Beverly Hills Dead

43

Tom Terry waited outside the building of the Screen Extras Guild, a blowup of a Milwaukee P.D. mug shot his only reference. It was a little after seven, and Harold Schmidt had not yet come out of the building. Tom began to wonder if the mug shot was a good enough likeness.

Then two men appeared at the entrance to the building and stood talking for a moment. One of them was the head of the extra’s union; the other, clearly, was Schmidt, dressed in a decent suit and a tie. They finished their brief conversation and parted in opposite directions, Schmidt walking toward where Tom was parked at the curb. Tom got out of the car.

“Hal?” he said as the man drew abreast of him.

Schmidt turned and looked at him, askance. “Were you speaking to me?”

“You’re Hal Schmidt, aren’t you?”

Schmidt looked at him narrowly, then knowingly. “Who wants to know.”

“My name’s Tom. I’m not a cop; I’m a friend of Louise Brecht.”

“Yeah? How is Lou?”

“I’d like to talk to you about that. Can I buy you a drink?”

Schmidt looked at his watch. “I guess so.”

“Hop in.”

The two men got into Tom’s car and pulled away from the curb. “There’s a decent joint down here around the corner,” Tom said.

“Nice car.”

“Thanks, but it’s not mine.”

“How do you know Louise?”

Tom parked the car near the saloon. “Let’s get that drink, and we’ll talk about that.” He led Schmidt inside, and the two men found a booth and both ordered bourbon. “Your health,” Tom said, raising his glass.

“Bottoms up. Now enlighten me.”

“You and Louise were fairly close for a while, back in Milwaukee, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, we were.”

“Were you two of one mind politically?”

“Lou didn’t have a political mind; she wanted to be in show business. And she made it, didn’t she? You see, I know who Lou is now.”

“I expected you would. If she wasn’t politically inclined, why did you sign her up for the party?”

“What party was that? Democratic? Republican?”

“We both know which party, Hal.”

“What makes you think I signed her up for anything?”

“Well, she didn’t sign herself up, but she got signed up, anyway. You were the only party member she knew.”

Schmidt smiled a little. “You’re a fed, aren’t you? You work for the committee.”

Tom shook his head. “Wrong. I told you. I’m a friend of Louise. Of the family, you might say.”

“Yeah, I saw something in a magazine, pretty picture: husband and a kid.”

“Two kids, now. They’re very happy.”

“I’m glad to hear it; Lou was always a good sort.”

“You bear her no ill will, then?”

“Why would I? She was always decent to me.”

“If that’s so, why would you try to get her involved in the party?”

“It’s not like it’s something dirty, you know; it’s a political movement with an idealistic agenda.”

“I know all about that, but you’ve already said Louise wasn’t political.”

“I guess I looked at it as doing her a favor. After the revolution, party membership would stand her in good stead.”

“I guess you know that, in Hollywood, party membership has turned out to be something of a problem for a lot of people, people who are mostly out of work these days, some of them facing prison.”

“Look, it’s not my fault or the party’s fault that the political system in this country screwed them.”

“Let’s not get into the rights and wrongs of what’s happened; my only concern is Louise. I don’t want any of these bad things to happen to her, especially since she’s a complete innocent in all this.”

“Nobody’s innocent; you’re on one side or the other.”

“Do you want to hurt her?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you want to help her?”

Schmidt shrugged. “Sure, but how do I do that?”

“By giving me some information.”

“What do you want to know?”

“First of all, you admit that you signed her up for the party, and without her knowledge or consent?”

“Now you sound like a lawyer.”

“Wrong again. The first thing I need from you is a written statement saying that you did this without her knowledge or consent.”

“You want me to admit, in writing, that I’m a party member? You’ve just told me what happens to party members in this town.”

“Hal, you’ve never made any secret of your party membership; why start now?”

“I’m being cautious.”

“I don’t want this statement so I can give it to the newspapers. I just want some protection for Louise, if it ever comes up.”

“What else do you want?”

“I need a little inside knowledge of how the party works.”

“You must have a screw loose, pal. I’m not here to be your political tutor.”

“You misunderstand; let me explain.”

“I’m listening.”

“When you signed up Louise, the party office in Milwaukee kept her membership card in their files; she never saw it.”

Schmidt shrugged. “Sometimes they do it that way.”

“Well, a few weeks ago, somebody here in L.A. sent her employers photostatic copies of two party membership cards: one belonged to a man who has since been exposed as a party member and blacklisted; the other had Louise’s name on it. Now, here’s the interesting part: the guy who’s been blacklisted was a member of the New York chapter or den or whatever you call it, and they kept his card on file. What I’m trying to get at is how two people from Milwaukee and New York — two different branches — have photostats of their membership cards turn up on the same desk at a movie studio in L.A.?”

Schmidt stared at Tom for a long time before he spoke. “That’s a very interesting question, Tom. You work for the studio in question, is that it? That’s why you drive such a nice car?”

“Yeah. I’m a regular capitalist tool.”

Schmidt laughed.

“Look, I’m just a working stiff who’s trying to keep a friend — one who used to be your friend — from getting hurt.”

“Let me look into it. You got a phone number?”

Tom took out a notebook, wrote down his direct office number, tore it out and handed it to Schmidt. Schmidt tore the page in half and gave Tom his own number. “I’m there nights,” he said. “Don’t call me at the union office.”

“Okay. Look, I’m happy you’re willing to look into this, but don’t roil the waters, okay? Be discreet.”

Schmidt tossed off the rest of his drink and stood up. “Don’t worry; I want answers just as much as you do. I’ll call you, and thanks for the drink.”

“Thanks, Hal. Maybe I’ll be able to do you a favor one of these days.”

“I doubt it,” Schmidt said. He turned and walked out of the bar.