In the Nick of Time

By Charles Crandall

In The Nick of Time is the authors second novel in his Nick Black, P.I. trilogy. It is set in Los Angeles in 1944. With a war on, people were being squeezed by rationing so The Boys overseas could survive the Nips and Nazis who had a head start toward their goal of conquering the world. Then, the murders started and Black found himself being sucked into the vortex against his will. Sometimes, you didnt get the easy ones. At least, he seldom did.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781496947390

Charles Crandall

CHARLES CRANDALL grew up spending all his free time in theaters showing noir movies with Bogart, Ladd, Mitchum, and a host of others who defined the gangster life, and reading the sleaze paperbacks populated with red hot molls with big chests and small vocabularies and stone cold tough guys out to make their bones who used red hot lead to settle scores

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Rita reached for the phone on the fourth ring, huffing vigorously on her freshly-coated fingernails and cursing the timing of the call. She lifted the receiver with two fingers, like it was something contaminated, and held it a few inches from her ear.

Nick Black Investigations, she announced in her efficient office voice, giving the other hand a few hearty puffs while waiting for the caller to respond.

Miss Wynowski, this is Paul Rasmussen. I’m calling for the governor. Is Mr. Black in?

She sat up straighter in the chair, momentarily forgetting about the still-tacky, cherry-red nails. No, sir. He’s out on a case, but I can have him call you as soon as he gets back. Sometimes he calls in for messages. I could tell him you called if he does, she told him a bit rattled. His curt manner was always a bit unnerving for her.

Rasmussen muttered a sound of annoyance. This is urgent and personal. When do you expect him back?

Jeez, I don’t know for sure, Mr. Rasmussen. He doesn’t keep no rigid schedule, you know.

All right, he said resignedly. Soon as he gets back, then.

Yes, sir. Absolutely.

He didn’t bother saying goodbye and Rita made a face at the receiver before replacing it in its cradle. Manners were important to her, no matter who you were.

Alexander Webb, recently L.A. district attorney, now first-term governor, rarely called the office, although Black phoned him on a regular basis. It was largely Black’s work on attempted Los Angeles railway sabotage the previous year, and his sharing of the results, that paved the way to Sacramento and the governor’s mansion for Webb. Without the high-visibility convictions of murderers, embezzlers, and an assortment of lower level gunsels, bone-breakers, and grifters involved in the scam that followed, Webb may not have been successful in unseating the popular but incompetent Henry Happy Hogan who, up to that time, was a shoo-in for another term.

Webb’s well-oiled political machine rolled over him like an Oklahoma tornado chugging through a trailer park. Since he had done nothing meaningful in the capital for the four years he had served, except to sponsor a few war bond drives and take a lot of time off to attend cattle auctions, Webb’s people began to refer to him as Hapless Hogan and the name stuck. Webb’s slogan was catchy and caught on: Our Golden State, Let’s Keep Her Great! The war was winding down and people were looking ahead for aggressive leadership for the coming era of anticipated prosperity. Webb projected the kind of energy they were looking for.

Ignoring the fact that there were already plenty of gangsters in the state, Webb promised to keep the mob out of California. He also vowed to stem the tide of Pachucos pouring over the Mexican border– a subject that resonated with the Anglo majority still chafing over the Sleepy Lagoon murder trial involving nine pre-judged and convicted Mexican kids from the barrio. Their innocence of the crimes was a minor detail, lost in the rush to judgment.

Although he was a political novice, Webb’s supporters spread enough money and promises around to help him win the election by a landslide. And, as the date palms began to fruit in the late summer of l944, he was sitting in the governor’s chair and Hogan was back on his cattle ranch in the Sierra foothills where the toughest decision he would now face was which bull to mate with which heifer to improve his herd.

