Unwanted Company - Barbara Seranella (27 page)

"
Who are these other guys?"

"Americans, other diplomats, probably half of
them spooks."

"
Can I keep this?" Mace asked.

Steve looked at the picture for a few seconds. "I'll
make a copy and bring you back the original."

"All right," he finally said. "But I
can't give you any of this other stuff."

"
No problem," Mace said, sliding the
photograph into his pocket. "I'm sure I'll remember all the
pertinent details. So you think this guy Victor might know where the
plutonium is? "

"I think it's only logical to assume that he's
here to market his goods. I don't think I need to mention how
dangerous the plutonium would be in the wrong hands."

"Which would be anybody's but ours?" Mace
asked. Suddenly, another piece of the puzzle fell into place. What
the voice on Munch's limo tape had said that didn't make any sense
until now: Pakistan has came in at three hundred and twenty thousand.

"
The feds want to know who's buying and when and
where the product will be shipped. Victor Draicu is their best and
only ticket in to those proceedings?

"
So they need him on the streets," Mace
said. I think we can push Iran to three thirty.

"
They have him under around-the-clock
surveillance," Steve said.

"
Well, their surveillance ain't worth a shit,"
Mace said. "I've got seven dead that I know of."

"l don't mean to sound cold," Steve said,
"but it's the law of large numbers." He hunched forward,
spreading his hands out to either side. His voice dropped. "When
you think about it, seven isn't that many. If you exposed this guy
now, he would be declared
persona non grata
and sent back home. Sure, he'd be out of your yard."

"You think that's all I want?" Mace asked,
his voice tight,

"
Hey, I'm not the enemy here," Steve said,
raising his hands in mock surrender.

"
What are you?" Mace asked.

"
We're off the case," Cassiletti suddenly
said. Up until then, he had been silent, observing the exchange
between the two men like a fan at a tennis match.

Mace glared at his partner.

"
Until July twentieth," Cassiletti added.

The food arrived. They stopped talking to eat. The
waiter hovered over them and asked if everything was all right. They
nodded with full mouths, and the waiter retreated.

"
So they want you to do nothing, huh?"
Steve asked.

"
That's right," Mace said.

"
Who gave the order?"

"
Tumpane," Cassiletti said.

"
Pogue," Steve muttered. He sipped his tea
and took another bite of fried rice. "I don't suppose knowing
what's at stake makes this any easier for you."

"You mean easier to do nothing about this
asshole? Easier to sit back while he kills again?"

"What choice do you have?"

Cassiletti's head swiveled back to Mace. Mace pushed
back his plate. "I think you've gotten too used to sitting on
the sidelines, Steve."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Steve
asked.

"Nothing. Maybe you're happy playing messenger
boy."

"You're out of line," Steve said. "And
you're out of your league."

Mace reached into his sports-coat pocket for the
photographs of the murder victims.

"What's this?" Steve asked.

Mace said nothing. He just closed his eyes as if in
pain and clasped his hands behind his head. "Um-hmm," he
said, almost to himself. He let another moment of silence pass, then
let out a long sigh, and opened his eyes. "Tell me again how
this law of large numbers works." Cassiletti's expression
betrayed nothing, but it was obvious he was waiting.

Steve finally broke the impasse. He dabbed his mouth
with his napkin, then threw it down on his empty plate. "All
right, so what do you want me to do?"

"What you do best, buddy," Mace said,
grinning. "Keep your eyes and ears open, be there if I need
backup."

"You're going to owe me big-time," Steve
said.

"Just think how well you're going to sleep at
night."

Steve pulled out his notepad. “Tell me who and
where, and don't worry about how well I sleep."

"
I don't think the guy is stupid enough to go
back to Munch's house, but we should probably keep a unit there any
way The boyfriend lives across the street. We can set up there."
Mace handed him the picture of Victor Draicu taken outside the Gower
apartment building. "I've had some duplicates made."

"
What about the spook?"

"I'm working on that."

When the check arrived, Steve picked it up.

"You sure?" Mace asked.

"Yeah," Steve said. "I'll just put it
on my expense account."

"
C'mon, Tiger," Mace told Cassiletti.
"Let's hit it."

"Where are we going?" Cassiletti asked when
they got to the car.

"
El Segundo."

"
Where the sewer meets the sea?"

"We're going to go
see a guy I know," Mace said. "He works at the Aerospace
Corporation, and what he can do with a computer and a videotape will
flat blow your mind."

* * *

Ellen stared at the mirror above the bed. After Tommy
had brought her to the motel she'd unpacked, taken a bath, and fallen
into a deep, dreamless sleep. Now it was morning. Time to get to
work.

She dug out her book and flipped through the names.
Her finger stopped on a guy she called John Z. He was also Mr.
Reliable. John was a quiet black guy. He always paid promptly, came
in five minutes, and never talked much—just a sweet, shy smile when
he finished. Perfect.

She dialed his number.

"
Hello," he said.

"Is this John?" she asked.

"Yes, it is. "

"This is Ellen, been a while."

"
Yeah, it sure has. How are you?"

"
I was wondering if you'd like to get together."

"
Um, yeah. When?"

"
Well, how about now?" she asked.

"
Yeah, all 1ight," he said. "Where are
you?"

She named the motel. "Room Three."

"
I'll be there in an hour," he said.

"
Great," she said, wondering why she didn't
feel more pleased at the prospect of making some easy money. She took
a long time applying her makeup, washing it off and reapplying it
three times before she gave up. Must be these damn lights, she
thought. They're too goddamn harsh. When John knocked on the door at
eleven, she about jumped out of her skin. That's when she realized
she'd been hoping he wouldn't show.

