Chapter 4

Death and Taxis

I’D HAD ENOUGH of taxis for the moment, and even in New York the air is fresh enough to clear the head. A brisk walk across town might not be the best prescription for every woman heading home alone. But then I’m not every woman.

New York can be a dangerous place. Even in my grey raincoat I seemed to attract attention. Maybe it was the heels. Or perhaps the fedora.

Whatever the attraction, I was soon aware of two men following me. They kept to the shadows, which from the rare glimpses I caught of their faces was probably just as well for everyone.

A shadow flitting across a puddle. A distorted reflection in a store window. The fact that neither of them seemed capable of walking without their boot nails clicking on the sidewalk. It all added up to mischief, with me as the target. I like to know where I am with people. Especially people with guns.

There’s a narrow, badly lit passageway that cuts through from Kemmerton to Flale Street. No one in their right mind would ever use it after dark. I waited until I was halfway along it, then stepped into a doorway. It was the back door of a laundry. If you didn’t know it was there you’d never spot it in a hundred years. And I was planning on being away long before the hundred years was up.

The two guys were clever enough to know this was an opportunity. Not clever enough to realise whose opportunity, but it still put them pretty high on the thug-ometer.

To give them due credit, they didn’t take long to work out I’d disappeared. Well, I guess it’s not that hard to discern in a sort of ‘now you see me, now you – where the hell?’ sort of way. They stopped, turned, looked at each other, frowned. All while standing under the only lamp in the alley, so I had a clear view of them. A clear shot too, except I didn’t have a gun. They did – one each in fact. But I tend to think it’s not polite to pack artillery at a swanky party. Cleavage, but not shooters.

Having stood in a clear line of sight under a lamp, waving pistols and making woefully inarticulate ‘Er – what?’ noises to each other, the two thugs then did something really stupid.

They split up. One headed back up the alley and the other continued down it, leaving me alone in the middle. Not very helpful. I sighed and stepped out of the doorway.

‘Hello, boys. You looking for me?’

They both turned at once.

‘I noticed you were following me a while back.’

They approached warily, guns raised.

‘It’s the heels, isn’t it?’ I looked from one to the other. ‘Be honest. The heels. Or is it the hat? I rather like the hat.’ I adjusted the brim, making one of them jab his gun forwards – like I was going to kill him with my hat. Well, I’ve done that before actually, so maybe he wasn’t so daft.

‘Not very talkative, are we?’ I went on. They were standing either side of me now, each about ten feet away. ‘If fashion isn’t your strong suit, then let’s try an easier one. Who sent you?’

‘You’re the Melody Malone dame,’ one of them growled.

It was tempting to say ‘no’ and see how they reacted. They might just apologise and walk away. Or they might shoot me anyway. So instead I smiled and asked:

‘What if I am?’

‘We gotta kill you,’ the other thug said. As I turned to look at him he shrugged and added, ‘Sorry, lady.’ Well, it was a step up from ‘dame’.

‘It’s me who should apologise.’ I unbuttoned my raincoat and they gripped their guns all the tighter.

Neither of them got any more talkative, and the contents of their pockets didn’t help much either. I dropped their guns in a trash can outside the back of the laundry, and left their wallets on the wet cobbles beside them.

I helped myself to a few dollars from one wallet for a taxi back to the office. Expenses. I imagined he’d have other things to worry about when he woke up.

‘It’s definitely the heels,’ I told them as I walked away.

The cab driver was less talkative than his predecessor, which suited me fine. He dropped me outside the office and disappeared into the night at a restrained pace and without need of his horn. But with a healthy tip thanks to the generous gentleman with the gun, the wallet, and (by now) the headache.

I sat with my feet up on my desk and started to make a mental list of the people who’d want me dead. Once I got to fifty, I decided this wasn’t helping. I narrowed the criteria to people in New York, in 1938, and finally who I’d met in the last month. It gave me a more manageable number and a few smiles. But it didn’t really help much.

So I decided to concentrate on the last couple of days. Maybe one of the women I’d deprived of the company of Rock Railton? Murder did seem a little extreme but it was a possibility. Someone I’d upstaged with my stun-level-five outfit? Well that could be any of the female guests at the party, and possibly a few of the male ones.

Most likely it was connected to the Rock Railton case. I’m a big fan of coincidence, but even so if someone tells you their life is in danger and the next day a couple of thugs come gunning for you, then there is at least the possibility of a connection.

Which got me thinking about Rock himself, and how bizarre his behaviour had been. I flatter myself that I’m at least a little distinctive in both character and – let’s face it – looks. I make an impression. People don’t forget me in a hurry.

Yet Rock Railton had dismissed me from his mind by the next day. That isn’t the way to flatter a girl. Unless it was an act, of course. And unlike a lot of the Starlight Stars, Railton could act.

Soon I had a working theory. Railton had pretended he didn’t know me because he was aware that whoever was trying to kill him could come after me if they were aware I was on the case.

‘You sweetie,’ I breathed. He only had my safety in mind. That had to be it.

In fact, I could not have been more wrong. But hindsight is a wonderful thing and – for most people – only comes after the event.

The result was that I was in a less thoughtful mood when the telephone rang. I don’t get a lot of calls, so I enjoyed the novelty of the noise for a while before I answered.

‘Hello, Angel,’ I said, which usually throws them. But not in this case.

‘Hello, doll.’

I paused to stare at the receiver like it was to blame. But it was my fault for answering. I recognised his voice, and now I had to speak to him.

‘Mr Kliener,’ I enthused. ‘How clever of you to ring my bell.’

He laughed his oily laugh. ‘Didn’t know you were a tec.’

‘I am so many things.’

‘Wasn’t easy, as I only had your name.’

‘Really?’ I inspected my nails, and was not surprised to find them perfect in every detail.

‘No one seemed to know how to get hold of you.’

‘The right person starts by buying me a drink.’

He didn’t react to that. I guess it was a bit over his head, which given his stature wouldn’t be hard.

‘How did you track me down?’ I asked as the silence stretched out. Really, I just preferred the sound of my own voice to the sound of his.

‘You won’t believe this, but I asked a guy called Garner. He’s done some work for Julius Grayle – you know him?’

‘I know Garner slightly,’ I told him. ‘He’s in the same business I am.’

‘Yeah, I know that now.’

So Max Kliener had hired a private detective to find another private detective. It’s a pity the Americans don’t really understand irony.

‘So how can I help you, Mr Kliener?’

‘Please – call me Max,’ he oiled.

‘Fine.’ That was easy. ‘Anything else, Max?’

Unfortunately there was. But as it was an invitation to come down to the Starlight Studios complex, it might help me move forward with the Rock Railton case.

‘Rock and Giddy should be in full flow this afternoon starting on their new picture. I’ll arrange a car for you.’

‘Personal taxi service, I’m impressed.’

‘Least I can do.’

I wasn’t sure why he felt he had to spend time and money on my account. Except, of course, that he’d met me.

‘Well,’ I told him, ‘I suppose that in this life there’s nothing that can be said to be certain except death and taxis.’

He didn’t comment. So I assumed he wasn’t a big devotee of Benjamin Franklin, and listed that alongside Max Kliener’s other failings. It was getting to be quite a list.

But I still agreed to see him at the studio that afternoon. It seemed like a good move. But like I said, for most people hindsight only works backwards.