Shell Game – Chapter 16 – Lauren Bacall

It was a long half-hour before Evan Gold left his office to go about his evening. The sun was down before Evan decided to leave his office. The air was thick and clung to everything. Evan looked up at a streetlight and noticed wisps of impossibly tiny droplets swirling in the light. The fog was gaining in strength. Evan blew out and watched the water droplets swirl around, bump into, and dance with each other. If he couldn’t figure out the cause of the fog, if he couldn’t reason its existence, if he had no power to make it lift, he could at least have some fun with it.

He headed north up Commercial and was about to make his way to cross Fifth. He spied the hint of a woman seated on a bench two doors down from his office building. Her presence was not out of the ordinary if the sun was up. The town leaders had installed several benches along Commercial for passersby to sit a spell and enjoy the small-town culture. However, it was dusk, it was foggy. She didn’t bother Evan’s sensibilities enough to avoid her, but she certainly made her way onto his radar.

The closer he got, the more her features became defined; peroxide hairdo, feminine-styled wool trench coat, comfortable heels. There was something familiar that Evan couldn’t quite identify. She looked like a low-rent Lauren Bacall, like someone straight out of a movie set in Paris or San Francisco. Her style was somewhat jarring on the darkening Athens’ streets. Evan gave her a polite tip of his hat as he passed before turning east on Fifth. As he did, he noticed her nose deep in the morning’s Gazette, Gabe Silver and Jason Charles’ pictures staring back at him. Evan didn’t like it.

East on Fifth and over to Merchant, Evan passed the Town Crier newsstand. Since the evening Gazette was out, it seemed a good idea to see what dirt on the two murders the police had decided to feed the paper. Nothing he didn’t know, it turned out. He paid the man behind the counter and stepped outside. Evan flipped the paper open to read more of the murder’s articles when he happened to spy Ms. Bacall leaning against a lamppost across the street from him. She was still heavily engrossed in the newspaper.

Part of Evan’s pride wanted to see this as a compliment, that even from afar, his rugged, though increasingly tired, looks could still capture the imagination of a fair vixen fit for the silver screen. However, his detective’s intuition suggested that seeing her a second time was neither her fascination with him nor a straight coincidence. He decided it was a threat until proven otherwise.

Evan folded his newspaper, tucked it under his arm, and made his way north up Merchant to Seventh, where he stopped in for dinner at Casa Ramos.

Yolanda Ramos and the delicious smells of cumin, corn, and beef fat greeted Evan. Yolanda took his coat. The terracotta-colored walls hung with scenes of pastoral Mexico painted on black velvet took him out of himself, and he felt his shoulders relax and lower a few inches. Yolanda sat him at his favorite table near the street window. Evan ordered his usual fare and began to read the evening paper. As he moved from page five to six, he noticed the blonde woman in the trench coat admiring something in the shop across the street from Casa Ramos. Her paper was neatly folded under her arm.

His pride was still hopeful she was obsessed with a mad attraction that he would have to, with all nobility, refuse, but the detective in him was winning the argument in Evan’s head. Besides, he was, he hoped, still on track to win back the heart and devotion of Katherine. He imagined her seated across from him at that moment, the candlelight playing off her green eyes and seeing her face aglow. He sighed and reminded himself that he couldn’t mess up this chance with her. Finish this case, tie up all the loose ends, and start a new life with her.

Evan turned his head back to where Ms. Bacall was. She must have been transfixed by whatever was in that store’s window. Evan sucked his teeth. Something about that woman’s presence just didn’t feel right.

The Lauren Bacall stand-in stayed at that shop window, with her back to Evan for all of dinner. He ate unhurriedly, biding his time. When he finished, Evan paid his bill, passed a generous tip to Yolanda, said something about getting her daughter into a good school when she grew up, got his coat, and walked outside.

Evan picked his teeth with a toothpick and dragged his right foot in small arches over the sidewalk, all the while keeping half an eye on Ms. Bacall. Not once did she cock her head over her shoulder to see if he had moved on. Evan figured that somehow, even in this fog, she had his reflection in the glass and wouldn’t budge till he did. If the number one rule of surveillance is to remain undetected, she was doing a terrible job. If she intended to intimidate him, Evan had to give her decent marks. Evan moved east on Eighth Avenue till Sylvan, where he entered the lobby of The Webster Hotel. He wanted to see if he could catch Harold Huber before the night got too long.

The activity in the hotel’s lobby was light. It was, after all, Friday night. Most residents would either be out on the town or in for the night by that hour. Evan played his odds and strolled comfortably to the front desk.

“May I assist you, sir?” asked the attendant.

“You can,” Evan smiled. “I’m supposed to meet a friend of mine. He said he was staying here. Could you ring his room?”
The attendant smiled back, “Certainly, sir. What’s the name?”

“Uh, Huber,” Evan said, leaning his forearms on the desk, “Harold Huber.”

The attendant ran his finger down the ledger till it stopped at a name. Then, he picked up a phone and dialed a room. The attendant smiled tightly at Evan as he waited for the necessary rings to register in his ear. He set the receiver back in the cradle and said, “He’s not picking up.”

“I see,” Evan said and bit his lip. “Did he happen to leave his key with you?”

