The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

“I’m dizzy but able to stand more,” I said. “What kind of a screwball is this female?”

“Tut-tut,” says Lew. “You’re talking about two million bucks. She’s a poor little girl who came out to Hollywood on a visit and got on the track of the Great Truths of Life.”

“Yeah?”

“Heaven knows,” said Lew more seriously, “I’d have thought two million dollars could keep its head. But I’ve seen bigger ones tumble. Miss Cudahy never saw anything like this village, Mike, and before she could catch her breath she went Hollywood nuts. That’s the only explanation I can make. Not that I gave a damn after her crack about the dead girl holding a cigarette between the wrong fingers. And the cigarette staying there until it burned into the skin! Get it?”

“It can’t be kosher,” I said. “The cops would be howling bloody murder. If true, it means that someone shoved a lighted cigarette between the wrong fingers after the girl was dead, and left her there in the car with the motor running to cover up.”

“Now,” says Lew brightly, “we see all, know all. So it gets murder and I thought fast and hauled you back here. Miss Two Million Bucks didn’t tumble she’d said anything that mattered. She had just thought of the cigarette while talking to me. I’m the only one who knows about it. She’s been questioned by the police and newspaper men, and has testified at the inquest, and had her picture taken, and her soul is harrowed with grief, and all she wants now is to Get Away From It All, and let the Great Truths of Life assuage the tragedy of losing her best friend.”

I had the car parked near Hollywood and Vine by then, and I sat there with a hand on the door eyeing Lew warily.

“Are you nuts?” I wondered. “Or was Miss Millions feeding you a line? It’s been a long time since I’ve heard such addled talk. And that brings me back to your crack about screwballs and someone called The Great Truth, Father Orion.”

Lew was enjoying himself.

“Name your brand of nut and I’ll pick it off the Hollywood tree,” he offered. “Father Orion hangs up on one of the top branches, out near the tip. He doesn’t go in for publicity, but I run across his name now and then. His Shrine of Truth is located away out in the hills beyond Laurel Canyon. He’s got plenty of acres inside a burglar-proof fence out there, and his buildings and land are worth money. Some of the people who go for his line would rate headlines in any newspaper. And they’re not all local folks. Disciples make pilgrimages here. He’s got guest houses on the place for the ones who rate lodging while they’re hanging around getting injections from the fountain of wisdom itself.”