The Inheritors (24 page)

“Is that why you came to see me?”

There was an expression in his eyes that told me he meant what he was saying. “Not only that, but because I think you’ll be good for each other. He respects you and won’t try to run your business for you the way some of the others do.”

I knew what he meant. It was amazing how quickly otherwise normal, competent businessmen get hooked on the film business. Then all the rules they have lived by go out the window. “Not even a girlfriend he wants to make into a star?”

“I can answer that.” Blonde Girl had just come out of the bathroom, a long towel tied sarong-like around her.

I looked up in surprise. Dave peered over the edge of his glasses. “You?” he asked.

She nodded, casually filling a glass with ice and pouring some whiskey over it. “Yes.”

I just watched her. She turned to me. “I know Ed Johnston very well. He’s a straight-up guy. Never once did he say anything about getting me into the movies.”

It was beginning to make sense now. I remembered when she first moved into the apartment about three months ago. Then how she always seemed to be there at the window, never going out. Her casual line about working every other Monday in Chicago. Chicago was Palomar Plate’s home base. I still didn’t speak.

“You angry with me?” she asked.

I shook my head. “You should have come over sooner. We’ve been missing a great thing.”

“You were all wrapped up with that other girl,” she said.

“There’s always room for one more.”

“I’m old-fashioned. Besides I could wait. The money was good. It was no strain.”

“And what did you find out?” I asked.

“Nothing that he didn’t already know. You’re an okay guy and I told him. He’s prepared to like you and I think you’d like him.” She finished her drink and put the empty glass back on the table.

I turned to Dave. “Okay, I’ll talk to him. But no commitment.”

Dave smiled for the first time. “Good. He’s in Vegas. He’s got his company jet out at Burbank in case we want to join him for lunch.”

I looked at my watch. It was a quarter past twelve. “Okay. I was getting hungry anyway.”

“We’ll go out to the airport in my car,” Dave said quickly. “I’ll save the flying until we get to the plane.”

“You’ll go in your car,” I said. “Blonde Girl will come with me.”

***

I learned a little bit more about Ed Johnston on the way down to Vegas. Blonde Girl told me a few personal items. Like he was married, two children, and on the square side of the sheets. Warm but square. No tricks, no kinks, everything simple and straight. Sometimes dull but with a great deal of strength and staying power.

Dave filled me in on the business side. He was the youngest captain ever to command an aircraft carrier. He left the Navy after the Korean War despite the attempts made to keep him in, which included a promotion to rear admiral in the Reserve. He joined Palomar Plate as executive VP and within one year became president and chief officer. Within five years he began his period of diversification and acquisition. First in related lines, then going further and further afield until now Palomar Plate controlled one of the big meat-packing companies and a large hotel chain whose newest hotel was the Flaming Desert in Las Vegas where we were going to meet. He was also reaching for one of the major transcontinental airlines and had just acquired a large tract of land in Los Angeles where he planned to erect another Century City on the style of the Alcoa project.

I could understand all of them. The one thing I did not understand was why he wanted a film company. That made no sense at all in the scheme of things.

It was a quarter to two when we were ushered into his suite in the tower of the hotel. The luncheon table was already set, but he was on the telephone.

He waved us to a seat and kept on talking. I tuned in carefully. “The red herring is already out,” he was saying in a calm voice. “Let’s wait for the reaction before we start fiddling with the points. If it goes well we’re in good shape. Time enough to change if it looks like it’s dragging ass.” He put down the telephone with finality and got to his feet. He held out a hand. “I’m Ed Johnston. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

“Thank you,” I said.

He shook hands with Dave and kissed Blonde Girl on the cheek. “You just earned your bonus,” he said. He turned back to me with a smile that took the edge off his words. “How do you like the bodyguard we found for you?”

I laughed. He was direct enough. “I couldn’t have done better for myself.”

“Let’s eat,” he said, sitting down at the table. “I ordered delicatessen. They tell me this hotel has the best in the world. Anything to drink?”

A waiter appeared quickly and began taking our orders. I got myself a Scotch and water and felt better with a glass in my hand. He had a diet Coke.

