Goodbye Natalie

Chapter Four: Something To Be Proud Of

     Fallon Dawn Hunter sat in a thick-headed fog of daze and bewilderment. The floor seemed to be spinning beneath her after hearing the news that her boss, a man she’d only spoken to once on the phone, had been found dead in his car from apparent suicide. She wanted to spill her guts to attorney Burl Barnes when he pointed out a picture of Alan Rassmussen, wanted to tell him how Alan had called just yesterday with orders for her to deliver to him a briefcase with an envelope from the A-1 Detective Agency’s floor safe. Apparently, and obvious now, the man to whom she’d delivered the case wasn’t Alan Rassmussen, and more ominously, was likely his murderer.

     She hadn’t slept well last night and wasn’t thinking straight though. Before she could get the words out, Barnes had rushed off to the police department to i.d. the body. Now, Fallon Dawn stared out the dirty window of the tiny fourth floor office, at the O-0-D of the Hollywood sign in the distance. The smog clouded the view just as confusion and uncertainty masked her own clear thinking. She wasn’t equipped for this type of intrigue, she felt sick to her stomach and her bladder was agitated. It was the same way she used to feel back in grade school when her sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Cornwell, would call on her for the most difficult questions and she was terrified that she wouldn’t know the answer and panic and pee all over the floor in front of the entire class. A fear she somehow never got over no matter how ridiculous she found the whole scenario. It had never actually happened, but the tension kept her on edge the entire year as Old Cornball would glare at her from behind those thick half-glasses with those bulging eyeballs. To make matters worse, the boy behind her, Bobby Huntley (they had to sit in alphabetical order) was constantly trying to feel her up and touching her and she was sure Mrs. Cornwell was aware of it and just laying in wait to catch her doing something wrong. Why she never told on Bobby she couldn’t quite understand later. At the time though it was all so confusing. She was shocked that a boy would be trying to do those things, and disgusted because how dare the little prick be even touching her...and she was so scared of the teacher, yet, it was exciting also that something so sinister could be going on right under Old Cornball’s nose, knowing it would probably make her eyes pop out if she knew that Bobby, once in awhile, would get his grimy fingers under her dress, if she happened to be wearing a sleeveless top. And why in the name of Old Cornball she would be even thinking of these things in the midst of all the turmoil of today, she had no idea. Fallon Dawn shook her shoulder-length curls and grunted out loud disgustedly, ”You’re not a little girl anymore Fay-Day.”

     That’s what her old dad used to call her. Back when the Midwest winters would keep the whole family inside for months at a time. He’d come in with an armload of firewood, stomping off the snow and red-faced. It was Fallon Dawn’s job to have the fireplace clean and ready for the bigger logs. The melting snow would hiss and sizzle as it melted into the flames. The reassuring pine or hickory smoke aroma filled the house and warmed them all through countless freezing nights. Her pet kitten, Baby Violet, would feign deep sleep to avoid being vanquished to the garage at bedtime. Mama would make hot chocolate and they’d all sing along with Mitch Miller or Lawrence Welk. Now she was a big girl and on her own in Hollywood.

     Fallon Dawn wiped a tear from her eye and pulled a cigarette from her big girl purse. As she reached in she felt the cold hard steel of the Colt .25 she always carried with her now, and briefly recalled the reasons for it. That dried up the tears pretty quick, she wasn’t going to have time for sentimental indulgences and nostalgia just now. She was absolutely certain her boss had been murdered, and she had seen the killer’s face. It began to dawn on her that whoever it was that murdered her boss might be inclined to do her harm as well. Her mind was clicking now, maybe whatever case or cases that Alan was working on would supply a clue as to the identity of his killer.

     Fallon Dawn retrieved the A-1 Detective Agency office key from it’s hiding spot and let herself in. It was dark and musty in the small office. Knowing that the proprietor was cold and lying in the morgue made the space seem that much more morbid and dreary. She pulled the blinds open and began rifling through the desk for leads. It was mostly routine office supplies, some loose paperwork, bills, magazines (apparently Alan liked the busty blondes). Something interesting caught her attention, receipts...that might be something. She stacked those to the side and continued searching. Bottles of bourbon and gin, a shot glass, brass knuckles, mace, a telescoping baton. She wondered if perhaps he’d have taken some of these things with him, whether Alan might still be alive.

