CH04 - The Topless Tulip Caper

  “You’ll want something to drink,” he said to me now. “I believe you generally drink beer. I have Heineken’s and Lowenbrau.”

  There’s nothing wrong with either, but I’d had enough beer. I asked if he happened to have Irish whiskey. He didn’t, and he seemed genuinely apologetic. He gave me my choice of three different brands of expensive scotch. I took Dewar’s Ancestor, which turned out to be what he was drinking, too. He made a drink for me and freshened his own and motioned me to a pair of chairs near the wall of glass. He took one and I took the other and we both sipped whiskey.

  He said, “I have a problem. It started last night when Cherry was murdered. It’s not getting simpler. It’s getting more difficult.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “You’re with Leo Haig. He’s a private detective. I also understand he’s something of an oddball.”

  I admitted that some people probably thought so. I didn’t bother to add that I was one of them.

  “But I also understand he gets results.”

  “Well, he’s a genius,” I said. “And the only way to prove he’s a genius is by solving impossible crimes, so that’s what he does. He gets results.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Danzig leaned forward, set his glass down on top of a small marble-topped table. He didn’t use a coaster. Either glasses don’t leave rings on marble or he didn’t care. He could always throw the table away. I kept my drink in my hand. He said, “Cherry was a friend of mine, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “I had been seeing her for about a month, maybe a little longer than that. I probably would have gone on seeing her for another month. No more than that.” He smiled disarmingly. “I don’t seem to be very good at sticking to a woman. I find that any reasonably good-looking woman can be exciting company for perhaps two months. Then they become boring.”

  I didn’t have an answer for that one.

  “Unfortunately,” he went on, “Cherry was murdered. I’m sorry about that if only because I genuinely liked her. She was a warm, sweet person.” The smile went away. “I’m particularly sorry that she happened to be killed while I was involved with her. It’s awkward for me. As long as the case remains unsolved, the police have an excuse to intrude in my affairs. They might even keep the case open on purpose in order to provide themselves with an excuse to harass me. In my business, that’s a liability.”

  I didn’t ask him what his business was.

  “It’s unfortunate that I have to be exposed to this simply because of my friendship for Cherry. I’ve been friendly with quite a few of the young ladies who’ve worked at Treasure Chest. I go there frequently, I get acquainted with the people who work there. The dancers, the barmaids, the waitresses. I’m in a position to be of assistance to them in their careers, you understand. And they like a taste of the high life. They work hard, they don’t earn all that much money, they appreciate a decent dinner and civilized company.”

  “I see,” I said. I didn’t, if you want to know, but it was something to say.

  “You familiar with a fellow named Andrew Mallard?”

  “I never met him.”

  “Neither did I,” Danzig said. He smiled again. “That’s not what I asked.”

  “I know who he is.” (I’m very proud of that sentence, let me tell you. Is. Not was. That’s thinking on your feet, if I say so myself.)

  “Was,” Danzig said. “Not is. He died tonight.”

  “Oh?” (I’m less proud of that sentence, but they can’t all be zingers.)

  He nodded. “It was just on the radio. They identified him as a former close associate of Tulip Willing, roommate of murdered dancer Cherry Bounce. Somebody tipped the police and they found him dead in bed. His bed.”

  “How did he die?”

  “Choked to death on his own vomit,” Danzig said. He picked up his scotch and took a dainty sip. “Got drunk, passed out, then threw up in his sleep and sucked it into his lungs or something. You all right?”

  “Just a little nauseous.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s only dangerous if you happen to be unconscious at the time. Freshen that drink for you?”

  “No thanks.”

  He crossed to the bar and put another ounce or so of scotch in his own glass. “Now here’s my line of thought,” he went on, returning to his chair. “I think it would be very convenient if it happened to turn out that Andrew Mallard murdered Cherry. He was there. He could have done it. Any list of suspects would have to have him on it, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “There it is,” he said. “All Leo Haig has to do is prove Mallard killed Cherry. Then he got full of remorse over what he’d done and did some heavy drinking. And so on. How do you like it?”

