Ed McBain - Give the Boys a Great Big Hand

“I really am not responsible for whatever acts my clients wish to concoct,” Tudor said. “I wish the police would realize that. I am a booking agent, not a choreographer.” He smiled briefly. “About Barbara,” he said. “What have you heard?”

“Nothing at all, Mr. Tudor. We were hoping you could tell us a little more about her.”

“Oh.”

Tudor uttered only that single word, but disappointment was evident in it, and disappointment showed immediately afterward on his face.

“I’m sorry if we raised your hopes, Mr. Tudor,” Carella said.

“That’s all right,” Tudor said. “It’s just... ”

“She meant a lot to you, this girl?”

“Yes,” Tudor answered. He nodded his head. “Yes.”

“In a business way?” Hawes asked.

“Business?” Tudor shook his head again. “No, not business. I’ve handled better strippers. Am handling better ones now. That little girl who just left my office. Her name is Pavan, got here from Frisco last July, and has just about set this metropolis on fire. Excellent. Absolutely excellent, and she’s only twenty years old, would you believe it? She has a long future ahead of her, that girl. Barbara was no child, you know.”

“How old is she?”

“Thirty-four. Of course, there are strippers who keep performing until they’re well into their fifties. I don’t know of any performers, or of any women for that matter, who take as much pride in their bodies as exotic dancers do. I suppose there’s an element of narcissism involved. Or perhaps we’re looking too deep. They know their bodies are their fortunes. And so they take care of themselves. Barbara, though she was thirty-four, possessed... ” Tudor stopped short. “Forgive me. I must get out of the habit of using the past tense in speaking about her. It’s simply that, when a person leaves, disappears, that person is thought of as being gone, and the tongue plays its trick. Forgive me.”

“Are we to understand, Mr. Tudor, that there was something more than a strict business relationship between you and Miss Caesar?”

“More?” Tudor said.

“Yes, was there—”

“I love her,” Tudor said flatly.

The room was silent.

“I see,” Carella said.

“Yes.” Tudor paused for a long time. “I love her. I still love her. I must keep remembering that. I must keep remembering that I still love her, and that she is still here.”

“Here?”

“Yes. Here. Somewhere. In this city. She is still here.” Tudor nodded. “Nothing has happened to her. She is the same Barbara, laughing, lovely... ” He stopped himself. “Have you seen her picture, gentlemen?”

“No,” Carella said.

“I have some, I believe. Would they help you?”

“Yes, they would.”

“I have already given some to the Missing Persons Bureau. Are you from the Missing Persons Bureau?”

“No.”

“No, I didn’t think you were. Then what is your interest in Barbara?”

“We’re acting in an advisory capacity,” Carella lied.

“I see.” Tudor stood up. He seemed taller on his feet, a man bigger than six feet who walked with economy and grace to the filing cabinet in one corner of the room. “I think there are some in here,” he said. “I usually have pictures taken as soon as I put a girl under contract. I had quite a few taken of Barbara when she first came to me.”

“When was this, Mr. Tudor?”

Tudor did not look up from the files. His hands worked busily as he spoke. “January. She came here from Kansas City. A friend of hers in a show there recommended me to her. I was the first person she met in this city.”

“She came to you first, is that correct, Mr. Tudor?”

“Straight from the airport. I helped her get settled. I fell in love with her the moment I saw her.”

“Straight from the airport?” Carella asked.

“What? Yes. Ah, here are the pictures.” He turned from the files and carried several glossy prints to his desk. “This is Barbara, gentlemen. Bubbles Caesar. Beautiful, isn’t she?”

Carella did not look at the pictures. “She came straight from the airport, you say?”

“Yes. Most of these pictures—”

“Was she carrying any luggage?”

“Luggage? Yes, I believe so. Why?”

“What kind of luggage?”

“A suitcase, I believe. A large one.”

“Anything else?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Was she carrying a small, blue overnight bag?” Hawes asked.

Tudor thought for a moment. “Yes, I think she was. One of those small bags the airlines give you. Yes, she was.”

“Circle Airlines, Mr. Tudor?”

“I don’t remember. I have the impression it was Pan American.”

Carella nodded and picked up the photographs. The girl Barbara “Bubbles” Cesare did not seem to be thirty-four years old, not from the photographs, at any rate. The pictures showed a clear-eyed, smiling brunette loosely draped in what seemed to be a fisherman’s net. The net did very little to hide the girl’s assets. The girl had assets in abundance. And coupled with these was the provocative look that all strippers wore after they’d ceased to wear anything else. Bubbles Caesar looked out of the photographs with an expression that clearly invited trouble. Studying the photos, Carella was absolutely certain that this was the identical look which Eve had flashed at Adam after taking her midday fruit. The look spelled one thing and one thing alone and, even realizing that the look was an acquired one, a trick of the girl’s trade, Carella studied the photos and found that his palms were getting wet.

“She’s pretty,” he said inadequately.

“The pictures don’t do her justice,” Tudor said. “She has a complexion like a peach and... and a vibration that can only be sensed through knowing her. There are people who vibrate, gentlemen. Barbara is one of them.”

“You said you helped her get settled, Mr. Tudor. What, exactly, did you do?”

“I got a hotel for her, to begin with. Until she found a place of her own. I advanced her some money. I began seeing her regularly. And, of course, I got a job for her.”

“Where?”

“The King and Queen. It’s an excellent club.”

“Where’s that, Mr. Tudor?”

“Downtown, in The Quarter. I’ve placed some very good girls there. Pavan started there when she came here from Frisco. But, of course, Pavan had big-time quality, and I moved her out very fast. She’s working on The Street now. A place called The String of Pearls. Do you know it?”

“It sounds familiar,” Carella said. “Miss Caesar was not big-time in your opinion, is that right?”

“No. Not bad. But not big-time.”

“Despite those... vibrations.”

“The vibrations were a part of her personality. Sometimes they come over on the stage, sometimes they don’t. Believe me, if Barbara could have incorporated this... this inner glow into her act, she’d have been the biggest ever, the biggest. Bar none. Gypsy Rose Lee, Margie Hart, Zorita, Lili St. Cyr, I tell you Barbara would have outshone them all. But no.” He shook his head. “She was a second-rate stripper. Nothing came across the footlights but that magnificent body and, of course, the look that all strippers wear. But not the glow, not the vibrations, not the... the life force, call it what you will. These only came from knowing her. There is a difference, you understand.”

“Was she working at The King and Queen when she disappeared?”

“Yes. She didn’t show up for the show on February twelfth. The owner of the club reported this to me as her agent, and I called her apartment. She was living at the time with two other girls. The one who answered the phone told me that she hadn’t seen her since early that morning. I got alarmed, and I went out to look for her. This is a big city, gentlemen.”