Gecko (20 page)

He watched as Kohler got out of the car. The doctor walked around the vehicle with a straight backed gate, like he had a pipe up his ass, Washington thought. He continued watching as Kohler opened the passenger door and Julia Monday slid out, smoothing her skirt. Then Kohler and Jim Monday’s wife walked arm and arm into the diner.

Hugh Washington decided he was hungry and started across the street. He stopped in the middle of the road, swore at himself for being so stupid and turned back toward his car, parked in front of his room at the motel. I’m the one who put her husband in the police car and took him away. How could she forget me and my ugly face? I remember her. And even if those gorgeous eyes passed over me, Kohler would remember. He didn’t look like the kind of man who forgot anything. He stopped at the car, opened the trunk, took out the backpack, then went back to his room.

From inside his room he had a clear view of the diner across the street. He moved a chair to the window, opened the curtains and sat. He opened the backpack and took out the binoculars. They brought the diner ten times closer.

Kohler and Julia Monday were sitting at a table for two, by the window. Washington could see the shaving rash on Kohler’s neck that edged up to his trimmed beard. He could see the corners of the forced smile on Mrs. Monday. It looked like she might have been crying. He looked back at Kohler, his thin lips, not well enough hidden by the manicured mustache, were moving rapidly, almost snarling.

A young waitress brought them water and took their order. Kohler ordered for both. He continued talking after the waitress left. Mrs. Monday continued listening. Something wasn’t right, she seemed listless, dead on her feet. The shoulder length hair that had been vibrant and fresh two days ago had lost its luster. The sparkle in her eyes was gone. She had that blank look Washington had seen so many times in his career. A combination of sudden shock, loss and grief. It was usually worn on the face of a surviving wife whose husband had been recently murdered.

A third man joined them. He pulled a chair out from an empty table and sat facing the window. Washington had seen his type before. Weasel was the first word that came to mind. He was the sly type that all policeman know, the kind that make good informers because they’re afraid. Afraid of the police, jail, the streets, themselves. Usually they were junkies and this man looked the type, darting eyes, shaking hands, rounded shoulders and nodding head. The hair on the right side of his scalp was exceedingly long and combed over a bald top. The Weasel was vain. He wore a Polo shirt and had a salon tan. He reached into his pocket and took out a brown cigarette. Designer cigarettes, Washington called them. He started to light up when Kohler knocked the cigarette out of his hand with a sudden slap. The Weasel was afraid of Kohler.

Then the Weasel started talking. He punctuated his words with his hands. An excited man. But his excitement wasn’t transferred to Kohler. Mrs. Monday appeared bored. Washington got the impression that the Weasel was always excited. The food came and the Weasel shut up. Pancakes and bacon for Kohler and Monday’s wife. Nothing for the Weasel.

Kohler ate deliberately, Mrs. Monday picked at her food, and the Weasel shifted to and fro, openly leering at Mrs. Monday’s breasts. Washington followed the Weasel’s eyes. Julia Monday was wearing a white silk blouse without a brassiere. Her nipples were visible through the material and she was clearly uncomfortable wearing it and even more uncomfortable with the Weasel’s stare.

He moved the binoculars back to Kohler’s face. The man was aware of what the Weasel was doing and how uneasy it made Mrs. Monday. The bastard doesn’t care, Washington thought. He’s enjoying it. Lady, it looks like when you left your husband, you fell into a bucket of shit. Washington got the impression that if the slimy bastard were to reach out and grab one of those breasts, the doctor would only smile. He was one cold son of a bitch.

“
Glenna, you don’t want anything to do with this man,” he muttered, wishing he hadn’t had lunch with his daughter yesterday, hadn’t told her about his new job, hadn’t allowed her to come with him. If he gets anywhere near her, I’ll kill him.

He put down the binoculars and called Hart back. The thought of the earthquake in Long Beach caused a slight earthquake in his own body as he dialed the number.

“
It’s about time you called back,” Hart said, after he finally got him on the line.

