“Did you come in here to sell me a suit?” I say.
“No,” says the man in my office. “I was just asking out of interest. What would you expect to have to pay for a suit of this quality?”
“Is that your case?” I say. “Is this why you need a private dick, to investigate what I’ll pay for a suit?”
“I was just curious.”
“Everyone’s curious. Everyone who comes through that door. And you know what I do about that? I charge them. Twenty a day plus expenses is what it costs you to be curious in my office. Are you paying twenty base to find out what I think about your suit, sir?”
“Why, no.”
“Good, now here through the door comes somebody else who’s curious. It’s Myrtle, my assistant.”
“Coffee, Mr Fitzgerald?”
“No Myrtle, thank you,” I say and she leaves. “Now that’s how I like curious people to behave. I like them to come out with it straight. Do you think you can do that sir?”
The man takes a breath before speaking.
“I want you to find my wife.”
He lays a photo on my desk, a blackjack croupier dealing a queen. I look at the photo and it looks back, she looks back, looks me straight in the eyes.
“Her name’s Catherine,” he says.
No, it’s Trouble.
“Catherine?”
“Broughton. And I’m John Broughton.”
I write “Mrs Broughton” on an empty file and slip the photo inside. Putting her out of sight doesn’t make me feel any more comfortable. Some people you want to stay where you can see them.
“Last known location?” I open my notebook.
“She was staying up at the old Lakeside Hotel.”
“I know it,” I tell him as I write. I went there once for a beer that cost ten bucks. When I asked how come it’s so much they told me it’s to keep out the riffraff. He must have sold a lot of those suits.
“And when were you last in contact with your wife?”
“That’d be before she went up there. A few weeks ago, maybe longer.”
“You haven’t been up to see her?”
“No, no I haven’t. She’s on a rest cure. She has to be by herself, not seeing people she knows.”
That sure doesn’t sound like any rest cure a doctor would prescribe. Unless that doctor wanted to get the woman in the picture away from her husband. I don’t say anything about that.
If he can afford a room at the Lakeside for a few weeks maybe longer then he’s made it. And a man who’s made it doesn’t like to be told by another man that his wife is having an affair. So I’ll be leaving it to my good friend Evidence to tell him that his wife is having an affair, if she is. Then I’ll tell him what I’d pay for the suit, to cheer him up a bit.
Something occurs to me.
“How do you know she’s not up at Lakeside now?”
“I called and they told me she’d checked out,” he says. “But you should know that I only called because her car went missing.”
“Her car?”
“Yes. I bought her a runabout, a Draeger. She left it at home when she went on her rest cure. When I got in yesterday evening I noticed it was gone so I called the hotel. They didn’t want to tell me anything at first, they’re like that up there. I told them my name and told them to look at who was paying the room bills. That’s when they told me she’d checked out.”
“When?”
“Yesterday evening. I said.”
“No, when did she check out?”
“They weren’t specific.” He looked me in the eye when he said it.
Years as a detective gives you skills, like knowing a liar’s look. What he’d said could not be true but in his face there was nothing but sincerity. That must be how he made it.
A liar like that might even be a match for the woman in the picture. Might be.
“You’re some kind of salesman, right?” I say.
“I prefer merchant.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A salesman only sells, hence the name. I buy as well as sell. Like I bought this suit and a few dozen like it. What does this have to do with finding my wife?”
“You bought your wife a car, being as you’re a merchant,” I say. “Maybe she’s decided to be a salesman and sell it?”
“She can’t. It’s my car, although she did have the keys with her.”
“But not the papers?”
“Right. I keep them in my office.”
“I’m not taking your case, Mr Broughton.”
“What? Why not?”
“Report your car stolen, sir. That costs you nothing. The cops’ll find it, your wife’ll be nearby.”
“I don’t understand,” he says. “I’ll pay your rate, twenty per day plus, right? Why wouldn’t you take the case?”
