The Howard Hughes Affair: A Toby Peters Mystery (Book Four) (15 page)

The radio went off, and I felt myself being dragged across the floor, one man on each arm. It didn’t do my wrists any good, but at least they weren’t dragging me by the feet and bumping my head.

A door opened and I felt myself thrown into a room. My chest hit something hard and I bounced into what I decided was a bed. My hands were tied tight behind me and hurting.

Hans and Fritz said something more in German and closed and locked a door. I opened my eyes to darkness and listened. They talked more and then I heard footsteps going out the front door and the faint slam of a car door.

From the other room, I heard the radio come on again, and whoever was left in there caught the end of
District Attorney
. My guess was that the listener was the wheezer and that Skeleton had gone somewhere to get or give instructions or buy himself some carryout ribs. Since wheezer seemed to have no knowledge of English, I wondered what the attraction of
Mr. District Attorney
might be.

One thing was in my favor: they were sure I was unconscious and badly hurt. I knew I was awake and hurt, but not as badly as I was half the months of a given year. It took about five minutes to work my way off the bed without making too much noise. The radio helped cover me while the rusty springs did their best to give me away. I crawled under the bed with my face in the dusty carpet. I swallowed some blood to keep from sneezing and felt around for a sharp spring. I found one and as quietly as I could, ripped the cloth away to give it more room. Then I slowly worked the ropes against the sharp point of the spring. I went strand by strand on one spot, hoping I’d get through before Hans decided to take a look at me. I figured he’d at least listen through to the end of the show, which was just about what it took me to get the rope frayed enough so I could give it a tug and come free.

I had trouble getting my hands back in front of me and convincing the blood to recirculate. I was numb from the shoulders down, and it took about three minutes before there was any feeling in my arms and hands. I crawled out from under the bed and tested my legs just as Jay Joyston was saying, “And it shall be my duty as district attorney, not only to prosecute to the limit of the law all persons accused of crimes perpetrated within this country, but to defend with equal vigor the rights and privileges of all its citizens.”

I got behind the door just as the radio was clicked off. Heavy footsteps came toward me. I felt for a weapon and found a lamp on a table near the bed. The door came open and Hans the short wheezer stepped in. He flipped a wall switch and the light came bright in my hand. I gave it a pull, sending the room back into darkness and lunged, hitting him in the face with the base of the lamp. He staggered back into the living room and I came out, dropping the lamp. He was sitting on the floor, stunned, holding his bloody nose and groping for something under his jacket. I ran across the room and kicked at his stomach. His hands came up and he let out a loud “oooph,” which suited me just fine. When he turned to avoid any other attack, his head hit the side of an end table and he was out.

I touched my torn cheek and rubbed my sore belly while I did some wheezing myself. I could have waited for the Skeleton to come back and try to surprise him, or I could have called the cops; but the only charge I could use was assault, and I didn’t think I could make that stick. I also didn’t think I could get the Skeleton to talk, and I wasn’t sure of what I could get out of the wheezer when he got up.

I decided to get the hell out of there. I went toward the front door and heard a car pulling up, so I turned and went through the house and found the back door. I opened it just as I heard the front door open and Skeleton’s voice hiss something in German. The hiss did more to scare me than a good shout. I ran for the dark and the trees and turned when I got behind a bush about fifty yards away.

In the back door against the light, I could see the Skeleton standing with his pistol and staring into the night. “I underestimated you,” he said, “but I won’t the next time.”

“Who’s writing your dialogue?” I said unable to resist. “Monogram?”

He fired a shot in the general direction of my voice, but it didn’t come within ten yards. At least I didn’t think it did.

I scrambled down the hill in the general direction of where I thought the road might be. I could hear Fritz the skeleton breaking bushes behind me. It was dark enough to hide, but the evening’s exercise had taken a lot out of me. I also knew from my experience at the Y how persistent a tracker Fritz could be. He didn’t seem to know the area very well, which gave me a good start, but I soon saw that he had an advantage, a flashlight. He may have picked it up back in the kitchen or had it in his coat pocket. Wherever it came from, it sent out a firm beam I could see back over my shoulder.

