Indigo Slam: An Elvis Cole Novel (14 page)

The young guy shook his head. “Got no idea who that is.” Flawless English without a trace of an accent. Local.

“I think you do.”

The young guy looked nervous, but the older guy seemed calm. The younger guy said, “My mother works at the paper, and you’re scaring her. I’m going to ask you to leave.” I guess the paper was a family business, but it probably didn’t pay for his Ferrari.

“Do you own the paper?”

“I think you should leave.”

I settled back in my seat. “Can’t leave until I see Clark Hewitt.”

The older man said something, and the younger guy shook his head. “We never heard of the guy.”

“Fine.” I crossed my arms and made like I was going to take a nap.

The older man mumbled something else, and the younger guy said, “Are you the police?”

“Clark knows who I am. I gave your mother a card.”

The older man leaned past the younger guy. “If you don’t leave, we’ll have to call the police.”

“Go ahead. We can talk about Clark and his association with your newspaper.”

The younger guy’s jaw flexed, and now he said something to the older guy. “You’re not going away?”

“No.”

The younger guy nodded. “Big mistake.”

He dropped the Ferrari into first gear and rocketed away, tires screaming and filling the air with smoke and burning rubber. Guess he’d seen someone do that in a movie.

The Mercedes left, too.

I waited. I had found the
Pacific Rim Weekly Journal,
and I had found some people who clearly knew Clark Hewitt. I was making gangbuster progress, and I was feeling proud of myself. Elvis Cole, Smug Detective.

Ninety seconds after the Ferrari roared away three men came out of the alley and approached me. They weren’t in Italian business suits, and they didn’t look as if they would’ve been any more impressed by a kid peeling out than I had been. They looked hard and lean and focused with flat, expressionless faces, and all three were wearing long coats. They walked with their hands in their coat pockets, and when they reached the car the one in the middle pulled back his coat enough to reveal a stubby black Benelli combat shotgun. He said, “Guess what you’re going to do?”

“Leave?”

He nodded.

“Tell Clark I’ll be back.”

I started the car and drove away.

Honesty might be the best policy, but leaving is the better part of valor.

I drove back to Belmont Pier, parked in front of a shop that sold whale-watching tickets, and used a pay phone there to call Lou Poitras. He said, “Bubba, you really take advantage.”

“Funny. Your wife said the same thing.”

Poitras sighed. “Just tell me what you want.” Humor. You break them down with humor, and victory is yours.

I gave him the two license numbers, asked for an ID, and waited while he brought it up on his computer. It took less than twenty seconds. “The Mercedes is registered to a Nguyen Dak of Seal Beach.” Seal Beach is one of the wealthier communities along the south beach.

“What about the Ferrari?”

“Guy named Walter Tran. He’s down in Newport Beach.” Another big-money community.

I said, “These guys show a history?” Asking him if they’d ever been arrested.

“Couple of speeding tickets on the Ferrari, but that’s it. You want to tell me what this is about?”

“Nope.” I hung up, bought an iced tea from a sausage grill, then stared at the bay. The water was clean and blue, and Catalina was in sharp relief twenty-six miles away. A young woman in short-shorts and a metallic blue bikini top Rollerbladed past on the bicycle path. I followed her motion but did not see her. The detective in thoughtful mode. I had never heard of Nguyen Dak or Walter Tran, but that didn’t mean anything. Multicultural crime was flourishing with the Southland’s growing diversity, and it was impossible to keep up. I had also never heard of the
Pacific Rim Weekly Journal,
but I was pretty sure I knew someone who had.

I went back to the pay phone, and called this reporter I know named Eddie Ditko. Eddie is old and cranky and sour, but he is nothing if not a joy. “Christ, I got gas. You get to be my age, even water makes you cut the cheese.” You see?

“You ever heard of the
Pacific Rim Weekly Journal?
”

He went into a coughing fit.

“Eddie?” He was coughing pretty bad.

“Jesus, I’m choking to death.”

“I’ll hang up and call nine-one-one.” The coughing was getting worse.

“Screw nine-one-one. They’d probably just put you on hold.” He made a gakking sound, then got the coughing under control. “Christ, I just popped up something looks like a hair ball.”

“That’s more than I needed to know.”

“Yeah, well, try living with it. Getting old is hell.”

“Pacific Rim Weekly Journal.”
Sometimes you have to prompt him.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hold your water and lemme see what we got.” He was probably scanning the
Examiner’s
computer database.

