Groucho, that I’m pretty damned disappointed.”
“You might try Philip Marlowe, Dan Turner, or some other Hollywood shamus,” suggested Groucho helpfully. “Admittedly, they don’t have our track record, our sterling reputation, or a strawberry birthmark right here, and yet—”
“Tell you what,” cut in the gangster. “If this mess hasn’t been cleared up by the time you guys get back, I’ll maybe send some of my boys to fetch you again.”
“I’ve been thinking of settling down permanently on a farm in Bucks County, Pennsylvania,” Groucho said. “Or possibly in nearby Ducks County, which is very like Bucks County except it has feathers. However, if I ever do return to Hollywood and vicinity, do give me a buzz. Or you might give me a big box of saltwater taffy, which—”
“Rudy, you and Archie run our guests back to where you found them,” Salermo ordered the guy who’d driven us over.
“Nice seeing you and yours once again.” Groucho was about to light his cigar, when he paused and sniffed at the kitchen air. “I think your lasagna’s burning.”
When we were back in front of Moonbaum’s deli, Groucho took a polka-dot handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and wiped his brow. “To paraphrase Napoleon after the Battle of Waterloo,” he observed, “oy gevalt.”
Three
I got home to our beach cottage in the town of Bayside just ahead of twilight. The day was starting to fade and the nearby Pacific Ocean was already turning paler. A gaggle of seagulls was circling overhead, squawking forlornly to each other.
Jane was in the living room, surrounded by what I judged to be too many suitcases to take to New York with us. She was having a serious conversation with our dog.
Dorgan, a bloodhound and a retired movie dog, had been Groucho’s present to us the past Christmas.
“We’ll only be away for about ten days, Dorgan,” she was explaining, kneeling beside him and rubbing his stomach. “Elena Sederholm is an old art school chum of mine and she and her husband really like dogs.”
Dorgan tilted his head in my direction and let his tongue loll out by way of greeting.
“You’ve probably heard me talk about how absolutely dull the Sederholms are,” Jane continued to the dog. “But that’s only from a human perspective, keep in mind. They’re not likely to ask you to play whist and, when it comes down to it, almost anybody can rub your tummy and—”
“Not with your deft touch,” I put in.
“Hey, don’t go saying that in front of him.” Jane stood up, smoothing down her skirt. “Welcome home, by the way. How come you look so frazzled?”
After persuading Dorgan not to keep jumping at my groin, I kissed my wife. “Well, it’s mostly because Groucho and I had sort of an impromptu business meeting with Vince Salermo.”
“Salermo? Wasn’t he the one who bopped you on the sconce and had you shanghaied to his gambling ship while you and Groucho were working on Peg McMorrow’s murder?”
“That’s the Vince Salermo I’m alluding to, yeah.”
She gave an unhappy shake of her head. “My God, they might’ve shot you. Those fellas are always going around mowing each other down,” she said, upset. “Just today they bumped off Nick Sanantonio.”
“So I’ve heard,” I said, putting my hands on her slim shoulders. “Fact is, hon, that’s why Salermo had us transported from out in front of Moonbaum’s to his—”
“Those goons took you and Groucho for a ride?”
“In a way, sort of,” I replied and recounted to her what had taken place in the kitchen at the Fior d’Italia.
At the conclusion of my explanation, Jane took a step back. “Well, okay, but what about the movie actress?”
“Eh?” I inquired, cupping my hand to my ear. “I don’t recall including a movie actress in my scenario. What are you talking about, Jane?”
“I was listening to Johnny Whistler’s Hollywood gossip broadcast while I was at the drawing board this afternoon,” she