"
Showtime," she told herself in the mirror.
just get it over with." She answered the door and let him in.

"
Hi," he said, his head tilted downward,
raising his eyes just enough to meet hers. There was that shy, almost
reluctant smile of his. She took his hand, led him to the bed, and
started to undo his belt.

"
Oh, here, wait a minute," he said,
blushing and backing up. He reached in his back pocket, pulled out
his wallet, and took out two twenties. She accepted the money and
laid it on the nightstand.

"
I know you like to get paid first," he
said.

"Yeah, thanks," she said, unbuttoning her
blouse. She hoped he didn't notice how she avoided touching his skin
as she took the bills. He wasn't unpleasant, far from it. He always
showered first, never tried to get her to kiss him. No, John
understood all the rules and abided by them faithfully. It wasn't
him. It was her.

He slid off his slacks and folded them over the back
of a chair.

It's the goddamn sobriety, she realized. Munch and
all her A.A., Higher Power, there's-another-way-to-go bullshit had
totally infected her system and ruined her for the life. She didn't
enjoy the dope. Drinking was a disaster, and now turning a simple
trick wasn't going to fly either. Jesus, what a predicament.

She pulled her blouse shut, reached behind her, and
grabbed the money

"Here," she said, holding it out to John.
She saw that he already had a hard-on, bless his heart.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"
I'm sorry," she said. "I just can't
I'm truly sorry."

John pressed the money back to her. "That's
okay," he said. "Keep it. It was good just to see you
again."

She felt slow hot tears roll down her cheeks. Wasn't
he just the nicest man? She was tempted to do him anyway, but why
spoil the moment?

"Thanks," she said as he pulled his clothes
back on. "I'll pay you back one day."

"
Don't worry about it." Before he walked
out the door he paused and turned around. "Good luck," he
said.

She watched him pull away in his brown 280Z and, for
the first time ever, wondered what his life was beyond their
encounters. That's the problem, she realized. Everybody's becoming
real people around me.

After she shut the door, she picked up the phone book
and looked up Alcoholics Anonymous. She dialed the number and told
the woman who answered that she needed a meeting.

"
Where are you?" the woman asked.

"
Venice."

"There's an Alano Clubhouse on Centinela and
Washington. They have a meeting at noon. You need someone to come
pick you up?"

"You'd do that?" Ellen asked.

"
Sure. Give me your address."

"
The Rose Motel on Lincoln Boulevard."

"Oh, yeah," the woman said, chuckling. "I
know right where that is."

"
Room Three," Ellen said.

"The corner unit?" the woman asked.

"
My," Ellen said, "you do know your
way around."

"
I paid my dues. Listen, the only way this is
going to work is if you don't drink or use until they get there."

"
Don't worry."' Ellen said. "I'm all
through with that."

"
Right," the woman said. "I've heard
that before, too."

Ellen hung up the phone thinking she'd just show her
what she was capable of once she set her mind to something. Then she
laughed. Did that reverse psychology shit work with most people?
 

CHAPTER 22

Traffic control reported an accident on the 405 near
the airport, so Mace and Cassiletti drove to El Segundo by an
alternate route that took them in the back way through Playa Del Rey.
El Segundo—also referred to as El Stinko—was a coastal community
with relatively low housing costs. The reason for the exceptional
values was the town's proximity to the Hyperion Treatment Plant on
the north and the Chevron refinery directly south. In fact, the town
was named for the refinery. Originally it was La Segunda, meaning
"the Second" because it was Standard Oil's second refinery
in California. Over time, the name switched to the male gender: El
Segundo. Mace had learned all this from a talkative real-estate agent
he and Caroline had spent a long weekend with back in January. The
idea had been to buy a home big enough for all of them. Caroline,
himself, his dad, and the dogs.

At the top of Pershing, the domed roof of Hyperion
Treatment Plant could be seen. The factory lay on the water's edge to
the north, separating solids from outgoing sewage. The foul cesspool
smell assaulted them as they turned on Imperial Highway and headed
east.

"
Jeez," Cassiletti said, wrinkling his
nose. "Can you imagine working with that all day?"

"Someone's got to do it," Mace said.

The detectives' destination was the massive Aerospace
Corporation complex at the edge of town. Mace turned down Main
Street, driving past the high school and city hall. Banners
celebrating the Olympics were strung across the street. At El Segundo
Boulevard he turned left. The Erector set structure of the Chevron
refinery loomed in the background. Odious gray smoke poured from the
stacks of derrick-encased cokers, making their own foul contribution
to the city's bouquet of methane, hydrogen sulfates, and petroleum
by-products. The refinery also provided fifteen hundred jobs, built
parks, maintained the civic center, and made generous donations to
the local schools.

Actually, Mace knew that despite the occasional
assault on the olfactory senses, El Segundo was a decent place to
live, to raise a family. He'd learned that from the city's chief of
police, who owned one of the two-story Spanish-style homes in town.
In fact, the majority of the department chose to live nearby.

That sold him more than the agent with the bright
green blazer and nonstop pitch. The woman had given even Caroline a
headache. Then he'd picked a stupid argument about nothing important,
and the house hunt had been called off. He'd give anything to recall
half the hurtful words he'd thrown at her. She knew Digger hurt him,
but he should have been man enough to keep his feelings to himself.
People died. No one knew that better than he.