Lady Bane

By Richard Jay II

Enter first, Dr. Arnold Baumcort interviewing three Ladies of the Evening as research for a magazine article. His purpose is not to create prurient interest but to tell of the humor and pathos found in their unusual work and of their plans for retirement when age calls their number.

Shortly after publishing his article on the lovely Cheryl, Gypsy, and Mitzi, Arnold is called upon to rescue Gypsy from a knife-wielding attacker. She has temporarily escaped and turned to Dr. Baumcort rather than the police. Involving the police would produce harmful publicity. Arnold takes her in for a time and promises to keep her safe.

Before long, Arnold feels that the three ladies must live under a dark cloud of blight as he is phoned next by tearful Mitzi. Ive been robbed of my retirement savings by my investment adviser.

Arnold cannot refuse helping and contacts Phil Malloy. Detective Malloy is an investigator often called upon by divorce attorneys to obtain evidence on straying husbands or wives. He refuses a few cases.

Phil Malloy has just backed away and turned over a possible International murder case to the FBI. He is free to take Arnolds case to track down the investment adviser and Mitzis retirement funds. Malloy and his comely assistant, Sheba, go into a full court press. With clever detective work, Malloy is finally led to the exciting conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514487464

Richard Jay II

The author, Richard Jay II, has lived a long and productive life, beginning with service in WWII. After retiring as president of a manufacturing firm, he was free to build and fly two full-sized aircraft and, finally, begin writing full-time. Lady Bane is his fourth novel.

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LADY

BANE

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RICHARD JAY II

Copyright © 2016 by Richard Jay II.

Library of Congress Control Number:         2016906500

ISBN:         Hardcover         978-1-5144-8748-8

         Softcover         978-1-5144-8747-1

         eBook         978-1-5144-8746-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 04/27/2016

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CONTENTS

Book One

The Shadow Professionals

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Book Two

The Silent Lady

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

(Credit Page)

BOOK ONE

THE SHADOW PROFESSIONALS

Arnold Baumcort was at his desk in an office nook near the washroom. He stared at the windowless wall opposite his desk considering his options. He’d just finished writing a memorial for a local personage whose past was lacking in remarkable achievement. On a typical day that was the limit to which his literary acumen was tested as Obit. Ed. for the Morning Sun Publication…In tribal verbiage Arnold was low man on the totem pole in the newspaper game…in spite of his impressive academic record, Company policy dictated that all new contract employees, regardless of educational achievements, would serve at a low level for three months.

The purpose of this directive was to begin impressing the hireling with the publication’s heart and soul. Although put in place by the newspaper publisher H.H. Greb, forty years ago, it still remained of questionable import. The old guard employees snicker and view it as a form of hazing.

Arnold was on the job for one month and special measures were needed to maintain mental stability at this lowest editorial position available.

He had just switched his mind to a familiar siding where he worked on schemes to elevate his station in his profession. The Sunday Supplement Magazine was his target. He was not deterred by two false starts. The first two of his general interest pieces were summarily refused by the unlettered editor: Family Pets for Peace and Crab Grass in Gated Communities. The coarse language used in the rejection of Arnold’s tongue-in-cheek treatment was overkill.

But, Arnold was not one to give up easily. The inspiration he now had was on a surefire track. He’d been blocking out a scenario for a three installment human interest article on the plight of the big city Working Girl. That appellation would be an acceptable cognomen in good taste journalism, if the three segments were tastefully written in his inimitable style. The Supplement Editor would be impressed. The old publishing axiom, sex sells, would be Arnold’s ally. This would be his breakout piece.

The difficult part in this project was the necessity of getting several interviews with the ladies in question. He was considering the credible methodology required when his wrist watch buzzed. It was lunch time.

Arnold put his computer on sleep mode and slipped into his suede jacket and matching touring cap to join the rush to the elevator. On the street below he dodged hurrying drones trying to make the most of their lunch hours. Arnold’s favorite taproom was only two blocks away. A beer and a burger or a cheese sandwich were his usual lunchtime fare.

Today the small tables were all taken so he waved to the hostess and headed to the bar where food service was available. There was one barstool open. He moved to claim it but there was a large purse on the seat. A rather well put together ash blond lady noticed his arrival. I am waiting for someone who is obviously delayed. Her voice through pursed red lips was like the silky tones he heard in an occasional dream. Evidently she’s been held up in traffic or something equally untoward. You can use her place until she arrives.

Thank you, you’re very kind. He took the seat after she removed her purse. The bar tender was waiting. I’ll have a Coors Light, bottle.