“Check out Nguyen Dak and Walter Tran while you’re at it.”

“Christ, you’re pushy.” He made a hawking sound, then he spit. Sweet. “Here we go. It’s a political soapbox for nationalist Vietnamese who want their country back. LAPD’s Antiterrorist Task Force has them on the monitor list.”

The blader with the metallic top rolled past in the opposite direction. I said, “Political terrorists?”

“You know how the Cubans in South Florida want to overthrow Castro? It’s the same thing. The
Pacific Rim Weekly Journal
raises money and lobbies politicians to discourage normalization with the Commies.” Commies. “They also advocate the overthrow of the Communist government over there, and under our statutes that qualifies as terrorism, so LAPD has to waste money watching them.”

“What do you mean, ‘waste’?”

More coughing. Another hawking sound, and then the spitting. “Christ, that one had legs.”

“Why a waste, Eddie?”

“We did a feature on these guys in the Orange County edition a couple of years back. Dak and Tran and some of their pals fund the paper, but it’s not how they make their living. They’re self-made millionaires. Dak washed dishes until he scraped together the money to open a noodle shop. That led to more noodle shops, and pretty soon he was building strip malls. Tran bought a goddamned carpet shampooer to wash rugs after the day shift, and now he’s got six hundred employees.”

I thought about Tran in his Ferrari. “Tran’s a young guy.”

“You must be talkin’ about his kid, Walter Junior. Walter Senior’s gotta be in his sixties. These guys came here with nothing, and now they’re living the American dream.”

“Except that they’re listed as terrorists.”

“Yeah, well, they didn’t come over here for the oranges. They fled Vietnam to escape the Communists, and they damn well want the Commies out so they can go home.”

“Thanks, Eddie.”

I put down the phone and stared at the Rollerbladers and thought about self-made men without criminal records who just want to go home. Good Republicans with a raggy little newspaper and a career counterfeiter on the payroll. Maybe they couldn’t quite raise enough money for the cause through strip malls and carpet cleaning and political action committees, so now they were branching out into crime. Crime, after all, is America’s largest growth industry.

I made one more call, this time to Joe Pike. “You hear from Lucy?”

“Yes.” She had given him her flight information, and he passed it to me. She would be arriving on a Delta flight from New Orleans in a little less than two hours, and she would expect me to pick her up. She had made arrangements to stay with Tracy, and, if I couldn’t make it, I was to call Tracy.

“Kids okay?”

Pike hung up. I guess too much time with Charles will do that to you.

I worked my way back onto the freeway and made the long drive north to LAX, periodically checking the mirror for Russians, federal agents, and Vietnamese thugs with Benelli autoloading shotguns. If I could bring these guys together, we could have quite a party.

The traffic was dense and sluggish, but I found myself smiling more often than not, and feeling pretty good about things. I was getting closer to Clark, and I was only minutes away from seeing Lucy. I had been neither shot nor beaten in almost three days. Happy is as happy does.

I was still happy when Lucy Chenier came out of the jetway, saw me, and opened her arms. She was wearing a charcoal suit and carrying an overnight bag. She wasn’t smiling, but that was okay. I was smiling enough for both of us.

We hugged, and I could feel the tension in her back and shoulders, and the strength there. I whispered into her hair, “It is so good to see you. Even for a rotten reason like this.” Her hair smelled of peaches.

She hugged harder, and an overweight man with no hair scowled because we were blocking his way.

“You want me to take you to Tracy’s?”

“I want to spend some time with you first. There’s something that we need to talk about.” Her face was composed and empty of emotion, and I thought it must be her game face. The same face she would use in court; the face she had used when she was working her way through college on a tennis scholarship.

“Okay. Do you have bags?”

“Only this.” She let me carry her bag, and as we walked to the car she said little. Focused, I guess. Sleek and stripped down and ready for war. Or maybe she was just scared.

Once we were on the freeway, she brought my hand into her lap, holding it tight with both of hers. I thought she might fear letting go. I said, “Does Ben know what’s going on?”

Her eyes were not quite on the creeping red lights ahead of us. “No. I’ve always kept the bad things between me and Richard from him. I’ve thought that was best.”

I nodded.

“I didn’t want him in the middle.”

“Of course.”

She glanced at me. “I don’t want you in the middle either.”

I looked at her. A woman in a black Jaguar cut in front of us and I had to brake. “Luce, there is no middle here for me. I love you, and I’m with you. I’ll help any way I can.”