“Because there must be absolute trust and disclosure between an investigator and his client.” Because of the eyes in the photo. “You must tell me everything and you haven’t.”
“I’ve told you everything you need to know.” He stands up and draws his wallet quicker than an old west gunslinger. The wallet’s one of those that opens like a book. He starts leafing through and talking.
“How long should this take? Three days? Four? Here’s enough for ten.” He holds up the notes. “Or I can pay you with a suit? I have black and navy.”
“The green’ll do fine,” I say. “It’ll go with my best tie.”
He’s already gone and I’m wondering how I went from not doing the job to having ten days cash in hand in less than a minute. I guess that’s when you know you’ve met a salesman, or should I say merchant.
I take the money and my hat to the outer office.
“Myrtle, here’s a down payment from Mr Broughton.”
“I’ll enter it Mr Fitzgerald.”
“Did he leave his details?”
“Just his office.”
“OK. Call them and ask them to send over the papers for Mrs Broughton’s runabout then get the number for the Lakeside Hotel.”
“Yes Mr Fitzgerald.”
“I’ll call in later. Right now I’m going to see my old buddy Sergeant Delaney at the precinct.”
The morning after, Delaney’s driving me up to the Lakeside Hotel.
“What’s the deal Fitzy?” he says.
“There’s no deal.”
“Come on, there’s a deal. You turn up to report your client’s car stolen, then tell me where it’ll be, and it’s a fancy hotel.”
“What’d they say when you called?”
“Not much helpful until I told them to think about what their guests would think of a squad car siren going off outside the front door and wouldn’t it be much better if they had a look themselves to see if a stolen car was in their car park. They said they’d call me back after that.”
“And did they?”
“Oh yeah. They said the car was there and they said discreet a whole lot. How’d you know it would be there?”
“A hunch,” I said.
We drove past the hotel and up to a spot with a view, an overlook they call it. Then we waited, taking turns with Delaney’s binoculars. We didn’t have to wait long.
“Here he comes,” Delaney said at about eight. “He’s heading straight for the car.”
“Sure it’s a man?”
“Oh yeah. Big shoulders on this one. A real ox. Take a look.”
I did. The big man was folding himself into the little red Draeger.
“He’s going, let’s move.”
We got back in the unmarked car, Delaney driving.
“What do you want to do?” said Delaney as he turned the ignition. “Pull him over?”
“Why not.”
Delaney has me fix the detachable flashing light up on the roof as soon as we roll but I only switch it on once we’re a discreet distance from the hotel. The big ox pulls over straight away and Delaney stops behind him.
“Get him out of the car and I’ll do the talking,” I say.
Delaney nods.
“Step out of the car please sir.” He shows his badge.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” says the big man, getting out.
“Could I see your driving license please, sir,” I say.
He has it in his pocket. I hand it back after reading his name.
“Mr Seymour, where did you last get this car serviced?”
“I never had it serviced, it’s new.”
“New? Oh. Where’d you buy it?”
“Huh?”
“Which dealer?”
“I didn’t buy it, somebody … hey, what’s this about?”
“Somebody gave it to you, is that what you were going to say?”
Seymour shrugged his huge shoulders.
“Was it a Mrs. Catherine Broughton, gave you the car?”
Nothing.
“Look, friend, look at what I got here.” I took out the papers for the Draeger.
“See where it says owner, it says Mr John Broughton? See that?”
“Sure. I can read.”
“So you can read that it doesn’t say Seymour? You know it’s not your car?”
“I told you -”
“You didn’t tell me anything, buddy,” I shout in his face.
He pushes me back and tries to run but Delaney’s quick and gets one arm. I get the other and Delaney cuffs him.
“She gave me the keys,” he says as we push him into the back of the unmarked car.
“She?” I say.
“No – I mean somebody.”
I take a few breaths and pretend to calm down from my pretend anger.
