Ginny Page 5

  “Yes, sir,” Blagoian said.

  “Gufman, Wertz, you’ll be taking orders from my people only,” Pressman said.

  They nodded in agreement, when Epstein said, “What about …”

  “Harry, you’re a piece of work. I give you West Hollywood, set you up in a profitable business, and what do I get for it?” Pressman asked.

  “Over twenty years now and this is the first real trouble,” the red-faced Epstein began.

  “I don’t know what to do with you. You call a hit on a police officer—now that’s going to screw things up for our organization. They’ll be on our case until,” Pressman hesitated, shaking his head. “You married my niece, Rachel. You are family.”

  “Give me another chance, please,” Epstein begged, beads of sweat forming on this face.

  “Take it easy,” Pressman said. He picked up a small bell and rang it.

  The doors opened and a tall, athletic woman with broad shoulders appeared behind Epstein, clothed in a ballerina’s light gray leotard, with a pink sash tied around her waist.

  “Monika,” Pressman said, as she moved into view of all.

  “Harry, you’re uptight. Let Monika, my personal masseuse, ease your tension while I think about this situation.”

  The woman moved to Epstein’s side and rested her hand on his shoulder. He grimaced in pain but did not say a word.

  “Monika, this is Harry Epstein. He’s had a slight shoulder injury, so be gentle,” Pressman said.

  Monika stood behind Epstein, placed her hands on his neck, rubbing slowly. Then she moved her fingertips to his temple, using circular motions on each side of his face. It seemed to release some tension. She stepped back, loosened the sash, and wrapped it in her hands, leaving a two-foot span.

  Pressman nodded and, moving like a striking cobra, she double looped the sash over his head, tightening it around his neck. With the sash looped around each wrist, she lifted her knee up against his back, between his shoulders, and pulled hard. Epstein struggled to get up, his arms flailing about in a desperate attempt to get free, as the powerful woman choked him. His eyes bulged in silence. Nearly three minutes passed, before she finally relaxed her grip. Epstein slumped forward, his head bumping the tabletop as his large body dropped to the floor and landed with a thud. The pale, frightened observers never made a sound, as the dreadful scene unfolded.

  Pressman stood, took a puff from his Havana, sipped his wine and said, “I think that’ll be all gentlemen.”

  THREE MONTHS LATER

  “Ginny,” Herman Walker, Attorney at Law, said. “I think we’re in the clear. The police haven’t been able to locate Epstein, at least as of yesterday.”

  “I have my suspicions,” Ginny said. “There’s a rumor that Sid Pressman drops bodies down a mile-deep shaft in a deserted mine out in the Mojave Desert.”

  “That might be true, but for now, let’s stick to the known facts,” Herman said.

  “Epstein is out of the picture, along with his two henchmen, Izzy Gufman and Charlie Wertz, so they can’t trace anything back to me.”

  “Your ex-boss, the chief, is still hot to nail you,” Herman said.

  “He has no hard evidence against me, as long as I remain silent,” Ginny said, “Thanks to you for your advice.”

  “Ha. Silence is golden,” Herman chuckled. “I know this isn’t a laughing matter, but—”

  “Let’s leave it at that, Mr. Walker,” Ginny interrupted.

  “Call me Herman.”

  “If there is one thing that I’ve learned from this sordid affair, mixing business and pleasure can be lethal, and I certainly don’t want anything bad to happen to you,” Ginny said.

  “That’s a shame. We could make music together.”

  Ginny threw him a sardonic look from under her lashes. “The only music I want from you is the sound of money, being placed in my palm—you know, crisp bills, hundreds only. Your law firm could hire me as an investigator to do sleuthing for the big bucks,” Ginny said.

  The Ambassador Hotel:

  Ginny Graves smoothed her little black cocktail dress, walked to the double windows and peered down onto Pershing Square. The people scurrying back and forth in the late afternoon rush hour seemed like specks from the tenth-floor view.

