It Was a Very Bad Year

EIGHT

When we got back to the Sands, Jerry went looking for his cousin, and I got to a phone and called Danny’s office.

‘Hey, big boy,’ Penny said. ‘You haven’t been around in a while.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘that either means I’ve been busy, or I’ve been staying out of trouble. Is he around?’

‘He is,’ she said. ‘I’ll put you through.’

Penny was Danny’s secretary, but she wanted to be more — both professionally, and personally. Danny trusted very few people. I was one, Penny was fighting to become another.

‘Hey, pit boss,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’

‘Danny, I need your talent.’

‘As what?’

‘As a PI, doofus,’ I said. ‘What else?’

‘I thought maybe you needed help with your love life.’

‘My love life is fine,’ I said, although I almost said, ‘What love life?’

‘Whataya need?’

‘You know who Abby Dalton is?’

‘Do I?’ he said. ‘She’s that dish who plays Joey Bishop’s wife. And she used to be on Hennessy.’

‘You’ve been watching a lot of TV lately.’

‘Yeah, well. . never mind that,’ he said, because following that up might lead to questions about his love life. ‘You tellin’ me I’m gonna meet Abby Dalton?’

‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘Here’s the deal.’

I gave it to him step by step, and he listened quietly, didn’t speak until I was finished.

‘You let the big guy talk you into breakin’ into the studio?’

‘Yep, that’s what happened.’

‘Jesus. . whataya need me for. A lookout?’

‘I need you to get over there and watch him,’ I said. ‘I want to know if he leaves with anything. And I want to know where he goes. And where he lives.’

‘Is that all of it?’

‘For now.’

‘You don’t want my help with the break in?’

‘No, I think Jerry and I can handle that part.’

‘What about where he lives? You gonna break in there, too?’

‘Well. . if we don’t find what we’re looking for at the studio.’

‘OK,’ Danny said, ‘so when I follow him home I’ll scope it out, look for the best ways in.’

‘That’d be great.’

‘And when do I meet the luscious Miss Dalton?’

‘Somewhere along the way,’ I said, ‘I’m sure that’ll happen.’

‘No, no, no,’ he said, ‘we gotta agree that it will happen.’

‘OK,’ I said, ‘somewhere along the way it will happen.’

‘You know,’ he said, ‘sometimes bein’ friends with you has perks. .’

Yeah, I thought, like meeting Marilyn Monroe, Ava Gardner, and now Abby.

‘. . but sometimes it don’t.’

Oh yeah, like being kidnapped and tied up in a basement for days, and almost getting killed.

‘So I guess you’ll have to weigh up the pros and cons,’ I said.

‘Oh, I did that a long time ago, buddy,’ he said, ‘and you came out on top. Give me the address of the studio.’

Irwin Studios had its hours on the door, printed on a faded card. The day being a Wednesday he closed at five p.m. We arrived at five fifteen and parked, around the corner this time.

‘We can’t go in the front,’ Jerry said. ‘Even an amateur like you knows that.’

‘I’m an amateur?’ I asked. ‘When did you become a professional burglar?’

‘I’m in what you call a related profession, Mr G.’

‘I see.’

‘We gotta go around the back.’

We found an alley that led behind the strip of buildings that included the studio. There were dumpsters back there, and a few of the buildings had docks for deliveries. Lucky for us, the address numbers were on the walls.

‘This is it,’ Jerry said. It was a green metal door, which meant that breaking it down was out of the question, even for Jerry.

‘Now what?’ I asked. ‘A window?’

‘No, I’m gonna try somethin’,’ Jerry said. He took out what looked like a case for eyeglasses. ‘Lock picks,’ he said. ‘I got ’em a few weeks ago, and I been practicin’.’

He got down on one knee and inserted the tools into the lock. It takes precision to pick a lock, and I was surprised he could even attempt it with fingers the size of his.

After fifteen minutes I asked, ‘How much longer is this gonna take?’

‘I almost got it.’

‘Well, come on,’ I urged him. ‘It’s starting to get dark.’

‘Don’t worry,’ He said, without looking at me. ‘I brought a flashlight.’

I looked at him. He was wearing jeans and a windbreaker.

‘Where the hell are you carrying a flashlight?’ I asked.

He paused long enough to go into his pocket and show it to me. It looked like a pen in his big hand. He put it back and returned his attention to the lock.

After twenty minutes he said, ‘Got it.’

‘Good.’

He reached for the door and I put my hand out to stop him.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I don’t want to find any bodies inside.’

‘Why would we find a body?’

‘I’m just putting it out there,’ I said. ‘I mean, we have a history.’

‘No bodies, Mr G.,’ he assured me.

‘OK.’

He opened the door and we went inside.