The Circus of Thieves

The Circus of Thieves

         Trouble walked into my office in the shape of a dame with an hourglass figure and enough mink to keep the population of Russia warm throughout the winter. She was on the fresh end of her twenties, slender, blond, and built like the kind of broad some poor misguided boob would blow one down for. My eyes devoured her.
         As she moved through the room, she smelled good--damn good--better than anything I had smelled in a long time. She cleared her throat, and I threw back the last of my bourbon and smashed out my butt.
         “Can I help you?” I asked as if there was any chance in Hell that this doll would ever give me the time of day.
         “Are you Bob?” she asked in a sultry voice that could make a daisy stand erect and sound as if she had just arrived from Bulgaria. “Bob, the private investigator?”
         “Yeah, toots, that’s me.” I thumbed toward the painted glass. “Just like the sign on the door reads. What can I do you for?”
         She checked the hallway as though she were being followed. She reminded me of a frightened rabbit, but I was the one that was going bugs--bugs for a dame I didn’t even know.
         “Uh, is Bob your full name, or do you have a partner named Bob?”
         “The name’s Bob. I’m Bob Bob, the private investigator. And while we’re on names, what’s yours, sister?”
         “Let me get this straight, darling, your first and your last name are Bob?”
         “Yeah. That’s it. My dear sweet old Mudder decided it would be funny if she used my last name as my first name, but they both sounded so much alike that she decided to spell my first name backward. Uh, it's a long story. You can just call me Bob. Now, you wanna quit bumping your gums and tell me who you are?”
         She smiled kindly, and I thought it was illegal for anyone to be that beautiful.
         “I am Ms. DeMeaner.”
         I slowly raised an eyebrow. “DeMeaner? Any relation to Rialto DeMeaner?”
         She lowered her eyes and the lights from outside reflected on her face making her even more beautiful.
         “So you’re the wife of that butter and egg man that just got chilled, huh? I read the papers. The coppers said it was an open and shut case--a suicide. So, what duya want with me?”
         “You gotta help me, Mr. Bob. I believe my husband was murdered.”
         “Murdered, huh? Can you prove it, doll face?”
         “Well, I . . . I know he didn’t kill himself. How could a man stab himself with his own toothbrush twenty-seven times?”
         “A toothbrush? He was killed with a toothbrush?”
         “Well, yes, that, and a Venus flytrap.”
         After she gave me the particulars, we hopped in her boiler and drove to the scene of the crime. I studied her from the corner of my eye as she drove. She was quite a looker. She had a long set of getaway sticks that would have been the envy of any Hollywood starlet. I watched her hands grip the wheel like a boozehound holding his giggle juice. She was scared all right--real scared. I wanted to feel sorry for her, but I’d been down that road before. Too many dames had played chin music on my heart. Maybe that’s what she wanted--maybe this was all an act--the toothbrush, the man-eating plant. Maybe she was nothing more than a chippy, trying to play out a Chinese angle. I had to find out.
         “Who discovered the body?”
         She clenched her teeth. “I did. He was in the bathroom. He said he was going to take a quick shower.” She started with the waterworks again. “When I got there, the toothbrush was jutting from his back; there was blood everywhere. And--and his toothbrush . . . it was still wet!”
         “All right, all right, can the hysterics. If you want me to help ya, you gotta come clean, see. Tell me everything. Do you know anyone who would want to bump your husband off?”
         “Well, yeah, sure, lots of people. My husband was a very influential man, Bob. In business circles, he dealt with everybody. Over the years, he made several, uh . . . enemies.”
         I was getting ready to put the screws on when she slowed the flivver to a crawl.
         “This is it. What do you think?”
         The place looked like a hotel from some exotic postcard; the kind of place you always dream of going to, but never seem to quite get there.
         “Wow, so this is all yours, huh?”
         She started blubbering again. “I suppose it is now--all forty rooms, seven servants, and more money than I’ll ever know what to do with. Oh, Bob, what am I going do?”
         I grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a good shake. “Get a grip, kid. You’re behind the eight-ball here. We’ll get this all sorted out, just show me where you found the body.”
         We were met at the front door by the head butler. “Madame, we were getting worried about you. The police left just five minutes ago. They said they had a warrant for your arrest--that you’re suspected of killing Mr. DeMeanor. Madame, what does it all mean?”
         “Button your hole, Jeeves,” I said. “Ms. DeMeanor hasn’t killed anyone. I want you to gather all the servants together. I have a few questions to ask you.”
         He looked at his employer. She nodded her head. “Mr. Bob is here to help me, Doc. Please do as he says.”
