The Lucky Duck Affair. Mel Gilden

He had a broad face, and points of dark hair strayed out from under his flat cap.

      A few miles out on the water True could see the lights of what could only have been the Lucky Duck. A big searchlight swept the area around it. “Is that the hell ship?” Polly asked.

      “That’s it. But don’t let Otto hear you calling it that,” True said. “He has always prided himself on running a refined operation.”

      “No wonder the two of you got along so well,” Polly said.

      When he saw he had customers, the pilot gathered himself together and stood up. “Going out to the big ship?” he asked.

      “What’s the fare?” True asked.

      “A quarter for each of you to go out. Coming back is free.”

      “That sounds about right,” True said.

      “Somehow, I am not encouraged,” Polly said as True helped her into the small boat. They huddled together in the stern as the pilot started the engine. It coughed twice, suddenly roared, then settled down to a happy chuckle.

      “Hang on tight, folks. The ocean is mighty wet.”

      True and Polly got a good grip on each other, but except for the sociability of it they needn’t have bothered. The boat putted slowly past a few rowboats and a magnificent sailboat with its sails furled, and then out into the bay.

      “First time out?” the pilot asked.

      “That’s right,” True said.

      “I thought so. Haven’t seen you before. Never forget a face.”

      “Well, Amos has that kind of face,” Polly confided.

      True glanced at her, eyebrow raised.

      “Yessiree, bob. I’ve seen ’em come and I’ve seen ’em go.” He laughed. “They arrive with a pocket full of money and a head full of dreams and leave wearing a barrel.”

      “You mean they lose their shirts?” Polly suggested.

      “Among other things,” the pilot agreed. “Sometimes I have to loan ’em change so they can call a friend to drive ’em home.”

      “Say,” True inquired, “does this tub ever go any faster?”

      “Oh sure. We could win the derby in this thing.” The small boat continued to putter along.

      “I think that was a carefully veiled suggestion,” Polly told the pilot.

      The pilot looked back at her with a surprised expression. “Oh sure. I get ’cha. Yessiree, bob.” He pushed a throttle forward and the engine roared, making the boat seem to leap into the air. True and Polly clutched each other as the boat flew along, seemingly slicing off the tops of the waves as spray spattered their faces. They would soon arrive at the Lucky Duck. The other advantage was that the engine was now making too much noise to allow conversation.

      The lights of Santa Monica fell behind them and seemed to join together until the coast was a single bright bracelet. They broke through wisp after wisp of fog, and the lines of the Lucky Duck became more distinct. True had to keep revising upward how big the ship was. Many windows were lit, making the ship look like an office building lying on its side. It was held in place by hawsers as thick as a strong man’s arms.

      The pilot swung the boat around, throwing up a wall of water, and giving True a temporary queasy feeling before the boat bumped gently against a floating landing stage that was connected to the ship by a wide gangway. There was enough room on the stage for a hundred people or so, but at the moment there were only two. The pilot tossed a line to a man dressed like Donald Duck—plus pants—and he wrapped it around a cleat in the stage. Standing near the Donald Duck man was a slim woman with long dark hair that caught the light shining from big lamps on the deck of the Lucky Duck.

      The pilot and the Donald Duck man helped True and Polly up onto the landing stage—which was something of a trick because they had to wait until the boat and the stage were in sync, rising and falling at the same time. When the trick had been performed, the pilot handed up their overnight bags and waved at them. “Good luck,” he cried. “Don’t take any wooden nickels! Keep your powder dry!” He turned off the engine and hugged himself against the cold.

      “Welcome to the Lucky Duck,” the slim woman said gaily as she picked up a bag in each hand. “I’m Juanita Núñez, the hostess and official greeter. If I can help you with anything, please do not hesitate to ask.”

      True introduced himself and Polly, and immediately Miss Núñez’ became serious. “Yes, of course,” she said. “Mr. Kepler told me to expect you. He’ll want to know you’ve arrived. Would you come this way, please?”

      “Not expecting any more guests this evening?” Polly asked.

      “Not tonight,” Miss Núñez said. “You’re part of a very exclusive group.”

      Polly raised her eyebrows at True, and he shrugged.

      True and Polly had trouble maintaining their dignity as they tried to get their sea legs on the rocking platform, but it was a pleasure to watch Miss Núñez walk across the stage and up the gangway as if she’d been treading the bucking surface all her life. At last they were up the gangway and on the deck of the Lucky Duck, which by comparison seemed as solid as a continent.

      Miss Núñez led True and Polly through a revolving door that gave the impression it was the entrance to one of Los Angeles’ better hotels. Inside the illusion continued.

      “Not much of a crowd tonight,” True said as he looked up and down the beautifully appointed but empty hallway.

      “As I said,” Miss Núñez explained, “we’re having a private party this evening. You two are the last to arrive. Everyone else is in the main salon for dinner and dancing.” In the brightly lit hall True could see she had olive skin and an exotic face. She was wearing a green sheath that shown with golden highlights as she moved. Altogether, she was quite lovely. “This way, please,” she said and gestured for them to follow; they did so. True seemed to be fascinated by her rolling gait.

      “She has a movement like a fine watch, don’t you think?” Polly whispered.

      “I hadn’t noticed,” True claimed innocently.

      “Of course not,” Polly agreed with a more or less straight face.

      Miss Núñez showed them to adjoining rooms, leaving one bag in each room. “Call me if you need anything,” she said.

      “I have my tooth brush,” True said, “but you never know.”

      “I must see to our other guests,” Miss Núñez said. She smiled at him and escaped as True began to unpack. He finished and sat down on the bed to wait for Polly. When she came to the door a few minutes later, he could see that she had refurbished her makeup.

      “What now?” Polly asked.

      As if in answer to her question, someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” True called.

      A dark well-chiseled man entered. He looked like a high-ranking movie gangster; even in his tuxedo he couldn’t hide his muscles. However, his smile was pleasant and he met them cordially. “I am Marv Kepler,” he said, “Mr. Laird’s assistant.” They shook hands all around.

      “Welcome to the Lucky Duck,” Mr. Kepler said. “I will tell Otto that you are here. He suggested you have dinner, dance if you’d like, and look around a little. No hurry.”

      “When we spoke earlier, I got the impression that something was bothering him,” True said.

      “Otto will speak to you about that. This way, please,” Mr. Kepler said and made a gesture that suggested they follow him out the door. As they strolled along the hallway, music began and became louder. True recognized “The Way You Look Tonight.”

      Mr. Kepler led them to a large room tricked out like