The Biggest Liar in Los Angeles by Ken Kuhlken (speld decodable readers TXT) 📖

won’t recognize.”

“Let me make a couple phone calls.”

“How about, you go down to the Hall of Records, into the archives, ask for Madeline. Tell her what’s up. Maybe she’ll help out. And once the fur starts flying — .” With a shrug, he pointed at Florence.

With Leo gone, as the sky outside went from gray to black, Tom joined his sister at the window, where she stood like a mannequin, half of her behind the mauve drapes. He supposed she was either gazing into darkness or dreaming herself into a prettier, safer world.

He craned his head over her shoulder and watched a shaft of rainbow light sweep east to west. “Egyptian having a premiere?”

Florence only glanced his way.

“Sis,” he said, “what do you see out there?”

She moistened her lips. He waited, then touched her shoulder and sat on the edge of the bed, an arm’s length away.

She turned just far enough so the drapes shuddered. “Tommy, why does Mama hate us? I mean why did she hate us even before we ditched her?”

Years had passed since Tom vowed to quit asking that question. “Mostly, she’s good at hating.”

“We were bad kids, weren’t we?”

“Not you, babe. But I gave her reasons. For a while, I believed her when she said it was me drove Charlie away. Then I remembered she was almost as crazy before Charlie disappeared.”

“Where’d he go, Tom? Why’d he leave us?”

“Let’s make a deal,” Tom said. “After we get through this business, we’ll start looking for him.”

She came out from behind the drapes and gave him the sweetest smile, which didn’t soothe her wild eyes. “You and me both this time?”

“You bet. Team Hickey.”

She leaned, pecked his cheek, grabbed his hand, pulled him up, and hugged him tighter and longer than a guy wants to get hugged by his beautiful sister. When she let go, she darted back to her post at the window.

The door rattled and Leo called out. Tom let him in. As he entered, he said, “This scout of yours is some looker. Let’s hope she won’t get too occupied fighting off the piranhas to follow instructions.”

“I’m betting on her.”

“Say, Flo,” Leo said. “Did you know your brother’s hooked himself a yummy redhead?”

Fifty

FLORENCE didn’t respond. Tom split his time between pacing the cramped room and perching on the bed near his sister. She appeared to keep watch even after he assured her Madeline and the bellhop were all the lookouts they needed. Leo killed time pestering Tom.

“Where’d you meet this gal?”

“Never mind.”

“What do you know about her?”

“Plenty.”

“She want to be in the movies?”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t know, Tom. Piece of work like her can send a guy straight to the poor house.”

“I’m headed there anyway. What’s with all the chatter?”

“You’d rather I brooded, like you?”

“I’m not brooding.”

“Oh? What are you thinking about?”

“Milly.”

“Don’t. Think about something pleasant, an ice cream soda, a voyage to Catalina, or the redhead. Something that won’t sap your juice, all of which you’ll need when Milly shows, if Milly shows.”

Tom tried to expel Milly from his mind, and failed, until a knock brought him to his feet. Florence leaped into his way and stood facing the door. He crawled over the bed, went and looked through the peephole. Nobody. He eased the door open.

The bellhop saluted, then glanced at a slip of paper. “Room 142. A tough looking guy and the Marion Davies type blonde, like you said.” He stuck out his hand.

Tom turned to Leo. “I need a ten.”

Leo delivered. The bellhop pocketed the bill and said, “Your redhead, she’s in the know. I put her staking out the hall.” He started to leave but glanced past Tom and ogled Florence. “Some guys get all the fluff.”

Tom closed the door. “Now, who calls the shots?”

“You’re the boss,” Leo said. “I disagree, I’ll let you know.”

Tom turned to his sister. “You okay with that?" Whether or not she heard him, she nodded, and he said, “Then here’s how it goes. I run out and send Madeline up. She stays with Florence while we pay a visit. Soon as we’ve got things in hand, we send for the girls.”

Florence had come to life. Her head lashed back and forth. “No sir. No you don’t.”

“Sis,” Tom said, “Argue all day, I’m not letting you stumble into a gun battle.”

He left the room, hustled downstairs and saw Madeline at the far end of the hallway. In case Milly or Boles stepped out of 142, instead of going to Madeline, he beckoned her.

The smile he hoped for, he didn’t get. Madeline looked to be in dead earnest. She came close. “Tell me something, fella. Suppose you catch the villain, put him where he belongs, is that the last I see of you?”

“Depends.”

The scowl made her look part gypsy. “Depends on what?”

“On what you feel about seeing a guy who wants to take you to the Biltmore but his billfold says cafeteria.”

The scowl morphed into a smirk. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“How you feel about the beach, moonlight swims, yesterday’s rolls, apple butter.”

He took the liberty of petting her hair. She leaned her head on his shoulder, but only for an instant. “Enough, Casanova. We’ve got business, I hear.”

He briefed her about his sister and the closet and told her he suspected Boles as the killer and Milly as the brains of the cover up. After he gave her his plan and a couple hints about managing Florence, she said, “Yeah, and promise you’ll stay alive?”

“When the shooting starts,” he said, “I’ll jump behind Leo.”

“No need, the way he talked about you, he’ll jump out in front of you.”

Tom felt a bit weepy. “Get a move on. Room 216.”

While he waited for Leo, he scouted the hall and noted the darkest crannies, one in the shadow of the stairs, the other in a corner of the far end. The wait lasted so long, he thought Florence must’ve pitched a fit. Another minute, he would’ve run back upstairs. But Leo came into the hall, out of the lobby.