Even without taking on the divorce cases that most PI’s clamored for, Black prospered. In just a couple of years, his business had grown to the point where he could afford a larger office and he relocated to the Taft Building at Hollywood and Vine from his residential bungalow. His new-found success came mainly from recommendations from Webb and his cronies, and from the flood of publicity he received for his role in unraveling the scheme to wreck the Pacific Railway System. The PRS trollies were the only source of transport for most working stiffs in and around L.A. That didn’t stop the greedy schemers and crooked politicians. They had cooked up a plan to sabotage the rail system so that Angelinos would be forced to buy automobiles or ride the inconvenient blue buses which operated on a limited and unpredictable schedule.

Black got credit for almost single-handedly saving the utility. Angelinos liked him because he couldn’t be scared off. He was willing to take on anyone. Sure, he was reckless, but he got things done. They wanted men of action, the movers and the shakers who did things the way they would like to, without it costing them anything. They wanted to align themselves with a hero like Black, a tough guy who never ducked a fight and couldn’t be bribed, hoping some of his magic would rub off on them. Was there anything they could do for him, they would ask. Anything at all? Maybe, they told him, he should run for mayor—maybe even governor. A lot of dames around town who once believed that a good man was hard to find now believed just as ardently that a hard man was also good to find. Nick Black looked just about right to them.

Rita was checking the dryness of the polish by touching each nail with the tip of her tongue when Black walked in.

Didn’t I tell you no kinky stuff on office time? he asked, parking his hat on the rack.

She was used to this and made a face at him. Very funny. I was drying my nails.

Yeah, right, he replied, heading for his office. They had been together three years, since she was out of her teens. Her mother had been iced by a mugger when he was a robbery-homicide detective with the LAPD and caught the squeal. He promised her he would track down the killer and eventually he did, confronting him as he was coming out of a bar on Pico. He ended up pumping two slugs into the perp and became her hero. She glommed onto him like a poor relative looking for a handout and he figured he had become her surrogate father since her real father had bought the farm ten years earlier from a massive heart attack. There was never any hanky-panky between them; it was a strictly platonic relationship— at least, the way he saw it. She had other ideas.

Life for Black at the time wasn’t exactly all sweetness and light. On the downside, he had made some enemies in the department which was riddled with corruption, crooked deals he had refused to participate in. Those who did and wanted to keep the filthy lucre coming their way were lying in wait for him. They launched a phony internal investigation for show. He was a department hero, after all, and they knew they needed credible evidence to take him down. You didn’t have to be able to read any tea leaves to know how it was going to turn out. Black’s contempt for those on the pad made him a marked man. His enemies, some command level brass, decided he had planted a throw-away piece on the gunsel and they had their gold-plated excuse to kick him off the force. Not that they didn’t use the same scam a couple of times a month to eliminate troublesome mopes. They didn’t even get that right, Black reflected; it was a knife, not a gun, but the details weren’t important. They had him in the bag before they even set up a hearing. He knew the real reason they kicked him loose was that he wouldn’t play ball. He refused to have anything to do with the shake-downs and heists the dirty cops were involved in and they didn’t trust him to dummy up about what he knew. They figured he was a goody-two-shoes and a potential snitch. Better get rid of him now, before he squealed on them.

Although being forced out and kissing his pension goodbye was a tough pill to swallow at the time, he soon realized they had done him a favor. He was much happier and a whole lot safer being his own man. Too bad this all didn’t happen a long time ago, he reflected.

Since Rita could type and take shorthand, he brought her along when he opened his private investigation business, but, with the lack of clients at they outset, he questioned whether he had done her a favor. He knew about money and had even seen some on a regular basis when he was a cop, but, now, it rarely showed up. When it did, it had other urgent destinations.

Oh, boss– hang on. Rasmussen called. He said it was urgent for the governor.

Black arched his brows. Get him for me, doll-face. He tossed his topcoat on the client chair, sank into an overstuffed swivel, and swung his feet up onto a desk stacked with file folders and maps—work he hadn’t gotten around to yet. It was both a reassuring and depressing image. After several lean years, he finally had an abundance of work, but he had only so many hours in the day to work with like everyone else. He could always take on a partner, but he liked running his own show and hiring consultants and others as he needed them.

Nick, the governor’s on line one, Rita called to him.

Got it– and no snooping, he told her knowing her habit of listening in on his calls. Governor, what can I do for you? he asked cheerfully.

