Chapter 5

I met Edward Morgan in a little restaurant lounge tucked away in Lorenzo Canyon. There was really no need for this secrecy. I was merely playing it safe. If we wanted to clean up this mess without a single line of publicity, we had to play our cards very close to the table. I knew some of the local news sleuths. They would take pennies off the eyes of a dead man if it meant a sensational story. We had a sensational story and I was determined that this was one sordid yarn that they wouldn't smear over their front pages.

Don't get me wrong. I am not fighting the daily press. But for the three legitimate journals making the streets in this man's town each day, there were also three more whose journalistic career was slightly smudged with yellow ink.

These latter three publications were the ones that would give a story of this nature a big smear, regardless of who was involved or who got hurt.

Over my dead body, they would.

So Ed and I buried ourselves for this meeting, discussion the progress made to date.

"It's much bigger than we first assumed," I told him reluctantly.

"I feared as much."

"At least I've prevented a murder," I continued and told him about Lisa Cummins and the gun in her purse.

His face really sobered at this.

"Carol played guinea pig and got herself on the glamour list. She's going to meet this Lesbian."

His eyes came up quickly. "And you're going to let her?"

"That's the only way to trap the lady." His eyes looked so worried I hastened to add, "Don't think I won't be very near."

"I wouldn't jeopardize a girl like Carol to some psycho-"

I grinned at his concern. "Don't underestimate Carol. She would make life really interesting for you if you tried to get fresh with her."

I got up to go and his hand suddenly pulled at my sleeve, detaining me.

"One more thing," His voice dropped to a whisper. "I think you should see this Marilyn Brown."

I wasn't too enthused. I had seen three of the girls. I knew the pattern now, how the smut boys worked. There was no need to further interview some spoiled kid who was glamour struck. Besides, I had other work, equally demanding.

"Why?" I asked.

"I just found out something. This Brown chick is spoiled as they come. And she's dating a guy by the name of Sam LeBeau. Do you know who he is?"

Most every cop and private eye in town knew of Sam LeBeau-if not by sight, then by reputation. He was the number one yellow journal reporter on the coast. He didn't work for any of the three off-color sheets, but he freelanced for all of them. He had a habit of digging up some of the smuttiest stories in town. And when he did, he sold his words and pictures to the editor who paid the best price.

Real nice guy, this Sam LeBeau.

I could see him drool, even contemplating this story and its many ramifications. When he got done with it, the city school system from elementary to college would be washed down the drain.

"Okay, I'll see Marilyn Brown, if you think it necessary. Can you set it up?"

He grinned. "Don't get sore. Ifs already set up."

I couldn't help but chuckle. He was fast on the trigger.

"You don't miss a trick, do you?" I said, wagging my head at him.

"Hell, Mike, you know why I'm pushing this. I'm scared up to here." He motioned to his chin.

"Okay," I agreed. "Where and when do I meet the young lady?"

"Believe me, it wasn't easy," he said. "This LeBeau guy is dating her tonight at nine. It could be that she might spill the works to him if she's had a run-in with the glamour boys."

"So I get in under the wire and whisk her away before he gets there."

"This sounds like a logical plan."

"How do I do it?"

"Tor one thing, she's nuts about foreign sports cars," he said. "I've even pulled the leg of one of my neighbors, who handles imports. He had a new German number that just came in. I know this Brown has never seen it You're going over to her house in it and you're a roving editor for an East Coast sports magazine."

"What if she won't buy it?"

"And what if she wrecks the car?"

"I've even thought of that. If s insured to the hilt."

Ed, it seemed, hadn't missed a trick. That merely shows how much a man will do when he's frightened. Ed was frightened and I didn't blame him. There was a lot at stake.

The Brown place was out on Briarcliff Road. That told me that the family was V.I.P. Marilyn, according to Ed, was an only child, spoiled rotten. Once I saw the huge French Colonial house, it figured. It was a tidy little shack that had cost to the tune of about one-hundred-fifty grand, which included a three car garage and a heart-shaped swimming pool.

I parked the new import on the strip, alongside a Caddy.