“
You said an hour. It hasn’t even been thirty minutes.”

“
Did you think about what I said? You give us all you got on Monday and all is forgiven. You come back like nothing happened.”

“
Do I come back on the street or do I get back in Homicide?”

“
You get Homicide, if you want it.”

Washington knew the man was lying. He might have believed him if he said they would allow him to work to his retirement in a uniform, but he knew there was no way Hart would take him back in Homicide. He understood they wanted Monday awful bad, but they shouldn’t want anything bad enough to lie to a fellow officer. The man was playing with his life. It wasn’t fair.

“
I’ve given you my decision, Captain. I’m quitting. I’ll find another job. One where they don’t think they have to lie to you to get you to perform the way they want.”

“
Hold on a minute, Washington. You owe us. You owe me. We cleaned that mess up after you and kept you out of jail and your daughter out of court. I saved your ass. You can’t walk out on me.” Hart spat the words down the wire.

“
So this is what it comes down to. You using that to whip me into line.”

“
If I have to.”

“
I told you, Captain, I’m through, finished, I quit.”

“
You son of a bitch! You’ll be sorry. I can charge you as an accessory.”

Washington hung up.

That was that, he thought. No going back now. The only thing left was to make it official. He would have to call personnel, turn in his badge, fill out the forms. It hurt, turning his back on the department that had been his life for so long, but he had a bright future to look forward to with Ron Walker. And he was a man that believed in the future. The past was for losers, the future for winners.

He picked up the binoculars as Kohler was counting out change. He wasn’t leaving a tip. What a swell guy. How do you feel about him now, Mrs. Monday, him and his Weasel pal. They got up from the table, the Weasel leading the way to the door, followed by Mrs. Monday. Kohler brought up the rear.

He lost sight of them for a few minutes as they made their way through the restaurant, but picked them up as they came out the door. He followed them to Kohler’s car, where Kohler went to the driver’s side, unlocked the door and climbed in. The Weasel opened the door for Mrs. Monday, but before she could get in, he placed himself between her and the car and ran a hand along her buttocks, giving her a firm squeeze. She didn’t pull away, didn’t yell, or slap him. She got in the car like nothing had happened, the same blank look on her face.

The Weasel closed the door after her, laughing, turned and walked away. Washington had never seen anything like it. Kohler couldn’t have missed it. The man didn’t care. And from the looks of things, Mrs. Monday was beyond caring. The doctor started the car and Washington put down the binoculars.

He didn’t have to follow them. He knew the way to the doctor’s house. He could afford a few minutes to take care of his personal business. He picked up the phone and called Long Beach. He asked for Captain Roberts. Time to tell his boss what he’d already told Hart.

“
Robert’s desk,” a voice he didn’t recognize said.

“
Is he there?” Washington asked.

“
No, he’s not. Who’s calling please?” It wasn’t 9:00 yet. He was always there till 9:00, rain or shine. He never took a vacation. He never got sick. He was there every morning, six days a week from 8:00 to 9:00. Office hours for his men, he called it. That was when he took complaints, solved problems, listened to worries. Only something important would drag him away. A major crisis. An officer shot. Washington felt his chest tighten.

“
This is Washington, I won’t be in today.”

“
Hugh Washington?”

“
That’s right.”

“
God, I’m sorry about your partner, he was a great guy. Everybody liked him.”

“
What are you talking about?” Hugh felt the lump welling up in his throat. Not Walker, not him. He was young, with a family. He sat on the bed, the phone still at his ear, waiting for the inevitable words he knew were coming next.

They came.

“
Walker died early this morning. I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”

He dropped the phone, buried his head in his hands. He blamed himself. If he would have played it by the book and turned everything over to Homicide, or better yet, stayed out of it all together, Walker would still be alive, but instead he went off half cocked, ignoring all the rules, and Walker had paid.

And he didn’t know where Glenna was.