We ate quickly and efficiently and in twenty minutes the table was cleared. He looked at me. I glanced at him, then at Dave. Apparently it was up to me to begin.

“I have just one question,” I said.

“Shoot,” he said.

“Why?”

A puzzled look came over his face. “Why what?”

“The film business,” I said. “It seems to me you have enough on your plate now. Everything solid and real. Why go for something as risky and ephemeral as that?”

He just sat there studying me.

“I could understand if you were after a major studio with land available for development. That would fit into your scheme. But the only assets here are films.” I put my drink down. “You can’t turn that into a construction project.”

“There are other attractions,” he said. “CATV is already here, next there will be Pay TV, soon there will be TV tape cassettes, someone will have to work day and night just to fill the demand. And our tape division is one of the largest in the country.”

It was my turn to sit on my hands.

“The idea isn’t new. Other conglomerates have the same idea and are already in the field. I think the time is right for us. For our kind of operation, especially if we stay loose. My idea is to have a production and distribution company that can supply all media as the demand arises.”

“Sounds good. I’m sure you have a very practical plan.” I got to my feet. “But I’ve taken enough of your time already, Mr. Johnston. May I wish you the very best of success?”

He stared, a disbelieving look on his face. “You’re not interested?”

I shook my head. “Thank you. But it’s not for me.”

“If it’s the money. I’m sure that can be—”

“That’s not it.”

“What is it then?” All the power and frustration were deep in his eyes.

“You spoke about everything but the most important ingredient—”

It was his turn to interrupt me. “Talent? I was just coming to that.”

“No, Mr. Johnston, that’s not it either. Talent you can buy.” Blonde Girl was right. He was square. “The most important ingredient in our business is Fun. If you haven’t got that, you’ve got nothing. All you’re offering is just a job.”

I started for the door. “Don’t worry about me, Mr. Johnston,” I said, “I can get a cab to the airport.”

Blonde Girl caught me as I was going through the casino on my way to the front lobby. “Hey there, wait up for me!”

I grinned at her. “Your boss send you?”

“He just fired me,” she said.

“You shouldn’t have blown your job because of me,” I said.

“If you think I was going to let a lousy little thing like a job come between us, you’re crazy,” she said. “They just don’t make rigs like yours no more.”

 II

The telephone call came as we started up the steps from the casino. A bellboy in the uniform of a major general looked at Blonde Girl and stopped me. “Mr. Gaunt?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a telephone call for you.” He led the way to the telephones around behind a bank of slot machines. He picked one up. “I have Mr. Gaunt on the line,” he said, giving me the telephone.

I hit him with a dollar and took the phone.

“Mr. Gaunt, you’re a hard man to find.” Diana’s very proper English answering-service voice held a sneaky edge of triumph.

“Okay,” I said. “How’d you do it this time?”

“Easy,” she said smugly. “The police found your car for me at the Burbank parking lot. Air-traffic control gave me your flight and destination.”

“That’s another hundred I owe you.” We had a thing. Each time she tracked me down without my leaving word where I would be, she got a hundred dollars. Each time she missed I would get a month’s free service. I had yet to collect.

“It seemed serious or I wouldn’t bother you,” she said. “A Samuel Benjamin, Junior, called collect from San Francisco. He asked for Uncle Steve and said it was important.”

“Give me his number. I’ll call him back.”

“He was in a pay booth and said he couldn’t stay there but that he would call again in half an hour. That is exactly twenty minutes from now.”

“All right, when he calls, relay it through your switchboard.”

“Any special room number?”

“No,” I said. “Just have them page me at the crap table.”

I put down the telephone and left the booth. Blonde Girl had fallen in love with a slot. “It’s about ready to come,” she said, her fingers caressing the level. “I can tell.”

It came up a grapefruit, orange, and lemon. “Try sucking it,” I said. I walked around the slots and there they were. Green table magic, with people stacked like sardines. With a money machine like this going for him, Johnston had to have rocks in his head to want the picture business.

