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Felix

By: Julirose



Lydia was crouching in a dense clump of underbrush; saltwater pearls dripping from her short auburn curls into her emerald eyes, obscuring her vision. She wiped away the moisture with her dusty jumpsuit sleeve, leaving behind a streak of muddy camouflage. She was breathing heavily, gasping for air after a hard run. She struggled to regain control of her breathing as she listened for the native predator that was stalking her. She had been out hunting for food and water when this tiresome game of cat and mouse began.

Lydia had been assigned a scouting mission by Colonial Defense. Her scanners had discovered particle trails from what appeared to be a large fleet of spacecraft. As she approached the alien vessels, one of its perimeter guards detected her presence and began immediate pursuit. She initiated standard evasive procedures and set course for a small system of planets away from the colony. The alien interceptor pursued her, leaving her no choice but to enter the gravitational field of a small habitable world. To guarantee that she did not report his carrier’s presence to anyone, the alien pilot began firing his weapons at her. She altered her course several times, successfully evading his missiles as he continued to pursue her into the atmosphere over this small planet. Lydia selected a landing area where she might set down and hide out from her adversary. As she entered the lower atmosphere, Lydia’s ship took a direct hit on her left wing, forcing her to eject; her escape pod landed in some dense woodland. Lydia crawled out of her escape craft and took inventory. She had rations for a few days but didn’t know when or if she would be rescued, making it necessary for her to set up a camp and scout for food and water. Lydia decided to spend her first night in the pod and set up her camp in the morning. Her first night on this arboreal world was a restless one, full of nightmares and uneasiness as she adjusted to her new environs. Lydia decided to reserve her rations and go in search of food and water near her camp. She had marked a trail heading into the planet’s sunrise as she scanned the local flora for edibles. She had traveled several hours from her camp when she heard a rustling noise in the bushes.

Felix had been out for a stroll in the cool night air when he spotted the unusual objects in the sky. He watched as one of the glowing objects broke apart and fell to the ground while the other took flight into the heavens. So many questions raced through his thoughts as he accelerated toward the mystery. Felix ambulated toward the landing area of the bright object; occasionally catching a glint of reflected sunlight from the fallen spacecraft. He quickened his pace in anticipation of some wondrous gift from the heavens, but was forced to slow his journey as the underbrush thickened. He slowly worked his way through the thick foliage surrounding the object only to be stopped by an impassable knot of brush and thorns. Felix retreated out of the dense greenery and began to search for an easier passage. Felix heard a rustling nearby and stopped moving. A snapping twig captured his attention and he worked his way through the underbrush to catch a glimpse of the creature that was responsible for the noise. As he parted the bushes, he saw a small erect ape standing in a thicket, her body covered by unusual adornments. She had a tuft of curled brown fur covering her head and the most unusual eyes that he had ever seen. The ape spun slowly in a circle, stopping occasionally to closely examine a plant. Hastily she shoved her little box into a pocket in her covering and started to run. Curious about her behavior, Felix took off after her.

Lydia could hear the large carnivore pursuing her as the brush and twigs snapped under his weight. Lydia was not about to become his next meal, nor was she interested in killing him. She climbed a large tree in an attempt to circle back toward her camp, but he followed her up into the foliage cover. Not wanting to lead him to her camp, she changed direction. Unable to shake him in the canopy, she descended to the ground and headed for a stream she had spotted. Lydia tried crossing the stream several times, but he always seemed to pick up her scent. She entered the stream a final time and ran quickly downstream before rejoining the bank and heading toward her camp. She stopped to rest under a dense clump of shrubbery when she could no longer hear the cat behind her.

Through with being the mouse, she peered out from her hiding place, watching for her pursuer. Having rested sufficiently, Lydia crept carefully from her protective cover, standing just over five feet tall, determined to turn the tables on her hunter. With her service weapon ready, she followed a faint trail back in the direction from where she had come, pausing occasionally to scan for large heat sources. “Here, kitty, kitty,” Lydia uttered under her breath as she made her way back through the forest. She had resolved that it was time for the mouse to end the chase. Lydia paused by a large clump of shrubbery to scan once more for her prey when the bushes suddenly parted. “Son of a…” her voice trailed off as a large white feline pounced on her from it’s hiding place, knocking her gun into the brush, out of sight and reach.

Lydia was flat on her back and breathless, pinned by the feline’s large front paws and heavy weight. Remembering her survival training, Lydia immediately closed her eyes and pretended to be unconscious as he growled quietly at her. Because Lydia showed no resistance, the feline withdrew from its dominant position over her, a mistake he would soon regret. She suddenly rolled over, quickly scrambled to her feet and dove into the brush looking for her gun. The large cat pounced again sending her sprawling on the ground. He swatted at her with his huge paw, rolling her over onto her back. She quickly drew her survival knife and lunged toward him. The feline attempted to dodge her thrust, but did not move quickly enough to avoid the blade. He met her second attempt at a parry with his large front paw, knocking the knife out of her hand. She rolled over and scrambled to her feet in an attempt to escape alive. He blocked her way and swatted her again, knocking her to the ground unconscious. Felix sniffed at the fallen primate and batted her with his paw. Assured that she was really unconscious this time, he examined her more closely. She seemed manageable, a small thing, hardly worth killing, and there was the possibility that she might make a good pet. He lifted her off the ground by grabbing her clothes with his powerful jaws and carried her back to his village to keep her as a pet. 

When Lydia awoke, she was cold from lying uncomfortably on a stone floor in a dimly lit log house. The cabin was simply furnished with a moss-carpeted platform in one corner and a shallow rocky pool opposite that was fed by a waterfall cascading down the stone back wall. The heavy wooden door would not budge as she attempted to force it open and wooden sticks woven into a lattice barred the windows. Lydia wandered over to the pool and knelt down, testing the water with her hand. The water was tepid and she was hesitant to enter, but she had some scratches and bruises from her encounter with the cat that she was certain a bath would help heal. She stripped off her shoes and flight suit and slowly walked down the stone steps leading into the pool. The water was only waist high. Her scratches stung as she lowered her body into the pool, allowing the layer of sweat and grime to slowly dissolve off her. 

Lydia heard the door open and saw two blue eyes enter the room. Straining to see who had entered, she stood up near the pool wall, exposing her breasts, her wet nipples standing erect in the cold air. Curious about her breasts, Felix walked over to the bath. Lydia stood still as the large cat knelt beside her and nuzzled her firm round orbs, watching her reaction carefully. His rough tongue licked her nipples and Lydia moaned quietly. He opened his mouth and surrounded a breast with his lips and gently began to suckle. Lydia gasped, surprised by her own growing excitement and the roughness of his tongue as he massaged her breast. She stood at the edge of the pool until Felix had satisfied his curiosity about her breasts. 

Felix settled down to fall asleep on the bed. Lydia cautiously approached the reclining cat to satisfy her curiosity that he was really asleep. Watching him sleep somehow made her feel less afraid of him and his face as he slept had an almost human quality to it, but it was still the face of a cat. She slipped quietly over to the door, left ajar by the impetuous male. Lydia widened the opening enough to slip through to freedom. The hut had been built into the rocky cliffside but was still surrounded by trees and shrubbery. It waterfall was fed by an underground spring emerging just above the heavily thatched roof of the hut. Lydia climb up the cliff to survey her surroundings, hoping the vantage would help her locate her escape pod. She noticed several other dwellings scattered along the cliffside, each feeding off an emergent spring. Lydia wandered along the ridge for several hours before noticing her hunger. She wandered down into the forest hoping to find a few of the edible fruits and berries that she had identified before her capture. After picking her way through some dense foliage she stumbled upon a cluster of berry brambles and stopped to feast. It was there that Felix found her with her hands and lips dyed a bright purple from the large sweet berries she had eaten. He was angry with her for wandering off and with himself for not feeding her. Felix watched her as she flitted from bramble to bramble, pulling off berries and stuffing her cheeks with an almost catlike swiftness. He shook his head and reminded himself that she was only an ape, but part of him yearned to know her differently. Lydia spotted Felix out of the corner of her eye and knew that it would be useless to run. She continued to stuff herself on the berries for as long as he or her stomach would allow. Felix emerged from the bushes and gently grabbed her hand, leading her back to his home.

Lydia removed her clothing with the intent of washing her meal off her face and hands, but Felix prevented her from entering the pool. She stood still while Felix began to lick her belly, giving it an impromptu bath. Lydia winced as his rough tongue made it’s way over her, leaning against the stone wall to steady her body against his powerful tongue. He licked her furry mound until she began to literally climb the wall behind her. Lydia offered no resistance to his sexual overtures, spreading her legs willingly when he licked her thighs. Lydia stifled a moan as his tongue licked her clitoris. Felix licked her little button again, and despite Lydia’s best effort to remain silent, she moaned loudly. His tongue found it’s way into her sex, lapping up the fluid that he found there. The more he licked, the wetter she became, until her juice was dripping off his nose. He continued to lick her clitoris until she arched her back, exposing her cunt to the amorous feline. He explored the cavity with his tongue, detecting a second opening hidden within. His tongue could not penetrate the second orifice, but it did not seem to matter. 

Felix placed his forepaws upon the wall near her shoulders and extended his sexual prowess. Inching forward with his hind legs, he slowly maneuvered his hot, thin, hard bone toward the opening between her thighs, entering her first opening easily. Determined to penetrate her fully, Felix probed for the tiny aperture, locating it with the tip of his rod. Finding resistance, he increased the pressure on her opening with his malehood until it gave way. Lydia arched her back reacting to the pain, her feet sliding to the floor as his penis penetrated her cervix. Satisfied that he had entered her as completely as possible, his thrusts began to quicken. Her pain began to ease as he had his way with her. She wrapped her legs around his torso and passionately embraced each thrust. Waves of rapture overtook her and he growled loudly, almost roaring, when he came inside her.

Felix



She had waited for him for what seemed like hours. Her thoughts were consumed with where he was. She was going insane. Restless she paced up and down the hallway thinking. Where is he? What is he doing? But worse - who is he with? She couldn't help getting mad with jealousy after what Felix had said. She had decided that when he got home she was going to ignore him and call him a bastard, even though he was just running late at work she had already decided he was having an affair with a female colleague and that he was never coming home and had forgotten all about her, at least that's what Felix had told her. Then she heard the door open.

"Kitten? I'm home."

Kitten locked herself in the bathroom. She did this quite often so he was used to it. She always locked herself away and closed herself off. Afraid of being hurt again.

He headed straight to the bathroom and knocked on the door. 

"Kitten? Come out now."

"Fuck you!" she screamed at him. He knew she didn't mean it. He had put up with this side of her for a long time. When they first met she had to explain to him he wasn't dealing with just one person. He was dealing with two. He sat outside the bathroom, he couldn't leave her alone in there for fear of that she may hurt herself. He just had to wait for kitten to come out. Not Felix. It had been ten minutes or so before he heard the click of the lock. She opened the door and came out and sat down beside him. 

"She said you were having an affair and that you forgot about me." 

"You know that isn't true." He stroked her cheek.

"I know." She held his hand and licked it firmly. "You see this hand? Its mine!", he laughed and wrapped his arms around her. 

"No, you're mine". She giggled but quickly her face changed to a solemn look that glared at him with great intensity. Like she was studying a bug that she didn't like the look of. Just as quickly she went back to giggling. He knew she wasn't well. He buried the thought to the back of his mind. He didn't want her to go back to hospital again. 

"Hungry kitten?" She meowed walked on all fours to the kitchen. He followed after her getting a good look at her bum as she went. Patiently she watched him pour some cereal into a bowl and then the milk before setting it down on floor. "Wait." She stared up at him with big wide eyes. "Ok kitten." She wasted no time in stuffing her face and he looked down at her and smiled. He loved his kitten but he hated Felix. It was the one part of kitten he wished he could change. She had her meds but that didn't eliminate Felix completely out of the picture, it just made her appearances less frequent. Occasionally during sex she would change seamlessly from Felix to kitten. Kitten is demure and shy whereas Felix wasn't afraid to use course language as she came. Kitten had got cereal all over her face and made quite a mess. He chuckled to himself as he wiped her face with a towel. 

"Naughty kitten, look at the mess you made." She looked at the cereal on the floor by her bowl. 

"Wasn't me." She giggled and made a dash out of the kitchen but he quickly caught up with her and consumed her in one of his bear hugs. 

"Where do you think your going?" He teased as he tickled her. She was extremely ticklish and it rendered her completely helpless. "Silly lil kitten." 

Her giggles turned into screaming and swearing as she made a swing at his face. He held her wrists and held her against him. Something a nurse had taught him. "Give it up Felix, you cant win." He waited until she finally stopped struggling and he got his kitten back. "Meow," she kissed him on his nose. Her hair was messy from struggling and he tried to tame it slightly but her blonde hair was too unruly. He kissed her passionately and ran his hands up and down her slim body and cupping her firm ass. He loved the feeling of nakedness against his clothes. The way her nipples rubbed against his shirt. 

When he met her for the first time she was very skinny. Her ribs jutted out of her clothing but after living with him she gained womanly curves. He quickly took to the role of carer. He loved looking after her and being her sole provider. He loved the fact that she depended on him and needed him. He was her whole world. He was his kitten. She was his. Originally he just wanted a slave to serve him. But in kitten her found so much more than just a mere slave.

"Your breath smells of chocolate, kitten. Have you been eating chocolate?" She looked down and he had his answer. "You know it makes you hyper kitten. That's probably why you have had two episodes already."

"But it tastes so nice. And the cupboard was open and I couldn't help it and I love chocolate and it doesn't even make me that hyper only a bit hyper and that's not bad its good and chocolate is good...." She went on until he put his finger to her lips. 

"I told you, you aren't allowed sugary things like chocolate, you know it makes you worse."

"I'm sorry." She looked down at the floor and studied the carpet. He lead her into the living room and made her stand in the corner. 

"Nose against the wall." She hated things touching her nose and he knew it. "I don't want to hear a sound from you, understood?"

"Yes sir," she said quietly.

He settled down on the sofa to watch TV. Occasionally looking over at kitten to make sure she kept her nose to the wall. His eye wandered to a dent in the wall which was made by Felix not long ago. He refused to punish her for things that Felix did. Why should kitten be punished for something she didn't do? Kitten didn't have it in her to punch a wall anyway. Sometimes she wouldn't remember what had happened and she had no idea why her hand hurt so much. Which led to him taking her to A&E on numerous occasions. She had been sectioned twice and he hated seeing her in that state. He made it his responsibility to make sure she would not go back to a psychiatric ward ever again.

"Comfy?"

"Shut it and face the wall!" his voice was stern.

"I think this wall needs another dent. What do you think?" she said mockingly as she stroked the dent with her fingers. "I reckon I could make an even deeper one. Might even break my hand."

"Don't you dare you little bitch." He quickly got up and grabbed her wrists before she could make a swing at the wall. Her strength was no match to his strong arms pinning her down. She growled and snarled as she tried to kick him off. He had pinned her face down on the floor straddling her with his legs either side of her whilst holding down her arms leaving her completely immobile. He was tired of having to do this, he wanted to teach Felix a lesson once and for all for all the times she hurt kitten.

