The Great California Game

CHAPTER NINE

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A spillage on a woman’s dress is an indictable offence. Funny, that, when it’s supposed to be lucky. The old Queen Mum used to say ta to nervous waiters when they plopped a drop on her lap, for luck given. Sophie Brandau didn’t quite go spare, but Blanche hurtled to the rescue when Tye — too clever to commit the crime himself —sent a waiter to accidentally tilt a carafe in passing. Kelly Palumba and a thin straw-haired wastrel called Epsilon were especially concerned. Denzie Brandau gave a bored half-glance, made some remark to Moira Hawkins, causing people to fall about. I diagnosed a husband making capital from his wife’s clumsiness. I was beginning to dislike the politician. I took over from Kelly Palumba, who cracked to her pal, “Better than your TV productions, Epsilon!” I didn't much care for her either.

“Mind, Mrs. Brandau,” I said. “Don’t stretch the material.” People don’t think. Her dress was a rich brocade, royal blue with sky sleeves. I commandeered a water decanter from a waiter and drenched a serviette. “Macon wine leaves a stain otherwise.”

I drew her to one side as the chatter reasserted itself. We were by the rail, landward side. “A few more linens, Blanche, please,” whittled the gathering down.

That left Sophie Brandau and myself. Fussing like I imagined a meticulous waiter would, I blotted the brocade. It was near the hem, and took a few minutes. During it, I passed comments on the surroundings. Which made me notice the man in the motor opposite the pier. He didn’t look much like a photographer, but the motionless Wildlife Internations van nearby with its odd black-sheening windows could be full of them. He was talking into a car phone. So?

On board, however, Mrs. Brandau and me were no longer the centre of attention. I placed everything on the tray, and happened to notice her face with a start of astonishment. Overacting, of course.

“Good heavens!” I said. “I remember you now! That beautiful sautoir, wasn’t it?”

The diamond chain was there, worn as it should be from both shoulders (I hate the one-shoulder sur l’epaule style so popular in nineteeth-century France, because what the hell’s the pendant to do?) The pendant was there, tassel shape, four compound strands. Diamonds genuine as genuine is, and antique old. The central diamond was huge, bigger than the poor lumbering zircon she’d substituted for it. Seventeen carats? Nearer twenty, and brilliant-cut, which was good going for that kind of date.

“You noticed,” she said, quiet and pale.

“Did I stare? I apologize, Mrs. Brandau.”

You have to feel sorry for any woman caught out in deception. It’s routine for a man. Okay, when some bird rumbles you it’s uncomfortable for a few weeks—well, ten minutes—but then you get over it and life’s rich pageant rolls on. “I said nothing, about the pendant.”

“I guessed from the way you looked at it,” she said. ”You’re Lovejoy? The one Nicko had the trouble with over the furniture?”

That sounded nasty. “I’m the one who advised Nicko how not to ruin his antique,” I corrected stiffly.

“You’ve become quite a joke,” she said, not even near laughing. “Facing Nicko down over a wine stain.”

I said, narked, “We don’t deserve the antiques we’ve got. The moron you got to dock your sautoir pendant and substitute with zircons wants locking up.”

“You’re good at antiques?” Her eyes were so sad, but still wearing that calculating quality women find hard to forgive themselves for. “Can you do valuations?”

“Accurately. But…” I hesitated. Her eyes were lovely, brown, deep and broad in a slender face. She looked out of place among this lot. “But sometimes people don’t like the truth. Antiques deserve it.” Well, hang veracity. I’d got orders.

“And restorations? Antiques firms give such conflicting opinions.” She said it like lines in a rehearsal. She’d been as glad of the spillage excuse as I. Maybe she had orders, too.

“They would,” I said with feeling. “Valuation companies are on the fiddle. I do everything free—for genuine antiques, that is.” I don’t, of course. Never have. But my life might be at stake.

She thought a second. A gust of laughter rose from the party over something political.

“Tell one of the waitresses to get me a bitter soda, Lovejoy,” she said quickly. “The Game starts soon. When it’s quiet, bring me a drink to my cabin. It’s zero two zero.”

American for twenty. “Right. What drink, exactly?”

She stared at me, shook her head as if having difficulty. “Anything convincing, Lovejoy.”

What drink was convincing, in Long Island Sound?

“Will there be a stain?” she was asking pointedly as people started drifting from the canopied arena. I recognized feminine obfuscation at work, and loudly played along.

