our first state dinner since Pearl Harbor. We will be entertaining the president of Peru. For a week I will remain in the Los Angeles area, where I do have some things to do, including gathering material for my column, and though I have resigned from the Office of Civil Defense, I have agreed to prepare a discreet report on California defense. May I assume you will accept the task?”
I stood up with her, thinking for the first time since I had seen her in my office that this would give me a week or two before I had to go back to checking out the Grumman job. Besides, it was my patriotic duty. I was thinking about how to bring up the question of money when I took the hand she offered me.
When she released my hand, she went into her shopping bag and pulled out an envelope, which she handed me.
“There is three hundred dollars in the envelope,” she said, pulling her coat around her shoulders and picking up the shopping bag. “It is my own personal money and I will provide more if it is needed. I cannot give you a check because I do not want my name on any document associated with this. I will, however, expect an itemization of your expenditures. My secretary knows your name and will take a message if I am not there when you call. Have you any questions?”
“None,” I said. “I’ll get right on it.”
Eleanor Roosevelt turned to look at the photograph of my father, Phil, me, and the dog. She paused for a second, looked at the picture, and then looked back at me and said, “Be careful Tobias, and keep me informed.”
With that, she was gone. I opened the envelope, found the pile of twenties, which I folded into my well-worn
There wasn’t much question about where I would begin. Finding Jane Poslik and Roy Olson didn’t even require my going to the phone book. Mrs. Roosevelt had provided both of their addresses. The only choice was which one to start with and that was easy, the woman who had written the letters.
I swept off the top of my desk, shoved the notebook and pencil into my pocket, took the final handful of All- Bran, washed it down with the cool remnants of Juarez coffee, and went into Shelly’s office. Seidman was gone, and I made a note to get in touch with my brother Phil before the day ended. I didn’t want him coming for me. It was never pleasant when Phil wound up coming for me, even when he started off reasonably friendly.
Shelly was sitting in his dental chair squinting at a pad of paper on his lap. He puffed away at his cigar and tapped his pencil on the pad. He heard me come back into the room and looked up.
“I’m working on an ad,” he explained. “How about ‘Good tooth care is vital for victory’?”
“Catchy,” I said.
“Sorta like the Rinso Jingle,” he mused. “You know, ‘Rinso White, Rinso White, happy little washday song.’ That’s the kind of thing I’m looking for, you know what I mean?”
“Sort of,” I said. “Look, I’ve got to go out. I’ve got a client. Will you-”
“You mean the one with the shopping bags?” he said, returning to his pad. “You should have her see me about those teeth. I can do all sorts of things with them.”
“I’m sure you could, Shel, but she’s from out of town, and I’m sure she’s got her own dentist,” I said.
“He isn’t doing much for her,” he went on, tapping his pencil. “You know she reminds me of someone. I just figured out who. You know that little lady in
“I know who you mean,” I said. “I’ll check back in later.”
“Sure, sure,” Shelly told his pad. “Toby, I could use your advice before you go.”
“Go ahead,” I said. In situations like this I had for some time said “Shoot,” but since someone had taken me literally in Chicago a few years before and shot me, I had gone for the simple though less colorful “Go ahead.”
“Promised Mildred we’d go out this weekend,” Shelly said, taking his cigar from his mouth and dropping a fat ash on his smock, where he failed to notice it. “I could suggest Volez and Yolanda at the Philharmonic Hall.
“Shel,” I said, reaching for the door. “Go for the culture even if it costs a few bucks extra. Mildred will appreciate it.”
I was through the door and standing in the anteroom when I heard Shelly say to himself, “Hot as a fire bomb,” and I knew where Mildred Minck would be on Saturday night.
I made my way back to No-Neck Arnie’s garage and told him to fill up the Ford with gas. He tilted his body to the side to look at me, and I proved my good faith and financial standing by showing him a twenty-dollar bill. Arnie filled her up.
“Took almost a full tank,” he said as we stood near the pump amidst the aroma of gasoline.
“Great,” I said. The best way to handle things was to keep the tank full since the gas gauge didn’t work. It had broken within minutes of my buying the car from Arnie. Arnie had advised me not to have it fixed because it wasn’t worth the expense. Fundless, I had agreed. I had learned since then that you can get used to almost anything, a wife leaving you, a war, various beatings, back pain, but the tension of never knowing if your gas tank is full or empty is too much for a reasonable human to have to bear.
“Arnie, I want the gauge fixed,” I said, getting into the car.
“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug as he rubbed his always greasy palms on his greasy overalls. “It’ll cost.”
“How much?”
“Maybe five, maybe more. Maybe even ten.”
He leaned on the car, foot on the running board, and examined the vehicle as if he had never seen it before. “Maybe ten.”
“Then let’s get it fixed,” I said, starting the engine.
“Came into a bundle, huh?” he said with a grin of wonderfully uneven teeth.
“Got a new client,” I explained. “Eleanor Roosevelt. I’m getting a nice fee for finding out who kidnapped the president’s dog.”
Arnie gave me a sour look as I pulled slowly away. “Come on,” he said wearily. “Never kid a kidder. You know what I mean?”
I knew what he meant, but I had never known Arnie to be a kidder. As far as I could see, he had no sense of humor except when it came to repairs, and then he was laughable. I stuck my head out of the window and called back, “I wouldn’t kid an old friend like you, Arn.”
Then I shot forward into the street, almost hitting a Plymouth driven by a gray man who looked like a broom handle. I gave him my best grin, turned on the car radio for a little music, found Fred Waring and His Pennsylvanians, smiled up at the morning sun, and headed for Burbank and Jane Poslik.
Fred Waring kept me company down Hollywood Boulevard, and through the hills. I listened to “Rosemary” and was about to get the news when I found the street where Jane Poslik lived. It was about two blocks off Burbank Boulevard on a residential street. Hers was one of the two-story brick apartment buildings nestled together for protection on a block of single-family frame houses. It was the kind of street where nothing happens during the day because everyone is working or the families are too old to have little kids.
Jane Poslik lived in the second floor apartment, but she didn’t answer her bell or my knock. I tried to look through the thin curtain on the window near the door, but nothing seemed to be moving inside. So I went downstairs and knocked at the door of a Molly Garnett. There was no answer but I could hear something moving inside, so I ham-fisted the door.
“Molly Garnett?” I shouted.
“Shut up out there,” came a shrill woman’s voice. “Shut up. Shut up. I’m not opening up for you, Leonard.”
“My name’s not Leonard,” I shouted. “It’s Peters. I’m looking for Jane Poslik. I’ve got to talk to her.”
“You’re not Leonard?” came the shrill voice.
