CoverBoys & Curses (28 page)

Chapter
Eighty-Two

The
Plan

I
SAT WITH BROCK at the Santa Monica Pier where devouring fish tacos became my
number one goal.

           
Brock couldn’t wait to tell me. In
the time I had hung up my phone, parked, and walked to restaurant at the end of
the pier, Harlan Coal had confirmed his tickets for the baseball game.

           
“Are you sure you’re up to this?
You’re doing that thing with your neck and pulling at your ears,” Brock said.

           
“Just tell me when,” I said. We
waited for our favorite table. Brock bought us a couple of Corona’s at the bar.

           
“Next Thursday’s divisional game. My
first home game since I was benched. Coal and six of his little resident
boyfriends. They’re confirmed to come early and stay late for tours and to meet
some of the players.

           
“How do we know he’ll show?”

           
“Oh, he’ll show. They have private
passes reserved with all the V.I.P. perks: a luxury box, the Adelphia Stadium
Club for all the food and drink they can put away, Dodger Dollars for souvenirs,
and locker room passes for after the game.”

           
“Wow! I’ll take you up on those
locker room passes,” I said.

           
“There’s my old girlfriend, back
again.

           
“More important, we’re in control of
their comings and goings. I got them transportation in the form of a stretch
Hummer. Told Coal it was part of the deal.”

           
I managed a wry grin with pursed
lips sealed so tight I felt like a gator. I could close my mouth shut but there
was little strength to open it again.

           
I managed, “Isn’t he going to wonder
why you’re being so generous with him all of the sudden?”

           
 
“He thinks it’s all because of you. So our war
continues. We’ll be like two gladiators fighting over our princess’s love.”

           
I didn’t go there with him.

Geoff
had told me he’d help anytime. What I didn’t know was that he was an old pro at
jimmying locks. I updated Brock, who said he already knew.

           
“Everything is set to go. So then,
what’s wrong? Something is, honey. What is it?” Brock asked.

           
“Besides breaking and entering?”

           
“Shit. That
ain’t
nothing for you,” he teased, but his penetrating eyes revealed his concern.

           
“I’m missing a set of keys to my
house.”

           
“Did you tell the security company?”

           
“Nah. The guy watching my house is a
moron with muscles. And I’m not about to switch out every lock, then find them
in the bottom of a purse somewhere.”

           
“They’re not with your car keys?”

           
“I keep a set separate for when I
valet park.”

           
“I seem to remember teaching you to
do that.”

           
“Then you get the credit that I lost
them.”

           
The hostess led the way and we
slipped into the cheesy white plastic chairs that adorned the funky deck. The
moist sea breeze immediately began tangling my hair, feeling like a spa
treatment in comparison to the city’s intense heat and smog.

           
“You know, I think it just pisses me
off. There I was putting out an entire issue filled with articles on perverts,
and I had no idea Harlan Coal could have been my lead story.”

           
“Quit beating yourself up. Let me
ask you one more time. Are you ready to roll next Thursday?”

           
“Yes. I’m more than ready.”

           
“I’ll call you on your cell when I’m
positive both Coal and his bevy of boys are at the ballpark. Then, only then,
you and Geoff go and do your thing. And be quick about it, Laurs, even though I
said you’ll have plenty of time. You’re there to get photographs. If you start
feeling spooked, that’s it. You get out.”

           
The waitress arrived and without a
glance at the menu I order the large plate of fish tacos.

           
Brock ordered another beer.

           
“Aren’t you going to eat anything?”
I asked.

           
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m going out
tonight. Saving my appetite.”

So Brock
took some bimbo out to dinner, then probably screwed her brains out, assuming
she had any. One way or the other I had no doubt he had sated his appetite.

           
That next morning my doorbell rang.
A locksmith had orders to change out every lock on every door. Brock Townsend
had prepaid for it.

           
The arrangement, our relationship,
suited me just fine.

FIVE
DAYS LATER THE Dodgers were suiting up to play the Atlanta Braves. Geoff and I
sipped on iced
frappucinos
from the front seat of his
oh-so-obvious bright green P.T. Cruiser, parked several blocks away from The
Centre. We were as ready as we’d ever be when my phone rang.

           
“Our guests of honor are in full
attendance, at their box and ready to belt out the National Anthem on a Chamber
of Commerce day here at Dodger Stadium,” Brock announced.

           
“Perfect,” I said with a lump in my
throat.

           
I tossed my cell back into my purse
and pulled out the camera. Within minutes we had scrambled to the front gate of
The Centre. The halls that once beckoned me, and the walls of the inner sanctum
that once coddled me, now scared the living crap out of me.

           
Geoff turned his dark brown eyes to
me. “It’s not too late. You could go back to the car and let me take care of
this.”

           
“No way.”

           
My mind fissured and leaked like a
cold egg, spewing its contents into the middle of a boiling pot of water.

Chapter
Eighty-Three

Breaking
& Entering

GEOFF
AND I WALKED around the compound as if we belonged to the community. Actually,
Geoff strolled around as if he owned the joint. I felt more conspicuous than
when I sat on Coal’s office floor with the short skirt.

