G'Day USA (28 page)

He dialed her number. The new number. It went directly to voicemail.

‘
Shit.’ And he was away from his computer. He couldn’t track her online. He had to rely on his wits.

He backtracked to the cubbyhole where he found the homeless bag lady. He raised his fist to hammer on the door when a toothless scrawny guy somewhere north of thirty, but not yet in his sixties interrupted him.

‘
She ain’t there.’

‘
Who the fuck are you and why should I care?’

‘
You looking for Ann?’

‘
Baggy lady with way too many coats and a black eye?’

The old guy pushed himself off the wall. ‘You did that to her?’ He did the two right steps followed by a left step stagger most drunks were familiar with and balled up his fists like a bare-knuckled fighter from a century ago. ‘She’s a friend. And a lady. Nobody hurts one of my friends. And a lady.’ He feebly flung his fist.

The Killer casually batted it away and slapped him on the side of the face. ‘Get stuffed, before I rearrange your boney old body.’ He gave him a shove, landing him on his ass in the alley. He squatted down and looked at the bum in the eye. ‘So if she’s not there, where can I find the hag?’

The old man drew a deep breath and let loose a wad of phlegm an alpaca would be proud of, catching the Killer on the right cheek, just below his eye.

He staggered back and wiped his face with his sleeve. ‘Cocksucker, I’ll kill you.’ He swung a boot into his ribs, smiling at the cracking sound on impact. ‘I’ll be back for you, bones.’

The old guy, Ann’s friend, groaned and rolled into a fetal position. The Killer stood over him, unzipped his fly and urinated. ‘This should improve the smell. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a bitch to find and kill.’

M
arty hammered on the one-way glass. ‘What the fuck is taking so long? Did you all go home?’ He cupped his hands around his eyes and pressed against the glass in a vain attempt to see the other side.

On the other side Stanfield elbowed Perkins in the ribs. ‘How long are you going to make him stew?’

‘
Until he shuts up and sits down, or his over-priced attorney shows up. Whichever is first.’

Sampson walked into the viewing area. ‘The attorney wins. He just got here. Looks like he pays more for shoes than I do in rent.’ He flicked the business card with his nail and handed it to Perkins. ‘Nigel Hopkins. Your case. You can deal with the guy. Only non-Jewish lawyer in LA, I think.’ He handed him the card, smiled and walked out.

Stanfield went and retrieved the lawyer and joined Perkins and Marty in the interrogation room.

‘
Have you been talking to my client without me present?’

‘
Idle chat, the weather, Angels, LA Kings. Nothing related to the case. Although I don’t think you have anything to worry about. It was a one-way conversation. Your client is as mute as Marcel Marceau.’

‘
Officers,’

‘
Sergeants,’ corrected Perkins.

‘
Sergeants, what are you charging my client with?’

‘
He’s been obstructing justice and harboring a fugitive, both charges related to an ongoing case, and resisting arrest, which is not related to any specific case. It’s a result of us attempting to place your client in the squad car and being met with moderate physical resistance and an incessant yelling.’

‘
Yelling? Yelling what?’

‘
I believe it was “Attica”, at the top of his lungs. Doesn’t make much sense to me.’

‘
Attica refers to a riot in the Attica Correctional Facility in Attica, New York in, I believe, 1971.’

‘
I know what it refers to counselor. What doesn’t make sense is the riot was triggered by poor living conditions. Have you seen your client’s house? Of course you have. It’s palatial.’

‘
Which of your fugitives is he harboring? What case is he obstructing?

Perkins filled open a case file, spun it to face the other side of the table and pushed it toward the lawyer. ‘A Miss Ellie Bourke. She currently is a suspect in the murder of Bart Sweeney.’

Marty leaned forward. ‘Hey. You told me in the car you thought she was set up.’

Perkins held up his hand. ‘You’re supposed to tell your client to not speak without your consent.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Until we can speak to Miss Bourke, she is still the prime suspect. Now, there may be information she can provide which would change our view, but we need to talk to her first.’ He pointed at Marty. ‘Your client has talked to Miss Bourke a number of times. When we asked your client what was said in those conversations he refused. He’s also warned Miss Bourke, we believe, when we’ve been in the general area she’s in. Harboring and obstructing.’

‘
Ridiculous. It’s not harboring if she’s not under his protective care.’

‘
I think we can convince the District attorney a virtual harboring occurred.’

Nigel took off his glasses and wiped the bridge of his nose. ‘What do you want to make this go away?’

‘
Where is she, what has she said, and he contacts her and tells her to come in.’

‘
That’ll get rid of all the charges?’

Perkins pulled the file back and closed it. ‘Obstruction and harboring go away. Not sure about resisting.’

Stanfield chuckled. ‘He’s kinda soft, partner. Wasn’t
really
resisting. I mean, I’ve definitely had worse.’

‘
Good point.’ He looked at Marty and then at his attorney. ‘Cooperate with helping us track down Ellie and I’ll drop the resisting.’

Marty leaned close to Nigel and whispered. ‘No guarantees, Nigel. I talked to her a couple time and we texted, but I don’t really know where she is. I already told her the cops thought she was set up. Don’t think she believed me.’

‘
You didn’t try very hard to convince her, did you?’

‘
Oh, hell no. I still don’t believe them. Him. Whatever.’

Nigel nodded and sat up straight. ‘Gentlemen, We agree to the premise of your deal, but I have a slight concern with the details.’

‘
Of course. You get paid by the six minutes. What’s concerning you?’

‘
He can certainly tell you what was said in the conversation, but he’s no surer of her location than you are, by the sound of it, and he’s not comfortable telling her to turn herself in when he believes it to be nothing more than a trap.’

