Shell Game – Chapter 26 – The Lobby

Gold made his way from The Walnut Grove to The Webster. He noticed a familiar-looking woman tucked away in the corner of the lobby reading a book. Evan realized it was his friend Lauren Bacall. He tugged on the brim of his hat to shield his face a little and sauntered over to the front desk. Evan asked the attendant if Harold Huber was in. A quick check of the register said that he was not.

“Thanks,” Evan told the attendant and leaned his back against the counter. From across the lobby, he confirmed that Ms. Bacall was indeed stationed in a far corner and walked to where she sat reading that morning’s paper. He made himself comfortable in the chair across from hers and casually crossed his legs. If she noticed him, she gave no reaction.
“Do you know where our man Harold is?” Evan asked, hoping to get a rise out of his competition.

The woman’s eyes darted to Evan without moving another muscle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she monotoned.

“Sure you do,” Evan said. “Likes to wear brown. Almost exclusively. Avant-Garde hairstyle, I guess you’d call it. You know, Harold Huber. You saw him walk into my place last night.” Evan adjusted his tie.

Lauren bore daggers into Evan with her pupils, “Buzz off, buddy. You’re playing way out of your league.” Her attention returned to her reading.

“I bet you’re right,” Evan said, taking off his hat and resting it on his knee, “but just which league is that I wonder? Tell you what I wonder, I sometimes wonder if we’re all even playing the same game. Hey, by the way,” he said as he uncrossed his leg and leaned forward on his thighs, “you wouldn’t happen to know a man by the name of Plumb, would you? From ‘somewhere in Colorado?’”

The woman folded the paper and slapped it on the side table. “Move along, mister, if you know what’s good for you.”
“Or what?” Evan asked, amused.

“Or I scream for you to take your meaty paws off me.”

Evan nodded and sighed. He smoothed his hair before placing his hat on his head, “Well, we’re going to have to talk sometime. Our paths have crossed too often already for that not to be an eventuality.” Evan turned his gaze to the rest of the lobby’s activity. He made like he was going to stand again but stopped himself. “Oh, and, by the way, be sure to tell,” at this, he placed his right hand over his right eye, “that I say hello.” Evan smiled like a successful mouser.

The woman’s countenance turned to ice, and she repeated, “Buzz off, or I swear I’ll scream bloody murder.”

“Come on, are you sure you don’t know where Harold is?” Evan poked again. “You seem to be very aware of a lot of things. It’s just odd that a man as clumsy as Harold would’ve slipped through your fingers.”

“You’re pressing your luck, mister,” she said.

Just then, the hotel detective on duty stopped by to shake Evan’s hand. “Sorry about Gabe,” he said. “I don’t mean to interrupt. I saw you over here, and I had to offer my condolences. I’m just broken up about it.”

Evan stood to shake the man’s hand, “It comes for all of us sooner or later. Still,” he said as he cocked his glance over to the woman, “you have to wonder what darkness goes on in a person’s heart to kill someone in cold blood.”

The detective nodded. Evan turned his attention back to the detective, “Say, Mike, just a question, friend to friend, but have you lowered your standards around here?”

The detective gave Evan a curious look. “What’s going on?”

“I didn’t know when you allowed women of such obvious loose moral character to loiter in your lobby.”

The woman’s face flushed scarlet, and she once again turned down her newspaper. Her face turned rock hard. The detective looked at her and asked, “What’s your business here, miss?”

But before she could answer, Evan said, “You might want to check her coat. She might be carrying a firearm or two in there.”

Mike looked over to Evan and then to the woman, “Alright,” he signaled her to stand, “empty your pockets on the table.”
The woman complied with the detective’s instructions, all the while drawing her lips into a tight line. Sure enough, the only thing to come out of the pockets was a well-oiled revolver.

“You got a license for that?” the detective asked. The woman nodded and produced the necessary papers. The detective examined them, and once he saw that everything was in order, he handed back the license and said, “Why don’t you pack up and move along, miss. If I see you back here, you better have a respectable reason.”

The woman stuffed the gun back in her pocket, picked up her paper, and looked like she was about to claw great gouges into Evan’s face. She restrained herself, and she left the hotel without further incident. When she was gone, Mike turned to Evan, “What was that all about?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “well, not exactly. Anyway, thanks, Mike.”

“What brings you down here?” Mike asked.

“Seems I’ve misplaced a guest of yours. Harold Huber. Seen him? The register says he’s not in.”

Mike nodded. “Believe me, if he was in, we’d know it. It’s like he’s trying so hard not to be noticed that he lights up like a neon sign on a foggy night. Speaking of fog, can you believe this?” The detective pointed out a nearby window. The fog was thin enough to see across the street but still covered any blue in the sky that might be up there.

“Weirdest weather I can remember,” Evan said.

“I don’t like it,” the detective said. “Reminds me of one of those Twilight Zone shows.”

“Never seen it.”

“I don’t recommend it. Especially not right before bed. It’ll give you the creeps.”

