The Devil's Due Page 9

  Jack quickly took off his hat and pressed it against his chest. He shook his head in apology and addressed the wife. “I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to frighten you. Any of you,” he added to the kids. The girl curled into her mother's leg and the boy stuck his tongue out at him. Jack gave a quick laugh. “Good for you, kid.”

  Jack turned back and Betty sized him up. “Maybe there's hope for you yet.”

  Jack's heart stuttered. He knew she hadn't meant it the way he wanted to hear it, but a chance was a chance and he wasn't going to miss this one. “I sure hope so,” he said softly. Then, he stepped forward and held out his hand to the man. “I am very sorry.”

  The man looked at Jack's hand. The world had kicked him in the seat of the pants so often he'd learned not to trust anyone or anything. But even after all the abuse the Depression had doled out, he still had the pride innate in every man. He straightened up to his full height and shook Jack's hand. “S'okay.”

  “I'd like to make it up to you,” Jack said. “To all of you.” He struggled with what to do.

  The man walked over to his family and stood behind his wife. His dirty hand came to rest on her shoulder and Jack saw an inspiring strength in their unity. “You don't have to do nothin', Mister. We're all right.”

  The lie and the courage it took to tell went straight to Jack's heart. “Let me at least buy you lunch. There's a great hot dog place just down the street. I'm starving and I bet,” he said looking at the little boy, “you like your dogs with mustard and relish. Am I right? I'm a mustard and relish man myself.”

  The little boy licked his lips and looked anxiously up at his parents — a silent plea in his shadowed eyes. The couple was clearly uncomfortable at the offer, but in dire need of the help.

  “Just lunch,” Jack said. “Everybody's gotta eat, right? And uhm,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “it might help me make up some points with the pretty lady.”

  “Who is standing right here and can hear everything you're saying.”

  Jack grinned. “See? Tough nut to crack. You sure would be helpin' me out.”

  Betty rolled her eyes, but despite it all, she smiled. The man looked down at his wife and children and finally over to Betty before nodding. “We'd be most obliged, mister.”

  Their scraggly little parade headed out of the alley and down the block toward the hot dog vendor on the corner. Jack tried not to keep looking over at Betty, but he couldn’t stop himself. She was there, alive and at his side. A living, breathing second chance at happiness.

  When he'd first met her in 1938, he'd seen her at a party and fallen in love with her from across the room. When his friend had introduced them, for the first time in his life, he didn't know what to say to a woman. She was smart and funny and kind and a little wounded. And he'd never seen anyone more beautiful. He'd met movie stars and models and even dated more than his share, but something about Betty went straight to and through his heart. He pursued her relentlessly in the months that followed, finally wearing her down, against her better judgment, she'd said. Their affair was wonderful until she pushed him away.

  After that, he'd joined the Navy and heard that she'd left Los Angeles. Last he'd heard she was married and living in San Francisco. But she wasn't there now. She was here. And he was here. And he had another chance and he wasn't going to waste it.

  He could hear Cross' voice in the back of his mind warning him about affecting the timeline, but Jack shut him out. If Cross has been in his shoes and this was Elizabeth…. Some things were worth the risks. He glanced over at Betty, who must have felt him staring and turned to look up at him. Her expression was wary, but curious. That pain that had kept her from him wasn't there. He smiled down at her and when she smiled back cautiously, he was lost. Whatever it took, whatever the risks, he wouldn't lose her this time.

  The little boy ran ahead and his mother called out to him. “David!”

  David turned around and hunched his shoulders and tilted his head back and opened his mouth in the universal body language of “come on, you are sooo slow.” Betty and Jack exchanged smothered grins.

  Jack ordered food for the family first. Once they had their dogs, he ordered one for himself and then one for Betty. “Mustard on half and ketchup on the other.” As soon as he'd done it he knew he'd made a mistake. It was a reflex.

  She looked at him curiously. “How'd you know I like mine like that?”

  He accepted the dog from the vendor and handed it to her. “Lucky guess. You need more relish, David?”