  Ginny hadn’t talked to Frank Reid in a year. Now, despite her lawyer’s advice, she was determined to revive their relationship. He’ll be here soon, she thought.

  Putting the finishing touches on her makeup, she stepped back from the mirror and checked her handiwork.

  ‘Where’s that youthful girl that used to stare back at me?’ She thought, ‘I’m only thirty-one’.

  She jumped when she heard Reid’s familiar knock.

  Taking a series of deep breaths, she walked toward the door with a slow, steady stride. By the time she turned the knob, her emotions had built to a fever pitch. She opened the door to reveal her former lover. Reid was standing in the corridor, roses in hand, smiling with delight. She flew into his arms.

  They settled on the couch. Ginny took his hands and asked, “Tell me Reid, when did you … you realize that you loved me?”

  “The first moment I saw you.”

  “Let me think. You mean in the car outside the station?”

  “Yes,” he said looking deep into her eyes.

  “Aha.” She pursed her full lips, smiled, eyes twinkling.

  “I’m happy to amuse you, sweet Ginny,” Reid said, “but you never said anything. Why?”

  “You’re married.”

  “It’s over, Ginny …”

  “I see,” she said, moving closer to him.

  He cleared his throat and put his arm around her shoulders, “Ah … that first day … the guys told me … you were a pretty gal, so I …” he paused.

  “Pretty?” she repeated.

  “In the car you turned to me, reached for my hand and said, ‘I’m Virginia Graves.’”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “I felt a hard slam in the pit of my stomach. You were a thrilling sight—gorgeous, beautiful, my dear. I was flabbergasted, blown over by your magnificence.”

  “Now you’re embarrassing me, Reid.”

  He smiled. “Your deep russet hair, blue-green eyes, perfect features, your luscious kissable lips and that smooth creamy complexion …”

  “Reid!”

  “I could go on and on …”

  “Don’t!” she exclaimed, smothering his lips with wet kisses.

  After a moment, they separated. Reid gave his best smile and said, “Let’s retire, my jade-eyed wench.”

  “Been reading Victorian novels again,” she said, rising to her feet, taking his hand and …

  Ginny sat up in bed, observing her sleeping beau, the exhausted Reid. Her pent-up sexual tension finally relieved, she felt some guilt for putting Lover boy through the long-lasting session. Breathing a sigh of relief, she let her mind drift back in time and to the scary scenario she faced when almost losing Reid:

  Moments after Reid had been rolled into surgery, his wife, Isabelle, approached Ginny in the chaotic and crowded hospital waiting room. “Ginny,” she said.

  “Yes,” Ginny replied, feeling uncomfortable.

  “I have only one request …” Isabelle began, her red watery eyes pleading. She tried to compose herself. “You’re young, beautiful … you can get any man.”

  Ginny gazed at Isabelle through her own tears but did not respond. There was nothing she could say to make the situation any better.

  Officer Jackson, one of Ginny’s ex-workmates, came to her rescue, took her by the arm, led her away and said, “The Chief wants to talk to you now.”

  “Not so fast,” a tall stranger said.

  “Who the hell are you?” Jackson asked.

  “I’m Herman Walker, Miss Graves’s attorney.”

  “She doesn’t need an ambulance chaser,” Jackson said.

  Ginny shed her saddened state and pu
lled herself together. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “My card,” the attorney said, his hand outstretched. The card was engraved.

  “Jackson, it’s OK,” Ginny said, accepting the card and taking Herman’s arm as they walked out into the corridor.

  “I like a woman that makes a snap judgment,” Herman stated.

  “As long as you’re going to keep me from the big bad wolf …” she began.

  “My advice, young lady, is to remain silent and let me handle everything.”

  “Done,” she said, “Now take me for coffee.”

  “Tea?” she asked and made a face, after Herman ordered.

  “Hey, what can I say? I have an English stomach,” Herman said, sliding their tray along the buffet line in the hospital cafeteria.

  The Chief of detectives, Hollywood Division, Butch Fuches, followed them to their table. “Ginny, I need to talk to you.”