"Fucking asshole! You're a cunt! You know that? A cunt!" This anger coursed through his veins, he had to teach Felix a lesson. He sat on top of her as undid his belt. Felix's arms thrashed about but he knew she couldn't get away. Kitten crossed his mind but he was too enraged to stop himself now. He folded the belt in half and began smacking her ass. Soon her ass was an angry shade of red. Felix screamed and swore obscenities until he had had enough and he use the belt to tie her hands together and roughly picked her up and shoved her against the wall. She hit the wall hard and dropped to her knees. Tears streamed down her face as she looked up at him. Her lip curled into a smile. 

"Cunt." He harshly grabbed her hair in his fist and dragged her upstairs. Felix spat at him and twisted herself to try and release his grip but it was no use, her legs buckled underneath her halfway up the stairs. She was sobbing angry tears now as he dragged her by her hair into the bedroom. He pushed her onto the bed face down. Before she could crawl off the bed he grabbed some rope off the bedside table and pinned her down again, pushing her face into the bed. She thrashed helplessly as he cruelly tied the rope tightly around her wrists which would surely leave rope burns as she tried to twist her body over. He tied her wrists to the headboard above her head and secured the rope. He secured her ankles to the bottom of the bed and stepped back just to watch her struggle.

In between sobs she would scream cunt at him. He waited for Felix to wear herself out until she stopped struggling and lay panting on the bed. Kitten lifted her head and looked around the room confused at her situation she was in. Her eyes filled with fear. He sat on the bed and moved her hair out of her face. "Sir?."

"Shhhh my little kitten, it's ok." The burning sensation on her ass quickly hit home and fresh tears spilled onto the bed. The fear in her eyes turned to anger.

"You fucking asswipe! I'll break your neck! You cunt! God damn it!" He moved off the bed and opened a drawer in the bedside table. It was full of assorted sex toys like vibrators and dildos. He took out a pink ball gag. He turned to Felix so she could see it. "Put that thing anywhere near me and I'll break your fucking arm! You listening? I'll snap it in half!" He stepped towards her careful not put his fingers anywhere near her teeth and shoved it in her mouth, pulling the straps tightly around her head to keep it in place. 

"There now, lets have none of that." She glared up at him breathing heavily around the ball gag. "I think pink suits you," he smiled down at her. She growled and shook her head violently. He reached under the bed and pulled out a box. He opened the box making sure Felix could see what he was doing and he pulled out a leather flogger. Her eyes widened as he held it up for her. "You deserve worse, slut." He meant it. He placed the flogger back in the box and pulled out a cane. Felix lay still and quiet pleading with her eyes. 

For the first time she was scared of him. For the first time he had finally taken control of her. He stood by the side of the bed and Felix could see from the corner of her eye him raising his arm before he swung the cane down onto her ass. Felix screamed into the ball gag and jerked against her bonds as he took another swing across her lower back making a satisfying "thwack" sound. Red angry lines appeared as they stung her flesh. Felix was crying and sobbing loudly now as he hit her another 4 times. Her ass was aflame but he wasn't finished punishing her yet. He pushed a pillow under her ass to raise it up off the bed and stood back to admire her naked form. His cock strained against his trousers and this did not go unnoticed by Felix. She looked at him fearfully. Something snapped inside her that made her sorry of everything she had done to kitten. She made her do terrible things and he knew it. He wanted to make her pay. He unzipped his trousers to reveal his already hard cock. Felix jerked about on the bed pulling at the rope but it was useless. He climbed on the bed and knelt down behind her. Her pussy was moist from the beating. 

"Looks like you didn't hate that as much as I thought, slut." he stroked her firm ass and smacked it hard causing Felix to yelp in pain mixed with pleasure and she wished like hell she wasn't turned on. She couldn't ignore the warmth in her pussy. He stroked his member before rubbing the head against her moist pussy. He thrust inside her quickly and began to fuck her violently, thrusting deeply inside her. Stifled moans escaped Felix as she was drooling helplessly around the ball gag. He continued to fuck her harshly. He reached underneath her to squeeze her breasts and pinch her nipples. Felix's breathing became heavier and more ragged with each thrust of his hard cock. She desperately didn't want to come. Felix didn't want to give him the satisfaction of making her come, but her pussy was betraying her. She felt the heat rise up inside her as she clenched her fists, she stifled a scream as her whole body convulsed as she came all over his cock. He felt his cock twitch as he shot his hot, quick cum deep inside her pussy. Felix lay limp for a few moments as her breath went back to normal. 

Kitten tried to turn herself over. Her ass stung like a bitch and she hissed in pain. 

"Hey baby," He undid the strap on the back of her head and removed the ball gag gently from her mouth. She was very disorientated as he untied the rope on her wrists and ankles. She said nothing as he helped her sit up. She put her hand on her ass but quickly pulled it away as pain stung her agonizingly.

"Ahh!" She started to cry.

"My poor lil kitten, come here," He pulled her close and held her against his chest. 

"Sir?."

"Yeah, baby?"

"I can't hear her." She barely whispered the words.

"No?"

"Everything is quiet." He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.

"Good girl." 



Felix Driscoll: Private Detective



A NOTE TO THE READER: This story takes place in 1949.

****************

My answering service tracked me down just before midday. 

I had had a lunch date with Veronica, the beautiful new girl over at the bail bond place by the courthouse. When she agreed to go out with me I considered myself lucky. She'd come out west in hope of being in pictures and possessed both the looks and the proportions. Unfortunately she also possessed a prominent Bronx accent, a mountain too tall for dialect coaches to climb.

Hollywood's loss became Bailey's Bail Bonds' gain. 

Veronica accepted this cruel turn of events in her career with an optimist's smile, but she wasn't smiling when I breezed in that morning. She pouted so hard her bottom lip stuck out like a diving board.

"You look like you're in a good mood," I said, glad I hadn't embarrassed myself bringing her flowers.

"Your answering service just called."

"So what? I'll call them when we get back from lunch. Ready?"

She still pouted. "They said it was an emergency."

"Don't worry, I'll check in real quick and then we'll go." The words sounded hollow to me, probably to her, too.

"I suppose you want to use the phone?"

I said, smiling while I reached across her desk for it, "Don't be difficult. This is not past tense."

"Oh right," said a voice full of Bronx irony, "sure it's not."

I dialed my service. I was told: "You have an extremely flush prospect. A Mrs. Starling up in Malibu. Where the real estate separates the haves from the have nots."

"I'll say. Did she say what she wanted?"

"Call her immediately, it's of the utmost importance, something involving a large retainer."

I jotted down the phone number recited to me, hung up sighing.

Daggers flashed in Veronica's eyes. "You'll have to use the payphone in the hall if it's long distance," she stated in a display of seriousness. She even stretched a little behind her desk, to show me what I'd be missing. Her sweater rode up over her stomach an inch. She had a nice belly button. When she saw me looking she pulled her sweater back down.

I sighed again and went out into the hall to call Mrs. Starling. 

She answered on the first ring.

"I'm Felix Driscoll, you contacted my office."

"Oh yes, the private detective." She spoke in a contralto, urgent but a welcome change from the bray of the Bronx blonde. "You come highly recommended. I need you to do some work for me. You're very good at finding people, or so I'm told. Are you free to start immediately?"

Without much reluctance I said yes.

"Mr. Driscoll, it's inconvenient for me to come to your office," she said. "And I don't really want you coming here to my home. Could we meet somewhere?"

"I'm flexible. Wherever you'd like."

Mrs. Starling suggested a coffee shop down from Malibu on the Pacific Coast Highway. We agreed to meet there.

"One more thing," Mrs. Starling said before I could hang up. 

"What's that?" 

"Do you carry a gun? I suppose you have to have a license."

"Yes, Mrs. Starling, I'm registered."

"I'm sure it won't be necessary, but please bring one with you."

"I don't always strap on the artillery, but if it'll make you feel better."

"It will, Mr. Driscoll. Goodbye."

I went back to see if Veronica wanted to have dinner instead, but she'd already left for lunch. I saw old man Bailey standing around scowling and ducked out of there myself.

Doubling back to my office for a pistol didn't even leave me time enough for a bag of chips. Malibu is not a long drive from West Hollywood. I took Santa Monica Boulevard to the Pacific Coast Highway and went north. Starting just after noon I arrived about one. The coffee shop where we were to meet was a typical postwar art-deco monstrosity. Only two parking spaces out front had cars occupying them. I parked facing the ocean. Gulls rode the thermals above the shimmering water. A fierce wind whipped my tie.

Anticipating a big lunch I'd skipped breakfast. I at least wanted to use my comb and maybe grab a quick bite before meeting with my client, but no such luck. A hostess asked if my name was Driscoll as soon as I entered. Mrs. Starling was waiting for me at a table in the back. Would I care to step this way, please?

I was going to have to go hungry.

The Starling woman wasn't as old as I'd imagined her to be over the phone, but she was fifty easy. Her friends would refer to her as a handsome woman. She wore a sundress and an oversized pair of sunglasses. All that remained in a Martini glass in front of her on the tabletop was an olive pierced with a plastic sword. She did not ask the hostess to bring more drinks or, better yet, a late lunch. She merely gestured for me to sit.

That urgent contralto warbled: "You're late, Mr. Driscoll." 

I shrugged. "You wanted me to pick up a gun, Mrs. Starling."

"And did you? Pick one up, that is."

"I did," I patted the left side of my jacket.

She sat staring at me and I was aware of my hair being awry and my tie amiss. But she forgave me before long and got down to cases. "I apologize for being unable to receive you in my home. I don't want the neighbors speculating on who you are or what you're doing or why. I hope we won't be seen by anyone who knows me." She paused to light a cigarette. Normally she would've let me light it for her but she was in a hurry. "God knows this is far enough away from Malibu. This must be kept confidential."

"It will be," I assured her. The unmistakable scent of frying bacon floated on a draft of air. 

"I want you to find my daughter, without involving the police."

I put my appetite out of my mind, got a little notebook out of my jacket pocket. "When did you see her last?" "I spoke with her on the phone a week ago." Today was Friday. "Dana said she was getting married. I told her I had yet to see the engagement ring, let alone meet the man who gave it to her."

"Do you know his name?"

"Vinnie something."

"No last name or you don't know it?"

"If Dana told me I don't remember."

"Is there anything to indicate your daughter may be in danger?"

"Dana was supposed to have come visit me last weekend. She didn't and she didn't call. I talked to her roommate before I phoned your office this morning. She said she hadn't seen Dana either. But she thought she might be with this Vinnie character."

"Does Dana's roommate know Vinnie?'

"Apparently. And doesn't like him."

"Are you basing your all your suspicion on this one person's dislikes?"

I'm not sure if it got a rise out of her, but she audibly exhaled smoke through her nostrils. "Don't be ridiculous. It's more than Dana just canceling her weekend plans. This Vinnie may be some kind of," she hesitated, "of gangland figure."

I wondered if that's why she suggested bringing the gun. I said easily, "Says who? The roommate?" 

She tapped ashes in an ashtray, gave a slight nod for yes.

"I'd like to talk with this friend of your daughter's. What's her name?" 

She told me, and the address, showed me a recent snapshot of her daughter and the roommate at the beach. She pointed to one of the girls and said: "This one's Dana. They look a lot alike." 

"They certainly do. Twins almost."

"Both of them blonde, very beautiful."

"Your daughter is lovely enough to be a screen actress."

"I've seen beauty be the downfall of many a young girl." She spoke as if from experience, and seemed sad enough to cry.

To change the subject I quoted her double my regular rate. The Starling woman didn't bat an eye. Her personal check felt heavy in my wallet.

I promised her I'd be in touch and got up from the table.

"Mr. Driscoll," she said before I left.

"Yes, Mrs. Starling."

"Find my daughter and find out about . . . this man of hers."

"You can count on me," I said as I left. 

Outside the afternoon sun had heated the pavement enough to burn through the soles of my shoes. I got in my car and sat squinting at the dazzling sea. The noisy gulls rose and fell with the surf, their cries ripped away by the wind.

I deposited Mrs. Starling's check in a branch of my bank in Topanga Canyon where her daughter shared an apartment with a girl named Lisa Trowell. 

A short drive brought me to a prewar stucco apartment building with four wilted palms lining the sidewalk. The wind from the sea blew only heat and a little sand through the breezeways. Somebody had taped a handwritten out-of-order sign to one of the elevator doors. I took the stairs. Sweat collected around the straps of the shoulder holster and, by the time I'd finished my climb, rolled down my back. A trek through a maze of corridors finally brought me to the right door. I knocked, mopping the inside of my collar with a handkerchief, waited for a response and got none. 

More knocking resulted in nothing.

I looked up and down the corridor. Not a soul in sight. From my wallet I took a square of plastic and wedged it between the jamb and the lock while turning the knob with my other hand. The door opened and I let myself in. Lazy planks of light angled through the blinds, dim but enough to see by. 

I stood inside a cozy little living room with framed portraits on the walls. Two or three of a long-haired girl who was probably Dana in prior years, but all the rest were pictures of who I guessed to be Lisa Trowell. One artful shot looked like a clever double exposure of Lisa and an identically-dressed twin. The rest of the poses ran a gamut of hairstyles and costumes. Lisa had many faces, and moods.

In the small kitchen I found nothing out of the ordinary but the bathroom contained only one toothbrush. One bedroom had an unmade bed and a litter of cosmetics on the dressing table. The other had dust on the furniture and very few clothes in the closet. When I opened several drawers in a bureau beside a neatly-made bed I discovered them empty of any items of consequence. The apartment gave the appearance of two inhabitants when there was probably only one.

As I stepped into the corridor again I wondered if Dana had already run off and gotten married. Back through the maze and back down the stairs I went. 

I found the landlord downstairs scooping debris out of the pool with a net attached to the end of a long pole. He had large sad eyes and a drooping belly. Sweat darkened his undershirt and soaked through the waistline of his khakis. Any distraction provided an excuse for a break. He took a business card I handed him emblazoned with the name of a life insurance firm out of Santa Barbara. I explained Miss Trowell needed to sign some paperwork before her policy became effective. I could leave it with Miss Starling if necessary, I offered, just to see what it would get me. 

The landlord said, scratching a jowl, "I'm sure I hadn't seen her in . . . it must be weeks now."

To avoid tipping my hand I chose my words casually: "I wonder if she still lives here?" 

"Imagine so, I'm still getting the rent anyway." He thought for a second, "Yeah, they're like sisters, those two."

"They look a lot alike?"

"Yeah. They could be twins."

"Could you have mistaken one for the other?" 

"Sure, I guess." Once started, I couldn't staunch the flow of information. Lisa got home about ten, she worked as a waitress at a seafood restaurant. Did I want to know how to get there?

One thought cheered me on my way: a jumbo shrimp platter with French frieds.