         “Of course, Madame. Immediately.” He abruptly turned and left.
         “All right, toots, show me the bathroom.”
         “To use, or to investigate?”
         “Uh, both actually. Come on, let’s take a look.”
         She led me up a luxurious staircase to the second floor. I watched her move up the steps ahead of me. This girlie had more shake than a five-and-dime soda jerk. God, she was beautiful. She made me feel like an amputated leg. I tried to calm myself and adjusted my pants. She was using me, and not in a good way. She was either innocent, or it was all part of an elaborate plan. I couldn't tell which.
         She led me through a set of double doors and into the master bedroom. The room was bigger than the Taj Mahal and the bed could have slept a dozen Chinese whores. She gracefully sat down upon it.
         “There. Behind that door. That’s the main bathroom.”
         I threw open the door. The bathroom was spotless. Evidently, the servants hadn’t wasted any time. The place was wall-to-wall mirrors and solid marble counters. The shower was bigger than my office and several plants lined the wall next to it. I examined one.
         “Those are Venus Flytraps.”
         I must be getting old because she had come in behind me and I never heard a sound. She had changed clothes and was now wearing a brightly colored silk wrap loosely tied at her waist.
         “Rialto found these plants fascinating and collected them as a hobby. They like the steam from the shower, so he kept them in here. Watch.” She stuck her finger into the center of the flower and it snapped shut almost entrapping her digit.
         “That’s a gruesome little plant,” I said. “But I don’t see how it could have been the cause of death.”
         “When he fell, his face landed inside one of the pots. The plant closed on his nose--cut off his breathing.”
         “That’s assuming he wasn’t already dead when he fell. So, he was facing the shower when he was attacked?”
         “Yes. Why?”
         “It’s the only wall without any mirrors. He wouldn’t have been able to see who the killer was.”
         There was a light knock on the bathroom door. “Excuse me, Madame. But the servants have all been assembled.”
         “Thanks, Doc. We’ll be right there.”
         “Very well, Madame.” He backed out of the room with a look of disapproval.
         “Well, Bob, are you going to help me?” She handed me an envelope with five big ones in it. “This should retain your services until the conclusion of your investigation.”
         I took a peek, then slipped the envelope into my pocket. “I think this will do for starters. But I ain’t promising nothing.”
         She stood close to me--too close. Her hands dropped and jerked at something and the robe she was wearing came open. Underneath she was as naked as a jay-bird.
         “Perhaps we could come to some kind of an agreement.” She gave me a smile I could feel in my hip pocket.
         Patting the envelope, I said, “This will have to do for now, sister.”
         I could tell she wasn’t used to not getting her way. Her face reddened and her eyes burned with anger. “Fine then.” She closed her robe and tied it off. “But I can tell you, the invitation won’t come again.”
         I smiled. “You’re not the type that holds a grudge are you?”
         “I’m a woman. It's not my fault, I'm just made that way. But there’s nothing more deadly than a woman’s scorn.”
         I fled the bedroom as Ms. DeMeanor made herself presentable. Down in the main foyer, seven men stood at attention awaiting their orders.
         “At ease, fellas. I just wanted to ask you a few questions.” As I descended the stairs, I noticed that there were no maids--just butlers. And these guys, if dressed differently, could have passed as thugs and palookas. “Who’s the head cheese here?”
         “I am, sir,” answered the servant she had earlier called, Doc.
         His smile was as stiff as a frozen fish and he had a face like a bucket of mud. “All right, bright eyes, you wanna tell me who the rest of these upstanding citizens are?”
         “Well, I’m Doc, and that’s Grumpy, Sneezy, Sleepy, Bashful, Happy, and Dopey.”
         “You trying to be cute, wise guy.”
         Doc’s cold stare burned into me as he cracked his knuckles. The popping made me wince, it was louder than any breakfast cereal I had ever eaten.
         ”Those are the names given to us by Ms. DeMeanor. We are all brothers from a faraway land. After rescuing us from a traveling circus in Europe, Mr. and Mrs. DeMeanor fired their entire staff and hired us on the spot. They brought us here to America. This is a wonderful country. We will never be able to repay them.”
         “What’s the catch?”
         “Pardon me?”
         “The catch. There must have been some kind of strings attached to such an arrangement. What do you fellas do around here?”
         “Aside from our regular duties, we guard the Demeanors from harm. Uh, what do you call it in this country . . . oh, yes, bodyguards. We are their personal bodyguards.”
         “Well, I don’t want to say anything, but so far, you guys are doing one helluva job.” At that, the other six fairy tales began to grumble, until Doc quickly silenced them with a stare.
