The Mercedes Coffin (41 page)

All the respective media got for their efforts were legitimate shrugs of ignorance. The press kept at them for a while, then moved on to another group in hopes of snagging something more interesting. By then, it was eleven-thirty.

Decker’s cell rang again. It was Liam again. “How can I get over to you? I can’t get through this bloody mess.”

“Go home, Liam. You can see all the action better on your own TV set.”

“I’m already seeing it on TV, mate. There are about a hundred people with laptops. Another hundred with video cameras.”

“O’Dell, I have to go.”

“If you don’t talk to me, I’ll start talking to them. Lots of bloggers out there, mate.”

“Don’t do that, Liam!”

“Where are you, mate?”

“You tell me where you are.” Decker listened and then said, “I’ll send someone to get you.” He hung up and said, “Liam O’Dell is threatening to talk to the media unless we pick him up and let him watch at close range.”

Marge said, “I’ll find him.”

Decker called Rina, telling her it looked like a long night. After he had hung up, his eyes focused on five men in dark suits stepping out of a black town car. “Special Ops… or maybe feds.”

Oliver said, “It’s not a federal case.”

“Maybe SMPD requested the help,” Decker said. “Maybe FBI has a field office close to here. Or maybe the hostage negotiator lives nearby.”

“Too many people around,” Oliver said. “We should go home. We’re not doing anything here, and by morning it’ll probably be resolved.”

“You can go,” Decker said. “I’m sticking around.”

Marge managed to find her way back with Liam O’Dell in tow. He wore a sweatshirt and jeans with slippers on his feet. “Any sign of Mudd?”

“I don’t know a thing, O’Dell,” Decker shrugged. “We’re just watching, same as you.”

“Who are all those guys?”

“FBI or Special Ops,” Decker said. “Can’t tell without a scorecard.”

O’Dell pursed his lips. “Shouldn’t we go over there or something?”

“No, O’Dell, we should stay right here,” Decker said. “If the men in black want to talk to us, they’ll come get us.”

“What’re they doing?”

“If I had to guess, they’re probably figuring out how to establish phone contact with Rudy.”

“How long is that going to take?”

Decker slapped an arm around O’Dell. “Liam, my friend, the wheels of justice grind
very
slowly.”

Cindy showed up a half hour later with a laptop, a large keg of coffee, and a pile of paper hot cups. She poured some java for all to share, and then she logged on to one of the local networks.

The group sat around watching themselves sit around.

It was after midnight, and the crowd hadn’t thinned a whole lot. Since L.A. usually shut down by eleven, Decker figured he had provided the city with its late-night entertainment.

A half hour passed, and the suits deigned to come their way. The agent who spoke looked to be around forty. He was well dressed with a chiseled chin and an angry expression. He was chomping gum. “Who’s Decker?”

“It’s Lieutenant Decker and that would be me. Who’re you?”

“Special Agent Jim Cressly of the FBI. What do you know about this?” Decker told him everything he knew. “So you have a prior relationship with Rudolph Banks?”

“I told you I spoke to him once over the phone. What’s going on?”

Cressly said, “He wants to talk to you.”

“Who does? Rudy?”

“Yeah, Rudy. This way.” When the group of detectives started to surge forward, Cressly held up his hand. “Uh-uh. Only Decker.”

“I’ll be back.” Decker rolled his eyes and spoke in his best Governator voice. Cressly led Decker into a police mobile unit van set up with phone lines, then introduced him to Jack Ellenshaw, the FBI hostage negotiator. Ellenshaw was around forty with a long face and a prominent chin. Neatly dressed and neatly trimmed just like Cressly. The FBI liked them a certain way. Advancement could be based on an inch of hair length.

After Ellenshaw gave him a two-minute lecture on the electronics, he asked, “Have you ever done anything like this before?”

“Actually, I have.”

“One time, two times?”

“Two.”

“Were you successful?”

“I never lost a hostage,” Decker said, “One time the shooter died, one time the shooter lived.”

“Let me handle it. I’ll write down what you need to say on a pad of paper. Just stick with my lines and you’ll be okay.”

Decker didn’t answer. He had no intention of adhering to a script. He was an ad-lib-as-needed kind of guy. “Do you know how many people he has with him?”

“Three women and Cecil Dobbins.”

“The clerk, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I heard he was injured.”

“He was shot in the arm. We need to get a move on.”

