you get me the address?”
“But she’s been gone so long. She sang at Keller’s after she graduated—Keller’s Hofbrau, down on Broadway,” she added, when she saw the gleam in my eye. “Now, what happened to her?”
“A man in Seattle left $10,000 to someone named Margaret Bleeker. We’re just running down a lead.”
Her long face grew longer, and the eyes grayer. “Ohhhh,” she said hoarsely. She turned and ran back into the building.
* * * *
IT WAS raining when I got back to the Willamette Hotel on Fourth Street. I went up to my room and decided to put off going to Keller’s Hofbrau until later in the evening—it sounded like that kind of a place. I undressed and hung my coat and pants up to dry and lay on the bed and watched the wet unwholesome twilight creep into the room and huddle in the dark corner.
After a while I got up and turned on the lights and called the bell captain.
“I’d like to ease the inner writhing a bit,” I said. “Where can I get something to eat?”
“Huh?”
“Something to take the sting out of living. You know, whiskey, champagne, buttermilk laced with gasoline—whatever you can get me.”
“Oh. Oh yeah. We got state control here y’know. It’ll cost ya extra.”
“See if you can find some ice and soda to go with it.”
It came up five minutes later on a covered tray carried by a pale little man with brown welts under his eyes and a skin like a filefish. He set it down on the dresser, handed me a bill, and silently disapproved of the color of my shorts. He took his money, pocketed a dollar tip, gave me an obscene smile, and went out. It was good bond bourbon and I made a tall one and took it into the bathroom with me and crawled into a hot tub.
The drink was gone and I was rubbing myself down and wondering if I needed a shave. Through the bathroom door I heard another door open, and then close. I didn’t hear anything else. I put the shorts on and opened the bathroom door.
She was standing uncertainly in the middle of the room, a damp chubby across one arm, and a blue silk dress doing a nice job of covering but not concealing her round little body. The dress was too short, the heels too high, the legs too white and shaven. She had a wide smile that almost swallowed up her face, and her hair was like autumn corn silk after a rain. She looked about sixteen.
“Oh, there you are,” she said politely.
I didn’t say anything.
“Where ja get the nice tan?”
I said: “Baby, there’s been a mistake. I didn’t send for anybody.”
The smile faded and her face reddened just a little. “You didn’t? The bell cap…”
“He jumped at conclusions.”
“Oh,” weakly.
“Sorry. It’s just that I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me.” I pointed to the dresser. “There’s some makings over there, help yourself.” I climbed into my trousers and picked up a clean shirt.
“I don’t drink,” she said primly. “Thanks, anyhow.” She went to the door.
I said: “Maybe you can tell me how to get to Keller’s Hofbrau?”
She turned and cocked her head at me. “What would you be doing there?”
“It’s a club, isn’t it?”
She gigled. “It’s more a ladies’ tea room than anything. I think it used to be a club, long time ago when Keller owned it.”
I buttoned the shirt. “And Keller and the old management are all cleared out, huh?”
She came back into the room and leaned against the dresser. “If it’s a club you’re looking for, Keller is still your man. But his place is kinda hard to get into—it’s illegal you know, and they’re a little skittish right now.” She watched me tie my tie and waited for me to make an offer. I didn’t make one.
She said: “I might be able to get you in, though. I got a friend works there. He’d fix it.”
I grinned at her and took out a ten spot and held it in front of me. “How does it work?”
“You just go in the reg’lar way and tell the jerk at the desk you’re a friend of George’s. I’ll call ’m up.” She took the ten and told me how to get there and how to go in. She went back to the door and opened it and turned around and said:
“Thanks for telling me you had work to do.” She went out and shut the door.
* * * *
THE building was a huge opaque square against the transluscent blue of the night sky. The rain had let up, and there was nothing here but wet darkness and the thick chemical smell of the river. A car came up the long narrow street and lit the face of the building faintly, and I could read the legend across it: “Rudy Milbrunner, Warehouse and Storage.” The car turned into a hole.
I walked down the ramp and came out in a dim-lit concrete basement with a few cars parked in neat rows, and white-marked spaces for a few hundred more. To the right there was an open freight elevator, and by the elevator a desk. The desk had a lot of stuff on it that looked like freight receipts and invoices, and there was a man sitting behind it with a greasy hat on his head looking like a warehouse foreman. He watched me sharply as I walked toward him.
I said: “I’m a friend of George’s.”
“Where’s your transportation?”
“I came in a taxi.”
“Friend of George’s, huh?” He ran suddenly drowsy eyes over my face and picked up the phone. He looked at me some more. He could hardly keep awake. The eyes stayed on my face like two dull and rusty gimlets. He put the phone back on its cradle without calling anybody.
“Okay. Go ahead,” he said without moving his lips.
There was an old man in the elevator, sitting on a beer barrel reading a Western magazine. We went up two floors and stopped. Double doors of frosted glass slid back and I stepped out. The old man mumbled, “Scares ya half ta death, don’t he?” I turned and grinned at him. He winked faintly, closed the doors, and went back down for another load.
* * * *
THE lobby looked like Los Angeles’ Sunset Strip of ten years ago. It was bright, walled in glass brick, and the floors were covered from wall to wall with a heavy sea-foam carpeting. The lighting was indirect except for a colored spot that picked up a uniformed hat check girl and made her look like something you’d like to send the boys for Christmas. She took my hat and coat and was so nice about it I wanted to tell her she could keep them.
The first room off the lobby was for dining and dancing. It wasn’t crowded yet, and empty linen-covered tables were spaced nicely in three tiers around the floor. The walls were glass with