         “You are upsetting my brothers. For your information, we owe the DeMeanors our lives. We would do anything for them.” As if on cue, the seven angry muscle men surrounded me. “Anything at all. Understand?”
         "Enough!” yelled Ms. DeMeanor as she came down the stairs. “Back to work, all of you!”
         Doc bowed obediently. “Of course, Madame.” He snapped his fingers and the other servants melted through the doorways and out of the room.
         I looked up at her. Even angry she was beautiful enough to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window. “Thank you, but I could have taken them.”
         “I’m sorry, Mr. Bob, but that would have been very foolish on your part. My husband and I found these men in a traveling circus. They are acrobatic strongmen. Although your courage is refreshing, I’m afraid you place too high a value on your physical prowess.”
         “Maybe, but I find it interesting that you have seven strong men living in your house named after a bunch of fairy tale characters. What is it, one for each day of the week? Maybe you place too high a value on your sexual prowess.”
         She became livid. “Get out! Leave at once, or I’ll have you thrown out! Your services are no longer required.”
         “Okay, sister, I’m going.” I settled my hat on my head, cocked it to one side, then turned to leave. As an afterthought, I pulled the envelope of cash from my pocket and set it on the end of the banister. “Here, I think this belongs to you. I don’t believe in getting paid for nothing.”
         She softened a little, her smile as faint as a fat lady at a fireman’s ball. Gripping the brim of my hat, I gave her a nod and opened the front door--then I ran smack-dab into the arms of the police.
         “Bob, what are you doing here?”
         “Inspector McKeeny, nice of you to drop by. You boys are as cute as a couple of lost golf balls.”
         “You can cut the wisecracks, Bob. I asked ya what're you doing here? What do you know about this case?”
         “Well, let’s just say, I know when I’m not wanted.”
         “Yeah? Well, I want ya. I want you to tell me what you know.”
         Ms. DeMeanor cut in, “Mr. Bob works for me, detective. I hired him to find out who killed my husband.”
         “Yeah? Well, we got our own theory about that.” He pulled some papers from his front pocket. “Ms. DeMeanor, you’re under arrest for the murder of your husband.”
         “Wait a minute, Mac. What do you got on her? She couldn’t have done it.”
         “What makes you so sure, Bob? She was at the scene of the crime, and she had a motive.”
         “Motive?”
         “She stands to inherit the entire DeMeanor estate.”
         “That’s your motive? Come on, Mac, you dumb mug. She already had half the fortune to begin with. What about the murder weapon?”
         “We couldn’t get a decent print off of it.”
         “Give me your pen, Mac, lemme show you something”
         “My pen? Hey, what is this, anyway?”
         “Just hand it over.” I snagged his pen from his pocket. “Look, this is the way you hold a toothbrush when you're brushing your pearly whites, right?”
         “Yeah. So?”
         “That would leave a perfect thumbprint right on the handle. But if you were going to stab somebody with it, wouldn’t you turn your hand over and hold it like this?”
         “Well, yeah, I guess so, but . . .”
         “That’s why you can’t get a clear print. The fingers wrap around the handle like so, you only get the smudge from the palm of the hand. Anyone could have stabbed him.”
         Mac yelled at the cop next to him, “Why didn’t you think of that?”
         “Look, Mac, why don’t you just admit it? You guys have botched this case from the very beginning. First, you said it was a suicide, but there’s no way a man can stab himself in the back twenty-seven times now is there? You're grabbing at straws here. If you arrest her now, her high-powered lip man will have her out before you can even get to the station.”
         “Well, you’re probably right there. What’s your take on it, Bob? Who do you think did it?”
         “You’re asking me? I don’t know. But if I were you, I’d question the servants.”
         “Yeah, we did that, but only one of the seven speaks any English. The rest are a bunch of foreigners, and I can’t understand a thing they say.”
         “They know plenty, alright. I’d start there if I were you.”
         He turned to the other man. “Johnson, get on it.”
         “And by the way Mac, I want you to release Ms. DeMeanor into my custody. I’ll vouch for her until things get straightened out.”
         He tipped his hat back and scratched his head. “Well, I don’t know, Bob. I, uh . . .”
         “I’m good for it. I’ve always played straight with you, Mac. You know me. We drink out of the same bottle.”
         “All right. I’ll go along with your plan. But you stay close. I wanna know everything you know. Understand?”
         “Yeah, sure, I understand. Just like old times, heh, Mac?”
         "Yeah, right. See ya later." The two cops went looking for the servants.