I’m Arnold by the way. He offered her a palm and she slapped it in hip fashion.

Arnold? Isn’t that a rather a formal name to use in friendly discourse. Don’t people use the more colorful Arnie?

Only good friends back in Oshkosh or my University buddies but they are now in my past. I’ve located in the big city to pursue a journalism career, going on one month now.

I’m Denise. I’m a little out of my area, I work in a law office uptown and I’m a big city girl through and through. I thrive on noise and smog.

Arnold fancied himself a judge of character. He noticed Denise’s snug clothing, short skirt and four inch heels. ‘What the hell, it’s worth a try. He had to start research sometime.’ Denise, if I may ask, are you a Working Girl? using proper emphasis on the last words.

Suddenly, he was surprised by a stinging slap to his face that made his ears ring. When he recovered he said Sorry if I’ve offended you.

You’ve got a nerve, Buster…Oh, oh.You’re cheek is bleeding. My nails are sharp. I guess I over reacted. Wait I’ll fix that, it’s not deep enough for a band aid. She took a tissue from her purse, wiped the blood and tore off a small corner piece. She moistened it with the tip of her tongue and she plastered the paper patch to the small scratch. Through this process Arnold held his breath. The nearness of her lovely face and the exotic perfume made him a bit light headed. Also the thought occurred that body fluid had been exchanged by her action. He mumbled, "Thank you. I must apologize. You see I’m in the process of doing research on the plight of a working girl in a big metropolitan city. I plan to write a three part story, in good taste, covering the trials and tribulations of three ladies plying their professions in sophisticated areas. I have to balance pathos and puckish humor to maintain the reader’s interest."

That seems to have the elements of an enjoyable read…Oh, your apology is accepted. I guess any attractive lady is liable to be hit on when she’s alone. I try always to be accompanied in Bars and Lounges. I’d assumed that yours was an insulting pick-up line.

I tend to be direct. I should have prefaced the question with an introductory line…where did you learn the bit with the piece of tissue?

While growing up, I sometimes watched my father shaving. He occasionally nicked himself and licked a bit of toilet tissue to be used to stem the bleeding.

Denise, I’m afraid that I must warn you. We now have a closer relationship, since your saliva, ergo body fluid, has mingled with my blood.

I’m awfully sorry, I didn’t think, but rest assured that I am in perfect health and nothing will result, she frowned as she shook her head for emphasis.

Arnold liked the way her long hair swayed back and forth. He laughed, Just in case, I should have your phone number if anything does develop.

Denise laughed, Now that is a smoother line. That will work.

The hostess came over, There is a table open now, Arnold.

Thank you. he turned to Denise, Please join me for lunch. I need an opportunity to atone for insulting you.

Denise agreed and they were seated at a high-rise table and the waiter arrived promptly. Denise ordered a small house salad, with iced tea and Arnold ordered a burger, medium well with chips and a coke.

Arnold smiled, Denise…Denise is a lovely name, but decidedly a bit too formal. Don’t friends call you Dee or Denny?

I’m afraid not. I discourage the diminutive forms. Oh…oh. Touche! We’re even now, you’re very discerning. I work as a researcher in a law office. The atmosphere is very staid, little time for a friendly chit chat.

When I first heard your name Denise, it jogged a memory. It’s the basis for a funny story…perhaps you’ve heard the story?

With my name, no. I hope it’s a clean one. There aren’t many of those around lately.

"You won’t object, I’m sure it could be told in church.

"Let’s see. . . A pregnant lady, Helene, was about to deliver prematurely and her husband was out of town on business. She phoned his brother Frank who worked as an auto mechanic. He dropped his tools and came to get her in his pickup truck.

"At the hospital, the nurses took charge. ‘Mr. Crump, she’s pretty far along. Wait in the family room with the other fathers. We’ll call you.’

"Frank read magazines and was amused watching a harried young man, who paced while trying to remain calm but he’d developed a twitch.

"In an hour and a half a nurse came and asked, ‘Mr.Crump?’ Frank stood up. ‘The bundle of joy has arrived. The mother and baby are doing fine. Follow me, I need some information.’

"At the nurse’s station, Frank asked, ‘Is it a boy or girl?’

"The nurse retrieved a form, ‘It’s a girl with blond hair. 7lbs 4 ounces and 19 inches long. What will be the girl’s name?’

"Ah, I’m not the. . .

‘Please, quickly. The name, I’m being paged."

Frank gulped, "Err. . .how about Denise?’

‘That’s a fine name. The mother is in room 507 and sedated. She’ll be awake soon. You can go in and wait.’

