The Case of the Nude Portraitist

In the meantime, while not in my office in case a new client turned up, I was either in the central library or city hall as I began to trace the life of one Rita Anne Evans. She had only been Rita Anne Evans for the last two and a half years. Before that, she had been Maria Patrice Ignovelli, granddaughter of Paul Poquino, the head of the whole shebang. The Poquino's had their hands in everything, drugs, prostitution, numbers, and casinos both legal and illegal. The feds had never been able to tie them to anything firmly enough to make charges stick, at least not for any serious time. Maria became Rita apparently aiming for a film career. She had her union card and had been prominent in several background scenes for Columbia. She got a single line in "Ulterior Motive." She was promoted heavily, however, by with someone with money, up to and including a paragraph and alluring photo in "Life" magazine under the heading, "Up and Coming Starlets to Lookout For." It was shortly after this that she first apparently crossed paths with Augusto. Posing for him had launched more than one starlet to, if not the big time, at least steady work, and interesting roles. Once she got her clutches into the portraitist, she became a larger part of his operation, taking on the role of both secretary and muse. I suddenly realized that this case I was now working on gratis could make my career and put me at the top of the P.I. game. I had the proof needed to nail the Poqunio organization to the wall. IF I could produce real evidence that the F.B.I. could use. I picked up the phone and called the closest office of G-men.

We met for lunch at an out-of-the-way place near Hollywood. His name was Jeremy Fordham. He was pushing sixty, not bad looking, and he was one of the few men I'd dealt with so far who didn't give me the once-over seconds after we met. I told him what I knew and what I found in the package.

"The trouble with anonymous tips is that during discovery, Poquino's smart and expensive lawyers will raise the issue of the intangibility of the original source and probably get the whole warrant scrubbed and then, goodbye case."

"But you know how they are making the shipments!" I protested.

'True, Miss West but we need something firm and irrefutable. I'll pass this along to the postal inspector guys. They can create all sorts of reasons to launch an inspection. To be frank, they have a freer hand than the F.B.I. does. They should be able to make something stick."

I beamed.

"You will, out of necessity be kept out of the loop from this point on. We can't risk your quite illegal search be tied to the agency in any way."

My smile faded.

"Pay close attention to the newspapers, Miss East."

Our lunch broke up shortly afterward. So, I wasn't going to be top dog P.I. in Los Angeles after all. I'd have to step away from everything. My victory dance over Rita Evans's arrest would never happen. That really stuck in my craw. Rita and I had unfinished business. I wanted revenge. BAD. I returned home in a glum mood. An hour or so later my mood lightened. Glen Perkins called. We talked for quite a while and set up a beach date for the next day. A strong, attractive, and understanding man was exactly what I needed to put Rita and the rest of it behind me.

Come the third date day, I was a bit naughty, I donned my tiniest polka dot bikini. I could tell that Glen liked what he saw. I liked Glen all the more as his eyeing me was appreciative but not wolfish Had I been sharing the beach with Detective Mark Storm; his tongue would have been hanging in the sand! What a difference a true gentleman makes. Glen's hands revealed not the slightest tremor as he applied suntan lotion to my back and legs. I really liked how he looked shirtless on the sand. I got tingles all over. We swam a bit but spent most of the day in pleasant conversation. Dusk was falling by the time we exited the beach. From my bag in Glen's car, I removed a sweater, a skirt, and sandals. He slid on a pair of twill trousers, a neat shirt, and a blazer. We shared dinner at a corner burger stand. I'd learned so much about him today. His childhood in the Midwest with loving parents, two brothers, and a sister. He'd been drafted out of high school but qualified for Marine flight school, fulfilling so many of his childhood dreams. After the war, he used the G.I. Bill to earn a degree in aviation engineering at U.S.C. Now, he designs jet airliners for Lockheed.

