CHAPTER ONE
I have an attitude about life that isn't necessarily original in itself, but which generally has kept me going for thirty-one years, some of them in Korea, some in the jungles of the cement civilization in which I make my living as a part-time business operator and part-time private detective: Don't ask questions, act first!
Most men in my profession would attempt to make everybody believe that they are God's gift to women, and women throw themselves at them like moths chase lights. In my case, I've had my share of broads; all kinds. But don't think I'm some guy who has his pick. But there are enough.
That's how the Harryington Murder Case started. With a woman.
I had known Linda some years before, when I was just out of the service. I'd been bumming around Lake Arrowhead, a summer vacation resort some sixty or so miles from Los Angeles, when I met her. It was one of those relationships that had developed fast into a raging romance. Several facts got into our way, including her father and by the end of summer the affair had been simmered slightly down. We had split friends, with the promise to meet again sometime. But it didn't happen. Usually that is the end of most relationships; you promise to meet again, and never do. It might have happened with her, only we lost contact--her long stay out of the country simply ended things completely.
Linda was stacked like most society dames don't like to admit to as being the norm--for society ladies, that is. She was all sexual energy; with the curves in the right places, and there were plenty of them!
Linda was twenty-seven when I bumped into her in a Beverly Hills cocktail lounge, a few months ago. She was sitting at the bar, sipping a Whiskey Sour. At first I actually didn't recognize her; all I noticed was a very neat rear-end view of a very attractive fanny.
She was dressed in a black silk sheath that hugged her buttocks like the standard layer of skin. I hate clichés, but sometime there's no other way of telling the facts. What I could see of her flaming red hair and figure, gave me the kind of thoughts a man gets while watching a stripper dancing through the climax of her act.
I'd just finished an investigation for a rich husband who had had every right to believe his wife was sleeping out on him. A good hunk of the three thousand dollar fee was still in my wallet and I'd decided it was time to take a short vacation from the reality of the everyday hell that the civilized jungle has become. It was an old habit of mine. Once a case was closed, it was time for a good old-fashion blast.
Linda's voluptuous backside view fired the obvious. She looked like the kind of woman that had come out for the evening to find a man. My mission in life had always been to help women find men! Me.
When the cocktail waitress came for my order I asked her to offer a drink to the lady at the bar. Once pointed out to the waitress, she stepped over to Linda and made my offer.
Linda turned, looked at ne. Frowned. She had large, dark eyes that had a hauntingly sad look about them. Her lips were full, dimpled at the corners, giving them a pouting appearance; very delightful for kissing exercises. Her large, thrusting breasts pushed out the front of her low cut dress, revealing full supple white flesh. She looked at me more closer and then smiled.
It was then that I recognized her.
Right from where she was she stood, said:
"Stan Maxton!" Then she was in the booth with me, hands gripping mine. "God, you don't know how good it is to see you!"
For a long time we just looked at one another, like lost children. I could hardly believe my eyes. The emotions that had raced our summer romance to a frantic climax welled up through me like a tornado. All I could think of was here she was the only girl that I'd given a damned about! Well, that kind of summer adventure can be very meaningful. There had been other women, delightful ones, but she was special.
"Linda ... how you been?" I said in a much more emotional voice than I'd intended.
"Fine ... and you?"
"Bumming around," he said, avoiding her eyes.
"Still?"
"Well, actually I'm doing pretty well. In the private investigation business, pays good."
She gave me one of those smiles that curled my nerves tight. "Oh, Stan, you're a God-send for sore eyes. You don't know how much ... well, you don't want to hear my problems. They're old ones, really."
I ordered a round of drinks and we sat there for several more moments, just looking at one another, silently thinking our own thoughts. In a way I couldn't decide if I was glad to see her, or not. Where might it end?
"Still under the thumb?" I inquired.
She lowered her eyes. "In a way, Stan. You can't beat City Hall!"
"City Hall, hell! The Old Man, you mean!"
She nodded, then shook her head. "Let's get drunk as hell and celebrate!"
"What?'
"What you think? Meeting!"
The drinks came then, and we sipped them, talked about old times, about the summer that had given us so much pleasure and so much pain. Her father had been against our romance right from the start and had done everything he could to brake up our romance. Luckily things had simmered out a bit by the time she was sent to Germany for a prolonged visit.
"Anything serious in the way of men?" I inquired, shakily. The very thought of her body embraced by another male animal sent slow chills down my spine. That was silly, but just a normal male reaction concerning somebody he'd enjoyed so much. And she was something amazing, vibrant and lovely.
She shook her head. "Nothing serious, nothing like you and me. Just casual stuff."
Silence. We finished off the drinks and I ordered another round. By the time it had come, we were back in a lively conversation.
"I guess you get a lot of women in your line of business ... a Mike Hammer, hammerin' away!" she teased, with a throaty laugh.
"No more than the average man stuff, my dear. That's the trouble with the public, they have this image of the private dick and think all girls, women and old ladies throw themselves around their necks. I do a job and get paid. Nothing more exciting than that. I blast out on a spree when a case is over, or when a contract has been signed on some promotional arrangement. That's another line of mine, but let's not talk about that. The thing is ... the tension of my work calls for a little fun now and then."
"On a spree?" she asked.
"Just finished a case, if that's what you mean." She immediately asked about the case. I countered with: "Against company policy to talk about cases ... private communications and all that junk. Legal baloney, sure. But damn if it doesn't sound impressive!"