I’ve got a personal problem, Nick, and I need your help, Webb said glumly. There was none of the joking banter that usually characterized their conversations.

What’s up?

Tabetha’s been abducted.

Tabetha was Webb’s sixteen-year-old daughter, an only child spoiled as rotten as they come, but Black liked her, thought she was a good kid and had taught her how to play poker and blackjack, talents which did not amuse her parents.

Jesus, Alex– are you sure? he asked realizing how dumb it sounded afterwards.

I got a note today–you know the kind– cut-out letters from magazines. It was delivered by messenger. It says, ‘We have the princess. Don’t call the cops or she’s dog meat.

Black was stunned. He knew how protective Webb was of his daughter. He had enrolled her in an exclusive private school surrounded by a wall that provided 24-hour roving guards inside and out. Tabetha called it The Prison, but it made her parents feel that she was safe and getting a superior education while cutting down on unauthorized sneak-outs into town.

How the hell did they get to her? I thought you had a security guy assigned to her?

He heard Webb sigh. She went on a field trip with her class to Columbia Pictures. They were supposed to watch them shooting a western and then meet some of the cowboy stars–Randolph Scott, or someone like that. The head of security didn’t make the trip, but there were two security people on the bus.

So, she’s in town? Black asked.

That’s where she was when she disappeared this morning. There were seventeen other girls with her. When they got ready to go to the commissary for lunch, no one could locate her. They did find the red beret she was wearing near one of the exit doors.

Black rubbed his face with his free hand– a nervous habit he had picked up somewhere. Christ, Alex—what can I do to help?

Well, that’s why I called you. You’re the best damn investigator I know. I want you to get on this for me. If anyone can find her, you can. What do you say, Nick?

Hell, yes, Alex. I’ll drop what I’m doing and jump right on it, he assured him. Have you called the feds or the state police?

Yes. I’ve briefed both agencies and I’ve told them I want you to have access to everything. They’re both pissed as hell about that, but I don’t give a damn. I’m going with a full court press on this. She’s my daughter and I’ll do whatever’s necessary to get her back safely.

Black considered this for a moment. Am I going get any real cooperation from them, or are they going to waltz me? You know how jealously these guys protect their turf. I’m a civilian. They’re not going to be too thrilled including me in the loop. As a former L.A.P.D. detective, he knew how the politics worked. The feds would stonewall the state police and the state police would two-step the locals. Everyone would hold back anything of substance they turned up. So far as he was concerned, he knew he would be lucky to get the real names of the investigators involved.

Look– they’ll work with you, Nick. Al Meeker–he’s my head of security–is down there and I’ve told him to give you everything you need, and the FBI…wait, I’ve got their names somewhere here. Hold on for a sec.

You getting all this, Rita? Black asked, but all he heard in response was her faint breathing on the extension.

Okay, Webb said, coming back on the line, Mike McCoy and Link Palmer. They’re both cocky little bastards– especially McCoy—but they’ve agreed to share info with you.

Don’t hold your breath. I’ve met ‘em. They’re looking to move up, like everyone else.

I’ll have a little chat with their boss. Are you ready to move on this, Nick?

You bet I am.

Good! Melinda’s coming unraveled over this and I’m climbing the walls. Can you get on it right away?

I’m all over it, Alex. I’ll set things up and keep you posted.

Great. I really appreciate it. Let me give you a direct line that’s monitored twenty-four hours– EX 4077. You’ll always be able to reach me through that number.

I’m real sorry about this, Alex. I know it’s tough on you and Melinda, but I’m sure Tabetha’s fine. Those goons probably are looking for a big fat payday, that’s all. There’s no reason for them to hurt her.

There was silence at the other end for a few seconds. Yeah. That’s what I keep telling myself and Melinda. Good luck, Nick. I’m counting on you on this one.

After the call, Rita came and stood in the doorway. Black was staring off into space. Jeez, Nick, she said, the poor little thing’s probably scared out of her wits.

