Phantom Point
by Gary Inbinder
July 1907: Chicago is sweltering, and hard-boiled detective Max Niemand has a hot, new case. A wealthy socialite hires Max to rescue her wayward artist brother from the clutches of a femme fatale and her dubious California artists’ colony. The job is lucrative, with the promise of a large bonus for good results.
Arriving on the West Coast, Max becomes embroiled in a murder case and a fight over oil rights. In the course of his investigation, he encounters hard-nosed cops, gangsters, an Old West marshal, a tycoon, a cagey lawyer, fast cars, faster women and a malevolent gold-toothed hitman. Before long, Max realizes the odds of living long enough to collect his bonus are definitely not in his favor.
Chapter 30: Los Angeles
part 1
Buck Hamlin lifted a cup of black coffee, took a few sips and winced. “God, this stuff is awful, but I need it. Out all night on a stakeout. I guess you know what that’s like.”
“Sure I do.” Max leaned forward in his chair and nodded sympathetically. “Sorry to bother you. I’m in town overnight, then I’m catching a morning train for Chicago. Just wanted to say hello, and clear up a thing or two related to the Burgess case.”
“The case is closed, Max. Why don’t you relax and enjoy yourself before taking the long trip home? If you’re looking for entertainment, I can make a suggestion or two.”
“Thanks, Buck. I have plans for this evening.” He paused a moment before pursuing: ”As you know, before Art Burgess died, he asked me to take the Phantom Point map to Santa Teresa and see his client, but he didn’t last long enough to give me a name.”
“Yes, I know that. We also know that Art was working for Williams, but something went wrong. Maybe Art discovered Williams was dirty and had misgivings. What difference does it make?”
“Has Eve contacted you in the last couple of days?”
“Yeah. She’s staying in Santa Teresa for personal reasons. I guess she’s going to work for Merwin, and I’m going to lose a damn good detective.”
“She told me Merwin proposed to her, and she’s thinking about it.”
“Well, what do you know?” Hamlin grinned. “Our Eve’s going to be one of the richest women in California. But I’m not surprised. She’s one clever girl.”
“That she is. Smart as they come.”
“Smart as a whip. So what’s this got to do with the Burgess case?”
“Do you buy Eve’s story about Moon?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Hamlin frowned and rubbed his stubbly chin.
“Do you think someone as clever and experienced as Eve could have been duped by Moon, at least duped the way she described it?”
“Jesus, Max. The girl saved your life twice. What more do you want?”
“I want the truth, if I can get it. Her working for you and Merwin at the same time could be seen as a conflict of interest.”
“She worked for me before she worked for Merwin. What are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Buck. I’m just stating a fact. When she first told me the story about the guy at the hotel who turned out to be Moon, she said she was a private investigator working for Merwin and that he hired her to recover the map. It wasn’t till later, after Doyle disappeared, that she let on she was working for you.
“You had Eve tail me up to Santa Teresa. She watched every move I made, from the time I took the map out of storage at the Los Angeles Depot, until the time I left The Eyrie this afternoon. She already had a set-up with Merwin. I’m guessing this wasn’t the first time she worked for him and you on the same case. Am I right?”
“You’re right.” Hamlin looked straight at Max but said nothing more.
“When did she do her first job for Merwin?”
“A little over a year ago. Why don’t you come to the point?”
“The point is I don’t like being played for a sucker. And if someone plays me, I at least like to know why.” Max paused before adding, “Listen Buck, the Burgess case is closed. I just want to know if Eve’s on the level, that she wasn’t working some shady deal with Moon that got Art Burgess killed. Art was your pal; I know you tried to help him out. I want you to be straight with me. Tell me the story, I’ll believe it. Then I’ll be happy to go back to Chicago with all my parts and reputation intact and a nice chunk of change in my pocket.”
Hamlin lit a cigarette and took another sip of his coffee before speaking. “OK, Max. Here’s the truth as I know it. Art was supposed to hand the map to Eve for an agreed-upon payment. But Moon cut in and offered him more. Art was hard up, he got greedy and tried to play both sides against each other.
“Then you showed up in his office asking about Van Dorn. He knew your reputation, so he brought you to the meeting at the bridge for protection. In the meantime, Eve tried to negotiate with Moon. He tricked her and slipped her a Mickey. Then he drove the stolen car to the meeting with Art.
