Cicero's Dead (6 page)

Halladay shook his head stubbornly. “Let’s assume
they are, although I’m not convinced; either way, the police won’t do anything
unless they have proof.”

“But they all know you and could give Jade pro--”

Halladay exploded. “--Shit, Crane, don’t be
ridiculous! If I’d wanted to deal with idiots, I wouldn’t have hired you.”

“Wait a second!”

“How are they going to protect her? This isn’t
RICO, so what’s in it for them?”

I’ve learned that it is not a good idea in this
business to react emotionally to someone else’s outburst, unless it’s
absolutely necessary. It was obvious that Halladay didn’t want this matter made
public and I couldn’t blame him. The esteemed firm of Halladay, Reynolds, Tosh
& Mukaskey would look downright foolish if it was revealed that it been
suckered by bogus cops, in the murder of one of their more notorious clients.
As a practical matter he was right; the cops do suck when it comes to
protecting people, unless, of course, they have a deeply vested interest in
keeping them safe.

On the other hand, we were sitting on a stack of
felonies that could land us all in stir. I comforted myself with the thought
that if this ever came out, in all likelihood, the charges would be federal.
There are far worse places to spend time than in minimum or low security
federal prisons. Halladay and I could amuse ourselves playing basketball and
tennis.

He stood up, drained his Evian, and studied me.
“You will protect Jade Lamont and you will do a damned good job of it. You will
also find Richard, if it’s humanly possible, not that the kid is worth it, but,
his sister loves him, and I promised Cicero that I would always look after them
if anything ever happened to him. If you fail me, you will never work in Los
Angeles again.”

He crossed to his desk, mumbled something into the
telephone, then made me a copy of Cicero’s death certificate, which he placed
in a manila folder. Lindsay came in, handed him an envelope and left. He placed
it in the manila folder and handed it to me.

I took it and stood up. He eyes drilled into me
again. “We’re clear, Crane?”

“Yep.”

Lindsay was waiting for me at the door to
Halladay’s office. She gave me a curt smile and led me back through the maze to
the huge empty lobby. I thought she was looking at me strangely, but it could
have been my imagination. When I reached the lobby of One Bunker Hill, I wished
fervently for an emergency exit. None appeared and I had no choice but to exit
through the revolving door onto 5th Street.

Chapter IV – Safe House

The Santa Ana winds were
stronger now, and fingers of ominous gray-brown haze filled the sky to the
northwest. I stood in the lee of the building scanning for taxis and unwelcome
faces. It was five long blocks back to City Plaza.

People experience anxiety in different ways. Some
develop headaches and turn into tyrants. Others experience heart palpitations,
flushing and a sure knowledge of imminent disaster. My particular symptom is a
swirling pressure somewhere in my head that scrambles my thoughts and makes it
hard to think straight. I was reassured by the familiar feeling of my Colt
Commander tucked into the small of my back. I’ve shot two men in the course of
my career, both times in self-defense, and both guys survived. One walks with a
limp and is doing 10 to 25 at Folsom. The other is in a wheelchair at Soledad.

I hailed the first taxi heading west on 5th. The
turbaned, bearded driver spun a left on Figueroa and headed east on 6th.

I dialed Cassady. “Hi, Baby,” she said.
 
“How’s your day going?”

That’s a joke we have. In today’s world, people
are prone to using that greeting so Cassady beats them to the punch.”

“It’s been interesting.”

“How’s Brad?”

“He’s good. He and Bobby are working together.
What have you heard about the fires?”

“They’re bad but nowhere close to us.”

“What about the Whittier hills?”

“Not much wind here. So far so good. Maleah had a
good day and she’s off with Salina and her grandmother. They’re having bobas.”

“Okay. Gotta get back to work.”

“What time’re you gonna be home?”

“Around eight.”

“Don’t be late.”

