Crais Robert - The Monkeys Raincoat 1

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About the

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AUTHOR: Crais, Robert

ABEB Version: 3.0

The Monkey'sRaincoat

justthe beast in me.

JailhouseRock

(themovie)

eventhe monkey

needsa raincoat.

"I' m sorry, Mr. Cole, this has nothing to dowith you. Please excuse me." Ellen Lang stood up out of the director'schair across from my desk. I'd had it and it's mate fitted in a nice pastelburgundy a year ago. The leather was broken in and soft and did not crack whenshe stood. "We shouldn't have come here, Janet," she said. "Ifeel awkward."

Janet Simon said, "For Christ'ssake, Ellen, sit down."

Ellen sat.

Janet Simon said, "Talk to him,Ellen. Eric says He's very good at this sort of thing. He can help."

Speak, Ellen. Arf. I rearranged two ofthe Jiminy Cricket figurines on my desk and wondered who the hell Eric was.

Ellen Lang adjusted her glasses, clutchedher hands, and faded back into the director's chair. She looked small, eventhough she wasn't. Some people are like that. Janet Simon looked like a dancerwho'd spent a lot of time at it. Lean and strong. Good bones. She wore tightbeige cotton pants and a loose cotton shirt striped with shades of blue andpink and red. No panty line. I hoped she didn't think I was dclass in mywhite Levi's and Hawaiian shirt. Maybe the shoulder holster made up for it.

Ellen Lang smiled at me, trying to feigncomfort in an uncomfortable situation. She said, "Well, perhaps if youtold me about yourself."

Janet Simon sighed, giving it the weightof the world. "Mr. Cole is a private detective. He detects for money. Yougive him some money and he'll find Mort. Then you can get Perry back and kissoff Mort and get your life together." She said it like she was talking tosomeone with brain damage. Great legs, though.

"Thanks, Mom," I said.

Janet Simon gave me a look, then turnedaway and stared at the Pinocchio clock. It's on the wall beside the door thatleads to my partner's office, just above the little sign that says The Elvis Cole Detective Agency. As thesecond hand sweeps around, Pinocchio's eyes move from side to side. Janet Simonhad been glancing at it since they walked in. Probably thought it was peculiar.

Ellen fidgeted. "I was just curious,that's all. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, Mrs.Lang," I said. "I'm thirty-five years old and I've been licensed as aprivate investigator for seven years. The state of Californiarequires three thousand hours of experience before they'll give you the license.I spent that time with a man named George Feider. Mr. Feider was aninvestigator here in Los Angelesfor almost forty years. Before that I was a security guard, and before that Ispent some time in the Army. I'm five feet eleven and one-half inches tall, Iweigh one hundred seventy-six pounds, and I'm licensed to carry a firearm.How's that?"

She blinked.

"Yeah, it impresses me, too," Isaid. "I don't take custody work. I might find your husband and your sonbut after that it's up to you. I don't steal children unless there's reason tobelieve the child is in danger."

Ellen Lang looked as if I'd kicked her."Oh, no. No, no. Mort's a good man, Mr. Cole, please don't think heisn't." Janet Simon said something like shumphf. "You have to understand. He's been under enormousstrain. He left ICM last year to start his own talent agency and things justhaven't gone the way they should. He's had to worry about the house paymentsand the cars and schools. It's been terrible for him."

Janet Simon said, "Mort's anasshole." She was standing by the sliding glass doors that lead out to thelittle balcony. On a clear day I could go out there and see all the way down

"I just want Perry home, that'sall." Ellen Lang's eyes went from Janet Simon to me, sort of like thePinocchio clock. "Mort will settle for McDonald's. He'll let Perry stay upall hours"

I cleared my throat. "Mrs. Lang, Idon't bill by the day. I charge a flat fee exclusive of expenses and I get itin advance. You're looking at about two grand here. Why don't you wait? Mortmight call." McDonald's. Christ.

"Yes," Ellen Lang said. Shelooked relieved. "I'm sure you're right."

"Bullshit," Janet Simon said.She turned away from the balcony to sit in the other director's chair."That's not right and she knows it. Mort's been threatening to leave foralmost a year. Mort treats her like a sop. He runs around." Ellen Langmade a little gurgling noise. "He's even hit her twice that I know of. Nowhe's taken their son and disappeared. She wants her son back. That's all shewants. It's very important to her."

Ellen Lang's eyes widened but didn't seemto be looking at anything. "Ms. Simon," I said evenly, "as muchas I'd like to lick chocolate syrup off your body, I want you to shut up."

Ellen Lang said, "Oh, my."Janet Simon stood up and then Ellen Lang stood up. Janet Simon put a hand onEllen Lang's shoulder and shoved her back down. "Who do you think you'retalking to?" she said.

"A woman who's very concerned withher friend's problem. But a woman who, right now, is acting like a royal painin the ass. If the sexual nature of my comment surprised you it's only becauseI needed to be shocking to get your attention."

She chewed at the inside of her cheek,trying to decide about me, then nodded and took her seat.

"Also," I said, "I findyou devastatingly attractive and it's been on my mind."

She leaned forward and said, "Erictold us you had a partner. Maybe we should speak with him."

Eric again. The Mystery Man."Fine by me."

Janet Simon looked at the door beneaththe Pinocchio clock. If she looked close enough she'd see the little ridge inthe jamb from the time someone had forced the lock. Three coats of paint, andyou could still see the crack. She didn't notice. "Is that hisoffice?" she said.

"Unh-hunh."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Nope."

Janet Simon stood up, steamed over to thedoor, and went through. I smiled at Ellen Lang. Ellen Lang looked nervous butsmiled back. After a while Janet Simon rejoined us.

"That's no office," she said."There's no desk, no furniture, nothing. What kind of office is that?"

"Italian moderne?"

She cocked her head a little to the side."Eric said you'd be like this."

Eric. "How do you know Eric?" Ismiled. Mr. Sly. I have quite a charming smile. Like Peter Pan. Innocent, butwith a touch of the rake.

"We worked together when I was inthe legal department at Universal."

That brought it back. Eric Filer. Threeyears ago.

"He said you found some filmnegatives for him. He said it wasn't easy. He recommends you highly."

"M'man Eric."

"He also said you were like this."

"Were you ever a dancer?" Isaid.

If she wanted to smile, she fought it.She took out a pack of Salem Lights, lit up in the office but stood in thebalcony door, blowing smoke out over West Hollywood. I liked the way her necklooked when she lifted her chin to send out a plume of smoke. Some woman. I bether mouth tasted like an ashtray.

"Listen, Mrs. Lang," I said,turning back to Ellen, "I don't know if Mort is going to call or not, orwhat you want, or what Mort wants. A couple hundred women have sat where you'resitting, and usually their husbands call. But not always. You're going to haveto decide which way you want to jump."