Finish the Hardboiled Detective story: "A Beautiful Corpse"

Cafe Society
21

A soft clap of thunder came echoed through downtown as we strolled the few blocks to my car. “So much for having the top down,” said Linda as she helped me put it up. Struggling with my side as usual, I simply grunted in agreement. We had only gone a few blocks when Linda got my attention again. “Joe? I think we picked up a tail.”

“More fuzz?”

“Don’t think so. Not in a Packard.” I glanced in my mirror and saw the headlights of a blue ’34 Packard staring back at me. “Could be trouble.”

“I have an idea; grab hold of something.” My words were practically drowned out by more thunder. I spun the wheel, made a hard left onto Lynn Street and nearly slid into a lamppost. The Packard waited for another break in traffic then followed. I turned again, keeping the big car from having enough room to let the horses out of its 12 cylinder. “If we can just keep ahead of them, we can make the garage at the Southern District Mercantile Bank. I just hope they haven’t fixed the lights in that one corner.”

22

This wasn’t the first time I’d had to shake a tail. Linda held on tight, and after a few more twists and turns we pulled into an alley and behind a row of stores. The Packard flew on by.

I waited a few minutes, then backed up and headed back into the street.

“Wells’ office is right down there,” Linda pointed. “We might as well stop there first, then we go on to Abbot’s.”

Linda did have a good point, and with any luck, we might be able to find something that would be useful in our talk with Abbot. I pulled into a parking garage. I didn’t want to risk the Packard stumbling on us again.

The rain had let up enough that we didn’t get too wet on the short walk to the sawbone’s office. Like I expected, it was closed for Sunday, but a quick look around wouldn’t hurt.

Linda was peeking in one of the windows when she gasped.

“What is it?” I said.

“Look,” she replied. I glanced through the glass.

“Hmmm,” I said. “That makes things interesting.”

“Like they weren’t before?” Linda snapped. She headed over to a nearby payphone to call the fuzz.

23

“Wait just a sec, honey,” I said, holding up my hand.

She came right back, bless her. “Are you thinking of…?”

“You guessed it. The cops can wait.” I pulled on my gloves, noticing that Linda was already wearing hers. I led her inside the Kearsarge Building lobby, onto which a number of offices - Dr. Wells’s among them - opened. Nice place, with polished brass and an immaculate tile floor. It was deserted, but Linda kept a sharp eye out while I jimmied the lock to Wells’s door. Once I opened it, we went in together, locking the door behind us.

The office suite included a waiting room, two examination chambers, and some other rooms. All very quiet and dignified; Wells had a clientele which could afford to pay for it. We went straight into what must have been his personal office, filled with diplomas, certificates, and framed photographs of him and his most famous and well-connected patients.

As we’d seen from outside on the sidewalk, though, Wells was beyond caring about such things. His lifeless body was sprawled face-up in the middle of the plush Turkish rug, a neat little hole in the middle of his forehead. The back of his head was not quite so tidy.

“Someone’s gonna have a hell of a time getting that blood stain out of the rug,” I opined.

“That’s not funny,” Linda said, scowling. She was being careful not to look at the corpse, so I did what I had to do. In the pockets of the suit I found a billfold with over $200 in it - making robbery seem an unlikely motive - and business cards bearing Dr. Wells’s name and address, as well as a State Medical Board card, also for Wells. I left everything just as I found it.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” I asked, standing.

Linda nodded. His face certainly matched those on all of those photos, icons of an ego and a life now ended. I went over to the desk. The drawers were all pulled out and clearly had been rifled. Quickly, though, and sloppily. Not a pro, was my guess. Maybe they missed something, so I began looking through it all. I kind of doubted I’d find a note signed by Dr. Benjamin Abbott bragging “I did it,” but I wondered what else I might find.

24

I didn’t find anything but Linda did. “Hey,” she called.

“What?” I asked, turning toward her.

She tossed me a prescription pad. “Looks like someone was trying to hide what had been written here.”

Sure enough, the top few pages were missing but what was left still had an imprint of something. I grabbed a pencil from the desk and ran it over the pad, trying to make it spill its secrets. I got a partial phone number and an address: 707 Eisenhower Avenue, the warehouse for Brooks Musical Instruments. Everything above the phone number was too faint.

25

“See anything else?” I asked. “We have to call the cops.”