  “Well, it’s certainly possible.”

  That’s the ticket.” He drew an alligator wallet from his jacket pocket and pulled out a sheaf of bills. They were hundreds, and he counted out ten of them, paused, studied me for a moment, and counted out ten more. I don’t know what he saw in my face that doubled the ante. Maybe the whole thing was just theatrics. “Two thousand dollars,” he said.

  “Uh.”

  Then he did something incredible. He took the twenty bills and tore them in half. I guess I wasn’t perfect at keeping a straight face, because he grinned at my expression.

  “For Haig,” he said, offering me what managed to be half of two thousand dollars without being one thousand dollars. “Here, take it. He gets the other half when he proves that Andrew Mallard murdered Cherry Bounce. That’s if he brings it off within three days. Take it.”

  I took it because it was impossible not to, but instead of holding onto it I set it down on the table next to Leonard Danzig’s glass of scotch. “There’s one problem,” I said.

  “Let’s hear it. I’m usually fairly good at straightening out problems.”

  I could believe it. I said, “The thing is, you don’t know Mr. Haig. I’m not saying he wouldn’t work for you, but suppose Andrew Mallard didn’t murder Cherry Bounce? Suppose someone else did?”

  Danzig thought this over. I’d hate to play poker with him. Nothing at all showed in his face. At length he shrugged and said, “All right, I just thought it was easier that way. No loose ends. What I’m concerned with is the time element. If Haig gets the murderer in three days he gets the other half of the two thousand. How’s that?”

  “Whoever the murderer is?”

  “Whoever.”

  I asked if I could use the phone. He pointed at one halfway across the room. I don’t suppose it was more than forty yards from me. “It might be tapped,” he said. “I pay a guy to check them out periodically, but he hasn’t been around for a few days.”

  I told him it didn’t matter. I didn’t dial Haig’s number because the phone had buttons instead of a dial I pushed Haig’s number and got him. I said, “I’m at Mr. Leonard Danzig’s apartment. I just learned that Andrew Mallard died earlier today. It was on the radio.” I went on to tell him the cause of death, then brought him up to date on Danzig’s proposal and my counterproposal. He said “Satisfactory” a couple of times, which made me very proud of myself, and then he talked some more and I listened. Finally he said, “I am going to sleep now, Chip. Don’t disturb me when you return. Your report can wait until morning. You made all the necessary arrangements?”

  “Yes.”

  “Goodnight, then. And come directly home when you leave Mr. Danzig’s apartment.”

  I said I would and hung up. To Danzig I said, “Mr. Haig says I should take your money.”

  Danzig smiled and pointed to the little pile of bills.

  “There are a couple of qualifiers first. You mentioned a three-day limit.”

  “If it went a few hours over—”

  “That’s not the point. Would it be worth a bonus if Haig wrapped it up within twenty-four hours. Say tomorrow afternoon?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt any. What kind of a bonus?”

  I was supposed to use my ju
dgment on this one, so I judged quickly. “Double,” I said. “Four thousand if it’s wrapped up tomorrow. Two thousand if we make the three-day limit. Beyond that you don’t owe us anything and you get the stack of homemade fifties back.”

  “Done.”

  “All right. The second point is that I’m supposed to ask you some questions now. Mr. Haig said he’s assuming that you did not kill Cherry and don’t know who did. He says only a rank fool would hire him under those circumstances, and I’ve used my intelligence guided by my experience to decide that you’re not a fool.”

  “I’m honored.”

  “Were you at Treasure Chest the night Cherry was murdered?”

  “Yes.”

  The admission was so direct that it stopped me momentarily. I got back into gear and said, “Were you there when it happened?”

  “I was on the premises.”

  “You missed the police dragnet.”

  “I went out the back. I didn’t know it was murder but I gathered she was dead and I didn’t want to be found on the premises in an official investigation.”

