A Lockdown Production
Sassy, audacious and independent, Portia DeLysle's impulse to help in any situation stirs up a troubling mix of guns, gangsters, gals, booze and money.
Enjoy some jazz from the era as well
Crawford DeLysle sat stunned, listening to the news. Rodney poured them each a drink and stood by his father, a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Don't jump to conclusions. It doesn't mean Portia is mixed up in any of this."
"Have you heard from her? What about Florence?"
Rodney waffled. "Uh- no I haven't but you know Portia-"
"All too well, Rodney." Crawford set his drink down and leaned forward, turning off the radio. "We need to find her, and fast."
"I did try Florence's number but there was no answer . . . it uh, it was the same at David Ashby's."
Crawford rubbed a shaking hand over his head. "I can't lose a daughter too."
"C'mon, father, it's not that serious. Portia is probably shopping or at one of her speakeasies again. She and Florence are always-"
"Getting in messes!" Crawford stood and went to the phone, dialling and frowning at the floor as he waited. He hung up and dialled again, repeating his frustration by slamming the phone down. "The Trevor businesses are both not answering."
Rodney led him back to his chair and handed him his drink. "I'll call some of my police friends."
Several minutes later he sat by his father and told him what he'd learned. Roland Royce had been kidnapped, beaten and dumped outside his office building. Police investigating at the apartment of Mildred Emanuel took him to the hospital. Two men, reputed to work for Karl Hagen were also found on the premises . . . both requiring medical attention as well.
"Royce's secretary described the man that did all the damage and took Roland away originally . . . he uh, fit the description of the man on the news, the one they found in the elevator shaft." Rodney reached out a steadying hand as his father hurled his drink across the office.
"She's in this. I know it. I know it in my bones!" Crawford wailed.
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"Their blaming me!" Mildred began to panic and everyone started talking at once.
"No, it's just because it was your apartment." Portia said.
"Trust me," Kitty said, "the people we need to worry about know who we all are."
"Uh, excuse me . . . excuse me!" Florence waited for silence then dropped her bombshell. "They can trace Calvin's car. We've been driving it everywhere since our visit to the gallery and it's outside now."
"What were you at the gallery for?" Mildred piped up.
"That's not important." David said. "Flo's right, that car's a dead giveaway."
The squabble began again and the Portia stuck a couple of fingers in her mouth and let out a shrill whistle.
"We can't keep running away from this, we need to go on the offensive."