“How about the women? Names? Ages?”

“Amber Mitchell, twenty-six, Lita Bloch, eighteen, and Pamela Nelson, twenty-one.”

“Any of them have a medical condition?”

“We’re trying to find that out right now.”

“And you sure there’s no one else except those five?”

“Not sure of anything.”

“Whose line are you calling to get to Rudy?”

“Pamela Nelson. We need to get started.”

“Call him up.” Decker felt surprisingly calm until he heard the line ringing. When he heard the voice, his heart started beating full force.

“WHO THE FUCK
is this?”

If Decker hadn’t recognized the timbre, he sure would have recognized the hostility. “It’s Lieutenant Peter Decker, Rudy. You asked for me.” Silence. “How are you doing?”

“How the fuck do you think I’m doing? All of a sudden, I’m looking down the barrel of the fucking U.S. Army. What the motherfucking hell is going on?”

The negotiator was writing like mad and pointing to his pad. Decker ignored him. “I’m not sure. I just got here.”

“What the fuck did I do?”

“Who said you did anything?”

There was a pause. “Then why is some fucking cunt on the news flashing my picture on TV and saying I’m wanted for murder?”

“I have no idea,” Decker told him. “Why don’t you fill me in on what happened?”

“Why don’t you ask one of your fellow morons what happened? Don’t you idiots talk to each other?”

“All we’re doing is trading ignorance. Only you know the real story.”

“Fucking A right about that! Why were you interested in talking to me in the first place, Decker?”

“I was stuck with a cold case. We were routinely interviewing everyone who was interviewed at the time. I told you that the first time we spoke.”

“Who the fuck remembers? What cold case?”

“Dr. Bennett Little.”

“Nobody ever interviewed me for Bennett Little’s murder. I told you, I barely remember it.”

Decker said, “Well, your name came up somehow. Who the hell knows? We haven’t made any progress on it, so we’re shelving it again. What’s going on inside there, Rudy?”

“Assholes. A guy can’t even fuck in peace anymore. How the hell did you find me?”

“Find you?” Decker paused for effect. “I didn’t know you were missing.” A beat. “What’s going on, Rudy? I was rudely awakened from a sound sleep and told to get my ass down here. I’m getting all kinds of conflicting information. I want to hear from you.”

“Don’t give me that fucking sincere jackass bullshit! What you want is for me to step outside so you can shoot my ass off.”

“If that’s what you think, don’t step outside.”

The negotiator was gesticulating like a wild man. Decker looked down at the notepad and promptly passed up his suggestion. “Hey, Rudy, you called me.” A beat. “Talk to me, man. Maybe I can help you.”

“You tell those motherfucking, asshole pricks that if I go down, I’m going down in a blaze of glory! You fucking assholes don’t know who the hell you’re dealing with!”

Decker began to improvise. “Rudy, everyone knows who you are. The Doodoo Sluts went platinum, buddy. We all know who we’re dealing with.”

“Who put you up to this?”

“To what?”

“To looking for me?”

“I told you, Rudy, I wanted to talk to you about Bennett Little. But that case is dead—”

“You talked to that bitch, didn’t you? Fucking cunt thinks I had something to do with her asshole boyfriend’s death. I was nowhere around! I was at a party.”

“Which woman are you talking about?”

“C’mon, c’mon. I don’t like games. You play me for a fucking fool, I fucking blow holes in these bitches’ heads!”

Decker took a chance. “I don’t know who you mean. Do you mean Melinda Little?”

“Melinda Little?” A pause. “What does she have to do with it?”

“I told you, I was working on the Bennett Little case. She’s the only woman I know.”

“Not Melinda Little. Marilyn Eustis.”

“Who’s she?”

“You’re shittin’ me.”

“No, I’m not. Who is she?”

“Primo Ekerling’s girlfriend.”

“Ekerling isn’t my case, Rudy.” Decker hoped his lie was smooth. “It’s Hollywood’s case. The only thing I know about it is what I’ve read in the newspaper. I know you two were business partners, I know you two were bandmates. I had no idea that Hollywood wanted to talk to you.”

There was a long pause.

Decker said, “What’s going on, Rudy?”

“What’s going on is that piece of fat lard shit came after me with a gun! Suddenly I’m surrounded by a bunch of fucking Nazis! What’d I do except try to defend myself!”

