No Immunity (17 page)

He had dawdled over the miserable dinner trying to use the time to figure out what the hell was going on with Grady Hummacher. Truth was he didn’t know Hummacher at all anymore. Much less the blonde and the brunette the little girl had seen with him. The blonde would be Louisa Larson. But the other?

“Government swore there was no danger. Where did they think the radiation was going, straight up to heaven? Dust went halfway through Utah.

“So I says to my sister, Milly, you know her, right? The one in Connecticut that just broke with that loser of a husband?”

Tchernak glanced at the two women behind him in line, then turned his gaze back at the man on the phone and loudly shifted his feet. The strawberry pie had been a mistake. At home he didn’t deal with chain restaurants, period, much less a joint like this. Half the hotels he wouldn’t waste his money in. Even with the best chefs he spotted flavors too strong, sauces too thick, fish breaded and fried when it should have been poached. If salmon wasn’t flown in fresh from the Northwest, he didn’t deal with it. He had a standing order for Dungeness crab the minute the season opened in San Francisco, and organic garlic from Watsonville for his garlic-pepper marinade. And there were the Maine lobsters, and the Jersey bluefish.

He shoved the memories away. He’d never get another chance to cook like that, with a boss who never stinted. He’d known that when he quit. But dammit, it didn’t have to be this way. If Kiernan hadn’t been so pigheaded—“I don’t like to share.” What kind of reason is that?—they could be halfway to wherever the phone number in Grady’s apartment led him. They’d be eating sun-dried-tomato focaccia with black olives, capers, and wild fennel and hashing back and forth what Grady could be up to. She’d be sitting with her knees to her chest like a teenager, bitching like a special-teams coach, egging him on to everything on the far side of the law.

“No, the old man did not sue. He was a good citizen. Prided himself on being such a damned good citizen that now he’s near dead.

“Come to Vegas, Milly, I says. I mean, what’s to lose, right? That loser husband of hers lost everything they had before she lost him. But here she could get a union job and do good, you know?”

Tchernak cleared his throat. The women behind him paused long enough to look him over. The man, the only one he cared about, reacted not at all.

Tchernak tapped his shoulder. Guy’s head came up to his armpit. He almost had to bend to reach his shoulder. “Your time’s up.”

“Hey, who’re you to—”

“Time’s up.”

“I’m not done.”

Tchernak glared down at him. “Go to the back of the line.”

Tchernak couldn’t make out the guy’s reply as he stalked off because the two women were laughing too loud.

He checked his watch and dialed Adcock.

“Adcock.”

“Tchernak,” he snapped. Did Nevada Bell charge by the syllable? “Where the hell are you?”

Tchernak told him.

“Okay. The phone exchange Grady called is somewhere around Gattozzi.”

“Gattozzi? Where’s that?”

Tchernak listened to the directions, then had Adcock spend a lot of syllables repeating them as he wrote them down.

“You shouldn’t have any trouble, Tchernak. There’s only one way up there. There’s a cafe called the Doll’s House on the highway. You can’t miss it, it’s the only thing there. Meet me there in two hours.”

“Right. Two hungry kids, good chance Grady stopped there.” Tchernak put down the receiver, checked his watch again, and tapped the sour-faced little guy glowering behind the women. “Fifteen seconds. See?”

Half the strawberry pie was still on his table. He pushed it away and signaled the waitress. Gattozzi had to be some little town in the middle of nowhere. Why would Grady fly in from Central America and head straight into the back country? If he was up to the kind of double-crossing Adcock was tied in knots about, couldn’t he do that crossing right here in Vegas? Maybe he had a cabin or something up there? Yeah, but you don’t fly in and out of Panama twice in a week and then take a few days for R and R before you screw your boss. The whole thing just didn’t make sense.

What would Kiernan do? First thing she’d kick up a fuss about how slow the service is. He laughed to himself. “Never know when you’ll need a new enemy,” he’d told her the last time. That hadn’t struck her as funny as it did him. For a woman with a good sense of humor she did have her dead spots.

Food. She’d stock up like she was going camping. Well, he’d already stoked his fires on a couple burgers and shakes. Still, a dozen Hersheys couldn’t hurt. And some bottled water. Six-pack of Coke. Crackers. You never know.