The seafood joint was a swanky place on the beach, partially built out over the dancing waves. I smelled neither grease nor fish in the air outside. Inside, a plate-glass wall enhanced the view of the water, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. The dining room was deserted, the supper crowd not due for another hour. I asked to be seated in Lisa's section.

A few minutes later a girl with her hair in a bun tip-toed my way, cute in a nautical outfit. Her beauty seemed more subdued than the girl in all those pictures. I figured her to be a year or two younger than the missing Starling girl, about nineteen. 

She set a glass of iced water on my table. "I'm Lisa, can I help you?" she said almost shyly. 

"I'm working for the Starling family, I'd like to ask you a few questions about Dana." 

"Okay. Did you want to order something, too?" 

I got the Friday special from the menu. Lisa and I talked while we waited for the kitchen.

"I understand you have reservations about Dana's boyfriend?"

"You've been talking to her mother. She called to talk to me just this morning." 

"She asked I get in touch with you about this man."

"Vinnie?"

"Uh-huh. Do you know his last name?"

"Patucci. Vinnie Patucci. I can't stand him." She cupped a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry! I shouldn't have said that."

"That's all right, impressions count. Is he mixed up in any shady dealings that you know of?"

Lisa lowered her voice even though no one could hear us. "He might be. I've overheard some conversations with Dana. And, and he carries a gun. I know that for a fact."

"What does he carry one for?" I didn't mention the automatic in the rig under my jacket. Mild contempt colored her words. "He brags all the time he's a professional gambler. He sometimes wins big in Vegas and says he needs a gun in case anyone tries to heist him." 

"Why would Dana be attracted to that kind of man?"

Lisa wrinkled her pretty forehead. "I guess she only likes the dangerous ones." Something told me Lisa did, too.

"The dangerous ones?"

"Yeah, only the wild ones excite her. That's her reason. I guess Dana is a little wild herself, if you know what I mean." Lisa looked away from me when she said it.

"I'm afraid I do. Do you know if Dana's with Vinnie?"

"Maybe. It's not unusual for her to spend time with him, lots of it. He never spent that much time with me," she blushed, "I used to date him. Before Dana. She's welcome to him."

I didn't believe that but tried to steer her back on track. "Can you tell me where she is right now?"

Lisa shook her head. She looked very vulnerable.

"Is she living somewhere other than your apartment?"

She hesitated. "No." 

Friends will lie for friends. I saw nothing to be gained by calling Lisa a liar, so I said: "Do you know how I can get in touch with this Vinnie Patucci?"

"Probably at The Carousel."

"What's that?"

"Where Dana met Vinnie. She works there sometimes."

"Mrs. Starling didn't say anything about that."

"Dana's mother doesn't know, she wouldn't like it."

"Is it the kind of place I think it is?"

She waited a long time before speaking, but it was easier for her to tell me than to tell Dana's mother. "It's a burlesque house, peep shows and stuff. Dana says that gangsters own it."

"Why would a girl work in a place like that?" I wondered aloud.

"To meet dangerous men?"

I grinned at her: "You're wise beyond your years, kid." 

A bell dinged at the counter in back and she went away for my food. Lisa gave me directions to The Carousel while I ate. I left a big tip. She may not have told the whole truth, but she'd told more than she thought she had.

Traffic on the coast highway was sparse and I got to The Carousel before dark. Slightly out of the way, you had to know where you were going to find it. The proprietors hadn't spent a cent on neon or advertising but plenty on landscaping to keep things nice and private. The two-storied building they operated out of looked like old money to me. Set back among the shade trees, it presented an austere exterior. A paved parking area in the back was almost full. At the door I found out the club was for members only. Twenty of Mrs. Starling's bucks purchased me a 'weekend' membership. 

A drink at the bar cost more of her dollars. I ordered another after the delicious first one. The main room looked like a poorly-lit ski lodge with lots of tables and chairs occupied by men and women who weren't their wives. Available girls sat in clusters, several of them smiled at me. I smiled back. I didn't see anyone resembling the pictures I'd seen of Dana. Four musicians played a tune with lots of stops and starts in it. On a small stage a buxom young thing got herself undressed in time with the lurching rhythms. When she finished a dark petite beauty took her place and the combo grooved into a slinky bump and grind. 

Hoods in tuxes watched the clientele from the murky corners, others milled around. I didn't see a single one without a bulge under the left armpit. I recognized one of the guests: Tony the Dentist. They called him that because he allegedly extracted a couple of teeth from an uncommunicative rival using a pair of pliers. He and two of his triggermen sat at a table close to the stage. 

Would I see Dana in there? The mysterious Vinnie? What kind of a play was I going to make? 

A redhead with fiery eyes and a lowcut dress about two sizes too small for her strolled over. "Sitting here by yourself?"

"I guess not anymore. Buy you a drink?"

"Why not? I'm easy." I made no comment. Closer up, her eyes looked glazed, like she'd been smoking reefer.

The bartender appeared while we introduced ourselves. Her name was Suzanne and she wanted a daiquiri. I ordered one for her and a beer for me. More dollars on the expense account.

"I ever seen you in here before?"

"First time in. A friend told me about it, said I could have a real good time here."

"He wasn't wrong." She giggled, and she was too old to be giggling.

I downed a healthy pull of beer. Might as well take the bull by the horns: "He told me to look up a girl named Dana."

Suzanne sniffed. "I haven't seen her in here, not yet anyway." 

"Does she work here?" I said with a meaningful look at the stage.

"She might serve some drinks in here but, no, nothing like that, her boyfriend won't let her. He's got his pride, don't you know?"

"Boyfriend?"

Suzanne fumbled around in a tiny purse for a cigarette. When she got it lit she put her hand on my knee. She lowered her voice, "You seem like a nice guy, Felix dear, so take my advice. I don't think you wanta be messing around with Vinnie's girl."

She was making it easy for me. "Who's Vinnie?"

"Vinnie Patucci, he's a real tough boy. And let me warn you, he's very jealous. Jealous and tough, a bad combination. He beat some guy up bad in here one night cause he thought he was flirting with his Dana."

"I'll try not to be too scared."

She couldn't decide whether I was kidding her or not. So she continued without breaking her train of thought: "All the girls pant for Vinnie Patucci." Her eyes spoke volumes.

"Why is that?" In the last hour I'd met a girl who hated him and another who adored him. It would be interesting to meet the cause of all this heartache in person.

"Like I said, he's tough. And very masculine."

One of the dangerous boys, I thought. "What does he do?" 

"Part of it's just the way he carries himself. He can have any girl he crooks his finger at."

I tried to sound only half-interested. "I meant what's he do for a living?" 

"He's rich."

"Nice work if you can get it."

"He plays the tables and the ponies."

"Apparently the ladies, too. My friend says Dana is a splendid creature, in his words."

She sniffed again. "Don't I interest you?"

"Don't be jealous. My friend told me . . ."

"Just who is this friend of yours anyway?"

I'd pushed too hard. "You wouldn't know him."

"If he comes in here, I know him."

I flapped an airy hand. "Forget him, forget Dana and this Vinnie character, too. Have another daiquiri."

"Let me visit the powder room first." She vanished into an alcove with a cigarette machine against one wall and a row of payphones against the other. I thought she wouldn't come back, but she did. After that the conversation got mundane. Which suited me. I shouldn't be asking too many questions in a place where the staff packed heat. It's nice to know that a man can take care of himself, and I can, but a bullet makes no distinctions.




Felix Driscoll: Private Detective



An hour and three drinks later Suzanne said, "Oh, there's Vinnie now. Isn't he gorgeous?" A cocky young punk in a tan suit and a blue shirt and two-tone shoes made an entrance like he owned the place. Brillcreme stayed in business because of guys like him. His hair almost glowed, it curled up in the back. I failed to see what all the fuss was all about. He looked like a punk, not an actor.

Tony the Dentist got up to leave as the Patucci kid came in. They spoke briefly, I couldn't tell about what. Both of them looked at their watches. They weren't exactly smiling at each other. Tony headed for the door followed by his two boys. Vinnie moved away to his table mumbling to himself. A blonde and a brunette sheathed in evening gowns joined him as soon as he sat down. A waiter hovered, speaking familiarly to Vinnie.

"If one of those girls is Dana I don't see what the fuss is all about." I said to Suzanne.

"I thought I told you she wasn't here."

"That's right, you did. Wonder where she is."

"Are you going to start asking questions again?"

"You're the one who brought it up."

She looked at me like she was going to sniff again. "Excuse me for just a second," she said archly. 

"Hurry back."

She stood up from her barstool and, with her back very straight, walked over to Vinnie, whispered something in his ear. He looked over his shoulder at me with a sneer forming on his face. Suzanne departed the room without a backward glance to me. She went through some parted curtains and I never saw her again. Vinnie held a hurried conference with the two girls at his table. Then he pushed his chair back, came over and slid onto the barstool vacated by Suzanne. 

He fixed a belligerent stare on me.

Which I ignored.

He asked the bartender for a drink and lit a cigarette. I sized the kid up with a sidewise glance. Younger than I'd have thought, early twenties, sober but maybe hopped up, with dull black eyes, an effeminate nose and lips. Not as tough as Suzanne had thought and certainly no match for Tony the Dentist, but he didn't come across as a milquetoast either. He allowed me to see the chrome-plated pistol with pearl grips inside his tan jacket.

"Looking for me, pal?" His eyes were heavy-lidded.

"Do I know you?"

"You was asking questions about me."

"I was making conversation with a stranger."

"More like pumping somebody for information."

"You the guy who's engaged to Dana Starling?"

His hostile routine intensified, one of many reactions I had anticipated. He snarled some foul words to me.

I continued without missing a beat. "I'm a friend of the family. The mother's worried, hadn't heard from her."

His oily black eyes shined suddenly. He raised his voice louder than ever when he said: "You can tell Dana's mother that Dana's doing just fine!" 

He pushed away from the bar, glanced away from me, then back. I wondered how many of his friends worked in the joint. My scalp crawled. Two hoods in tuxes stepped up and stood at each side of my back. 

"Any trouble?" one of them asked Vinnie.

"Nah," he said nonchalantly. "This gentleman was just leaving, whatn't you?"

I chuckled, the kid was too young to know better. There was nothing more to learn in there. The best thing to have done was leave. Instead I said to Vinnie, "Why don't you tell me where I can find Dana?"

Vinnie uttered something uncomplimentary to me, this time in one of the Mediterranean languages.

"Beat it, chum," said one of the tuxes. "Leroy here will escort you out." He pointed with his thumb at the big bruiser beside him. Leroy smiled an unfriendly smile at me.

I gave them one of my own. "I'm waiting for my change."

"You ain't got no change. We want you out!"

"And find out what he knows," Vinnie said to Leroy's back.

Leroy clamped a big fist around my arm. Everyone in the room watched the scene play itself out, even the stripper. I shook loose from Leroy's grip and headed for the door, in no hurry. He marched behind me on my heels. He followed me out into the parking lot. 

Afternoon had dissolved into evening leaving long shadows on the ground. Nothing but shade and solitude loomed around Leroy and me. At last I had the time and place I wanted. For the past ten minutes I'd been wanting to hit somebody. I cheerfully obliged myself. When I bent down to where Leroy writhed on the concrete, he cursed me, trying to catch his breath. I removed the gun from his left armpit, tossed it skittering across the concrete. 

I got in my car and got out of there. 

A block from The Carousel I pulled to the curb and parked in the enveloping shadows underneath a row of eucalyptus trees. A pair of streetlights flanked the solitary entrance of the club. I'd be able to see anyone who exited. I settled down to wait for Vinnie.

It was surprisingly short.

Vinnie drove a convertible, but he had enough grease in his hair to keep it from getting messed up while speeding down the highway. I let him get a good lead before I fell in behind him. He acted oblivious to being tailed, which made it easier to remain unseen at night. Sometimes I drove with my headlights off and never let his taillights get out of view.

Vinnie turned inland, drove a few miles until a new suburb appeared on the left. The neighborhood streets were full of cars at the curb. His convertible finally pulled into a driveway hidden by tall hedges and parked out of my sight. Stopping before I got to the house, I left my car and walked the rest of the way. By the time I reached the hedge boundary the front door of the modest home was closing and I didn't see who'd answered and let Vinnie in.

He had parked behind an old black touring car in the driveway, leaving the key in the ignition. Using my pencil flash to read the registration, I learned the convertible belonged to Dana Starling. I attempted to inspect the touring car but found it locked. Shining the flash through the glass on the driver's side failed to yield enough light to read the name on the registration around the steering column. For general purposes I copied the number on the license tag into my notebook before turning my attention to the house.

No porch light on. I stalked boldly across the yard, stood for a moment under a pepper tree. Light shined in only one window. I went and crouched under it. I heard muted voices inside, unable to distinguish any words or see through the closed slats of the blinds. 

A dog began to bark. Other dogs in other yards joined in. The canine choir howled at length. One or two human voices took solos at the last crescendo. After a while the cacophony dwindled to the occasional yelp, voicing one last nighttime communiqué. I strained to listen at the window. During the outburst of noise outside the voices inside the house had gotten louder. Then I heard two shots fired. A woman screamed a long scream. Another gunshot. The dog chorus took an encore.

Things happened quickly. The front door of the house burst open and a girl with very long hair emerged, lit from the back. She looked like Dana. Bright red blood like a splash of paint smeared the bosom of her blouse. She made an anguished sound, glanced back in the house, then toward the convertible. Down the porch steps and across the yard she fled. When she reached the car she noticed the gun in her hand as if wondering how it got there. She groaned in disgust, slung it from her like she'd picked up something slimy. Next she hopped into the convertible.

Maybe I should've followed the girl; after all Dana Starling was the assignment. But someone might have been dying in the house.

While she started the car I drew my gun and went through the front door. Vinnie, the pretty boy responsible for so many female heart palpitations, sprawled in a pool of blood. All his life had drained out of two bullet holes in his chest. The third bullet had drilled a hole high in one wall. His coat lay open, his holster empty of the pearl-handled chrome-plated gun.

In the back of my mind I was conscious of the sound of the convertible departing and the dogs yapping. My head twisted around when I heard a starter grind and another engine roar to life. The touring car. A bad lifter rattled under the hood. Then gears gnashed and tires screeched. By the time I got to the door the long black car had finished backing out. It hurtled away into the night.

Thinking fast, I sprang through the doorway, off the porch and onto the lawn. I raced towards my car, having the presence of mind to scoop up the pistol discarded by the girl who looked like Dana. 

Fortunately the street was short which forced both drivers to use less horsepower than they wished. They were still in sight when I threw open the door of my car. With a snarl of gears I slammed into a squealing u-turn that punished my transmission. 

I don't know how long the chase lasted. It surprised me none of us were stopped for speeding or running red lights. I drove more cautiously than either of them, at least slowing at intersections and stop signs. They edged farther ahead of me. 

My luck almost ran out in a near collision. A westbound station wagon locked up its brakes at a four-way stop, skidded onto the opposite curb, honking furiously. A quick check assured me no one was hurt. I stamped my gas pedal again in pursuit. 