He seemed to gain a little ground on me, and with the beam extending his distance about thirty yards I didn’t want it and a bullet to hit me. I went behind a tree, trying to keep from panting. The tree broke the beam, which fell on both sides of me and then moved away. I could hear the skeleton’s footsteps on the other side of the tree. A bug about the size of a quarter decided to nest in my mouth. I spit him out reflexively.

“I hear you, Peters,” said Fritz. “And be assured I will find you.”

It was confident talk for a man I could now hear walking in the wrong direction, away from me. I didn’t give a damn about the road anymore. I moved as quietly and as fast as I could in the opposite direction of his footsteps.

It was about twenty-five minutes later that I finally stumbled on the main road and found a gas station with a wash room. I cleaned myself up, after paying the kid attendant five bucks and telling him I had an accident. I don’t know what the kid believed.

The gas station clock said it was 10:30. My watch said it was 4:15. I called Shelly Minck at home, told him where I was and asked him to come and get me. It took some arguing with his wife, but he finally agreed.

I gave the kid another five and told him I’d wait in his toilet till my doctor came for me. I described Shelly and told the kid to tell no one else I was there. He agreed, and I sat there waiting.

Shelly arrived in about 45 minutes, during which time I had stopped the bleeding in my mouth and had come up with no great ideas other than to be careful, have another talk with Gurstwald and talk to the only one present at the Hughes house that night who I had not seen—the butler, Martin Schell. I also had an appointment with Hughes at midnight and would have to hurry if I wanted to come even close to making it.

I let Shelly talk and complain all the way back to L.A. and my parked car on Hope Street near the Y. He talked of ships and shoes and ceiling wax, or at least he talked of cavities and made a bad sex joke about a dentist who seduced one of his patients and got sued for filling the wrong cavity.

He wondered why I didn’t laugh. I told him I had a lot on my mind and a sore in my mouth.

“You pay Jeremy to get the office cleaned up?” I asked as he let me off at my car.

“He wasn’t around today,” Shelly said and then added, “How about writing Dr. Sheldon S. Minck, Specialist, on the new door?”

“Sounds great,” I said. “It’ll bring in a classier set of clients from the hall.”

He pushed his glasses back and nodded in agreement. I thanked him and he pulled off.

I got in my Buick fast and drove for a block without thinking about where I was going. Hans and Fritz had followed me to the Y. They may have known where my car was. They could have been waiting for me to come back to it. The Skeleton of Calabasas knew where my office was and wouldn’t have any trouble finding where I lived. He could pick his own time and place, and next time he wouldn’t give me a chance to get away.

I drove home, parking my car almost two blocks away on a side street in the hope of getting in through the back door. I almost made it. If Mrs. Plaut hadn’t turned on the kitchen light when I hit the alley, I wouldn’t have seen the Skeleton standing in what had been shadows a fraction of a second earlier. He backed away from the window into new darkness, and I went back down the alley, sure that he hadn’t seen me.

I drove to Culver City as fast as I could and rang Anne’s door bell. She answered, and I hurried up the stairs and down the hall. She was about to close the door when she saw my bloody shirt, tired eyes and puffed face.

“Why here?” she said. “Why here?”

“There wasn’t anyplace else,” I lied. I could have gone to Shelly’s or any of a dozen former clients.

Anne was in a robe, and I had obviously gotten her out of bed.

“Come in and make it fast,” she said.

I went in.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a clean man’s shirt around, would you?” I asked, heading for the bathroom. I noticed that the bookmark in
The Keys of the Kingdom
was in about the same place as it had been the last time I was there. “You know, maybe Ralph dropped one or something.”

I recleaned my face and took off my shirt. She met me in the bathroom with a clean white shirt. I had been joking, and the joke had turned on me.

