Fat City.. Act two... The Living Doll.

August 12th 1940.

The Studebaker Champion slowly rolled to a stop in the driveway of 5516 North Church Rd and Clive Carew got out and began to study the two story Spanish style palace that was the home of Montgomery Spalding, the windows were tall and magnificent and the whole structure looked like something out of a Prestige Republic Studio’s movie. He walked up to the front door and was immediately greeted by two large muscled bound men with guns. To whom he quickly introduced himself.

“I’m Clive Carew, I’m a private investigator, Mr. Spalding is expecting me.”

They led him through the massive double doors of the library where a large barrel chest, white haired gentleman was waiting whom he presumed to be Montgomery Spalding. he was seated behind a large maple desk, and when he saw Clive Carew he rose to his feet and eagerly extended his hand to greet him.

“Mr. Carew, good of you to come, I’m Montgomery Spalding do come in and join me.”

He slowly approached Spalding his eyes suspiciously never leaving the two armed guards until the movie mogul waved them off.

“Please Mr. Carew” he said waving his hand at the chairs in front of the desk. “Do sit down.”

He seated himself in a round back wooden chair directly in front of Montgomery Spalding.

“So Mr. Spalding. What is it exactly that you wanted to see me about?”

“Ahh, right down to business then is it? Well alright Mr. Carew.” he passed a photograph to him from across the desk top. “I’ll be needing you to find her for me. She‘s been missing for almost two weeks now. Recognize her?”

She was quite the dish, young, blond and very beautiful.

“Her name is Annabelle Stanton, a young star on the rise, who is under contract with my studio, she just finished her second picture with us in fact, a film called One For the Road. She was taking a rest and was supposed to be going out to the country to visit her grand parents and now they are telling me that she never showed up. So you see, somewhere between here and there she disappeared. It has been two weeks Mr. Carew, I’ve exhausted every possibility at my disposal to find her and so far no one has seen hide nor hair of her. I will pay you full price to find her plus the thousand in this envelope that you’ve already earned just by showing up. In here is everything that we know of her, her address and her last known whereabouts.” 

He handed him the envelope. Clive Carew took the envelope.

“I’ll see what I can find out Mr. Spalding.”

Everything was telling him that this was just going to be a chase down job and it was a dead end. young beautiful movie starlet wants a little alone time, so she quietly slips away, and winds up reappearing sometime later fresh as a daisy. But as soon as he got to 1721 Filbert St and let himself into her second story apartment, his impression quickly changed. it wasn’t a terribly large place, one bedroom, one bath, a medium sized living room with a galley style kitchen, empty boxes were stacked in the corner of the living room and there were no pictures on the walls to speak of. from the looks of things she was either moving out or had just moved in. and when he’d wandered into the bedroom to where the large brass bed was, it looked as though it had never been slept in. he walked into the bathroom and it was almost a sterile as everything else, a lone hairbrush with long strands of black hair stuck in the bristles was the only thing sitting on the edge of the sink along with a single bar of soap. He walked back out into the bedroom stopping at the vanity next to the bathroom door, there were various other hair brushes and containers of make up and bobby pins and silk hair ribbons. He slid open the top drawer on the right hand side of the vanity and pulled out a little black notebook, inside there was pages full of personal writings along with a few photographs of Annabelle Stanton posing with other people, some of the shots were taken at the back lots of PRS studios, but there was a handful that were taken outside of Vito Mancini’s Coconut Grove nightclub.

In each of these she was posing with two men, one he recognized to be a local crooner who frequented the local nightclub circuit named Eddie Valentine. The other guy he didn’t recognize. He put the photo’s back into the notebook and decided to take it with him. His next logical stop would have to be The Coconut Grove to see if anyone had seen this dish recently, and then from there he would do some snooping around Frankie Finch’s Palace. He walked back downstairs and slid back into the driver’s seat of the Champion and drove four blocks before he turned the Studebaker left on Center St and then headed for Laurel Blvd. in the rear view mirror he could see a Red 36’ Hudson custom eight ragtop, it had been following him since he’d left Annabelle Stanton’s apartment. He pulled over just before he‘d gotten to Laurel blvd and the Hudson sped around him and disappeared down the street, but not before he’d gotten a good look at the woman behind the wheel, she’d had a scarf over her head but he clearly could see long strands of jet black hair. He’d thought that he’d seen this dame before, and he knew just where to find her. Neither the Coconut Grove nor the Palace would be open for another five hours so he decided to head back to the office, he needed to connect a few dots.

