Gray Area (13 page)

He reached for the Chivas, listening intently.

“You’re equating pain with pleasure and your priorities are pretty
confused.”

“Aside from that, I’m an okay guy, right?” he said, savoring the burn of
the harsher alcohol in his mouth.

“Aside from that, you have to slow down.  I read your medicals six
months ago, Lou,” she said quietly.

So had he.  The doctor had been pretty straightforward with
him.  Old age would not be a huge problem for him.  His body was an
inhaling, exhaling pincushion of bullet and stab wounds, multiple contusions,
internal injuries to his kidneys, stomach and spleen.  Two years ago, his
gall bladder and pancreas were removed, courtesy of a fire fight that went down
hard in East Los Angeles.  His team successfully terminated a bank
robbery, but sustained high personal casualties; Diamond sustaining the most
critical injuries of all.  A dozen hostages had been freed in the
operation and Diamond had again won high praise and another Mayoral
commendation—along with two bullets to the mid-section.  Today, his gut still
hurt from that assault.

“I’d treat what time I had, a good twenty years if you’re lucky, with a
little more respect,” Julie said.  “May I suggest a leave of
absence?  You have a daughter, I believe.”

He slammed his glass down and looked at her.  “Julie, I’m scared
shitless.  If what you say is true then what the hell kind of father can I
expect to be?”

“Why don’t you show real courage, Lou, and find out?”

He turned away from her and began to reach for the Chivas again. 
Then he pulled his hand back and turned to her, nodding. 

“Thanks for the time, doc,” he said.

“I mean it about the time off,” Julie followed him to the door.  She
reached for his hand and faced him, uncomfortably close. 

“When someone like you breaks, Lou, it won’t be an easy toy to fix. 
It’s just that simple.”

Lou nodded once again.  Truer words were never spoke.

SIXTEEN

As he made his way up the Pacific Coast Highway back to Linda Baylor’s
townhouse, the late afternoon sun hovered over the water for what seemed like
an eternity to Lou Diamond.  The sea was flat, as smooth as a lake, and on
the opposite side of sky just above the Topanga Hills, the crescent of the moon
and the planet Venus began to beam brighter as the sun disappeared over the
horizon.  It was a perfect twilight in every respect; calm, cool, almost
mystical.

Diamond breathed deeply of the salt and seaweed air.  Other odors
intruded as he neared Gladstone’s, the trendy seafood restaurant on the fringe
of Malibu proper, and the Charthouse just a few blocks up the road.  He
realized that he hadn’t eaten since last night, though he wasn’t the least bit
hungry.  The visit with Julie had helped, but it did not completely
eradicate the horror of the Palomito encounter in San Pedro.  Moreover, he
couldn’t stop thinking about his brother’s double murder scenario and Berenson
& Marelli.

That wasn’t quite true, really. 

What he couldn’t stop thinking about, of course, was Linda Baylor.

He pulled into her driveway five minutes later.  The doors to the
garage were locked; presumably she was home.  And, if he had any doubts,
they vanished when he saw her front door cracked open.

For him, he thought.  The open door policy reserved especially for
Lou Diamond. 

He didn’t bother to knock this time.  He called out once he was in
the foyer.  “Ms. Baylor?”

Not that he was expecting an answer; he already understood the way she
worked.  Linda Baylor liked games, liked to tease, and liked to lead men
on a merry chase.  He wandered further into the house, and that’s when he
heard the steam hissing from somewhere down the hall.

Diamond followed the noise to a huge bathroom area at the end of the main
hallway.  On further inspection, he could see that the bathroom was
annexed to what appeared to be an indoor steam room.

Snazzy, he thought.  Should have stayed a lawyer, made the bucks,
and avoided psychotic drug traffickers in warehouses.  His mind was
skull-fucking him again and he closed his eyes for just a second to
focus.  He then opened the steam room door.

She was there, between him and a miasma of white hot steam, lying on a
wooden bench.  She was, of course, completely naked—her preferred state of
being on most any occasion, Lou concluded.

“So you came after all,” she said, turning a lazy head his way.

“You invited me,” he said evenly.

“So I did.”  She sat up and reached for a towel.  It looked
like an afterthought because she didn’t seem to care if he saw her buck happy
or not.  More mind-fucking, he thought to himself acidly. 

