San Diego Noir

A fluting, wailing noise, distant and awful, set my hair on end. I rushed to the door and pulled it open. I heard it again, coming from down the hall. I rushed toward the sound and began thumping on another of those plywood doors.

“Are you all right in there?” I asked breathlessly.

A swallowed scream. A scraping noise. The door opened. A wild-eyed young lady farsightedly peered out at me. “Who’re you?” she whispered, skinny hands flying to the rollers that held her hair. “I’m a mess!” she mumbled.

“You were screaming,” I said. “Is everything all right?”

“It’s the dreams, the bad ones. I’m so sorry to have disturbed you. You won’t tell Mrs. Smith, will you? I can’t get another place, and I got to keep my job!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t snitch you out.” I paused, then added, “What’s the matter?”

“It’s ever since Mary left.”

“Mary?” I kept my face blank. My heartbeat raced.

“Had the room on the end. Real good-looker. But she up and left. Didn’t even say goodbye. I seen Mrs. Smith cleaning out her things real early in the morning and hauling ’em out the back door in a gunny sack. She didn’t see me, but I saw her all right. I tell you, I got scared and then the dreams started.”

“I’m Laura, what’s your name?”

“Nancy Bell, from Dayton, Ohio. Pleased to meet ya.”

“Are you okay now?”

She nodded. “Don’t mind me. I’ve gotta get some sleep—that alarm sure goes off early. Say, thanks for checking on me. That was swell of you. Really.”

“Sure thing, Nancy. Sleep tight.”

As I climbed back into my bed, after barricading myself in again, I vowed to have a thorough look around the house and the yard in the daylight.

I slept fitfully, and dreamed of the dragon I’d seen at the top of the tower growing huge, breaking into my window and attacking me.

When I woke, I lay in bed a few minutes listening to the mourning doves. I could hear the clatter of the other girls getting ready for the day. I had to get up with them so that I looked like just another factory worker. I pulled on my dungarees and plaid shirt, laced up my sturdy shoes, and went downstairs to use the bathroom. Nancy was there, splashing water on her face.

“Hey, sorry I bothered you last night. Listen, lemme buy you a cuppa coffee to make up for it,” she said.

“That sounds great—meet you out front in ten minutes?” Perfect! That would give us a chance to talk away from Mrs. Smith. I wouldn’t put it past her to listen at doors.

Ready for the day, our hair tucked into bright bandannas, Nancy and I walked to the corner grocery and bought thick meatloaf sandwiches and apples for our lunches. The woman I’d talked with the day before took our money. “Are you living around here now?” she asked.

“Yep, I lucked into a room at the Shepard House,” I said, with more gusto than I really felt.

“Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m Mrs. Giordano. The mister’s off working at the tuna cannery, so I’m here all the time. We live right upstairs here, so if you need something after I’ve put out the Closed sign, just come knocking at the side door. But not too late, now.”

“Well, that’s real nice! I’m Laura Taylor, pleased to meet you.” We shook hands.

Mrs. Giordano leaned forward and gave me a meaningful look. “I’ve got some extra ration coupons for sale if you’re interested. Meat, sugar, even gas … Just don’t spend them here, if you catch my drift.”

“Err, no thanks,” I said. Those “extra coupons” would be counterfeit, and I wanted nothing to do with them. There was a lot of money changing hands in that racket, and I knew that organized crime was involved. Could Mary have threatened to report the Giordanos and they or their supplier decided that she was too dangerous to their operation? Mrs. Giordano turned back to the deli counter. A shaft of sunlight hit the knives hanging in a rack over her head, and her face was reflected in the broad blade of a cleaver, distorted into a brutal mask.

Nancy and I grabbed our lunches and headed downtown. We found a little café just off Horton Plaza. It was called The Bomber. It had a red ceramic tile front wall and sported, over its door, a huge painted cutout of a B-24.

Nancy and I squeezed in at the counter between clumps of sailors who looked like they’d been out all night. The mugs were thick and heavy and the coffee was hot. Not much more was needed for two factory girls after a restless night.

“So you knew Mary?” I asked.

“Not real well, she’d hardly been there a week before she left, and I’ve been busy with my beau, so we only visited a bit in the hall. But it’s weird the way she just left like that, and not taking her stuff. We’d talked about maybe going on a double date—my Fred’s got a cousin who was looking to meet a cute girl. But then … she wasn’t there anymore.” Nancy shuddered. “Gives me the willies.”

I hesitated, then decided to take her into my confidence. Having someone on my side in that house seemed like a good idea. I explained, and her eyes got wide.

“You’re a private dick? Holy cow, I never woulda guessed! But … what do you think happened to Mary?”