Day Two
July 22, 1952
Tuesday Night
The noise turned out to be someone rolling a cleaning cart down the hall, singing mumbled words in a terrible, raspy voice.
Josephine, oh Josephine,
Get your big old lips off of me.
Josephine, oh Josephine,
Get your big old lips off of me.
It’s turning you on, baby,
But it’s making me want to go to sea.
The singing stopped at Bristol’s door, followed by a twist of the knob, a twist that found the bolt thrown from the inside. Waverly and Su-Moon didn’t blink or breathe. The singing started again, glass got swept up then the voice disappeared down the hall. The women waited until it was good and gone, then got the hell out of there.
Outside the storm was even meaner.
Traffic lights swung in the force of the weather.
Except for a few muddled headlights, all the sane people of the world had retreated.
Leaving on Su-Moon’s scooter wasn’t an option.
What to do?
Half a block up the street was a blue neon sign that said California Hotel. They ran for it through sloppy puddles and slippery concrete. It turned out to be a nice place with a crowded bar at the far end of the lobby. They paid more than they wanted but ended up with a nice room on the fifth floor. The concierge managed to wrangle up dry clothes-nothing fancy, just Ts and sweatpants-which he delivered personally with a smile.
“Just leave them in the room when you check out,” he said. “No charge.”
“Thanks. You’re a prince.”
They tipped him good.
Technically, the black book from Bristol’s desk was an address book. To its credit, it did have that type of information, namely names-female names, to be precise-together with addresses and phone numbers.
But there was more.
Much more.
There were dirty little notes about what Bristol had done to them and when.
Red dress spanking 4/22/51
Tied spread on bed 11/4/49
Staked out, Baker Beach, 7/11/52.
Hogtied 2 hours, 9/28/48
“The guy’s a dirty little freak,” Waverly said. “He has a dark side two miles long.”
Su-Moon nodded, then tapped a finger and said, “Look at this one.”
Waverly did.
Michelle
Rooftop blowjob, 3/19/48.
“Rooftop,” Su-Moon said. “There’s our connection, right there.”
“You think?”
She did.
She did indeed.
“I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that blowjob is code for dropped,” she said. “Notice that all the other women have last names and addresses and phone numbers. This one only says, Michelle. That’s because he didn’t want too much incriminating evidence in case this ever got in the wrong hands.” She tapped her finger again. “Even the name Michelle might be code. The date though is probably accurate. We need to find out if anyone got dropped on 3/19/48.”
They checked the envelope.
Inside was a passport and $10,000 cash.
“This was his ticket to ride in case he had to get out of Dodge fast,” Su-Moon said. “He’s not going to be happy about this being gone.”