         “What about me?” asked DeMeanor. “Are you going to handcuff me to your wrist?” She batted her eyelashes at me like she was fanning a volcano.
         “No. Chrome bracelets would only clash with your outfit. You’re coming with me. We’re taking a trip to the morgue.”
         “The morgue?” Panic covered her face. “Please, Bob, I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to see . . . him.”
         “I need to get a look at the body, and you're my ticket in, sister. Grab your wrap.”
         She looked at me curiously. “You vouched for me to the cops. Why? You don’t know anything about me.”
         I looked her over from head to toe. “I know enough. Besides, I’ve always been a pretty good judge of character, and you don’t look like the type of dame to stab her husband in the back.”
         “Thanks. What type of a dame do I look like?”
         I wanted to take her into my arms. Tell her how beautiful she was--tell her everything was gonna be all right. “You look swell, kid. Just swell.”
         We jumped into her bucket and headed back downtown. I sat in silence, rubbing at the stubble on my chin and thinking what a sap I was. I belonged up here on Nob Hill like a pearl onion on a banana split. I knew less about this girlie than when I first met her. If she was stringing me along and decided to go south on our little business deal, I was gonna go down with her. That’s what you get when you trust people, especially a hot tomato like her. My only hope was to get a gander at the stiff. If I was wrong, and I’m never wrong, the body would tell me everything I needed to know.
         We were met at the front door by the city coroner. We flashed our IDs and he nervously let us in. The place was like a meat locker inside and the smell of chemicals and death covered the walls like cigarette smoke and booze perfume in a clip joint.
         The coroner read the toe tag. “This is Rialto DeMeanor.”
         I thanked him, and slipping him a twenty, told him to take a powder.
         “So, this is what rich gets ya, huh?” I tipped my hat back and shook my head. I grabbed the sheet and flipped it off the body. Ms. DeMeanor gasped at the sight. It was obvious she wasn’t used to seeing dead people.
         “Take it easy, kid. He’s not getting up.”
         Rialto DeMeanor was laid on his back on a metal gurney. “This will never do. We’re gonna have to flip him over. Give us a hand here, toots.”
         “I’m not touching him. Do it yourself.”
         “Come on now, you promised to help.”
         “This is one promise I’m not going to keep. He was my husband for god's sake. I can’t do it! I can’t!” She ran from the room in hysterics, slamming the door behind her.
         I looked down at the corpse. “It looks like it’s just you and me, kid.” Grabbing the arm on the far side of his body, I pulled with all my strength. Surprisingly, I got him flipped over. His back had more holes in it than a Bruno filled with Chicago lightning. Most of the wounds were in the upper back. Only a man taller than DeMeanor could have done that.
         I checked his arms. He had bruises around both his wrists. I could see the clear marking of a finger. A coupla goons must have held his arms as he was being stabbed. It took more than one killer to ice this guy.
         I thought of the seven dwarfs back at the DeMeanor place and wondered . . . .
         The door burst open as I was straddling the body looking for clues.
         “Excuse me? Just what the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re not supposed to touch the bodies. Where’s Ms. DeMeanor? She’s the only reason I let you in.”
         That’s all I needed was for the coroner to poke his nose into my investigation. “Shut your trap if you know what’s good for ya. I’m trying to discover who’s responsible for putting this guy into a wooden kimono.”
         “I'll ask you again, where’s Ms. DeMeanor?
         “She got cold feet and had to take a powder.”
         “I’m calling the police if you don’t leave this instant!”
         “Yeah, yeah, hold your shorts, I’m just about done.”
         “No! You must leave now!”
         “How would you like a punch in the jaw?”
         “Are you threatening me?”
         I pulled out my roscoe jammed it in his button and said, “Close your yap, or I squirt metal, see?”
         “Uh--uh, yes, of course. Anything you say.”
         “Are you the one who told the cops this was a suicide?”
         “Yes, but I was forced to do it!”
         “Forced, or paid?”
         “I . . . I don’t know what you mean?”
         “Do you know that you can go to jail for falsifying a coroner's report?”
         “You don’t understand! I know people--big people! People who know how to keep people like you and me quiet and out of the people's business.”
         “So, the fix is in, heh? Well, I’ve dealt with people like that before. Trust me, you’ll be the one that’ll end up taking a bounce, not me.”
         I stormed out of the room.
         Outside, Ms. DeMeanor was leaning against her car. “What took you so long? It’s getting late and I’m cold.”
         “Yeah? Well, just how cold are ya?”
         “What’s that supposed to mean?”