Black looked at her and focused. What? Oh, yeah– she’s one of the innocents. Never been exposed to the real world. Alex saw to that. I’m not sure that’s always a good thing.

You think these mooks are just after money?

God, I hope so. If it’s anything else… He left the sentence unfinished.

Yeah, right, Rita concurred. What’re you gonna do?

First, I’m heading over to Columbia. They’re on Gower near Sunset, right?

Yeah. You can’t miss ‘em. They take up a whole block, and that’s just the offices. You want me to come? I went there for an open casting call once. The jerk of a casting director said I could get a part if he could get a part of me. I told him where he could shove his part and he told me to get my parts off the lot.

Black laughed. I didn’t know you were star-struck, kiddo.

I’m not– not after that. I just thought you’d like some company.

Naw. I need you here to catch the phones.

She rolled her eyes. Call in for messages once in a while, why don’tcha. I could get the grippe or somethin’, you know?

Well, why don’t you get a grip on that filing I gave you yesterday. I see it’s still on your desk.

Ha, ha. You’re a real comedian. You know, a person could use a little help around here.

We’ll talk about it, he promised on his way out the door.

"Yeah, like I ain’t heard that one before."

Black pulled up to the security gate and gave the guard his name. The guard scanned down a sheet of names on a clipboard. Yes, sir, Mr. Black. Pull in and park over there, next to the Buick. Go in that door there and ask for Mr. Gerson. He’s the security chief.

Is that where the girl was when she disappeared?

The guard shrugged. Beats me. That’s where everone from that school was watchin’ ’em shoot a giddy-upper We did a head count when they all come out to get back on the bus and that’s when they discovered one of the gals was missin’.

Okay, thanks. Black parked and walked into the office building connected to a sound stage. Inside, the receptionist told him that Mr. Gerson was in conference with the police and would he mind waiting since Mr. Gerson asked not to be disturbed.

Sure thing, he told her. He took a chair and picked up a copy of The Hollywood Reporter. Before he had time to scan the first page, a group of men came walking down the hall toward him. He recognized one of them and got to his feet.

Nick, the man he recognized said. How’re they hangin’?

Pinky, how’re you doin’? Black asked taking the extended hand.

"Captain Spatafora to you, lowly gumshoe," the man said with mock arrogance.

Captain? Jesus! They must be getting desperate to promote you to captain.

Yeah, that’s what I told ‘em. Look— we heard you were comin’ in on this abduction thing. You get the scoop from his nibs?

Black nodded glumly. Yeah, it’s a command performance. But, I’d be on it anyway. I know the kid. Sweet as they come. I’ve got a personal stake in this.

Terrible thing, Spatafora said. He turned to the man standing next to him who had been appraising Black. This is Al Meeker, the governor’s security chief. Black shook hands with him and Meeker faked a smile. And, I think you’ve met Mike McCoy and Link Palmer, FBI.

We’ve met, Black said shaking their hands.

And, this is Roy Gerson, head of security for the studio. The two men exchanged nods. Nick’s the guy I was tellin’ you about. He’s a local P.I.–the best in the business–and personal friends with the governor, he added pointedly. If you lost your cherry to some gal in high school and didn’t remember her name, he could track ’er down and get it back for you in a couple of days. Everyone laughed, including the receptionist who looked like she was used to this kind of raunchy humor and enjoyed it. Black was thinking she’d probably be sharing this one with her girlfriends. He knows the governor’s daughter and I think he’s gonna be an asset to the team.

The others didn’t seem as convinced, but were apparently willing to give Black the benefit of the doubt– for now. Their lack of enthusiasm was not unexpected.

How’ve you been, Nick? McCoy asked. You understand, the F.B.I. is in charge of this case and you’ll liaise with us. It was a not-so-suble reminder of who was lead investigator.

Black smirked at him. "And, how much info are you fellas going to share with us?"

You’ll know whatever we know, he assured Black, then, looking at the others: All of you will be kept in the loop. We expect the same cooperation. Let’s forget politics and find this little girl– fast. The longer she’s missing, the fewer our chances are of finding her alive.

Did anybody see her leave the sound stage? Black asked.