He seemed genuinely interested in me. I downplayed the dangers of the P.I. business, yet he still warned me to be careful. In this too he was more genuine than Mark Storm. The detective is convinced that I am unfit for this work and that he has to rescue me from myself. Glen knew that I was up to the job. His concern was more in the nature of heads up to a skilled employee. Glen also liked that I was successful in such a male-dominated field. I could breathe and be me around him. Glen didn't want me to give it all up and focus solely on him, at least not now. It was funny, when Mark Storm brought up marriage, I felt stifled and devalued. Suddenly, after such a short time with Glen, I was already picturing the house in the valley and wondering what our kids would look like! We pulled up in front of my apartment. I invited him in for a nightcap.

He liked my place. He sat next to me on the couch. He leaned in and kissed me. Things got very steamy. I wanted to get Sister Margaret completely out of my life if you catch my drift. The doorway to my bedroom was wide open. Glen could have carried me the few yards to my oh-so-comfortable bed and would have made no objection at all. But, being a gentleman, Glen broke our clinch.

"Oh, Mother! Honey! This day has been fantastic but if things get any hotter, I fear that you will end up reading me my rights and I'll leave wearing handcuffs."

"I do own handcuffs Glen," I replied with a throaty giggle.

"Oh, God! Now I'm in love! It's still best if now I leave Honey."

He was right, of course. I put myself back together and refilled his drink. I turned on the radio. We danced close to a waltz number and then after a mutually satisfying final kiss, he sashayed out of my apartment. I watched until his car was out of sight before I took a long cold shower. Sleep did not come easily, but when it did, my dreams about Glen were tremendous.

As I sipped my morning coffee, there was a knock on my door. The delivery boy produced the dozen long-stemmed roses and a box of chocolates along with Glen's sweet note. That certainly put me in a good mood!

The rest of the day I was walking on air. A fresh case walked into my office. It wasn't too difficult; a gentleman was quite concerned that his eighteen-year-old daughter was suddenly driving a fancy brand spanking new convertible and wearing glamourous, expensive dresses. I pointed out that she was old enough to make her own decisions. While the father was understanding, he had a nagging fear that his precious little girl's sugar daddy was actually his best friend and business partner. Ick! He had the license number for the Buick. I told him I'd trace the owner through DMV and the insurance agency to track down who was making the payments and have an answer for him in a few days. In the meantime, he was to just act naturally and be polite as possible to his friend and daughter. As he strode off, I hoped he was wrong. I hated setting off sordid incendiaries.

The next two days passed slowly. My contact at the DMV was out with the flu. So, there would be no immediate answer to the businessman's family drama. I called Glen only to find out that he would be out of town for two weeks. His kid sister was graduating from high school and his parents planned a huge family reunion. He was taking the second week to reconnect with his family and childhood friends. I envied the fact that he had siblings. I also wondered what it would be like to have a sister-in-law. He promised to call me whenever he could. I could not wait for him to get back!

The next day started as dull and as normal as the previous two. After breakfast, I made my way over to my office. I made it as far as the vestibule before two mugs assaulted me. A gag was forced into my mouth and a bag was thrown over my head. I was drag/carried out the rear entrance and into a car. I felt a hairy hand reach under my skirt and remove the gun from my garter holster. The hand returned and did a bit more exploring if you catch my meaning. I'd been taken flatfooted, a really bad move for a P.I. Despite my struggles, my hands were cuffed behind my back.

The ride was long and bumpy. I had a pretty good idea of what awaited me at the journey's end.

One of the bruisers held me upright. The bag was yanked off, there stood Rita. To say she was unhappy would be a vast understatement.

"You dropped a dime on us, bitch!"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about Miss Evans."

"Bullshit! We knew something had gone down. We retraced your footsteps. The last guy you were with at Sister Margaret's? Turns out he's a damned reporter! The old crippled horndog couldn't help himself. For a smart reporter, he sure is stupid. He stopped at Sister Margaret's again. Margaret pulled out all the stops, had two of her best girls tag team him, got him liquored up, and loosened his tongue. Amazing the power of pussy isn't it?"

"You're delusional!"

"Not at all. Your careful resealing was not as perfect as you thought. Our contact on the other end found signs of tampering., A brilliant shipping scheme blown! Now we have to find some new creative way to get the junk out to the east coast."

"Should you be telling me this?"