  Herman placed the tray on the table and helped Ginny with her chair, both ignoring the Chief, who was standing with his hands on his hips.

  “Back off, Fucks,” Herman said.

  Fuches pounded the table. “That’s FOOSH; you are an ignorant bastard!”

  Herman presented him with a slight smile, showing a small recorder. “The conversation will be recorded.”

  The Chief huffed, spun around and left, whispering under his breath, “Asshole.”

  “I guess you told him,” Ginny quipped, chuckling, “Or he told you?”

  “There’s no love lost between us. I once worked a sexual harassment case against him. We settled out of court, ha ha. Oops, I shouldn’t have said that. Client confidentiality, you know.”

  “I didn’t hear a thing.”

  “Good.”

  “So, Mister, how much is this gonna cost me?” Ginny asked.

  “We’ll trade services,” he said.

  “Trade?”

  “I have enough money to last a lifetime, but what I don’t have is a crack investigator that I can call on at a moment’s notice.”

  “Interesting, but first, can you keep me out of jail?”

  “Yes. I want you in my office at nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” Herman said. “We’ll discuss your situation. So, in the meantime you’re not to talk to anyone. If the police haul you in for questioning, give them my card and clam up … get it?”

  “Girls like to talk,” she said, and then fluttered her lashes, trying to be brave.

  “Just ask for the one phone call and dial me,” he said, keeping his serious tone.

  “I hope Reid’s going to be OK,” Ginny sniffed, changing the subject.

  “Doctor Berny is a good man, the best surgeon in this hospital.”

  “I’d better get back to the waiting room,” Ginny said, blinking her watery eyes as sadness returned.

  “Ginny,” he said, reaching for her hand, “Listen to me. I don’t have all the facts, but with a worrying wife hanging around …”

  “You mean I should take a powder?” Ginny asked, frowning.

  “It’d be best for all concerned,” he said.

  “You’re sending me home?”

  “I hope you’ll be safe?”

  “We don’t know who sent the goons …” she began.

  “Wait. Maybe you should stay with me. At least until we find out who’s trying to kill you.”

  “Tell me, how come you know so much?” Ginny asked.

  “I have sources, my dear,” he said.

  “What were you doing at the hospital?”

  “Visiting a sick friend,” he said.

  “I’ll need to change,” Ginny said, looking over her blood-stained clothing.

  “We’ll find something that will fit,” he said, winked and added. “Size six?”

  “Five,” she said, trying to smile.

  They entered the half-moon driveway, drove up the rise and parked in front of the 1924 two-story, red brick mansion on Rossmoor Avenue in Hancock Park.

  “Nice place,” Ginny said.

  “You’ll like it,” Herman said.

  “Where am I gonna sleep?”

  “There’s a two-room suite on the second floor in the back —very private.”

  “No strangers visiting in the middle of the night?” Ginny asked.

  “Maybe one,” he said, smiling.

  “One?”

  “I have a curious dog,” he joked.

  Herman came around his new metallic, midnight-blue Cobra and opened the passenger door.

  “Curbside service,” Ginny said. “I like it.”

  He took her arm and led her up the steps to the front door. Once inside, Herman’s miniature gray schnauzer came dashing toward them, sliding across the white marble floor in the process.

  “Frieda …” he called when the yelping tail-wagging dog bumped into the couple.

  Ginny dropped to her knees and took Frieda into her arms. “I love her.”

  A slim, middle-aged uniformed woman came in from the dining room. “Mr. Walker.”

  “Susan, this is Ginny Graves, she’ll be staying with us for a few days.”

  “Miss Graves,” the stern-faced Susan said.

  “Hello,” Ginny said, trying to calm Frieda.

  “Susan, could you rustle up something for supper?”

  “Mr. Walker, you know I do not cook on Sundays.”

  “But …”

  “I’ll order a pizza for you,” Susan said.

  Herman looked at Ginny and asked, “Hawaiian or pepperoni?”