“Certainly not, Mrs. Brandau.” I felt like telling her it hadn’t been wine, only water, another of my deceits, but I needed all my honesty in reserve. One of the guests was now in a military uniform, I saw as I made my way back to Bill. I hadn’t noticed any general arriving. What was it, fancy dress? But ranks above corporal are where the Mysterious Orient begins, as far as I’m concerned.

“Here, Bill. What’s three stars mean?”

“They mean you saw nuttin’, Lovejoy.” Bill was flipping a last-minute cocktail for Kelly Palumba, who was now sloshed. She giggled.

“Hey, Lovejoy! Tell this hunk I’m gonna get some work outa him real soon…”

Epsilon was pouting. “I have to go, Kelly. See you here in an hour.” What card game lasts exactly an hour?

“That’s time enough,” Kelly told Bill. A woman leering is not a pretty sight. I was glad when she started to slide.

I caught her as her knees buckled. Blanche and two waitresses flew up, hustling her out of sight with that concealed anger they reserve for a transgressing sister.

The party was thinning. Seeing nuttin’, I didn’t notice Denzie Brandau smoothing Moira Hawkins’s bottom as they strolled off together. Nor did I notice the covert sign the Monsignor made to the General, fingers tapping palms in the universal let’s-cut-percent-ages plot. Nor the unconcerned way Nicko indicated his watch when Jennie started rounding up the strays like an eager sheepdog.

But I did notice the way Bill rearranged my clean glasses which I’d placed on the counter. And the glint of the low sun showing the people on shore. You don’t hide a watcher among trees, nor conceal him behind a window sill. You put him in a motor, where shoppers park their cars. Like the man Bill had continually checked on with a casual glance now and then ever since the party had started. Still, all was normal.

Except it all wasn’t. We were under surveillance. Bill was in on it, with his signalling glasses and his flashy tricks with cocktail shakers. I was anxious to warn him about Gina’s questioning, but got interrupted by a last-minute matron, one who’d had more face-lifts than Tower Bridge. She was a born gusher, had fawned continuously on the Monsignor, and now swigged her sixth martini like medicine, grimacing as it took effect.

“Wish me luck, honey,” she said, pondering whether to go for another. I decided to get shut of her.

“Luck? Here. Take this.” I took out a cent. “It was my first ever American coin. You know the old saying, your first penny buys an hour’s luck.”

“I never heard that one.”

She couldn’t have. I’d just made it up. Women who doubt really nark me. “It’s true. Here.” I passed it over with a discreet smile, which mercifully got rid of her.

“Is that proverb straight, Lovejoy?”

“Certainly!” Now even Bill was sceptical. I hate mistrust in other people. We started to clear up.

“Do a deal, Bill?” The deck arena was clear of guests. Gina Aquilina drifted through—changed again, exquisitely sheathed in a risky purple, silver chain accessories—with Orly prattling amusing prattle. He’d changed too, a smoothie’s white tuxedo. I waited until they’d strolled inside.

“Could I afford it?”

Witticisms gall me, when they’re at my expense. “Watch your back, that’s all.” Zole’s words.

“My back?” He laughed, but eyes alert and wary.

“Gina asked about you. I said you were a great barman.” I glanced over his shoulder at the shore, made sure he knew where I was looking. “I could have dropped you in the clag, Bill. That means you owe me.”

“How much, Lovejoy?”

“The ten dollars Tony owed. I could have said you were hopeless, got you the sack.”

“I didn’t figure you for a mercenary, Lovejoy.” He brought out a ten-dollar bill, placed it on the serving basin. He was puzzled now, and even warier.

“I’m working my passage up, up and away. I need every groat I can get. Thanks.” I slid the ten dollars back to him, finished wiping the glasses. The bar might be wired for sound, vision, heaven knows what. Just like the party area, or the rails where I’d attended to Sophie Brandau.

Bill looked at the money. He finally recovered it, said nothing more, except gave a curt nod of recognition. We wound up the bar.

“Reckon Kelly Palumba’s recovered?”

“No names, Lovejoy. House rules.”

“Right. Only, it’s been about an hour since she went moribund.” I drew breath. Come darkness, I’d be over the side and swimming for it, or being smuggled away in some kind lady’s purse. Sophie Brandau was that lady. “Bill. What would you call a really convincing drink, for a lady?”