"If you were ever going to leave this place alive, no."

"You can't kill me. The F.B.I. would zero in on you in a heartbeat!"

"I'm willing to run that risk."

She slapped me, Hard!

"Uncuff her, Clyde."

My hands were freed.

"I'm sure you know what happens next, Miss Super P.I. We erase the evidence. Stip. nice and slow."

"You won't get away with this!"

"Stop yapping and start peeling, Blondie."

I considered my tan skirt and floral top. I really liked this outfit! I heard the unmistakable sound of a bullet entering a chamber.

"We don't have all day!"

I reached for the buttons of my blouse.

"Not so fast. Clyde and Rocco like a little burlesque."

I rolled my eyes and worked my blouse off faster.

Another hard slap.

"Slow down, slut!"

I was not about to put on a bump and grind only to have a bullet end my life. Figuring I was a dead woman anyhow, I launched myself at Rita, my highly polished and pointy nails targeting her sparkling green eyes.

"Hey!" gasped Rocco as I flattened Rita. Man did taking her down feel spectacular! With us in a rolling clinch, Rocco couldn't risk firing at me lest he hit Rita. I got in a couple of good shots. She slugged me hard a few times. I was able though to get my feet under me and toss her judo style right into Rocco. Rita was out like a light and the force of impact knocked the gun out of Rocco's grasp. I was on it lickity-split, turned, and ordered Clyde to drop his weapon.

Woozily, Rocco returned to his feet. Like a good mob errand boy used to taking orders, he kept his hands above his head when I told him to.

I made my way out of the building. It was a garage behind a house in the middle of nowhere, California. I had no doubt that the mob had buried lots of bodies in the surrounding woods. Fortunately, Clyde had left the keys in the ignition of the car that had delivered all of us here. I took off at high speed just as Clyde opened fire. I heard bullets ricocheting off the trunk and fender. It was miles and miles before I even found a road marker. It took me hours to reorient myself and head for Los Angeles. At the first telephone booth near civilization that I passed, I pulled over and made a frenzied call to G-Man Jeremy Fordham. Rather than drive back to my apartment, he thought it best that I drive directly to his office downtown. The feds would find me a safe house until things cooled off. That suited me fine.

I told Jeremey every detail of my abduction. I was also able to give his fellow G-Men a pretty good approximation of where the garage and farmhouse were. They found the farmhouse all right, but Rita and her goons were long gone. A short time later, cadaver dogs arrived and were loosed in the fields. They began barking almost immediately.

"You've really done us a solid, Honey. L.A. organized crime won't be able to use that house again. We'll probably wrap up a dozen or more missing-person cases. Rita and her "gentlemen" will have to lay low for quite a while. It's so hot around here that they will probably all be called back east in an attempt to become invisible. Your friend Rita's film career is over before it really took

off." That made me smile. I asked Jeremy, "Where does that leave me?"

"Until we know you are safe, Honey, it is best you get out of town preferably somewhere with as little a mob presence as possible."

"I know just the place!" I returned with a grin.

**

I'd forgotten how beautiful the Midwest is. It wasn't California, it was small-town America. Uncle Sam provided me with a plane ticket and a car rental. I drove around the small town several times. There was a main street lined with businesses and a Higby's department store. There was a malt shop and a couple of inexpensive-looking but probably quite culinarily adept restaurants. The small high school was darling, as were the neat churches and the tidy homes.

There are times when being a detective is tremendous fun. Nothing was more fun than sneaking up on Glen as he exited the Rexall Drugstore, his face buried in the local evening paper and saying, "Can I borrow a light, mister?"

"Honey!" he exclaimed as his eyes lit up. This embrace. This kiss was worth all the horror and misery I had endured since I'd first heard the name Augusto. After the most spectacular kisses, we stood there just holding hands. It was a brilliant evening; the moon was just coming up. Not even bothering with our cars, we walked all the way to the home of Glen's parents. What wonderful people they are. They welcomed me as though I was one of them; as if I had always been a member of their family. I expect to get to know them very well. Glen's oh-so-cute little sister would look fabulous in a bridesmaid's dress!