     Fallon perused the bookshelf, Moby Dick, Les Mis, David Copperfield, Jane Austin, Chandler, Emerson...apparently her old boss liked the classics, she momentarily wondered if she’d ever get around to reading them. Another shelf banked a whole series of philosophy and psychology books, the third row was devoted to criminal law and detective manuals. Here was one on ”How to Find Anyone, Anywhere”, another on surveillance and tailing suspects, another on disguises and changing identities. Hmm, interesting. She’d never realized there were books on such topics. There was a dusty photograph in a silver frame of a slightly plump, fresh-faced wife and two adorable kids, hanging on their dad as he comically strained to lift them. It cut Fallon’s heart to consider that those kids would never see their daddy again. And with Christmas coming up, how it was going to be their first Christmas in a long line of sad ones without him.

     She moved to the file cabinets. Nothing was current, everything at least six months old. Divorces, missing persons, motel surveillances. On to the closet. A trench coat, umbrella, a shotgun in the corner with several shell boxes. She pulled the desk chair over and stepped on it in order to reach the upper shelf. Some loose folders and more supplies. In the far corner, an old hat box which she pulled down. Inside was a nice old-fashioned fedora with a silk hatband and a small feather. She pulled it out and tried it on, viewing herself in the wall mirror. Not bad. She absently tilted it to the side slightly and as she ran her fingers across the brim, noticed a slight lump in the matting of the band. When she examined it closer, she found a miniature brass key had been concealed there. But what’s it belong to? She looked around the office again, there was nothing there that a key this size would fit. Now her curiosity was peaked. She began thoroughly inspecting the hat box and discovered it had a false bottom. Under the cardboard lining at the bottom was a thin folder. Her hands shook slightly as she pulled it from the hiding spot. It was too dark in the corner to read the name on the faded lettering, she excitedly stepped toward the window to get a better look.

     RIINNNNGGG!!! Fallon nearly jumped out of her skin as the phone began it’s blaring rings from the office desk. It took all of her control not to let out a screech. Alan’s desk phone was ringing loudly in unison with the one out at her reception desk. For the second time in as many days, and the only times in the six months she’d worked there, line two was ringing. She regained her composure quickly and reminded herself that she was a professional phone answerer, after all, that’s what they hired her for. She feebly answered, ”A-1 Detective Agency, how may I help you?”

     A very long three seconds passed before any sound came from the other end. Fallon Dawn kept time by the pounding of the heartbeat in her ears. Paralyzing fear and a palpable suspense wrestled within her, somewhere between her head and heart. When the voice on the other end of the line spoke, fear won out and spread through her like cracks splintering over a freshly frozen lake when you have wandered out too far, too early in the season before it’s gained a solid freeze. The pinging sound of breaking ice signaling that the world’s about to fall from under your feet. The voice was dry and raspy and hollow and evil and she instantly put a face to it. It was the stranger who’d passed himself off as Alan Rassmussen yesterday evening. The man at Griffith Park who she’d unwittingly handed the briefcase to. It was Alan’s murderer.

     ”Fallon Dawn?” She couldn’t speak.

     ”Fallon Dawn, are you there’?”.

     Her throat had seized shut and a lump had lodged there. For a moment, she thought she was going to pass out. Sheer determination and some unknown raw courage forced words out. ”Yes.”

     ”Do you know who this is?”

     She paused, ”Yes.”

     ”I’m sorry to hear about your boss. I didn’t know he was so close to the edge. I guess you never know what’ll push some people over”...pause... ”The world’s a cruel place, a lot of bad things happen...you never know.”

     Fallon Dawn felt threatened, but rather than allowing the feeling to make her scared, she was mad. Mad somebody she didn’t know could step into her life and create such turmoil. ”What do you want7” She demanded.

     The stranger gave a clipped chuckle. ”A feisty one eh? O.K., here’s what I want sweetheart. You keep your pretty little mouth shut, that’s what. You didn’t see nothing, you don’t know nothing, there was no delivery.”

     Fallon Dawn was seething. ”Why would I? I know what you did, you won’t get away with it!”

     The stranger’s voice was icy. ”Those kids sure gonna miss their dad I bet”…pause...”That’s a shame...I wonder who’s gonna look out for them now?”

     ”You sick freak! You hurt those kids and I’ll track you down and kill you myself!” Where that came from, Fallon didn’t know, but it felt like the exact right thing to say. It was one thing for a man to take the life of another without regard for humanity, or basic conscience...it was entirely another to even threaten harm to innocent children. Fallon had no doubt the stranger could be true to his threats.

     A hollow laugh came from the phone. ”Not very lady like dear. But, you have to know...ain’t nothing gonna happen to those kids as long as you keep your mouth shut. Listen sweetheart, you’re a good looking girl, lemme give you some free advice. Give it a decent amount of time, a week or two, so as nothing looks funny...then get out. Whatta ya need that two-bit job for anyway, there’s alotta other things a pretty thing like you could be doin’, you could make some good money in this town...good-lookin’ girl like you.”

