The Duchess of Skid Row Read Free Page A

the document back in the file. It was time for me to have a talk with Archibald Archer from Los Angeles.
    And to have more than just a talk with Hoxey Creen.

2
    I WAS hurrying past the Record Room counter toward the door when the girl on duty called to me.
    “Telephone, Mr. McKeon.”
    I took the phone she handed me. Stephanie’s voice came out of the receiver. “I was afraid I’d miss you. You left your suitcase here.”
    “How about taking it to your place? I’ll pick it up later.”
    “All right,” she said. “But I have a message for you.” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “ ‘Tool shed on the alley. Six-thirty.’ Does that mean anything, Jeff?”
    The only man I knew who owned a tool shed on an alley was Johnny Itsuko.
    “It could mean plenty. Thanks, babydoll.”
    “You’ll still come at eight o’clock?”
    “You’ve got my suitcase. If I want to shave tomorrow, I’ll have to show up tonight.”
    She laughed and hung up. I handed the telephone back to the girl behind the counter and took off. I had a cab take me to Third and Salmon. I got my car out of the garage there and headed down Third toward Hill Street.
    I made a right on Hill and drove slowly toward Second. I parked across the street from the Blue Beagle on the corner of Second, and spent a few minutes gaping at the changes that had taken place in the past month.
    Eight weeks ago this had been one of the most forlorn blocks on Hill Street. Joe Rome’s Forum, which had sprawled from Third halfway down to Second, had been boarded up and desolate. The old Puget City Saloon, below the Forum, had been just another old building waiting sadly to be condemned and torn down. The only building in the block that had been occupied was the two-story brick one that had once been the Puget City Bank. In it a one-time local debutante had established a mangy espresso coffee house on the main floor and an equally mangy apartment above. She shared the apartment with Hoxey Creen.
    When we were still having fun in the California sun, Griselda had told me she had managed to lease the old buildings and that there was to be some remodeling. But I hadn’t expected changes like the ones I now looked at.
    Joe Rome’s Forum was bright with new paint and a flashing neon sign: C ALUMET’S P LACE . The penny arcade with its “movies-as-you-like-'em” section at the rear, the pool hall, and the big barroom all were doing a rushing business.
    Below the Forum, the Puget City Saloon had been given back its original appearance. Now a discreet sign over the main door read: T HE G AY N INETIES.
    This was Archibald Archer’s place. He must have been well heeled; the work he had done on the old place couldn’t have cost much less than fifty thousand dollars.
    Below the Gay Nineties was Theodora Jenner’s espresso house, the Blue Beagle. The dirty red brick front had been completely changed. The bricks were now painted an electric blue and the door and window frames were outlined in sparkling white.
    I crossed the street and pushed open the heavy front door of the Blue Beagle. I fumbled my way through a dimly lighted foyer to a curtained archway. Behind the curtains was a high-ceilinged, vaultlike room. It was crammed with tiny tables. At one end was a small stage occupied by a lone male. He sat on a straight chair, his head thrown back. His face was twisted with some deep, inner agony as he beat a pair of bongo drums in his lap.
    I peered through the gloom for Teddy Jenner. It was only a little after five o’clock and too early for the type of crowd the Blue Beagle drew. I worked my way through the tables to the waitress.
    “Teddy around?” I asked.
    “Upstairs resting for the rush,” she said. Her voice was indifferent.
    I threaded a path to the rear of the room and went out a back door. It led me past restrooms to another door. This one opened into a small areaway. I could go straight ahead and out into the alley or I could turn right and climb a flight of