Dangerous Times (22 page)

Kirk was taken aback by her freshness.

She said, “Who are you; what’s your
name?”

“You first.” He pulled his wallet, opened it
to the license and gazed at it.

She glanced at him curiously. “My name’s
Emily.”

“Emily,” Kirk stated. “Got a pen and paper?”
he asked.

“Your memory that bad, you have to write it
down?”

“No—yes. I was in an accident. I can’t
remember anything before that,” he said impatiently. “Please, pen
and paper.”

Emily swerved to a curbside stop. She
reached behind her seat, lifted her purse up front and fished
around in it. “You happen to remember why you were running from the
guy we left in the street?”

“He’s a cop and thinks I stole somebody’s
money.” Kirk took the pen and pad from her, wrote Frank Lester
Moore and compared it to the signature on the license.

“I’m not him,” he said.

“Told you so,” Emily shrugged.

They both flinched at the sound of
screeching tires. The black SUV blocked her car and Eddie’s two
soldiers hopped out, each with a .45 in plain sight.

Chapter
70

Miu Chuan motioned Kirk down onto Ty’s sofa.
Kwok Tran did the same with Emily. The two Asians holstered their
.45s under their jackets. Miu Chuan looked at Hicks, then asked Ty
in Chinese if this was the cop her Uncle Eddie had told him
about.

She answered with a nod. Then to Hicks,
“They don’t speak English.”

The Asians went to the front door, Miu
saying something to Ty as they left. On her way to the kitchen she
translated for Hicks. “They’re gonna wait in their car, call Eddie
and see what he wants done with these two.”

“Who’s Eddie?” Kirk asked.

“Like you don’t know,” Hicks said as he
walked into the dining room.

“Thought they’d never leave,” Emily yawned,
resting against the arm of the sofa. “Now we can break out the
drugs.”

Kirk gazed at her, unsure if she was
kidding.

Hicks returned with two chairs. He had no
reaction to Emily’s wise-talk. He had heard plenty of it from the
best of them. And there was something else about her, a gut feeling
he couldn’t translate into words.

Ty came back with a full tray of tea. She
placed it on the coffee table. “It’s got caffeine,” and she gave
Emily the once-over. “None’a us had any sleep.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emily asked.
“I look bad because I haven’t slept?”

“‘Cause maybe you were with Frank all
night,” Ty said. “I know who you are,” she muttered, “red-headed
slut.”

“Cut it,” Hicks said.

He and Ty sat in the chairs Hicks had placed
at their side of the coffee table. The detective took his ID out
and held it up to Kirk and Emily. “This means you gotta do what I
say, and I say let’s relax.”

Hicks pocketed the ID, lifted his tea cup
and raised it in a toast. Ty did the same. Kirk and Emily lifted
theirs and they all took a sip.

“Nice suit. Dirty but nice,” Hicks said to
Kirk. Thinking after he got his hands on the finder’s fee he would
get himself some really good ones.

“It’s Frank’s,” Ty said.

Hicks looked at her. “You told me this guy’s
not your husband, an’ now you’re tellin’ me he’s wearin’ his
suit?”

“Yeh,” she said, “and he’s got Frank’s phone
on him.”

Hicks put a hand out to Kirk. “Let’s have
it.” Kirk passed him the phone. Hicks slid it into his coat pocket.
“What’re you doin’ with his phone?” he asked. “An’ why’d he give
you his suit?” Hicks noticing now that it wasn’t a perfect fit.

Kirk shifted on the sofa and said, “I don’t
remember.”

“He’s gettin’ funny with me,” Hicks said to
Ty.

“No he’s not,” Emily butted in. “He had an
accident and can’t remember anything.”

Hicks studied Kirk. “An’ that’s supposed to
be the truth?”

“That’s right,” Kirk answered.

“From what point we talkin’ about,” Hicks
asked, “before or after the money was stolen?”

“I don’t know,” Kirk said, wondering again
if he was the one who stole it.

Ty laughed a little and said, “We’re really
gettin’ somewheres.”

“Yeah, right,” Hicks smirked. He sipped at
his tea, eyes drilling into Kirk’s. “Start from what you first
remember an’ fill us in, up ‘til you got to this house.”

“Okay, then,” Kirk said tiredly. “First
thing I remember is waking up last night in a hospital bed.”

Emily broke in to say, “Nap time.” She
closed her green eyes and settled back into the sofa.