  “Sausage,” Ginny said.

  “Susan, one more thing, could you find something that Ginny could change into?”

  The banging on the door woke Ginny. She sat up, trying not to disturb the sleeping Frieda. She glanced at the digital clock, 12:08 a.m.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Ginny, it’s Herman, I have news,” he called through to door.

  Ginny got up and let Herman into the room. Frieda opened her eyes and let out a yelp.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, but I have news of Frank Reid.”

  “News?” she said, yawning.

  “He’s in CCU, doing fairly well, according to the nurse on duty.”

  Ginny flopped on the bed, letting out a sigh of relief, as Frieda came to life, tail wagging.

  Susan appeared in the doorway. “Is everything OK?”

  “Everything’s fine. You can go back to bed,” Herman said.

  Susan huffed and went away mumbling.

  “She keeps a close eye on you, Mr. Walker,” Ginny said.

  “She came with the house,” Herman offered.

  “Interesting,” Ginny said.

  Ginny walked into the kitchen, finding Susan preparing breakfast and Herman at the table reading the morning paper. He looked up and said, “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” she replied. “Something smells good.”

  “Have a seat, Miss Graves,” Susan said, pouring a cup of coffee.

  Ginny smiled at Susan, “Thank you.” Then she gazed at Herman.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I need a piece,” Ginny said.

  “We don’t know each other that well,” Herman smiled.

  “Very funny—a weapon, a small caliber pistol will do.”

  “You won’t need one while you’re staying here. My dog will protect you.”

  “Give me a break. Frieda slept through an intruder last night,” Ginny said with a wink.

  “Ruff,” Frieda barked when hearing her name.

  “I can’t stay forever,” Ginny said, “and besides, I have a business to run, clients to call. I’m working a case now and—”

  “Ginny, the case can wait,” Herman interrupted, “slow down. We haven’t discussed your predicament yet.”

  “I have a spare gun in my apartment. Couldn’t you just drive me over there?”

  “No!” he exclaimed.

  Susan placed a steaming plate in fro
nt of Ginny, and when she opened her mouth to say something, Herman wagged his finger to stop her.

  “Ginny, Susan doesn’t like comments on her cooking.”

  “Mr. Walker, will that be all?” Susan asked, nose in the air.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “Good, I have laundry to do,” she said, heading to the laundry room.

  “She’s in charge,” Ginny stated, using a sarcastic tone when Susan was out of the room.

  “Yes,” he said with a broad smile.

  “She came with this house? What’s that supposed to mean?” Ginny asked, toying with her food.

  “You’re the curious lass, my dear Ginny …”

  “That I am.”

  “OK, if you must know … I bought this house …” he paused to smile, “from an elderly lady; got it for a song, but with conditions.”

  Ginny took a mouthful of eggs, “Mm, very good.”

  He watched her with an amused look on his face, but held his voice.

  “You could fire her, you know. She has a condescending attitude.”

  “No, she’s part of the agreement …”

  “You mean she does more than cook and clean?”

  “Yes, and now you know all, little lady.”

  “Somehow, I missed the ‘all’ part … care to enlighten me?”

  “The former owner, a recent widow, made it clear that Susan had to stay employed as the housekeeper; it’s a long story. But, I, being a bachelor, thought it was fine and now we’re in our second year, compatible in every way.”

  “You can’t live without her?”

  “True.”

  “Men!”

  “She takes good care of me … I’m completely satisfied.”

  “Ha! You’re afraid to cross her … ha, ha,” Ginny laughed.

  “You have a woman’s excellent intuition, what can I say?”

  “I want to hear more …”

  “Shall we change the subject, Ginny?” he asked. “How are your eggs?”

  “What would happen if … ?” Ginny joked.

  “I made a derogatory comment the first day about my eggs and she stomped off and didn’t speak to me for the rest of the day … I got no lunch or supper … it was then and there. Now, I realize where my place is within the walls of this fine house.”