Part 15 (1/2)
”The more people in a room talking business, the longer it takes to finish.”
That bordered on the genius. ”Yeah, okay. But have someone tell me when they're done. I want a word with Gordy, too.”
”Sure.”
”Anything new on Hoyle?” ”He ain't left town yet. Donno why.”
”Where is he?”
”Donno that, either. Dropped outta my sight, but some of the other boys have seen him.”
”Doing what?”
He lifted his hands. ”Sayin' good-bye?”
”See if you can find out more. I'm getting so I don't like that guy.”
Strome's face almost twitched, and he moved on toward the back exit, presumably heading for the office to watch for the meeting to break up.
I found a phone and called Crymsyn's lobby to check in.
Instead of Wilton, Bobbi answered. ”You're not backstage?” I asked.
She sounded a little breathless. ”I just came down with the cash tills. Something told me that was your ring. You need to put a phone behind the bar.”
The place already had one official phone in my office; I didn't see why we needed more, but this wasn't the time to discuss it. ”I should be there to help, but I got sidetracked.”
”I know, 'business.' We're fine here, Jack, there's no need to worry. Take a vacation why don't you?”
”At another nightclub?”
”Sure, see different faces for a change. Charles is helping me open, everyone's in on time. We're fine here.”
”Okay.” I tried not to read anything into so much insistence. ”Listen, you remember a mug in Gordy's mob named Hoyle? Used to be a boxer.”
”I know him by sight. What's going on?”
”Just keep an eye out for him if you can. He's got a grudge on for me, and I don't want you or anyone else getting in the middle.”
”How big a grudge?”
”Enough so I'm sending some muscle over to play bouncer in case he shows, but-”
”Jack... ?”
”But-I think I'm overdoing it. Look, I know I've been edgy lately and this will make me feel better. The muscle is only insurance; if they're there, chances are they won't be needed.”
”For this I'll want to know the whole story.”
”Right now?” Not something I wanted to talk about over the phone, especially with Nightcrawler staff within hearing. There were enough rumors about me floating around.
”You kidding? I've got a show to get ready for, you'll tell me later.”
”Deal. And one more thing, totally different subject: you know a torch singer called Jewel Caine?”
”Sure, she's not been around much, though. Used to be good until the booze got to her. Why?”
”She needs a break. I told her to come by to see you tomorrow at three if that's okay. Can you work a short set for her into the show?”
”I think so, but are you sure?”
”She's trying to sober up and needs rent money.”
”Oh, Jack.” Her tone wasn't reproach for being a soft touch, quite the opposite. If Bobbi had been here, she'd have kissed me. I wanted that. Almost. Another part was glad she was miles away. I fought off a s.h.i.+ver inside my coat.
”What about a guy named Alan Caine?”
”That's Jewel's ex-husband. I don't like him, but he can sing. You going to hire him, too? He's trouble.”
”I know. I met him last night, forgot to tell you.”
”How'd you meet him?” ”He's working at Gordy's club.” Though Bobbi usually kept up with who was playing where in Chicago, she'd lately not had much time to read papers or talk with others in the business. My fault.
”Poor Gordy,” she said. ”He's all grabbing hands-Alan Caine, that is. I've done some shows with him way back when. He's one of those jerks who thinks he owns a place, lock, stock, and chorus line. The awful thing is most of them go along with it because he's so handsome.”
”Except you.”
”Back then I was wi... well, never mind.” Slick Morelli. I recognized the avoidance. That mention of him still made her uncomfortable after all this time told me I'd done the right thing not bringing up Mitch.e.l.l's name. ”But even before I wouldn't have gone near Caine. He's a big jacka.s.s, and-did you just laugh?”
I'd not been doing much of it lately. I had to be careful or my face would break. ”Sounded like it. I think you must be psychic, Miss Smythe. I thought the same about him myself. He won't be playing at Crymsyn. He mouthed off to the wrong guy. Jewel seems okay, but she's had it rough from him. She's sober, but kinda fragile.” I should talk.
”I'll look after her, don't worry. We're out of dressing rooms, though.”
Huh? Oh. It took me a second to get it. Roland and Faustine weren't the top billing act-that was Bobbi's spot. But he'd had some minor leading-man work in Hollywood and British stage, and Faustine was a full-blown Russian- trained ballerina. The Depression and life in general had not been kind, but they were still higher up the status ladder than Bobbi. As a diplomatic gesture we a.s.signed them side-by-side dressing rooms one and two. Besides, being a couple, they didn't mind sharing the shower and toilet in between. For some reason I'd not been able to figure out, Faustine's wardrobe filled up the whole s.p.a.ce.
Bobbi had the number three dressing room; Teddy Parris had number four. I suggested b.u.mping him out.
”Jewel deserves a higher number than four.”
”This is nuts, you know.”
”Well, I can't put her in the bas.e.m.e.nt with the musicians.”
Additional downstairs dressing areas had been roughed out months back, but so far there'd been little need to finish things. It resembled a locker room with coat hooks along one wall, a standing mirror, and a couple of long benches. I didn't go down there if I could help it. Some years back someone had died in that bas.e.m.e.nt, and it would take more than a coat of paint and lights to blot out that horror.
”We can rig a curtain across one of the corners...”