         “I think you know. You’ve been trying to throw me off the scent from the very beginning.”
         “What do you mean?”
         “I mean, this whole thing stinks like a fixed game. I’m not gonna be one of those dumb mugs you can pay off with your geetus.”
         “Spit it out, Bob. What are you accusing me of?”
         “I’m talking about the croaker inside. Did you offer him the same deal you offered me?”
         She slapped me hard. Then covered her face with her hands and started the waterworks. “How could you think that? I like you, Bob. I like you a lot.”
         I pulled her hands away from her face expecting to see dry eyes, but tears were running down her cheeks. Oh, she was good, all right, as good as I’ve ever seen--a real pro. She looked up at me, the streetlights sparkling in her eyes. I grabbed her and put one on her kisser. She clutched me like a lost puppy.
         “Oh, Bob . . . Bob, what am I going to do? What am I going to do?”
         We drove back to her place in silence. The bulls were still there. Mac had the seven butlers lined up outside.
         “What the hell’s going on, Mac?”
         “You were right about these guys, Bob. They’re dirty--dirty as they come. It seems they’re wanted in more than one country. We’re taking ‘em downtown for further questioning.”
         The butler named Doc, spoke up, “Please, Ms. DeMeanor, don’t let them take us. If they send us back we’ll go to prison. Please, make them understand.”
         “Officer, release these men at once!”
         “Sorry, pretty lady, but it’s out of my hands. We have laws in this country about harboring wanted criminals.”
         Doc’s face was smeared in panic. He looked like a wild animal about to bolt. Quickly, he grabbed the gun from the nearest policeman’s holster and pointed it our way. “No! Me and my brothers will never go back. Never!”
         He ran for the car.
         The police opened fire.
         The sucker with the schnozzle poured a slug, but before he could scram out they sent him over. He buckled holding his chest and went down.
         DeMeanor screamed, “No!” She ran to the butler and cradled his head in her arms. He wheezed softly, like the voice of a man who had just won a pie-eating contest. “At least. . . I die a free man.”
         “Yes, Doc,” she said sadly. “Yes.”
         We all stood around looking down at the body. Mac broke the silence. “All right, let’s load up the other six. Johnson, call the meat wagon. Tell ‘em we got a cold one at the DeMeanor place.”
         “How could you let this happen?” she said, coming at me with tears in her eyes. “You could have stopped him! He was my favorite of the seven.”
         “Your favorite? Look, doll, I don’t understand the connection between you and these mugs, but don’t you think you should let me in on your little secret?”
         She opened her mouth like a fire bucket and laughed. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re . . . you’re a man!”
         “Yeah, well, I’ll give you that, but you wanna tell me why you need so many men around you? What’s the catch?” The paddy wagon rolled down the driveway. She watched it with a tragic expression. “Who are those guys?”
         “I can’t tell you.”
         I was done being lied to. Grabbing her by the shoulders, I turned her toward me and yelled, “You will tell me! And you’ll tell me, now!”
         She burst into tears. “I can’t! I can’t, I tell ya!”
         I slapped her face. “Bull! Talk, sister. Who are they?”
         “They’re . . . they’re my brothers!”
         I stepped away from her and tilted my hat back. “Well, I’ll be. So that’s it, huh?”
         “Rialto never knew. He thought I was having an affair behind his back.”
         “Well, that just takes the cake. With all seven?”
         “Yeah.”
         I whistled in disbelief. “Well, if that don’t make me want to eat my spare tire, rim and all.”
         I had my doubts about the skirt earlier, but now I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything. Her story was a dark room and she kept the door closed tight.

         Later. in my office, the minutes went by on tiptoe, with their fingers to their lips. I stubbed out another butt and poured myself some more eel juice.
         What was it with this one? Why couldn’t I think straight? She filled my mind like smoke in a creep joint. I wasn’t getting anywhere. The rest of the dwarves were about to be deported unless I acted quickly. The buzzers couldn’t get anything out of ‘em, but the police in Europe were very interested in getting their hands on them. Why? What were they wanted for? And how does a sweet tomato like DeMeanor, end up married to one of the richest guys in the world?
         I was running in circles. Everything pointed to the butlers, but there was something missing. And I wasn’t going to find it in a bottle. I corked it and filed it in the cabinet.
         I had to find out more.
         The blower rang and I picked it up.
         “Bob Bob, Private Investigator.”
         “It’s me.”
         The sound of her voice made me want to think things were gonna be all right. I was a sap for her and I knew it. There was no use in trying to hide it. “Yeah?”
         “I couldn’t sleep. I had to talk to you.”