     Fallon Dawn knew exactly the kind of girl he was talking about, and the kind of things they did. She also knew they ended up giving so much of themselves away to get the things they wanted that they ended up having nothing left for themselves. Used up till there was nothing left but a hollow shell, then when the looks faded, what was left to lean on?

     ”That’s not for me.”

     The murderer as the confessor, ironically, it was a role he’d become accustomed to. When you’re the last person someone sees alive you end up hearing some very heartfelt confessions. He was used to it, he didn’t care. But apparently, either he’d taken a liking to her genuine naiveté, or else he just liked hearing himself talk. ”Sweetpea, go back to where ever it was you came from. Find yourself a husband, have kids, get fat and have a nice life. This town ain’t for you. I seen a hundred like you kid...now they’re all whores or drunks or too burnt out to know what they are. All of em had that same fire or ambition in em once, looking for something that ain’t even there. It’s all an illusion kid. Fame and fortune...it’s all stardust and mirrors. The few that do make anything of themselves, whatta they got? A little money, a nice house, a rich husband? I promise you, a husband with money is a man with plenty of women, a nice house...now you gotta keep bringin’ in the big bucks to maintain it...it’s all a vicious circle. Ain’t none of it what true happiness is. I know, I seen em all.”

     ”You know, for a murdering thug, you’re very philosophical.”

     ”I got my days. Listen, sweetheart, before you go...Was there anything that Rassmussen left lying around over there...anything like an envelope like the other one?”

     ”What do you mean?”

     ”You know, anything he was keeping hidden or in safe keeping?”

     Fallon Dawn looked down at the file she was still holding. ”No, nothing.”

     ”Are you sure?”

     ”There’s nothing here. He hardly ever came to work. I never even met him.”

     The stranger thought for a moment. ”The cops been there yet?”

     ”No.”

     ”Look kid, do me a favor, They’re gonna want to search the office. But they’re gonna need a warrant first, unless you let em in. Stall em, will ya?”

     ”Now why would I do that?”

     ”Stall em, keep your mouth shut...and you got my professional word, nothing gonna happen ta them kids. That’s my solemn promise.”

     ”This from a guy who kills people for a living?”

     ”Hey, everybody gotta eat, right? All you gotta do is not let em in there without a warrant, that’s all.” Fallon thought for a few seconds, there wasn’t anything to be gained by irritating a killer.

     ”All right.”

     ”You’re a smart kid. I’ll be in touch.” The line went dead.

     For what seemed like a long time, Fallon sat there amongst the mementos and clutter of a dead man’s life. She knew the substance and sum of a man’s life couldn’t possibly be gleaned from a few scattered knick-knacks. It was unbearably sad and tragic that Alan’s life had ended so abruptly, leaving a trail of heartache and sorrow in the wake. But honestly, she didn’t have any responsibility here, it wasn’t her life, her husband or family. She didn’t even know the guy. Maybe it was callous, but she felt it wasn’t worth getting herself involved in. She pulled the bottle of bourbon from the desk drawer and poured a shot, then another. There was no one that even knew of her involvement, no one that would think any less of her for walking away. No one was asking anything of her, it would be different if someone was asking for help here, but there was no one.

     ”Excuse me. Could you help me?”

     Standing in the doorway was someone that Fallon Dawn thought looked familiar. The effects of the bourbon had made her unusually calm and relaxed and the sudden interruption didn’t jolt her. Sitting behind Alan’s desk, with his hat on, drinking his bourbon, all seemed so natural...yet, surreal. She searched for the right words. ”Who the hell are you?”

     ”I...am Vivian Valentine.”

     With all the grace and grandeur of an English Queen, Vivian Valentine then stepped forward into the window light. Fallon immediately recognized her. Standing before her, in this tiny decrepit office, was one of the most well known and highly regarded movie stars of all time. Her last role had been probably forty or fifty years ago, and age had not been particularly kind to her...but in her time, Vivian Valentine was without a doubt, THE biggest movie star in the world. The supple skin now sagged in bunches, the once beautiful eyes were cloudy and hooded with thick lids that seemed weighted by the too-large false eyelashes. Makeup caked in clumps around the crevices of her face and the lipstick was a garish blood red. Her hair was braided and wound in tight buns centered with an outdated pillbox hat with a black netted veil. Around her shoulders was a tattered mink stole that had seen better days, she smelled of mothballs and expensive perfume. On her arms and hands were silk evening gloves with diamond rings worn on the outside. Her dress was a faded evening gown in rhinestone and weathered lace.

     Her voice was still commanding. ”I wish to hire a private investigator.”

     Fallon Dawn shook herself from her star-struck stupor. She realized that Vivian Valentine thought she was a P.I. Considering the scene that the old lady had walked in on, it was understandable.