CABIN 020 was midships, port side. That meant its portholes faced the open sound. Light was dwindling now, sailing boats and small craft setting sailing lights shimmering the darkening waters. The Gina was starting to sway almost imperceptibly. I knocked, licked my hand to smooth my uncontrollable thatch, and donned a bright waiter’s beam.

Mrs. Brandau’s welcome wasn’t much. “Come in, Lovejoy. Sit.”

Hell, like a dog. Reluctantly I deposited the tray, an old Burmese original lacquer. Criminal lo use it. I’d only chosen it to prevent Bill from scouring it to extinction. It was one hundred and fifty years old, living on borrowed time in this company of millionaire scatter-brains.

The cabin was a shipboard compact, folding tables and furniture screwed down and all that. It was highly feminine, three mirrors, of which one was a true Regency that caught my breath. I sat on a low settee, modern crud, and tried to think polite thoughts about the lovely woman opposite.

Worry shreds a woman’s confidence, doesn’t it. It takes the steam out of the face somehow, shows in the eyes. This lady was never going to bat for America, not the way she’d crumpled inwardly.

“Something I said, love?” I asked.

“You were kind, Lovejoy. I need somebody kind.”

This sort of talk dismays me. We’re vulnerable enough without trust raising its fearful head.

“Look, lady. I’m knee-deep in muck and bullets. I’ve hardly a bean. All I really know, between ourselves, is antiques and nothing but antiques. I’m also…” How to phrase it so I sounded superb? “Don’t trust me, is all I’m saying.”

“Sophie,” she said listlessly. Women take no notice. You might as well talk to the wall. “It’s my husband, Lovejoy.”

Oh, hell. I half rose. She gestured me down.

“How can I stop him?” She noticed my face, which must have debeamed somewhere along the line. “You’re the one doing the Sherlock with Moira Hawkins. Denzie’s crazy. It’s not the first time he’s been stupid. She’s dragging him in. We’re in over our heads. She’s persuaded him it’ll bring fame, a fortune. The biggest PR fillip ever. Even push him to the presidency. He’s like a man demented. And she’s playing on it.”

That was it. Expectancy lifted her eyebrows. “Well, Lovejoy?”

Clearly this was no seduction scene between randy serf and lusting contessa. Disappointed, I revealed how I’d encountered the Hawkinses. “All I know is that Moira’s sister Rose frequents the bar where I work…”

Sophie heard me out. She lit a cigarette, clicking the lighter a few times. “I’d hoped you would be more cooperative. If it’s a deal you want…”

I’d nothing to deal with. Yet here was a millionaire’s wife offering… Suddenly I wanted to know more, more about Moira Hawkins’s project, why Sophie was so concerned. I mean, I’d seen the Hawkins place. It was mundane, cheap even. This lady’s emerald solitaire could buy Rose, Moira, bookshop and all. I’d been ordered to play along with this delectable bird, so I’d be in the clear with Gina even if I said, “Okay, love. I’ll do what you want.”

Her face lit, losing that waxy cast and hueing into animation. “You will? Truly, Lovejoy?”

She came to fold herself beside me. “You know the risks?”

“You’re worth it,” I lied, hoping Gina’s recorded tapes of this conversation would exonerate me one hundred per cent.

Her eyes fluttered, lowered. “Don’t be under any illusion, Lovejoy. There’s a limit to what I can do.”

“That’s always the danger.” I felt noble, a knight on a white charger. “You want me to have a word with Moira?”

She gave a harsh laugh. “No, Lovejoy. You’ll have to end it. The Sherlock enterprise. It’s the one thing that’ll make him drop that Hawkins bitch.”

End? That all? I cheered up. Moira’s plot hinged on a grailer scam, and they’re always failures. Dreams are dud, which is why they stay dreams and never become reality.

“Easy, Sophie,” I said. “Leave it to me.”

“You will? Oh, you darling man! Thank you!”

For one second I knew I could have joined her in communal happiness, so to speak, but I heard someone coming down the corridor. My hand never even reached her breast.

“Invite me to your place,” I said, thinking quickly. “To, what, restore your antiques.”

She slipped me a card from her handbag.

“I’ll okay it with Jennie,” she said. “I’ve a convincing collection; Jim Bethune supplied most. You want I should damage one or two, make it look convincing?”

I went cold, nearly throttled her but kept control. Her hand cupped, grasped mine. She kissed my palm, eyes filling. I’d never seen so much gratitude at one go.

“Don’t ever damage an antique, Sophie. Promise?”