“Art didn’t turn over the goods as agreed. Moon got pissed off, there was an altercation, and Moon shot Art. Moon confessed and ratted out Williams. Eve wasn’t implicated. That’s all there is to it.”
“Maybe Moon was protecting Eve the way Williams protected Eugenia Merwin?”
“Don’t go there, Max. Anyway, Moon’s dead, so his confession is the last word on the subject.”
“How did he die?”
“Broken neck. He fell from the top tier in the cell block. The coroner ruled it an accident.”
“Speedy inquest, huh?”
“Yeah. No need to waste time with a rat like Moon.”
“I see. Just one more thing. Before you took her on, did you check Eve’s background?”
“No, I didn’t. She came recommended by people in high places.”
“People like John Merwin?”
Hamlin took another drag on his cigarette without answering.
“So she did work for him before she worked for you. You know, Merwin acted surprised when Eve revealed she was working the Burgess case with the Los Angeles police.”
“I’ll bet he did.” Hamlin shrugged as if to add: What did you expect from him?
Max looked Hamlin straight in the eye before continuing: “So you never questioned her story about the old New York family, the father who lost his shirt on Wall Street, the fancy education, or the novelty of a beautiful woman from that background who drives like Barney Oldfield, shoots like Annie Oakley, has the mind of an Irene Adler and works as a gumshoe?”
“Who the hell is Irene Adler?”
“You never read Conan Doyle’s A Scandal in Bohemia?
“Are you kidding? The Katzenjammer Kids are more my speed.”
Max laughed and shook his head resignedly. He knew he’d get nothing more out of Hamlin. Maybe he didn’t want to. He glanced at the wall clock. “Sorry, Buck. I’ve taken enough of your time.” He got up and held out his hand for a cordial farewell shake.
“You said you had plans for this evening. Anything special in mind?” Hamlin asked.
“Yes, as I matter of fact, I’d like to see Roxy Blaine before I go. She said to look her up when I was back in Los Angeles.”
“I might be able to help you out. There’s a saloon on Alameda Street called Maury’s. Go there and see Jerry, the bouncer. He’s a big gorilla with a broken nose and close-cropped hair. You can’t miss him. Tell him Buck sent you. If Roxy’s in town, he’ll know where to find her.”
“Thanks, Buck. If you’re ever in Chicago, look me up. I’ll buy you a beer at Otto’s, introduce you to my pals and show you around.”
“I might take you up on that. I hear Chicago’s one hell of a town.” Buck waited till Max was almost out the door before he added, “If you find Roxy, take it easy and have a good time. Let sleeping dogs lie. I really would, if I were you.”
* * *
Los Angeles gets little or no rainfall in the summer, but it rained the night Max walked into Maury’s saloon in the city’s red-light district. He had spent a good portion of his adult life in dives, and Maury’s was much like the rest. Sawdust floors, yellowish tobacco haze, jingling registers, discussions that could turn into brawls at the slightest provocation. An out-of-tune mechanical upright accompanied a peroxide blonde floozy belting out “My Gal Sal.” The popular lyrics reminded Max of Roxy: “A wild sort of devil but dead on the level.” Is Roxy on the level? He wondered.
Max stepped up to the bar and ordered a shot and a beer. He downed his whiskey, turned around and scanned the joint, searching for Jerry. He spotted a mean-looking mug who seemed to fit Buck’s description. The man was stationed in a corner from where he could observe the clientele, a good stakeout for a bouncer. Max turned to the bartender and caught his attention.
“Excuse me, pal. I’m looking for Jerry. Is that him over there?” Max pointed toward the big guy in the corner.
“Yeah, that’s him,” the bartender grunted. Then he left to attend to another customer.
Max lifted his beer from the counter and walked toward Jerry. The bouncer eyed him suspiciously. When he came within speaking distance, Max said: “Evening, Jerry. My name is Max. Buck sent me.”
“What can I do for you, Max?” At close range, the battle-scarred face seemed uglier, but its menace was softened by a toothy smile and a friendly manner at the mention of Buck’s name.
“I’m looking for a girl named Roxy Blaine, at least that was the name she went by up in Santa Teresa.” Max added a detailed description.
Jerry thought for a moment before saying, “I know her. She’s new in town and goes by the name Roxy Weaver. You can find her at Ada’s. It ain’t far from here.” He gave Max an address and directions.
Copyright © 2022 by Gary Inbinder
