03_Cornered Coyote (7 page)

He parked in the lot behind the large Mediterranean style medical building and they rode the elevator up to the doctor’s office on the fourth floor in a strained silence. Their footsteps echoed in the hallway as they walked to the doctor’s office. The door had the words, “Dr. Ron James, Plastic Surgeon” prominently displayed. Slade gave his name to the attractive receptionist who immediately escorted them into the doctor’s private office.

“Have a seat. Dr. James will be with you shortly.”

In a moment a portly, silver-haired man who looked like Santa Claus opened the door and strode over to Slade, shaking his hand. “Slade, it’s great to see you again. By the way, don’t know if you’re aware of it, but I recently remarried. Don’t look so skeptical. She’s not a trophy bimbo. I learned my lesson the hard way about younger women. No, she’s about my age, a widow, and a wonderful person. You’ll like her. Now what can I do for you? I must say your phone call was rather vague on what you wanted done.”

“Happy for you, Doc. Congratulations. I’m here ‘cause I want you to take some photos of this pretty lady for me,” he said, turning to face Maureen. “I jes’ want facial photos. Doable?”

“Yes, I can do that. Why?” he asked, placing his elbows on his desk and putting his chin in his hands.

“I want you to take enough pictures to be able to recreate her face on someone else’s face based on the photos you take. Work for you?”

“Sure. Give me a minute. I’ll tell Lois to get my camera set up. Miss, would you please go into the room next door and take a seat on the stool? I’ll be there shortly.” As soon as she left, he closed the door and turned to Slade. “What in the hell is going on?” he asked, his wiry grey eyebrows raised in a suspicious manner.

“Jes’ take them nice pictures, Doc. Don’t worry. Ain’t nuthin’ illegal. I’ll tell you all about it after she leaves.”

Forty-five minutes later Slade had the receptionist arrange for a cab to take Maureen back to her bank building. “Thanks, Doll. Nice seein’ ya’. Good luck with the rest of your life. You ain’t ever gonna see or hear from me again. Remember what I tol’ ya’. This is all about trust. Thanks for comin’ with me.”

“Slade, what are you going to do with those photos of me? Since it’s my face, I think I have a right to know.”

“Sorry, Doll, no need for ya’ to know. They’ll be private, jes’ between me and the doc.” She turned away and hurried down the hall toward the elevator, anxious to put as much space between them as she possibly could. Slade walked back into the doctor’s office.

“Okay, Slade, tell me what’s going on,” Dr. James said.

“Got a little story to tell ya’, Doc, and it’s gotta stay private, jes’ between you and me. I’m gonna be bringin’ a woman in here for you to operate on. Want her to look ‘xactly like the woman that jes’ left. Only thing ya’ need to do is her face. That sumpin you can do?”

“Yes, but why? That’s a very strange request.”

“No need for ya’ to know, Doc. You jes’ do the surgery and I’ll take care of the rest. What’s the tariff on sumpin’ like this? And how long before she’s gonna be back to normal?”

“Well, for everyone else I’d charge $50,000, but I’ll do it for $5,000 for you. Just how extensive is this going to be? And she’ll need to sign a lot of waivers if I’m going to reconstruct her face.”

“No problem. It’s not gonna be like some butt ugly woman becomin’ beautiful. She’s a looker to start with. She’ll sign the waivers. Let’s do it tomorrow afternoon. Can ya’ schedule her for then?”

The doctor buzzed his secretary. “Lois, I need to schedule a reconstructive face surgery for tomorrow afternoon. It can be done in the operating suite here, but you may have to reschedule someone else. Thank you.”

He turned back to Slade. “I’ll make the arrangements for her to be taken to the recovery home directly after the surgery. She’s not to eat or drink anything after eight tomorrow morning and from this moment on, no aspirin. Will you be coming with her?”

“Hell, yes. Gotta make sure this happens. Gots a lot at stake.”

“Well Slade, being around you is always interesting,” he said, looking at his watch. He stood up. “Be here at 1:30 and use the door down the hall. It’s a private door I use for people who have had surgery and don’t want to be seen. Somehow, knowing you, I imagine you don’t want this public.”

“Got that right, Doc. Thanks. See ya’ tomorrow!” He lifted one hand to his temple in a mock salute, grabbed his grey fedora hat from the table next to him, and walked out the door.

CHAPTER 11

“Brad, it’s Slade. I went through the file on that chick named Barbara who works at Naughty’s. What time does she get off work tonight?”