“I’ll do anything in my power for you. I swear.”

I left then, her gratitude flowing out into the corridor after me like a cloying perfume. Mr Sokolowsky was approaching. He said a cheery hello, asked how I was liking life on board ship. I was making some sort of inane reply when he leant close confidentially.

“Help her, Lovejoy,” he whispered, and went on his way, the sentimental old fool. I presumed he meant Sophie. I shrugged it off, only one more bemusement among many.

When I returned, Bill had gone. The deck arena looked uninviting. Nothing so forlorn as drooping bunting. All was left for seagulls and the evening breeze.

Onshore the Wildlife van remained. I looked down at the water. Still enough daylight to make a swim for it. A small white motor launch was purring across the bay, heading parallel to the shore. One crewman, and Bill. The Gina’s inshore boat. I yelled, “Hey, Bill!” but he didn’t turn. All right, I thought, narked. Not even the manners to say so-long.

I decided I’d better report to Gina as soon as darkness covered the day, and went to find the galley for some nosh to keep the wolf from the door. It was on the way that I got the key to most, if not all.

The cruiser was almost silent, rocking somnolently with its lines tapping as the breeze flicked them. The companionway led down a deck. You double back towards the stern, for the crew’s quarters. I’d been told our scoff was there and nowhere else. Tye Dee must already be there, I’d decided. Like an obedient hound I would report to Gina on the dot, allaying all her suspicions.

“Lovejoy?”

I almost fainted with fright when she grabbed my arm, coming out of nowhere.

“You silly mare! You scared me to death!”

Normally Kelly Palumba would have giggled, having put one over on the universe. She was in no state for levity. She was shaking, teeth chattering and limbs a-twitch. A fleck of vomit touched the corner of her mouth. God, she was a mess.

“Lovejoy. Where the fuck’s Bill?”

“How the hell should I know?” She clung and trailed, clawing. She babbled inanely. I pushed her back into her cabin and stepped after. “Look. Wait here. I’ll call Blanche.”

“Wait?” she shrilled. “What the fuck’s with wait?” She wept, shivering. Her dress was soiled. I looked away, stuck to my fair-minded task of getting the hell out and leaving her to stew in her own pot. “Get fo’ me, Lovejoy. I’m dyin’.”

Some sort of drugs. “I’m sorry. I haven’t got any.” I pressed the button frantically. This nightmare wasn’t the prelude I wanted to my clandestine escape. “Who’s your stewardess?”

“Fuck the stewardess!” She slumped against the door, sobbing, muscles in spasm, retching. “Where’s Bill?” It was a cry from the heart. I tried dragging her away so I could get out. Where the hell was Blanche and her team? “Bill sees me right every time. You’re all against me…”

Bill the drug supplier, to this ruin? I almost joined in her wailing from self-pity.

“Let me out. I’ll get Bill. He’ll bring you your, er, tablets. Honest, love.”

She flailed against the cabin door in some sort of epilepsy. Why had I let her lean against the damned door, trapping me like this? I reached for a towel by the bedside, scattering syringes, silver foil, and rolled it under her head. I vaguely knew there was something about an epileptic’s tongue, but what?

Gradually she quietened. I was drenched in sweat, breathing hard.

“They won’t even let me play the Game,” she whimpered. “Just because I’ve a small habit. Who hasn’t, Lovejoy?”

“Mmmh,” I said. “Rotten sods.”

She sobbed uncontrollably. “Now I’ll be out of the California Game. It happened before.” Her voice crescendoed. “They’ll not let me to LA.”

I tried to step over her towards the door but she clutched my leg. “They wouldn’t do a thing like that. I’ll ask them —”

“Fix me, Lovejoy.” She tried a smile. A pathetic eager grin for a horror film. “I’ll be nice for you. Ask Bill. I’ll do anything ifn you make me sing.”

I was worn out. The cabin was insufferably hot. There must be something stupendous in drugs to reduce a complete human to this. She’d nearly been exquisite two hours since.

“Right!” I said brightly. “I’ll get the, er, tablets for you. I have nine, maybe a dozen. Just let me pass…” All the time I was pushing the bloody button and not one of the idle bitches was coming. I’d belt the lazy cows.

She started her retching, holding on. I got a hand on the door latch, but made it no further, frantically started knocking on the panel calling out Blanche’s name, bawling for Tye Dee, anybody for God’s sake. She hung on, weeping and stinking, babbling not to leave her like this, promising anything.

