Not My Thing

‘No, thanks. Tell Mrs Lucy I’m in a hurry,’ Lepski said, staring around the room, thinking it must have cost a small fortune to furnish with its antique furniture, the good modern paintings on the walls, the thick Turkish carpet.

‘Yes, sir,’ Sam said, bowed and withdrew, shutting the door after him.

Lepski pushed his hat to the back of his head and wandered around the room. He didn’t like to sit down in one of the antique chairs. They looked as if they could break under his weight.

A few minutes later, Sam appeared.

‘If you will follow me, sir,’ he said. ‘Mrs Lucy will receive you.’

He conducted Lepski to an elevator that silently whisked them to the first floor.

Lucy Loveheart was standing in the doorway of her office, smiling a greeting.

Lucy Loveheart was short and plump with a mass of curly hair, the colour of mashed carrots. She had large violet-coloured eyes, a cupid-bow mouth and an aggressive jaw-line.

She owned to forty-four years of age, although she was actually well into her late fifties.

She was wearing a severely cut coat and skirt and a frilly white blouse and, when she extended her hand, diamond rings flashed on her plump fingers.

‘Why, Mr Lepski, how nice to see you. You’re looking as handsome as ever, and how is your beautiful wife?’

‘She’s fine, thank you,’ Lepski said and followed her into the big office, furnished with antiques and a big Dali painting dominating the wall behind the desk.

‘Have a drink, Mr Lepski,’ Lucy said, waving to a chair padded with red leather.

‘No thanks, Lucy. This is business,’ Lepski said, twiddling his hat and sitting down.

She moved behind the desk and settled herself.

‘Business? Well, Mr Lepski, we are both busy.’ She smiled. ‘What’s the business?’

‘We’ve had a complaint from Mrs Hackensmidt, the Mayor’s secretary,’ Lepski said and grinned.

‘That old prune… what’s her moan?’

‘She says when passing your house, she observed an intimate woman’s garment hanging from a balcony.’

Lucy raised her eyebrows.

‘Extraordinary. What intimate garment?’

‘She doesn’t say.’

‘There are five balconies to my house, Mr Lepski. Which balcony?’

‘She doesn’t say.’

‘Witnesses?’

‘She doesn’t say.’

‘And the police have to waste their time and mine on a stupid complaint like this?’

‘Well, she’s the Mayor’s secretary,’ Lepski said with another grin. ‘She draws a lot of water.’

‘So do I!’ The violet-coloured eyes were suddenly hard. ‘Forget it, Mr Lepski. I will talk to the Mayor. It’s time that old battleaxe was put out to grass.’

‘I guess you’re right,’ Lepski said. ‘Just for the record, was there some garment on one of your balconies?’

‘Certainly not!’ Lucy snapped. ‘This is a respectable house, Mr Lepski.’

‘Maybe the Mayor won’t go along with that,’ Lepski said cautiously. ‘When we get a complaint, he’ll want to know what we’ve done about it.’

‘There’ll be no trouble with the Mayor. He’ll fix her. Just forget this, will you?’

Lepski nodded.

‘I guess you’ll be able to handle it. Okay, Lucy. Her letter will get lost.’

For a brief moment, her face hardened as she said, ‘And so will she!’ Then, getting to her feet, she smiled.

‘If you have half an hour to spare,’ she said, ‘Lulu is upstairs with nothing to do. Would you care for a little fun with her entirely on the house?’

Lepski got hurriedly to his feet.

‘Thanks, Lucy, but I’ve things to do.’

‘You poor police officers, how you work!’ Lucy patted his hand. ‘Anytime when you feel in the mood, it’ll be on the house. Sam will fix you up with one of my best girls.’

Lepski, embarrassed, blew out his cheeks.

‘Thanks a lot. Well, be seeing you sometime, Lucy.’

The door opened and Sam entered to conduct Lepski to the front door. In a slight daze, Lepski walked back to his car.

As soon as Sam had closed the front door, he took the elevator to the first floor.

Lucy was sitting at her desk, her face like stone.

‘Get me the Mayor,’ she snarled, her expression vicious.

Recognizing the danger signals, Sam hurried from the room to the small switchboard and dialled the Mayor’s unlisted telephone number.

***

Completely relaxed, Ernie Kling sat beside Ng Vee who drove up the sandy lane and headed for the Star Motel.

At the back, Lucan, sweating, his heart thumping with fear, blurted out, ‘For God’s sake, Ernie! What happened? What did he say?’

‘Stop flapping with the mouth,’ Kling snapped. ‘I’m thinking.’

It wasn’t until he and Lucan were in Kling’s cabin, and Ng had given them both drinks, that Kling was prepared to talk.

‘Well, Lucky, you’ve made yourself ten thousand bucks,’ he said.

Lucan stiffened.

‘You sold him your idea?’

‘Of course. I said I would handle it, and I’ve handled it.’

‘What about me? I’m scared of that sonofabitch. Did he say anything about me?’ Lucan demanded.

‘Don’t worry about him. The trouble with you, Lucky, is you’ve a yellow streak.’

‘He’s dangerous. So, okay, I’m nervous. I admit it. What’s been arranged?’

‘Yeah… a good question.’ Kling stretched out his long legs, enjoying Lucan’s fear. ‘Now, Jamison is a real hellion. I’ve worked for lots of mean bastards, but he takes the Oscar.’