     ”Oh, I’m sorry ma’am...I’m afraid...”

     "I don’t care to know your fears my dear...My son is missing and I wish to hire your services. This is a detective agency, is it not?”

     ”Well, yes it is...but..”

     ”And I assume you do work here, is that correct?”

     ”Well, yes, but I’m not....”

     ”I’ll give you two-hundred a day, plus expenses, two weeks advance payment.”

     Before she could answer, a clamor in the outer office announced Burl Barnes return. He stuck his head in and took a brief gander. ”Fallon, could I see you a moment please.” He seemed distracted and didn’t notice who the visitor was.

     Fallon excused herself and retreated to Burl’s office. He was in obvious distress and Fallon interpreted it as a natural reaction to having to i.d. Alan Rassmussen’s body. He answered without her asking. ”It was him. It was Alan.”

     ”I’m sorry.”

     ”Yes, well. Who’s that in his office?”

     ”Oh, just someone who wandered in.” She didn’t think it wise to burden him with the details. She’d clear up the old lady’s confusion and send her on her way.

     ”Fallon, ah...there’s something....Well, it’s best to just get straight to it. The thing is, Alan was really the profit earner here, he paid most of the rent and bills and everything. The thing is...I’m not going to be able to keep you on. I’m sorry dear, you can finish out the week if you like. I’ll give you an excellent reference, I just...I’m sorry darling.”

     Fallon wasn’t all that surprised. She knew Barnes’ law business wasn’t bringing that much in. She didn’t want to be a burden and this would give her an easy out anyway. ”It’s o.k., don’t worry. Don’t feel bad, I understand.” They hugged and she suddenly felt protective of the sensitive, congenial man. She wondered how he was going to make it, she was more concerned with his welfare than her own at the moment and it felt alright to refocus the burden for awhile.

     ”Truth is dear, I don’t even know if I can pay the rent...I may shut down for a time.” He slumped in his chair and Fallon quietly exited.

     As she walked the few steps back to Alan’s office, she began to wonder how things had gotten so tragic in such a short time. Where in the world was she going to look for work? Was Alan’s murderer right, was this town too much for her? Was she already admitting defeat and ready to return to the only real home she’d ever known?

     ”Who do I make the check out to dear?”

     She’d almost forgotten that Vivian Valentine was sitting right in front of her as she looked up from the desk. On the bookcase in the back of the room, the faces of Alan Rassmussen’s kids and family stared at her forlorn and wanting. In the other office an aging, once proud attorney was in a heap with the weight of the world on him. In front of him, Vivian Valentine was forcing a check for two-thousand dollars on her.

     ”Well, who do I make the check out to?”

     Regardless of the circumstances, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t deceive an old woman. ”Miss Valentine, I’m not who you think I am.”

     Vivian Valentine raised her chin and spoke elegantly. ”We all must play many roles in a lifetime my dear. It’s up to each of us to determine how well they’re to be played...all one has to do is believe in oneself. If you believe in yourself, the audience will believe as well. Do you believe in yourself dear?”

     Fallon Dawn looked the seemingly feeble old woman in the eye and in that moment felt what audiences around the world must have felt when she’d graced the screen and stages to packed houses and thunderous applause so many times. She wondered where she would be at the old woman’s age, and what kind of life she would be reflecting back on. She hoped it would be something she could be proud of.

     After Vivian Valentine left, Fallon appeared back in Burl Barnes office. When she handed him the check for two-thousand dollars made out to him, he looked at her questioningly. She explained that the aging star had hired her to trace the whereabouts of her missing son and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She had informed Miss Valentine of the fact that she wasn’t a private investigator and wasn’t nearly qualified for such a responsibility. The old woman had somehow manipulated her into thinking that perhaps she might indeed be more capable than even she knew and convinced her to give it a try. She’d finally relented and made an appointment to visit the star’s Hollywood Hills home the following day to gain some background on the missing son.

     ”If you could, would you mind cashing that for me and keep half.” She timidly asked.

     ”Why would I keep half?” Burl Barnes was a bit perplexed.

     ”Well, I’m going to be sort of working out of the office I guess. Seems right to pitch in for rent and stuff. Besides, I’ll probably be asking for a lot of help. It’s only for a couple of weeks, then we’ll see what happens. Saves me from having to look for another job.” Fallon Dawn was happy she could be of some help in Barnes’ time of need, now it was time to get to work. She was going to need to look through some of those detective books in Alan’s office. She might not be able to track down Vivian Valentine’s son, but it wouldn’t be for lack of trying. As she spun to leave, Burl stopped her.

     ”Fallon. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

     She gave him a quizzical smile. ”I’m absolutely sure, I don’t.”