“Rudy, they tell me that the lard ass has been shot. Is that true?”

“I was trying to defend myself.”

“I know, and I completely believe you. But if the asshole was shot, it would be good if you sent him out here so the paramedics can take a look at him.”

“Paramedics, my ass. You fucking assholes want to storm-troop the place.”

“How about this, Rudy? I’ll stay out on the front lawn with my hands up in the air. You send out Lard Ass while you keep a bead on me. If you think I’m trying to snow you, shoot my head off.”

“I don’t even know what the fuck you look like?”

“I’ll be the only one standing in the middle of the lawn with a helmet on my head and my hands in the air.”

“How can I shoot your head off if you’re wearing a helmet?”

“Aim for the chest.”

“You’re probably going to be wearing a bulletproof vest.”

“Absolutely, I’ll be wearing a bulletproof vest. The point is, you’ll have the gun but I’ll be unarmed. You have the advantage, and I don’t want to die.”

“And while I’m keeping a bead on you, trying to decide where to plug you, some motherfucking sharpshooter has a bead on me.”

“Rudy, I have no idea what room you’re phoning from.”

“And I have no idea where you’re phoning from. I don’t see anyone out there on the phone.”

“I’m in a police mobile unit. But I have my cell phone. How about this? I’ll walk into the center of the lawn with my helmet and my vest and call you from my cell.”

“Don’t call me, I’ll call you.” He cut the line.

The Kevlar vest and a helmet were waiting for him. The vest fit, and although the helmet was a little tight, he could get it over his skull.

Cressly said, “Try not to get picked off.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“We’ve got guys from all angles — SMPD, LAPD, and our sharpshooters.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Decker thought about being shot, and his mind immediately raced back to the few times he actually had been shot. Banks was a psycho, but on the psycho scale he was nowhere near Hersh Schwartz, and he was universes away from Chris Donatti. He left the van and walked into the middle of the front lawn. Flashbulbs were popping in his face… bursts of light like tracers. When his cell rang, Decker jumped. With shaking hands, he answered the call. “I take it you see me?”

“Yeah, I see you. You look like you’re ready for Iraq.”

“I’m just a cautious guy.”

“Either you’re a real dumb ass or I’m a real dumb ass.”

“How about if none of us are dumb asses and you let Mr. Lard Ass out.”

“Your hands aren’t up.”

Decker wedged the cell between his cheek and his shoulder. Then he raised both hands in the air. “Okay?”

Rudy didn’t answer.

“Hello?”

“I’m still fucking here… as long as the fucking phone company allows my nighttime minutes.”

The two of them went on for a few more minutes. Decker’s arms began to ache. “I’ve got to put my arms down, Rudy. I’m going to move very slowly. Don’t get any bad ideas.” Bit by bit, he lowered his limbs until they were at his side. His feet were cold and tired, but he soldiered on. “See? I’m still harmless and still talking to you. Open communication. How about letting Lard Ass go?”

“How about not?”

They continued to talk for another hour. Decker’s patience was rewarded when Cecil Dobbins came out huffing and puffing, holding his injured arm. Immediately the paramedics went to work.

Decker said, “That was really smart, Rudy. Really, really smart. Do you mind if I back away?”

“Afraid I might get Itchy Finger?”

“The thought occurred to me.”

“Why do I need you? I’ve got three in here for target practice.” As Decker started to back away, Banks said, “Stay where you are.”

Decker stopped abruptly. His feet were like two blocks of ice. It had been hot in the Valley, but the beach was always ten to twenty degrees cooler in the summer. His shoulders were throbbing, brought on by the extra weight of the vest, the tension in his muscles, and the chilled saline spray carried over by the ocean breezes.

Rudy said, “I like seeing you.”

Decker said, “Fine. I won’t move. I just want to shift positions. My balance is off.”

“Move slowly. If you make a wrong move, you’re dead.”

“I hear you.” Decker rocked on his feet until he evened his weight distribution. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Decker couldn’t believe the bastard had actually said something nice. Rapport, rapport. “So what’s going on?”

“You fucking tell me.”

“I wish I knew all the facts. You asked to talk to me, I’m here. You tell me to stand in the middle of the lawn, I do it. You’re in control right now.”

“Fucking A right about that. You tell Hollywood Police that I had nothing to do with that bastard’s death. I’m glad that he died, but I didn’t kill him.”