“Other than the fact that he must have known who killed him,” Linda said. “Remember, you had to jimmy the lock? He must have let someone in.”

“What was he doing here on a Sunday?”

“I think we should check the hospital,” Linda said. “My guess is there’s some lady in labor, waiting for her doctor to arrive.”

I shook my head. “He’s used to being on call 24 hours a day,” I mused. “He would have his instruments and bag with him. No…he was meeting someone…someone outside office hours.”

“You’re probably right,” Linda said. “He was meeting someone, that someone killed him, then rifled his drawers.”

We jumped as a sudden rapping came at the office door. A feminine voice called, “Dr. Wells? Dr. Wells!” More rapping, then my knees unlocked as I heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in a lock.

26

We hurriedly put everything back the way it was, or at least as close as we could get with such little time. The page with the address went in my pocket. Then I tried the window and we got a break—it opened! I mouthed “ladies first” at Linda, motioning her through. She gave me a playful slap as she slipped through, with me right behind while the voice was still calling for the doc. Going out that way wasn’t as easy for me; Linda saw I was having trouble and pulled my feet. I finally got my head out just as someone entered the doc’s personal office. I saw Linda’s eyes go wide just as she dropped my feet, then she ducked down. I rolled over in the wet grass, got up on one knee, peered through the window myself, then ducked down with Linda. “What the devil?” I said to nobody in particular.

27

“That can’t be…” Linda whispered.

I stood up and peeked into the window again. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. I didn’t think the booze was affecting them, but the view hadn’t changed.

Violet Collins was staring at the dead body of Dr. Wells, her jaw dropping. I saw her chest heaving as she drew in enough breath to scream, and that’s when I grabbed Linda and we ran for it.

28

We kept running until we got to the garage. “Now what?” panted Linda; I held up the partial number and smiled. “Oh, no, not him again!”

I nodded. “”Fraid so. Marvin’s the only one we know who can make sense out of this. Besides, he’ll do anything for you.”

“I know. That’s why we broke up.” Linda paused, sighed, then said, “We really need to find a new friend inside the phone company.” After another pause, she jerked her thumb back toward the medical building. “What about her?”

“When we’re done with Marvin, we can track down Bruiser. He’ll probably be at Lou’s—you know, I still haven’t figured out why he owns a place with someone else’s name.”

29

The rain had stopped, fortunately, and the heat had broken a little.

I found a payphone, called ahead and asked to meet Marvin - that would be H. Marvin Blenkinsop - in ten minutes at a greasy spoon near the Adams City Central Telephone Exchange, where he worked as a shift supervisor. He quickly agreed. I could tell Linda was not exactly enthused by the idea, but she also knew that Marvin would be more helpful if she were there. The poor schlub still carried a torch for her, and who could blame him?

We got back in my jalopy. As I started it up again - it took a few turns of the key - I asked, “Were my eyes fooling me, or was that really Violet Collins back there in Dr. Wells’s office?”

“It sure looked like her,” Linda said.

“But she’s supposed to be dead.”

She looked at me. “So I’d heard.”

“The body down at the docks had been shot in the face.”

“That’s what you said.”

Linda hadn’t seen everything; she was a little squeamish, even now. I pretended to ponder. “Could be the ol’ switcheroo. You think the cops are trying to put one over on us?”

“Why would they? Det. Faraday doesn’t strike me as that type. Maybe they just misidentified her, whoever it was. Shot in the face, you know? That doesn’t leave the M.E. much to work with.”

I played along. “But Bruiser saw her, didn’t he? The corpse, I mean.”

“Well, I assume he did, before we got there.” She looked thoughtful. “But maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just took Faraday’s word for it.”

I shook my head. “That ain’t Bruiser’s style. Not where Herman Strauss is concerned. He’d make sure - very sure.”

I pulled into a parking space outside of the Dinsley Diner, and we went in to find Marvin waiting for us.

30

Marvin smiled radiantly as Linda and I walked in, and Linda sighed and gave him a friendly smile. She sat across from him at the table so he could gaze upon her lovely face. I knew this was going to cost me later, either a day off in the middle of the week or an extra few bucks in her paycheck.

Marvin was a short, fat, balding man, but a whiz with the phone lines. Adams City had never suffered phone outages since he became shift supervisor three years ago.

