Trifecta (3 page)

T
he ballroom at the Ma Maison Hotel on Beverly
Boulevard was elegantly decorated with dazzling chandeliers, soft music, fine linen,
silver, paintings.  Extraordinarily fine French food was being served.  A glittering
array of the city's most prominent citizens in full formal regalia were in attendance.

It was an obligatory dinner at which Robin had to appear; 
another hundred-dollar-a-plate charity banquet in tribute to his father, Alan Chavier,
attorney, judge, governor and senator, in that order.  The proceeds of the dinner
were to go to various local charities.  The grand affair was the place to be seen
for the wealthy philanthropists of the city.

Some of Robin's former co-workers were in attendance from
the District Attorney's office.  There were many speeches and introductory toasts. 
Finally, Senator Alan Chavier rose to a ripple of applause and gave a short speech,
thanking everyone for the honor of their presence, and thanking the City of Los
Angeles for a humanitarian award presented to him for volunteer pro bono legal work
for those who could not afford attorney fees.

Robin really was proud of his father and loved him very
much.  His heart swelled with pride as his still handsome and debonair, grey haired
father accepted his award with style, grace and humor.  But his mind was preoccupied
with the beautiful woman, Julia Monay, who had been trying to hide her tears in
the street when her car broke down.

He had been strangely compelled to follow her into the
hospital and cajole the woman at the Information Desk into giving him her full name. 
A few calls to friends at the L.A. Times Newspaper, and to fellow lawyers, of the
type who chase ambulances, gave him the complete story about her brother, Brian. 
How he had been found in East Los Angeles, the toughest part of town, having seizures
on the side of the road in the wee hours of the morning, five days ago.  Brian had
been hanging to life by a thread and his prognosis was not optimistic.  There was
no doubt in Robin's mind that Julia had reason to cry.  Insult to her car, on top
of dire injury to her brother.

Robin also learned that Julia's brother had been working
on the estate of Aaron Quijada, so when he had a chance to meet the bull-like figure
in immaculate tux, he introduced himself and shook hands with the famous movie mogul. 
There were rumors circulating that Quijada was being groomed for a shot at the position
of governor in California. 

Since Robin had spent some time himself in the governor's
mansion in Sacramento, when his father had been in residence, he was doubly curious
about the famous producer.  They chatted about current movies and about Robin's
father.  After a few minutes of conversation, Robin felt that Aaron Quijada, with
his slight, charming Mexican accent, was not an easy man to get to know.  Aaron
had a dark masculine charisma and brilliant dark eyes.  He seemed genial and intelligent,
but Robin left him with an odd feeling that he did not want to see him in the governor's
mansion.

After the formal dinner, Robin found himself in the dark,
clubby hotel lounge with two bachelor friends from the D.A.'s office.  He was delighted
with their company.  He hadn't seen them as much as he would have liked recently,
since he had started his own law practice.  He had worked with them in the D.A's
office closely for several years.  They all loosened their ties and found a table
in a corner away from the bar, settling down for the serious imbibing of alcoholic
refreshments.

They discussed the more prominent murder trials the prosecution
office was involved in for some time as the drinks gradually relaxed them. 

"What's wrong with you tonight?" Jay asked after
a while, looking at Robin, who was gazing remotely into the ornate mirror over the
bar.

"What do you mean?" Robin asked, turning to look
at the slight blond man.  Jay was undoubtedly the brightest rising star  in the
D.A.'s office, urbane and impeccable in his tux.

"We hardworking prosecuting attorneys don't have any
social life, to speak of," Jay explained.  "No wives, girlfriends.  Nada. 
We are pathetic.  And here sits the man who's social life is randy with wine, women,
song.  And an abundance of that rarest of all commodities, sex.  And he doesn't
even bring along a castoff for us to letch after and slaver over during a long and
tedious dinner."

"The only reason I go to these things is to watch
your technique with the fair sex, Robin" Tony chimed in.  He was Robin's best
friend.  They had gone through law school together, at Pepperdine, and had both
joined the District Attorney's office several years ago.  "You have sorely
let down your compatriots."

"What a couple of sad-asses," Robin said, smiling
at Jay and Tony. 

"So, what happened to Caroline, Judy, Ann, and the
redoubtable Sarah?"

"Cut the crap.  I have to tell you about a present
I bought for my father today."

"Cut the crap?  That bevy of beauties you squire about
is not crap," Tony said, with the tone of a censure.

"I didn't mean that, and you know it.  You'll never
believe it, though.  The gift for my father.  It's beyond description," Robin
told them.

"Your father has everything, Robin,"  Tony said. 
He had known the extremely wealthy Chavier family for years.  "I can't imagine
how you could find a present for him."

Robin laughed.  "I found the biggest...the ugliest
truck.  It's a mongrel, made up of several different vehicles.  It stands almost
three feet off the ground on tractor wheels.  The thing is scarred in places you
can't even find on most trucks.  The most hideous, bright yellow thing you have
ever seen."

Jay started laughing, thinking about Senator Chavier's
love of fine, classic antique cars.  His collection was world renowned and he attended
antique car clubs across the country and in Europe.