“I get enough of that in my day job,” Evan chuckled. “Anyway, what can you tell me about him? Huber, I mean.” Evan asked.

“Not much. Peculiar fellow. Lots of requests for house staff and the like. But nothing over the line. Been here four days, maybe five.”

“Any strange stories from housekeeping?”

Mike frowned and shook his head.

“Can you tell me if he’s been in at all since last night?” Evan asked.

“I can check my book,” Mike said and motioned Evan to follow him to his office.

Mike flipped the pages on a ledger book on his desk and ran his fingers down the narrowly lined rows. “I have him dropping off his key at seven, but he hasn’t been back to pick it up.” Mike looked up from his ledger, “Something I should know about, Evan?”

This time Evan frowned and shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “Just keeping my eye on him. As you say, don’t know much about him. Trying to see what I can see, you know?”

Mike nodded. “Need me to keep an eye on him? Maybe do some digging?”

Evan shrugged, “Can’t hurt. You know how it is these days; you can never be too careful.”

“You think he’s a Communist? You know the Cubans…” Mike started.

Evan chuckled, “I don’t think it’s anything like that. Probably more a run-of-the-mill kind of situation. Thanks for watching out, Mike. I owe you one,” Evan shook the detective’s hand.

“I’m sure I owe you more than one,” Mike laughed. “Again, I’m real sorry what happened to Gabe.”

Evan stepped out of the detective’s office and had not made it halfway across the lobby when he saw Harold enter through the front door. Harold looked like several miles of bad road, though he tried to disguise it with a show of poise. His cheek had a bandage on it from where Claire had pistol-whipped him, and his face indicated it was in desperate need of sleep and several hours in a dark room.

“Harold!” Evan shouted, and Harold winced under the volume. He turned, smiled weakly at Evan, and said, “Ah, good morning, Mr. Gold. I’m sure you want to chat, but I’m just getting in from last night’s, um, adventure. I would very much not like to see visitors for several hours if I can avoid it. Certainly, of all people, you can understand.”

“I’m sure I can,” Evan said, slapping Harold on the back. “I wondered, though, if there would be a place where you and I could speak. Privately.”

It visibly pained Harold to shake his head but said, “I’m sure that would have a certain interest for me, but my private encounters with you as of late have been less than pleasant.” At this, Harold touched his bandage lightly with his fingertips.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. You know how women can get,” Evan shrugged, guiding Harold over to some lobby chairs, “but we had to put on a good show for the police. You understand.”

“I understand that you and Miss Porter invited me over to get information that I don’t have.”
“What’s that mean?” Evan asked.

Harold lowered his voice so as not to attract any more attention. “It means you know where the pearl is, and you’re toying with me. I don’t know what you hope to gain by your tactics. My employer’s offer is quite generous.”

Evan felt a surge of adrenaline at the mention of the pearl but kept his focus on Harold. Maybe he’d been found out.

He couldn’t imagine how and needed to keep pretending like he didn’t know anything about it.

“I’m sure it is,” Evan said, “but I don’t actually have the pearl – not in my immediate possession.”

Harold’s face dropped, and he clenched his teeth together. “But you said…”

“I said, I know where it is, which, I agree, is also misleading.” He could see the panic grew on Harold’s face. “Calm down, Harold. Miss Porter does,” Evan said, “and at this point, I’m willing to believe her. All I have to do is get her to cough up the location, and we’re in business.”

Harold scoffed and said, “You always have a smooth answer for everything, don’t you, Mr. Gold? It would be amazing anyone believes a word that comes out of your mouth.”

Evan smiled, “Can’t we all admit each one of us is holding onto cards he doesn’t want the other to know about?”

“Fine,” said Harold, and he turned to leave Evan.

“How did you get on with Short and Abrams last night?” Evan asked, which stopped Harold’s escape. “Did they take you over to the station?”

Harold sneered, “Yes, we had a lovely time, thank you.”

“How long did they keep you?”

“Till just now. I was heading back to my room to lie down. It’s been a very long day already.” Harold again turned to leave.

“What did you tell them?”

Harold turned back. “Nothing. You can rest assured my interests are the same as yours. The further the police stay ignorant of what is going on, the better.”

“Are you sure you told them nothing?” Evan asked.

“This, I assure you, Mr. Gold, was not my first interrogation. I know how to keep my wits about me.”

“Good,” Evan said, “let’s keep it that way. I know those two. They’re like bloodhounds. There’s something in the air, and they can smell it. It’s a safe bet they’re likely to come back around sniffing for more information before this is all over. But I wouldn’t worry too much.” Once again, Evan slapped Harold on the back, “Anyway, you should get some shut-eye. You look terrible. I’m sure I’ll find you again when I know something new.”

Harold made a weak smile and meandered to the desk to pick up his room key before ascending the stairs. Evan rubbed his chin, checked his watch, and the strange tattoo on his palm once again caught his eye. He caressed the mark with his thumb and watched the light pulse across its surface before hiding his hand in his pocket. Evan looked around to see if anyone was paying him special attention and, when he saw he was in the clear, began his way back out of the hotel.