“Pie, please,” I told the waitress, “three slices of whatever’s freshest.” The waitress snapped her gum and sauntered off.

“How can I help you, Joe,” Marvin asked, staring moon-eyed at Linda. “Is it a murder again?”

“Can’t talk about it, Marvin,” Linda replied, and I swear, the man shivered. In July. Good God Almighty. “We just need some help in tracking down a phone number.”

“Anything, Linda—I mean Joe,” Marvin stammered. I handed him the slip of paper and he put on his horn rims and peered at it.

“I’ll have to check this at work,” Marvin said. “Can I call you later?”

The waitress put three plates of blueberry pie in front of us. “Anything else?” she asked.

“Just the check,” Linda said. Marvin’s face fell like a rock. “We have to eat and run.” She began chowing down on the blueberry pie, giving me a look. I got the message and began shoveling food myself.

“But you just got here,” Marvin said. “I thought we’d have a chance to catch up.”

“Love to, Marvin,” I said. “But we got something cooking and we don’t want it to boil over—” my jaw dropped. Violet Collins had just walked in the diner. A blueberry fell into my lap.

Linda saw me staring and turned around. The lady was standing by the register. Dinsley came out. “Help you, ma’am?” he asked, wiping his hands on a towel.

“I’m looking for my twin sister,” she said. “I just came from her apartment and I saw one of your menus in her kitchen. Maybe you know her?”

Linda and I dropped our forks. Marvin looked up in surprise, then sighed as I threw the money for the pies on the table. “Please, call me as soon as you can,” I said. Linda pushed back from the table and grabbed the woman’s arm.

“Was your sister Violet Collins?” she asked. The woman looked down at Linda’s hand on her arm and nodded.

Dammit, Linda, I thought. That’s not the way to do it. Dinsley guffawed. “Violet Collins? I knew her. She’d come in every Saturday for breakfast, and at least once a week for dinner. Haven’t seen her around lately, though. She okay?”

“Call me,” I hissed at Marvin, then I hurried up to the register. Linda was a bright lady, but sometimes her mouth did run away with her, and I didn’t want to tell this lady her sister was murdered in the middle of a diner.

31

I flashed my P.I. badge, introduced myself and Linda, and faked the sincerest smile I could. “Would you step outside and have a word with us, ma’am?”

With some obvious reluctance but an encouraging nod from Dinsley, who knew me well, the lady went with us. We found a bench in the small park across the street. It was deserted otherwise. Linda and she sat down together, while I jammed my hands in my pants and said, “I didn’t catch your name, Miss…?”

“I didn’t throw it. And it’s Mrs. Henry Wolfe. My name is Rose.”

“Your parents must’ve liked flowers,” Linda said.

Rose had nice dimples. Down, boy. “Yes, they did. I also have a sister named Lily, and another named Daisy.”

“You were just asking in there, in the diner, about your sister Violet?”

“Yes, I haven’t seen her since Wednesday, and she hasn’t called me in all that time either, which is unusual for her. We’re not just sisters, we’re best friends, and I’m worried about her.”

“Where did you last see her?” It occurred to me that Mrs. Wolfe didn’t seem terribly upset for having found Dr. Wells’s corpse less than half an hour before.

“At the Owl Club,” she replied. “She works there. I returned a fancy purse I’d borrowed from her, and we met there just before it opened for the night. What’s your business with her, if I may ask?”

“Um, the police have a case that I’m helping them with.”

“My goodness! I hope she’s not in any trouble?” Her concern seemed genuine, but I’ve seen plenty of dames who could give Bette Davis a run for her money.

I cleared my throat. “Mrs. Wolfe, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but the police seem to think that your sister was killed…” I realized that Faraday had never told me exactly when the body was found, or when he figured she was killed. “…in the last day or so. Miss St. James and I are helping with the homicide investigation.”

All of the color drained out of Rose’s - Mrs. Wolfe’s - face, and before I knew what was happening, it was lights out, boom, she fainted.

Linda caught her before she fell to the ground, and shot a glare at me. “Nice going, Einstein.”

I protested, “Hey, I broke it to her as gently as I could!”

In the distance I heard a police siren.

32

As most faints go, it was fairly normal…Mrs. Wolfe’s eyes were fluttering and she was awake almost immediately. She sat up and shook her head.