"I am going to make that truck shine, to highlight
all the enormous dents, in all it's hideous beauty, for Dad's 60th birthday."

"If you would marry off one of your menagerie and
produce an heir, that would be the present your father would appreciate most,"
Tony commented.

Robin held up a hand, "Don't say another word.  I
get enough from my mother.  And all those women you mentioned, they're really just
after the family fortune, and could care less about me."  Robin was referring
to the wealth accumulated over decades in his family, starting with the mining of
oil wells in Texas by a great grandfather, which had expanded into plastics in the
30's, radio and television stations across the nation, and then into computer hardware
and software.

"Poor little rich guy," Tony commented.

"That's exactly right," Robin said, shaking his
head.  "All the women you mentioned know I come from a filthy-rich family. 
Then there's the added bonus, becoming the daughter-in-law of a senator, if I marry
one of them.  But today, believe it or not, I met a girl who believes I'm a mechanic. 
And I think she's the one."

"The One," Jay repeated, in capital letters.

"Yeah," Robin said smiling dreamily.  He gazed
off in the distance as if contemplating paradise, really hamming it up for his friends.

"How'd she get the idea you're a mechanic?" Tony
asked.

Robin described how he had first seen the beautiful woman
in the impound yard, where he had been examining the truck.  Then he told them about
helping her in her hour of desperate need.

"So she likes you?" Jay asked.

"No. I don't think so," Robin said thoughtfully. 
"But you should see her."

"Two unbelievable finds in one day.  First, a monster
truck.  And second, a woman who's perfect, and loathes him," Tony commented
sarcastically.

Robin gave his friends a description of Julia's beautiful
thick, shiny golden-red hair, making sure they understood it just reached her delicate
shoulders and then gracefully curled under.  He went on to describe her full lips,
in detail.  Next came a monologue on the tiny pink nose.  He had to explain that
she was crying and that was the reason the tip of her nose was pink as a rabbit's.

"Crying because a dirty mechanic was coming on to
her," Tony broke in.

Robin reproachfully held up a hand for silence and described
the large brown eyes in detail.  He couldn't omit the fact that they had rather
red corneas, but he reminded his friends that the woman had been in tears.  He went
on about her black eyebrows, which arched above the exquisite eyes; the thick, black
eyelashes and the subtle way the two, brows and lashes, accented the light red blond
hair.

"Cut the bullshit.  Get to the body," Jay finally
insisted with frustration.

When Robin ultimately got to the feminine physique he described
coke bottles; he described hourglasses; he described brick houses and willow trees. 
His friends got the picture.

"He doesn't have a chance," Jay and Tony said,
almost in unison. 

They nodded sagely at each other in drunken agreement.

"Why doesn't she like you?" Tony asked.  "Most
women become virtual slaves, slathering for attention in about ten seconds."

Robin described how he had dressed after he got the tip
about the horrible truck that had been sitting in the impound lot for several months. 
Even the weekly auctions that the towing company held, where one could find cars
at terrific bargains, had failed to turn up a serious buyer.

Robin, who appreciated a good deal, had shed the suit he
wore in court like a second skin and donned old torn jeans and a lumberjack plaid
shirt, which he cast off during the negotiations.  When he had examined the truck
he found that the engine was mechanically sound.  He would never admit that the
thing could probably break the sound barrier, once you got all that bulk in motion. 
The towing company had practically given him the vehicle.  He planned to hand over
the sales agreement, showing the paltry price of $375.00, triumphantly, along with
the truck to his father. 

The problem, Robin explained to his friends, was that he
hadn't expected to find the woman of his dreams under those circumstances.  But,
Robin added, he intended to go on with the mechanic charade.

"The man is mad," Jay said, shaking his head
in mock horror.

"No, wait," Robin insisted.  "It's not crazy. 
If she decides she likes me, then I can spring my family and career on her.  It
would be an added bonus.  And I don't have to worry about her going after a man
with old family money and famous relatives."

"He's bonkers," Tony said very seriously.

"Insane," Jay agreed, nodding.

"No," Robin said stubbornly.  "I certainly
am not."

"You're forgetting a prime fact about the so called
gentler sex," Tony said.  "This woman has blinded you."

Jay explained very slowly and patiently, "The fact
that women are not as romantic as men."

Robin shook his head skeptically.

"Women are practical down to their tiny little toes. 
She will not go for a mechanic," Jay said.

"The woman you have described is from the East,"
Tony added.  "That's even worse.  They're not only not romantic, they are tight
assed, stringy, virginal, prissy little gold-diggers."

"And they are not stupid," Jay warned his friend,
shaking a finger.

"It's like the old story of the Beverly Hills Bitch
dating the pool boy.  The woman you described will not make that sort of social
blunder, and suffer the consequences of people gossiping and making fun of her behind
her back for dating down.  This woman is educated, and not about to throw her stuck-up,
snobbish little behind at a mechanic, no matter how cute he is."

"Oh, maybe for a fling," Jay conceded.

Tony shook his head mournfully.  "Not even for a fling. 
You are doomed before you even begin, my friend."