And suddenly a husky feminie voice said, very elatedly: "What a hot, hot buggy!"

Marilyn Brown, it seemed, wasn't alone at the moment.

Sam LeBeau looked like anything except what he was. He was my build, about five feet eleven, possibly one-hundred-eighty, stripped. He was a good looking punk and he used his attractive Latin features to wiggle into some of the hottest boudoirs in town. I had seen his picture. Recognition was easy. I hoped he hadn't seen mine somewhere.

It was easy to catalogue Marilyn Brown. Physically, she was quite a doll, dripping sex and built to back up the illusion. Her body was tawny, her mouth sultry and there was a recklessness in her eyes that said she was out for kicks and didn't give a damn how she got them.

She came forward and extended a hand. "Mike Bonner? I'm Marilyn Brown." She motioned to the man near her. "This is a friend, Sam LeBeau."

"Mr. Morgan called and said you wanted to see me about something."

I nodded. "Mr. Morgan implied you would be free-until nine."

She chuckled. "Sam got his dating time mixed. What will we do with him?"

I shrugged. "Why not hunt up a bottle of your worst liquor and bid him wait"

LeBeau didn't say anything. But his black eyes were looking me over with anything but friendliness in them.

I had one advantage, of which I was very well aware at the moment. He didn't know me. If he had, he would have showed it in some mannerism. And if my name perchance jogged his memory, it was nothing he could pinpoint. I had never met him, but I knew his by-line and his reputation.

I turned to Marilyn.

"You're really popular-two reporters to see you in a single evening."

LeBeau's eyebrows arched. "I didn't say I was out here to interview the lady. I presumed I had a date."

"Let's see," I interrupted. "You're the boy who writes for Inner Sanctum, aren't you?"

"Whenever the editor has an extra buck to give away."

"I believe I also saw your byline in Expose, too."

He was bristling a bit now. "So?"

"Some people really have strong stomachs." He flung his cigarette to the grass and walked nearer.

"What's that crack supposed to mean, Bonner?"

"What do you use to hammer out those stories-a yellow typewriter?"

His lips really curled now.

"Are you looking for trouble, Bonner?"

I shrugged. "No, I never look for it, but somehow it just keeps bumping into me." I rubbed an imaginary speck of dust off the glistening German import. "Let's see, that last story you wrote for Expose, it was all about some doll who turned Lesbian and caused her old man to shoot himself."

He was getting green about the gills now and that was exactly what I wanted.

"If I remember correctly, the story was later proven to be a salacious attempt at smearing a nice family. I believe the magazine is being sued for a hundred grand or something like that."

He came closer and poked a finger at my chest. "Bonner, I didn't ask you what type of stuff you wrote-and I don't give a damn whether it is Commie or pacifist. I'm going to knock your block off. But before I do, I'm curious. Why are you picking on me-right out of the blue-in front of a lady?"

"I'm sorry I'm ruffling your guest's fur the wrong way," I said. "But each time he appears on the scene, someone gets smeared. I believe he's here to smear you."

Her laugh was brittle. "Well, now I've heard everything!" The look she gave me was condescending. "Mr. Bonner, please don't try to act as my benefactor or protector. In fact, the very thought of getting smeared, as you so aptly put it, appeals to me. I might even find a kick in the plan."

She swung to LeBeau. "Well, what's the proper procedure when one is about to be smeared? Want me to peel or something like that?"

He disregarded her, turned back to me.

"I asked a question, Bonner. Why are you picking on me?"

"Let's merely call it a matter of ethics."

"Come on, be specific!"

"Okay, I'll be specific. You are a louse to the writing profession."

I was watching him. He was hair trigger and his temper was short-fused. He came in fast and he started a wicked swing.

I ducked under it and caught him a short jab on the neck.

It hurt. He said something under his breath. I couldn't quite catch the words but his lips were quite readable. I never did like guys who called my mother a bitch.

He came in again, swinging his left. Evidently the left was his stellar attraction. I couldn't get out of his way fast enough this time and took the blow to the chin. It rocked my head back, but there wasn't enough steam in it to floor me. I waltzed backward and he followed up, letting his temper time his blows, instead of using his head.

