Buried Caesars by Stuart M. Kaminsky Read Free Book Online

Army in the middle of its worst war may be the only thing that can save my life. There’s an irony there that doesn’t escape me.”
    I looked his way. He looked out the window.
    “Forget it. It was a bad idea,” he finally said. “A whim. I don’t usually go for them.”
    “Wait a minute,” I came back, assuming he was talking about giving me a hand and not about joining the army. “I could use some help on a case. Just follow-up and tracing.”
    “That’s how I made my living,” he said. “I’ve been beaten, clubbed, knifed and shot at. I finally gave it up and turned to writing full time when I got my skull dented on a case, couldn’t stop coughing blood and almost lost touch with what passes for the real world. Dent’s still there in the noggin to remind me.”
    “What the hell,” I said. “No salary and the food’s on me. Might even get Shelly to give you a discount.”
    “No need,” he said. “I may be emotionally and physically bent but I’m far from financially broke.”

3
    A ndrew Lansing did not live in the poverty belt of Los Angeles County. Life would have been much easier if he had. No, Andrew Lansing lived in an enclosed Pacific Palisades development with a high gate, a guard and, probably, large dogs with big teeth. It made one wonder where Andrew Lansing got his money before he ran off with MacArthur’s political war chest.
    I drove past the driveway and came to a stop a block beyond. I laid out the situation for Hammett and told him only what I had to tell him, that I had to get through that gate, find the house of Andrew Lansing, and get any information I could on where he might be.
    “Lansing’s run off with some money, a lot of money,” I said. “And some papers that are worth something, particularly to the wrong people.”
    Hammett nodded, stone cold, and said, “Come back to the gate in five minutes. They’ll let you through and we can drive up to Lansing’s house.”
    “You’re sure about that?” I said.
    “Reasonably,” he said.
    “What’ll you say?”
    “I’ll improvise,” he said, getting out of the car.
    I watched him walk back toward the gate in my rearview mirror. As he walked he stood straighter. By the time he hit the gate his shoulders were squared. He was into whatever character he had taken on.
    I looked at the wristwatch my father had left me. According to the battered timepiece it was two-twenty. The watch always ran, but no matter how many times I reset it, it had a will of its own. I flipped on the radio and found Vic and Sade on KNX, which meant it was after ten-thirty. Uncle Fletcher was telling Sade that it was time for a family reunion, and Sade was telling Uncle Fletcher that Vic would be against it. Just then Rush came in excitedly claiming that the Gooch cat was stuck in the mailbox.
    I figured five minutes had passed. I made a U-turn and headed back to the iron gate where Hammett, animated and looking a lot healthier than he had ten minutes earlier, stood chatting with one of two gray-uniformed guards. Hammett was nodding sympathetically. He spotted me and waved me forward. I rolled down the window.
    “Floyd,” he said. “Mr. Lansing’s house is number six just beyond the far turn at the left.” He handed me a key. “You go get started and I’ll join you in a while. Arthur and I have a few things to talk about. Arthur was in the Rainbow Division during the last war.”
    “That a fact?” I said, looking at Arthur, a potato of a man. He nodded in agreement.
    I drove on before the other guard, who was more the celery type, started to get suspicious. Number six was easy to find, a white stone building surrounded by trees with a good view of the ocean through a clump of trees. The next house was about thirty yards down the road, which looked recently paved. I parked in front of the house, walked to the door and opened it with the key Hammett had handed me. I left the door unlocked so Hammett could get in.
    The house was dark. The