He took a shower and changed clothes and then he would mull over the writings and pictures in Annabelle Stanton’s little black book to see if anything jumped out at him, he looked over the pictures of Stanton, Eddie Valentine and the third unknown male several times, something was tugging at him but he couldn’t quite nail it down. Through the white living room curtains he saw the Hudson slowly rolling to a stop across the street, he leaned back in his chair slowly closing the book, his eyes never leaving the voluptuous shapely young women with the jet black hair as she got out of the Hudson and sauntered across street and knocked on his front door. He turned the knob and swung the door open pausing to allow the young lady to introduce herself. she looked at him over the top of the sunglasses pulling them down slowly towards the bridge of her nose, her piercing blues looking up and down his six foot frame. Her full ruby red lips slowly pursed into a seductive smile.

“You’re Clive Carew the private dick?” she asked.

He fought back a smile and slowly nodded.

“My, my, my, but aren’t you the talk dark and handsome one.” 

She slowly reached up and squeezed his thick bicep. 

“ I’m Shelly Dolls, I sing at the Palace, May I come in?”

He slowly stepped aside taking in everything about her as she passed by him. She was about five foot nine inches tall, and had more curves than a racetrack. Ample chest and round hips, this dame had the face of an angel and a body built for sin. She sat down on the sofa and pulled a pack of Chesterfield’s from her purse and asked if he minded if she smoked. He shook his head no.

“ I’m not supposed to smoke, being a singer and all, Frankie says its bad for the pipes, but I only do it when I get nervous.” 

She lit the Chesterfield and looked up at him through the plumes of gray smoke. 

“Monty hired you to look for Annie didn’t he? Because he thinks something may have happened to her. that’s why you were snooping around her apartment isn’t it Mr. Carew?”

He pulled up a chair, turned it with the back facing her and then sat down, resting both of his fore arms on the back of it.

“Now why would you think that Miss Dolls?”

“Its because of them mutts that she’s been hanging around with, I tried to warn her about them Mr. Carew, Annie is my friend, but see? She’s a head strong girl. And she just won’t listen to me. Eddie Valentine is harmless, but those others- I tried to tell her about them mutts being nothing but cheap two bit hoods but she thought she was safe, because of Jimmy being a cop and all.” she told him.

Now he sat up and took notice, leaning forward carefully taking in every word.

“A cop? She’s friends with a cop named Jimmy?” He asked her.

“Friends? hell Mr. Carew her and Jimmy are more than just friends I think she’s sleeping with him.”

He pulled out one of the pictures of Annabelle Stanton, Eddie Valentine and the mystery man, and showed it to her, tapping the mystery man with his forefinger .

“Is that her copper Jimmy?”

She pulled the picture forward and studied it carefully.

“Yeah that’s Jimmy and the guy on the left that’s Eddie Valentine.”

“ Do you know where Jimmy lives Miss Dolls?” He asked her.

“Yeah sorta- well no. I’ve never been there but Jimmy is supposedly flopping at some dive downtown off of Haney St. I think Annie has his address in that little black book of hers that you lifted from her apartment.” She smiled sweetly at him.

“Now how exactly did you know that I lifted a little black book from Annabelle Stanton’s apartment?”

Her beautiful blue eyes were looking right through him.

“Well that’s it right there lying on your coffee table isn’t it Mr. Carew?”

He didn’t answer, he leaned forward picking up the book.

“Jimmy Royals, it would be under “J” for Jimmy, not “R” for Royals.” she told him.

Together, they thumbed through the pages of the little black book until they found Jimmy Royals address. 1446 Haney St, Apt 6 B. he closed the book and looked at her.

“I should probably go pay Jimmy Royals a visit.” he paused to look at her. “Thank you for your help Miss Dolls.”

They both rose to their feet and headed for the door. Clive Carew locked it once they were both outside. She turned to face him. Her hand was fully extended.

“Well. good luck finding Jimmy Mr. Carew.”

It wasn’t until she was halfway down the front steps and almost to the sidewalk that an odd feeling struck him.

“Miss Dolls?”

She stopped and turned around to face him. Holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun.

“Yeah?”

“What did you mean by good luck finding Jimmy?” he slowly moved down the steps towards her.