A tiny smile worked at her lips. The smile was so small that it was almost impossible to see. I almost didn’t. She said, “I know that you do, but I have to do this without you.”

I didn’t say anything.

“It’s important to me that you understand that I’m not being selfish. This isn’t about Ben.”

“All right.”

“When we got divorced, I offered Richard open visitation rights. He never took advantage of it. When Ben would stay with Richard on weekends, or during the summer or on holidays, Richard was never there. He would hire a sitter, or drop Ben at his grandmother’s. What’s happening now isn’t about Ben, it’s about me, and Richard’s need to control me, so please don’t think that I’m this horrible woman who’s stealing a man’s child.” She looked at me then, and something in great pain was peeking through the composure. “I am not the villain here.”

“Luce, you never could be.” She said it all as if she’d spent most of the flight thinking it through. I guess that she had. “And you don’t have to explain yourself or your former marriage to me.”

She looked at our hands, twined there in her lap. “I know you want to help me through this. You already have, and I’m grateful, but you can’t help me anymore.” She tugged at my hand, and when I looked over I think she was trying not to cry. “I will not have my life defined by triangles. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to me. Richard is my mistake, and I have to live with it.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“What’s going on now is between me and Richard, and only us. I need it to be that way. Do you understand?”

“No.”

She frowned. “This is all about control, and he has to know that he can’t control me, or intimidate me.” She frowned harder. “I have to know that, too.”

I stared at her. Lucy Chenier seemed like the most uncontrollable woman I’d ever met, but maybe she hadn’t always been so, and maybe she needed to remind herself.

“I could just shoot him. That would solve the problem.”

She smiled, and it was warm. “I know, but then you would have saved me, and I wouldn’t have saved myself. This is for me.”

“Okay.”

“I am the saver, and not just the savee.”

“You don’t want me to be with you at KROK.”

She squeezed my hand again. “No, you can’t be there.”

I didn’t like it, but I tried not to look sulky.

“Richard and I will be the only two players on the court, and when I kick his ass, and get his good-old-boy buddy up the proverbial creek, Richard will think twice about ever trying anything like this again.”

I looked at her, and thought that she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. “Can I shoot him later?”

She smiled again, and this time patted my hand. “We’ll see.”

Something to live for.

“When are you going to see the KROK people?”

“Tracy arranged a meeting for tomorrow afternoon.”

Tomorrow was when the scanner arrived at LAX. Pike and I would be there waiting. We would be following the scanner, and hoping it brought us to Clark. “I’ll be working.”

She squeezed my hand again. “Of course you will, my dove. That’s as it should be.” She squeezed my hand another time. “And I will be loving you.”

“Good.”

We continued up through the Sepulveda Pass into the Valley, and then on toward the safe house, riding in silence.

The condo in Studio City smelled of rosemary and baked chicken. Joe and Teri were in the kitchen, and Winona and Charles were in the living room, but the TV wasn’t on. Guess Pike had drawn the line. I said, “That smells terrific.”

Winona bounced in from the living room. “Teri and Joe made chicken. Hi, Lucy.”

“Hi, sweetie.”

Charles peered at Lucy from the dining room and grunted hello. Teri didn’t say anything. She was behind a little forest of pots at the stove, frowning.

Lucy went into the kitchen and gave Teri a hug. “How are you doing, dear?”

“Fine.” Tight and terse and futzing with the pots.

Lucy said, “That smells wonderful. What is it, rosemary chicken?”

“Um.”

Lucy came back to me and took my hand. Teri frowned harder, then suddenly smiled brightly at me as if Lucy wasn’t there. “I saved some for you, Elvis.” The bright smile turned sad and she looked at Lucy. “But I don’t think there’s enough for two.”

I stared at her.

Lucy said, “Oh, that’s all right. I should call Tracy and tell her how to get here.”

“I’ll take you there.”

Lucy grinned, and you could tell she was trying to keep the grin from growing wider still. “No. We made plans to discuss strategy over dinner. She wants to take me out.”

I stared at Teri some more, then showed Lucy to the living room phone. She sat on the edge of the couch to make the call.

Teri beamed at me from the kitchen. “Heating the chicken shouldn’t take long. When would you like to eat?”

“Later.” What was with this kid?

Teri bustled away in the kitchen, the pots and pans rattling. “I’ll get started now. Then you can eat whenever you want.” Happy is the little homemaker, happy as a bee. “Can I bring you a beer?”

“No.”

Winona said, “Did you find our daddy yet?”

“Not yet.”