Ahead the touring car screamed onto the coast highway which meant so had the convertible. When I got there I slid through the turn and raced after them. The long black car pulled steadily away from mine. I couldn't see the convertible anymore. The highway patrol is never around when they're really needed. As the thought entered my mind a curve came up too fast and I left the road. My car plowed through a strip of grass and dug ruts in the sand of the beach before coming to an abrupt halt.

I hadn't flooded the engine but lost precious time getting back on the highway. Soon the speedometer inched past ninety miles an hour. The sea on my left and the mountains on my right passed in a blur. Minutes elapsed without me seeing the lights of another car. Several roads turned inland and snaked through the canyons. I remained on the highway, refusing to think about other possible exits. Call it a hunch; when you do this as long as I have you begin to have them.

That intuition paid off. I rounded a sharp bend. The convertible squatted where it had spun off the road, empty, its headlamps pointing in my direction. The touring car receded in the distance, maybe a mile away. I continued on at an exhilarating speed.

Whoever was driving the big car at last got the bright idea to turn off his lights. I saw them go out and panic gnawed at me. Only by a miracle did I see brake lights when the driver slowed to exit onto a canyon road. When I got to the turn I switched off the engine and headlights, listening for the faulty lifter. It echoed in the distance, mingling with the sound of the sea.

Since I could hear it the touring car wasn't far away.

I had another hunch that the road dead-ended and decided to park and proceed on foot. First, however, I examined the pistol on the car seat where I'd chunked it when the chase began. It was chrome and pearl like the one I'd seen inside Vinnie's coat at The Carousel. Of course the muzzle smelled like the gun had been fired recently. I released the clip, yanked the slide back and ejected the chambered cartridge. When I unloaded the seven-round clip a total of six shells rolled around in the palm of my hand. Had the gun been fired once, or twice? Some folks jack one in the pipe, then load a last bullet back in the clip. That would leave six leftovers.

The other scenario meant only one shot had been fired. But were the two bullet holes in the Patucci kid made by the same gun? Not necessarily, but I pushed the question from my mind. I had to get to work. The surf muttered intermittently in the distance as I got out of the car. I'd parked among a clump of tired old palms, sagging in the coolness of the night. The wind carried the smell of oncoming rain. The mountains tumbled right down to the beach. I waded through the dunes along the edge of the road into total darkness. The holster's harness dug uncomfortably into my ribs. I got a lot of sand in my shoes before the road angled down and I saw a glow of light ahead of me.

In the canyon below sprawled a three-story mansion, large by even Beverly Hills' standards. Its ramparts of industrial brick rose above half a dozen bungalows. These lay scattered like tossed dice behind the house in a thicket of evergreens. The occasional light in a window winked among the trees. An eight foot fence of the same industrial brick encircled the property. Five or six acres it looked like to me. But I'm not really a good judge, living in an apartment.

The ocean, tossing and groaning off to the left, rendered my approach soundless. The road led down to a big steel gate set in a thick metal track. I moved in closer. Lights flashed on suddenly, bathing the gate in glare. I went belly down in the sand and waited. A sweaty minute took forever to tick by. A discreet copper plaque, set in the fence near the gate, was now readable: Lost Pines. Over the throb of the surf I heard a sudden sound of machinery. The gate opened ponderously. A dark Cadillac rolled sleekly up the grade and whisked away. For a moment I thought it might be the touring car, but I couldn't see inside anyway. The gate began to close and the lights started to dim. The light went out completely out before the gate slid fully closed in its track.

I thrust myself up out of the sand and sprinted, barely making it through. Inside the grounds no dragons breathed fire and no guns spoke. I dove for the blackest shadows at the foot of the fence, and waited.

My breath came in gasps.

My temples thundered in tandem with my heart. 

My pistol was in hand but I had no memory of drawing it. 

The ocean could still be heard, though not as much as when outside the walls. A long period of time passed with me sensing no one's presence but my own. The gate had probably been operated mechanically from somewhere inside the house. No sign of guards patrolling, no evidence of watch dogs. I felt confident enough to replace the automatic in its holster and scout around.

The bungalows were not brick like the mansion or the fence surrounding the place. They were built out of pine, like vacation cabins. But they had solid oak doors with big shiny locks. Though several lights blazed in the windows of the house only one of the cabins had a light on. I had a sense of deja vu.

I gravitated toward the window. With no shrubbery to hide in I clung to the shadows. An air-conditioning unit kicked on out of the blue and really startled me. I heaved an anxious sigh of relief and lowered my pistol. I almost saw the humor in it. Almost. Sweat beaded on my face. I wasn't really surprised to find the window made of frosted glass with inlaid chicken wire just for good measure. 

What kind of place was it anyway? I thought I could hazard a pretty fair guess. All alone in the foothills next to the sea almost anything could happen behind those forbidding walls. Criminals might find shelter there, if the rackets financed it. Or innocents held against their will, I thought.

I crept around the side of the bungalow. A door opened, spilling light. A large woman in white shoes and trousers and a nurse's smock appeared, rattling a big ring of keys. In her other mitt she gripped a six battery flashlight like a club. I heard her humming to herself above the air-conditioner's low whine. A faint, but steady sobbing came through the open door behind her.

Absorbed in watching her lock up I didn't hear anyone behind me until a gun barrel nudged my right kidney. A nasty voice uttered hotly: "I think we got us a Peeping Thomas here, Mavis."

The nurse turned, smiling, ugly. She shined the beam of her flashlight in my face. "Who's that, Herbie?"

"Dunno." Herbie gestured with his gun, "Why don't you open the cottage back up and throw some more light on our subject."

"Our new arrival is still shaken from her treatment."

Herbie said something obscene and both laughed cruel barks of laughter. "Open the door," he growled. "And, you, keep those hands over your head!" I was urged forward at gunpoint. Mavis said something and her keys made noise. Light from inside showed her features. She had a mustache and hair on the backs of her arms. A mean woman, and probably a strong one, too.

"Is he carrying a gun?" she asked Herbie.

"Dunno," he spat. "Turn around, you, let's have a look. Well, well, he's wearing a shoulder holster." Herbie's hand reached inside my jacket to disarm me.

"What's your name?" Mavis asked.

I tried to sound indignant: "Now see here! What is all this? My car died up the road. I'm . . ."

"She asked your name, friend," Herbie started to act tough.

I remained silent.

Out of nowhere Mavis's big flashlight crashed against the side of my neck. The blow made me unsteady on my feet and I went down, though not out. A roaring sound filled my ears. The sobbing had stopped. I heard the voices of Herbie and Mavis talking. For a minute I couldn't understand the words they spoke.

". . . doctor will want to see him right away."

"Absolutely," this was Mavis. "Is he a cop? Does he have any identification on him?"

Vaguely I was aware of Herbie relieving me of my wallet. Why not? He already had my pistol. Herbie said: "License says he's one Felix Driscoll. He's a private detective. Office in L.A."

"Dr. Desola isn't going to like that."

There was silence, especially in the other room. "You want to sedate him first?"

"Let's wait and see what the good doctor says."

A shoe kicked me in the stomach, "On your feet, friend."

I needed no more prompting. I was slower getting up than I cared to admit to myself.

"Walk!" ordered Herbie.

I obeyed. 

A footpath wound around to the big brick house. Mavis was in the lead with her flashlight, Herbie last, covering me with at least one gun. My empty shoulder holster chafed. A nerve in my neck kept clenching and unclenching. I was wobbly on my feet. When we reached the house Mavis pressed a buzzer at a back door. A few minutes later a light came on inside. A massive head with a craggy face appeared. Words were exchanged and the three of us entered the house. 

We passed through a large kitchen, down several corridors and up some flights of stairs before arriving at a room with the door standing ajar. The man with the misshapen head spoke from the hallway into the room. "Doctor? Dr. Desola? Mavis and Herbie have some . . . uh, more news for you."

"Well, I hope it's good news for a change," barked an agitated voice. "Send them in." 

Our guide bowed us in and shut the door softly behind us. The room was a plush study, all deer heads and book cases full of unread books. Behind a giant mahogany desk crouched a big shot who was obviously Dr. Desola. An expanse of woolly hair shown through the open neck of his sports shirt, a pinkie ring and a flat gold watch gleamed, a big cigar jutted from his mouth. The mussed wavy hair on his head, not yet gray at the temples, made him look like he'd just stepped off the tennis court. A big hand brought a small whiskey up his mouth. He poured himself another.

A leather couch was against one wall. An older woman dressed in frumpish orange sat in one of the two armchairs arranged in front of the desk. She smoked a cigarette in a long holder and sipped at a glass of white wine. No one introduced me and she said nothing while I was there.

Herbie held up my billfold to show them.

Desola extended an elegant hand for it. "Let me see that." The agitated voice belonged to him. "What's going on here?" 

"We have another visitor, fed us some line about car problems," explained Herbie. "But he's a snooper."




Felix Driscoll: Private Detective



A quick inspection of my wallet revealed my license. I was glad I'd already deposited Mrs. Starling's check, it might have ruined the confidentiality of my investigation. Desola fed himself another drink. "Private investigator," he mused with no small concern to the frump. To me: "What brings you here? Lost Pines isn't easy to find."

I kept quiet.

"Answer the man, " Herbie said. My kidney took another prod from the barrel of the gun.

"Who sent you here?" Cigar smoke dribbled from Desola's lips.

"You better start talking, friend." Prod.

"Who are you working for?"

"I'm looking for a missing girl. I'm working with the police and they know I'm checking out this lead."

"I don't think so, friend, you were only following the cars . . ."

Desola interrupted him sharply: "Herbie, don't name any names in front of him, for God's sake, he's a private detective." 

He eyed the frump nervously and she coughed in agreement. She was old enough to be his grandmother.

Herbie adopted a menacing tone: "The cops know nothing about his coming here. That's pure bluff."

"We can't afford to take a chance," Desola said to the old woman. She looked me up and down like a laboratory experiment. "An accident needs to be arranged for him."

"I agree fully," said Herbie, "We can make it look like a tragic accident?"

"How much time do we have to get rid of him?" asked Mavis.

"The sooner the better, certainly before morning," said Desola. He took a loving suck on his Havana, smiled at the old frump. 

She smiled back and blew a plume of smoke.

I tensed. 

Mavis stepped over to me. I knew she intended to slug me with her flashlight again. Knowing what was coming made it easy to avoid. Cursing, Mavis lunged a second time. Futile. Dr. Desola glanced behind me for the briefest of moments. I realized what was happening too late to stop it. Herbie slammed the gun barrel underneath my right ear. Everything got unreal and faraway. I slumped to my knees in slow motion. After staring down at the pattern of the carpet and contemplating it for what seemed like a long time, I pitched forward face-first. Then out.

Numb, I felt a clockwork pounding as my brain sloshed around my skull. I don't know how long I had been out. A hard rain fell. With great effort I managed to sit up. After a minute I became aware of the frosted wire-reinforced windows. So they'd moved me down to one of the bungalows. A door with a deadbolt lock faced me from the opposite wall. The door opened and Mavis and Herbie shuffled in in dripping raincoats. 

My best chance lay in playing up my helplessness and hope they'd give me an opening. Even so, both of them had already clobbered me once apiece. To hope to take them in my condition was wishful thinking. Mavis and Herbie both had sucker-punched me when each of them had taken me down and, pardon any excuses, but two can play that game. If they just left me an opening.

"Rise and shine, snooper," Mavis said.

"We going somewhere?" I asked as feebly as my acting skills allowed. It didn't require much acting. "Where are we going?"

They ignored me.

"Do I get a raincoat, too?" I asked, leaning to one side.

"Cut the comedy and shut up. Help him up, will you, Mavis."

I exaggerated the weakness I felt, staring blankly and being unresponsive. Mavis dragged me to my feet. I leaned against her for support and walked like a man without a bone in his body. She was not happy. I put up with her rough handling to demonstrate how docile I was.

A distrustful Herbie threatened to shoot me if I tried anything funny. I saw he had my gun.

"Quit waving that thing around," Mavis said to him. "Our little detective is punch drunk."

The observation pleased me. But would they buy my act enough to relax their guard?

"When do I get my gun back?" I asked, like a child.

"I'd advise you to quit babbling, friend."

"You can't shoot him, Herbie. It will spoil the accident."

I giggled, slurred incoherence, stumbled.

Herbie cursed and said, "Want to handcuff him?"

"Nah, he's a lamb," Mavis said.

We went outside, the flashlight beam practically useless in the dark and the heavy falling rain. In the large drive in front of the mansion six or seven cars were parked, among them the dark Cadillac, but no touring cars. I did see mine and the convertible, and wondered who'd moved them. I was relieved when I saw we'd be taking two different cars, mine as well as a white sedan. That meant splitting the execution squad. One is twice as easy to handle as two. Mavis got into the sedan and started it. Herbie shoved me into the passenger seat of my car. There I lolled, a discarded puppet. Herbie went around and got in on the driver's side. I lolled some more. We waited at the gate and Herbie followed Mavis out when it rumbled open. Along the canyon road we drove and onto the coast highway. 

How steady would I be when the life-and-death moment came? I wished my head would clear. If I attacked with Herbie behind the wheel I risked wrecking the car, but if I waited much longer Mavis would rejoin us and end my advantage. How to capitalize on the situation? I had no plan. 

As I slouched around my hand felt the gun pushed halfway into the crack of the seat cushion, the gun Dana had dropped after the shooting. I'd tossed it onto the front seat after checking how many rounds remained in the clip. Fortunately I had reloaded the thing. Whoever had driven my car from where I'd parked it and back to Lost Pines apparently hadn't noticed it there in the dark. 

My heart pounded harder than the pounding in my head. If Herbie knew that I had a gun he would not have hesitated to blow my head off. My right hand curled around the butt of the pistol. Herbie brought my car to a stop behind the sedan. When he turned to order me out I pressed the chrome snout against the side of his neck.

"Very slowly, put my gun on the dashboard."

Herbie began to curse. I shushed him with an emphatic jab of the gun. "On the dash. Now!"

He obeyed. "Hands on your head. That's a good boy." When I had my gun back, I aimed it at him. I stuffed Vinnie's chrome piece into a jacket pocket then patted Herbie down for another weapon.

Nothing. 

"Do you have my wallet?"

"Yeah."

"Get it and put it on the dash. Use your fingers only, left hand."

I retrieved my wallet and scooted over all the way to the right, still holding the gun on Herbie. "Hands on your head again," I said. With one hand I examined my billfold, thumbing through the contents. Everything seemed intact.

"Now get out! Friend." I couldn't resist.

Herbie muttered like a Neanderthal. 

"You heard what I said. And don't try to get cute and signal the other car."

He opened the door and stepped into the rain still muttering, but not too loudly. Mavis waited ahead in the other car, parked overlooking a steep bluff. I guess the plan had been to drive my car into the Pacific with me in it. A few days in the ocean can erase a lot of telltale evidence.

Mavis got out of the sedan to see why Herbie was standing in the rain. She yelled and gestured as he stood unmoving, unaware I sat in the driver's seat holding a gun on them. When she realized it her face went through a series of almost comic changes, a bully getting her comeuppance.