“Well Jimmy ain’t been around in awhile.”

He stopped in front of her looking her right in the eyes.

“How long has it been since anyone has seen him?” he asked.

“Well- come to think of it, I think that Jimmy and Eddie Valentine both took a powder right around the same time that Annie did.

”

Suddenly Clive Carew could feel a knot forming in his abdomen.

~Scratch A.B.T, Copyright © 2009~

Fat City.. Act One.. The Puzzling Policemen

August 11th 1940.

The first time he saw them roll around the corner onto Jefferson St from Laurel Blvd, he didn’t catch the make of the vehicle, but when they drove up the second time he saw that it was a black 36’ LaSalle. Two thug like mutts were inside and when it pulled to the curb, the one on the passenger side rolled down the window and motioned for him to walk over. He slid his right hand under the raincoat and checked for the snub-nosed .38 revolver as he slowly moved towards the LaSalle. The Passenger, he looked kinda small, thin, frail framed, round wire brimmed reading glasses, thinning gray hair, on closer inspection he looked more like a librarian than a hood.

He listened closely against the sound of raindrops bouncing off of the top of the car, He slowly leaned down.

“ Are you Clive Carew the Private Investigator?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

The small, frail looking man extended his right hand, he offered a black and orange business card between his thumb and forefinger.

“ Come to this address, tomorrow morning at 10:00 am, there is someone that would like to meet you.”

He took the card without looking at it.

“Just like that, huh?”

“Yes Mr. Carew, just like that, they are going to pay you a cool one thousand dollars just to show up and listen for ten minutes.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. Don’t be late.” Mr. Spalding wouldn’t appreciate it.”

As the LaSalle pulled back onto Laurel Blvd, he turned up the collar of the raincoat and then looked down at the card before stuffing it into his coat pocket; Prestige Republic Studios: Montgomery Spalding, President. 5516 North Church Rd. he walked in the rain for another block and a half before reaching his Studebaker Champion. He slid into the driver's seat and placed the key into the ignition and gave it a turn, during the whole drive down the ten-mile length of Laurel Blvd he never once gave a second thought to the reason why the president of Prestige Republic Studios would want to talk to him. He pulled into the driveway of the white two-story building that acted as his office and home. He turned off the engine and behind him in the distance he could hear the wailing of police sirens down the rain drenched blvd.

He leaned back in the seat and pulled the card from his coat pocket. Montgomery Spalding, big living, mansions, fancy cars, babes and money. This cat was loaded, so what would cause him such concern that he would require the services of a private dick? The sirens slowly faded away into the rainy night, and Clive Carew got out of the Champion and headed for the front door. He checked the mail slot for messages, there were four pieces of paper, two were from bill collectors, one was from his sister in New Haven and the fourth was written on police stationary from the 8th precinct off of Madison and Chapel streets. He recognized the handwriting to be that of Captain Chet Belleville the note read: “Clive, I need to talk to you as soon as possible, come to the Night Owl Diner on Baker Street tonight at 9:00 pm. Come alone.” it was signed, Chet. He pulled the pocket watch from his trouser pocket. It was only 8:45 pm. Baker street was only four miles away, if he hurried he could still make it.

He pulled up in front of the dingy dive called the Night Owl diner at exactly five minutes before nine pm, through the smoke stained front window he could see the form of Police Captain Chet Belleville sitting in a window booth. Clive Carew entered the diner and motioned to the hostess that the Captain was waiting for him, and she gave him a slight silent nod as she hurried to get coffee from behind the powder blue counter top, her heels clicking across the black and white tiled floors as she hurried along. He slid into the seat directly across from Chet Belleville, who looked up at him nervously.

“Clive! Thank you for coming!” he extended his hand to Clive Carew.

“Chet anything for a friend. So what can I do for you.?”

He sat there for a time, his deep hazel eyes silently staring down at the cold plate of food in front of him, his finger s slowly running through his thinning black hair.

Carew could sense that something was terribly wrong with his longtime friend.

“You know Clive, next month, it’ll be twenty-five years that I’ve spent on this force, from working the streets, four years on vice, twenty-five long years, of doing the right thing, treating people fairly, by the law, doing right by my fellow cops. Working my way up the ladder, doing things by the book. Clive, I have to tell you, I have a real problem on my hands.” he looked at him from across the table.

