Stuart Kaminsky - The Howard Hughes Affair

The room was a large office with the desk off in the corner as if space had been cleared in the middle for something. Next to the desk stood an ape of a man in a light grey suit with big lapels. Behind the desk sat a guy with even white teeth and a false smile.

The smiler, I decided, was Bugsy Siegel. He was a well-built man with a prominent nose which had taken a break and veered to the left. His dark hair was parted evenly on the left and was receding slightly. His suit was dark and his tie blue. He had a neat handkerchief in his pocket. I suddenly recognized his face.

“You Peters?” said Siegel, getting up and letting the smile drop slightly. The touch of Brooklyn was still in his voice.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I know you from somewhere,” he said suspiciously.

“The YMCA,” I said.

He snapped his fingers and looked at the ape next to him. The ape was sweating and didn’t respond.

“Right,” Siegel said easing up, “you work out there too. We never really met.”

“Right,” I said with a smile at my fellow Y member. I had seen him working out occasionally at the Y for the last few years. We never talked and I hadn’t known who he was-the two guys who watched him while he worked out didn’t promote friendliness. The guy I recognized as Siegel did a lot of running and swimming, and I had seen him boxing a few times.

“You’re not here to challenge me to four or five rounds, are you?” he said amiably, looking at the ape to appeciate his joke. The ape did so with a small smile. I appreciated his joke too.

“No challenge of any kind,” I said. “I need some help. I told you on the phone I’m working for Howard Hughes. On the night of the party you went to at his house in Mirador, someone tried to steal Hughes’ plans for some important military weapons.”

Siegel got up quickly from behind his desk. Ape didn’t move. Siegel’s smile was gone.

“Wait,” I said quickly. “I came here for your help. I’m not accusing you of anything.”

Siegel nodded cautiously for me to continue.

“At first I wasn’t sure if someone had actually tried to steal anything that night,” I said, looking at him and trying not to blink and look nervous. “But last night a guy named Frye tried to kill me to stop the investigation and got himself strangled. And this afternoon Major Barton, who was at the party, caught two bullets in his heart before he could tell me anything.”

“I didn’t like Barton,” said Siegel. “You know why I didn’t like him?” I said I didn’t know and Siegel went on, “Because he knew who I was and said something that didn’t please me. He had a few too many belts, of booze in him and said things people shouldn’t say.”

“That won’t do you any good if the cops start putting things together and find out you knew him,” I said, to keep Siegel talking. “They’ve got reasons for trying to nail you, and you’ve got one indictment on your head now.”

“You know a lot about my business,” Siegel said suspiciously, coming around the desk and stepping toward me. The ape didn’t move a muscle, just stood there, sweating.

“Not enough to get me in trouble,” I said quickly. “My only interest is in finding out who tried to get those plans and, maybe, who put away two people in the last eighteen hours. They’re probably the same person and they’re probably up to something that won’t be good for this country.”

I hoped patriotism would move Siegel or at least back him away from suspicion toward me. It did.

This country has given me some rough times,” he said. “But it’s given me a lot too.”

You mean you’ve taken a lot, I thought to myself, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to say it aloud. I was proud of my restraint.

“You know what that Hitler bastard is doing to Jews?” he said.

I said I had some idea, and he said I didn’t.

“If there’s a war,” he said earnestly, “I’m going to do what I can to help beat Hitler. I was going to tell Hughes that, but his party broke up early and I never got the chance. You can tell him for me.”

“I will,” I said. “Now about Major Barton.…”

“If the cops try to hang that on me, they’ll be wasting their time. I didn’t do it. In my business, we only kill each other.”

Siegel calmed himself by taking a deep breath and looking at his well-scrubbed hands. Then he answered the phone that was ringing on his desk. He listened for a few seconds. “Carbo? All right,” he turned to me. “I’ve got to go downstairs for a few minutes. Talk to Jerry and make yourself a drink if you want.” Siegel went out the same door I had come through. I looked at the ape named Jerry and he looked at me. I moved to a chair in the corner and sat down.

“Worked for Mr. Siegel long?” I tried.

“A month,” Jerry said in a surprisingly high voice. “And I don’t work for him the way you think. I’m a teacher, ballroom dancing.”

I started to smile at Jerry’s joke and held back the smile because he wasn’t smiling back. I also realized that the reason the furniture was in a corner and Jerry was sweating might give some support to his crazy tale.

“No kidding?” I said.

“I like dancing,” Jerry said defiantly, taking a step toward me.

“So do I,” I said, hoping he wasn’t going to ask me to dance.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jerry said. “You’re thinking a guy that spends most of his time fox trotting, waltzing, rhumbaing must be some kind of a fairy, right?”

“No, never entered my mind.”

Jerry’s move toward me wasn’t exactly ungraceful.

“I can clean and jerk two fifty,” he said. “I’m in a baseball league that plays two nights a week, year around.”

I wondered what position he played but didn’t have time to ask.

“You think you can do that?” he said. “You think a fairy can lift two fifty and play baseball?”

I couldn’t see any reason why not, but I said I saw his point.

“People think a dance teacher walks around on his tiptoes and has a limp wrist,” he went on. “Nobody thinks Fred Astaire is a fairy.”

I didn’t know and didn’t care, but I told him he was right. At that point Siegel returned with Miss Show Business behind him. Her coat was gone, and she spangled and glittered like a dime store.

“Peters, this is Verna,” Siegel said. “She’s in the lounge show. I’m taking a few dance lessons, advanced stuff from Jerry, and Verna’s helping out.”

“Pleased to meet you, Verna,” I said, wondering what I had wandered into.

“Listen,” Siegel said, coming over to me, “I’ve got big friends in this town. I know a Countess, a real one, society people, show business, you know. If I can help, let me know. Anything I can do. I didn’t see anything at Hughes’ that night. I don’t know anything. If you want me to, I’ll ask some questions, but I don’t think this is exactly the kind of thing my people would know about. Know what I mean?”

I said I knew, and he put a hand on my shoulder to guide me out. He stopped at the office door, looked back at Verna and Jerry at the other side of the room. Jerry was demonstrating a step to Verna, who was having trouble understanding.

“You look like an honest guy, Peters,” Siegel whispered. “Tell me. You think I’m losing my hair?”

I looked at his hair, and he looked like he was losing it. I said no he wasn’t losing it and I wished I had as fine a crop as he. Siegel patted my shoulder, smiled and opened the door. I walked out and shared the small hallway with the guy who had gone over me for the gun.

“Remember,” said Siegel. “You need help-you know where to come.”

“Right,” I said. “Thanks.”

The door closed, and I eased my way past the muscle and went down the stairs, feeling his eyes on me.