The taxi spat me out on Grand. I tipped the driver
and he shot back into traffic. It was a little early to meet Jade, so I
considered wandering around the City Plaza shops, but decided against it and
took the elevator up to Waldrop & Hemsley. I had no sense of being
followed. When I got to the lobby, I went inside and spoke to the receptionist.

“I’m here to meet Ms. Lamont.”

“Is she expecting you?”

“Yes. Please let her know I’m here.”

“Sure.”

The lobby is, if anything, even larger than the
lobby at Halladay’s firm. The artwork is different, though. Instead of
paintings, Waldrop & Hemsley favor polyurethane wall hangings, plastic
sheets of random shimmering color that appear to signify nothing, other than an
attempt to please the eye. I sat in an expensive, black leather armchair and
waited. Five minutes later the receptionist walked over.

“Ms. Lamont is running behind, but asked that you
wait.”

I glanced at my phone. 4:15. “Okay.”

She went back to her desk and I went back to my
deliberations: what kept tripping me up were several simple but complex
questions. How did Cicero’s killers manage to get his body cremated and
interred at Forest Grove when it was never at the coroner’s office in the first
place? If Halladay’s office had really given the coroner’s office instructions
to release Cicero’s body, wouldn’t they have checked to make sure everything
proceeded according to plan? And why was Halladay so unconcerned with finding
Cicero’s murderer? If he’d really been so close to him, that should have been
as much a priority as protecting Jade and finding Richie. Yet he seemed more
concerned that I keep my mouth shut. I opened the envelope, slid out the check
and blinked several times, but the zeroes didn’t go away. I replaced it and
took a long, deep breath to steady myself.

Her touch was gentle and brought me back to Earth.
Jade stood there, a single worry line cleft horizontally across her forehead.
She removed her hand from my arm and I stood up.
 
“Sorry I kept you waiting,” she offered.
“I had a deadline.”

“Not a problem,” I smiled.

“You look tired.”

“Occupational hazard.”

“You wanna get some coffee?”

“I’m going to move my car to your parking garage. When
I’m ready, I’ll call and come up to get you.”

She frowned. “We’re going somewhere?”

“I’ll explain everything as soon as we’re on the
road.”

“I’m in danger, aren’t I?”

“We’re all in danger,” I replied cryptically.

I left her standing there, her fingers clenching
the strap of her Dolce and Gabana handbag. I hit the street and hailed a cab.
Same beard, different driver. I had him drop me off in front of the library,
and took the outside elevator down to the parking garage, getting off and on
several times to shake anyone who might be following me before retrieving my
car. When I reached City Plaza, I pulled into the garage and parked three
floors down. I buzzed Jade, took the elevator back up to the 32nd floor, and
found her sitting in the same armchair I’d recently occupied.

“Time to move.”

“What about my car?”

We reached the street and cut through the downtown
maze, swung down 2nd
toward Alameda and as nearly as I could tell,
no one was on our tail. I called Bobby. No answer. Ditto with Brad, but I
connected with Audrey.

“Where are you?”

“Mickey’s.”

“Any news?”

“Negative.”

“Anybody seen Richie or Arnold?”

“Possibly. Nothing definite. I did put the word
out.”

“Okay. I need you to go to a Goodwill and buy Jade
a disguise.”

“What?”

“And bring it to Bobby’s place.”

“Let me get this straight. You want me to go to a
second hand store, buy a disguise for Jade and bring everything to Bobby’s
house?”

“Precisely.”

“Cool. I’m going to turn her into a hag.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“I hate leaving Mickey’s though. Richard or Arnold
could walk in the door at any minute, and half of L.A. is offering to buy me
drinks.”

“You’re still there?”

She hung up.

We crossed Alameda and took the back route to
Highway 10. It took us twenty minutes to travel the three miles to City Terrace,
during which time Jade just stared out of the window, occasionally shooting me
a wary glance. I turned off the highway and pulled into the gravel parking lot
at Leo’s Brake and Paint Shop. He’s been running this place for 30 years, and
it’s a slice out of old Mexico. Nobody but Leo speaks English, and the corridos
play constantly. I pulled right into the paint shop and parked. Some of the
help looked up curiously from behind their spray guns but kept on working.