“Midnight. They’re open until 2:00 a.m., but she’s got a final tomorrow, so she’s getting off early.”

“Okay. See you at 10:30 and I’ll explain the drill to ya’ then.”

Slade spent most of the evening researching Barbara Jenkins. He found out she was a thirty-six year old student pursuing her master’s degree in psychology, worked at the Naughty Gentlemen’s Club, had never been married, and had no criminal record. There were a few other things from her past, but nothing that interfered with his plan.

Good. The further I can keep her under the radar, the better.

He heard Brad’s car pull into his driveway at 10:30. Slade walked out to the nondescript 2010 silver Ford Taurus. It was a car people generally didn’t remember. There was heavy traffic on the freeways, even at this late hour. They arrived at the Naughty at 11:15.

“Brad, what does she drive?”

“That’s her car up there, the blue Chevy four door parked at the curb. It’s pretty old, but I understand she’s real tight on money.”

“Park as close to it as you can. I’ll get out here.” He opened the door, looked around, lit a cigarette, and sauntered over to Barbara’s car. It was too early for people to leave the club and too late for them to be arriving, which made it a perfect time to break into her locked car.

Broken street lights made it easier for Slade and he had the rear door of her car open in seconds. He glanced at the back seat, shut the door, and walked back to where Brad was parked. They walked into the club.

Even though it was illegal in California to smoke in a club where food was being served, the Naughty got around it by having a “Members Only” cigar club. Slade and Brad paid the fee and took a seat at a small cocktail table near the bar.

Every time Barbara walked to the bar to get a round of drinks, Slade was more and more certain Brad had made the right choice. She had long, dark, auburn hair with big green eyes and a creamy complexion. Her tight white T-shirt with her black patent leather belt, and the black shorts that ended where impossibly long shapely legs began, didn’t leave much to the imagination.

Slade glanced at his watch. “I’m leavin’ now, Brad. You got yer’ marchin’ orders.” Slade walked out the door and up the street to Barbara’s car. He looked around, didn’t see anyone, got in the back seat, and lay down on the floor.

Fifteen minutes later he heard a key being inserted into the door lock and the driver’s door opening. Barbara got behind the wheel, fastened her seat belt, started the car, and turned on the headlights. Slade remained motionless. She switched on the radio as she steered the car onto the street, humming along with a country music song. Slade knew her apartment was only five minutes away.

He pressed his snub-nosed .38 pistol against the back of her neck and said, “Doll, jes’ keep driving. I’m not gonna hurt ya’ or take any money. Jes’ need to talk to ya’. We’re gonna go to your apartment and have a little chat. Don’t worry. You’re a lot safer with me in the car.”

“Wha, what dddoo you want from me?” she stuttered, her hands visibly shaking with fright as she gripped the steering wheel.

“In good time, Doll, all in good time. You jes’ concentrate on drivin’. Tell you everything in a coupla minutes.”

From what he’d read earlier, she was from a small farm in South Dakota and had come to the big city to try and make it in the movies. When that hadn’t worked out, she’d gotten desperate for money and turned a few tricks for some men who owned the bar where she worked. Her Midwestern religious upbringing kicked in and she told the bar owners she couldn’t turn tricks anymore, that she was going to get a master’s degree in psychology, and make something of her life.

“Park where you usually do. We’ll go in your apartment together. Anybody sees ya’, they’ll jes’ think yer’ bringin’ a friend home for the night. Probably ain’t the first time for a good lookin’ broad like you.”

It was a typical 1960’s San Fernando Valley two-story apartment building built around a center swimming pool. Carports were located in the rear. A few minutes later he followed her up the side stairs and down the concrete walkway to her apartment. She unlocked the door and they went into the small apartment, closing the door behind them.

“Got a beer, Doll?” Slade asked, looking around at the seedy brown tweed and vinyl apartment furniture and the small television set. He imagined the only thing that distinguished her apartment from every other apartment in the complex was the pile of books on the laminated wooden coffee table. “I’m a little thirsty and need to wet my whistle while I’m talkin’ to ya’.”

She walked over to the refrigerator, pulled out a beer, and handed it to him. “Do you mind telling me what this is all about?”

Slade placed his pistol on the table next to his chair. “Sit down, Doll. This might take awhile,” he said, as he took a deep breath. “I gots a proposition for ya’. Does 100 G’s interest you? Sure might help keep them debt collectors you got at bay. Plus, might be able to finish up yer’ master’s degree without havin’ to work your ass off to pay the bills. Jes’ sayin.”