She dared not shout at me, so she shouted at Herbie: "What happened, you idiot?" 

They began to scream at each other and, just for fun, I fired a shot into the ocean to get their attention.

"Just stand there and listen to me," I said. "Mavis, toss me that big ring of keys." 

She made an untrue statement concerning my background, but eventually complied, pitching the keys close to my feet. I knelt to pick them up, never taking my eyes off her or Herbie.

"Now start walking you two," I motioned with the gun. "No, the other way. Away from the hospital."

Herbie started to complain. "In this weather?"

"Be thankful I left you your raincoats."

Mavis smacked his arm. "Be thankful he didn't kill you." 

They moved away, arguing. I wanted to question Herbie about the 'naming names' remark made in Dr. Desola's office, but feared losing the upper hand.

When they were far enough away for me to relax I put the car in gear and pulled alongside the sedan. I got out to remove the keys to the other car. I hurled them into the rain and the waves crashing on the rocks below. Locking all four doors of the sedan as one last precaution, I clambered into my car, soaked to the skin. That would give me enough time to get back to the sanitarium first. 

On the road to Lost Pines I felt good about the developments so far. I'd won the battle by firing only a single shot. A lunacy, I admitted to myself, but at least I hadn't been forced to kill anybody. That sort of thing tends to get licenses revoked, although that was the least of my worries. For the time being I was free and at my own ends again, eager to determine if Dana was inside the Desola estate.

I parked well off the road and battled the elements till I reached the wall. My jacket felt comfortably heavy with a gun in each pocket in case I needed them. I hoped not. In my hand I carried the pencil flash.

There was no squeezing through the bars of the gate and no climbing the high wall. It's only in the movies where a convenient oak spreads its mighty limbs close by. I played the beam of the flash along the bottom of the wall looking for a break, doubting I'd find one. A guarded community like Lost Pines is, in effect, a prison. Not all mental patients are dangerous, but the dangerous ones needed to be as closely supervised as violent criminals. That made me think of Vinnie Patucci, deceased. But I had to move quickly or Mavis and Herbie would get to a phone and queer the whole deal. A waterlogged couple stranded in the rain at night invited sympathy. At any time somebody might stop to help them. Our car broke down a mile from here . . .

A cascade of flowing water ran in a stream at my feet from under the wall. The driving rain had washed out a particularly sandy area beneath the foundation. People shouldn't build on sand dunes. I'd found my way in. A dirty crawl awaited me, one that would finish the job the weather had begun on my suit. I wriggled through the mud without a second thought.

Once I got to my feet, a muddy soggy mess, I made for Dana's cabin. By the time I reached it the rain pouring down had almost washed me clean. Unlit windows and locked doors. Well, I had already anticipated that. The rather ineffective pencil flash proved to be a lifesaver in the dark with the keys. Methodically I tried every one in the lock until one fit. Then I ducked inside, grateful to be out of the rain.

I crossed to the bedroom door and opened it. When I did a girl with long blonde hair in the bed awoke, startled. She struggled against her restraints when she saw me. She looked like the same girl I'd seen running from the house after the shooting. Blood still smeared the bosom of her blouse. Lethargic eyes became terrified above a wide strip of tape across her mouth. 

"Relax, I'm going to take you out of here." I set my flash on top of a bureau where it provided a weak light at best. Water dripped from me and left puddles around my shoes. Awkward in drenched clothing, I began to undo the restraining belts. 

With her hands free she carefully peeled off the tape covering her mouth. "How did you find me?" She sounded like she needed a drink of water.

"By following Vinnie Patucci I wound up here."

The planes of her face were chiaroscuro in the semi-darkness, sad and fearful. I finished freeing her ankles and she swung stiffly out of the bed. "Let's get out of here," she croaked.

Did I want to try to get someone in the house to open the gate or crawl under the wall again? Finding that break in the darkness again might be too time-consuming, or impossible. But entering the house would definitely cause a confrontation and I was feeling too fatigued to want to risk it. 

I noticed my teeth chattering. We headed in the direction of the wall and our luck held, our withdrawal uneventful. Five minutes later I found the place where I'd crawled in. 

"Ladies first," I indicated the hole with the weak beam of light.

She scrambled through the mire without a murmur of protest. Then I took my turn. On the other side of the wall the adrenaline stopped rushing through me and I immediately felt heavy on my feet, doddering like an old man. We trudged to my car. We got in.

"I'm just about out of gas. Me that is, not my car." 

We looked at each other in the front seat. Her long wet hair plastered her face, concern showed in her gaze. No glamour model poses then, just a kid waitress in too deep.

I said, "What do you think you're doing, Lisa?"

She acted surprised, "You recognize me?"

"Even when your hair isn't up in a bun." I remembered the girl of many faces in all the photographs. "Where's Dana?"

Lisa shrugged. "I don't know."

"Don't lie to me."

"I really don't."

"Why were you trying to impersonate her?"

"Are you out of your mind? I wasn't."

"Sure. And you weren't running out of the house after Vinnie got gunned down?"

"Vinnie wasn't shot."

"That can't be denied. Who ran out of the house then?"

"That was me."

"Will you kindly tell me what's going on?"

"That was Vinnie's house, but that wasn't Vinnie."

I still thought she was lying. "Don't try to kid me, kid. Where've you been?"

She rambled. "When I got off work at the restaurant I went home and changed. A friend dropped me off at Vinnie's place."

That explained why she took the convertible. "What for?"

"To see if I could find Dana."

Maybe that was the truth, maybe not. She went to see Vinnie, not Dana, I thought, but I asked, "Who else was in that house?" 

We heard it at the same time before she could answer, the rattle of a bad lifter. Something flashed through the spaces between the trees in the first haze of dawn. The touring car approached the estate in the decreasing rain.

I opened my door. "Wait here."

"What are you going to do?"

"My job. Which is to find Dana."

"You're dead on your feet. You told me so."

I got out of the car.

"Don't leave me here alone."

"Lock the doors, you'll be fine. Here are the keys. If anybody comes after you, just drive off."

She opened her mouth to protest but I was already slogging through the wet undergrowth. The long black car clattered, waiting for the gate to open. I'd sneaked through before and did so again before it closed on its track. If someone had invaded my private hospital estate and evacuated some of my patients, I'd post some guards. You'd think Desola and company would wise up after a while. Or maybe he was short on help. Dodging through trees and shrubs, I trailed the touring car right into the driveway. The driver apparently noticed me only after parking the car and getting out. 

I leveled my pistol at Dr. Desola himself. I inquired, "Been up all night working?"

"It appears we both have." He regarded me and the gun calmly. He endured being frisked for a weapon with great dignity. "Are you now satisfied that I'm unarmed?" I continued to hold my gun on him anyway, he had the physique of an athlete. "I understood you were to have an accident?"

"It never happened, doctor."

A smirk quivered on the edge of Desola's lips. "That I can see. And now what?"

"I'm looking for Dana Starling. Where is she?"

His smug smile spread wider. "You never said Dana is the missing girl you're looking for."

"I never got the chance, your orderly knocked me unconscious."

Desola disregarded my words like I'd never spoken them. "She isn't really missing, you know."

"I hear you talking."

"Please understand any young lady, not just Dana, is entitled to some privacy. She wants her secrets kept secret. Naturally she doesn't want her family to know she's living with a man she isn't married to." He added: "With me"

"She lives here with you?"

"We don't live here, we live at my house. She's staying here now, just temporarily, undergoing a cure," he explained.

"I know all about the kind of cures you specialize in here."

"It's not what you think." Desola's entreaty fell on deaf ears. "Look, I'm not a doctor."

"That's the first thing you've said that I've believed all night. Let's go inside and see the girl." 

I motioned at the house with a toss of my head and we walked up to the front door. He let us in with a key. The big house was dark, and quiet. I never saw the man with the misshapen head I had seen during my first visit. 

We came to a staircase. "Where's the girl?"

"Sleeping I'd hope." Desola yawned, which made me want to.

"Show me." I kept the gun trained on him.

We went upstairs and into a bedroom. Roused from sleep, a voice from the bed asked, "Who is it?" The missing Starling girl lifted her tousled blonde head from a stack of pillows and peered at us with drugged eyes. 

"It's me, Dana," said Desola.

"Oh hi, Vinnie," said the drowsy girl.

I stared in disbelief at the man I presumed to be the doctor. He smiled back at me.

"So you're Vinnie, not Dr. Desola?" I said.

"Yeah. I tried to tell you." Smug.

Dana asked about me. "Who's that? Why's he holding a gun?"

"A private cop your mother hired."

"Hired for what?"

"Hired to find you," I said simply. Then to Vinnie: "Who got shot at your place last night?"

"What's he talking about, Vinnie?" asked Dana.

Vinnie said nothing. 

"What's this man talking about, Vinnie?" Dana repeated.

I said, "Tell her who took two slugs in the chest at your house, Vinnie. I'd be interested to know his name myself."

Despite being sleepy or drugged Dana demanded, "Vinnie, tell me what's going on?" She eased out of bed, drew on a robe and went over to stand beside him.

I said, "Answer her."

He hesitated a long time. "It's Bobby."

"Bobby Lomeli? Is he dead?" Dana touched a hand to his sleeve. "Did you kill him?"

Vinnie said nothing but there was no mistaking the truth etched on his face.

"Why'd you kill Bobby? You said you wouldn't no matter what happened, you said he was your friend," wailed Dana.

His composure broke down under the girl's mounting fury, he must have really cared about her. "It's a long story, baby, and unusual circumstances." 

I said, "Does the story goes something like this? You and Bobby were friends. Bobby was at your place when a girl named Suzanne called you from The Carousel? She used a payphone from the powder room and told you I was nosing around. You sent Bobby over in your place to take care of the situation. You had Suzanne identify Bobby as you, right?"

"Did that happen, Vinnie?" asked Dana.

"Baby, part of it happened like that, but not all of it," Vinnie said finally, with spread hands. "I asked Bobby to take your car over to the club and find out what was going on, then report back to me. He had no car for some reason so I let him borrow yours. At the club Bobby sees Tony the Dentist. The two of them had a deal, involving some narcotics. He tells Tony to meet him later at my place where they can talk it over in private."

I recalled the two men consulting their watches. "What about Lisa?" I asked him.

Vinnie paused. "Bad timing, she came in just when Tony gunned Bobby."

"Don't drag Tony into this and start lying this late in the game. Tony had nothing to do with it, although it might be convenient to blame him for killing Bobby. Not only have I talked to Lisa but I was there when the shooting started. You're a gambler, Vinnie, so what was it? Did Bobby owe you money? He was high in The Carousel so maybe there's a narcotics angle? What did you have on him to make him jump whenever you snapped your fingers? I guess it doesn't really matter. I guess Lisa can clear up any details you forget."

Dana's hysteria built. She rasped at Vinnie, "You always hated Bobby because I was with him before you. But that's been over for a long time, Vinnie. You're just too jealous, you know you're the only one I love."




Felix Driscoll: Private Detective



I asked Vinnie, "Did Lisa pick up Bobby's gun after you killed him last night? She afraid you were going to kill her too. I think she took a pot shot at you and sent you running out the back door. She ran out the front and you chased after her in the old black car. Is that your car?"

"It's his car," Dana answered for him. 

"Vinnie, you couldn't leave a loose end like Lisa lying around. You brought her back here after you forced the convertible off the road in that big car. A Cadillac was leaving when I first got here. It's back now. Was it sent out to bring the convertible in from the roadside?" 

He denied it.

"Did you just now yourself get back from your house? Were you tidying up the murder scene? You were too pressed for time earlier, with all the guns going off. Am I right, Vinnie?"

Dana crucified him with her eyes. "He'd better not be right, Vinnie, for your sake. I'll tell everything I know."

The sound of a gun being cocked made us all turn. She had traded the frumpish clothes for a frump's nightgown. She glided into the room silently in bedroom slippers and clutching an ancient revolver. "You better shut that girl up, Vinnie," the frump warned him. She aimed the gun at Dana.

Vinnie regained some of his lost composure and, to his credit, stepped between the revolver and the Starling girl. "Put that gun down, Dr. Desola."

I was astonished to learn the frump was Dr. Desola. 

"I wouldn't be talking in front of this guy," the frump scowled. 

I'd been maneuvering around to get Vinnie between me and the gun. Dr. Desola spotted what I was up to and shifted me into the sights of her revolver. The heavy old gun trembled, clumsy in her hand. She spoke forcefully for an old woman: "Drop that gun!"

Instead I said: "Was the lady doctor supposed to keep Lisa doped up and quieted down until you could figure out a way of disposing of her?"

Vinnie's lips curled in hatred. 

"Enough accusations," the frump replied, "I'm not going to tell you again to drop that gun."

Dana spoke flatly, "I've heard enough. I'm leaving. Right now." 

Dr. Desola waved the gun, screaming, "Nobody's leaving! Stop this instant!" She pulled the trigger as I darted to one side. The revolver made my ears ring when it boomed. The frump's bullet struck Vinnie and mine struck the frump. She toppled dead.

"Dana . . ." stammered Vinnie through a mouthful of blood. 

She bent over him, crying, cradling his head in her arms. Over and over she said, "You know you're the only one I love, Vinnie." 

I dialed the phone on the night table. He died before the ambulance arrived.



Felix Driscoll Redux



A NOTE TO THE READER: This story takes place in 1949.

**********

When the two goons burst through the office door behind me I leaped out of my chair. 

Both of them big boys. 

Both ready to put me down hard.

The guy behind the desk had obviously put a toe to an alarm button on the floor to summon them. A big bore pistol lay on his desktop but I wasn't too worried about that. He barked some orders at the pair of goons when they shoved in to take me.

I saw one of them reaching inside his suit coat for his shoulder holster. Getting the other one between him and me I lashed out with a quick left and right to his jaw. A dazed look colored his face and his eyelids fluttered in surprise. He stood there motionless for a second before slumping in slow motion to the carpet. By then the other one had his pistol drawn, brandishing it. From the corner of my eye I saw the guy behind the desk reaching for the gun on the desktop.

I had bigger fish to fry. 

That's when the other big boy raked my skull with the long barrel of his pistol. I literally saw stars. Blackness edged my vision and I felt myself losing my equilibrium. I staggered back, with my head exploding into a thousand fragments. Nausea boiled up in my throat all the way down to the pit of my stomach. If I hit the deck it would be game, set and match for me.

The bruiser raised his revolver high over his head for a second swing. The blow would certainly crush my skull. 

************

It all started early that morning when I got a call from a client. He wanted to know if I could put breakfast on hold and shake a leg down to Silver Cinema studios. Sure, anything for an account as lucrative as Silver Cinema. 

"What's it all about?" I asked.

"Tell you when you get here, Felix. It's important."

"Be there in half an hour."

"Fine."

I wrestled my car through the morning traffic in Hollywood and Burbank. The studio nestled in the orange groves in the valley just west of there. The guard at the gate directed me to the receptionist in the office. She asked me if I was Mr. Driscoll. I said I was and she flirted with me for a minute before directing me to a screening room downstairs.