We laughed; but it was the laughter of lovers who have rediscovered each other after a long time, the pleasure of remembering and the joy of knowing what will, in a short time, take place.
We were old lovers. We were single. And both of us out for an evening of pleasure. Just lucky to bump into one another and resolve that problem.
"How about us getting out of this dump?" Linda suggested. "I have a car down the street if you want to go someplace with me."
Her eyes twinkled, knowingly. That's the nice thing about friends, they have a past to fall back on, and the communication can be shortcut leaps through a lot of rubbish one has to go through with strangers or new acquaintances.
I paid for the drinks. Her car was parked a block away and was a little more fancy than I'd expected. Her family had money. I'd known that. But this was big money. I didn't recognize the make and asked about it.
"Custom built!" she explained with a happy edge of pride. "Always nice to have 'em build to match one's personal needs."
To me a car was designed to get from point A to point Z with the least amount of trouble.
The car was a sports model with bucket seats up front. Linda opened her purse and took out some keys, handing them to me. "Want to get in the driver's seat?'
"Like you better believe!"
She laughed as I opened the door for her. A moment later we were driving down Sunset Boulevard, toward the Pacific Ocean. Linda had suggested we head in that direction. For a long time we didn't talk. I was trapped up in my own whirling questions about Linda.
She had money; lots of it; that was obvious now. I wondered about her going to a bar and picking up some slob like myself; and surely, I reasoned, that was what she'd think of me, if she had all the money that the car and her words implied. Was she still a society dame on a spree; a rich man's daughter; or some guy's wife or mistress. All those roles would fit her; could be her. I wanted to ask the questions and get the answers, but somehow there just didn't seem a way to go about it without seeming too nosy. I mean. We had our time together back then, but everything else was a separate issue. That was her private domain and not for grabs unless she offered it up. And I wasn't about to ask. The only promise made, so far, was a night together, and remember old times. Linda was being closed-mouthed; if she didn't want me to know something, it wouldn't do any good asking.
Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood has, on the Strip, all the magic jazzy neat clubs. Then it blends out into the rich lands of Beverly Hills, and then goes through Bel Aire and Brentwood, where the money-makers and status seekers live, mostly the latter, because no matter how much money a guy makes he makes it a habit of living ten thousand feet over his money level. After the Brentwood and the Country Clubs for rich status seekers, there comes the rolling, curving highway that cuts through the less expensive, but still plush, beach homes. Then finally the blue Pacific, which isn't always so blue as it is washed out gray blue.
The moon was full as we reached 101 highway, brightening up the ocean blackness that stretched out to infinity. Linda instructed that I go north.
"You have a place in mind?'
She grinned, but said nothing. She smoked silently, looking out through the windshield. We had driven about ten minutes when she said to turn right at the next road off the highway. Once done, she gave me instructions to turn up a private roadway that led up into the cliffs overlooking the Pacific. Finally we came to a small, expensive looking beach house that extended over the edge of a downgrade on long steel stilts. It didn't look safe; but none of those kind of hillside houses does. She told me to park the car. We got out and stepped up to the darkened house.
"Your place?" I asked as she picked the right key and opened the door.
She nodded and stepped into the small hallway. I followed, closing the door behind me. A light switched on and I found myself looking into one of the slickest beach house living rooms that it's been my pleasure to see. There was wall to wall carpeting, off-white, thickly cushioned furniture, a small, conservative home bar and a large window that covered the full opposite wall, looking out across the ocean.
"Like?" she asked, turning and looking up at me. Her lips were half parted and she had the appearances of a little girl who had grown up into an extremely sexy woman.
"Like!" I exclaimed, resisting the impulse to kiss her.
"Let's have a drink, I'm dulled by the ride," she suggested, bouncing her way to the small home bar. "Let's have a bottle and blast off as you say!" She giggled and stepped around the bar.
"What'll it be, sir?" she asked, looking very grim.
"Make it Scotch!"
As she was pouring drinks, I found myself wondering again what kind of woman I'd gotten involved with this time. After all, we really didn't know one another like before. We were, pretty much strangers who had shared a short period of time when very young. Life had changed both of us. Her, especially. I began to wonder about Linda.
She handed me a glass full of Scotch and then came to my side.
"A little funnin', sir?" She squeezed my hand and kicked off her shoes. "Make yourself comfortable, I always say!" She pulled me to a sofa that faced the large window-wall. We sat down, close, so that our thighs were lightly touching. I put an arm around Linda's shoulder. It was the first physical contact of an intimate nature since we were kids. The effect was startling.
Linda was soft and yielding; she nestled against me, resting her head on my shoulder.
"You feel good," she murmured contentedly.
"Same goes for you, baby!" I squeezed her tighter against me. "What's the script call for now?'
She looked inquiringly up at me.
"Don't you like me? Don't you like the house? Don't you like the drink?" she asked, frowning.
"On the first two counts, yes--on the drink, I don't know." I tasted. It was good and I told her so.
"It should be. The most expensive we can get." She looked pleased; almost like a child who has managed to do the right thing for her parents.
Well, after a few drinks and light, pointless conversation, we somehow came together. I remember Linda suddenly slipping into my arms, her lips so soft and deliciously warm. All the passion that had been there before was even more sharply hungry now. She had matured beautifully. Then she moved back, smiling, confident in her total control of the situation. Well, at least that's how I remember it. The next thing I knew I was carrying her across the room.
"Down the hall," she murmured softly.
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