Ed Lacy - Room To Swing

“He is—or was—Thomas' cousin.”

“Honest?” Kay asked, as if we were playing kid games.

I nodded.

Kay chuckled as she dropped on the couch. “Oh, this is simply priceless. His cousin! And the way the smug louse ate up the white-haired wonder-boy role. This explains how he was able to come up with a complete script on Thomas overnight. It was his speed that nailed down the writing assignment for the rest of the scripts and—”

“Did McDonald know about your publicity idea?” Ted cut in.

Kay gave him a long look. “I see you do, too.” Then she sent an accusing glance at me.

“For the love of Mike, Kay, snap out of it. Sure I told Ted. What about Steve, was he in on things?”

She ran a hand over her cropped copper hair, as if fitting it on her head. “The morning after I hired you, when I was telling B.H. about it, long distance, he suggested letting Steve in on it. He seemed such a buster of an idea boy we thought he might come up with—God, you think he did it?”

“I don't know, but I'm going to find out tonight—if you'll help me.”

“What's Kay got to do with this?” Bobby asked. “I'm certainly not going to chance her getting hurt or involved in—”

“Be still, Butch. What is it you want me to do?”

I told her what we had in mind and Ted added, “You see, Miss, he'll shoot off his mouth to you, to a girl. Me or Toussaint confronted him he'd clam up. If we beat it out of him, it wouldn't stand up in court.”

Kay touched her hair again, nodding as she puffed on her pipe. She seemed only interested in watching the smoke going up toward the ceiling. Bobby said, “Surely you aren't asking Kay to risk her neck with a murderer!”

“Ted and I will be in the next room. We'll take care of Steve before he can do—”

Kay went through the slim hand-waving routine again. “Now shut up, the two of you. I want to think. It has its points. Trouble is, if I'm involved the publicity angle might come to light. That would be disastrous for the network.”

“The hell with the network, my life is at stake!”

Kay showed me her tight little smile once more. “Touie, I realize that, but don't be melodramatic. Career is another word for life and my career is at stake.”

“Kay is right,” Bobby said. “Suppose Steve isn't the killer, or won't admit a thing, where does that leave Kay?”

Kay shook her head. “Bobby, I'm not worrying about that cockroach. No, suppose he is the murderer, where does that leave Central and the show?”

“Damn you, Kay, this is murder, not a goddamn show!” I said, trying not to shout.

Like somebody in a hammy play, she puffed on her pipe for a moment, and the silence in the room seemed ready to explode. Then she stood up. “I'm going to chance it!”

“Oh, Kay,” Bobby said.

“I'm counting on the sponsor being a crime fan, that he'll buy it. The way I see all this, assuming Steve is our boy, we switch the Thomas sequence to the opening show —we'll be all over the papers for the next eight days. I'll see to that. We open to nation-wide headline publicity. The show will be watched by everyone in the country. Yes! Bobby, you know I have a special sense about publicity, and this hits me exactly right. A natural. Of course the publicity angle can't be exposed.... Touie was merely hired to check on Tutt really being Thomas. Don't you see it? A show which caused a Central writer to murder... and the network boldly solves it, cleans its own house in the name of law and order. This can't miss!” Her voice actually came alive, full of excitement.

“Now, Kay, honey,” Barbara said, “hadn't you better check with B.H. first? Call him and—”

“No, no,” I cut in. “No phoning anybody. If McDonald is warned I'm sunk.”

Barbara said, “You don't think we'd—”

“Look, for all I know B.H. can be the killer, or in on it with McDonald.”

Kay said, “Stop all the talk. I'm not calling B.H. I'm doing this solely on my responsibility. It'll amount to more if I pull it off.”

“Sure, it will amount to my life—if anybody is interested in that besides me,” I said.

“Oh stop the self-pity,” Kay told me. “Now what is it you want me to do—in detail?”

Ted said, “First off, can you hire my agency? Officially. I want to be in on this.”

“Damn it,” I said, boiling over, “give her the pitch some other time. Now listen, here's the deal.” I told her about the bug and the recorder and getting Steve up to her place. When I finished Kay didn't hesitate a second to say, “Fine. I'll phone Steve right now.”

But Bobby got to the phone first. “Kay, why can't I be the one? He knows I'm familiar with all the details of the publicity project, so it would be logical for me to suspect him.”

“That's terribly sweet and brave of you, Bobby-boy, but you see it has to be me because I'm representing Central in all this mess. I'll phone him now, hint something has come up concerning the studio—that should bring him on the run. How soon should I tell him to come?”

“Right away,” I said. “There's one more piece of business before we start. I've socked a cop. Now, if we pin anything on Steve, I want you three to stick with me all the time I'm with the cops, even at the precinct house. I'm not going for any beating.”

“Don't worry,” Ted told me blandly, “we give them the real killer and they'll be happy.”

“Maybe, but I want you around for insurance.”

“Touie is right. We all know why the cops may want to beat him up, and I have a better idea,” Kay said, knocking the ashes out of her jeweled pipe. “Let me phone a reporter friend, have him stand by. If we get anything on Steve, we'll phone the reporter before calling the police. Publicity-wise it will be fine, because this fellow works for one of the big wire services. Okay, Touie?”

