The Devil's Due (7 page)

Alan caught a waiter's eye and gestured to the table.

“That man from Musso & Frank is here, who is he?” Elizabeth asked trying to sound casual.

“The cigar with a man stuck to it? That, my darling, is Sam Roth — the head of Mammoth Studios and my most gracious employer. Sam!” Alan raised one of the abandoned glasses on the table in mock salute. “You colossal pain in my ass,” Alan added under his breath.

Sam Roth grunted, not that he could hear what Alan said, and turned back to his friends.

Alan put the glass down and sighed. “Where is that waiter?”

For the next half hour, Simon and Elizabeth nursed their drinks and tried to get a little more information out of Alan, but an endless stream of people coming to the table constantly interrupted them. Elizabeth was trying again when a busty redhead appeared behind Alan and tapped him on the shoulder.

No sooner had he turned around in his chair than she threw a drink in his face.

Alan wiped the water away calmly and stood. “Viv—”

“Don’t you Viv me, I've been waitin' six weeks for you to call,” she said in a brassy voice with an intermittent east coast accent.

“Viv.” Alan tried to take her hand, but she yanked it away. “I'm sorry.”

“Sorry?” she said loudly. “What does that mean?”

“I never meant to hurt you, my dear. You must believe—”

The ringing sound of the slap caused the tables nearby to fall into stunned and eager silence. Elizabeth and Simon, both on high alert now, started to rise out of their seats, but without even looking their way, Alan lifted a hand to stop them.

Alan stood his ground calmly and accepted her anger.

Vivian's pique had burned itself out and now she looked around at the staring faces. She threw back her head with as much triumph as she could muster and marched off. Alan kept his place until she was several tables away. Moments later the conversation around them hummed back to life.

Alan sat back down at the table. His joie de vivre tinged with a sad sort of thoughtfulness. He noticed the unasked question in Elizabeth's eyes. Why had he just stood there and taken that?

“She deserved her moment.” He smiled ruefully and took a deep swig from his teacup. “Everyone should have at least one.”

Elizabeth wanted to hug him, but settled for something else. “Mr. Grant? Would you dance with me?”

Alan smiled, buoyed back to life, and was about to accept when he remembered his manners. “Do you mind?” he asked Simon.

“No, of course not.”

Alan stood and held out his hand for Elizabeth.

“Just don’t let her lead,” Simon said as they started toward the crowded dance floor.

Elizabeth just had time to turn back and stick out her tongue at Simon before Alan spun her around and took her into his arms.

The dance floor was so crowded all anyone could really do was sway. Alan Grant did even that with style. Despite it being packed with people, he managed to move them around the floor gracefully. Most of the couples around them were in formal dress - tuxedos and long gowns. There didn't seem to be any special event. Just going out on the town was the event in itself. Modern life seemed a bit flat by comparison.

“So,” Alan said as he spun them out of the way of a man who'd had far too much tea and whose dancing was more like stumbling. “Who are you really?”

Elizabeth tensed and nearly stepped on his toes. “What do you mean?”

“Do you work for him?” Alan asked as lightly and casually as if he were asking if she'd read any good books lately.

“Work for who?”

Alan looked down at her, into her eyes, and gone was the drunken playboy. His blue eyes bore into her, sharp and keen, just for a moment before they softened again. “No. Not you,” he said, maneuvering them deftly across the floor. “Perhaps you're an angel sent to help me. Yes, I think that is who you are.”

“Do you need an angel?”

Alan pulled her closer. “Doesn't everyone?”

Simon watched Elizabeth and Grant drift in and out of the crowd on the dance floor. Hopefully, she was learning something. It was damned maddening not to have any idea what they were up against. Was there some sort of supernatural creature after him? Was it a woman scorned? Judging from earlier, that was a definite possibility. How could they possibly protect Grant from something they couldn't see coming?

Simon studied the people around him. None of them seemed particularly out of the ordinary, except for Sam Roth. Sitting just a table away, Simon could hear most of the conversation. So far, it amounted to nothing more than talk of the studio's business affairs, which were surprisingly good. Considering the Great Depression was already four years old, most businesses were struggling, and many were already dead. From the exchanges Simon overheard, Mammoth Studios was doing much better than most.