“Listen buddy, we all know what’s happened. There’s you and Cathy. She gives you the car keys and tells you it’s yours. Trouble is, it isn’t her car, it’s her husband’s. You weren’t to know that but now he’s made a complaint and you’re caught in the middle. With a stolen car.”
“It’s not stolen, she gave me the keys.”
As the big chump gives himself away I catch Delaney’s eye. He’s trying not to laugh.
“She gave them, or did you take them?”
“What?”
“You get rough with her, pal?”
“No.”
“Big man like you and a little woman like her.”
“I said no. I never been rough with a woman, not me.”
“You blackmailing her?”
“Blackmail?”
“You’re having an affair and you threatened to tell her husband. That’s it isn’t it?”
“You are way off, copper. I never blackmailed nobody.”
There he goes again. Denies blackmailing, says nothing about the affair.
“Then why’d she give you the keys, smart guy?”
“I ain’t saying.”
He ain’t and I straighten up to talk to Delaney.
“Nice work,” he says.
“Except I haven’t got what I’m looking for.”
“You got a wife who had an affair and gave her husband’s car away. Pretty standard stuff for a private dick, isn’t it?”
“I’m not looking for Broughton’s car, I’m looking for his wife. Why he wants her back I don’t know. She’s a piece of work.”
“Got a picture?”
I show him and he whistles.
“But I didn’t mean that, I meant because of her getting him to pay for her room at the Lakeside.”
“How’d she do that?”
“Said it was rest cure.”
“Well, they say it’s good for what ails you.”
“Hey coppers,” Seymour shouts from the car. “This is a waste of time. I got it all figured out.”
“What you got figured?” says Delaney.
“All you got’s me stealing Broughton’s car, right?”
“Maybe.”
“Well he ain’t gonna press charges.”
“You think he ain’t?” I say. “I think he will. Once we tell him you were shtupping his wife in a hotel room he paid for.”
“Nope. No way Broughton’s gonna let you charge me.”
“Putz,” Delaney mutters. “I’ll drive him back, you bring that girl’s car.”
I stroll over to the Draeger. No way Broughton’s gonna let you charge me. He just couldn’t help himself.
Myrtle gets me an appointment at Mr Broughton’s office. It’s in his warehouse. There’s merchandise being wheeled about all over, coming in, going out. Broughton’s office is up a metal spiral staircase. From there he can see everything. I guess he’s in a position he likes.
I’m in a position I don’t like: I’m about to mislead my client. Why do it? I don’t know. He told me to find his wife so I am. That’s not it really. It’s really that I like a good fight. I want to be ringside at Broughton vs. Broughton.
“Mr Fitzgerald, how are you?” he says, glad-handing me.
“I’m doing OK, Mr Broughton. You got a suit for me?”
“Huh? Oh, no. They’re all gone now, thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me?”
“Yes, you said something about a suit to go with your best tie.”
“I did?”
“Don’t you remember? Anyway, I bought in some ties and shirts, put them together and shifted them as outfits. Sold the last ten this morning.”
“That’s good news,” I say. “I’ve also got some news. You might want to hear it alone.”
Broughton pokes his head out of the door and tells somebody “hold them”.
I put the Mrs Broughton folder on his desk.
“Straight or gentle, Mr Broughton?”
“I’m a busy man.”
“Your wife’s having an affair with a Greg Seymour.”
Broughton takes a few paces around his office.
“Do you play?” he says.
I notice he’s standing by a chess board on a little table.
People take this type of news in different ways. It’s generally best to stay with them.
“I never learned,” I say.
“My dad always liked to have a chess set around. He used to say to me ‘It’s just like life, son.’”
“He sounds like a wise man, sir.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, like I say I don’t play but I understand you’ve got to have strategy and planning and intelligence to win at chess. I guess you’ve got to have those to win at life too.”
Broughton snorted.
“He used to say to me ‘It’s just like life, son. You’re either a piece or a player.’ Do you understand that?”
“I guess that makes as much sense as what I said.”
“That’s how he dealt with people, he divided them into pieces and players. Mostly pieces, things to be moved around. He was in politics.”