“What happened to her?” she asked, digging in her purse for a handkerchief. Linda and I filled her in as best we could, then, acting on a hunch, I lowered the boom.

“Do you know Dr. Wells?”

Mrs. Wolfe dabbed her eyes and sniffed. “No, not personally. I stopped by Vi’s apartment and it looked like she hadn’t been there for a few days. I found a business card from Dr. Wells’ office, a menu from that diner, a couple of other things. I figured I’d use those to track her down.”

“Did you speak to Dr. Wells?”

Rose lowered her handkerchief and gave me a sharp look. I felt like a bug right before the hausfrau swats it.

“No, I didn’t. He was dead. I called the police and left…my concern is Vi.”

“How did you get into Dr. Wells’ office?” Linda asked. Good girl, I thought. I was wondering where the lady got the key.

“It was next to his business card in Vi’s apartment. I figured maybe she was moonlighting for him.”

The fuzz roared by, presumably on the way to the Doc’s office. “Where is Vi now?” Rose asked.

“She’s in the morgue,” Linda answered, standing up. “We’ll take you there.”

“Hold on a sec,” I said. “Linda, can I talk to you?” I pulled her a few feet away from Rose, who sighed heavily and began silently crying again.

“We were shocked to see her,” I whispered. “How do you think other people might react, if they saw her?”

“You’re joking,” Linda shot back. “Her sister was murdered. Do you want the murderer thinking he has to finish the job?”

“It’s a risk…” I mused. “But still…”

33

We took her home to change into a black dress and to get a veil. After a visit to the City Morgue, during which Mrs. Wolfe identified her sister on the slab, I took both Linda and Mrs. Wolfe out to dinner at Gascoigne’s. Ordinarily it’s a pricey eatery, but I’d done some discreet work for the owner the year before and my money was no good there. We took a corner booth and I kept half an eye on the crowd. Hard to know where the next threat might come from.

The lady’s husband was out of town and it was obvious she wanted some company. She told us a lot about her idyllic childhood with Violet and her other sisters. She cried a lot and probably drank too much, but seemed like she was able to hold it together.

I explained my plan to her and she agreed, a little reluctantly but with a kind of determined look that I found very appealing. She knew the risks that she was taking on her shoulders but seemed OK with it. Linda looked very doubtful but held her peace.

After her third martini, Rose Wolfe asked me, “Do you think I should go see the police and talk to them about finding Dr. Wells’s body?”

I carefully didn’t look at Linda. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. They’ll figure things out for themselves, and there’s no reason to put yourself under suspicion.”

Mrs. Wolfe nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

I looked at my watch. “And besides, I’d say it’s time we paid a visit to the Owl Club.”

Herman Strauss awaited, and we had business to attend to.

34

We got to the Owl Club with no problem. The joint was really jumping that night; new posters near the doors proclaimed Direct from New York’s famous Rainbow Room: Al Bowlly! I chucked a thumb at one sign. “Never heard of him. You?”

“I think he did that ‘Midnight’ song a couple years back.”

35

Mickey was back on duty and led us to a private booth off to the side. Bruiser, already half lit, was pretending to enjoy Al sing “Basin Street Blues”. I could tell it was an act — he had a bad case of the Heebie-Jeebies.

“Don’t blow your wig”, I rasped under my breath, as the Janes slid off to powder their noses. “That’s Mrs. Rose Wolfe, Violet Collins’ sister with Linda.”

“Strauss wants to see ya!” he hissed, as Mickey sidled up to take our orders.

I shrugged", it’s his nickle, “but I’m gonna need some Jack to go on with this.”

The band had begun “My Melancholy Baby”. The dames got back to the table just as our drinks did.

“Mr Strauss is in the office.” Mickey intoned, as he set down my Rye.

I knocked back my shot, and saw Linda give me the high sign.

Bruiser got up. “Leave us go see the big man” he said.

“As Long As I Live” was starting to play, and I winked at him, “I’ll meet you in a bit,” I kidded him, " but first, Linda needs a dancing lesson."

I took her hand and we left the table. As we began to step to the music, I whispered “What’s up, dollface?”

My stride didn’t break as her words sank home - I wasn’t a hard-boiled gumshoe for nothing.

“That’s not Rose, it’s Violet!” she exclaimed, under her breath.