         “I’m listening.”
         “It’s about my brothers. They . . . they were bank robbers in Europe, professionals, but they never hurt anybody.”
         “I’m sure the bank’s stockholders would probably disagree.”
         “They worked as acrobats in a traveling circus. It was their cover. By day, they were the Fabulous Troys, but by night, they were the most notorious thieves in all of Europe.”
         “And when it got too hot for them, you brought them to America.”
         “Yes, but Rialto was against it. He didn’t need any negative publicity, but as a favor to me, he hired them on as servants.”
         “Then why would they kill him?”
         She gasped. “Then . . . then you know?"
         "Yeah, I figured it out. Who else could have done it?"
         "Rialto had gotten into a very sticky situation. A former associate of his had threatened to blackmail him over a deal Rialto had put together with the Nazis. If word got out, DeMeanor Enterprises would be through in America. Rialto forced my brothers to break into the man’s home, steal any evidence they could find, and return it to him.”
         “And if they didn’t cooperate?”
         “He said he’d send them all back to face the charges against them.”
         “What happened then?”
         “During the break-in, the man was accidentally killed. Rialto appeared pleased to hear the information. He brought the killing up every time he needed another favor.”
         “How long did this go on?”
         “A couple of years.”
         “Do the police know?”
         “No. No one knows but you.”
         “Let’s keep it that way for now. I’ll call you later.”
         I hung up the horn, and then on intuition, called the croaker at the morgue.
         “City Morgue.”
         “Yeah. Hey, I’m the guy you threw out of there last night.”
         “Please, leave me alone. I am in enough trouble already.”
         “You’re boss got hot under the collar, huh?”
         “I will phone the police if you call me again.”
         “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, I got Captain McKeeney here with me right now. He has some questions to ask you about Rialto DeMeanor’s autopsy report.”
         There was silence on the other end.
         “Look, bub,” I said softly, “I’ll make ya a deal.”
         “A deal?”
         “Yeah. You tell me who’s giving you orders and I’ll tell the police what a good boy you’ve been.”
         He let out a big sigh. “I usually get a call from a man with a foreign accent, that says he represents the DeMeanor Estate. He tells me what must be done.”
         “And what did he tell you about me?”
         “He said I was not to let you look at Mr. DeMeanor’s body. But when his wife came in with you, I was confused and didn’t know what to do.”
         “So you called him.”
         “Yes. I was told to throw you out immediately.”
         “What’s the number?”
         “But, but . . .”
         “Spill it!”
         “They’ll kill me. I can’t.”
         “All right. I think I already know it anyway.” I read off the number to Ms. DeMeanor’s home. “Just tell me--is that it?”
         “Yeah. That’s the number.”
         I was sleeping in my chair when the knock came. I wiped the raggedness from my face and shuffled to the door. “Yeah? Who is it?”
         “It’s me, darling. Please, let me in.”
         I unlocked the door and threw it open. She filled the entryway like a thousand roses, wearing a bright red dress that was so tight you could read the Sunday paper through it.
         In a husky, breathless voice, she leaned into me and said, “Ya want some company, or is that a gun in your pocket?”
         I pulled her into my arms and kissed her hard--very hard.
         We went at each other like caged animals. With one quick sweep of my arm, I cleared the desk.
         I smelled smoke.
         Looking up, I saw a shadow of somebody outside the door. Then I saw the flames.
         “Hurry,” I said. “Get dressed.”
         In nothing but my birthday suit, I pulled my heat out of the desk drawer and opened the door. It was the coroner. He had a can of petrol and he was sloshing it all over the place. His pants were wet with the stuff, and when he saw me he dropped the can and turned to run. But the fire flicked around his legs, and then he burst into flames. Screaming, he ran down the stairwell like a human torch.
         I jumped the flames and followed him down to the second floor. That’s as far as he got before he fell to his knees and then crumbled like a sack of potatoes. There was nothing I could do.
         From upstairs, I heard a woman scream.
         I battled the flames back to the top, but I couldn’t get into my office. The entire wall was ablaze.
         I shielded my face from the heat and backed down the stairs.
         Why didn’t I stay with her? She was helpless . . . she was naked.
         “Are you all right, Bob?”
         It was McKeeny.
         “Yeah,” I said. “But Ms. DeMeanor didn’t make it out.”
         He draped his coat over my shoulders. “It looks like you were caught with your pants down, my friend. Come on, let’s let the fire department earn their pay. I got a car out front.”
         The fire trucks filled the street as they stretched their hoses and put water to the flames. I stared up at the third floor where my office used to be. Looking up, I accidentally kicked a red high-heeled shoe that was lying on the street. I bent down and picked it up.