Perkins stood and collected the file. ‘Okay. The bail hearing will be tomorrow. Your client will be spending the night.’ He opened the door and motioned for the constable on the other side to take Marty to the holding cell. ‘Process this guy.’ He handed him the file. ‘It’s all in here.’ He and Stanfield left before Nigel had a chance to counter-offer.

‘
Why are you just sitting there? I’m paying you an obscene amount of money to keep things like this from happening.’ Marty struggled a bit when the constable lifted him from the chair and cuffed him. ‘Come on, Nigel. I don’t want to spend the night here.’

‘
Then cooperate. It’s easy.’

‘
It goes against my better judgment.’

‘
If this is your better judgment, you cuffed and heading for fingerprinting and a cell for the night, I’d hate to see the not so better judgment.’ He placed his glasses on, down near the end of his nose and smiled up at his client. ‘Just do it, Marty. You know what you have to do.’

T
he Killer walked south on the boardwalk along Venice Beach for the third time in the last hour. He’d circled the geographical area he was told she was in and hadn’t seen her since he saw her hiding in the alcove.

He scrubbed his face with his hands. His whiskers were getting soft. It had been a couple of days. Fished the Altoids tin from his pocket and popped two more pills. He dry swallowed and suppressed a retch. The brights were getting brighter and the sounds echoed like his head was in a fifteen gallon plastic bucket.

Anger, no, rage fueled him. The threads were slipping through his fingers and he never lost control. ‘Never.’ But it felt like he was in danger of losing it this time.

He reached the end of the beach, past the fishing pier and all the way to via Marina at the entrance to Marina del Rey. He wiped the sweat from his neck and walked up via Marina until he reached Pacific Avenue, where he turned left again and headed north. ‘I’m probably too far south. Fuck.’ He stepped up his pace until he passed the end of the lagoon. ‘This is closer to her location. Her last location.’ He debated having her checked again, but that was something he couldn’t do forever without getting caught. He looked at his watch. He still had four hours before it was critical.

He was moving on instinct now. Left on Hurricane then right on Speedway. A few more blocks and he was near the hole in the wall where he slammed the bag lady.

He discounted going after her again. ‘She’s a waste of air.’ He was about a block away and ready to get back on the beach when a movement caught the corner of his eye. He took a step back and watched Ellie step out of a doorway.

‘
Luck of the fucking Irish. You’re mine.’

He shadowed her, a bit more than a half a block behind. He wouldn’t lose her again.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I felt like I was in the cross-hairs of a sniper’s scope, eyes on me all the time. Shadows flitted past the corners of my eyes. I couldn’t place any one person tailing me, but the feeling was unsettling.

Almost as unsettling as the message from Charlie. The police had my number. I needed a new one. I was running low on cash, but the alternative was broadcasting my location to the cops every step I took.

I dropped into the same phone shop on the boardwalk Danny had visited and got another pre-pay phone.

What the asshole said about Ann worried me. I took a mazy route back to her place. She had nothing to do with this and I really didn’t like him getting her involved.

I paused by the door and looked around. Nobody appeared to be paying me any attention. I knocked gently on the door and slipped into the old storage room.

Ann was curled up on her mattress, back to the door, face to the wall. Her snores sounded wet, like she was choking on phlegm. I gently rolled her over and stepped back. ‘Shit.’ Her upper lip was split and blood caked her cheek.

She moaned and pulled back. ‘Lemme alone.’

‘
Ann. It’s me. Jesus, girl. Are you okay?’

She pulled her coats tighter and grunted something I couldn’t understand. She needed a stitch or two in her lip and a good cleaning, but I couldn’t help her in the state she was in right now. And the longer I stayed here, the more likely I’d be on the receiving end of a battle I didn’t want to have around her.

I gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘I’ll be back, Ann. Take it easy. Lock the door and don’t let anyone in. Remember, lock the door.’

If he was following me, I’d make sure he followed me far away from here. Ann had enough.

And I’d make sure he’d have to work for it.

I turned on the newest phone and looked at the compromised pre-pay phone. I stuffed it in the front pocket of my pants.

A cold gust of wind swept in off the Pacific. I looked west and saw a bank of dark clouds moving in at a good clip. It was going to get wet before it got dark.

I debated sending a message to Charlie thanking him but discarded that idea pretty quickly. My number was going to stay very private until all of this was finished.

I slid it in my back pocket and slowly scanned the full 360 degrees. I was just south of the fish pier. The population on the beach was light to start with on a Thursday, and the approaching cold front quickly dispersed those who remained. Harder for me to hide, but harder for ass-hat to sneak up on me. And if he wanted to keep an eye on me he was going to have to work for it.

It was little over two and a half miles between the Venice Fish Pier and the Santa Monica pier. I used to run it frequently, two or three times a week, before the training intensified for the movie. Then I got enough exercise with the hand to hand combat training - I needed a five mile run like I needed a second head.

I started off with an easy stride. I was confident I couldn’t be tracked through my phone meaning this guy would have to keep up if he was going to keep an eye on me like he said he would.

The beauty of it was jogging in Southern California was as natural as bottled water and spray tans. I fit right in. Not sure if he would.

Jogging up the beach walk was easy. Keeping an eye behind me to see if someone was following, not so much. I’d slow and rotate the full 360 every few hundred meters, and there
were
others jogging along behind me, but none looked like homicidal maniacs.

Whatever that looked like.

The crowd thinned. The wind picked up and the temperature dropped.

The crowd on the beach were pussies. This was perfect running weather. It had cooled to the low seventies and working up a sweat was no longer a concern. I hit a rhythm. At this point I didn’t care if I was being followed; endorphins had kicked in and I was feeling excellent.