36

I swept Linda around the floor in time to the music, aiming for the other side and the door to Strauss’ office. I wasn’t sure yet if Bruiser should be part of the meeting. Up on the stage, the man from New York was crooning promises to some dame who hadn’t messed around with the milkman yet and driven him to the bottom of a bottle of rye.

“How do you figure we’ve got the wrong sister?”

Linda canoodled up to me, pressing her cheek against my shoulder. There were advantages to having a girl Friday who understood the need for privacy in public. And I didn’t care what she did with the milkman or the mailman. With the band and in such close quarters, the only ones who could hear our conversation were us.

“I don’t know many women who have their own names tattooed in a heart with ‘sisters forever’ under it on their left . . .” Linda didn’t finish the sentence. From her voice, I could tell her lips were pressed tighter together than a bookie’s wad of cash.

“Her left what?”

“Her left breast, Joe!” she hissed, raising her head from shoulder. “I can’t believe we thought, I mean, what kind of woman—“

I pressed her head back down to shut her up. If I was going to have a woman yell at me, I wanted it to be about something worthwhile, like smelling like some other skirt’s perfume. A quick glance around the dance floor showed that the other hoofers were still lost in the charms of their respective partners.

“There’s no telling with dames, Linda. Now, how’d you manage to see that? I thought when you ladies took a powder, it meant your noses.”

Linda snorted, telling me better than words her annoyance was passing. “She took off her jacket when we were in the can and her dress strap fell off her shoulder. She pulled it up toot sweet, but I saw the ink.”

Bowlly was showboating his way through the song, making promises now that no man could keep. Diamonds? Hell, I hadn’t even wanted to buy my ex-wife flowers towards the end.

“So she wasn’t wearing anything under—“

“Mr. Maynard, please keep your mind on the subject here.” Her voice was chillier than a penguin’s hinder. “And then her pocketbook fell off the counter and her wallet tumbled out. Violets all over it and a big fat ‘VC’ embroidered on the front. She rambled off some story about it being a gift from her sister, but it was all applesauce.”

If this stew got any thicker, we’d be able to stick a spoon in it and sail across the bay in the pot.

We danced our way across the floor, myself thinking hard about the new dirt Linda had stumbled onto. Maybe Bruiser ought to sit in on the meeting, just in case we needed him to subdue the hothouse flower in black. It was true there was no telling with dames, but I still couldn’t believe the mixed-up skirt thought she needed to pull a caper like this one. With a face like that and a few tears, she could trick some rich sap into giving her an everlasting gravy train, even he hadn’t put the bun in her oven. The mashed potatoes, too, if she cried enough.

Now, Miss St. James here wasn’t going to lead any man to the bank by looks alone, but she was honest and had a smart mouth. I couldn’t be the only sad sack out there who liked that in a woman. She could fill out a blouse and had great gams, too, and that never hurt. I snuggled her up a little tighter against me, figuring only a fool wouldn’t take the opportunity.

Maybe I cared what she did with the milkman after all.

“Joe?” As the song ended, Linda smiled sweetly and stepped on my instep with the grace of a cat and the weight of a man called Tiny. “The bank’s closed. Hands off.”

She turned away from me and clapped for the band, leaving me to nurse my wounds on my lonesome.

37

Mickey stepped into the spotlight and touched my elbow. He looked serious. “Mr. Strauss will see you now. This way, please.”

What could I do? I followed him upstairs. Mickey shook his head at Bruiser and Linda when they began to follow me. I lost sight of Mrs. Wolfe - if it really was her - somewhere in the crowd. The band swung into “The Adams City Blues.” Not one of my favorite tunes, but part of me would just as soon have stayed to dance a little more.

Upstairs, Mickey and I passed through a hallway, then into a small outer office. The music was very faint downstairs; good soundproofing. Two guys much bigger than Mickey frisked me, relieving me of my faithful Bledsoe .38 revolver and my P.I. badge. “I’m gonna get those back, right?” I asked, only half-joking.

Mickey said, “Keep your pants on. It’s standard procedure.” I noticed that he hadn’t really answered my question. The thugs said nothing, but didn’t look exactly delighted to see me.

Mickey showed me through a heavy oak door into Strauss’s sanctum sanctorum, also panelled in oak, lined with expensive-looking, leatherbound books and hung with English fox-hunting scenes. Despite his roots in Adams City’s rough Dover Heights neighborhood, Strauss was a real Anglophile, I’d heard. I wondered idly if he’d ever been aboard the RMS James Thompson.