  “Are you the owner of Treasure Chest?”

  “Let’s say I’m a good friend of Gus Leemy’s. Will that do for the moment?”

  “Sure. Do you have any idea who might want to kill Cherry?”

  “No one now. She’s already dead.”

  “I mean—”

  He crossed one leg over the other. “Just a small joke,” he said. “No, frankly, I have no suspects. I rather like the idea of Andrew Mallard, but that’s simply because it would be so convenient that way. And he seemed to be a disturbed person. Would a sane man choose that way to kill a woman?”

  I wanted to say that a sane man wouldn’t kill anybody for any reason but I didn’t know how well this would go down, because I had the feeling that Danzig had killed people now and then, or had had them killed, and this would mean calling him a lunatic by implication.

  “And you saw nothing suspicious?”

  “Nothing. I was in no position to see anything at the time the incident occurred. I was in the office in the rear with Gus.”

  “Was anyone else with you at the time? I don’t mean that you and Gus can’t alibi each other, that’s all right. But if other people were with you we could also rule them out.”

  “I’m afraid we were alone together.”

  I drank the last of my scotch. It was really great scotch. I said I guessed that was about it. “Mr. Haig wants you at his office at three-thirty tomorrow afternoon,” I said. “You might as well bring the other half of the two thousand. Plus another two thousand.”

  He got to his feet and we began the long walk to the door. “Three-thirty,” he said. “I’ll be there. I wouldn’t want to miss it. He really thinks he can come through in that short a time?”

  “Evidently. He wants to earn the bonus.”

  But the bonus wasn’t the big consideration, I knew. What Haig really wanted was the applause.

  Thirteen

  THE CAB DROPPED me at West 20th Street around two- thirty. I used one key to let myself into the courtyard, climbed two flights of stairs, and used another key to let me into Haig’s half of the house. There was a light on in the office and I guessed that he hadn’t been to sleep after all, but when I went in ready to hit him with some smartass remark or other his chair was empty and Tulip was sitting on the couch reading a Fredric Brown novel. Mrs. Murphy’s Underpants, one of the late ones.

  “This is pretty good,” she said. “Have you read it?”

  “Sure. Mr. Haig made me read everything of Fredric Brown’s. That’s not supposed to be one of his best.”

  “I’m enjoying it anyway. I like the way the two detectives play against each other. An uncle and a nephew.”

  “Ed and Am Hunter, right.”

  “Do you and Mr. Haig interact the same way?”

  “Not exactly. Of course we’re not related, which helps. Or hinders. I’m never entirely sure which. Also Ambrose Hunter is supposed to be reasonably sane.”

  “Well, Mr. Haig—”

  “Is crazy,” I said.

  “But—”

  “That doesn’t mean he isn’t a genius. Maybe all geniuses are crazy. I couldn’t honestly say. For instance, thirteen hours from now he’s going to trap a murderer. Don’t ask me how because I don’t know. Don’t ask him, either, because I’m not convinced he knows, and even if he does he’s not telling. But he’s going to have the whole crowd here, all sitting on chairs with their hands folded, and if he doesn’t deliver he’s going to look like Babe Ruth would have looked if he pointed to the fence and then struck out. The one thing he doesn’t want is to look ridiculous, and with his shape and mannerisms he has a good head start in that direction, so he really has to deliver. And he probably will, but don’t ask me how.”

  “It’s kind of exciting,” she said.

  I agreed that it was. I said I thought I’d have a beer and asked her if she wanted anything. She didn’t. I uncapped the beer in the kitchen and brought the bottle into the office with me. I asked her when Haig had gone to sleep.

  “Right after he got your call. He said he was very tired. I guess he didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “Nobody did,” I said, and yawned. “I’m completely shot myself. As soon as I finish this beer and unwind a little I’m going to stretch out on the couch and make Z’s.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry, this is where you’re going to be sleeping, isn’t it? I’ll go upstairs now.”