Chapter
71

“Aww…” Bob Staub moaned, waking in the
darkness. Eyes breaking open he wiped the drool from his lips. He
raised a hand to soothe his aching head. Staub’s chubby fingers
brushed something—he shot himself upright, stopped midway by the
lid that covered him.

“No!” he cried out—the grave in the
hills—he’d been buried alive! Staub kicked and flailed at the lid.
Click-click-click, he heard. The tarp loosened and the
early-morning fog rolled into the bed of his pickup.

He undid some more snaps and wrestled the
tarp off him. He sat up and saw that he was parked curbside in
front of his shop. Staub rubbed his bloodshot eyes and tried to
recall how he had gotten here. Then asked himself who could have
driven him from Rancho Palos Verdes to San Pedro…

Nobody, he remembered slowly. Pickup was
stolen…made his way down through the woods…got a cab at the seafood
house…came to his shop to get one of his client’s cars…got dizzy
and tired…passed out in the bed of the…

Staub still didn’t know how his stolen
pickup ended up here. At a loss for an answer he groaned under the
pressure of his aching head, more bits and pieces of last night
floating into memory. Angel with the shovel…Kirk dead by the grave
in a suit and shoes…

Staub’s attention turned to the satchel that
sat with him. Where’d that come from? he asked himself. He unzipped
it. First thing he saw was an empty holster. He then lifted out a
badly stained camelhair coat, the pant leg of a suit stuck to it.
“Blood?” Staub cringed, and he dropped the clothes.

Like a confused child he settled back
against the tailgate and gazed up into the fog.

Chapter
72

Hicks set the tea cup down and said,
“Agreed,” thinking he’d go partners with her in anything and
everything.

Ty was thinking the same thing about Hicks.
Alone with him now, she left her chair, sat opposite him on the
sofa and said, “And that’s the end’a my speech.”

“Killed your mother an’ father,” Hicks
frowned.

“Yeh,” she nodded sadly. “And Uncle Eddie’s
gonna pay for it. Gotta go for the whole ten million, finder fee’s
not good enough.”

“Sure ‘nough isn’t,” Hicks said. He saw
revenge on their side, and saw himself as her knight in shining
armor. And of all things to think about, he couldn’t help wanting
to hear more of her voice. It was the timbre of it, along with the
Brooklyn dialect that made her even more attractive to him.

Ty’s dark eyes were exploring the lines and
crevices of his face. “Betcha got a story or two’a your own,” she
said.

Hicks smiled. “Plenty time later for my
stories, right?”

“Yeh,” she smiled back.

Another agreement had just been made, one
that meant they would have more time alone together.

There was a single knock at the door. It
opened. Miu Chuan came in and spoke Chinese to Ty.

She stood from the sofa. Hicks stood from
his chair.

“He wants to know if ya got handcuffs for
our friends,” she said, “keep ‘em stuck together in his
backseat.”

Hicks reached under his suit jacket, pulled
the cuffs and handed them to Miu.

“And he tol’ me since it all started in San
Pedro, Uncle Eddie’s already on his way there to anchor off the
coast.” Then added, “We’re s’pose to follow Miu’s car down
there.”

“Right,” Hicks said. “We’ll both follow
him.” He hesitated. “‘Less you want to go with me, take one
car.”

“Sure,” Ty said.

To Hicks, her answer was like the sound of
music.

Chapter
73

Frank and Lisa both felt good about the sex
they’d had; Lisa feeling especially good about the extra 500
dollars he had given her. She had made a total of 1,500 so far, and
the day had just begun.

The hell with Kirk, she thought. Same goes
for Dr. David Elkins. Rich bachelors always seem to turn out to be
rich bastards, Lisa had learned by the time she was twenty-one.

She and Frank stepped out of the shower and
dried themselves.

“Bev’s cottage has two bedrooms,” Lisa told
him. “She won’t mind you staying in Kirk’s old room.”

“Why not just stay here?”

“Strait-laced Beverly wouldn’t go for it.
And then there’s Kirk. If he comes home unexpectedly…”

“You’re right,” Frank said, reminding
himself that Lisa didn’t know John Kirk was dead. Never coming
home, he mused; well, maybe in a box.

Lisa wrapped herself in a bath towel, drew
it tight and tucked in its upper corner. She then posed like a
model and Frank nodded with approval.

“Oh no, you don’t,” she said, seeing he was
on his way to another erection. She held her eyes on it. “Bad boy!”
she said to it as she gave it a slap.

“Pleasant surprise,” Frank smiled.