She poured herself a glass of water and sat down, wondering how much he knew about her. “Whenever someone is willing to pay $100,000 for anything, it makes me nervous. This sounds like it’s more than just meeting some john for the night.”

“Yeah, Doll, it’s kinda like the rest of yer’ life. Okay, here’s the deal. All ya’ gotta do for $100,000 is have a little plastic surgery on yer’ face and go see a guy. That’s it. Here’s a picture of what you’ll look like after the surgery. It’s bein’ paid for. Surgeon’s the best in the business. You’ll be taken care of afterwards in a special recovery house by a registered nurse, for as long as ya’ need to stay. In a coupla weeks, the swellin’ and bruisin’ will be gone and you’ll look like this here picture. Yer’ gonna meet a guy who has a thing for a woman who looks like this. ‘Pendin’ on how that goes, might be the end of what you’ll have to do, but it might jes’ happen that you and him hit it off. He’s big bucks. Either way, you’d be set for life. So, Doll, whaddya think?”

“For starters, I think you’re crazy. Why would I want to look like someone else? In case you hadn’t noticed, no one’s ever handed me the ugly stick or made fun of me. Men usually whistle if their tongue isn’t hanging out.”

“Yeah, see what you mean. If I get up and walk outta here, ya’ can kiss 100 G’s bye-bye, and the way you’re livin’ hand to mouth, you’ll probably have to head back to South Dakota, cuz you won’t have the money to finish gettin’ that degree ya’ want so bad. I’m offerin’ a way for ya’ to get that degree and still look as good as ya’ do now, jes’ different.”

Barbara stood up and walked over to the window. “Will I have to change my name? I can’t keep my name if my looks are different, can I?”

Slade knew she was considering the offer. “Yeah, you’ll have a new name, at least for a while. I’ll move ya’ into new digs, but ain’t no reason you can’t transfer schools and continue with that degree under yer’ old name. No one’ll know ya’. I unnerstan’ you got an A average. Any school would be happy to have ya’.”

“So, you’re asking me give up my life as I know it, never to go back to South Dakota, and start fresh.”

“That’s about it, Doll. Sorry, but I unnerstan’ you ain’t got no family back in South Dakota, anyway. Read they was all killed in a fire at that old farmhouse where ya’ grew up. Terrible thing, but look at it this way, you’d never have to turn another trick. No more johns. Might be the start of a much better life. I’ll buy you some killer threads, and make an appointment with a hairdresser and a makeup artist. Yeah, Doll, this could be the beginnin’ of the very best of the rest of yer’ life. So whaddya say?”

“When will this happen and when will I get my money?”

“Have the surgery tomorrow afternoon, a little R & R, move into yer’ new digs, and then start gettin’ ya’ all gussied up. I’ll have $50,000 sent to yer’ bank account tonight. In about three weeks, I’m gonna want ya’ to meet someone and ask him for a favor. That’s it. Nothin’ hinky about it. After ya’ meet with him, you’ll get the remaining $50,000.”

She stood at the window, lost in thought. Slade got up and walked over to the refrigerator. “Doll, you do this, you be drinkin’ Cristal champagne, not this two-bit beer,” he said as he helped himself to another cold one.

Barbara turned around and faced him. “Well, there really is nothing in my old life to go back to. I might as well see what a new life will be like. Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Yer’ makin’ a good decision, Doll. I’ll be spendin’ the night. Don’t want ya’ changin’ yer’ mind. Need to make a coupla phone calls. You jes’ get comfortable. By the way, no aspirin from now on and no food or liquids after eight in the mornin’.”

He called Brad while she was in the bathroom. “I’ll be spendin’ the night here. Want ya’ to meet me at Dr. Ray James’ office about 5:00 tomorrow evenin’. He’s a plastic surgeon in Santa Monica. Ya’ can take me home after that. See ya’ then.” The next call he placed was to Darya. “Need ya’ to wire transfer $50,000 into the bank account number I’m gonna give ya’. Yer’ the big kahuna business woman, shouldn’t be any problem. Later.”

Barbara stood at the bathroom sink and looked at her reflection in the mirror.
Well, no matter what the new me is going to look like on the outside, I’ll still be the old me on the inside. I hope it’s enough and I hope I’m making the right decision.

CHAPTER 12