She reached for the top of an ice chest at her feet, lifted it, and
produced a beer.

“Drink?” she asked.

Diamond walked into the steam room and took the offering.  She
smiled at him, as the towel slipped down, revealing a perfect breast. 
“You always seem to be catching me at awkward moments.  I wonder why that
is?”

Diamond cracked the beer and shrugged.  “Just lucky, I guess.”

Linda reached for a bottle of opened champagne and poured it into a
chilled glass.  “I steam for thirty minutes every day.  If you don’t
mind, we can talk in here.”  She smiled at him.  “I would suggest
getting out of those things, though.”

Diamond sipped more beer, holding her gaze.  He then took off his
jacket and shirt, slipped out of his shoes, then lost the underwear.  He
reached for a towel, but matched Linda’s pace—unhurried, leisurely.  He
sat on the opposite side of the bench.

“You’re not a shy man, Lou.”

“You like games, Linda.  I don’t.”

She studied the latticed network of scars that covered Diamond’s
body.  “How is the investigation going?”

“Slowly.”

“Have you talked to everyone at the office?”

“Most,” he replied, losing himself momentarily in the coolness of the
beer.

“Have you talked to Robert August?”

Diamond jogged his memory for the name.  “Contract attorney. 
No, not yet.”

Linda poured some more champagne.  “He and Jason were friends. 
Good friends.  I’d talk to him.  Before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?”

Linda sipped champagne and began to rub down her thighs.

“Did you know that Jason was bisexual?”

Diamond leaned forward, completely focused on what she had to say. 
And for the first time since he’d met Linda Baylor, he saw her turn away from
him. 
This is vulnerable territory
, he mused. 
The Ice
Queen has a soft spot after all
.

“No, I was not aware of that.”

“When I found out, I was furious.  God knows who else he was
screwing.”

“That must have been ... painful,” Diamond said.

“Yes. I hated Jason for that.”

“Enough to kill him?”

Linda stood up and walked toward him.  The towel fell to the
floor.  She sat next to him and put a tentative hand on his bare
knee.  “Even when you’re relaxing, you’re still working. You’re different
from your brother.”

“How?” 

“There’s something ... sad about you.  Sad and lost,” she said, and
this time Diamond could detect a note of heartfelt sincerity in her voice.

“And Marshall?” he asked, finishing the beer.

Linda smiled and sighed.  “Smart.  Savvy.  Cold.  A
terrific lawyer.  But not lost.”

“I can tell I’m making a great impression,” he said, keenly aware of her
closeness.  He could feel his erection and it irritated him.

“It’s a terrific impression,” Linda said.  “I think you’re more like
me.  You look like a killer.  You’re built like one.  But inside
... you’re just scared.”

Linda’s hand traveled from his knee to his right hand.  She took it
and placed it on her thigh.  Diamond watched and allowed her the
lead.  Her eyes now bore into his own and Diamond was aware that she was
guiding his hand up her leg.  A second later, and his hand was no longer
on her leg.  His jaw clenched but he did not pull back.

“Sometimes,” Linda said huskily, “I just want to forget how scared I am.”

The steam now seemed thicker to Diamond and he realized he was sweating
like the proverbial pig.  Linda closed her eyes as she began to gently
massage herself with Diamond’s hand.  She moaned softly as his hand worked
faster between her legs, again, controlling every move.  She felt to
Diamond like a kind of exquisite, soaked velvet, her insides made solely for
the purpose of heart-stopping sex.  His fingers, with her guidance, found
that place that caused her to breathe faster, and he complied with her unspoken
need, rubbing, kneading her wetness, watching her face contort in unbridled
pleasure.

Diamond told himself this should stop—this was not exactly in line with
standard operating procedure, thank you very much.  But he knew that he
would allow her to use him, for no other reason than he was completely
spellbound by Linda Baylor.  She opened her eyes slightly, the tempo by
which she was guiding his hand to stimulate her increasing with each passing
moment.  At last, she let out a small gasp.  When the moment arrived
she screamed, grabbed his one hand with hers, and shuddered for several
seconds, eyes clenched shut. 

