I'm a fool to kill you

THIRTY-SEVEN

Later, while we were still playing, Jerry said, ‘Funny thing.’

‘What’s funny?’

Jerry looked up from his cards. Before answering he discarded an Ace he had just picked up two rounds before. I shook my head.

‘You and me, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘The way we stumble on bodies.’

He looked and sounded like he was reminiscing fondly about his past.

‘That’s not something I think about, Jerry,’ I said. ‘Not something I look forward to either.’

‘Oh, no, I didn’t mean that,’ he said. ‘I just meant it’s like. . something chemical. You and me end up in the same place, and bodies start to show up.’

‘Well, let’s hope this body’s got nothin’ to do with us,’ I said. ‘Maybe the manager pissed off some other guest.’

‘I wonder if Miss Ava has a radio around here someplace,’ he said. ‘Or we could turn on the TV, see if there’s anything on the news.’

‘There’s a television in the living room, but it would throw shadows,’ I said. ‘But a radio is not a bad idea.’

‘It’s only taken me a couple of years to get you thinkin’ like a criminal.’

I didn’t know what to say to that. We finished the hands — he made gin — I tallied up what I owed him and then we looked for a radio. We didn’t have to look far. There was one on a shelf in the kitchen. It was plugged in so we turned it on, found a news station, and kept the volume low. We were back to playing gin when the first mention came on.

It said the body of the manger of the Beverly Hills Hotel was found in his office. The cause of death was as yet unknown, but the man was believed to have been murdered. A witness — a desk clerk — had described two men who were looking for the manager, and were believed to be the last to see him alive. They described us as two white males, one six feet tall and the other six and a half. Thankfully, there was no mention of Ava Gardner or ‘Lucy Johnson.’

In a possibly related story — it went on — a cab driver had been beaten up outside the Beverly Hills Hotel the night before and was in the hospital. The police are investigating the possibility of a connection.

‘Hey, at least your buddy Larry’s got an alibi,’ Jerry said.

‘It’s a good thing we have a safe place to go to rent a car tomorrow,’ I said.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t go in with you,’ Jerry said.

‘Why?’

‘There are lots of fellas six feet tall,’ he said ‘but six and a half?’

He was right. Louie the dispatcher and his brother might not have minded helping me because Larry said so, but if Jerry came along and they’d been listening to the news they might not be so helpful. As it was, the mention of Larry being beaten up in connection with the manager’s murder might cause a problem. But I wouldn’t know that until I got to the car lot the next morning.

‘I could steal a car, Mr G.,’ Jerry said. ‘Ain’t done it since I was a kid, so I’d be a little rusty, but-’

‘No, no,’ I said, ‘forget that. I don’t want you gettin’ pinched for stealing a car.’

‘What about Miss Ava?’ he asked.

‘What about her?’

‘She must have a car, maybe two. Them Hollywood types always got more than one.’

‘Hey,’ I said, ‘there is a garage out back, isn’t there?’

He smiled, nodded and said, ‘A two-car garage.’

‘Why wouldn’t she have mentioned that when we started talkin’ about renting a car?’ I wondered.

‘She ain’t used to takin’ it on the lam, Mr G.,’ he said. ‘Could be she just didn’t think of it.’

‘Why don’t we take a look?’

‘Let’s finish this hand,’ he suggested.

We did.

He made gin.

‘I’m not playin’ with you anymore,’ I said, throwing down my cards.

It didn’t work out.

We went to the garage, entered through an open side door. We took the flashlight with us, and by its light saw that Ava had two roadsters — two seaters, both of them.

‘We could take both of ’em,’ Jerry said, hopefully. ‘I drive one, you drive the other.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘we’ll stick to the original plan. We’ll go rent a car from Louie’s brother in the morning.’

Jerry shined the flashlight over the cars again, gave them a long, loving look, and then followed me back to the house.

‘You tired?’ I asked.

‘Naw,’ he said, ‘I got first watch. I’m gonna eat some leftovers.’

‘They’re all yours,’ I said. ‘I’m gonna lie down on that big sofa in the living room.’

‘Don’t wanna sleep in one of the beds?’

‘I don’t want to get too comfortable,’ I said. ‘Wake me in three hours.’

‘Not four?’

‘I wanna shower and change into some fresh clothes, then I’ll take watch and you can sleep till morning.’

‘I gotta sleep on the sofa, too?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘it’s not big enough. You can take a bed.’

‘Thanks, Mr G.’

He grabbed the leftover deli sandwiches from the frig.

‘Enjoy,’ I said, and went to lie down. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I hit the sofa.