Bobby Glide was on the phone when I entered. Or maybe he was just listening to it ring on the other end. He put the receiver down disgustedly, shaking his head. He raised a finger in the universal give-me-just-a-minute sign and dialed again, probably a different number because, this time, he got an answer. 

"Would you roll the film now, Johnny?" I heard him say. "Our audience has arrived. Thanks."

We shook hands and he bid me to be seated as the lights in the empty theater went down. 

"I missed breakfast to watch a movie?"

"It's Alena's new picture," Tommy said, like that explained everything.

"I bet I can't even get popcorn in here," I mock complained. 

The title card A Hint Of Vermillion flashed up on the screen, starring Alena Dell, produced by Bobby Glide.

Before the first reel ended I knew even the best rewrite in Hollywood couldn't save Alena's new picture. The production obviously cost a lot of money and the movie still stunk. Short of a new director, cast and script, nothing was going to save that dog. As the last reel faded to the credits I yawned, but not too widely, I wanted to be polite. Fishing a cigarette from my pack I clicked my Zippo. Exhaling, I stood up from my seat and stretched to keep from falling asleep.

Bobby was on the wall phone in the back, one more time. He saw me looking and asked, "That bad, huh?"

"You don't need me to tell you that, you're the producer. What do you need a detective for?"

Bobby sighed and scanned the rows of vacant plush seats. While I'd sat through that 80-minute stinker he said not a word. He'd spent every second by the phone when he wasn't pacing a hole in the carpet, chain-smoking. I thought he would have said something of consequence by now. He had had time to put his thoughts in order while I drove over to the studio. More time during the three entire reels of uninspired dreck. 

"Cat got your tongue?" I asked.

Bobby made a face.

I tried more prompting, "Why the silent treatment? And what exactly is the job?"

He hesitated: "Look, Felix, I'm not sure what to say." 

"Okay, but what's Alena's new movie and a private detective got to do with one another?"

About that time the projectionist stuck his head inside the big soundproofed door. "You finished up in here, Mr. Glide?"

"Sure, sure, Johnny, we're done," Bobby uttered uncertainly, "Felix and I are on our way out."

We shuffled through the door, down a short hall, up several flights of stairs and into Bobby's office. Through his window I saw a row of tired palms drooping in the heat outside. Several green air conditioning units hunched on the roof of a cinderblock soundstage building the size of an airplane hangar. The Silver Cinema back lot had three more the same size but I couldn't see them from here. 

I deposited the dead butt of the cigarette in a spotless ashtray on his desk. A couple hundred framed photos festooned the walls: Bobby with this star; that starlet. A color poster of Alena's first starring picture had a wall to itself, hanging over a sideboard. 

The phone on his desk bleated before I got a word out of him. "Hang on, I gotta take this. Hello!" he answered before it could ring twice. He dug his smokes out of his breast pocket while listening to the voice on the phone. When he lit up smoke rose like an angry cloud of birds around his head. It didn't take a detective to realize he was speaking with Alena, the conversation unpleasant. To make myself scarce I drifted over to the window. A group of extras dressed as Roman gladiators filed into the giant cinderblock building across the way. Outside the studio fence orange groves stretched into the valley. Bobby startled me by slamming the phone down.

"That was Alena."

"Uh huh. What's she have to say?"

"You gotta help me, Felix. I don't care about the movie."

"What do I need to do?"

"Something's bugging Alena. She's got a big bee in her bonnet. Just went nuts over the phone. That's why the movie's screwed."

I waited for him to say something that required a reply.

He kept talking, "You and I served in the Pacific together, right? You've known Alena and me since high school, right?"

"Back when her name was Melissa Sanchez and yours was Herrera," I smiled lightly.

He gave a hollow chuckle. "We're both in show business, what can I say?" 

"You're talking but you're not saying anything, Bobby. So I've known you two since high school. So I thought you two would be married by now." 

He looked like my words wounded him. I hated to see an old friend in such raw pain. "It's been fifteen sixteen years since we got out of school," he said in almost a whisper. His cigarette had gone out in his hand. He looked down at it and tossed it in the ashtray. Bobby's eyes shined but not a tear fell. "I think she's in love with another man."

I feigned disbelief for a former schoolmate, "That can't be true." I felt a bit guilty after saying it and decided to shut up.

"I think so, man. It's the celebrity thing. She's surrounded all the time with handsome movie stars, actors, rich guys." 

"You're rich," I pointed out.

He blew a raspberry and shrugged: "So what? I ain't the only one. She doesn't know who her real friends are anymore. She can't talk to me, we always fight. Lately she can't even act, she's too preoccupied."

"You want me to talk to her?"

"I want you to check things out."

"Talk to her as a friend?" I asked, "Or are you wanting me to investigate her?"

"Investigate? Yeah, absolutely, I just couldn't come out and say it." Bobby blinked and shook his head. He heaved himself out of the swivel chair behind the desk, his slacks rasping as he paced. Whiskers bristled darkly on his unshaven face. Memories roiled like storm clouds behind his eyes. 

I sat down in the chair in front of his desk and did a bit of remembering on my own. "Is she still friends with Robin?"

He nodded. "That's not going to cause a problem, is it?"

I hoped I sounded convincing, "No. I'll give her a call, I still have her number. What about Alena's other friends?"

"Like I said, amigo, she don't know who her friends are these days. But the ones she has sure don't talk to me."

Which translated to they probably wouldn't talk with me either. 

Bobby said, "I moved into my brother's place. Just for a while."

I weighed my words before saying anything. "Are you sure you want me to nose around? You might not like what I find out."

"I gotta know, Felix. Alena's cheated on me before."

That I knew too well. If Bobby knew he never said anything to me about it. Melissa, or Alena as I'd come to think of her, and I bumped into each other at a party in L.A. right after she got her contract with Silver Cinema. Business commitments had Bobby, then Alena's manager, out of town. She drank too much and I was a familiar face. We left the party together. That night I hadn't behaved like much of a friend of Bobby's. He and I never had been really close, but we saw each other once or twice a year, usually when I did some work for Silver Cinema. Each time I wondered if that would be the time he'd bust me in the mouth for it. 

I was afraid to ask, "Did she tell you who with?" 

He turned his back to me and studied something outside the window. Crumpling up an empty cigarette pack he rummaged through a drawer, produced a fresh pack. He lit up again, jammed his lighter back in his pocket. "Lots of guys. It doesn't matter who, I'm over it."

Sure he was. "Last chance, do you really want me digging for dirt? You know what they say about the truth hurts sometimes?" He already looked hurt.

"I said I wanna know. Find out for me, Felix. Investigate her."

"I'll sound her out for you for nothing. A favor to a friend. If I go to work I'm a hundred bucks a day."

He took two crisp fifties out of an alligator wallet, handed them to me. "That'll get you started. Okay?"

"No contract for this little caper, Bobby?"

"Nah! This is personal, not company business."

I stood up and said nothing. 

He broke the silence, "So . . . you going to see her?"

"That seems like the best way to go about it since we know each other. She may just blurt out what's wrong to me. She still live on Mulholland?"

"Yeah. Call whenever you find anything out, I don't care what it is. Or what time it is. Okay?"

I told him I would.

"You gonna do this today?"

I patted him on the shoulder, smiled. "Sure. Right now."

I put his money in my billfold and breezed. **********

I walked around the building to the parking lot where I'd left my car. Who first, Alena or Robin? Mulholland was closer and Alena the actual subject in question. Why involve Robin unnecessarily? As an ex-school chum I should be welcome at Alena's mansion in the hills. Feelings do exist between us but not romantic ones. Our one night together had never evolved beyond that. 

Robin was another story, maybe I wanted a reason to see her. 

The movie and my conference with Bobby lasted through lunch and my stomach was growling. It so happened one of my favorite Italian restaurants is near Robin's bungalow. That was out of the way. It would be easier to just call her, eat somewhere else. It made no sense but I decided to go see her first.

I never did stop to eat.

Never gave Veronica, my girlfriend, a thought. 

I drove east into Glendale where Robin lived. Abruptly her unmistakable red flivver turned out of her suburb and zipped down the street ahead of me. If she saw my car I doubted she'd remember it. Just the sight of her caused my heart to pound. I cursed myself and lit a cigarette, threw it out of the car after two drags.

Keeping some distance between us I followed her. We wound up in a modest neighborhood in Pasadena. I sped up to get closer behind her but still kept about a block between us. When I saw her brake lights I rolled over to the curb.

She pulled into the driveway of a house where an enormous avocado tree dominated the front yard. The tree plunged the front of the house into murky darkness in the early afternoon. Robin crossed its shadow to the front porch with a big purse tucked under her arm. She knocked on the door and a man appeared in the doorway. My heart pounded even harder still. I glimpsed Robin hugging him before they disappeared out of sight into the house.

My heart sank. I reached for my cigarettes and sat there and smoked. I turned on the radio. I lit new cigarettes from the old ones. I turned off the radio. 

After fidgeting a moment I slid out of my car and strolled down the sidewalk toward the house. I cleaned my sunglasses on my tie as I walked, squinting into the sunlight. Before I took ten steps I froze. Robin strode purposefully through the front door carrying both her big purse and a cat. She fired up the flivver and quit the scene. When she backed out I saw she would be heading in my direction. She would see me if I didn't act fast. I went up to the door of the first house I came to and pretended to knock. As her red Ford drove by I had my back to the street. I looked after her, she paid no attention to me.

What a waste, I'd lost her! By the time I made it back to my wheels half a block away she would be on the Pasadena freeway. I wondered whether to make the drive to Alena's place or try to find Robin. With a cat in hand she'd likely return home rather than take it shopping or with her to get her nails done. A year ago, before Veronica, when I'd dated Robin she owned an orange tabby. The cat she had carried was gray. Maybe she'd acquired another cat. Maybe she was only cat-sitting the gray one. Who knew?

I switched the radio back on to mull things over. My mouth was dry from all the cigarettes so I didn't light another. Should I knock on the door of the house with the avocado tree? Good afternoon, sir, I'm selling subscriptions to The Times; do you take the paper? I sat there undecided when another car turned into the driveway of the house. A big white Cad. A woman emerged from it, a knit cap pulled down over her hair did a good job of obscuring her features, the kind of hat called a cloche. The woman teetered on high heels through the yard and up three steps to the porch.

Unlike Robin, the girl in the cloche walked in like she owned the place, without knocking. Having learned my lesson I stayed put and watched the house. Less than a minute later I saw the knit cap moving in the shadows of the avocado tree. Her head ducked out of sight and she was in her car before I could see her face. What the hell was going on? Was no one home or were they dealing dope out of the place? In the space of fifteen minutes two women had been in and out of that house, one with a cat. 

The Cad bumped out of the driveway. It raced my way and hurtled by my car parked at the curb. Behind the tinted windshield the lady with the knit cap was crying. 

Even disguised in big sunglasses and the cloche I recognized her. It was Alena.

Getting inside that house became job one. I decided to go into the door-to-door subscription racket immediately with that house as my first stop. I bounded from my car and hot-footed it down the sidewalk as fast as my feet would carry me. Through the shade of the big tree. Up to the porch. Front door open. "Hello, anybody home?" I knocked loudly. No invitation to come on in. "Hello." No answer. I wanted to draw my .32 but if you enter someone's home with an iron in hand you deserve to be shot. But no way I wasn't going in. Call it a hunch; my instincts told me something wasn't right in that house. 

With my ink pen I jiggled open the pull handle of the screen door. I wanted neither to disturb fingerprints nor leave any of mine. The front door stood ajar. I pushed on it with a knuckle, it swung back on its hinges and I peered inside. No foyer, the door opened into a living room. Davenport, a TV, chairs, unoccupied. Dead silence. That's what I was afraid of. I moved through the living room into the kitchen. A chair from the dinette lay on its side on the linoleum. A man lay face down in a pool of blood, his hands clutched under him holding his stomach. Crimson was everywhere, splattered on the table and the wall. Judging from the hole in his back a large caliber gun had taken the guy out. Smears and small round spots of blood led toward the living room in a dwindling pattern. 

Beyond the chair and the corpse another man stood facing me. He looked surprised yet calm. He surveyed the gruesome corpse without blowing his breakfast. In his WWII days he'd seen dozens of dead bodies. In Guadalcanal it was part of the scenery. 

"What are you doing here, Bobby?" I wanted to know.

"I was about to ask you the same thing, man."

"I'm on a case you hired me for! Remember?"

"There's no need to yell, Felix."

I disregarded him, "Did you ice this guy?"

He told me no. Profanely. 

I surveyed the kitchen. "Who killed him?"

"Don't know, just got here myself." Next to the stove a door to the backyard was open.

"You know who this guy is?"

"No."

"Did you see anyone?"

With reluctance he muttered, "I can't say, man, I can't say."

I got a little profane myself. "Are you covering for Alena?" 

His head jerked up when I said her name but he shrugged. 

I asked, "Did she kill him?"

"I can't say. But I didn't."

Totally exasperated I growled, "C'mon, Bobby, you're putting me in the middle of something I don't want to be in."

"Sorry."

I made a disgusted sound: "Is anybody else in the house?"

"I don't know, I told you I just got here."

I made another disgusted sound.

"What're you gonna do, Felix?"

"Answer some questions, why don't you, Bobby." I looked at the bloody corpse. "Who blew that hole in this slob?"

"How would I know? I came in here and found the guy croaked, just like you."

"Did Alena see you while she was here?"

"She was here?"

"Don't hand me a line, Bobby, you'd lie to protect her. What are you doing here?"

He shook his head back and forth. At any time I thought he might gibber or drool.

"Bobby, do you or don't you know this guy on the floor?"

"We can talk later, amigo, let's blow!"

"I'm going to have to call the cops."

"Screw that, I'm lamming!" He almost made it to the back door before I clamped a big hand on his shoulder. Bobby stood about half a foot shorter than my six one; he stopped moving when I put the grab on him. I patted down his pockets. Nothing. Nothing in his waistband either. The heater that put our boy on the floor down would be too big for Bobby to stow in his sock.

"Who do you think you are, frisking me?"

"Shut up. Where's the gun?"

He got indignant, "I'm not heeled!"

"Don't try to bulldoze the bulldozer." 

"Are you accusing me?"

"I'm asking a question." I was as mad as Bobby. Obviously the knucklehead wasn't going to answer any questions about guns so I tried a different tack, "What have you touched inside the house?"

He thought a second, "The door handle coming in."

"Are you sure that's all?"

He gave me a dirty look.

"Don't touch anything else and make sure not to step in any blood. Just stay put, I'm going to see if anybody else is in this dump." 

I tiptoed around all the blood. A hallway led to a bathroom and three bedrooms, one with an unmade bed. The second contained a loveseat and a portable bar, a thicket of empty beer cans. On top of the bar I saw several typewritten scripts, each fastened together in the left margin with brads. I was glad to see none named A Hint Of Vermillion. The third room served as a junk room: boxes piled up; an old bicycle; a defunct couch leaning badly to the right; a litter box that needed emptying.