  I waved her back to the couch. “I have to unwind first,” I said. “And you’re the one who ought to be exhausted. Did you get any sleep last night?”

  “Not really. They kept moving me around from one stationhouse to another.”

  “Yeah, the old cop shuffle. The hell of it is that they knew damned well you didn’t kill Cherry. They just wanted to give you a hard time because you were Haig’s client.” I yawned. “Ed and Am Hunter. That’s funny. Am Hunter was in a carnival for years. Can you see Leo Haig as a pitchman? I can’t.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She considered, then giggled. I liked her wide-open laugh better.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Well, Ed Hunter certainly goes over well with the girls in this book.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “No, I meant it as a compliment.”

  “You did?”

  “Well, yeah. You probably do pretty well yourself. And the two of you do play off each other the same way, even if you’re not related.”

  “We were almost related,” I said. “A couple of months ago the cops picked me up and held me for seventy-two hours. They were just making a nuisance of themselves. As usual.”

  (It was an interesting case, incidentally. I never wrote it up because there wasn’t enough to it to make a book out of it, and there was no sex in it, and Joe Elder at Gold Medal insists it’s impossible to sell a book without sex in it. Maybe I’ll try to write it up as a magazine story one of these days.)

  Tulip frowned. “I don’t get it,” she said. “I mean, it’s terrible that they locked you up and all, but how does that make you and Haig almost related?”

  “It doesn’t make us almost related. What it did was almost make us related. See, they wouldn’t let him visit me in jail because he was neither a relative nor an attorney. He decided this might come up in the future so what he wanted to do was adopt me. He said it made perfect sense considering that my parents are dead. I told him it was ridiculous because I might someday become a partner in the firm.”

  “So?”

  “So Haig & Harrison is possible,” I said. “But Haig & Haig is ridiculous, unless you happen to be producing scotch whiskey. That wasn’t the reason I wanted to avoid being adopted but it was a reason that made perfect sense to him, and—”

  She began to laugh, and I joined in, and we really did quite a bit of hard-core laughing. Then we stopped as suddenly as we started and Tulip looked at me with her upper lip trembling slightly and I thought
she was going to cry. I sat on the couch next to her and took hold of her hand.

  “Everything’s so funny,” she said, “and then I remember that Cherry’s dead and Andy’s dead and I don’t know how I can laugh at anything. And the murderer must be someone I know. That’s the most frightening thing in the world. Somebody I know committed murder.”

  I put an arm around her and she sort of settled in against my shoulder. I gave her shoulder a squeeze and took her hand with my other hand.

  “Who do you think did it, Chip?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Could it have been Andy?”

  “I suppose it could have been anybody. How did he get on with Cherry?”

  “I’m not even sure they ever met. Where would he get hold of poison? Where would he get a key to my apartment? I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “I’m just so confused.”

  She snuggled closer and I got a healthy lungful of her perfume. It was all I needed. I mean, the whole scene was beginning to get a little strange. I was playing a kind of comforting Big Brother role, which was weird in that she was not only older than me but bigger. And at the same time she was turning me on something terrible, and it shouldn’t have been that way because the scene itself wasn’t fundamentally sexual, but go tell yourself that when you’re turned on. I looked down at her body and remembered what it looked like with no clothes on it, dancing merrily away on the stage at Treasure Chest, and then I closed my eyes because the sight of her was doing things to me, and having my eyes shut didn’t really help at all because I could see her just as well with them shut.

  “It’s all so rotten,” she said.

  I took a breath. “Look,” I said, “I think you’d better go to sleep, Tulip. It’s late and you’re exhausted, we’re both exhausted. Things will look better in the morning.”

  “That’s what people always say, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I didn’t claim to originate the line.”

  “Maybe things will look better in the morning. But will they be any better?”

  “Uh.”

  “I guess you’re right,” she said. She got to her feet. “Could you show me where my room is?”