I weaved to one side and his second blow burned off my shoulder. I feinted and he fell for it. Then I walked in fast and with his eyes on my right, I put the left on his nose and chopped down on his shoulder in a quick follow-up. He was really hurting now and he lowered his head and charged. He was fast and his temper spurred him on. The charge caught me amidships, and I rode along with him, trying to regain my breath.

He thought he had me now and his fists started a vicious short jabbing.

"What do you know about Marilyn Brown?" I shot at him, playing defensive.

"Not a damn thing!" he wheezed. "But when I get done with you, I'll dig up something, never fear."

"You print one word about her and I'll take you apart!"

He started a haymaker for my chin. I slid under it in the nick of time then came up and chopped him hard. He didn't know judo. So I changed the tactics of the fight and showed him some of its merits.

I flipped him and he landed hard. He was cautious now as he crawled to his feet. He got to a crouch and straightened out, and suddenly I was a victim of his bear hug. I dropped down until it loosened then I pushed up and gave him the stiff fingers treatment on his nose. It was a shame, really, ruining that carefully-groomed mustache with all the gore that flowed down from his injured nose.

He backed away, cursing me now. He swung again, missed and I chopped him hard and he bent over in pain. That gave me the opportunity to tenderize his kidney a few times and finally I put my knee in his groin. He went down slowly, moaning.

I bent down over him and yanked his head up.

"I'm going to take Marilyn for a ride. Better not be here when we get back. And that still holds-one word about her and you'll wish you were dead."

The girl stood there staring. Perhaps she wasn't quite sure whether she liked it or not. I didn't give her any time to reconsider.

I grabbed her hand, walzed her to the car and got her into the front seat.

We roared out of the driveway. LeBeau was still bent over, wondering whether life was worth while any more.

"Well!" she said indignantly, "you win the cake for rudeness!"

"He had it coming."

'Why did he have it coming?"

"I believe you heard what I called him. I'll repeat. A louse."

"You are so right. My opinion. And I'll prove it to you."

She sat back stiffly and didn't say anything.

Finally she shifted a bit in the seat, turned to face me. "Where are we going?"

"Name a place."

"I need a drink, for one thing."

"Okay, we'll get a drink."

I wound the sports car around the turns, headed out on one of the canyon roads. The car was really performing and I knew that she was enjoying the ride-but not the driver.

I pulled in at a drinking place whose neon said it was The Oasis. It looked fairly presentable. I parked and went around to her side of the car and opened the door.

"Thank you!" she said. "I didn't know you had any gallantry."

"Only for the very fair."

We went inside and she headed for a booth in the rear of the room.

When the waiter approached, she ordered very quickly.

"Bourbon on the rocks."

I was a little surprised at that, but I didn't let it show. We made it two.

"Just who the hell are you?" she shot at me, once we were alone.

"I presumed that Mr. Morgan told you who I am."

"It is obvious that Mr. Morgan was a liar."

"What makes you think that?"

"It wasn't coincidence, for one thing, you and Le Beau coming out tonight"

"I understand I had an appointment at eight."

"Right. Sam was coming out at nine. He merely got his timing mixed."

I remained silent on that. The waiter set down the drinks and took my money.

"You had a lot of nerve, deliberately picking a quarrel with my guest"

"It was rude, wasn't it?"

She sampled the bourbon, then she tipped the glass and let the drink slide down so smoothly I knew she was an old timer at imbibing.

"Want a refill?"

Her eyes bored into mine. "Of course. You owe it to me!"

I motioned to the waiter.

"How long have you known LeBeau?"

"It isn't any of your business, but I don't mind telling you. I met him only a few nights ago in a bar."

"Were you sober?"

She chuckled. "Let's just say that I was as sober as I generally am at two o'clock in the morning."

"He's a louse and hell really take you for a ride if you string along with him."

She mashed her lips in a grimace. 'What are you doing, playing old mother hen to poor little me?"

"No, I am not playing mother hen," I said softly, but with ice in it. "I don't give a damn if you turn the town upside down and paint it red as well, if you do it on your own."

