I took out the Nazi Luger I’d stolen from the dead man’s treasure chest and placed it on the night table next to the bed.
Then I sat back thinking about the few good years that I’d had with Bonnie and the kids. We had family picnics and long tearful nights helping the kids through the pain of growing up. But all of that was done. A specter had come over us and the life we’d known was gone.
I tried to think about other things, other times. I tried to feel fear over the payroll robbery that Mouse wanted me to join in on. But all I could think about was the loss in my heart.
At eleven o’clock I picked up the phone and dialed a number.
“Hello?” she said.
“Hi.”
“Mr. Rawlins? Is that you?”
“You’re a lawyer, right, Miss Aubec?”
“You know I am. You were at my office this morning.”
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“I know that’s what you said.”
“I am a lawyer,” she said. There was no sleep in her voice or annoyance at my late-night call.
“How does the law look on a man who commits a crime when he’s under great strain?”
“That depends,” she said.
“On what?”
“Well . . . what is the crime?”
“A bad one,” I said. “Armed robbery or maybe murder.”
“Murder would be simpler,” she said. “You can murder someone in the heat of the moment, but a robbery is quite another thing. Unless the property you stole just fell into your lap the law would look upon it as a premeditated crime.”
“Let’s say that it’s a man who’s about to lose everything, that if he didn’t rob that bank someone he loved might die.”
“The courts are not all that sympathetic when it comes to crimes against property,” Cynthia said. “But you might have a case.”
“In what situation?”
“Well,” she said. “Your level of legal representation means a lot. A court-appointed attorney won’t do very much for you.”
I already knew about the courts and their leanings toward the rich, but her honesty still was a comfort.
“Then of course there’s race,” she said.
“Black man’s not gonna get an even break, huh?”
“No. Not really.”
“I didn’t think so,” I said. And yet somehow hearing it said out loud made me feel better. “How does a young white girl like you know all this stuff?”
“I’ve sent my share of innocent men to prison,” she said. “I worked in the prosecutor’s office before going into business with Axel.”
“I guess you got to be a sinner to know a sin when you see it.”
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“Why don’t you come over,” she suggested.
“I wouldn’t be very good company.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “You sound lonely. I’m here alone, wide awake.”
“You know a man named Haffernon?” I asked then.
“He was Axel’s father’s business partner. The families have been friends since the eighteen hundreds.”
“Was?”
“Axel’s father died eighteen months ago.”
“What do you think of Haffernon?”
“Leonard? He was born with a silver spoon up his ass. Always wears a suit, even when he’s at the beach, and the only time he ever laughs is when he’s with old school friends from Yale. I can’t stand him.”
“What did Axel think of him?”
“Did?”
“Yeah,” I said coolly even though I could feel the sweat spread over my forehead. “Before today, right?”
“Axel has a thing about his family,” Cynthia said, her voice clear and trusting still. “He thinks that they’re all like enlight-ened royalty. They did put money into our little law office.”
“But Haffernon’s not family,” I said. “He didn’t put any money into your office did he?”
“No.”
“No what?”
“He didn’t give us any money. He doesn’t have much sympathy for poor people. He’s not related to Axel either — by blood anyway.
But the families are so close that Axel treats him like an uncle.”
“I see.” Calm was returning to my breath and the sweat had subsided.
“So?” Cynthia Aubec asked.
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“So what?”
“Are you coming over?”
I felt the question as if it were a fist in my gut.
“Really, Cynthia, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me tonight.”
“I understand. I’m not your type, right?”
“Honey, you’re the type. A figure like you got on you belongs in the art museum and up on the movie screen. It’s not that I don’t want to come, it’s just a bad time for me.”
“So who is this man who might commit a crime under pressure?” she asked, switching tack as easily as Jesus would the single sail of his homemade boat.
“Friend’a mine. A guy who’s got a lot on his mind.”
“Maybe he needs a vacation,” Cynthia suggested. “Time away with a girl. Maybe on a beach.”
“Yeah. In a few months that would be great.”
“I’ll be here.”
“You don’t even know my friend,” I said.
“Would I like him?”
“How would I know what you’d like?”
“From talking to me do you think I’d like him?”
That got me to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Cynthia asked.
“You.”
“Come over.”
I began to think that it might be a good idea. It was late and there was nothing to hold me back.
There came a knock at the door. A loud knock.
“What’s that?” Cynthia asked.
“Somebody at the door,” I said, reaching for the German auto-matic.
“Who?”
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“I gotta call you back, Cindy,” I said, making the contraction on her name naturally.
“I live on Elm Street in Daly City,” she said and then she told me the numbers. “Come over anytime tonight.”
There was another knock.
“I’ll call,” I said and then I hung up.
“Who is it?” I shouted at the door.
“The Fuller Brush man,” a sensual voice replied.
I opened the door and there stood Maya Adamant wrapped in a fake white fur coat.
“Come on in,” I said.
I had made all the connections before the door was closed.
“So the Nazis brought you out of Mr. Lee’s den.”
She moved to the bed, then turned to regard me. The way she sat down could not have been learned in finishing school.
“Haffernon called Lee,” she said. “He was very upset and now Lee is too. I was out on a date when he called my answering service and they called the club. You’re supposed to be in Los Angeles looking for Miss Cargill.”
I perched on the edge of the loungelike orange chair that came with my room. I couldn’t help leering. Maya’s coat opened a bit, exposing her short skirt and long legs. My talk with Cynthia had prepared me to appreciate a sight like that.
“There was no reason for me to think that Philomena had left the Bay Area,” I said. “And even if she did she needn’t have gone down south. There’s Portland and Seattle. Hell, she could be in Mexico City.”
“We didn’t ask you about Mexico City.”
“If you know where she is why do you need me?” I asked.
I forced my eyes up to hers. She smiled, appreciating my will power with a little pout.
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“What is this about Nazi memorabilia?” she asked.
“I met a guy who told me that Axel collected the stuff. I just figured that Haffernon might know about it.”
“So you’ve guessed that Leonard Haffernon is our client?”
“I don’t guess, Miss Adamant. I just ask questions and go where they lead me.”