Simon turned his attention back to the dance floor. He was uncomfortable with having either of them out of his sight for too long. Unknown danger and Elizabeth attracted each other and were a rather potent mixture. The orchestra bridged from the slow standards to a fast-paced jitterbug and the dance floor changed from swaying wheat to pennies on a drum.

“You gotta help me.”

The woman's voice came from Sam Roth's table and it was so close Simon thought she was talking to him. He turned around, but quickly realized she was talking to Roth. It was the girl from Musso & Frank and she'd been crying a great deal, from the state of her make-up.

“Calm down, Ruby.” Roth was not happy to see her, but it was clear he couldn't get rid of her without a scene. She was in a state of near panic. Her fingers worked the edges of the tablecloth and her breath came in short, quick gasps punctuated with tearful sniffles.

“Give us the table?” Roth asked the three men sitting with him. Not one of the three hesitated to leave as quickly as possible.

Simon pretended to be watching the dancers and listening to the music. He tapped his fork gently against the tablecloth in time to the rhythm and searched again for Elizabeth on the dance floor.

Once the other men were gone, Ruby moved her chair closer to Roth's.

“Benny here too?” Sam Roth asked looking over her shoulder.

Ruby shook her head. “He's at the Star,” she said breathlessly between sniffles. “He said you wouldn't help, but I said he was wrong.”

Roth took off his glasses and polished the thin round lenses with a napkin. “I've already told you,” he said in a hushed voice. “There's nothing I can do.”

“There's gotta be something. I'll work for free, for the rest of my life.” Ruby clutched at his jacket sleeve. “I'll do anything.”

“That's what got you in this mess,” Roth bit out angrily. “This isn't my doing.”

“You introduced us,” she said a bit too loudly and then looked around to see if anyone had heard.

Simon shifted in his seat, turning his back slightly to their table and checked his watch.

Roth put his glasses back on and tossed the napkin on the table.

“I didn't know. I didn't think it was real. It was stupid,” Ruby said quickly and quietly, the words tumbling out in desperation. She could see her pleas were having no effect and tried something new. “What about your brother? Or Grant? If you can help them, maybe you can help me.”

Roth's anger and frustration grew. “I can't,” he said more loudly than he'd meant to. He picked up the stub of his cigar and shook his head. “You and Benny and the others, you did this to yourselves.”

“But, we only have a few days—”

“There's nothing I can do.” There was a cold finality to the words and to Sam Roth.

Ruby let go of Roth's jacket sleeve and fought back a fresh wave of tears. She smoothed the tablecloth and nodded, resigned. “Yeah.”

Sam cast a quick look at her, shoved the cigar into his mouth and needlessly pushed away his water glass.

“Yeah,” Ruby repeated as she stood. She paused and looked down at Sam Roth, her panic now more resignation than anything. “I just wanted to be somebody.”

In a daze, Ruby walked away from Roth's table. After a moment, Roth looked after her. He crushed the dying ember of his cigar into the large glass ashtray at the center of the table and gestured to someone across the room.

A big man in a suit one size too small for his muscles appeared almost instantly at Roth's side. “Yes, Mr. Roth?”

“Let's get the hell out of here.”

Whatever Grant was mixed up in, these others were too, and, apparently, the clock was ticking.

Shortly after Roth left, Elizabeth and Grant reappeared at the table. Her cheeks were flushed from dancing and she was slightly out of breath.

“Phew,” she said reaching for a glass of water. “That's hot work.”

“And thirsty work,” Alan added, draining what was left in his teacup “I know a little place…”

Grant must have a hollow leg. Or two. Simon had never seen anyone drink so much and remain conscious.

Elizabeth puffed out a breath. “I don't know.”

“Where is your sense of adventure?” He took her hand and started to slowly lead her away. “Come away with me, Lucia, across the seven seas…”

Elizabeth gave Simon a helpless look and then called over her shoulder. “Don’t forget my purse.”

Simon grunted and rolled his eyes. He found her small purse under a discarded linen napkin. Simon sighed, tucked the clutch into his pocket and followed them into the crowd. By the time he turned back around, he'd nearly lost sight of them. This was going to be one of those nights.