  The little boy, whose cheeks were so full they looked about to pop, shook his head and crammed another bite into his mouth. The little girl gave her mother her bun and nibbled her dog like a mouse working a piece of cheese.

  “Kids,” Jack said with a grin toward a still staring Betty. He took a bite of his own dog and smiled back innocently.

  Once he was sure they'd all had their fill, he ordered four more. “For later,” he said and stuffed them into his jacket pocket before slipping the coat off. He'd seen the state of the man's coat, holes in the pockets, threadbare sleeves.

  He held it out to the father who looked at it hesitantly. Clearly, he was a proud man torn between honor and need.

  “Here,” Jack continued. “When things turnaround for you, you can help somebody else who needs it. Take it.”

  The man's jaw worked to hide his emotion. He finally nodded sharply and took the coat.

  “Thank you,” his wife said, lifting their daughter onto her hip. The little girl had only eaten half of her hotdog and gave the rest to her brother. She was a pale little thing and the way she rested her head against her mother's shoulder sent a pang of worry through Jack's system.

  He didn't have much money with him, but he started to dig into his pocket. Betty's gentle hand on his arm stilled him. She smiled sadly and shook her head. Her eyes said she understood, but any more “generosity” would be unwelcome. Jack nodded and wished the family well as they left. The little boy ran alongside his father, trying to peek into his bulging pockets.

  “That was very kind of you,” Betty said once they were out of earshot. Then she turned and looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “What's your angle?”

  Jack remembered that she was a world-class skeptic, but this Betty still had some faith in her fellow man.

  “They needed help. I could give it,” he added with a shrug.

  Betty's eyes narrowed even more as she sized him up. She was good at that. When he'd met her, she was working for a big shot producer at one of the studios. The indispensable Girl Friday who could see right through the baloney.

  “I think you really mean that,” she said, sounding both impressed and a little incredulous.

  “What you see is what you get.” Although that was a big fat lie considering the circumstances, it was true in his heart.

  Betty's brown eyes searched his face. “That'd be a first. Mister…?”

  “J-John,” he said quickly realizing he couldn't give her his real name and offered her the first one he could think of. “John West,” he said holding out his hand.

  She took it, but he could tell she was far from won over. “Betty Chase.”