“Tell me the name registered to 142,” Leo said, “I’ll give you another sawbuck. You miss, you wash my Packard.”

“Marion Davies.”

Leo reached for his billfold and grumbled, “Lousy cheat.”

“What do you think?” Tom asked. “Do we go in, or wait them out?”

“I go in alone, only me and my pal.” He patted the lump in his sport coat. “I see another gun in somebody's hand, doesn’t matter if it’s Milly, I shoot.” He reached for Tom’s chin and gave it a tap, so their eyes met straight on. “Suppose I shoot your mama. You going to blame me?”

“Not likely.”

“I’m betting Florence will.”

“Let’s not go in,” Tom said. “Better to wait them out.”

He left Leo by the stairs and hustled to the far end. Long minutes passed between the arrival of each dowager, flashy dame, gent with starched shirt, or party of swells. Every guest, Tom believed, eyed him with suspicion before proceeding into a room. Nobody entered 142. Tom began to worry that 140 or 144 might feature adjoining doors. He began hoping Teddy would appear on his own either on his way to run an errand or to escape a tirade from Milly.

When they came out together, his every muscle quaked.

Fifty-one

HE bent into a half crouch and crept toward them, watching Teddy’s every move until he closed to ten yards. Then he launched himself into a sprint and dove for the man’s waist, his hands out and set to pin Teddy’s arms to his sides, keep them away from any weapon.

Boles saw him soon enough to turn. Tom’s head drove straight into his belly. As Teddy folded, he tried to lunge and recover the small revolver that slipped out from under his belt and landed on the carpet beside the room key that dropped from his hand.

Tom drove and slammed Teddy into the wall, grabbed his shoulders, and yanked his head down. A knee to the jaw sent him reeling and left Tom free to snatch up the gun and key. He grabbed Teddy by the scruff of the neck, jabbed the gun barrel to his temple.

Leo had Milly on the carpet. He was pressing a wadded hotel face towel into her mouth, which muffled her banshee cries. Down the hall beside the staircase, the bellhop stood talking to a couple of ancients. Telling them the attack was a rehearsal for some moving picture, Tom hoped.

When Leo got Milly to her feet, tipped back, gagged, and thrashing against his chokehold, Tom passed him the key. He unlocked the door and kicked it open. Tom entered first, walked his man to the stuffed chair and shoved him down into it. When Teddy opened his mouth, before he got a word out, a quick shake of Tom’s head stopped him.

“Here’s the rules,” Tom said. “Any screaming, we knock you out and take you to Leo’s car. We drive to a place way down Central, the back room of the Smokehouse Barbecue, and we invite a group of concerned citizens to meet you. These folks believe the Ku Klux Klan lynched Frank Gaines, and they’re about to take revenge, send tommy-gunners to some klavern. We don’t want to see that happen. So what we do is, we tell them they blamed the wrong murderers. Then Leo and I say adios. You don’t.”

Milly was still on the floor, face down, getting bound hand and foot with the ropes Teddy used on Florence. When Leo finished, he picked her up and held her like a groom approaching the threshold. Then he tossed her onto the bed. “She doesn’t weigh much more than a chicken.” He brought the remaining ropes to work on Teddy and said, “Best cooperate, pal.”

Teddy glowered and held still just long enough to retain a speck of pride, before he reached out. After Leo had him suitably bound, he relieved Tom of Teddy’s Mauser. He shoved it into his coat pocket and brought the Colt out of the Sam Browne. He showed it to Teddy. “Mine’s bigger than yours. Big enough, a shot in the toe might kill you.”

Tom went to the door and opened it just enough to scan the hall both ways. He hustled down the hall, up the stairs, and to 216. Madeline met him, with Florence at her heels, leaning forward as though to spring and dive at a varmint or villain. Much of her hair stood on end, as if she had brushed it backward. Her mouth was hardened into a ravenous look even wilder than her eyes. “Mama?” she asked.

“Got her. You going to be okay, babe?”

Florence put her hands on Madeline’s shoulders. “Can she come?”

Madeline nodded but Tom said, “She better go home.”

“You done with me?” Madeline demanded.

“Never mind Leo being a cop." Tom said. “He’s off duty. We’re lawbreakers here.”

“I’ve got a soft spot for desperadoes.”

“Any idea what it might get you?”

“Like wasting the blush of my youth in a prison cell? Quit the nagging, will you? Let’s go.”

Tom gave in and led the way, holding Florence first by the shoulders, then by the hand. From the time he knocked on 142 until Leo opened the door, tiny whimpers issued out of her. But she hitched herself up tall and marched ahead of her brother. Before she even glanced at Milly, she strode the width of the room to Teddy. Then she cocked her leg and delivered a mighty blow with the pointed toe of her Italian shoe. She just missed his windpipe. He howled.

Leo raised the Colt. “Hush now. Remember the Smokehouse.”

Florence had already gone to the foot of the bed. She stood and stared at Milly as though at a gruesome exhibit.

Milly spat out the last of the gag on which she had gnashed since Leo set it. She rolled onto her side, one hip aloft. Her daisy-patterned blouse had lost a button, which created a visible a swatch of yellow slip and ivory breast. Her delicate face with its big aqua eyes expressed innocence in mortal danger, as if she were auditioning for a melodrama. She gave her daughter a long, wounded gaze. Then she said, “Florence, dear, look what they’ve done to me.”

Florence said, “Be quiet, Mama.”

Leo came alongside her, holding the desk chair. He turned to Tom, who stood with Madeline between the dresser and the closet, which was just inside the door. “How about we take it from the top?” He walked the chair to the side of the bed from where he could glance over Milly at