Their next port of call was hidden in one of the many wooded canyons surrounding Los Angeles - an old fashioned speakeasy. Elizabeth knew them well. She and Simon had spent weeks working in one in New York. This club was definitely more upscale, but the clientele was just as drunk.

Alan was greeted by the owner, a squat little man with three long wisps of hair that curled around the top of his bald head in a valiant effort to cover it. He was bright-eyed with excitement to see a star of Grant's caliber in his little place. As he ushered them to an empty table, the usual murmur from star-struck patrons followed them. They took their seats and the owner brought them a round of brown plaid, which turned out to be Scotch. Sort of.

Simon sniffed his glass and set it down untouched. Elizabeth let her curiosity get the better of her and took a small sip. It made her eyes burn and her ears tingle.

“Charming place, isn't it?” Alan said, drinking his as though it were from the top shelf and not the bathtub out back.

“Delightful,” Simon said, pushing his drink further away.

Simon could be a killjoy if he wanted to, but Elizabeth loved it. It was exciting and lively and…

“You stink! You hear me, Grant?”

A heavyset man across the room tipped back his chair until it was precariously balanced against the wall and stuck out a meaty finger in Alan's direction. “Youuu stink!” He chuckled to himself and his three friends at the table urged him on.

Alan ignored him. “Don't let it bother you,” he said to Elizabeth, seeing her glare.

The man struggled to stand and only managed it when one of his friends, who was almost as pie-eyed as he was, helped. “That last movie you made…” he said holding his nose dramatically. He wobbled on unsteady legs and braced himself against the table. “It stunk.”

Alan pretended not to hear or notice him. “Have you been to the Jungle Room yet? Wonderful band.”

“Grant!” the man called out again.

Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably in her chair and tried to ignore him. “No, we haven't yet.”

“There's a delightful Cuban restaurant nearby—”

“The worst one,” the drunk said loudly, “was that damn pirate movie.”

Elizabeth turned in her chair and the words were out before she could stop them. “You don't know what you're taking about.
Sword of the Seven Seas
was a classic.”

“Elizabeth,” Simon warned under his breath.

“Well, it is,” she said under her breath as she turned back to their table.

Alan shook his head. “Best to ignore them,” he said and then lifted his drink to his mouth, a small smile curving his lips. “A classic? Really?”

The drunken man shoved off from his table and stumbled toward them. Elizabeth felt Simon tense next to her. This could go boobies up pretty quickly she realized.

The man stopped a few feet away and bent awkwardly at the waist, leaning precariously forward. “You sound like my wife,” he said jabbing a finger toward her. “Figures. You dumb broads always stick together, don't ya?”

Even from a few feet away, his breath was a toxic cloud that made Elizabeth cough. The crowd near them fell silent.

“She had a big fat mouth she couldn't keep shut,” the man belched. “Just like you.”

“That's enough.” Simon pushed his chair back and stood menacingly next to her.

The man straightened up and pushed his shoulders back. He wobbled on unsteady legs and looked at Simon through bloodshot eyes. He squinted and wrinkled his nose.

“Go back to your table,” Simon said calmly, but Elizabeth could see from the slight flexing of his fingers, the line of his jaw and the timbre of his voice, he was far from calm.

Alan lit a cigarette, content for now to watch from the sidelines.

Elizabeth knew she had to do something to diffuse the situation and stood up between the two men. “There's no reason to—”

“Shuddup,” the drunk said and grabbed Elizabeth's arm, pulling her roughly to the side. “Gonna teach you a lesson—”

In two quick strides, Simon was around the table and wrenching Elizabeth out of the man's grasp. He grabbed a fist full of the man's shirt so quickly, his other hand barely had time to form a fist before it collided with the man's jaw.

The drunken man stumbled back from the force of the blow and collided with a nearby table, sending drinks skittering to the floor. He staggered back a few more steps and landed neatly in the chair he'd just vacated. The crowd erupted into spontaneous applause.

“Well done, Cross!” Alan said. “Hole in one!”

Simon grimaced and shook out his hand before turning to glare down at Elizabeth.

She shrugged sheepishly. “Well, it is a classic.”