Rod Strong - Dealing in adultery

Mitch Evergrad was the true power behind Albert. There was no doubt in my mind. the two of them, with Dr. Joseph Carreba, had conceived and built up the murder organization now operating out of the Seabrook Knights building. The rest of the membership continually changed. Each member needed someone bumped off, and in turn was willing to bump someone else off, and pay fifty grand to make sure he wasn't caught killing, as well as being properly alibied when whomever he wanted killed was rubbed out. But when Cy Roberts had joined the group, both Albert and Evergrad saw their big chance. It was an opportunity to make a big coup and not take any more chances. Have Judy Roberts killed, then get rid of Cy Roberts. Let Albert marry Roberts' former wife Raquel, then let her disappear. Then all that loot, originally earned by Judy Roberts' father and passed on to her, would fall into the hands of Albert and Evergrad. And from the checking around I'd done, I knew they'd come into some fantastic fortune even after the multitude of taxes.

In order to keep the murder club from again ordering Judy Roberts killed, I now had to discredit both Albert and Evergrad. Evergrad, being the stronger of the two, would survive. Albert wouldn't. But Evergrad would go looking for the man who fucked up his rich future unless he came out of the whole thing smelling like an entire rose bouquet, so he had to think Albert was the reason for everything being loused up. This way, Evergrad wouldn't think to look in my direction. He'd clamp down on Albert when the time came, probably killing him, and then he'd disband the murder club. In fact, if he bumped off Carreba, he could claim credit for the discovery and destruction of the murder club, because no one in the club knew he was involved. And he had his share of all those fifty thousand dollar fees.

The way to screw up Kalman Albert would be to have him found banging Moira Evergrad. And Mitch Evergrad would have to be the discoverer. More important, if I could get Raquel Roberts to view the proceedings, she'd be through with Albert even if Evergrad let him get away with the ploughing of Moira. So even if Albert and Evergrad didn't "fall out," their plot with Raquel Roberts would be finished, and there would be no reason for the erasure of Judy Roberts. True, Cy Roberts would still want it so he could inherit Judy's money, but I could always put Cy Roberts out of action. Without him around to pay the fifty thousand dollar fee, the murder club wouldn't be interested in having Judy Roberts killed.

So now I had two alternatives.

First, make Mitch Evergrad angry enough at Kalman Albert to kill him, at which point he would also want to be rid of the murder club, since Albert did all the go-between work, keeping Evergrad's name clean. Without Albert, the club was an albatross.

Second, get Raquel Roberts angry at Kalman Albert. Even if Evergrad didn't kill Albert for fucking his sister before the wedding, Albert would have no reason to see Judy Roberts killed since Raquel Roberts would no longer be interested in Albert.

And I had to do all this without either Evergrad or Albert discovering my involvement in any way. What the hell. Moses performed miracles. I could, too.

My first trip was to the Evergrad house. I knew Mitch would be out boozing it up with some high class whore, it being close to midnight. The big question was, did Kalman Albert go out with Moira Evergrad that evening, or was he dating Raquel Roberts?

Evergrad lived in the northeast section of Elton, near the heavily Negro area. His house was a huge mansion, and had originally been worth close to a hundred grand. Though property values might have theoretically decreased since the influx of the blacks, Evergrad had kept the Negro homeowners on their proverbial toes, making certain they kept their houses properly maintained. So instead of letting that section of Elton decline, Evergrad's dictatorial policies had forced the Negroes into a higher standard of living, since any of them unable to afford to live up to Evergrad's expectations eventually moved.

I drove to Milennial Avenue where Evergrad's estate-like mansion stood out among all the smaller homes in the area. It had a high row of hedges surrounding it.

Parking a block away, I walked back to the Evergrad house and found a small fault in the surrounding hedge. Slipping through, I quietly crossed the lush acre of ground and walked up to the house. Quietly strolling around, I noticed a few lights – were on, but the house appeared deserted. Evergrad was so certain no one would dare rip off his house, he didn't even keep a dog around.

The back door was unlocked, but I had the feeling Evergrad did have some sort of silent alarm, so I didn't open it. I did notice a window on the second floor of the building that was open. And the long ladder in Evergrad's open garage was what I needed to reach that window. It took a matter of seconds to carry the ladder out and tote it around to the rear. I set it directly below the window, climbed up, and stepped in.

Going to the door of the room in which I was in, I opened it a few inches and listened. Not a sound.

Stepping into the hallway, I walked across the thick carpeting and hurried down the stairs. In the family room I found a bar. And behind the bar were more than a dozen bottles of wine and whiskey.

I took a small bottle from my pocket, an aphrodisiac created by a chemist friend of mine, and proceeded to dope all the bottles. I figured Albert would be bringing Moira Evergrad home sometime in the next one to four hours. She'd invite him in for a nightcap, and then the fun would begin. If Mitch Evergrad got home before his sister and went to sleep, he might well miss all the fun. But if he came home afterward… va va voom!

Leaving the Evergrad home the way I'd entered, I put the ladder back in the garage. Then I crossed to the fault in the hedge, slipped out, and went to my car. Next stop, the home of Raquel Roberts, Cy Roberts' first wife. She was listed in the Long Island directory as living in the village of Belless.

It was a few minutes after one when I pulled up in front of Raquel Roberts' seventy thousand dollar home. I noticed the front door was wide open, and though no other lights were on, light did reflect from her television screen. She was up watching the Late Late Show. When I came up to the front door and peered in, I saw her sprawled on her living room couch in a sheer negligee.

I tapped lightly on the door. She heard me, and quite unafraid, stood up and approached the door.

"Who're you?" she asked, and I knew then she was a bit high.

I handed her one of my cards and said, "The name's Fokker. I'm a private eye. I was hired to investigate a man by the name of Kalman Albert. Seems he's about to be engaged, and his bride-to-be wants him checked out.

My words sobered up Raquel Roberts in a hurry.

"Bride-to-be?" she asked, then said, "No wonder the son of a bitch keeps telling me he's busy Saturday nights. But what do you want here this time of night?"

"Mrs. Roberts, you're one of the people on whom I have to report."

"You mean the bride-to-be doesn't know about me?" she asked.

"If she did, I'd never have been hired," I lied.

"Just who is this bride-to-be?" she asked again.

"Ethics prevent me from revealing my client," I told her.

"Ethics, huh. Mr. Fokker, suppose you come on into the house."

So I entered Raquel Roberts' house. She shut the door, turned off the TV set, and flipped on a light. Now I had my first good glimpse of her. God! If I thought Joan Randall was skinny, well she was overweight compared to Raquel. I mean this broad was five feet five inches tall and maybe weighed seventy pounds. Maybe! Her brown eyes were large and soulful, and were probably the best feature on her face. She had a large nose, a firm chin, and long, brown hair running loosely down her back, almost to her waist. Her arms and legs were very thin, though she had hips and a round-enough ass. Oddly, she also had tits. The negligee was transparent. I could see through it, and she was naked underneath. And right now she wasn't the least bit selfconscious about her nakedness.