The Devil's Due Page 6

  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.”

  Simon was apparently not amused. “Are you all right?”

  Before she could answer, Alan cleared his throat and nodded toward the man's table. He'd roused enough to stand again and wasn’t alone this time. His three friends stood next to him and all four looked loaded for bear.

  Everyone at the nearby tables scrambled to safety. The entirety of the bar had parted like the red sea leaving the two groups standing off and with no easy way to escape.

  Alan sighed, downed his scotch and stood next to Simon. “Dicey odds. Four against two.”

  “Three,” Elizabeth said trying to squeeze betw
een them.

  “Elizabeth,” Simon hissed over his shoulder. “Would you please—”

  “Look out!” she cried.

  He turned just in time to sidestep a vicious rabbit punch from the first of the four. Simon replied with a quick, short jab to the man's ribs and an uppercut Liston would have envied. The man fell back against his friend, the big one who'd started it, who shoved his buddy out of the way. He raised a meaty fist and Elizabeth threw what was left of her scotch in his face temporarily blinding him. The few seconds it bought was enough time for Simon to land a right cross.

  Elizabeth turned just in time to see Alan gracefully duck under a wild, drunken swing from one of the men. The man stumbled forward and Alan picked up his wooden chair and shattered it against the man's back. He fell onto their table and it collapsed under his weight with a thundering crash. Alan grinned proudly at his handiwork and never saw the man come at him from behind. The two of them went down in a pile landing on top of the unconscious man.

  Elizabeth leaned over them and tried to pull the man off Alan. She yanked at his collar, but couldn't get him to budge. She heard the sound of a fist hitting flesh. It wasn't like the movies at all. There was no sharp crack or kapow; it was just a dull, sickening thud. That's when she saw Simon fly past her and slide across the floor. He finally came to a stop and pushed himself up on his elbow. He blinked, trying to regain his senses and worked his jaw. There was a small trickle of blood coming from his lip. The man she'd left him fighting, the one who'd heckled Alan, lumbered across the room toward him. She did the only thing she could think of and ran toward him.

  She leapt up and landed on his back like a crazed monkey. He swung around and she nearly flew off, but held on for dear life. Her arms wound around his neck and her legs tried to grip his waist, but he was too big around. Her fingers worked their way up his face, gouging and poking whatever they touched. He clawed at her hands and finally gripped her arm so tightly she thought it might break.

  He grunted and pried her off his back. With surprising ease, he tossed her aside. She flew through the air. It was an odd slow motion sensation and she had just enough time to realize her underwear was showing as she braced herself for the floor that rushed up to meet her. Instead of smashing into the concrete, she collided with something else. Or was it someone else? It took a second to register what had happened. She hadn't hit the ground; someone had caught her. She felt strong arms hold her just a bit more tightly. She opened her eyes to see Alan smiling down at her. “Hello.”

  He set her down and she saw the man Alan had been fighting curled up in a ball. His hands cradled his man parts, his friend unconscious on the floor next to him. She looked at Alan, who merely shrugged.

  She turned to find Simon and started to rush to his side, but Alan held her arm. “Let him have the honors.”

  Seeing Elizabeth tossed like a ragdoll seemed to have been all Simon had needed to clear his head. The drunken man stumbled on legs of jelly in front him. Simon stood and delivered a quick combination, punctuated with a gut punch Elizabeth felt across the room. The man doubled over onto the floor, clutching his stomach. Simon took a step closer to him and loomed over him. Simon's chest heaved from his efforts. He wiped the blood from his chin with the back of his hand. “Lesson over.”

  Elizabeth hurried over to Simon's side.

