Dream Town

Chapter 42

In his room later, Archer called the number Steve Everett had given him and left a message that he would not be flying back that night. He showered and put his clothes back on after sending them out to be pressed. He looked out the window and saw that Vegas had turned on its best neon for the night’s entertainment. Greens and purples and oranges and reds in various shapes and sizes loomed up in the darkness like electrified ghouls looking for victims. And, in a very real way, they were, only the blood they sucked out of their prey was all green.

He took the stairs down to the bar, had a scotch and soda and a bite of dinner. He watched the gambling crowd get greased up for their nighttime ambitions of throwing their hard-earned money right into the flusher. And they all did it with impressive smiles if not downright glee, he noted. Curious animals, human beings.

At nine on the dot he entered the Copa Room. It was large and grand, with a stage at one end. Archer had heard it was a replica of the Copacabana in New York. The ceilings were high and painted a garish greenish blue except for a strip of orange by the stage. The light fixtures were gold-plated with multiple bulbs set in a circle. The tablecloths were white and the chairs were upholstered in red. There were about five hundred people in the room, he calculated, and they were dressed to the nines, with white dinner jackets the most popular cover for the men. That made it look like all the waiters had gone on strike for the night and were having cocktails and watching the show with the paying customers.

On stage were the Copa Girls, as one of the valets had told him they were called. Their outfits were the same shade of red as the seats, but the ladies looked far nicer wearing them than the chairs did. They danced and sang to the accompaniment of an orchestra, and it looked like everyone was having a swell time.

He was escorted to Green’s table, which was close enough to the stage to see the performance easily enough but far enough away to carry on a conversation. At the table were Green, the young screenwriter, Ross Chandler, and the two giggling sisters, who were now outfitted in flimsy pale blue dresses that looked closer to lingerie. Chandler wore a white tux jacket, while Green was dressed far more informally in a dark blue rayon jacket, slacks, and an open-collared shirt. He held a cigarillo in one puffy hand.

Archer greeted everyone and then looked for Little Tony. He spotted him on the periphery staring at Archer like he had personally killed the man’s entire family. Archer sat down and ordered a whiskey and soda, then pulled out his pack of Luckys and lit up. His drink arrived less than a minute later.

“Nice, efficient place,” he said to Green, who was staring at him with serpent eyes.

“Yeah, it is,” answered Chandler, who had his eye on Mitzi, who had her eye on Archer. Gayle just stared into her drink like she could see her reflection and was checking her lipstick.

When Gayle looked up at him, he could see her pupils were swollen like a full moon, and he wondered what barbiturate she was on.

“So, I hear you’re a writer for Mr. Green?” said Archer, pulling his gaze from Gayle and depositing it on Chandler.

“That’s right. I got my degree from Columbia and jumped on a train west. Where else should a writer want to be these days? Writing in LA for the pictures is where it’s at.”

“Hemingway’s in Cuba,” noted Green, taking a sip of some weird-colored concoction. “And Faulkner’s back in Mississippi after trying his hand at screenwriting and not liking it one bit. CBS just broadcast a documentary on him last month about his life in Oxford. And he did win the Nobel Prize. And Hemingway probably will, too.”

Chandler seemed worried for a moment until Green smiled. Relieved, he said, “Hey, they’re serious novelists. I’m just writing for the movies.” He glanced at Archer. “I mean, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. But do you like it?” asked Archer.

“I like it.” Chandler glanced at the buxom Mitzi. “A lot.”

“You know Eleanor Lamb?” asked Archer.

“Sure.”

“Archer,” said Green. “Not now. If you want to interrogate the boy, do it on your own time. And, Ross, get up and let Archer have your seat. I want him closer to me.”

Chandler immediately stood and seemed surprised that Archer took his time, stubbing out his smoke and taking a sip of his drink before rising.

He sat next to Green, while Chandler immediately struck up a conversation with Mitzi.

Archer pointed to Green’s glass. “What’s that stuff?”

“A specialty liquor that I’m fond of. Would you like to try one?”

“No, I’m good with what I have.”

“I made some inquiries about you after you left.”

“And?”

“And you have a good reputation.”

Archer glanced at the stage as one of the Copa Girls, with a slit right up the front of her skirt, commenced a solo. She had good pipes and nice legs, which in Vegas could make you a star. “Nice to know. But I could’ve told you that.”

“You also met with my wife.”

“I could’ve told you that, too.”

“So why didn’t you?” Green said sharply enough for Chandler, Mitzi, and even sky-high Gayle to look over at them.

Archer scooped up a handful of nuts from a bowl and put one in his mouth. “You never asked, and I never volunteer information if I don’t have to.”

“And would that include flying up here in my plane?”

Archer studied the man for a moment. So it was his plane. “Your wife gave the okay, which I was told she could. It was the fastest way here so I could talk to you and cross you off my list.”

“What list?”

Archer ate another nut and sat back. “Were you in LA on New Year’s Eve?”

“What’s it to you?”

“A man died and Lamb went missing then.”

“Why would I kill a guy I didn’t know or make a writer of mine disappear?”

“I’m listening.”

“Okay, I think we’re done here. Finish your drink and be on your way.”

“You like the Jade Lion in Chinatown?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Lamb apparently liked it. And the guy who manages it, Darren Paley? I hear he has Vegas mob connections.”

“I see you have some of your drink left. I think I asked you to finish it.”

Chandler leaned over and said, “You better do what he says, buddy.”

Archer didn’t take his eyes off Green. “For starters, my name’s not buddy. The Jade’s got a drink that’ll sear your insides. Regulars there swill it like it’s nothing. Amazing what people can work up to if they really want something, and I’m not just talking about booze.”

Green looked at Little Tony and gave him the high sign. The giant began lumbering over.

“You’re handling this all wrong, Archer. You know that, don’t you?” said Green.

“Maybe I am,” conceded Archer. “But then maybe so are you.”

Green wagged his head. “You don’t even know what you don’t even know.”

“Ever heard the story of the frog and the scorpion?”

“It’s probably the basis for a quarter of the movies ever filmed.”

“Well, the way I see it, maybe you’re the frog. You built something good, you’re chugging along, just want to get to the other side. And here comes Paley. He’s a free rider. He sees something good, too. He makes himself indispensable to you. But on the flip side, at a certain point, that doesn’t make you indispensable to him.” As Little Tony was arriving at the table Archer leaned over and said, “And where did gorilla boy come from? Courtesy of the mob and Darren Paley? If so, what do you do about it?”

That got a reaction from Green all right.

Archer turned, smiled at Little Tony, and said, “Hey, what a coincidence, Little Tony, I was just leaving. ’Night, ladies.”

Mitzi wouldn’t look at him now. She gazed fearfully at her lap. And Gayle was too far gone into the drug abyss to do much of anything except look pouty and dazed.

As Archer left, he turned and saw Green whispering something to Tony.

That was good, he thought. And that was also bad.

And that was the PI business in a nutshell.