           
Plenty of people meandered around
the gardens. Open doors revealed others gathered on floors of both homes and
community spaces. No locks and no clocks. I saw a buffet line under a covered
patio. No protein that I could observe. Small circles of meditative spirits
spread out under the shade of the trees. I noticed the play equipment at the
far end. No children. Not one.

           
Why hadn’t I seen how weird this
whole thing was?

           
“You okay?” Geoff asked.

           
“Why does everyone keep asking me
that?”

           
“Just answer me!”

           
“We have to walk right past Carly’s
house. I think now would be a good time to really meander. Like to the far
left.”

           
I wanted to make a dashing beeline
to Coal’s inner chamber, but I still had a mind working for me. We continued to
meander.

           
“I’m into those funky lotus ponds,
anyway,” Geoff said, nodding toward the landscaping to the left of us.

           
The flowers blossomed in fragrant
grandeur. Masses of purple-coned Echinacea and rich lavender burst with color.
Manicured rows of herbs rounded out the enthralling blends of sweetness and
spice. I had to admit the grounds permitted an experience equal to any
botanical garden. And I had to admit my dollars helped pay for the experience.

           
“The coast is clear. No sign of
anyone I recognize,” I whispered.

           
“Which means hopefully no one
recognizes you,” Geoff said. “If you ask me everyone around here looks like
they’re mostly into themselves. No one’s paying us the slightest bit of
attention.”

           
“That’s Coal’s house over there,” I
pointed.

           
“Duh. It’s a subliminal standout.”

           
True. The structure marked the far
point of the triangle that comprised the compound. Massive, but the architecture
subtracted rather than amplified the otherwise blatant capaciousness.

           
I panicked. “Geoff, I think after
you get us in you should come back out here and be the lookout. I know what I’m
looking for in there.” At least I thought I did.

           
“No way, Sweets. I’m used to
standing out in a crowd, sometimes for being so damn pretty, and sometimes for
my fairy black ass. They may not be looking at me now, but if I hang around out
here the neon lights are bound to start flashing around me.”

           
“Then let’s get the hell inside.”

           
We slipped into the unlocked section
of Harlan Coal’s so-called residence, opening the creaking screen door. Beyond
it was his Hall of Records, but for now, the space in front of us seemed safe.
Public. Pure.

           
Geoff tried to lighten up the gravity
heavy in the air. “You have me confused. Here you are, a girl who grew up with
everything, and yet you thought that a man with a wooden kitchen table and a
futon as his sole possessions could show you the light?”

           
“I thought money might be the root of
all evil. I thought he was a happy minimalist. And I guess I thought he’d at
least appreciate a Van Gogh.”

           
“More like Van Gogh’s ear.”

           
Or his penis, I thought. I glanced
over toward the photographs at the far corner of the room. Nothing we could
use.

           
“And what do we have behind door
number one?” Geoff touched the massive teak door centered amidst the wall of
solid rock.

I had
already snapped photographs of the outer room just in case there might be something
I had overlooked, and to be certain. Certain of what? I wasn’t certain at all.

Geoff
pulled out a leather case from his deep cargo pants’ pocket and zipped it open.

“What’s
all that?”

“Your
everyday tumbler picks,” he said.

“You
know how to use them? You own them?”

“I’ve
got more talents than you’ve ever imagined, and this is one of my finest
specialties. This takes a queen’s sensitivity, light fingers, plus visual
acumen and an analytical mind.”

The lock
turned and the large teak door opened. We both stood back and gazed into the
narrow chamber in front of us.

“Come
on. Let’s get inside and get this door shut. Just in case.”

Sure.
Just in case, we can die sealed up in a vault rather than out in plain sight.

Geoff
fumbled for the light switch and closed the door.

“Would
you look at this place,” I whispered. “Some Hall of Records.” Old video tapes,
DVD’s and CD’s framed the walls of the galley shaped room from floor to
ceiling. I could also see three boxes full of flash drives behind the glass
doors. All locked.

“A goddamn
librarian lined these shelves. Take photos. I can’t pick those locks without
busting something obvious,” Geoff said. He had already spied the second locked
door.

I took
twenty or so quick photographs. The light was dim but doable.

Geoff
groaned, “This lock is a little more challenging. I need to get my gun.”

“Gun?
What the hell are you doing with a gun?”

Geoff
pursed his fingers to his lips, shushing me. “A snap gun.
 
A fancy lock pick, that’s all. Chill out.
Don’t get all freaky on me now.”

“Right.”
I used the zoom to take more photos.

“Holy
mother of shit!” Geoff wailed as the second door flew open.

“What is
it?”

“Let’s
just say your guy isn’t exactly a minimalist,” Geoff said, stepping aside.

“Holy
shit is right,” I mumbled. “Look at this place. There’s more fine art and
collectibles in here than at The Louvre.”

Geoff
began pushing buttons on a remote control he found atop a stainless steel
cocktail table. Music came on, lights dimmed, and skylights opened.

“Just
get some photos and let’s get out of here,” Geoff said with a new warble in his
throat. “I’ll take a quick look through some of these closets and drawers.”

Baffled
by the sheer opulence in our surroundings, neither one of us heard the screen
from the outer door creak open.