A single Art Deco light on the crime boss’s massive desk provided the room’s sole illumination. Strauss gestured to an overstuffed armchair in front of the desk. “Sit down, Mr. Maynard, if you please,” he wheezed. Looked like he’d gained another 20 pounds since I last saw him. The guy had a big appetite for grub, as well as for broads and power. Not that his long-suffering wife felt it either wise or safe to complain, I surmised. “I think you know my son, David?”

I nodded at the younger Strauss, almost hidden in the shadows. His cigarette glowed briefly red and he blew smoke towards the ceiling.

“Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure,” I replied, nodding towards the no-goodnik cretin. “But I certainly know of him. And of a lady formerly of his acquaintance, the late Miss Violet Collins.” If she really is late, I thought.

“You come right to the point, I see,” Strauss said, leaning forward, a certain eagerness in his piggy little eyes. “Good, good. She used to work here, you know. Charming girl. David and I have… discussed her already. A shame, a real shame. Now, what do you have to tell me?”

“That depends,” I said, helping myself to a cigar from the humidore on the desk. “What’s it worth to you?”

Strauss’s eyes narrowed. He leaned his massive bulk back in his chair, then made a slight gesture. Mickey leaned in to light my cigar.

38

I drew in a drag and exhaled, slowly. I had the upper hand, but Strauss was no man to mess around with.

I waited patiently. David fidgeted a bit. Strass looked at me impassively, then sighed.

“Mr. Maynard, I have great respect for you. This matter of Miss Collins is most distressing, both to me and my son. We mourn her greatly.”

I nodded, enjoying the cigar. The finest from Havana, of course.

“If you have any information regarding her foul death, I would consider it a great favor if you could enlighten us.”

Mama Maynard hadn’t raised any fools. I caught the emphasis on “favor.” I glanced at David. It pleased me to see that he was sweating slightly. I decided to trust Strauss. Honor among thieves, and all that.

“Would it concern you if there was some sort of mix-up in identification?” I asked. I nodded to myself as David fell into a coughing fit. So, I thought…he knows Violet isn’t dead.

Mr. Strauss stood. “David, wait for me at the bar,” he commanded. David stumbled out the door. I smiled as I realized my hand had just gotten even better.

39

Strauss’s eyes tracked his son as he left the room, then turned back to me. His mouth, looking small above the triple chins, twisted in a grimace meant to be a smile I think.

“Yes, I said favor, Mr. Maynard. But if you could, as I said before, enlighten me, then I would feel obligated to return such a favor, should you ever need it.”

Hoo-boy, I thought to myself. Being owed a favor by the likes of Herman Strauss was nothing to sneeze at. But how much to tell? Hell, we hadn’t done (much) that couldn’t be confirmed by any tale teller.

So I gave him a rundown of my day so far, but I left out one thing, the phone number. “See, Linda and I did get into Well’s office, but the dame downstairs showed up before we’d had time for anything. We scrammed out the window just ahead of her.”

Strauss heaved a sigh and the chins jiggled again. “I’m glad to hear the straight dope from you, Mr. Maynard. And how do I know it’s straight? Because” and here his voice hardened, “it would be very unwise for it to be anything else. Now, I think
that we should…”

Just then noice started coming from downstairs. David Strauss hadn’t shut it all the way, and we heard a shouting, over the faint threads of music from the band.

“Damn it”, growled Strauss, “What’s going on now? I run a classy joint, not a speak easy. C’mon, let’s go see who’se head is gonna roll for this.”

40

We hurried out to the open area. Holy Mary, Mother of God, I thought to myself. If it’s not messy now, it’s going to be soon.

Over by our table, David was screaming in Rose/Violet’s face. Bruiser was trying to shield Linda, keep David from getting his hands around the putative Mrs. Wolfe’s throat, and stop the curious onlookers from getting too close, all at the same time.

The last thing I wanted was for Mr. Strauss to get involved, so I got in front of him and headed for the table. Just as I was close enough to reach for David’s collar, I felt my arm being yanked away.

I looked around and groaned. Marvin, horn-rimmed glasses askew, was tugging at me.

“Joe, I have to talk to you. Now.”