“It ain’t astrology, Johnny — you can’t blame the stars for what’s happening to us.”
“Why not? Doesn’t your book tell you that everything is written in the stars at the moment you’re born...”
“No-no,” exclaimed Sam. “It don’t say anything of the kind. It says that you can be guided by the stars. You know what they mean, you know what to do...”
“I know what I’m going to do,” said Johnny grimly. “Look over there, across the street...”
“Where?” asked Sam, looking.
“That sign — Princess Astra...”
Sam scowled. “Cut it out, Johnny, that’s a fortune teller’s joint. You know what I think of fortune tellers.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion, Sam; I’m entitled to mine. Your astrology’s let you down — I’m going to take a peek into the future. Come on...”
“I won’t go in,” protested Sam, as he followed Johnny across the street.
“All right, then wait outside.”
But when they reached the two-story building, Sam followed Johnny up a dingy flight of stairs. At the top was a tiny waiting room, hung with velvet drapes on which were sewed silver stars.
A woman with straight black hair, tied in a knot, sat at a desk playing solitaire.
“Princess Astra?” Johnny asked.
The woman shook her head. “Princess Astra is meditating.”
“How much would she charge to do a little meditating for me?”
The woman sized up Johnny Fletcher. “Five dollars.”
“That’s a lot of dough,” Johnny said. “There’s a lady over on Sunset Boulevard tells your fortune for a buck.”
“Princess Astra is not a fortune teller,” said the woman with the black hair.
From behind the velvet curtains suddenly came a wheezy voice. “Who is it, dearie?”
“A customer,” chuckled Johnny Fletcher. “A two-dollar one.”
The curtains parted, revealing Princess Astra. She weighed about two hundred on the hoof, had a short fat neck and a mannish haircut. She wore a black tent for a dress.
“Which one of you’s the comic?” she demanded.
“I want my fortune told,” Johnny said. “But I only want two dollars worth.”
Princess Astra regarded Johnny through eyes that appeared as mere slits in her fat face. “You couldn’t be a cop, because a cop wouldn’t come right out and say he wanted his fortune told. We don’t tell fortunes, you know. We give spiritual guidance. But what’s this two-dollar nonsense?”
“Do you read horoscopes?” Sam asked.
The princess gave Sam a scornful look. “That bunk!”
Sam bristled. “Whaddya mean, bunk?”
“You heard me.” She gestured beyond the curtains. “Come in.”
Sam scowled, but followed Johnny and the princess to a large, square room that was hung with draperies. In the center of the room was a small table on which stood a crystal ball.
Princess Astra seated herself behind the table and motioned for Johnny and Sam to pull up chairs.
“Now, let’s have your five dollars — each of you.”
“Two for five,” Johnny said.
The princess tapped the crystal ball with a beringed hand. “I don’t have to look into this to tell that you’re a cheap skate.”
Johnny chuckled. Then he took out his roll and carelessly peeled off a five dollar bill. He allowed the princess to catch a glimpse of a fifty.
“Would you be interested in a complete reading?” the princess asked. “Past, present and future.” She coughed. “For twenty-five dollars.”
Johnny shook his head. “The sample five-dollar one will do.” Then he pursed up his lips thoughtfully. “What do you do for twenty-five bucks? I mean, could you pull off a regular seance with horns and manifestations and such?”
The princess gave Johnny a thoughtful look. “You been readin’ a book, dearie.”
“Not lately. But I’ve got twenty-five bucks for a regular show, with, ah, the right answers for a friend of mine.”
“All right,” said Princess Astra. “Now, we’ve got the cards on the table. Just what do you want?”
“I want to ask a man some questions... and give him some answers.”
The princess patted the crystal ball. “Bring your friend here and I’ll give him the god-damndest answers he ever heard.”
“There may be a little trouble getting him here.”
“What’s his name? Where’s he live?”
“His name’s Dan Tompkins and he’s staying at the Fremont hotel. He’s a desert rat, from Arizona.”
The princess got up heavily. “Say no more.”
She started for the anteroom. Sam looked at Johnny in bewilderment. “Johnny,” he whispered, “it won’t work.”
Johnny shook his head. “Shh!” He followed the princess out to the other room.
“Dearie,” said Princess Astra to her receptionist, “get me Dan Tompkins at the Fremont hotel.”
The woman with the tight black hair began making the phone call. After a moment she handed the instrument to Princess Astra. Then Johnny whispered in the princess’ ear, “Mention the Silver Tombstone...”
The princess nodded and spoke into the phone. Her voice was suddenly hushed and dramatic. “Mr. Tompkins, this is the Princess Astra welcoming you to Los Angeles. You probably don’t even know it, but you are here because I summoned you... Yes, while you were wandering out there in the vast reaches of the desert, I communicated with you... the Silver Tombstone... what’s that?... what’s that?... You’ll be here? In a half hour... The Princess Astra, on Wilshire, near La Brea... In a half hour, then...”
She hung up. “The man positively drooled,” she told Johnny Fletcher. Then she sighed. “Why can’t I get customers like that up here?”
“You’re getting him.”
“I meant on my own.” Then a gleam came into her eyes. Johnny chuckled.
“You can have him, all for your own, after tonight.”
“I’ll give him such a show that he’ll be afraid to eat breakfast without consulting me first.” She swished aside the drapes. “Now, come in and tell me what you want from him.”
Johnny was still telling the princess when a light flashed on the table beside the crystal ball. The princess exclaimed. “My goodness, he’s here already.” She hurried to the left wall and sweeping aside the drapes revealed a small door. “Get inside there. You can leave the door open when the drapes are in place.”
Johnny and Sam crowded into a room that was no more than a closet and devoid of furniture.
“I don’t like this,” complained Sam. “It’s a dirty trick.”
“So’s murder... Shhh.”
From the seance room came the rumble of Dan Tompkins’ voice... and the voice of someone else. Johnny reached for the drapes, parted them slightly so he could look into the room.
Dan Tompkins was just seating himself beside Laura Henderson. There was an eager expression on Tompkins’ face which was absent from that of the girl. In fact, Laura seemed quite dubious about the whole thing.
“I’ll be frank,” Laura said bluntly to the princess. “I don’t believe in psychic phenomena.”
“Neither do I,” Astra retorted. “I don’t believe in any of the hocus-pocus that spiritualists go in for. You show me a medium that resorts to table lifting and horns blowing in the dark and I’ll show you a fraud.”
“Then what do you do?”
“Nothing. You ask me questions and I give you answers — that’s all.”
“What sort of answers?” cut in Dan Tompkins eagerly.
“How do I know? I say what comes into my mind — that’s all. Whether the answers are the right ones or not, I don’t know.”
Laura sniffed. “You see, Mr. Tompkins.”