Recovering, she released his hand, stood and took her place on the
opposite side of the bench, as if they had shared nothing more than a friendly
chat.  She poured another glass of champagne, then finally allowed her
eyes to meet his as she reached for a can of Budweiser.

“Refill?” she said.

Diamond was momentarily speechless.  Composing himself, he nodded
no.  “I’m good,” he muttered.

“I know,” Linda smiled.  “You surprise me.”

“Now surprise me,” he said reaching for his clothes.  A tidal wave
of mixed emotions washed over him, not the least of which was a kind of
self-loathing.

“How?” Linda asked.

“Tell me who you think killed Randall and Simpson,” he said.

“By that question, I can tell you have doubts about Don Simpson being
your killer, as well as myself.  In which case, Lou ... keep digging,” she
said, and then her smile disappeared.  “You might not like what you find.”

“Meaning?” he said, almost finished dressing.

“Marshall isn’t telling you all he knows,” she said.  “If I were
you, I’d book Simpson and take a vacation.”

“I get that a lot these days,” Diamond said with clear irritation. 
“Why do I get the feeling
you
aren’t telling me everything?”

“Because I’m not.”

Diamond studied her.  “I’m not going away until I have answers,
Linda.”

“I’m counting on that,” she said.  Her gaze was frank, and it
disconcerted Diamond.  Because what he saw behind that frankness was
something truly surprising. 

He saw fear.  Genuine fear.

“Linda, if I find out you’re the shooter, I’m going to slam you hard,” he
said.

“That almost sounds exciting,” she replied.

“It won’t be.”

Linda watched him as he reached for the door.  “I’m going out on the
boat Sunday.  Come with me.”

“I’m going to spend some time with my daughter.”

“Your daughter,” she echoed, and nodded.  “Yes.  Alright. 
Saturday, then.”

“I’ll be working,” he said.

“Play hooky.  Besides, by Saturday you’ll have more questions,” she
said, standing and stretching her perfect body.  “And I might have more
answers.”

They stared at one another for a moment, then Diamond walked out.

SEVENTEEN

His encounter with Linda was disturbing.  Yet it had been exciting,
too, there was no denying that.  He wanted her on a savage, animal
level.  While he chided himself for this desire, it did not diminish the
ache and longing in his loins.

The bitch.  She knows I want her. 

He drove.  It helped a little.  When he glanced down at his
watch, he realized that he had been driving on surface streets for hours, more
or less in a circle between Malibu and Long Beach.

This is nuts.  Get a grip
.

He decided it was time to go home and sleep. 

When he got back to his apartment, he was genuinely exhausted.  He
remembered that he hadn’t gone shopping for himself in nearly a month—he’d been
undercover that long with the Palomito matter—and so a stop at the local Food
King was not inappropriate.  In fact, it seemed like a damn good idea at
just ten minutes shy of midnight.

At first, Diamond didn’t notice the two men, both in well-tailored suits,
both benignly yuppie in appearance.  They entered the elevator with him on
his way up to his third floor shitty apartment; they even nodded toward him,
friendly as hell.  He hadn’t given them a second thought, his mind on
Linda Baylor.  He
did
notice the two men when they got off on his
floor.  He made it a point to notice them ... because, quite simply, he
didn’t recognize them as familiar neighbors.

He walked down the long, dingy hall to his own apartment at the very end,
near a fire escape.  The two men were both knocking on another door, near
the elevator.  Diamond glanced at them for a moment, as he fumbled for his
own keys.  Friends to someone on this floor, he catalogued them
finally.  Nothing more.

He found the key, inserted it into the lock and opened the door.

He did not see the two men down the hall abandon their knocking efforts
and make a speedy approach toward his own apartment.  Nor did he see them
produce semiautomatic pistols.

It was only the moment after he closed the door, and put the groceries down
on the floor that he was able to listen to the two sounds that saved his life.
 The sounds were the unmistakable chambering and cocking of two guns on
the other side of the door.

Diamond didn’t bother to turn around.  He dived behind his couch, a
good ten feet from his front door, just as the first barrage of gunfire
decimated it.  The strafing rounds ripped through his television set,
stereo and the terrace glass.  Glass became airborne, showering around
him, as he pulled his own .38 police special from his jacket and waited.