I pushed my way up to the table just as a shooter sevened out. The stickman pulled in the dice and pushed them back with two more sets added for choice.

I looked around the table but nobody seemed to be reaching. They all had the look of players who didn’t trust their luck. I picked up a set and rolled them between the palms of my hands to get the feel. They felt good. I nodded and laid a hundred on the pass line and covered with a hundred on any craps.

“New lucky shooter,” the stickman called in a hoarse voice, pulling back the other dice. “Get your bets down. New shooter coming out.”

I crapped out twice in a row, letting my cover bet ride. Third time I picked up the dice, I switched the bets. At six to one on any craps, I had forty-two hundred. I left two hundred on the any craps and went for two grand on the pass line. The other two thousand was in the box in front of me.

I naturaled twice, doubling, then came up with the ten point. I bought all the numbers and went on a wild ride. I needed ten pairs of hands to pick them up and lay them down and lost all track of time. I looked up in surprise when the major general came back with the page.

“Your call’s come through,” he said.

I nodded and picked up the dice. I rubbed them once and threw them. They snapped against the backboard and rolled over to a stop. I didn’t have to look to know I sevened out. That’s the way it is with dice. They were worse than girls. Take your attention away from them for even a moment and they went cold on you.

I picked up the chips from the box in front of me. When I turned around Blonde Girl was standing there. I gave her the chips. “Cash them in for me.”

I followed the major general to the telephone. “Sorry, Mr. Gaunt,” he apologized as he gave me the phone.

This time I laid a hundred on him. “No harm done,” I said. “You probably saved me a fortune.”

He went away smiling and I turned into the phone. “Okay, Diana,” I said.

“I have Mr. Benjamin on the line for you.”

“Good. Put him on. But stay on the line with me,” I said. “I might need you for follow-through.”

“Righto, Mr. Gaunt.”

There was a click, then a faint hum. Over the hum came Junior’s voice. “Uncle Steve?”

“Yes, Junior,” I said.

“I’m in San Francisco.”

“I know.”

“I got big trouble,” he said.

“What happened?”

“I’m up here with a couple of friends.” His voice began to tremble. “I went out for a few minutes this morning, when I came back there was fuzz all over the place. They were pushing everybody into the wagon. Afterward two of the fuzz in plainclothes hung around. I got a hunch they were waiting for me, so I ducked around the corner.”

“What was the bust for?” I asked.

“The usual thing,” he said. “Every now and then, the fuzz gets a bug up their ass. But there was no reason for them to grab us. We were nice and quiet and never made no trouble.”

“Was there anything in the apartment?”

“Not much,” he said. “We were all pretty low on dough. Some pot, a little speed, but no acid.”

“No hard stuff?”

“No shit, no coke, Uncle Steve,” he said. “We’re all straight kids.”

“In whose name was the apartment?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “It was empty, so we just moved in. Every day a guy came around and we slipped him a few bucks and he went away.”

“You don’t sound in any trouble to me, Junior,” I said. “All you gotta do is shake that town for a while. They can’t be after you. There’s no records.”

“I can’t go like this,” he said.

“If you need money, I’ll shoot some up to you.”

“It’s not that.” He hesitated. “There’s a girl. I’m worried about her.”

I knew about the girl. His father had told me that morning. But I wanted him to tell me. “Yes?”

“You see, she’s pregnant. And she’s a kid herself,” he said.

“Your baby?”

“No,” he said. “But she was such a sweet kid that we all kind of adopted her. We wouldn’t even let her smoke or go on a trip.”

“Then what are you worried about?” I asked. “They’ll take good care of her. Better than you have.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But will they love her?”

I was silent.

“She’s a very sensitive kid,” he said. “She needs to be loved, to know that someone cares. That’s how she wound up like she did.

I was still silent.

“I can’t leave until I know she’s all right,” he said. “You know, kind of let her know that I didn’t run out on her like everyone else.” He took a deep breath. “If I went up to Juvenile to see her alone, the way I am, they’d put the arm on me right away. I thought, maybe—if you had the time—”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll come up. Where are you now?”