         A smile spread across my face.
         “You coming, Bob?” McKeeny yelled.
         “Yeah. I’ll be right there. I just wanna check something out.”
         I dodged the scrambling firemen and walked over to the alley. I almost laughed out loud with relief. The fire escape ladder had been lowered. Someone had used it recently.
         McKeeny honked the horn of his flivver. “Come on, Bob. I’m a busy man.”
         I jumped in the car and McKeeny rolled out into traffic.
         “You never told me, Mac.”
         “Told you what?”
         “You never told me why you just happened to be outside my office.”
         “Well, I, uh . . . I just happened to be in the neighborhood, and . . .”
         “How deep are you in, Mac? What are they paying you to wallow around in their filth--to make you a dirty cop?”
         McKeeny pulled the car over. He let out a heavy sigh and lowered his head to his chest. “How long have you known?”
         “Right from the first, you went along with the trumped-up coroner’s report. That’s not like you, Mac. Then you were too eager to arrest Ms. DeMeanor. My guess is that you just wanted to get her away from me before she talked. You also were slow to grill the butlers. Again, not like you at all. Did you give the coroner the word to torch my place?”
         “Yeah. I even drove him over. He was a spineless coward--a weak link in the chain.”
         “You wanna tell me who’s holding your chain, Mac? Who’s pulling your strings?”
         “In another six months, I could have retired with a full pension. DeMeanor had found an old file on me, or somebody on the inside had given it to him, either way, it was incriminating evidence against me about a bust I had made twenty years ago. Some of the hooch that was reported didn’t make it back to the station. I never took it, but I knew who did, and I turned a blind eye.”
         “But DeMeanor’s a cold biscuit. Who’s calling the shots now, Mac?” He stopped in front of my apartment. “Look, I think that blind eye stuff is contagious. You tie up all the loose ends and I’ll keep quiet. Just stay out of my way, Mac. I don’t need the police stepping in to help out the wise guys. Understand?”
         “Yeah. It’s been a long time coming. I never wanted to see you get hurt, Bob. I was desperate. No hard feelings?"
         I let fly a sucker punch and played a little chin music on him. "Naw, no hard feelings, Mac."
         He rubbed his jaw. "I guess I deserved that. I wish this never happened; I wish I could tell you more. Take care, Bob. And don’t ever let your heart do your thinking.”
         “You handle things on your end. Keep your nose clean, Mac, I’ll be seeing ya.”
         I trudged upstairs and into my apartment. It had been a long hard night and things weren’t going to get any easier.
         I took a hot shower.
         On the ride over to DeMeanor’s mansion, I remembered what Mac had said, “don’t let your heart do your thinking.” Good words to live by in this business. Was I falling for this dame? Yeah, you’re damn right I was. I was in over my head and the slightest slip-up could mean I’d be cashing in my chips before the game was through.
         As I pulled into the driveway, I saw one of the butler brothers, Dopey I think, pull the Demeanor car away from the front of the house and park it in the garage. I quickly stopped my car and snuck around the back to get the drop on him.
         I came in behind him with my heater out. “Put ‘em up, Dopey.” Before he could turn around, somebody hit me from behind. I staggered forward, my head spinning like an all-night drunk, then crumbled to the ground in blackness.
         “He’s waking up. Let’s off him, now!”
         “Not so fast, Grumpy. Sis wants to talk to him, then we’ll kill him.”
         My eyes rolled open and I found myself on a silk couch. As I sat up rubbing the back of my head, I saw the six brothers standing around me like a pack of wild dogs waiting to be released.
         “Hi, fellas, out of jail so soon?”
         “Let’s do him,” shouted Grumpy. “If it wasn’t for him, Doc would still be alive. I say kill him now and talk later.”
         Happy pushed him back. “You’ll do as you're told. Sit down and shut your yap.”
         “Well, you boys seemed to pick up English pretty fast. Where’d you grow up, in Chicago?”
         “Can the wise-cracks, Bob. You’re in deeper than you think.”
         The doors swung open and in walked Ms. DeMeanor. “Oh, I see you're awake from your little nap.”
         She looked gorgeous. She wore a low-cut blouse that barely hid her assets.
         “Well, I see you didn’t even get one hair singed--a miraculous recovery, my dear.”
         “You don’t seem surprised to see me, Bob. I thought for sure you’d be all broken up over my death.”
         “I found your shoe outside the building. I guess you were in a big hurry, huh? Seemed a shame for you to just run off like that without even saying goodbye.”