“I’ll get you a place in the Game, Lovejoy,” she wheedled, her aghast ravaged face staring up at me. “I’ll fund you!”

“Help!” I bawled, sick and shaking almost as bad as she was. “Blanche, for Christ’s sake —”

The door handle turned, and Blanche came whizzing in, forcing the girl bodily up from the floor in an amazing display of strength. Tye crowded in after. I reeled out.

“Where the hell have you been?” I yelled. “I’ve been pressing that frigging button and knocking the bloody door for six hours, while you idle gets sat on your fat arses and —”

Tye clamped a hand over my mouth and hauled me along to the next cabin. He slammed me in and shut the door.

“You call yourself a friend?” I was yelling. “Leaving me —”

“Shtum, Lovejoy.” He listened. The faint thumping from the adjacent room quietened, stilled. He relaxed, sat on the bunk.

I went to the bathroom, washed my hands and face, sniffing at my clothes for traces of Kelly… and noticed that Tye wore only trousers and a gaping shirt. He was barefoot. My hands in the basin’s warm water, I stared at my reflection. Come to think of it, Blanche had hardly been what you might call eminently presentable, either. She’d looked just rising from a good night’s, ah, rest.

Tye was pulling on socks, fumbling for shoes beneath the bed. Silk stockings were draped on a chair. The bed linen was disordered. A hard day’s night had been had by all. I straightened, found a towel.

“No wonder you were slow coming,” I said evenly.

He cocked an ear, nodded as a buzzer sounded three faint zeds. “We have to talk.”

Blanche entered. She was pale under her dark skin, almost purple around the eyes. Lovely, but scared and looking at Tye for direction. She carried a small tray holding a syringe, needles, ampoules. They made me feel queasy.

“I’ve fixed her good, Tye,” she said in a wobbly voice. She looked in a worse state than me. Partners in paradise, while I’d been in hell next door.

“You’d better know something, Lovejoy,” Tye said. “All that went on in Kelly Palumba’s cabin’ll be taped, sound and video.”

“Thank God for that!” I said vehemently. “It’ll prove she dragged me in. When Nicko and Gina see the tape they’ll see I was bawling my head off for you two…”

Aha. I paused, looked from Blanche to Tye.

“You see the problem, Lovejoy.”

Blanche was finishing dressing, I tried not to see her lovely legs sheathing into her silks. Tye stood, buttoning his collar.

“Aye.” And I did. The camera record would show me all innocent, trying to cope with the sick lass—and it would reveal that Tye and Blanche were in dereliction of duty. “You two’ll get your wrists slapped?”

“Sort of, Lovejoy.”

“But this…” Like a fool I glanced about the cabin, as if bugging devices would be in view and clearly labelled.

Blanche answered, doing her hair at the mirror. “I have an arrangement with the recordist, Lovejoy. To default the circuits.”

She evaded my eyes in the mirror. Well, she had powers of persuasion any electrician would accede to.

Tye spoke, fastening his holster. I watched, amazed. It was the first real holster I’d ever seen. I’d no idea they were so bulky. However did undercover agents manage?

“We can erase Kelly Palumba’s, Lovejoy.”

Into the ensuing silence Blanche spoke softly. “If you stay quiet, Lovejoy.”

Now her eyes met mine. It wasn’t a simple threat. It was more like, well, a country woman’s promise of coming weather, certain it would come but hoping for maximum clemency. A rainstorm, we’d all get soaked.

“What’s the risk to me?” I was conscious I was missing some sort of opportunity, but was too feeble-minded to think it through. “I’ve promised loyalty to Gina all sorts of ways.”

“Haven’t we all, Lovejoy?” Tye donned his jacket. He looked surprisingly neat, if a trifle bulky. So those holsters were tailored! The things you learn.

“There’ll be no comeback from Gina,” Blanche said. “Where’s the harm in a little fun?” She did that erotic magic with lipstick that always makes me swallow and think hard unyielding thoughts. She smiled to herself. And Tye smiled too.

“Everybody needs a little fun now and then. Right?”

I swallowed. “Right, right.”

That was where we left it, we of the good ship Gina, me going to change into clean gear then totter along to the galley for a nosh, Tye strolling to resume his patrol, Blanche staring at her reflection slowly sucking her lips in to even her lipstick. And the drugged girl somewhere in that chemical paradise from which few travellers ever really return.