“Is that right?”
“Politics doesn’t interest me. I have my own version, that I’d like to pass on to my own son someday. Shall I tell you?”
“If it’ll help, I mean, if you want.”
“Be a merchant or be merchandise.”
“That … that’s pretty profound, Mr Broughton.”
“Mm,” he says and sits down at his desk. “Have you met Greg?”
I was hoping he wouldn’t ask anything direct. I don’t want to lie to him, even though I am going to mislead him. Since he has been direct, I’ll have to be careful.
“Yes, I met him.”
“So, merchant or merchandise?”
“How do you mean?”
“Greg Seymour, merchant or merchandise?”
“I’m still not with you.” I continue to play dumb, it’s best when you’re trying to trick somebody.
“Look, you’re a merchant. I’m buying your time from you. Greg, he’s merchandise. I bought my wife a car, I bought her a new wardrobe, I bought her … Greg. You understand me?”
“Uh huh.” I understand alright. He bought her this, he bought her that. But he never bought her.
“So you see, I know about Greg. Did he mention where my wife is?”
“No he didn’t.” True. “You want me to go on looking?”
“Of course.”
“OK, Mr Broughton. You’re calling the shots here.” I get up to leave and pick up the file. “Oh, there’s one other thing.”
He looks up.
“You know I said if the police found your car they’d find your wife? Turns out I was wrong. Your car turned up but your wife was nowhere to be seen. The police found it and have the man who took it in custody.”
“So that was just a coincidence.”
“Looks that way doesn’t it? Anyway, I brought the paperwork over from the precinct house. Sign here to press charges.”
I slide a form across the desk.
“I most certainly will.” Broughton signs the form with a pen from a box of twenty. “But what are you going to do about my wife? Wasn’t the car your only lead?”
“I’ve got one or two more.” I smile and leave.
I take the form to Delaney and wish I could be there to hear what Greg Seymour has to say when he gets told that he is being charged, and by Broughton. As it is I have to let Delaney do his job. He says he’ll get a statement out of Seymour and show me it in the morning.
In the morning Delaney apologises and says the statement is too hot to show me. Can he tell me anything at all? Only that he’ll be making a few arrests. Who? He can’t say. My client? He can’t say. Anything I can do? Help him ring round the hospitals. Hospitals? He’s already put the phone down.
I leave a message for Broughton then get down to the precinct and help Delaney dial. We find Mrs Broughton at a private clinic. Delaney tells them not to let her know that the police have called but by the time we get there she’s checked out. No car, the nurse says, nothing but what she stood up in and could carry. Must be in a hurry and saving money.
Delaney radios in some flatfoots to find witnesses and do that police work. Me, I stand on the clinic steps and see what I can see.
Gravity applies to trouble and Mrs. Broughton would’ve sunk pretty fast. On the corner there’s a billboard with prices for a rooming house. Low prices. It doesn’t say no questions asked, but then that’s not the kind of thing they let you put on a billboard.
I head down without telling Delaney where I’m going. He’s doing pretty well out of this, with the arrests he mentioned, and he didn’t show me the statement. He can afford to cut me some slack and let me get ringside.
Everything about the rooming house is cheap. The carpet is cheap and looks like they don’t clean it. There’s a vase with a crack instead of flowers. I tell the clerk I’m looking for a woman checked in earlier today. He stares at me. I pass him the photo of Catherine and a cheap bribe and he says a number. I make a call from the lobby then go up to room four.
I knock and step back, hand in my pocket.
Catherine Broughton opens the door. She looks just like she did in the photo: overexposed and creased but beautiful as a box of snakes.
“Yes?” she says.
“Mrs Broughton, I’m representing your husband.”
“Really?” Her eyes flick down then up. “You don’t seem the type.”
“Thank you ma’am, I’ll take that as a compliment.” What am I saying? All she did was look me up and down and I’m a rabbit in the headlights. “Could I come in?”