I headed back for the kitchen saying to Bobby, "It's just you, me and the deceased." 




Felix Driscoll Redux



But I was wrong, only the deceased and I remained. Bobby had decamped. Well, I'd given him enough time. Maybe I viewed it as a minor atonement for my secret sin with Alena. Maybe he was more of a friend of mine than I'd thought. Besides, I'd talked to him long enough to know he wasn't going to tell me the truth. 

I wanted to exit too but needed to know the identity of the dead man. The corpse wore only a pair of boxer shorts. I ducked back into the room with the bed. In a pair of pants tossed into a chair I found a wallet. The driver's license indicated the man on the kitchen floor to be Walter Hobbs of that address in Pasadena. Speaking of licenses, I needed to get in touch with the cops or be in danger of losing mine. 

But I had somewhere to go first.

Slipping out the front door I got to my car and drove straight to Glendale. When I turned onto Robin's street I saw the flivver parked in her driveway. Went to the front door and knocked, my guts in knots. A minute passed. I knocked again and again no answer. 

A locksmith pal had taught me the way key locks work. I keep a square of stiff plastic in my billfold; it opened her door handily enough. The gray cat met me in the front room, meowed at me. When I ignored it, it crouched down and began to clean its paws. No sign of the orange tab. I called Robin's name and got silence in return. Growing worried I lunged blindly into the house. I heard the shower water running in the bathroom. Through the steam I saw a shape moving behind the pebbled glass of the shower door. There was no way I would scare the hell out of Robin after I'd let myself into her home unbeknownst to her. Before retreating to the living room I did a little snooping and found her medication on top of a chest of drawers. She had been taking it ever since I'd known her. I hated it, it made her crazy. On the top shelf of her closet I found what I was afraid I'd find. I took it into the living room, laid it on the coffee table. I sat down on the couch. The cat continued to clean its paws while I waited. When the water in the bathroom shut off I detected the faint rhythmic clunk of a washing machine in the background. Sounds of movement came from the bedroom. 

I coughed discreetly, "Hi, Robin, it's me. Me as in Felix. You have company."

She sounded puzzled, "Who's there?"

"It's me, Felix Driscoll. I'm in your living room." 

From the bedroom I heard her exclaim: "What!"

Robin bolted into the living room wrapped in a terrycloth robe, her red hair a tangle, face devoid of make up, but she looked so good I knew how Ulysses felt when the sirens sang. My heart felt like a giant fist squeezed it when I first saw her face to face. 

She got testy, but under the circumstances who could blame her? "Felix, what?"

"Hi, Robin," I grinned, foolishly. "Where's your orange cat?"

"It got run over." The subject of cats held no interest to her. Instead she asked, "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk." Also needed to phone a murder in.

"Get out!"

"We talk first."

"I'll call some law."

"I don't think so."

"Oh, you don't? You're in my home. Get the hell out."

"Go ahead, call the cops. You'll be arrested for murder."

She babbled in a frightened stammer: "Exactly what are you talking about?"

"You putting a slug in Walter Hobbs an hour ago."

Robin went white under her California suntan. She opened her mouth to speak but no words poured forth.

"I'm going to have to tell the police," I said. "And I don't want to do that, Robin. I can lose my license if I don't."

She told me where I could put my license.

"Believe me, it's nothing personal," I said.

"Yeah, sure," she sneered. "You hate me because I left you."

"That's got nothing to do with nothing. It's bigger than that, you killed a man."

"How do you know?"

"I watched you go into Hobbs' house."

She stared at me in a fury about to be unleashed. The robe had parted to reveal some spectacular fleshy curves. Her beauty almost took my breath away. 

"What can you possibly know?" Robin spat.

"I know enough."

"You may have been watching the house but you weren't inside."

"The cat gave you away."

"What are you talking about?"

"Alena and Bobby Glide both visited Hobbs today after you did."

She thought about that. "What makes you so sure I killed him and not one of them?"

"Walter Hobbs was dead before either one of them got there. I saw you leaving with the cat. The cat had walked in the dead man's blood and tracked it in the kitchen. See, the cat's still cleaning its paws. And that explains why you were showering in the afternoon. Washing your bloody hands clean, Robin?"

Even cursing me I desired her. Her eyes gleamed; I wondered how many pills she'd taken.

"Did you get blood on your clothes? Or bloody paw prints? Is that why you're doing a load of laundry?"

I reached across the couch to an end table and a phone. Robin watched in horror as I dialed. 

"Who are you calling? Wait, baby, wait!" The robe fell open all the way as she removed the phone from my hand and disconnected the call.

I waited. "Oh, I'm baby now, am I?"

"Felix, please. I'll do anything." To prove it she shrugged out of the robe. She was still magnificent. "You don't have to do this."

The burden of Ulysses got heavier. "Yes," I said, "I do."

"The cops'll never believe you. It's what's called circumstantial evidence." After she spoke she saw the gun I'd laid on the coffee table for the first time.

I said, "A murder weapon is not circumstantial in a court of law."

Suddenly she seemed to be entertaining thoughts of grabbing the pistol, formerly hidden in her closet. When she made her play I smacked her. She fell hard on her magnificent bottom, breasts heaving. Her lip puffed up immediately but I hadn't struck her hard enough to draw blood. I guessed I was still in love with her or I'd've belted her into the middle of next week.

The brightness in her eyes had been replaced with disbelief. "You hit me!" she spat.

"Not hard enough to split your lip, babe. That fat lip'll be gone tomorrow." I scooped the pistol off the table and put it in my jacket pocket in case she got any more hostile notions.

I said, "You should have ditched the heater. Why didn't you?"

She said something concerning my mother and me. "Such talk, Robin. C'mon! Spill it!"

"I borrowed it from a friend."

"Meaning you had to return it? Once the deed was done and the owner had the gun back in his possession it could never be traced to you. The friend might tie in to an official investigation, but the murder weapon probably never would. Was that the idea?"

"Felix, remember old times. Just don't call the cops on me. Please." She came into my arms, squirmed against me. "We can be together again. I promise to make it good for you, baby."

Even counterfeit affection from Robin is hard to ignore. Only with great difficulty did I disentangle myself from her embrace. I wanted to believe that she still wanted me, wanted me back, but I knew better. My mind fought the knowledge. I probably always will be in love with her.

I found the willpower to say, "Robin, put your robe back on."

"And then what?"

"We talk about Bobby and Alena."

The cat had finished grooming. It made a lazy approach toward me, rubbed up against my pantsleg.

Robin picked her robe off the floor, belted it tightly.

She asked for a cigarette. I gave her one.

Then she began to talk. 

*********

Night had fallen by the time I got back to the studio. The guard at the shack knew me and raised the gate for my car. Lights on tall steel poles blazed on many empty parking spaces. Among the two dozen or so cars remaining I spotted my client's Rolls in a reserved slot. I parked next to it. In the buildings ahead I saw lights on in a few windows.

I found Bobby seated at the desk in his office with a nearly empty bottle of whiskey alongside a bucket of melting ice. In the ashtray a pile of butts made a small mountain. The telephone was close to his left hand. He looked up from his Scotch on the rocks with a hopeful look on his face but the expression on mine chased his look away. Neither one of us spoke. I went over to the window overlooking the back lot and thrust it open. The tired palms didn't look so tired in the coolness of the evening. The gladiators had all gone home for the day. In the valley beyond the orange trees cast spectral shadows.

The night air smelled good in the stale office. I selected a shot glass from the sideboard and helped myself to his whiskey. 

Silence hung between us like a zeppelin.

I tossed my shot back neat, trudged back to the open window. As I stared out into the night I asked Bobby without looking at him, "Are you getting drunk?" 

"Chasing away my problems."

"It's past quitting time."

"What have I got to go home to?" he snorted, feeling sorry for himself. He said as an afterthought: "Hey, Felix, I'm sorry I beat feet on you this afternoon." 

"I can forgive that." There were other things I couldn't.

"Have you talked with Alena?"

"No. Have you?"

"She ain't takin' my calls."

"I found out why. At least I think I did."

That got his attention. "Don't keep me in suspense. Tell me."

I kept looking out the window. A prop man with a dolly opened a set of double doors in the big building and went inside. "Do you know an actor named Walter Hobbs?"

"Name doesn't sound familiar, should I know him?"

"Maybe not by name." I looked over my shoulder at him.

His face got dark. "Was that the stiff in the house?"

"Right. The house you followed Alena to this afternoon."

"So what if I did?"

"Bobby, you hired me to handle this. Why didn't you let me handle it like we agreed and you keep out of the picture?"

He fiddled with a cigarette, lighting it before he answered me. "I'm eaten up with jealousy, I can't help it. After you left the lot today I decided to drive by Alena's house. Before I got there I saw her Caddie on Mulholland. I stuck to her like glue."

I turned back and looked out the window some more. "A Rolls Royce is a real inconspicuous car, great for tailing."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Why'd you hire me anyway, Bobby?"

"You're the only private detective I know, it seemed like a good plan at the time. I thought maybe you could help." Bobby sounded anxious, "Was Alena really seeing that guy? The dead guy?" Pushing away from the window I settled into the same chair I'd occupied that morning. "You know she was, but you have nothing to be jealous of now."

"Why, because the punk's dead?" 

I nodded. "Apparently the late Mr. Hobbs was quite a Romeo." 

He snorted again, "Not anymore."

"True. The man's dead. I guess one of his girlfriends caught him cheating with another one of his girlfriends. Did you know Alena's friend Robin was in love with Hobbs? She was at his house a lot. She would even take her cat with her when she stayed for days at a time. Alena met Hobbs through Robin. Then Alena and Hobbs started to see each other behind Robin's back."

"Behind mine too!" interjected Bobby.

"You know how Robin is, she thinks she's God's gift to men. If any boyfriend of hers had something going on on the side and she found out about it, she's capable of killing him in a jealous rage."

"Are you saying Robin killed the guy?"

"She has a terrible temper."

"What can you say, Felix? She's a redhead." 

"Her medication has severe side effects. Depression, anger, mood swings. You know about her medicine." It wasn't a question.

Bobby said, "I know about the pills. Do you think that's what made her flip her lid?"

"That, and her king-sized ego. The thought of being thrown over for another girl, especially a movie star like Alena, would eat away at her. Not to mention the fact Alena's successful in pictures; Robin's only had two or three bit parts. Robin was as jealous about Hobbs two-timing her as you were about Alena."

Although the Scotch had loosened Bobby's tongue he offered no comment. He clinked the cubes around in his glass, poured another drink. The skin of his face sagged like a drunk's. 

I continued, "There's a defense attorney in Santa Monica who I convinced Robin to hire. I just got back from his office, he's going to surrender her tomorrow to an assistant D.A. I owe a favor to. At her trial this lawyer can get a lot of mileage out of her prescription medicine with expert witnesses."

He drank his drink in one gulp, wiped his mouth with back of his hand, "You're a helluva guy, Felix."

"So I guess the case is over now. It turned out pretty good for you, all things considered."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well for one, the guy who was hauling Alena's ashes is now out of the picture. Permanently. And Alena lost a lover she can never get back. Maybe she'll look you up again and things will be happy ever after. Just like in the movies."

Even though my last statement had been sarcastic the thought seemed to cheer him; a smile brightened his dark face. "I never thought about it like that."

"Didn't you?"

The smile went away, "Didn't I what?"

"You knew about Hobbs all along, knew who he was, where he lived. You were lurking in his backyard whether you tailed Alena over there or not. I saw Alena drive up, you weren't around. The way I remember it you came in through the back door. You'd been manipulating Robin and wanted to see how certain events played out."

"Felix, you're blowing smoke. What do you mean manipulate?"

"You put her up to it. You set things in motion, you knew about the unpredictable nature of the medicine she took. You're the one who told Robin that Alena was playing house with her boyfriend. You're the friend who lent her the gun that killed Walter Hobbs."

I took the gun in question from my coat pocket and plunked it down next to the Scotch bottle. Bobby looked blankly at it, then down at his feet for a long time. I wondered what he found so fascinating down there.

He finally looked up, "That pistol doesn't belong to me."

"I think the cops will say otherwise."

"You're going to rat on me to the cops? I hired you, I'm your boss!"

"I believe the correct term is accessory to murder."

The door flew open behind me and two bruisers marched in. I was halfway out of my seat when I heard Bobby say, "Escort this chump off the lot and don't be gentle about it."

That's when the fisticuffs began. I'd put the first joker down with a quick combination when the second one raked the barrel of his revolver across the side of my head. Blood streamed down my face. I started to fall but with great effort remained upright. Bobby pushed past me and out the door, with his gun. I'd taken the precaution of unloading it before presenting it to him but I couldn't let him get away with state's evidence. The goon raised his gun for a second swipe at my cranium and I caught him a good one in the midriff with my fist.

Vomit spewed from his mouth as he bent double and danced a painful little jig but kept his pins under him. I had no more time to fool with him so I grabbed a fistful of .32 from under my left armpit. He'd pulled his iron first so as far as I was concerned fair's fair. None too gently I put a goose egg on his skull. He hit the carpet like a sack of cement. The first goon I'd punched tried to stagger to his feet but I pressed the snout of the .32 against his forehead. I reached inside his coat and relieved him of his revolver. As I tucked it in my waistband I wagged my gun in admonishment at him: "Stay put, tough guy." 

I snatched his partner's pistol off the floor then chased after Bobby. As I ran I threw that gun into the first trashcan I came to, the one by the flirtatious receptionist's desk. I removed the revolver from my waistband because it interfered with my running and ran with a gun in each hand. Bobby had a big head start on me. As I slammed through the glass front doors of the office I saw him two football field lengths ahead of me, making for the parking lot. If he lit out in his Rolls I might never catch him.

I knew yelling at him wouldn't make him stop; also robbing me of precious breath I needed for our little sprint. Blood got into my left eye from the nick above my temple; I figured I had a concussion but forced myself to pick up the pace.

When Bobby reached his car he raised his unloaded gun and pulled the trigger several times before realizing his folly. Hurling the gun at me he began fumbling with his car keys. The murder weapon skittered past me on the asphalt, Bobby missed by a mile. While he tried to open the driver's door of the Rolls I closed the distance between us. I hoped he'd flood the damn thing trying to start it in his haste but no such luck. The engine roared to life.

With fifty yards to go I reholstered my .32, went down on one knee and took aim with the long-barreled revolver. Never for an instant was Bobby my target, I wanted to puncture the tires. By the time I'd spent all six shots I had flattened both of them on the passenger side. That didn't stop Bobby. He steered the car right at me and gave it the gas. Straight towards me the Rolls shot like a rocket.

I stood like a deer frozen in headlights. At the last minute I flung the empty revolver like a knife at the windshield before I jumped out of the path of danger. Something told me as I rolled painfully across the hard ground that Bobby swerved to avoid hitting me at the last minute. The tires squealed and the engine revved before a mighty tearing of metal reached my ears. The car had crashed into one of the light poles in the parking lot. The pole tilted precariously but the light still shone, illuminating Bobby's desperate face as he bailed out of the car.