Charles eyed Lucy on the couch, then edged closer and craned his head. I watched all the craning, then figured it out. He was trying to see up Lucy’s skirt. I said, “Charles.”

He scuttled away. “I didn’t do anything.” Just another fun evening hiding out with the Cole posse.

Lucy spoke with Tracy, then asked me to give Tracy directions. I did, then they spoke a few more minutes, and Lucy hung up. “Tracy says it should take her about a half hour to get here.”

Pike glanced up the stairs. “We should talk.”

Charles said, “Why ya gotta go upstairs? Why don’t ya just say it here in front of us?”

Teri said, “Elvis knows what he’s doing. Leave him alone.” Teri turned back to the stove, and put cool eyes on Lucy. “I’ll call you the second your friend arrives.”

I looked from Lucy to Teri, then back to Lucy. Lucy’s eyes glittered and she pulled me toward the stairs.

When we got upstairs and closed the door, I said, “Do you have frostbite?”

Lucy smiled wider. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?” Mr. Idiot.

Lucy glanced at Pike, and Pike’s mouth twitched. I said, “What?”

“She’s got a crush on you, dopey.”

I looked back at Pike. “You think this is funny?”

Another twitch. Everyone was having a good time with this but me.

Lucy said, “Think about it. She’s always been the caregiver. She’s never had a male authority figure take care of her before, and now you’re doing that.”

“Great.”

“Also, you’re cute.” Lucy bumped me, and her eyes said she was enjoying this, even if I wasn’t. “I can hardly blame her, can I?”

Pike said, “Tell me about the newspaper.”

I told them, the three of us sitting there on the office floor, me holding Lucy’s hand. I told them about the paper, and about the Ferrari and the men with the shotguns, and what I had learned from Eddie Ditko about Dak and Tran. Just having Lucy here made me feel better about things, and I wondered if this is what it would be like when she lived here full time. When I finished, Lucy said, “They don’t sound like terrorists to me.”

I shrugged. “No, and they don’t sound like criminals either, but they’ve hired a counterfeiter, and three of their people flashed me with shotguns.”

Pike nodded. You could tell he liked the part about shotguns.

Lucy said, “What are you going to do?”

“The scanner arrives at LAX tomorrow. I’m thinking that Joe and I meet it, then follow whoever picks it up and see if they take it to Clark.”

Lucy’s mouth tightened and she shook her head. “This has grown far and above finding a missing father. I think you should turn this over to the police.”

“If I turn it over to the police, they’ll arrest Clark.”

“Perhaps Clark deserves to be arrested.”

“I’m not doing it for Clark. I’m doing it for these kids. Clark isn’t the world’s greatest father, but if he’s arrested, the Markovs will be able to get to him. If I can find him before he does anything stupid, I might be able to scare him into doing the right thing.”

She didn’t seem convinced.

“Also, I promised Teri.”

Lucy sighed. “Everyone else falls for a doctor or an engineer. I fall in love with Batman.”

Pike said, “it’s the cape. Women love the cape thing.”

Someone banged hard on the door, and Charles yelled, “Some woman is here!” He said it so loud that half the apartment complex probably heard him.

Lucy said, “That’s Tracy.”

We looked at each other and I held her hand tight, feeling that if I let go she would go her way and I mine, and, having lost her, I might not find her again. “I wish you could stay.”

“I know. Me, too.”

The three of us went down.

Tracy Mannos was standing in the entry, looking tired but determined. I hugged Lucy again, and so did Pike, and then they left. I said, “Hell.”

Teri said, “Your dinner’s ready.” She said it with a broad bright smile.

I looked at her, then at Charles and Winona on the couch, watching television. “I might have a line on your father, but to follow it I’m going to need Joe’s help. Can you guys stay by yourselves tomorrow?”

Teri filled a plate with rice and chicken and something that looked like stewed tomatoes. She brought it to the table and put it down at a place that had been carefully set. “Of course, silly.” Silly? “When we met we’d been alone for eleven days, hadn’t we?”

I nodded. I sat.

Teri said, “Can I bring you a beer now?”

“I’ll get it.”

I started to rise but she pushed me down. Hard. “I’m already on my feet.”

She got the beer, opened it, and set it on the table by my plate. I said, “Thank you.”

She smiled and sat with me.

“You don’t have to sit with me.”

“I want to.”

Pike went upstairs. Guess he couldn’t stand it.

I looked at Teri. She looked back. “Is it good?”

I nodded. “Very.”

She fluttered her eyes and sighed.

Man.