Stuart Kaminsky: Now You See It

We had gotten to bed around three in the morning, and it was now a little after seven. I gave serious thought to coming back to bed after breakfast.

“Gwen is a very nice young woman,” Gunther said, adjusting his tie. “And smart, very smart. Her family is French, did you know?”

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” said Gunther. “French. She speaks it quite well.”

“So you got along?”

“Splendidly,” he said. “We are having lunch together, if you would like to join us.”

“You need a chaperone?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Jimmy had been taken to County Hospital where they pulled Phil’s bullet from his leg. Cawelti was there to arrest him.

“Nothing’s different between us,” Cawelti had said to Phil and me when we saw him at the hospital. “Don’t expect anything different.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said.

Phil didn’t say anything.

“Come by the station in the morning. Someone will take your statement,” he said. “I won’t be there.”

“We’ll miss you,” I said.

His face was red now, almost as red as his hair.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

His eyes met Phil’s. They held for a few seconds. Then he turned and moved toward the room where Jimmy was being guarded by a uniformed cop.

“Back to his lovable self,” I had said.

Phil only said “Good night” and went home.

At the breakfast table, Emma Simcox and Ben Bidwell were now officially holding hands. Mrs. Plaut came in with a steaming casserole dish, put it down and said,

“There are two announcements this a.m. One,” she said looking at Gunther and me. “Mr. Bidwell and Emma will be wed on August 16 here. Wine for the occasion will be Virginia Dare. Rhubarb batter pudding will be the dessert. I have yet to decide which of the following patriotic main entrees would best suit the occasion, breaded fried tripe, liver and bacon rolls, individual liver loaves, brains in croustades, or heart patties. All are Woman’s Day recipes. Your input will be duly considered as the blessed day draws nigh. Two,” she went on, meeting my eyes. “I was in a magical act with the late mister. His secrets will not be revealed while I trod the earth and its environs. When I have gone to my reward or punishment, the mister’s notebooks will be forwarded to Mr. Harry Blackstone. Emma will take care of that.”

Emma Simcox smiled.

“Now eat.”

We ate. It was good. The coffee was hot and strong. The bird in the parlor squawked “Kilroy” over and over. The bird was in his cage. All was right with the world.

I was in the office less than an hour later. I didn’t meet any tenants on the way in, and I was relieved that I didn’t run into Alice Pallas Butler. Phil wasn’t in. He had said he was taking the day off to be with his family but that I could reach him at home if I needed him.

The phone was ringing when I unlocked the door.

“Toby,” said Marty Leib on the other end. “I thought I’d best tell you that I have been retained to represent William Tracy Carson, who is resting comfortably in his hospital bed.”

“He doesn’t have any money,” I said.

“His parents do,” said Marty. “His father has a very successful welding shop in Decatur, Illinois. The war has been kind to him.”

“Thanks for telling me,” I said, knowing there was more.

“Temporary insanity,” Marty said.

“Three times?”

“Why not? War wounds, mental trauma, a hero who worshiped a much-beloved magician. I would like your help in doing some investigation on this. You know the background, and I expect you will be testifying at the trial-if it comes to a trial, which I seriously doubt.”

“Our fees have gone up,” I said.

“How much?”

“You don’t bill us for what you’ve done for us over the past three days and we don’t charge you.”

“A counter suggestion,” said Marty. “You, or Blackstone, pays my bill, which will be in the mail today, and I do not sue your brother and your firm for excessive and unnecessary violence in shooting my client.”

“That won’t work,” I said.

“But it is a nuisance,” Marty said with a sigh.

“You win, Marty,” I said.

“I always win,” said Marty. “That’s why I charge what I do.”

He hung up. I hung my jacket on the coatrack and went to my desk. I didn’t have to look up when the door opened. I knew who would be there.

Alice stood blocking the doorway.

“Good morning,” I said, opening the letter on the top of a small pile on my desk. It was an offer to buy two suits at Hy’s For Him for the price of one. “How’s Natasha?”

“Fine,” she said from the doorway.

I went to letter number two. It was from someone in Pasadena. I couldn’t make out the name, but there was a phone number. If I read the scrawl right, she wanted to talk to us about finding her lost amoeba or ambulance or amulet.

I half expected Alice to come behind me, yank me from my chair, and hurl me across the room if I was lucky, out the window if I wasn’t. She didn’t move.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

“For finding Natasha so fast last night,” she added. “She doesn’t remember any of it, but she asked about the man who told her a story.”

“Great,” I said, putting down my letter opener and looking at her with my best lopsided smile. “So we’re friends now?”

“Yes,” she said. “I still don’t like your getting Jeremy involved in your work, but he’s a grown man.”

He’s at least two grown men, I thought. But I just nodded. Alice left.

I called Anita and told her what had happened the night before. We agreed to go out for dinner and a movie after she finished work. Before I got off the phone, there was a knock at the door. I didn’t have time to say “come in.” Shelly entered, followed by Pancho. I hung up the phone.

“Is this great, or is this great?” said Shelly, holding some sheets of paper up to show me the typing on them.

“What?”

“The start of the script, Dentist in Disguise ,” Shelly said. “Pancho here is a brilliant genius. Look.”

He placed the pages neatly on my desk and stepped back, chewing on his morning cigar. He looked at Pancho, who let a small smile twitch his thin lips.

“He worked most of the night on it,” added Shelly. “Did I say he is a brilliant genius?”

“Your exact words.”

“We’re thinking of Walter Pidgeon to play me. Or Errol Flynn. He has the touch.”

“Light touch,” said Pancho.

“Let me know what you think,” Shelly said and left the office with Pancho still behind him.

I flipped the title page over on its face and read the neatly typed pages:

INTERIOR, DAY. OFFICE OF SHELDON PEVSNER Phone rings. SHELDON PEVSNER in clean freshly starched whites is working on a bicuspid filling of a beautiful BLONDE who looks at him with the complete confidence he clearly deserves.

SHELLY

Excuse me.

He touches her shoulder gently, reassuringly, and answers the phone on the wall.

Dr. Pevsner.

SPLIT SCREEN. SHELDON PEVSNER on right. TOBY PETERS on left.

PETERS

Sheldon, I need your help again.

SHELLY

I’ve got a patient. I’ll come to your office in half an hour. What’s the problem?

PETERS

I think someone is trying to kill my client, Blackstone the Magician. It’s got me stumped. Please come as soon as you can.

SHELLY

Haven’t I always been there to pull your cases from the jaws of disaster? As the Bard said,

“Take heed dear heart, of this large privilege;

The hardest knife ill used doth lose its edge.”

PETERS