He scurried toward the huge cinderblock edifice.

"Damn it, Bobby," I howled at the top of my voice as I struggled back to my feet.

He ran and I ran and I didn't feel much like running just then. I wanted to just sit down and have a nice peaceful heart attack. On I went though. Our footfalls on the asphalt echoed in the night. The double doors of the soundstage building swung open spilling light and people into the parking lot. Bobby pushed past the onlookers and vanished from sight inside.

The Silver Cinema contract players apparently recognized one of the studio's producers and moved to thwart my pursuit. Without missing a step I reached into my jacket. It's amazing what miracles a madman with blood smeared on his face, shouting and waving a handgun can perform. The employees parted like the Red Sea. 

Unchallenged I passed through the doors into the cavernous building. I glanced from side to side looking for Bobby. Except for one brightly-lighted section where a late scene was being shot the rest of the place stood in total darkness. I'd been in that building once or twice before and knew a manmade catacomb of cameras and stage sets lay ahead of me. Bobby, of course, was nowhere to be seen.

Heading back to the double doors I found the electrical junction boxes and systematically threw levers until the whole joint was floodlit. One burly character in overalls looked like he intended to undo my handiwork until I gave him one of my meaner looks.

"I'm gonna call the cops, fella," he threatened.

"Don't just stand around jabbering, do it," I urged. That shut him up. I asked him, "Is there any back way out of here?"

He saw I had put my automatic away. After hesitating a moment he shook his head: "It's all locked up tight as a drum except for these doors here," he jerked a thumb behind him at the entrance Bobby and I had used.

"What's this all about?" demanded several of the cast and crew.

"Don't let Bobby Glide leave this building," I ordered.

"Why?" they clamored.

"Police business," I said and left it at that. "Somebody call the law if you haven't already."

As I stalked back into the bowels of the building I heard much mumbling and grumbling. Over my shoulder I barked, "And leave all the lights on!"




Felix Driscoll Redux



I started searching for Bobby. It didn't take long to find him. He shouted my name and it bounced off the high cinderblock walls and among the scenery flats. "Up here," he bawled.

Twenty-five feet above me he perched on a scaffold loaded with coils of black cable and crowded with stage lights. "Get down from there," I called to him.

"Never happen," he shouted back with glee.

"You're drunk," I said. 

"I can hold my liquor!"

"Yeah, I can tell, you crazy ape!" Iron rungs set evenly apart in the wall led up to the scaffolding. I approached them never taking my eyes off Bobby.

"I'm gonna jump if you act like you're gonna climb up here."

I stopped in my tracks, "What the hell for? With your clout in this town you won't serve a day behind bars."

"I'll still be charged with attempted murder!"

"Your old buddy Felix isn't going to press charges. Come on down here."

"It won't stop Robin's hotshot lawyer from dragging me into court and ruining my reputation."

"Climb down and let's talk it over over a glass of Scotch."

"You said I was drunk!"

"Falling from your chair to the floor won't kill you," I shouted, "the one from that height will. Come back down, I'll help you."

As I took a step toward the rungs in the wall Bobby yelled, "I'll jump, I swear to God, Felix, I will jump."

"It's not worth it, Bobby. Climb back down. Please!"

"Life ain't worth living without Alena, amigo."

I screamed, "No!" as he dove head first off the scaffolding into the concrete floor. His body made a sickening crunch as it struck. Cast and crew flowed by me in morbid fascination. I turned away in shock. I had no need to see for myself, I knew that fall crushed the life out of my friend. I didn't want my last memory of Bobby to be that of his broken body.

I have very little recollection of wandering in a daze through the soundstages and across the way back into what used to be Bobby's office. No sign of the goons. No sign of anybody. I sank into the swivel chair and upended the bottle of Scotch still on the desktop, concussion or not. I set it down empty.

The phone rang. I looked at my watch. Ten to ten. It seemed a lot later at night than that. The ringing hurt my head so I picked up the phone.

"Hello," I said.

"Bobby?" asked a woman's voice.

"Is this Alena Dell?" I asked.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"An old schoolmate of yours," I said quietly, "Felix."

"Felix Driscoll?"

"Yes."

"How are you?"

After a long pause I told Alena it had been one of the longest and worst days of my life. I didn't tell her I had lost two friends: first Robin, if ever she had been a friend; and then Bobby, who definitely qualified as one. His missing me with the Rolls proved it to me.

"I'm sorry to hear that, but is Bobby there, Felix?"

I swallowed, I couldn't answer her. My reflection in the movie poster above the sideboard looked like hell. I dug around in my jacket for a handkerchief, dabbed at the dried blood on my face.

"Let me talk to Bobby," said Alena. "I need to speak to him."

"Aren't you and he on the outs?"

"Something happened, Felix, just today. Something happened to change my mind."

"What happened?" I asked, my voice a whisper, although I well knew what had happened and what she'd seen at the house over in Pasadena.

"Where's Bobby? I want to tell him personally," she purred into the phone. "Felix? Felix, are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm still here, Melissa."

Alena laughed shortly, "Nobody calls me that anymore, not even my mother. Listen, Felix, please put Bobby on."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"He's . . . he's . . ." the words stuck in my throat.

"He's what, Felix?"

"Bobby's across the street," I managed.

"Have him call me when he gets back, would you?"

"Is there any message you want to leave?" I marshaled all the strength remaining in me to keep my voice from shaking.

"I called to tell him I'm sorry. And that I love him."

"You love him?"

"Of course, silly. But keep my change of heart a secret. We've been quarreling and I want to tell him myself. Okay? It'll be our little secret, just between us, Felix. Okay? Are you there, Felix? Felix!"

"Yeah," I finally said, "our little secret."

I hung up.

Sat there staring at my reflection in the poster. 

For the longest time I didn't notice that I was crying.



Felix Finds Romy



The sensation of just lying naked, flat on his back, on a really huge luxurious bed was almost too much for Felix. This wasn't just any bed, it belonged to Romy, a dark haired, enigmatic French woman, of North African descent, whom he'd found whilst searching for escort services on his laptop.

Felix's unease was made more palpable due to the fact that he could not see. He was wearing a soft satin mask over his eyes that had a musk-like odour which was beginning to heighten his already aroused sexual state. His nervousness was obvious, he felt damp from the extra perspiration which he could not prevent gushing from the palms of both hands. His mouth had the dryness that normally came hand in hand with fear. Romy said when they'd spoken the day before that she was not into domination. Felix had tried that & did not like it. He convinced himself that it was the anticipation of sexual pleasures that left his mouth devoid of saliva. Exactly what this woman was going to do to him was, nevertheless, a little perplexing....

He had spoken to her to fix the meeting but struggled to understand her broken English. Felix's French wasn't as good as he thought it was, perhaps his tour of duty in Paris, due to last for two years, would help him to become more fluent. Whichever language she spoke was of no consequence. Felix knew he was hooked. She had the most infectious giggle he'd ever had the good fortune to hear. The meeting was arranged quickly for eleven the next morning.

Felix was told he could park on the grass in front of her house. The house with the green door & wooden venetian blinds. House number 69 he was informed. Felix liked the sound of that...soixante neuf, he repeated silently, & smiled. He still had not mastered changing gear with his right hand, he wished he'd chosen an automatic gear box on the hire car, because the anticipation of what was going to unfold once the green door closed behind him was badly affecting his driving. 

Romy greeted him in a polite business like manner, shaking his hand and kissing him on both cheeks. He was led up stairs, but not before he'd insisted on removing his shoes. An old childhood habit which seemed to amuse Romy a lot. Not much was said, it didn't need to be. Once inside a small dressing room, Romy's nimble fingers began to remove Felix's clothes. He was aware of the door at the far end and wondered, hoped, it led to her bedroom.

Once naked, Felix was instructed to bend his knees so that Romy could reach to put a blindfold on him. Felix did not object. Romy had on a button-down dress that would be easy to remove he thought, but he didn't get the chance. Instead, she took his hand and gently pulled him along behind her. His erect penis collided with her bottom and thigh a couple of times, causing him to breathe out a silent sigh of absolute pleasure. Romy's breathing was becoming more noticeable. This lady enjoys her work, Felix thought.

Parisian apartments all smelt the same to Felix. French tobacco was unlike any other, and when combined with the aromas of this woman's bedroom, it seemed to give him an instant high. Romy guided him onto her bed, at least he guessed it was her bed, and told him he should lie on his back & keep still. He became aware of movement, swishing noises, expensive material slipping effortlessly over perfumed skin onto the floor. Was Romy was undressing and making herself ready for him? He hoped that she was.

Felix had read on Romy's website the services she offers her clients. The usual, oral sex, give and receive, how that appealed, and, as well as protected intercourse, other forms of play. Felix pondered on what she meant by that. Her photographs had been enticing, pulling him in, he imagined stroking her well formed thighs & bottom & kissing her rounded, domed stomach. Her breasts were large, somewhat pendulous, with expansive brown areolae & attendant hard nipples. He just loved breasts like that, soft, pliable, primitive, welcoming, suffocating breasts.

Felix became aware of movement coming from the foot of the bed, preceded by a light breeze of indistinguishable perfume. Not overpowering, not overtly sexy, just right. He half expected some skin contact by this stage and was somewhat disappointed not to get any. His concern however was short lived. Romy, in her best broken English, asked him to open his mouth. Felix did not need asking twice, but was totally unprepared for the pleasure which followed. First, one finger teased his lower lip, just by itself. Moving, sliding across, lightly caressing as it went. He devoured it in an animal like fashion. Moving his tongue around it, sucking, biting, nibbling. He knew what he was tasting, where that finger had come from and hoped more would follow. Which of course they did. Fingers came and went, slippy, moist, pussy-juice laden fingers. Felix began to slip into a heady almost drunken like state. He longed for more skin to skin contact. Were the fingers just an hors d'oeuvre? He knew that they were. 

He came quickly to his senses with a jolt when Romy closed her lips over just the very tip of his now wildly pulsating cock. Her left hand cupped his balls, & then gently massaged and stroked the shaft of his stiff penis. This assault on his person had taken him by surprise, so much so that he had not even touched the naked skin of this divine creature, apart that is from the brief contact his penis made with her bottom and left thigh as Romy was leading him to her bedroom. He went to take the blindfold off but a firm 'non' was softly but sensually spoken. More extreme movement. Romy was about to claim her victim he thought. The smoothness of her skin took his breath away, even more so because he guessed what Romy was about to do. Both her legs straddled his torso. Her excitement was real. Now it was Romy's turn to become animal like. Felix was trapped in her lair.

Felix only managed half a breath before her vulva came quite forcibly down onto his still gaping mouth. It took a nano second for his tongue to begin work. This womans clit needed treatment and he was quite an expert giving clit orgasms. Romy worked her hips in such a way that a voyeur who caught a glimpse might think she was riding his cock. Felix tried to come up for air but couldn't. Heaven isn't any better than this, he thought. Then, it was over, almost as quickly as it had begun. She began to quiver & stiffen, just as he himself stiffens from the tips of his toes to his waist when he is about to spurt his come between the breasts of his lover or into the depths of her sex. Her breathing became very laboured & the sound effects, a mixture of laughter & crying got so loud Felix was glad the house stood by itself. She calmed down a little, rolled off to one side but appeared still to be convulsing. If this was a orgasm, then it was the most weird of orgasms Felix had ever had the pleasure to be a part of. He still could not see, the mask was almost glued to his eyes. He did not care, not seeing seemed to heighten his senses & pleasure.

Suddenly, he became aware of feeling quite damp. Not just damp but wet, very wet. The whole of his upper body was dripping wet and this wetness was seeping under his back making him feel quite uncomfortable. At least it did until he realized where the liquid had come from. The penny dropped. Romy had ejaculated as she orgasmed. Felix, not lacking in the knowledge of matters sexual, had only previously read about women who could achieve this state of sexual utopia. His pulse rate was well and truly off the dial by now and he had yet to find his way into her dripping pussy. His cock was hell bent on getting in, but without a passion killing condom he knew that was not permitted. Romy stirred, sensed his frustration, leant across his stretched out body, removed the blindfold, and opened a small drawer in the wall above the bed. Her breasts, full, soft, welcoming breasts with small hard nipples brushed his face as she moved back down the bed. His face relished the contact and so did his hands. Cupping both together, he forgot for a moment why Romy had moved higher up the bed. Naked, wobbly, brown nippled breasts were his favourite. Romy's fitted the bill exactly.

Felix lifted his head off the pillows & watched intensely as Romy moved down the bed, stopping when her head was level with his genitals, condom in hand. Sometimes a challenge, Felix hoped that this time things would work in his favour. He didn't have long to wait & was not disappointed. 

A big dribble of spit came from her delicious mouth straight onto the tip of his penis. Warm spit, slippy smooth spit, which she proceeded to massage in to the glans and shaft of his prick. Any that was missed trickled down onto his balls but was caught by Romy's tongue and pushed straight back up the length of his manhood to the tip again. What a tongue she had, what could she do with it, it felt so hard & stiff. Romy was bi-sexual & for a moment Felix dragged his thoughts away from the business of shagging her. His imagination soon conjured up scenes of Romy licking the living daylights out of a hairy pussy belonging to a mature, somewhat frustrated French woman. His journey into the fantasy world he knew Romy inhabited came to an abrupt end when he saw her put the rolled up condom into her mouth.

Not always the best, safest way to put a condom on a stiff cock, but, he had faith in her ability. Romy opened her mouth & lowered her head right down onto his penis. So far down in fact he almost expected her to gag. She did not.

The condom felt exquisite. Not a brand he was familiar with, hardly like having one on at all. And then he was there, at the entry to this woman's slit that would be his for as long as it took him to come...

Romy helped him enter her pussy. Using the first & second fingers of her right hand, she expertly guided his cock between her moist gaping lips & then began to move & grip, gyrate, twist, turn, pound up & down, contracting & letting go her 'intimate muscles' in a way no girl friend had done before. Felix had thought about teasing her, he knew that lots of sensitive nerve endings were clustered around the opening of a vagina & his 'now you feel my cock, now you don't' technique had always delighted his partners. The anticipation Romy would have, not knowing whether the next contact would be just a stroke of his penis or a deep hard thrust should help bring her well on the way to another huge orgasm he thought. Romy had other ideas. She was in charge, in full control & Felix dismissed any hope of a prolonged union.

He was approaching the point of no return. A cacophony of mingled almost non-human noise filled the room. Felix, pleading with her to come again, Romy, out of it completely, whimpering softly, then screaming loudly with her head held back, her eyes gazing up to the ceiling...

Never before had Felix made so much noise whilst fucking. Never before had his penis been gripped so tightly. Never before had he climaxed so quickly, so explosively. Felix, still lying prostrate, still panting hard then heard Romy whisper, "until next time," as she slid off the bed. And then she was gone, leaving him to retrace his steps to the outside world & the delights of further adventures with her another day.

...............................