"Want to bet?" Robin asked, stubbornly.

"YES!"  It was two shouts in unison.

A
aron Quijada might have been sitting on a throne
surveying his kingdom, he was so ramrod stiff, still and quiet in the

enormous black leather chair.  The leather was taut and
made a creaking noise if he moved even slightly.  It had not let out so much as
a tiny crackle in the last few minutes.

Quijada was looking impassively at a small man standing
obsequiously before him.  The silence built uncomfortably.  Quijada had not said
a word for what seemed to be an eon for the man on the receiving end of the scathing
scrutiny.  This was a practiced technique.  Quijada had not become a famous movie
producer without first establishing his own personal self-mastery.  The control
he practiced was so perfect he did not blink for minutes on end.  The unblinking
stare was famous on movie sets.  Quijada could stun an entire studio of busy technicians
and actors by just gazing around him in intimidating silence, his persona was so
powerful.

This clandestine meeting was not one intended to be overhead. 
Indeed, the small, dapper man with Aaron Quijara was not a person who would ever
come openly to Quijada's production office.  The two were in the palatial sunken
living room off of the entrance to Quijada's mansion.  The home was typically Spanish
in style, with a high heavy beamed ceiling.  The entrance was open aired with a
small cement fountain which gurgled as a background to the unspoken conversation. 
Even the massive grandfather clock ticking in the corner of the living room seemed
excessively loud.

Sitting beside the leather chair, still as a statue also,
was Quijada's immense personal watchdog.  Quijada said it was his pet, but everyone
knew better.  The great Rottweiler weighed in at about 150 muscle-bound pounds and
had little yellow eyes in his wide, blunt-nosed black face.  His upper lip was curled,
showing perfect white fangs, and he dribbled saliva in long strings.  The ferocious
stare was the dog's usual expression, but it was as intimidating as that of Aaron
Quijada's, especially to Juan Carlos, who had messed up an assignment and was expecting
a humiliating, sadistic punishment.

Quijada finally broke the silence, speaking in rapid fire
Spanish.  "I thought you had the matter of Brian Monay taken care of.  Now
I find he is in a hospital, and his sister is with him night and day."

"He is in a coma, Senor."  The man now speaking,
Juan Carlos, was wearing an impeccable business suit which appeared like a costume
on his small frame, although it fit perfectly.  What did not fit was the dandified
appearance.  Juan was slight man, with pockmarked dark skin, and his black hair
had been visibly oiled and combed back to imitate the style of his master.  Although
he resembled a ferret, with the sharp nose and receding chin, Juan Carlos was revered
by Hispanic street gangs as a man of great courage and fighting ability.  Now he
stood like an errant schoolboy in front of the massive bull-like Quijada, hardly
gazing for even a second into the large dark watery eyes staring into in own.  He
avoided looking at the dog altogether.  When someone looked into the eyes of this
particular dog it was taken as a challenge.  The Rottweiler delighted in showing
a lethal type of devotion to his master. 

"People speak while in comas.  Even when they're 
unconscious," Quijada said slowly, as though conversing with a slightly retarded
person.  "They have nightmares and they say things.  And this sister is always
with him."  The voice was getting louder and more angry.  Quijada must have
noticed this himself, as he modulated his tone to a sinister whisper.  "I do
not want Brian Monay to be talking any more.  Not to anyone.  Am I making myself
clear?"

"Si, Senor," the small man practically saluted. 
"But it will not be easy.  Mr. Monay is in the intensive care ward, with people
monitoring his condition twenty-four hours a day.  He is connected up to machines. 
They will notice the slightest change and come running."

"Then you will have to be quick," Quijada said,
dismissively.  With a slight raise of the arm he ordered the dog to lie down.  "And
I want it done immediately.  He could be muttering secrets right now.  But make
it look natural.  Just a little accident with the oxygen, or too much medication."

Juan Carlos restrained himself from rolling his eyes in
horror.  What his boss demanded was merely the impossible.  Sneaking into a hospital
and doing wet work.  But Juan Carlos knew it boiled down to the life of Brian Monay,
or his own.  He chose his own and nodded compliance.

"I don't want any more problems in this matter,"
Quijada said sternly.  The air crackled with menace.  "If you don't feel you
can handle it, there are many others who would be glad to do a small favor for me."

The dog had pricked up his ears at Quijada's tone and Juan
Carlos shook his head back and forth rapidly.  "Consider it done."

"No more screw-ups, heh?"

The dog lowered his head as he slowly rose, intuiting that
his master was angry, and Juan Carlos backed up rapidly in tiny baby steps, still
shaking his head.

"I will expect a report tomorrow on your progress,"
Quijada said.

"Si, Senor!"

All was not lost, the small man thought as he left the
secret meeting.  There was an excellent chance that Brian Monay would die before
he had to attempt the impossible. 

Juan Carlos retreated from the huge mansion with a feeling
of profound relief to be out of the presence of the deadly man and his virulent
dog.  He wondered what that writer, Brian Monay, knew about Aaron Quijada that was
so incriminating he would have to be silenced forever.