“Sure.”
She doesn’t move and my coat brushes her dress as I walk in past her.
In the room is a bed, a wardrobe, a chair and another door. All cheap without being cheerful. I go to the window and twitch at the drawn curtains as she lights a cigarette.
I look outside but everything is normal and doesn’t help me work out what to say. A little truth won’t hurt.
“Your husband wanted me to find you,” I say to the window.
“Tell him you failed.”
There’s a noise and I turn around. There she is. The noise was her throwing her dress on the bed. She’s naked as a French postcard except for some nylon and the cloud of smoke she just blew. Her eyes cut through like baby blue fog lights and lock my gaze on her face.
“I got a reputation for not failing.” But in my head I’m working out how long I’ve got with her.
How long will Delaney’s flat foots be running down this place? Half an hour? Her husband I’d called from the lobby and he could afford to get here quick. Say twenty minutes. She could burn me to ashes in fifteen so I’ve got all the time I need.
Then what would happen? Would I tell her who was on the way? That’d be like working for her. Or would I say nothing and get to see the final round? Only one way to find out.
“I’d ask for my normal rate but you don’t seem to have any cash on you, lady,” I say.
She stands still. It’d take two steps to reach her but a sound stops me after one. The sound of a baby crying. It’s coming from behind the door.
“He needs feeding,” she says. “Take this, I hate to waste them.” She hands me the cigarette and our fingers brush.
I take a drag into my lungs and sigh it out of my nose. Last year there was an exhibition and they put up these posters all over town. It’s like I’m seeing it again now. Sure, there’s the doorway to the bathroom instead of a fancy wooden frame. And instead of being carried by angels, she’s perched on the edge of a dirty bath. And neither of them have halos. But it’s still the Madonna and Child.
The baby boy stops bawling and starts sucking. Her face dissolves into a smile. I think I liked her better when she was trouble and say something to spoil the moment.
“Greg Seymour’s?” As soon as I say it, I start to think about dates. How long has their affair been going on?
“That would’ve been pretty simple,” she says. “But no, I had to complicate things by getting impatient. Mummy couldn’t wait for you, could she?”
“You got impatient?” I had to say something to get her to talk to me instead of junior.
“Yeah. Plus I didn’t think John would get a stud. I should have guessed. He likes to buy things, people. What’s that word he uses?”
“Merchandise,” I say.
“Yeah, that’s it. He paid for Greg to get him a baby.”
“Why couldn’t he have his own kid?”
“He’s got problems. He’s seen a few doctors.”
I turn away to let it all soak in. By the time it has, she’s wrapping the boy in towels and putting him back in the bath.
“You said you got impatient,” I say. “You also got a stud didn’t you?”
There’s a knock at the door and a voice calls out “Cathy?”
It doesn’t sound like Mr Broughton and the police wouldn’t be informal.
“Is that your guy?”
I put the cigarette down in an ashtray on the bedside table. There’s a ring of her lipstick on the filter. It’s as if we’d kissed.
“Hide in the bathroom,” she says and picks up her dress.
Last thing I see before I close the door is her doing herself up as she says “Coming”. I’m hiding in the bathroom so now it’s more than a kiss, it’s in flagrante delicto.
I press my ear to the keyhole.
“Cathy, darling,” says a man’s voice on the other side of the door. I smile.
“You have to go,” says Cathy darling.
“No Cathy. We’re going to be together. We’re going to be a family.”
“We can’t be a family, Irving.”
“Why not? I love you, you love me, we have a child. That’s more than many people have.”
“I don’t love you Irving.”
“Yes you do. Why else would you have made love to me?”
“Made love? Is that what we did?” She laughs. “If I’d loved you why would I have kept you hanging on all those years?”
“I don’t know. It just took time for you to trust-”
“No Irving. I kept you hanging on in case I needed you.”
“But, what kind of person does a thing like that?” The kind that’s trouble.
