Copp On Fire, A Joe Copp Thriller (Joe Copp, Private Eye Series) (19 page)

I got all that in the quick scan.

I needed time to study it all more closely, to skull the thing a bit, but figured I didn't have that kind of time up front.

By my educated guess a few too many people were still alive and the clock was running down on them. Besides, I'd reached full heat.

So I went back to Glendale, one more time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

It was nearly midnight when I reached the hills of Franklin's neighborhood. His house was dark except for patio lights. A small sports car stood in the drive, an MG I thought. Two guys were standing alongside and putting things in it when I drove up.

I blocked the drive broadside and hit the pavement, gun in hand.

"Uh
uh
," I said, because they'd taken one look at me and apparently had decided to run.

Both were mid-twenties, handsome and well built. Well built all over, I knew, because I'd seen them both before, naked.

"Taking off?" I asked Roberto.

He was in a sweat, eyes on the gun in my hand, frozen. Same guy, yeah, who'd parked a limo at my office door and told me, "Mr. Moore would like to talk to you."

      
This time the poise was gone. "Yeah, uh—we, we're just leaving. Charlie's not here—"

      
"Not looking for Charlie here, pal. Looking for you."

      
The other one quickly told me, "Hey, I got nothing in this. I don't know what the beef is but—"

      
"Haven't I seen you at Chippendale's?" I asked him, only kidding of course.

      
He said, "No, you saw me at San Marino the other night."

      
"Right," I said, dramatically cocking a finger at him. "You were trying to get between a couple of Siamese sisters. How did it turn out?"

      
He actually giggled and gave a quick look at his partner. "Only way it can when I'm not writing the script. How'd yours turn?"

      
I told him, "Wrote my own script and put her on her ass."

      
He laughed. "I wanted to stay and see that."

      
The other one said, "Tony, shut up," then asked me, "What do you want?"

      
"I want you to make me a bomb."

      
He stared at me very soberly for a long moment. "I don't know how to make a bomb."

      
"Sure you do. Anyway, I brought you the book." I flipped it out of my coat—one of those mimeographed paperbacks from an underground press—showed it to him, put it back. "Justine loaned it to me."

      
"I never saw that before, I don't know what you're talking about—"

      
"Let's go take a look at your workshop. Maybe that will revive your memory."

      
He said, "Listen—"

      
"You listen. The whole thing is nailed and the cops

are probably on their way here right now. You can stonewall it clear into the gas chamber for all I care. We can just stand here and wait for them or—"

      
"What the hell is this?" the other one yelled.

      
Roberto said, "Shut up, Tony."

      
I said, "Yeah, Tony, shut up. This guy doesn't care about your neck. I'd say his interest ends at your ass."

      
"Bull," said Tony. "He's never had my ass. I don't use it that way. I just want it very clear that I don't know from nothing here, I got no part of it."

      
I told him, "Maybe you didn't write the script, pal, but you've sure got a part in it. How are you with death scenes?"

      
Tony looked to Roberto again. "What's he talking about?"

      
"Shut up," said the part-time chauffeur.

      
"Yeah," I said, "let's all shut up and just stand here and wait. It's okay. I don't know about you two, but I've got all night. Nice view up here, isn't it."

      
"I
wanta
know,
what
death scenes?"

      
"It's a big cast," I told the curious Tony. "Everybody dies in the end. All the dumb ones die. Like Roberto and you. Only the stars survive, as usual."

      
Roberto was beginning to crumble. A siren sounded in the distance, probably down on the freeway, nothing to do with us but he couldn't be sure of that.

      
Tony grabbed him by the arm. "What's he talking about, Robbie? Did you build a bomb for somebody?
Dammit
, I told you—"

      
"Shut up," Roberto screeched.

      
I shoved him toward the gate to the patio, shoved the other one too, told them both, "Let's go find the lab."

      
"All right, wait," Roberto wailed. "What do you want?"

      
"I want my ass back," I told him.

      
"Okay, I drove the car. But I didn't wire it."

      
"Who did?"

      
"I don't know, I guess Albert did. We just changed places for a while, that's all. And that's all I know about it."

      
"Why change?"

      
"I wasn't told why. I just drove the man to the meeting with you."

      
"That was Monday. What about Tuesday?"

      
"Okay, I had the car for only a few minutes Tuesday. Just long enough to meet you and pick up the film. We changed off after that and I took the other limo back to the lot."

      
"What lot?"

      
"The studio lot."

      
"Who else was in the limo when you took it back to the studio?"

      
"Nobody else."

      
"Where was the man?"

      
"He was in the other limo."

      
"All that time?"

      
"Well, no, not all that time I had it. We were changing around back and forth."

      
"Why?"

      
"Hell, I don't know why. They just didn't want you to know who you were dealing with, I guess."

      
"Why the big shell game with the cars?"

      
"I don't . . . same reason, I guess."

      
"Where was the wheelchair?"

      
"What wheelchair?"

      
"What wheelchair do you think?"

      
"I don't know. It was in the limo, last I saw it."

      
"Which limo?"

      
"For God's sake, what difference does it make?"

      
"A lot, because the one limo was designed for the wheelchair and the other wasn't. So where did you last see it?"

      
He seemed to be trying to remember, finally said, "I think it was in the studio limo because I remember Albert carrying him. I know at least once I saw Albert carrying him between the cars."

      
"Go back to Monday," I said. "You drove the man and the lady out to my place."

      
"I told you that."

      
"Same man?"

      
"Well, sure."

      
"Who was the lady?"

      
"She looked like Mrs. Wiseman."

      
"Looked like?"

      
"Well, yes, but not exactly."

      
"Don't play with me. I might look sweet but you know what they say about looks ..."

      
"I'm not playing with you. And you don't look sweet to me."

      
"No? I'm destroyed. This is my sweet face. How long you been with Franklin?"

      
"A couple of months."

      
"Then you never met his wife?"

      
"Didn't know he had one." He looked a bit hurt.

      
"How much do you know about Franklin?"

      
"Not much. Nice guy, pays well, doesn't ask for much."

      
"Ever wonder why you're around?"

      
"I know why I'm around. He likes me."

      
"Wonderful. I like you too. Would that make you want to blow up something for me?"

      
He cast a wise look at his pal as he replied, "Depends on what you want blown and how big it is."

      
I waggled the gun at him. "Blow on this, guy."

      
Tony had been staring at his friend with great interest from the beginning of the exchange. Now he interrupted. "Let's do a movie on this. This is really far out. By the way, what man are we talking about?"

      
"Just shut up," Roberto told him. "Stay out of it. You got no piece of it, remember?"

      
"Up yours, you little queer," said Tony right back.

      
"Good question, though," I said. "How would you answer it, Roberto? Who is the man?"

      
"I guess it was Wiseman," he said quietly.

      
"You guess."

      
"Well, okay, it was him."

      
"The real McCoy? Or the real decoy?"

      
"I thought it was him."

      
"Still think it was?"

      
"How do I know? All I did was drive the car. Wish I'd never seen the damned thing. A hundred bucks, a lousy hundred bucks. I'd give them a hundred of my own to take it all back. This has been a nightmare for me, man. A nightmare. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

      
"Maybe it should," I said. "Maybe you were just a bystander like me. If that's true, then it'll all come out in the wash. If not... well, kiddo, it's people like you they invented gas chambers for."

      
Tony fairly shivered. "I think it'd make a hell of a picture," he said seriously.

      
"Shut up," Roberto instructed.

Which brought the expected response, followed by: "What film did you take?"

I said, "Right, what did you do with the package of film after I delivered it?"

"I left it in the car when we changed."