“Chet.” Clive Carew leaned forward, now looking his friend in the eye. “Tell me a story.”

“Clive.” Chet Belleville’s voice fell into a slight whisper . “ I can’t prove it yet, but my gut tells me that I’ve got some dirty cops in my station. I can’t prove who they are yet, Clive, I need you to do something for me.” his eyes nervously shot back in the direction of the waitress.

“Wait.. Chet. Why do you think you have dirty cops in your station? Start at the beginning.”

The waitress brought them fresh coffee and asked Clive Carew if he wanted anything, which he declined, she walked away, and he leaned back into the conversation. His eyes never leaving Chet Belleville.

“It happened about five months ago. We got a call about an incident out on Plank Road down by the lake. There were shots fired, we were told. We took four squad cars to the site, it was just after seven pm when we got there, three of our boys were already on site. There were two cars all shot up, in a field off to the side of the road, a 38 Packard, and a Plymouth I think it was. Two cars, six bodies, our three boys arrived after the fact, the shooters were long gone. When I arrived, the doors and the trunk lids of both cars were all open. And the six bodies were all still in the cars, both of the trunks were empty and when we searched we couldn’t find any weapons, no weapons, no nothing. Two of the stiff’s in the Packard I recognized, they were two of Frankie Finch’s boys. Well, to make a long story short, I’ve been re-reading through all the reports from that night, and something doesn’t add up."

Clive Carew listened intently as Chet Belleville related the rest of the tale to him.

"Plank Road is six miles outside the city limits, now one of our boys wrote in their report that they didn’t see any other vehicles coming out of Plank rd when they got the call and went to investigate, and another report says that there were three sets of headlights when they were first approaching the scene. The Packard, the Plymouth and the vehicle belonging to the shooters. so I went back to re-read the first report to make sure I got my story straight, and lo and behold, the first report was missing from the jacket. So I go back out to the scene and accounted for every tire track going in and coming out they were all still there in plain sight, I accounted for six squad cars total, and the Packard and the Plymouth, but there were no other tire tracks on the scene to suggest that there was another vehicle. So either the shooters were on foot or somebody is lying about what really happened. and they tried to cover it up by destroying the original report. For the past five months, Clive, I’ve been silently digging through all of this, and I’m getting nowhere fast.”

He stopped to study the demeanor of Clive Carew before passing him a plain brown manila envelope. Clive looked down at it and then back up at Chet Belleville, who was leaning forward now.

“Clive, this is where I need your help, these are two pictures of the hoods that worked for Frankie Finch down at The Palace. Now everybody knows that Frankie Finch isn’t legit, and he has mob connections all over the place, and I can’t be seen poking around down there, everybody knows me, they know I’m a cop, and they’ll never talk, not with me around. But maybe you, Clive, they may spill their guts to you. I need you to go poking around the Palace and see what you can dig up on these two mugs. Maybe if you can find out what was in the trunks of those two cars, I can figure this whole thing out.”

Clive Carew lit a cigarette and sat back in his seat as he opened the envelope. slowly he removed the photographs and began to study them. He tapped his forefinger across the face of one of the photos.

“Seen him before. I think his name is Bobby Wheeling, two bit hood that hangs around the Coconut Grove sometimes, seen him talking to some of Vito Mancini’s boys.” Clive told him.

“Friends maybe?”

“No, based on first impression’s the encounters that I witnessed were all business. that’s the way it looked from where I was sitting.”

Now both men leaned back in their seats, more puzzled than ever. Clive Carew shot a suspicious glance at Chet Belleville.

“At a glance, do you want to know what I think, Chet?”

“Oh do indulge me m’boy.” He answered.

“Vito Mancini and Frankie Finch are rivals, but maybe some of their boys were doing business together on the side, and maybe some of YOUR boys walked in on them while they were doing that business, and maybe they decided to do a little business of their own.”

Chet Belleville was staring at him.

“Clive, my friend , that is exactly what I need to find out.”

“I’ll see what I can find out tomorrow after my meeting with Montgomery Spalding. Down at PRS .”

Chet’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Montgomery Spalding, the movie mogul?”

“Yeah, he’s giving me a cool grand just to show up and hear what he has to say.”

Chet Belleville paid for his coffee and for the cold, uneaten meal, and both men left the diner for greener pastures. Clive Carew’s life was about to get interesting.

~Scratch A.B.T copyright © 2009~