Nobody we’ve talked to so far, Spatafora replied, and I think we asked everyone who was within fifty feet of the building. It was just poof! Here one minute, gone the next.

All the other girls accounted for? Black wondered.

Yeah. They’re all on their way back home with their teachers. None of ’em saw nothin’, Nick. They were all pretty upset.

No kidding, Black said. They know it could have been them.

We’re not entirely convinced she didn’t slip away on her own, McCoy said, and we’re not ruling that out, but we’re going on the assumption that she was abducted. We’re on our way now to check some things. You all have my number. Let’s compare notes at the end of the day down at the office.

They all moved toward the exit– all except Black.

You comin’, Nick? Spatafora asked.

Naw. Some things I need to check out myself. I’ll catch you later, Pinky. Spatafora waved at him and caught up with the others. Mr. Gerson, can I ask you a couple of questions?

Gerson walked over to him. He didn’t look like the type who would be hired as head of security for a major studio. He wore black-framed glasses that gave his angular face an owlish solemnity and his suit, although expensive and well-cut, did not quite fit where it should have. Black couldn’t put his finger on it at first, then he realized the man would not do justice to any suit because of his almost skeletal frame. He decided that Gerson was probably some studio bigwig’s son, nephew, or brother-in-law. Nepotism was rife in Hollywood.

Did all the employees and extras who were supposed to work this morning show up? Black asked him.

Gerson frowned while he cogitated. Yes– well, that is, all but one new hire. The union said we had to have one more gaffer on the set and that they were sending one over. He checked in at the entry gate, but never showed up on the sound stage. We figured he got lost and we went ahead without him. We have a schedule to keep, you know. Time is money.

Jeez, I never heard that before, Black jibed with a straight face. "What was this gaffer’s name?

Oh, I’ve got it right here, Gerson said pulling a sheet of paper out of his coat pocket. Harry Shaver. We sent a cart around the lot looking for him, but came up empty. He glanced around then leaned closer to Black. You know, some of these union fellows we get are two pints short of a gallon and most of them come in all liquored up and sometimes even draped…That’s just between you and me.

"Yeah? Maybe they drank the two pints. When he got no response: Okay. Thanks for your help."

You’re quite welcome. I voted for the governor. I hope you find his little girl, he said to Black’s retreating back.

Black stopped and turned to Gerson again. Is it okay if I poke around the lot a little?

Gerson seemed unsure at first, then shrugged. Black assumed he was thinking he wanted to catch a glimpse of some big star. Sure, go ahead. Just don’t open any stage door where the red light’s on. That means they’re shootin’ a scene and you’ll ruin the take. Usually, they keep the doors locked when the cameras are rollin’ but you can’t count on that. You don’t want ’em sendin’ out no Indian extra to scalp you, do you? he added, laughing at his joke.

Gotcha, Black said holding up a finger.

Outside, the network of intersecting streets that ran between sound stages was a bedlam of activity as equipment and actors in costume moved in a steady stream up and down narrow throughways and alleys. Scantily-clad dancers had thrown their coats over their skimpy outfits and chattered excitedly as they hurried to their destinations. They were all young and pretty and most were getting their first chance before the cameras. Others, who had put some time in the industry, were not as enamored of show business.

California, the golden pimple on my ass, he heard one of them complain. Gimmie Florida any day over this. I’m freezin’ my butt off out here.

Listen, sweetie, one of her companions responded, you could afford to lose a few pounds off that fanny.

Oh, yeah, the other retorted. You ain’t exactly no Lauren Becall yourself, lard ass. Then, in an undertone to a girl next to her: I hate that bitch!

To Black’s regret, they moved out of earshot. He had been enjoying the repartee.

He didn’t know what he was looking for, or what he expected to find. He looked up and down some of the streets, but there was nothing of interest that caught his eye. Behind him, he heard the clatter of hoofs and turned to see several cowboy actors approaching, leading their mounts. He crossed to the other side and continued walking for a while before abandoning the search and heading back to the main gate. The guard who had signed him in was still on duty and he went to the open window of the guard shack and leaned in. Remember me?