I nodded and she dialed some guy and, after the small talk and assuring him this wasn't merely another news plant or publicity release, he agreed to wait for her call. We were wasting time and I had her call Steve, the tenseness inside me coiling tighter with each turn of her phone dial. After a moment Kay hung up, said there wasn't any answer. The letdown must have shown on my face; she said, “He's probably out for supper, Touie. It isn't seven yet. I suggest we finish eating. Hungry, Mr. Bailey?”

Matter of fact, I was starving, and damn if we all didn't have supper as though we were waiting to go on a party instead of hooking a killer. Kay kept trying Steve's number every fifteen minutes, and in the meantime we had to watch TV. Kay wanted to “catch” certain shows and commercials. Ted phoned his wife to tell her he was working, and then he sat and stared at Bobby and Kay, his eyes bewildered. I had the same feeling I had in Bingston hanging around the Davis house: I began to wonder if all this was real or a nightmare.

Ted went down to check his car, kept worrying somebody would steal the equipment. Bobby had a kettle boiling in the fireplace and served hot rums. By ten I was a jumpy wreck, certain Steve had flown the coop. Kay was sipping too many rums and I snapped, “Don't get crocked.”

“I'm too excited for that. But I do need a few belts from the bottle of courage, as the non-A.A. people romantically call it. Rum doesn't relax, Bobby. Butch, you look tired, why don't you take a sleep pill?”

At five to eleven she finally got Steve, and I almost melted away with relief. Kay asked, “Steve, can you come up to my place at once? What? Don't be an ass, this is strictly business. I've found out something at the office that will make you drool. Oh, don't hand me any creative-mood junk. You can write later: this is important. No, no, I can't discuss it on the phone. Okay, stay with your typewriter, Hemingway.” She winked at us over the receiver. “But I have the inside dope on a new show—biggest thing in your career—a full net series, twice a week. Oh, I'm not kidding. You'll have to get on your horse and bring in a sample outline by tomorrow afternoon. Bighearted? Listen, I want a straight twenty per cent cut if you land the scripting.... I don't see why you can't come over. What? I'm offering you a big deal on a silver platter and you're playing coy....”

I tapped her shoulder, said in pantomime, “Tell him you'll go to his place.”

She nodded. “Steve, this is really big; suppose I come up to see you. You're damn right I'm money-hungry... when it's upper-bracket money. I'll be over within the hour. I have to dress and— All right, all right, cut the sex talk. I'm serious. I'll be up as soon as I can.”

As she hung up, Bobby cried, “Kay, don't, don't!”

“Oh, Bobby, relax. Take your pill and go to sleep.”

“No! I won't let you go alone!”

I said, “You can't go with Kay—louse up everything.”

“I insist. I won't let Kay face that creature alone!”

Ted said, “Since we'll have to do the tape in the car, let her stay downstairs with me. Another witness won't hurt.” He pulled the matchbox transmitter from his pocket, showed it to Kay. “This is important, so listen. You carry this in your bag, and make sure it don't get stuck to the bag. You have to play this smart and careful; if he sees it we're sunk. When you sit down, pin this under a chair, or on the back of a couch—anyplace where it isn't covered up and can't be seen. And you got to do it soon as you get inside his apartment.”

Kay poked a finger at the box. “This tiny gadget really broadcasts?”

“Yeah, I'll set it as soon as you're ready. And be careful with it. It costs like crazy, too.”

Kay pinched the Chinese robe, said almost to herself, “I ought to get into a bitchy dress—something real seductive.”

“Kay!” Bobby said.

“My God, the very last thing I want is Steve McDonald. I'll be a moment.” She went into the bedroom.

I called after her, “What sort of house does he live in?”

“One of these remodeled deals, but larger than this house.”

“Sport a doorman?”

“No, I don't think so.”

“Does he live in the front or back?”

“I don't remember. He has one large room and kitchenette. Fantastically decorated.”

“Is it on a fire escape?”

“Really. How would I know?”

Ted and I got our coats while Bobby slipped into a tailored cloth coat and bebop cap, which didn't look at all mannish on her. Kay walked in wearing spike heels and a light silver strapless gown. Her face wasn't made-up, the copper-colored hair carefully—but casually—brushed around her head. The gown and hair set off her thin shoulders and all of it added up to sex. Tossing a mink cape on her shoulders she said, “Now I'm prepared. I always said I'd wear this mink till the day I died.”

“Kay, please!” Bobby whined.

Ted held up his thick hands. “Let's get things straight. I'll let you women out on the corner, in case this McDonald is the suspicious type and looking out his window. When we find a parking space, Bobby here will walk down to the car. Kay, you wait in front of McDonald's house for Toussaint, who will go up and get on the fire escape, be set before you enter the apartment. That may not be easy.” He glanced at me and we were both thinking the same thing: a Negro seen on the roof or fire escape in a white neighborhood would bring a dozen frantic calls to the police. “If a fire escape is out, I think Toussaint should plant himself outside McDonald's door, batter it down when the time comes.”

“How can I hear through a door?” I asked. Loitering in a hallway would be dangerous as the devil—for me.

“Planned that,” Ted grunted. “It's late and quiet out. Soon as Kay plants the bug, I'll give three short blasts of the car horn—meaning the bug is sending okay. If it ain't working, if you don't hear the horn within five minutes after you set the bug, get the bug back and leave. You tell him, Kay, you have a headache or—”