  Jack couldn't have kept the grin off his face if he tried. “Nice to meet you, Betty Chase.”

  ~~~

  Simon barely had time to wipe the lipstick from his cheek before Grant led them off to God knew where. That seemed to be a developing theme. As usual, Elizabeth was happy just to be along for the ride. Simon, however, took a more circumspect view of things and watched Grant's interactions with care. Whatever the threat to him, it could come from inside the studio. And while Sam Roth and his brother Benny were leading candidates for the role, it would be foolish to ignore the myriad women Grant dallied with. A woman with a broken heart was a dangerous thing and it appeared Grant broke hearts with some regularity.

  Finally, Grant led them to what appeared to be the main building. It was five or six stories high and was large enough to cover a city
block all by itself. A plush lawn stretched out in front of it. On one part of the grounds, a small unit of police officers stood in formation as what looked like Shirley Temple and a small film crew gave them an inspection.

  The unbridled energy of the rest of the studio fell into silence inside the building. This was obviously the main office complex and it wasn't all fun and games in here; it was business. This was the front line in the constant battle between art and commerce and it was impressive. Oversized portraits of stars lined the walls, plush carpets lined the floors and money lined everything else. This was a show of wealth and power. It was there to inspire and intimidate.

  As was typical, Grant was greeted with toothy smiles and over-excited hellos as they made their way up to the top floor. The art deco elevator dinged their arrival and they stepped out into the foyer.

  An attractive, middle-aged woman who sat behind a modern-looking white semi-circular desk rose to meet them. “Mr. Roth will be right with you, Mr. Grant. Coffee, tea?”

  “No, thank you, Ruth,” Grant said and gestured for Elizabeth to sit down while they waited.

  The upper lobby was surprisingly sparsely furnished. Where the lower lobby had been all show, this was nearly all business - few frills and the hush of hard work were even more intimidating than the spectacle downstairs.

  The quiet efficiency was shattered by a loud voice from behind the doors to Roth's office.

  “Damn it, Sam!” The door opened and Benny Roth stood in the doorway. “You're my goddamn brother.”

  Sam Roth appeared next to him, his face ruddy with anger and was about to say something when he noticed he had an audience. He rolled his shoulders to try to dispel some of his seething anger and fixed his little brother with eyes that brooked no nonsense. “Later.”

  Benny Roth opened his mouth to protest, but a fierce glare from his brother shut it with a snap. He stormed out of the office nearly running into Grant in his rush. He growled something at Grant and shoved him bodily out of the way. Elizabeth was immediately out of her chair and ready to intervene, but Simon put a hand to her arm.

  Grant played it off as though it were nothing as Roth stabbed the down elevator button. Benny Roth turned back to glare at his brother, but caught sight of Simon and Elizabeth. His expression was angry and filled with wanting something he couldn't have. There was a wildness in his eyes, a panic Simon recognized. He'd seen it in Ruby's eyes that night at the Biltmore. There was something else in Roth's eyes though. Simon couldn't put a name to it, but it was trouble. Whatever was taking Roth down, he wasn't going to go down easily. If he had to take someone with him, he would without blinking an eye.

  Benny Roth grunted as the elevator arrived and he stepped inside. “This isn't over yet,” he said. “I'll find one.” It didn't seem aimed at his brother so much as the entire room, or maybe just himself.

  Sam Roth watched the elevator doors close and huffed out a breath. It took him a moment to recover, and then the calm business like façade was securely back in place. “Grant?” he said impatiently. “We got rushes in ten. What are you doing here?”

  “So lovely to you see you, Samuel,” Grant said. “I wanted to introduce you to a few friends.”

  “You know the rules, Grant. Friendship,” he said pointing at the threshold to his office, “stops here.”

  “Yes, of course,” Grant said, clapping an unwanted hand on Roth's shoulder and escorting him into his own office. “They're actually here in search of work. Business, you see.”

  Grant waved behind his back, urging them to follow him.

  He walked Roth into the middle of his large but utilitarian office. The only real decoration was a pair of massive curved tusks mounted to the floor behind Roth's desk and arching over his leather chair.

  “They're…writers,” Grant said with a quick flashing grin. “Gifted scenarists.”

  Roth turned to look at them. “Yeah?”

  When they'd asked Grant to try to get them work at the studio this was hardly what Simon had expected.

  “Talented playwrights from…” Grant started.

  “London.” “Texas.”

  Roth's brow creased and he pursed his lips.

  Immediately they both answered again, but this time in reverse. “Texas.” “London.”

  Grant glared at them and then clapped Roth on the shoulder again. “That's a comedic bit they're working on.”

  “They need to keep working,” Roth said.

  “Yes,” Grant said with a sharp look. “But they are terribly talented.”

  Roth was unimpressed.

