Эд Макбейн - The April Robin Murders

“Ten percent,” Bingo said automatically, and before he’d had time to think it through.

“Now, now, now,” Chester Baxter said. “I will have done all the work. And I will have taken all the chances.”

Bingo remembered again that the man they were seeking had, in all probability, killed Pearl Durzy, and said, “Twenty-five percent, and that’s final.”

“Oh, all right,” the small man said. He smiled and said, “I probably would have settled for ten.”

“Only,” Handsome said, “look. What’s to stop you from going right to the police when you find him, and collecting all the reward yourself? If there is a reward?”

It was another of the times Bingo wished Handsome would have kept his good-looking but big mouth shut.

Again Chester Baxter wore a pained look. “My dear young man,” he said, “I don’t want to be mentioned in connection with this, in any way. I will give you the information. You can give it to the police, or follow it up yourselves. If there is any money coming, I will drop around and collect.”

There would be no doubt of that, Bingo told himself.

“However,” Chester Baxter said, “think how it would look in my profession if it became known that I had, so to speak, put the finger on this guy? I have a reputation to maintain.”

“I would never, never damage anyone’s professional reputation,” Bingo said very solemnly. “Your name will never be mentioned.”

After the small man had gone, Handsome sighed and said, “Bingo, do you think he really knows where our Mr. Courtney Budlong is, or did he just want another five bucks?”

Bingo had been wondering the same thing, but he said, “He sounded like he knew. And if he does, it’s worth five bucks.”

A moment passed. “Bingo,” Handsome said, “it’s like you were saying this afternoon. If he finds our Mr. Courtney Budlong, and then the police find where Mr. Julien Lattimer is, what if he wants his house back?”

Bingo had been thinking that, too. He said crossly, “Don’t bother me with trifles.” Then, in a milder tone. “Remember, we’d get our two thousand bucks back.”

“Less what might’ve been spent out of it,” Handsome said gloomily. “And less the ten percent to this little guy.”

“Don’t be a defeatist,” Bingo said severely. “Think big. And there are other houses.” In the depths of his heart, he knew he was going to be a little relieved to get out of this one, but he wouldn’t have admitted it to Handsome, or even to himself. He called, “Janesse!”

There was no answer. He called again, louder. Handsome went to look, came back and reported, “She’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“There’s a door out of that pink marble library,” Handsome said. “She must’ve slipped out that way.”

Bingo scowled. “Maybe she just wanted to go home.” He brightened. “Oh well, we found out where that writing paper and the receipt came from.”

“And we got some nice pictures,” Handsome said. “She photographs fine, Bingo. I can tell even without printing them. Bingo, maybe she’s a property.”

Bingo stared at him. “A few days in Hollywood, and already you’re learning the language.” He relaxed, loosened his tie and undid his shoes. It had indeed been a long day.

“Only, Bingo,” Handsome said, “do you think we ought to tell the police we know about the writing paper now? And about him murdering Miss Pearl Durzy?”

“Tomorrow, maybe,” Bingo said. He yawned. “Handsome, we don’t know for sure he murdered Pearl Durzy. And also, if we tell about the paper we could maybe get Janesse in trouble, and like you say, maybe she’s a property.” He smiled wearily. “We don’t call them, they’ll call us.” He yawned again.

Handsome went into the improvised darkroom. Bingo stretched out on the davenport to think everything over. He thought it over for roughly thirty seconds, and then closed his eyes.

He woke some time later from a complicated dream involving April Robin (looking very much like a combined Janesse Budlong and Mariposa DeLee), the Brown Derby, his Uncle Herman, a swimming pool, and food. Mostly food. The dream seemed to persist as he half opened his eyes, and he realized simultaneously that he was hungry and that there was a maddening and wonderful smell of food in the air.

“I remembered we didn’t have any dinner,” Handsome was saying. “So I took two dollars and went up to Goody-Goody’s and got a sack of hamburgers. And some milk. I hope I did okay, Bingo.”

“Handsome,” Bingo said fervently, “you never did better in your life.”

Two hamburgers later he sighed happily, leaned back, lighted a cigarette and said, “Handsome, I just thought of something. For so long we talked about coming to Hollywood. Now we’re in Hollywood. In a mansion that used to belong to a movie star. And we’re only a few minutes’ drive from the restaurants we always talked about. Romanoff’s. The Brown Derby. Chasen’s. Don the Beachcomber. All the rest. And what happens? For three meals in a row we eat hamburgers, from Goody-Goody’s.”

Handsome said seriously, “They’re swell hamburgers, though. And, Bingo. Those pictures. Janesse Budlong.”

Bingo looked up with quick interest. “Well?”

Handsome just said, “Gosh!”

He produced them. Bingo looked at them for a long moment. Then he said, “Gosh!”

“Only,” Handsome said, “nobody has done anything about it. Girls come from all over the world and get to be movie stars. And here’s a girl lives right here, probably all her life, and looks like this, and never gets anywhere. Bingo, why is that?”

Bingo didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to say so. “Maybe she can’t act.”

Handsome looked skeptical. Then he said, “She was acting most of the time she was here, and she was good.”

Bingo had to concede that. “Maybe she never knew the right people before.”

“Her pa does,” Handsome said stubbornly. “Her pa must know everybody, a big important man like him.”

“Maybe that’s why,” Bingo said. “Maybe everybody got sort of used to seeing her around, and just kept thinking she was just Mr. Victor Budlong’s little girl, and never thought of her as audience-bait.” He liked that last phrase and rolled it around his tongue. “Audience-bait. Well, she knows us now.”

There was someone at the door. Bingo said quickly, “If that’s Perroni and Hendenfelder, don’t tell them about Chester Baxter and—” It was not Perroni and Hendenfelder. It was Adelle Lattimer.

She came in majestically, walking with a panther-like rhythm. She was wearing a pearl-colored slack suit that sparkled where the light touched it; a string of what Bingo decided had to be rhinestones coiled through her sleek dark hair and matched another string wrapped around her wrist. She looked beautiful and more than beautiful, Bingo thought, wondering how long it would be before he saw a woman wearing skirts in public again.

“Sorry for the late visit, boys,” she said cheerfully, sitting gracefully on the arm of the davenport across from Bingo. “But your light was on. And I have to protect my interests. Also, I have something to ask you about. Is there any beer in the house?”

There was. The late Pearl Durzy had left the refrigerator well stocked.

“Thanks, boys,” she said. “Now listen. Do you know a cute, funny little confidence man named Chester Baxter?”

Bingo and Handsome looked at each other. Then Bingo said, “Well — well, yes. But what makes you think” — he’d almost said, “How do you know?” — “he’s a confidence man?”

“Written all over him,” Adelle Lattimer said. “Besides which, he came to me with a very confidence man type proposition. He also said he was working for you, which is mostly why I am here.” She finished off a glass of beer and poured another. “Amazing, how I keep my figure. Must be my metabolism. Anyway, is he working for you, or is he working for you?”