get your fifty,” I promised.
“I’d rather have the dog,” he said.
Keaton went back to the set and I waited, watching the rain and trying to reach back to rub the spot over my kidney where Bass had heaved me into the cartons. The rain was doing my back no good either, but I ignored it reasonably well by wondering what Bass had been doing there, where Lyle was, and where Jeremy was.
A Red Top cab pulled up in about ten minutes-which, considering the rain, was pretty good service. The woman driver reached back to open the back door and I made a dash for it. The rain was letting up a little as I filled the cab with water.
The cabbie wasn’t a talker, which suited me just fine. I watched the rain while she drove me back to Hollywood. By the time we got to Mrs. Plaut’s boarding house, the rain had stopped and I owed the cabbie a buck twenty.
“Pretty soon, there maybe ain’t gonna be no cabs,” she said, accepting a quarter tip. “No gas. No rubber. No parts. No cabs.”
“You have a good day,” I said, getting out and walking slowly to the porch.
I had been walking with my head down. My back hurt less that way, so I didn’t see Jeremy sitting in the swing till I actually took the first of three wooden steps.
“I lost them,” he said.
“That’s all right, Jeremy,” I said, making it up the last step.
“I managed to get close enough once to see that Bass wasn’t in the car,” he went on. “I don’t know where he went. I think they spotted me following them.”
“They did,” I said, reaching for the front door. “Bass came back for the dog Lyle probably figured it would be safe to hide the dog by selling it to Keaton.”