  “And willing to work for peanuts.”

  “Circus peanuts even,” Elizabeth added.

  Roth's implacable expression was unmoved. He looked at Grant again, seeming to calculate exactly what it would cost him and the net return in having a happy star. The numbers must have fallen in their favor because he nodded. “Have them report to Miller. And fix that bit. S'not funny.”

  “Right!” Grant said.

  They were just about to turn to leave when a voice from a darkened corner of the office stopped them. “Aren't you going to introduce me?”

  The man's face was obscured by cigarette smoke caught in the dim light of a reading lamp. Instead of waving it away, he stood, pushing through it and emerging into the light. The effect was chilling and so was the man. Tall, slender and neatly dressed, he had a handsome enough face, sharp symmetrical features and keen dark eyes. But there was something unnerving about him, about the way he moved, the way his eyes took in the room that sent a shiver up Simon's spine. And yet, the man was familiar. It took Simon a moment to place him. Then he realized this was the man sitting at Grant's table at Musso & Frank.

  Sam Roth frowned and picked up a cigar stub from the ashtray on his desk. “Thorn, these are…” he struggled disinterested and preoccupied. He waved a hand at Grant.

  Grant's expression was the same as it always was, a casual smile, but there was none of the usual joy behind it. It was forced, tight.

  “Perhaps another time,” Grant said, moving to hurry Elizabeth from the room.

  “I think this is a most opportune time,” the man said moving between them and the door. He held out his hand. “Edgar Thorn. And you are?”

  “Elizabeth Cross.” She shook his hand briefly, but when she tried to let go, he pulled her a little closer. Simon instinctively started toward them, but a warning hand from Grant kept him from intervening.

  “You are,” Thorn said, seeming to look for the word in her eyes, “lovely. So…pure.”

  Thorn regarded Simon for a brief moment, a flash of a smile touching his eyes as their gazes met. Thorn might have been speaking to Elizabeth but it was really Simon he was talking to. It was a strange feeling, but Simon was sure of that. Just as he was sure this man was dangerous. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, but every instinct in his body was warning him that something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

  Thorn turned his gaze back to Elizabeth and released her hand. He smiled affably. “Newlyweds?”

  “How did you know?” she asked, sounding impressed.

  Thorn lifted a long index finger and pointed it at Simon. “He doesn't like another man touching his wife. Only a newly married man cares that much about something so trivial. In a few years, he won't even notice,” he added. “Isn't that right, Sam?”

  Sam Roth had been watching from behind his desk. To Thorn's question, he merely grunted in reply, turning the cigar in his mouth.

  “You should go,” Grant said, taking Elizabeth by the hand and leading her toward Simon and the door.

  Thorn smiled genially. “Of course. So much work to do.” His eyes caught Simon's. “So good to see you again. I'm sure we'll see each other again soon.”

  Grant ushered them to the door. “You two go ahead. I'll catch you up downstairs.”

  Simon didn't need to be told twice and put his hand on Elizabeth's back to urge her along. The elevator door was open and waiting for them in
the foyer. Once the doors had closed behind them, Simon turned to Elizabeth. “Didn't you feel it?”

  “Feel what?”

  Simon frowned. “Thorn. There's something about that man. I don't like it.”

  “I thought he was kind of creepy that night at Musso & Frank, but it must have just been the excitement of if all. Today, he seemed kind of interesting.”

  Simon stared at her in disbelief. Of the two of them, Elizabeth was supposed to be the intuitive one. How could she possibly have missed the menace that man exuded? “Interesting?” he asked, incredulous.

  Elizabeth shrugged. She seemed completely unfazed and, worse yet, completely unaware of what Simon had perceived.

  He turned her so that he could look into her eyes. She didn't look drugged. “Are you feeling all right?”

  She shrugged again. “I'm a little hungry.”

  “Promise me,” Simon said and waited until he had her full and undivided attention, “promise me that you won't be alone with that man. No dinners.”

  “Jealous?” she said playfully, but quickly saw this was no joke. “I promise.”

  Simon sighed and the elevator reached the ground floor. As they walked outside, his own feelings on the matter felt a little ridiculous. Maybe it had all been in his head? He just wasn't sure. Now, his reaction to the man felt overly dramatic, but there was a niggling voice in the back of his mind that wouldn't stay quiet.

  Elizabeth slipped her arm into his. “Anyway, he didn't seem that bad to me.”

  “You would see the good in the devil himself,” he said.

  “Nobody's all bad.”

  Simon was not so sure.

  Chapter Ten

  The few minutes they spent waiting outside for Alan turned into ten and Elizabeth busied herself by trying to figure out what had gotten into Simon. Don't be alone with him. No dinners. Where the Heckle and Jekyll had that come from? It wasn't like she was in the habit of having dinner with strange men. She'd had one measly dinner with a gangster vampire and Simon just wouldn’t let it go.