He collected his larder, paid the bill, and got in the Jeep. One thing about Las Vegas, you didn’t have to wonder where you were. Billions of kilowatts marked the Strip. And next to the Strip was the freeway.

There was still the question of how to get to the freeway entrance. He got the car door open and swung into the seat, twisting to get the map. First, where was he now? Here? No, a couple of squares to the right. Two squares beneath Grady’s place.

Grady’s place? Something about it pulled at him. He couldn’t think why. Maybe he should be keeping notes.

“Stupid! Jeez, maybe Kiernan’s right!” That’s what Kiernan would do, get the e-mail from BakDat! Grady’s place would be the easier venue for that. With Persis’s backgrounds and the lead to Gattozzi, he’d be onto Grady in a snap.

The Weasel eased out of the parking lot, stick of beef jerky in hand. If he’d known the giant baby dick was going to lounge over his food like he was dining at the captain’s table, he’d have had time to get something decent himself. He could use a good relaxing meal after the run from the kid’s house. Cops were in front before he could get the car moving. He’d had to slide down to the floorboards and hope the cops weren’t too thorough. Which they weren’t.

Coming up with a working phone in that neighborhood was just about as hard. He prided himself on always knowing the nearest pay phones, but he’d really crapped out on that one. Had to go a mile and a half before the neighborhood changed and he spotted one outside a fast food grocery.

And then he didn’t have time to get on Adcock about all the bastard wasn’t telling him. All he could do was get the location where the Jeep was and race over here before the baby dick drove off.

What was with Adcock? He knew the guy’s reputation, and now word was the guy was desperate. Maybe the truth was Adcock was just wacko. This time he says the baby dick’s headed up 93, but the guy wasn’t even going toward the freeway.

Wacko or not, Adcock had paid pronto. The Weasel closed the space between the ’Cuda and the Jeep.

O
UTSIDE THE FUNERAL HOME
Kiernan turned uphill and ran, cutting into the alley, up the covered stairs. Her rubber-soled shoes were quiet but not silent. At the landing she looked around. No deputies in sight. Probably still in the mortuary, checking more carefully behind all the doors she had rejected. She followed the path to the street and turned left, uphill. It wasn’t till the street ended two blocks farther on that she found herself in open field and felt momentarily safer.

There was no real safety, she knew that. She could hide out all night and Fox would be at the bus stop in the morning. If by some sleight of hand she managed to get on the bus, he’d be waiting in Las Vegas. If she got on the plane, he’d be on her doorstep. The dead woman hadn’t been her case, but it definitely was her case now.

What she needed was that car Connie’s friend might be willing to part with. He was one guy about to make an easy sale.

The wind was stronger now, spraying her with sand. The dusty smell of the arid street was stronger. The air had to be colder, but she no longer felt it. Inside her thin jacket she was roasting. Below her the commercial portion of First Street ended and it veered left, becoming residential. She made a wide loop, crossed First, and cut down the narrow street behind it. First Street lay between two hills, and from her position she could see headlights coming from both directions, the cars moving fast. Otherwise the street was empty. She waited till both vehicles had passed, then clambered down a slide-and-jerk path to the back of the saloon.

It was the most dangerous place. But she had no choice. She took a breath and walked in.

The heat of the saloon seemed equatorial, the crowd triple the size it was an hour ago. Now Waylon Jennings’s notes of remorse were almost lost beneath the buzz of conversations flowing over one another. As she walked in, conversation stopped for a second, then picked right up. They’d all have heard about her of course. Even without the break-in, she’d be front-page gossip for a month. She tried to read the eyes of the one or two who glanced around now, but no one indicated a sheriff’s warning.

She made straight for the bar. More carefully now she surveyed the room. No sheriff, no deputies. Also no Connie. Connie said she’d be here; where was she? Time to wait was something she did not have.

“Hey there, lady.” Milo smiled a welcome. “Another Dickel and water?”

“Easy on the water, Milo. Connie here?”

He nodded to his left.

Kiernan heard herself sigh out loud. Connie was there all right, half shielded by a paper fern. She was sitting at a table alone. Kiernan started to slide in next to her, but Connie pointed to a chair across the table instead. “Where’s the guy with the car?” Kiernan asked.