"What you, you mean-on my own?"

"On your own. Don't drag in the name of your school."

Her eyes came up quickly, studying my face. "What does that mean?"

"Must I draw a picture? Okay. You had your photo taken. You were handed a card that entitled you to a glamour shot. Stop me if I'm wrong."

"I'm reading you loud and clear."

"You posed for the glamour boy in the raw?"

She chuckled. "What's so terrible about that? I know a dozen girls who belong to nudist camps or health clubs, or art organizations all in the raw."

"Very harmless-if done legitimately."

She set down the half emptied drink. Her eyes sobered.

"What's that mean?"

"Have you picked up your glamour shot?" I asked.

She shook her head, negatively. "No, I'm picking it up tomorrow evening."

She was feeling the liquor now. But not e-nough to dull her thinking too much.

"You're being very vague."

"Look!" I pleaded, "I came here tonight to help you. I think you need help very badly. But so far, you haven't let the bars down."

She didn't answer.

"I know I was rude-at least in your opinion-kicking the tar out of LeBeau. But I had a purpose in so doing."

"I'm listening," she said, softening a bit "At least I'm drinking your liquor so I'm listening."

"Thanks! Now listen good and then you tell me whether or not you want me to help you."

"Buy me another drink."

"Not until you hear me through."

Her eyes had a shine now. I knew she was the type that responds quickly to alcohol. Another drink and she would be wobbly.

"When you pick up that glamour print tomorrow," I said, "be prepared for a shock. It won't be an innocent nude, as you suppose."

"Come on now! I know how I posed!"

"But you don't know that you posed for a smut photographer. And incidentally, these boys are the best retouchers in the business. When you see that picture, there will be a man in it with you-an action pose. Or there will be a Lesbian."

She made a face at that. I had touched a sore spot.

Most normal people react the same toward Lesbianism. Any normally-sexed person views the practice with dislike.

Her face was stern. "Mike, are you pulling my leg?"

"No, I'm not pulling your leg. Sue Landon, Luann Morris, Lisa Cummins got the same treatment."

I watched her. I saw a slow but thorough change take place. Until now, she had been a spoiled brat, acting tough, hiding her true character behind a polished brittleness or an assumed front. But now, by the simple expedient of something she no doubt loathed, the mask was off. She was a little girl, half drunk, and she was suddenly afraid.

"It can't be true!" she argued.

"It's true, never doubt that."

Suddenly her hand snaked forward, she gripped my own with cold, tense fingers.

"Where does Sam LeBeau fit into this?"

"I don't know if he fits at all," I said. "Perhaps he knows nothing. I hope he doesn't. But if he does find out-he'll smear you and the school and every girl who is involved."

Suddenly she was laughing. The laugh was brittle.

"My old man!" she said, "and my old lady!"

I remained silent, looking at her.

"My old man's laid so many sluts in this town that at fifty he's worn out," she said. "And my mother, well, let's just forget my mother. If she wasn't so stinking rich, and had so many strings to pull, she'd be called a common whore."

She leaned closer and the brittleness was back in her eyes.

"Maybe I should let LeBeau smear me-it would do them good-serve them right!"

I tightened my grip on her hand. "You don't really mean that, Marilyn. Even if you enjoyed hurting your parents, you wouldn't want to hurt all the fine girls in the school you go to."

She was silent. But I noticed something. Her lower lip was quivering. Then her eyes raised, and she made a sudden ultimatum:

"Let's get the hell out of here!"

I nodded and we headed for the door.

Once in the sports car, I reached across and kissed her on the lips.

"What was that for?" she asked, surprised.

"Why does any man kiss a woman?"

"I know a lot of answers. A prelude to a rassle in the hay, perhaps."

"I kissed you because I honestly wanted to. I was merely sampling to see if a real, red-blooded girl was hidden somewhere under that brittle veneer."

"And what did you find?"

"She's there."

She sat there for seconds, looking at my face. Then she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and kissed me hard. She pulled back at last and I grinned at her.

"That's my girl! Want me to take you home now?"

She started to say something and decided against it.