         “You shouldn’t have come here,” she said seriously. “I had hoped to throw you off the trail.”
         “How’d your family get sprung?”
         “I know people downtown--people who owe me favors. It was no problem getting my brothers released.”
         “Yeah, I had a talk with McKeeny. It seems a lot of people owe you favors. So, what’s the plan, darling, you gonna kill me and then skip out of the country?”
         “I am very rich, Bob. I own estates all around the globe. It would be a simple thing to disappear abroad--lay low for a while.”
         “Yeah, except for one thing . . . me, right?”
         “I’m afraid that problem will be all too easy to remedy, Bob.”
         “Lemme do it, Dee,” chirped Grumpy, “I owe this guy.” He shoved my gun in my face.
         “You better get him away from me before I stuff that mud pipe down his mush.”
         “Grumpy! Back off. Not yet.”
         “So, it was you all along running the whole show.”
         “My brothers are very talented, but thinking isn’t one of their strong points.”
         “And that’s where you come in, heh?”
         “I would select the richest people in Europe to be the targets for my pride of cat-burglars. My husband and I would visit in the guise of a business proposition. While he distracted our host with negotiations, I’d explore the house and map it out. Weeks later, after we had departed, my clever family would return in the dead of night and pay them a call.”
         “And your husband knew about all this?”
         “Not at first, but I needed to take him into my confidence because the hauls that were coming in needed to be fenced, and the ready cash needed to be laundered through his private accounts.”
         “A sweet deal. What went wrong?”
         “The authorities in Europe began to catch on, and I needed to move my brothers to America. I fired all our regular help, and then substituted my family as servants of the household. It was perfect.”
         “So, you killed Rialto because he wanted out?”
         “He was a fool! I was bringing down twice the money he was getting from his legitimate business operations--and it was tax-free!”
         “So, you had your brothers do him in, huh? You gotta a heart of gold, doll. Why the overkill? Why’d they make such a mess of the body?”
         “Oh, that’s my brothers. Once they get started, it’s hard to make them stop. You’ll find out firsthand soon enough. Besides, that sweet Detective McKeeny was so cooperative.”
         “He’s through. You won’t make him dance anymore.”
         “You underestimate me, Bob. McKeeny said he loved me. He’ll do whatever I ask him.”
         A flood of headlights filled the front windows. Happy went to take a look. “Geez, the place is surrounded by cops. It’s that no-good McKeeny. I told you we should've bumped him off.”
         “You underestimate me, doll. Me and McKeeny go way back. I was that young stupid cop he turned a blind eye to twenty years ago. I’ve never been able to repay him for keeping his mouth shut. After I quit the force and went out on my own, I thought the debt would never get paid. I guess I owe it all to you, sugar. Thanks.”
         The brothers broke out the heat and manned the windows. It looked like they were going to try to make a stand out of it.
         “The jig is up doll face. Tell your brunos to drop their weapons and surrender peacefully.”
         Grumpy heard me and came storming over. “Yeah? Well, at least you ain’t gonna make it out alive.”
         My crumpled hat lay on the coffee table in front of me. I quickly snagged it and slung it into his face--made a grab for the gun. He fired off two shots before I was able to wrestle it away from him. He stopped struggling and looked behind me.
         “Dee! Oh, no, Dee!”
         Ms. DeMearnor collapsed like a bag of rocks. I dropped Grumpy with the butt of my gun--then leveled it at the others. “Drop ‘em boys. It’s all over.”
         With me in their face, and the cops blocking the only way out, they reluctantly let their weapons slip to the floor just as McKeeny came busting in the front door.
         “Bob? You okay?”
         “Yeah, Mac, the lady took an accidental slug--it took the fight out of ‘em.”
         I bent to one knee beside DeMeanor. The thought crossed my mind that under different circumstances, I probably would have taken a knee for this dame. She caught a hot one in the chest. She was still breathing and looked more beautiful than ever.
         “Hang in there, kid. We got an ambulance on the way.”
         She coughed raggedly. “I thought if I could get you involved in the case, you'd help me get out of the country. But I knew when I first met you, that you were gonna be trouble. I’ve never known a man like you. We would’ve made a great team.”
         “Yeah, sure kid. You and me running a Chinese wrapper around this town like a new suit of clothes.”
         “Just tell me one thing, Bob?”
         “Sure kid, anything.”
         “Why the hell do you talk like that?”
         She dropped her eyes and went as limp as a wet towel in a hot shower. I knew then I'd miss her . . . miss her like a cool, clear day when you can see forever--but not as far as she had gone.