“Think about it. You’d have done anything for me. If I’d wanted somebody killed, you’d have done it. Wouldn’t you?”
“Yes Cathy, I will. Who is it?”
“Nobody, Irving. As it turns out I wanted a life not a death. And now I have it.”
I look over at it. He’s sleeping.
“You can’t treat me this way.” I’m guessing that’s how she treats everybody.
“Look at it this way,” she says. “You finally got what you wanted. Be happy with that.”
“But I’m not happy. What I want is to be with you.”
“You wanted to sleep with me and you have. So go.”
“Not until I see my son.”
“He’s not here”
“Then I demand you take me to him.”
“You’re not in a position to make demands.”
“Oh aren’t I?”
“Irving! Careful where you point that thing!”
He must’ve drawn a gun. I pull mine out of my pocket, just in case.
There’s a thump. For a moment I think he’s been stupid but then I realise it was just somebody banging on the door.
“Catherine?”
This sounds like John Broughton.
“It’s my husband,” she says.
The door opens.
“Hands up,” says Irving.
“Who are you?” says Broughton then “Catherine, what’s going on?”
“Shut up,” says Irving. “Get over there.”
“Where’s Fitzgerald?” says Broughton. Sounds like he’s walking.
“Hiding in the bathroom,” says Catherine.
“Who’s Fitzgerald?” says Irving.
“My investigator,” says Broughton.
“Right,” says Irving. There’s footsteps so I have time to get ready.
I’m flat against the wall by the time the door is snatched open.
“Drop it,” I say, putting the muzzle of my forty-five against the man’s head. He’s older than I expected. Maybe he’s been after her since she was Cathy darling with pigtails?
He drops it and I say “your son’s in the bath. Take a look.”
“He’s beautiful,” says the old man.
“A miracle ain’t it? Now get back in there, Irving.”
I’ve got a gun on all of them and nothing to fear. The youngest Broughton isn’t going to pick up Irving’s piece, not for a few years anyway.
“Did I hear that right? Is my son in there?” John says.
“Sit on the bed please Mr Broughton.” I point the gun at him.
“But, you work for me.”
“On the bed. No part of that boy is you.”
“Well, not chemically, but I paid for the father and the hotel and … wait I don’t understand how you could have given birth already.”
“Greg isn’t the father,” says Catherine. “When we didn’t have any luck I got my own stud. That was back in March”
“March? I see. Is this him? Is that why you ran away?”
“I didn’t know how you’d take it,” says Catherine.
“I … I want a child more than anything,” says John.
“Me too,” says Catherine.
“Then … I guess we’ve both got what we want.”
“What about me?” says Irving. “I’m the father. I’ve got rights.”
“I think you forfeited those when you pulled a gun on us,” says John. “Isn’t that right Mr Fitzgerald?”
“Did he pull a gun on you Fitzy?” Delaney says from the open door.
“On these two,” I say. “It’s on the floor through there.”
Delaney gestures to a uniformed cop who goes through to the bathroom.
“In that case, Mister, you are under arrest.” He gestures to another two uniformed cops and they move in on Irving.
“In case you need to know, officer, I will be pressing charges,” says John.
“Is that right, Mr Broughton is it?”
“That’s me. John Broughton.”
“John Broughton, you are under arrest,” says Delaney.
“For what?”
“Soliciting,” I say.
“You heard huh?” says Delaney. “Take the pimp away.”
The room’s turning dark blue with uniforms now.
“How am I supposed to bring up the child on my own?” says Catherine. I think she said it to me, but she’s the kind of person makes you think everything is to you.
“Child’ll be brought up by the city for now, lady. You’re under arrest for theft of Mr Broughton’s automobile.”
Later, Delaney buys and I get drunk. He’s in a good mood but I’m not. I wanted ringside at a fight, not a bloodbath. Maybe they were too evenly matched? That happens with the fights sometimes.
His dad should have told John Broughton never to play chess with women like Catherine. And that some merchandise is illegal to trade in.