  “Bravo,” Alan said.

  ~~~

  The three got out while the going was good and Peter drove them down the winding mountain roads. Elizabeth made sure Simon was all right, and thankfully, except for a few bruises, he was. Grant drank some more and recounted his favorite moments of the evening as they drove home. Slowly, the liquor and gentle ride of the car lulled him to sleep and he slumped down in his seat, a dreamy smile on his face.

  Elizabeth sighed and snuggled into Simon's side. She laid her head on his shoulder and rested a hand on his chest. “We're no closer than we were when the night started.”

  Simon was drifting off himself and it took a moment for her words to register. “Hmm?”

  “To finding out what sort of danger he's in,” Elizabeth clarified, nodding toward a sleeping Alan Grant.

  “Yes, well, other than going to bars with you…”

  Elizabeth lifted her head off his shoulder. “Sorry 'bout that.”

  Simon shook his head and pulled her closer. “It wasn't your fault.”

  She laid her head back on his shoulder.

  “Entirely,” he finished.

  Elizabeth laughed softly. “I am sorry. Last time we almost lost—” She sat up suddenly. “The watch?”

  If they'd lost it in the fight…

  Simon plunged his hand into his jacket pocket and huffed out a relieved breath. “Safe.”

  Thank god for that. Elizabeth leaned her head back against Simon's shoulder and they rode in silence through the nearly desolate streets of early morning Los Angeles.

  Grant's home was a gated mansion in the heart of Beverly Hills. Simon and Elizabeth waited downstairs in the immense foyer while Peter helped Grant up the grand staircase.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Grant stopped and turned around dramatically. “Now cracks a noble heart. Goodnight sweet prince…ess, and flights of angels sing me to my rest.”

  With that Peter and Grant disappeared on the landing above.

  “I wish we knew how to help him,” Elizabeth said still staring at the top of the empty staircase before turning to Simon.

  Simon nodded thoughtfully. “Did you learn anything when you were dancing? Did he say anything that might give us a hint?”

  “Not really. Just that he is in trouble,” she said looking back up at the top of the empty stairs. “Something big too. I'm worried.”

  Simon tucked a stray hair behind Elizabeth's ear and caressed her cheek. “Honestly, I'm not sure what I learned either. And I'm too knackered to think about it.”

  Elizabeth captured Simon's hand and gently kissed his abraded knuckles. “Does it hurt much?”

  He shook his head. She leaned in close. “And this?” His split lip wasn't too swollen, but it must still hurt. She pushed herself up and kissed the corner of his mouth tenderly.

  “Elizabeth,” he said in a voice that was soft and rough at the same time.

  Above them, a door closed and footsteps started toward the stairs. Elizabeth started to move in for another kiss when she got an idea and pulled away from a confused Simon. She frantically scanned the room and then shoved her purse under the edge of a massive flower arrangement on a nearby table.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Simon asked.

  “Giving us a reason to come back.”

  Before Simon could respond, Peter came down the stairs and apologized for keeping them waiting.

  “Is he all right?” Elizabeth asked.

  “He'll be fine, miss. Back to himself in the morning. Now,” Peter said, putting his chauffeur's cap back on, “where can I take you?”

  ~~~

  Down. That's where she would be going. Down, down, down.

  Ruby tried to be quiet, but the brush under her feet cracked like brittle bones. She knew the man in the shack was a heavy sleeper. She'd been to the Hollywoodland sign before. But it had been so different then. Everything had been so different then. She'd come here with a boy, to be on the top of the world, and now she was looking for the bottom.

  She could see the glow from the letters behind the bushes ahead. In her haste, in her fear, she tripped on an exposed root and tumbled to the ground. Rocks and twigs scraped her palms and her knees, but she didn't care. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. She was stupid. The same stupid little girl who'd left Cedar Falls and believed the lies. This whole damned thing was a lie.

  Ruby pushed herself back up and emerged from the bushes. The lights were nearly blinding. She forced her eyes open and let them burn.

  The first letter was closest. End at the beginning. That was how it should be. Her hands shook as she grabbed the bottom rung of the ladd
er, but she kept on. She'd failed at everything else she'd tried. She would not fail at this. Rung after rung, she climbed higher and higher. The heat from the lights made her hands sweat. She nearly slipped once, but held on. She laughed at the irony.

  She didn't know how long it took. It didn't matter. Finally, she reached the top and the city below looked like the fairyland she'd always dreamed it was. Lights flickered in the distance, full of promise, full of evil.

  For a moment, Ruby froze. Hope flared in her chest. She wanted to live. She wanted to take it all back. She could just see her brother's face. Poor Walter. She would have done anything in that instant to take it back. And with that thought, the flicker of hope died. There was no escape. She thought she was so clever, but she was the same stupid little girl she'd always been. She deserved what was to come.

  Suddenly, she couldn't move fast enough. Her foot slipped on the rung as she edged to the very top. She balanced on the edge, the lights below shining up at her, worshipping her one last time.

  And then she jumped.

  Chapter Seven

  FDR kept staring at him. It was disconcerting. Jack stared back, but it didn't do any good. Finally, he did what he should have done in the first place and flipped the Life magazine over. With a bored sigh, Jack went back to reading about “how Lupe Valez gets her man” in the latest issue of Hollywood magazine. Again.

  He'd tried to follow the man from Musso & Frank last night, but the man just disappeared on him. Not that he would have gotten too far on foot anyway. By the time he'd circled back to the restaurant, Simon and Elizabeth were already gone.

  Jack made a few inquiries, but people were pretty tight-lipped and he didn't have enough grease in his pocket to loosen them up. He'd recognized Sam Roth from Mammoth Studios and the girl, Ruby, he'd seen her in a few pictures. He'd never seen Roth's brother, but he'd heard about him before. With that mug, he had to Benny Roth.

  Jack tried to bide his time until he was supposed to check in, but if he was honest with himself he was worried, and hungry. It was a bad combination.

  The house of cards he'd started building at seven that morning lay flat on the coffee table, having been besieged by an onslaught of flicked peanuts. The shells littered the edges of the table.