Lisa grabbed it, squeezed it, kept the
pressure on, pumped it and said, “Gets hard, I’ll have to slap it
again.”

“It won’t,” Frank promised.

“Liar,” she said playfully. Lisa released it
and gazed at the full erection. “Go down!” she said to it with
another slap. “Ohh, I’m sorry,” she pouted as she caressed it.

Frank was in 7th heaven. He watched her get
the talc, then powder his erection, and then use her index finger
to give it an even coat.

“I haven’t finger-painted since I was a
school kid,” she laughed.

“Bet you got an A-plus,” Frank said.

When finished she hugged him and whispered,
“I’m going to get dressed.” Lisa felt the warmth of his erection
against her. “Now you better remember, nobody but me is allowed to
play with it.” She took hold of his scrotum, gave it a squeeze and
a tug and said, “You know what I’m saying?”

“Sure do,” Frank grinned, and he promised
himself not to kill her. She was too good to die. No, he thought,
it’s too early to make that sort of decision. He would save it for
another time, after he had tired of her.

Chapter
74

With a huff and a puff Staub climbed out the
back of his pickup. Legs aching, he waddled to the shop’s driveway
apron. He checked the padlock on the front gate. It was angled the
way he had left it last night, the way he always left it.

Staub squinted against the morning fog and
peered through the gate. Confident no one had gotten in, he fixed
his bloodshot eyes on the faded Staub’s Import Motorworks sign.
“Get Kirk to repaint it,” he mumbled.

Aw, shit, he thought on his way back to the
pickup. Johnny-boy’s layin’ dead in the hills—”No he’s not!” he
hollered at himself. His head pulsated with pain, remembering now
that those fucking Mexican kids took the body.

Halted at the tailgate he looked into the
bed, at the satchel. And it dawned on him. His fingerprints were on
it, and on the holster and bloody clothes. If somebody got murdered
he’d be…“Shit!”

Staub snapped the tarp down over the bed.
He’d keep the satchel covered until he could get rid of it. Then
concluded that whoever hit him with the shovel had driven the
pickup down here and left the satchel behind.

But why? Staub asked himself, running a hand
over his salt-and-pepper crew cut. At a complete loss he went to
the driver’s door.

It was locked. He looked through the window
and saw the key in the ignition, house and shop keys dangling from
the ring. “Aw, shit, yeah,” he said to his face in the window. He’d
left the keys in the ignition when he hauled Kirk’s body up the
bridle path.

Staub pulled his wallet and took out his
spare key. He held it up to his reflection and said, “Ha-ha, pretty
smart, huh?” He unlocked the door, hefted himself up behind the
wheel and turned the key that had been left in the ignition. Staub
put the spare back into his wallet and sat there while the engine
warmed up.

It’s Saturday, he thought. Shop closed on
weekends, he would spend it playing detective. No time for whores.
“Le’see,” he began to plan. First thing, he had to find out what
those Mexicans did with Johnny-boy’s body…hospital?

No, he answered himself, Johnny-boy couldn’t
be alive. But Staub was still unsure, maybe too drunk last night to
tell if Kirk was really dead. Aw, fuck, he fretted; Beverly, she
ever finds out what he’d done…

That’s it—first thing he would do is go to
Beverly’s. Kids took the body to the hospital, dead or alive she’d
get a call about it.

7:45 he saw on the dash clock. Deciding now
that the first thing he would do is stop at McDonald’s, get a
cheeseburger and fries.

On his way to McDonald’s, Staub had an idea.
He stopped at a red light, opened the glove box and riffled through
it. “Yes!” he said happily, pulling a matchbook out.

He would go to Leland Park, right now, while
the fog was in his favor. Hadda be a trash can there, he figured,
stuffed full’a junk he could set on fire. Drop the satchel in and
watch it burn.

Chapter
75

Frank sat at Beverly’s kitchen table,
dressed in Kirk’s clothes: black snap-button shirt, Levi’s and
boots; boots worn over two pair of socks for a better fit. Laid out
before him were two scissors, small and large; two combs, short and
long; and for his grazed cheek: adhesive, gauze, and a bottle of
rubbing alcohol.

Frank looked toward the sink filled with
Beverly’s dirty dishes. On the counter, the hair-dye supplies for
his touchup, close to where Lisa stood measuring out the coffee.
Frank ran his eyes over her backside, jean cuffs draped over her
boots, tight beige sweater hugging her trim waist, dark hair
straight to the shoulders.