Frank found a chair and sat next to Helene’s bed and waited. When she opened her eyes, Frank said Hi, how you doin?"

Not bad. Just like I’ve been run over by a bus. . .twice.

Helene, they insisted on a name for your baby girl.

What did you say?

The name Denise popped into my mind.

That’s a fine name Frank, better than one of my choices. Thank you,that was quick thinking. What would you have said if it was a boy?

Frank grinned sheepishly, ‘Probably. . .Denephew.’

"After a two second pause, Denise got it. ’Oh that’s funny, Arnie. I’ll be able to tell that one at church.’

Be my guest. I won’t ask for credit.

The food arrived and they ate in silence. Denise was thinking about Arnie’s research. Arnie, I may be able to help your research indirectly, of course. A friend of a friend is rumored to be in the world’s oldest profession. I’ll ask my friend to see if she’ll do an interview.

That would be great. I’ll give you my card with my private phone number. Please explain that my earned credentials are pristine, as are my motives. The article will be written with complete decorum. I will pay her hourly rate for the interview. Pre-approval of my article will be offered.

Please explain, in all modesty, your academic achievements. Denise used a mocking tone.

When I graduated from high-school I was class valedictorian . My Uncle Ned hugged me and said, ‘You’re destined for the fast track, Boyo. I’m sorry that my sister and your father have passed on and did not live to see this day. As a bachelor, I’ve nothing better to do with my disposable income, so I’ll finance your schooling for as far as you want to go.’

I accepted Uncle Ned’s generous offer and diligently applied myself. It was an enjoyable time as studying was always easy for me. I ran out of additional degrees I desired after nine and a half years. At the conclusion of my academic tour de force, I refused an assistant professorship. I needed a change and escaped to the real world. Sadly, Uncle Ned did not live to see that day. His death was a shock. Never to see this cheerful, fun-loving man again is hard to accept. He was generous to the extreme. He left me a large block of stock in his mega corporation, for which I will be but eternally grateful. The operation of the corporation is still directed by an elected board of major stockholders. A seat on the board is available for me if I so desire.

Would I recognize the name of his corporation?

Nedlock Industries. It is a conglomerate of companies he absorbed over forty-five years. In his last years a band instrument company struck his fancy. He’d expanded it into providing marching band uniforms also. Although he had salesmen to make contact, he enjoyed traveling to universities for football games where he met Bunny Sheridan. Bunny was an expert baton twirler who gave half time demonstrations during football games at LSU. At the end of her act she delighted the audience by playing Dark Town Strutter’s Ball on a tuba while all the marching band members did the strut. I witnessed her amazing performance one time. Bunny Sheridan was a lovely young lady and she joined Uncle Ned after her graduation. She became his traveling secretary who doted on him as the father figure she never had. . .Her death at Uncle Ned’s side was tragic.

That’s sad, Arnold what happened?

Ned had a bucket list. He wanted to do every roller coaster ride in the U.S and over-seas. He once confided to me, ‘At my age the thrills in life are ebbing away. A roller coaster ride makes me feel young again’. He always insisted on riding in the first car with Bunny. It happened on a new ride in the southwest. The car jumped the track on a turn at fifty miles an hour .Of course there was no hope for survival. Bunny was twenty-five and Uncle Ned was seventy-eight at that time.

Arnie that’s an interesting story but the credibility is hard to accept. …Now really?

I carry facsimiles of my degrees in my wallet, he reached for his wallet. The accident details are available on the internet. Look for the side bar link under Nedlock Industries.

No, no, I’m convinced. That’s too bizarre not to be believed. If you’ll give me your phone number, I’ll try to put you in contact with a party girl.

That’s an interesting name for a working girl. I wonder how many iterations there are for the professional name? I could include them in my story for comic relief. Let’s see: Working girl, Party girl, Lady of the evening, and. . .

Denise added: Consort, escort etc. . . but in good taste you should avoid Anglo-Saxon words.

Thank you, this has been a very helpful chance meeting. You asked for a phone number. Here is my card.

Denise looked at it and smiled. The gold embossed card read:

Arnold Baumcort, BA, MA, Phd.

Journalist Extraordinaire. Ph. 640 990 3486

Inpressive, are you a member of Mensa?

They are a boring group. A gag going around tells of an annual Mensa dinner in a small town. The single attendee happily spent the evening talking to himself. Suddenly Arnold heard the strident tones of Tony Bennett singing, I left my heart in San Fran. . . Denise answered her phone, ‘Hello.’. . . she listened, ‘I understand Jane. It was unavoidable. We’ll try again next week. It’s not been a problem. I’ve had an interesting meeting with