Connie cocked her head toward the next table, where five men in jeans sat, four drinking beer, one a Coke. “Jesse,” she called to the Coke drinker.

The short, sallow man’s shoulder rose protectively, lifting a faded shirt that hung loose on narrow ribs. He glared at his glass, at Connie, and finally at Kiernan. He looked, Kiernan thought, like the poster boy for Losers. This far out in the country, with the bus a once-a-day event, selling a car was a drastic step, and from Jesse’s face he understood that only too well. He made no effort to shift out of his chair. At his table, conversation had stopped.

“Jesse,” Connie repeated. There was no edge to her voice, but this time Jesse hoisted his thin frame and moved to the empty seat between Connie and Kiernan.

“What’s your car and what are you asking?” Kiernan said.

“No hello, how are you, nice to meet you, Jesse? What am I, too low-life for that?”

Milo put down the Dickel. She handed him a bill and took a grateful swallow of the bourbon. At the best of times she was no diplomat. Tchernak would have no problem with Jesse. Tchernak wouldn’t be downing bourbon and impatience, he’d be chatting up all five guys at the table, them and Connie and Milo too. A couple of straight-from-the-gridiron stories and they’d be ready to sell him Jesse’s car, and Jesse in the bargain.

If she’d had Tchernak here, there would be no problem, all right, because Tchernak would have made such a stink about entering the mortuary that she’d still be in here arguing with him.

She glanced past Jesse out the window. No movement yet. She’d better be able to mend this fence fast. “Jesse, you’ve caught me at a bad moment. Can I buy you a drink?”

His sallow face twisted downward. A high whine cut through his words as he muttered, “I don’t drink anymore.”

“Oh, right.” The edge to her voice was sharp. No one was going to mistake that for charm. She didn’t have time to coddle a whiner. “So, Jesse, about the car?”

“Ford pickup. Five hundred, but I’ve changed my mind.”

She jammed her teeth together. It was a moment before she could trust her voice. “So you don’t need the money anymore?”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s great not to have debts.”

Jesse’s friends guffawed. Jesse glared. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? You think I don’t pay my debts?”

“Hell, we
know
you don’t!” The guys laughed louder. From the bar two couples eased closer.

Ignoring them, Jesse glowered at Kiernan.

“You could sell her the car and your house and you’d still be in the red, man.” A guy at the table nudged an elbow toward him, sending all the friends off on another round of guffaws.

“Yeah, right,” Jesse growled to her. “No point. I get zilch.”

Kiernan inhaled slowly through clenched nostrils. Connie leaned forward. Before she could speak, Kiernan said, “You get to pay off your debts, and not be known as a loser. You get integrity.” She let a moment pass before adding, “I assume that’s why you decided to sell your car.”

“Integrity, yeah, you could use some of that, Jess.”

Jesse flushed.

Kiernan looked at his wavering gaze. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. And his type of whiner could sit here till dawn making up his damn mind. Across the street something was moving, she couldn’t make out what.

Tchernak, of course …No, Tchernak would be boxed in now. There’d be no goad that a guy twice Jesse’s size could use. But she, on the other hand, had a chance. “If I were a guy, Jesse, I’d say we arm-wrestle for it.”

“Yeah, well, if you were a guy, I’d take you on and have you flat on the table before you knew you’d lost.”

“Hey, man, you can’t turn that down.”

“I’ll put ten bucks on … on her.”

Jesse’s “Oh yeah?” was almost lost in the howls of his buddies.

“Yeah.” Kiernan sat back, brow wrinkled to show thought. “You serious?”

“ ’Course I’m serious. I mean, if you were a guy.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “But how about we make it more even. How’re you on sit-ups? You think you can take me? I’ve got to be straight with you, I did gymnastics when I was a lad. I’ve got good muscles.”

His gaze dropped to her stomach. He didn’t answer.

She put her wallet on the table. “Five hundred. If I lose, it’s yours. If I win, I get the car and the cash is still yours. You can’t beat that.”

Murmurs of agreement came from the table behind.

Jesse tapped his teeth together.

She checked the window again. Definitely movement, definitely men. Still across the street.

It was Connie who broke the deadlock. “Jesse?”

“Yeah, okay. Where’s your money?”

“Five says Jesse takes the little lady.”

“Covered, man. You know what Jess had for dinner?”