officers. The police cars were still there, lights flashing. He doubted the real people behind the opium den on the third floor would be arrested. Those there, smoking, hooked on the euphoric effects that made them forget their real lives, would have their wrists slapped, and by this time next week, they’d have already found another place. He’d seen it often enough and wished it was different. Wished he could have done something, anything, that might have saved Lucy.
She hadn’t wanted to be saved, just like she hadn’t wanted him in her life. Blondie didn’t, either, but this time he was going to fight harder. Maybe, just maybe, if he could save her, the demons of regret that lived inside him would go find someone else to haunt.
Demons. He had enough of them. Not only from Lucy, but from Theodore. There, too, he hadn’t done enough. Hadn’t acted quickly enough.
That wasn’t going to happen this time.
He started his car and pulled into the street, wondering if he should drive out to Julia’s Diner, make sure that was where Blondie was at, but instantly knew that would be a bad idea. He’d be better off going there tomorrow morning, after she’d had a chance to get to know a couple of good people. So far, she’d only met the bad Los Angeles had to offer. There were good folks here, too. Julia Shaw was one of them. She’d taken in plenty of women who had arrived in town with nothing more than the clothes on their backs and stars in their eyes. She’d fed them, clothed them, given them a job and a place to live, and then, once they’d gotten their heads on straight, she’d let them go back out into the world. No longer wearing rose-colored glasses.
Years ago, Julia had come to him, asked him to look into how the Broadbent brothers had paid little more than pennies on the dollar for her family’s property. The transaction hadn’t been illegal, so all he’d been able to do was secure the last twenty acres for her.
Julia had understood, and held on to her small chunk of land with an iron fist. She was making it pay off for her. Her café was one of the most popular places to eat in the north end of the city.
He drove home, and after parking the car in the garage and closing the door, he walked into the dark and quiet house.
Mrs. McCaffrey had long ago gone to bed.
Once again, his long-lost dream of having a family fill the house weighed heavy on his shoulders.
He was in the hallway when the phone rang. He picked up the pace, hurried into his office and answered it on the fourth ring. He hoped not, but there was a chance one of his clients had been at CB’s and needed his services.
“Walter here,” he said into the speaker while still lifting the earpiece to the side of his head.
“It’s Dean Smith.”
Walter sat down, ready to listen to whatever the city council member had to say.
“Mel Cartwright just called me,” Dean said. “He wants me to investigate who called in the raid on his joint tonight.”
Not surprised, Walter asked, “What did you tell him?”
“That I didn’t know anything about a raid on his place, but that I’d look into it tomorrow morning. Mel claims he didn’t know anything about a dope den upstairs, that he doesn’t regulate his renters. He’s also claiming that some waitress from Julia’s Diner was seen making a phone call and he’s pretty convinced she’s the one who called in the bulls.”
Walter’s heart rate increased. The moment he’d recognized Rosie, he’d pulled her aside and told her that she didn’t want to be at the basement tonight and to leave. Smart, Rosie had kept her nose clean since coming to town, knowing if she didn’t, she’d never get ahead. He made a point to breathe normally while speaking into the phone, “Really?”
“Yes,” Dean said. “Mel’s also looking for three of his cigarette girls. The rest are accounted for. He’s mad about those girls missing. He’s already reopened the doors and needs them on the floor.”
Walter’s mind went down another route. “Where does Mel recruit those girls from?” His clients were of a more elite level than those Mel recruited so he truly had no idea how women got trapped into working at CB’s.
“Scouts. He has men who watch for those new to town and offers them jobs, a place to live, clothes, all the things they need. There’s nothing illegal about it.”
Walter’s hackles raised. “Other than they are being scammed. The wages Mel pays them isn’t enough to pay the rent he charges for them to live there.”
“I know, but if we start chasing down every cheat in the city, we won’t have time to take care of any real business.” Dean let out a sigh. “Would you mind following up on that waitress for me? Under the table?”
Nearly everything in Hollywood was under the table, and Walter wondered if he was digging himself a hole by getting involved in all this. He had gotten himself involved—he’d actually initiated it, so he didn’t have much choice. “Sure. I’ll check into it. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You might want to check into it tonight,” Dean said. “Mel asked me to call the precinct and send a car over to the café where that gal works. I’ll try to hold that off until morning, but will have to send cars over then for sure.”
“I’ll go check.” Walter stood. “Right now. There’s no reason to involve anyone else.”
“I agree, but I don’t believe I’m the only person Mel has called tonight.”
“I’ll talk to you later,” Walter said, already lowering the earpiece from the side of his face. Julia had a phone at the diner, so he jiggled the metal hanger until an operator picked up.
“Connect me to Julia’s Diner, please.”
He tapped a toe, and then paced the short distance the cord connected to the bottom of the tall mouthpiece would allow. Come on. Answer.
“No one is answering, sir,” the operator said.
“All right. Thank you.” He set the phone down and hung up the earpiece at the same time, then jogged out of the room. Once in the hallway, he ran. Not only could Julia and Rosie end up in trouble, Blondie would be taken back to CB’s.
He kept an eye out for police cars as he drove to the diner, half expecting them to fly by him at any time. They wouldn’t really fly by the Packard. He had it rolling at top speed.
Julia’s place was across the street from Star’s Studio. Jack McCarney had been a client of his for years. The studio owner was also a good friend. A lot of the girls Julia took in had arrived at her diner looking for Jack, hoping he’d make a star out of them.
Walter pulled the roadster into the driveway to Julia’s home, set back a short distance from the diner, and cut the engine.
Julia, a pretty black-haired woman, walked out of her front door while he was climbing out of his car. They met on the walkway to her house.
“Evening, Walter,” she said. “Rosie said if it had been anyone but you who told her to leave, she would never have called me to come get her.”
“I’m glad she listened,” he said. “A drug den was busted in an apartment above CB’s.”