Chapter Twelve

“
Wake up,” Glenna said, “It’s almost 9:00. You’ve been asleep for over eight hours.” She was backlit against the early morning sun coming in the front window. It basked her hair in a halo, reminding him of how she looked the night before, when she had been lit up by that spot. “We’re going to have to find some clothes for you and get out of here before someone comes.”

He looked down at what he was wearing and last night came flooding back. It was real, Roma was dead. The car was gone. They were hiding in a dry cleaners and he was sleeping on a pile of clothes in a stranger’s shorts and tee shirt. After they’d decided they had to spend the night, he went foraging through the piles of blue paper covered laundry and struck pay dirt—underwear, tee shirt and shorts.

He took his find into the small toilet, stripped and gave himself a whore’s bath at the sink, using a roll and a half of paper towels to clean the manure off himself. He grimaced when he remembered holding his head under the faucet, smelling and seeing the brown muck being washed out of his hair and down the drain.

“
Where do you plan on going?” he asked.

“
I don’t know. Out of here.”

“
We won’t get ten feet before the cops pick us up. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to sample the bill of fare in the local jail.”

“
I don’t care what bill of fare I sample right now. I’m starving,” she said. “We have to get out of here. It’ll be just as bad if they catch us in the cleaners or on the street. Either way, we’re caught.”

“
I think we should stay here for awhile.”

“
What are we going to do when Mr. Dry Cleaner shows up for work?” she said.

“
It’s Saturday. A town this small probably rolls up its sidewalks on the weekends.”

“
You’re probably right.” She sighed, closed her eyes, crossed her legs into a full lotus and started to breathe, pulling the air deep into her lungs, holding her breath, then exhaling.

He watched, fascinated. She was serene, her face as worry free as a child’s. The rise and fall of her breasts, erotic. Her hands on her thighs, peaceful. She was contradiction personified.

He left her meditating and went looking for clothes. He found two pair of Levi’s that fit and stuffed them into a white drawstring laundry bag. He added two denim work shirts, four pair of boxer shorts, two white tee shirts, a Levi Jacket, a pair of dark brown slacks and a white dress shirt. He carried his booty back to where Glenna was sitting in her yoga position and laid it down. He sat next to it.

She opened her eyes.

“
What have you got there?”

“
Clothes, a couple pair of Levi’s, underwear, socks.”

“
You’re gonna take them? More than you need?”

“
This from the girl who wanted to break and enter last night.” He was having a hard time understanding her.

“
But not to take one thing more than we needed and I would have sent the money for what we took when I got home.”

He dug under the pile of clothes that he had used for a pillow and pulled out Eddie Lambert’s wallet. He took out a hundred dollar bill, reached up and put in on counter. “There, does that make you happy?”

“
A nice gesture, but it’s pretty stupid.” She arched her eyebrows with a twinkle of laughter in her eyes. “We might need the money. No matter how much you have in that wallet, when it’s gone we might wish we had that hundred bucks. Take it back. We’ll send the money later, when we know we can afford it.”

“
You’re saying we an awful lot when it’s really just me. Once we’re out of here, you go home, back to your family. They’re probably worried sick right now.”

“
No way. My mom has a new boyfriend and they’re both somewhere off the coast of Baja on the Love Boat. My dad knows I’m okay. I left a message, remember?” She crossed her arms around her chest.

“
A message that probably scared him out of his mind. I’m a wanted murderer, remember that? Even if he thinks I’m innocent, he has to be worried about what might happen to you if the police catch up to us. You could get seriously hurt or worse, killed. No, you’re going back as soon as we’re safe.” He hoped he sounded firm.

“
You’re gonna need me,” she said. “I’ll bet every cop in the state is looking for you. I’ll bet your picture has been all over the news all night long. You think that stupid eye patch you put on last night will fool anyone? And who’s gonna buy food? You? Who’s gonna find a place to spend the night? You? Who’s gonna get us a car? You? And who’s gonna get us out of here? You need me and you know it.”