How’d you do, chief? the guard asked. See anything you liked? he asked with a leer.

Well, actually, I did, but I’m looking for the girl who was missing right now.

If you’re gonna ask me if I seen ’er leave the lot, the answer’s no. They already asked me that– the feds. Didn’t see ’er come in, didn’t see ’er go out. They all come in on a bus from that fancy school up in Tiburon and they all left the same way– well, I guess, ‘cept for her.

What I want to ask you about was this gaffer you checked through– Harry Shaver. Do you remember seeing him drive off the lot?

Lemmie check. Normally, crew has to use the employees lot, but with the union guys… you know, he commented sourly. He glanced at the list on his clipboard. Yep. Left fifteen minutes after he got here. I remember thinkin’ that’s mighty odd– you know, him leavin’ so soon. But, I just check ’em in and check ’em out.

Yeah, you said. You remember what he was driving?

Yes, sir. A maroon Chrysler sedan. I got his license number, too, if you’re interested.

Black couldn’t believe his good fortune. You bet I am.

California plate. Three-two-P-nine-nine-two.

Thanks. You’ve been a big help, Black said.

Anytime, chief. This have anything to do with the missin’ girl you think?

Black was on his way to his car. Don’t know yet, he called over his shoulder. He had a theory he was working on. This Shaver character probably waited for the right moment to lure Tabetha away from the others—maybe with a yarn that went something like Clark Gable was outside talking with Garbo, or some other spiel and would she like to meet him? He might have told her that, since he and Gable were old pals, he could get him to sign a photograph for her. But, they had to sneak away so no one else would get wise to what was going on.

Once he had her outside, he could have led her to his car and told her they were in there talking over a scene and then chloroformed her or disabled her in some other way. It made as much sense as anything else he had heard from the others and it was the most logical scenario he could come up with at the moment.

Tabetha, he knew, was smart, but not street savvy. All kids were patsies when it came to dealing with the deviousness of adults. She could have been suckered by this Shaver creep with no clue until it was too late. She would be no physical match for a man.

He pulled up to a payphone and dialed Spatafora’s number only to learn that he wasn’t in and they didn’t know when to expect him. Then, he dialed his office and Rita picked up.

Doll-face, call Rasmussen and have him run a plate for me on a maroon Chrysler. I’ll call back in fifteen or twenty minutes. Any messages?

Yeah. Pinky’s on his way over to compare notes with you. I think he’s lookin’ to pick your brains since he ain’t got too many of his own.

I just left word at his office to have him call me.

Yeah? So, maybe you two are psychic. Maybe you could open a sideshow business at the arcade. And, Melinda Webb called. I told her it was way too early for anyone to know anything, but she’s got a bad case of the heebie-jeebies. Can’t blame her, poor thing. I tried to calm her down, but she wants to talk to you. And, your ex called. Wondered if you were free for a whing-ding at the country club this Saturday.

Black groaned. Okay. I’ll call Melinda. You call Velma back and tell her I’m all tied up Saturday.

Are you?

I’m gonna be working full time on finding Tabetha. I know that’s gonna piss some of our other clients off, but I’ve got do this.

Yeah, I know. I’ll stall them as long as I can. You’re sick with the flu and it went into pneumonia, or somethin’, Rita said.

Atta girl. If anyone gets too antsy, I’ll phone them and give them my Mother McCrea. When Pinky gets there, tell him I’m on my way in.

Okay, boss.

Although now an LAPD captain, Spatafora started on the force, like Black, as a rookie out of the academy. They worked their way up to detective by making good collars and putting in long hours. The department was largely a barrel of rotten apples, full of brutal, crooked cops no better than the thugs they either arrested or–more often–shook down, and the corruption was systemic reaching all the way to the top brass. Not all the officers were on the take, and some of the brass were true to their oath, but the quickest way to promotion and a handsome bank account was going on the pad and turning a blind eye to the hoods and mobsters who had flourished in the city since prohibition. There had been an attempt to clean up the department the year before but, as soon as the furor died down, things went back to normal.