"Would you mind riding about for a while, in this gorgeous car?"

"Anything you say."

"It's a very big, very empty house," she said.

We rode further up the lonely road. We climbed and at last we were up near the divide and the city lay like a million earthbound stars below us. There was a turn out and she reached over and flipped off the key.

"Mike," she asked, "who are you?"

"I'm merely someone trying to help you."

"I know you're not a reporter. Are you a cop?"

"Not exactly."

She looked down at the city, far below us, gestured with her right hand. "Why do we live like we do, Mike, this don't give a damn kind of living?"

T suppose each of us must carve out his or her own destiny."

"I remember when I was a kid of ten or twelve. Life was so intriguing. I had a wonderful dream. I'd get married and have at least eleven children. And then I was fourteen and finally sixteen. And I was old enough now to know that my father and mother were cheating on each other. They weren't in love any more. And they didn't love me. And then I was eighteen and life was getting quite futile and one night I went out for kicks and got stinko and I wondered how it would feel to crawl into bed with a man. I lost my virginity that night and I lost something else-the dream."

I reached over and kissed her lightly. "Dreams are never lost, honey. They merely get detoured."

"Mike, why'd you say that?"

"Ifs true, isnt it?"

"I wish I could believe that."

"You were eighteen when you were first disillusioned. You're not much older now."

"Nearly twenty-one."

"So you can't be wholly disillusioned."

Her laugh was bitter. "Can't I? What happens to you when life suddenly holds no incentive?"

"I wouldn't know, Marilyn. Life has always had an incentive, a purpose, to me."

"Not to me. There was always money-too much money. I never wanted for a thing. A new car, clothes, Europe in the summer. So everything got jaded at last."

I turned in the seat so I faced her, pulled her closer.

"Marilyn, there is still something good in you. Don't ask my why I know. I couldn't give you a relevant answer. But it's there, buried deep-but still there. What I'm wondering is why you've kept it buried so deep."

She thought that over. "I believe I know. The simple expedient of being unwanted by your own loved ones."

"But Marilyn, someone will want you, one of these days-even if your parents have failed."

She leaned closer. "Mike, do you want me-right now?"

"Wait a minute! Of course I want you, but that is only physical."

"But you do want me-even physically?"

She was a very attractive girl, a provocative girl, even. Any man who wouldn't want her physically was devoid of hormones.

"Yes, I want you physically."

She pulled my head down. "You know something? I want you, too! It struck me, just like that"

She found my left hand and lifted it.

A very steeply-coned breast was under it now, very warm, very womanly.

"Do you know something, Mike? I've never before felt the urgent need of a man. I mean a real need. Sure, I've rassled. But always it was for kicks, full of booze, wondering of some new boy would feel differently."

"Honey, we've got to reactivate that dream of yours."

She didn't say anything. We sat there, in the utter quietness of the ridge road, listening to the soft murmur of wind in the pine tops.

"Mike, tomorrow morning I'll wake up and it will be the same old world-no dream."

"Not if you work hard on the dream."

"If only I could accept that."

"Here's a suggestion: why don't you complete school and leave home? Go across the continent, so far you never come back, except for an occasional visit. Make new friends."

She snuggled closer. "Mike, you're good for me. You're the first man who was ever good for me."

"I can't believe that, Marilyn."

"It's true. Maybe I'm running in the wrong crowd. All that counts is alcohol and sex. Kicks. Always looking for new kicks.

"This is kicks, right now."

"You are so right!" she said and mashed her lips to mine.

The tingle was building, not only in me, in both of us. A man can tell. She was all soft, cuddle-some woman.

And then she pulled away.

"No, Mike, I want to remember tonight, just like this. A closeness-a comeraderie you might call it. An understanding-two people understanding. But going all the way might spoil it"

I kissed her. "Honey, if that's the way you want it.

She straightened in the seat. Her hands were on my lips. She leaned forward, kissed me. "Mike, thanks!"

That covered the entire night. A simple expression. A great change.

We rode back to town, talking little, yet feeling strangely vibrant and alive. At least I felt that way. And I believe she felt a certain peace as well.