“I couldn’t give that to you,” the attendant said.

“No, no, no, I’m not asking that,” said Evan, “I just thought if he were in the shower, he wouldn’t pick up, and I could wait. If he were already out, then I would know where to go. You see?”

The attendant smiled again and turned to see if his guest had dropped off his key. While he looked, Evan scanned the lobby. Sure enough, across the floor, seated in a mauve, velvet armchair next to a well-watered fern sat Ms. Bacall. Only now, she had ditched the morning’s paper in preference for the evening one.

“Here it is,” the attendant said, snapping Evan’s attention back around, “I guess Mr. Huber has already stepped out.”
“Thanks,” Evan said.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” the man asked.

Evan paused. Then, “Yeah. Act casual, but you see that woman over there by the fern?” Evan asked without turning around. The attendant lifted his eyes for a moment and then dropped them back down to Evan. He nodded. “Ever seen her before?” The attendant shook his head.

“Looks familiar, though,” he said.

“Yes, she does,” Evan said.

“Just has one of those faces,” the man said.

“That’s probably it,” Evan said and patted the counter. “Thanks for the info, buddy.”

Evan strolled back out of the lobby and past Lauren. He stood out on the sidewalk and didn’t know where to go next. Evan remembered the theater ticket from his search of Harold’s pockets and checked his watch. After doing some quick calculation, Evan figured he might be able to catch Harold at the intermission if he hurried.

He hustled the quarter-mile west and north to The Granada Playhouse. Several men and women, dressed very fine, stood outside presumably to get some fresh air before seeing the conclusion of the play. Evan spied Harold and walked up to him.

“Is the show any good?” Evan remarked. Several emotions flashed across Harold’s face in quick succession. First surprise, followed by confusion, panic, irritation, and resolution. “Ah, yes,” he said, “you noticed the ticket in my wallet.” Harold sighed. “How may I help you, Mr. Gold?”

“Yeah,” Evan said, “I had a question for you.”

“If it’s about our business deal, I must insist that we talk about it during daylight hours.”

Evan shook his head. “Sure thing. You see that woman back there?” Evan stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Harold.
“What woman?” Harold asked.

“She’s about half a block down. Trench coat? Hair practically glows in the streetlights?” Evan stared her down from a distance. Then he placed his hand around Harold’s shoulder and pointed directly at her. “There she is.”

“Yes,” Harold said, removing Evan’s arm. “Is she a friend of yours?”

“Can’t say she is,” Evan said. “To be honest, I was wondering the same thing about you.”

“That what? That I know her?” Harold asked. “No, I’ve never seen her before.” Then he said, “Would you like me to introduce you?”

“No,” said Evan turning to face Harold again, “I can make my own introductions. No, she’s been following me all evening.”

“Perhaps she finds you enchanting,” Harold said.

“You’re too kind. That’s what I thought at first, but I don’t think that’s it. Something in my gut, something I can’t put my finger on,” Evan said. “You wouldn’t happen to know why she’s following me?”

Harold shrugged, “How could I possibly know that?”

“Yeah,” Evan said and bit his lip. “It couldn’t be somebody else looking for this pearl? Maybe the person who tossed my office? Or maybe she works with the person who- You see what I’m driving at?”

“Believe me, Mr. Gold, I find all of this mildly interesting,” said Harold Huber, “but the second act is about to start. All I can say is that if she is after the item in question, you are reckless to link the two of us together. Not quite the kind of behavior I would expect from a professional detective.”

“I don’t know,” Evan said. “Maybe it was reckless, then again, maybe it wasn’t.”

“Regardless, Mr. Gold, I can tell you I’ve never seen the woman before and cannot tell you why or if she has been following you. My suggestion, since it is the weekend, and you seem to have some time on your hands, go over to her, take her out for a coffee, chat, make eyes at each other, but please, leave me out of it.”

Harold turned to head back in the theater when Evan grabbed his arm. “I understand you don’t know her, Harold, but you should know I don’t play favorites. She gets in the way, and there’s a good chance she gets hurt. Caught in the cross-fire, so to speak.”

Harold turned and looked coolly at Evan. “What you do is your business, Mr. Gold. Good night.” Harold jerked his arm out of Evan’s grasp, gave a curt nod in Evan’s direction, spun on his heels, and re-entered the Granada’s lobby.
Evan looked back at where the young woman had been standing. She was still there. Evan put his hand in his pockets, and immediately his fingers found the pearl. His mind was filled with the same visions of the woman following him that he’d had earlier that day, only now her features were more evident. Ms. Bacall. He chuckled to himself with relief that these visions and reality might square up. “Thanks,” he muttered to whoever this pearl was that was helping him, took in a deep breath of foggy air, and began again his circuitous walking methods to lose Ms. Bacall.

After fifteen minutes of moving south from street to alley to back door to kitchen to road and many points of interest in between, Evan Gold accomplished two objectives simultaneously. He looked around, and the platinum blond was nowhere to be seen. The added benefit was that he stood at the front door of The Walnut Grove Apartments. Evan pressed the button marked WOLF five times. A moment later, he heard the buzz and the door unlock. He opened the front door and walked in.