“Thanks,” I said.

She shrugged and I put on the shirt. It was all right in the chest and sleeves but the neck was too large, which didn’t matter since I left it open.

“Does this have something to do with the job for Mr. Hughes?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “And you got me the job.”

“Don’t try to make me feel guilty, Toby,” she said quietly. “If it wasn’t this job, it would be another one.”

“You’re right,” I said. “What time do you have?”

She told me it was a half hour past midnight. As I moved past her, my arm brushed against her breasts. She backed away as if I had bitten her.

I finished buttoning my shirt and went for the phone. I dialed the police and put on my Italian accent.

“Hey,” I said sleepily, “They’sa guy in backa the house behind me standing ina the yard with a greata big gun. Yeh. Right now. I got up getta myself a glass milk and I see him there and I say so to Rosa my wife. I wake her up an I say I’m gonna calla cops. So, I’m call.” I gave the cop the address, told him my name was Henry Armetta, and hung up.

“Thanks Anne,” I said.

“I don’t care if you have a bullet in your head next time,” she said evenly. “If you come here again, you don’t get in.”

“Right,” I said seriously. “I understand.”

I went out in the hall with the sound of the door closing behind me and wondered what I would pull the next time I wanted to see her. It was getting harder all the time.

By the time I got to the address Hughes had told me to meet him at, it was well after one in the morning.I recognized the place as an old movie studio that went back to the early silents. Since then it had been rented out for independents. It was a big barn of a building with a couple of small offices. I went into the outer glass-enclosed office and could see beyond it that the lights were on in the building. A blackboard inside the office had “Caddo Corp” written in chalk. Behind the desk sat one of the two FBI look-a-likes from my first visit with Hughes. The other one stood next to the desk.

“You’re late,” said the one behind the desk as he rose.

“I was detained,” I said.

“Mr. Hughes said to tell you that your services were no longer needed,” said the other guy. “You will be paid for two weeks work with a bonus. Mr. Hughes insists that people be prompt to appointments.”

“Let me get this straight,” I said, pointing at the last one who had spoken. “I’m getting fired from this case because I’m an hour late?”

“It’s not quite like that,” said one of the two without emotion.

“Is Hughes in there?” I asked evenly.

“Yes,” Number One said, “but he doesn’t wish to see you.”

“He’ll see me,” I said. “Since I took this job for Mr. Hughes, I’ve been beaten, brained, tortured and shot at. I’ve had two corpses dumped on me and my life might not be worth a used Hughes drill bit. Now I’m late this morning because of this case and I’m going to see Howard Hughes or make a lot of noise.”

Number One came around the desk and reached for my arm. His plan was to push it behind my back and shove me out or further. He was prepared for me to struggle, but I didn’t. I wasn’t after a fight. I was after his gun. I let him take my left hand and reached for the gun under his jacket with my right. It came out easily. Number One dropped my arm and backed away. I levelled the gun at him.

“I’ll see if I can find Mr. Hughes,” he said, making a move to the door. Number Two slowly showed his empty hands.

“I’ve got a better idea,” I said. “Why don’t we have him come here?”

I turned the gun to the ceiling and fired a couple of shots. The gun jerked in my hand and made a hell of a noise in the small room, sending my eardrums quivering.

In less than ten seconds, Howard Hughes burst through the door leading into the studio. His mustache was gone, and he was wearing a fedora tilted back on his head. He had no jacket and looked even younger than before. A group of people stood behind him including a guy in a cowboy suit. Hughes looked at my gun without a sign of concern and waved away the people behind him. He closed the door and faced me, saying nothing.

“I’ll say it slow and I’ll say it once,” I said. “I’ve got a lot to tell you, but the most important thing is that I’m late tonight because two guys who I think had something to do with taking those plans kidnapped me and beat the hell out of me. I should be dead now or collecting pats on the back for getting here at all instead of having this bunch of shit about being fired for being late.”