“I’ll be right back.”

Leo is from Sinaloa, and grew up among cocaine
traffickers, but has never sold a gram.
 
Instead, he saves his money and invests in real estate.

“Orale, Nick.”

“Hey, Leo.”

As we shook hands, he looked at me intently. “I
been hearing shit about you, Holmes.”

“Yeah?”

“The street’s got ears.”

“What’s it saying?”

“Watch your back, compadre.”

“I am, believe me.”

“So what you need?”

“Paint my car Forest Green.”

“For real?”

“Yeah, but I don’t need it to be showroom.”

“A cover up, ‘eh?” he grinned knowingly.

“How much?”

“$250.”

“Can I pick it up in the morning?”

“Oh, come on, Holmes. The paint ain’t even gonna
be dry.”

I looked at him but didn’t respond.

He sucked on his teeth, made a disapproving face
and grinned. “Okay.”

“Can you give us a ride to Bobby’s?”

“That crazy vato?”

“It’s the safest place I know.”

“Orale. Let’s go.”

Leo dropped us off and rumbled away.

Jade gave Bobby’s place the once over and frowned.
“What are we doing here?”

“This clapboard mansion belongs to my very good
friend, Bobby Moore. You’re going to stay here for a while until we sort things
out. He’ll take good care of you, and you’ll be very, very safe.”

Jade watched curiously as I tested the fence with
the back of my hand. “What’re you doing?”

“Had the juice been on, if I’d had my fingers the
other way, the muscles would’ve involuntarily contracted and locked around the
fence.”

“Wait. It’s electrified?”

“I told you, you’d be safe.”

“You weren’t joking.”

I negotiated the combination padlock and we
climbed the hill to his door. Our unexpected visit aroused his goats and they
sniffed us eagerly. Bobby keeps a spare key under a rock in a weed patch that
might once have been a garden. I retrieved it, unlocked the door, and we
stepped inside. Jade’s eyes swept from the big flat screen, to the unadorned
walls, to the stacks of magazines.

“Bobby stays abreast of the news. A lot of Nam
vets are that way. Anyway, sit down and make yourself at home.”

Jade hesitated, then sat on a tattered
southwestern blanket that was stretched across Bobby’s sofa. Sitting back, she
tugged at her skirt and crossed her legs.

“I know this all comes as a shock, but your life
has taken a turn that no one could have predicted.”

She sighed and sucked in her bottom lip that was
beginning to tremble. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

“No worries, Jade.” She nodded. I shifted to face
her more directly. “This is what we know, and I don’t mean to sound harsh or
blunt.”

“It’s okay,” she said quietly.

“What’s become clear is that your dad wasn’t
killed in a hit-and-run. A Dr. Tarkanian, out of Glendale, signed his death
certificate -- heart attack, supposedly in his own bed. Those fake cops might
be in with Arnold Clipper, but that’s speculation. They could be working for
somebody else, or they could be working alone.”

“Christ, what a mess.”

“Even though Arnold’s put pressure on Ron to set
you up, it still doesn’t mean they’re connected to him.”

“Maybe they’ve hurt Richard.” Tears were beginning
to fill her eyes.

“I dunno, but I doubt it, not with Arnold
protecting him.”

Right there in Bobby Moore’s weird-ass living
room, the dam broke and tears streamed down her face. I don’t like watching
people cry; it kills me when Maleah occasionally wails, but it’s even worse
when adults are doing the weeping. Maybe she’d been holding it all in for too
long, or maybe the time had just come for release but she wept, at first
quietly, and then with an intensity that scared me. Audrey thinks I’m
cold-hearted but actually I’m not. I put my arms around her and trying to
comfort her, stroked her smooth, thick hair. How absurd it all is; wealth and
power delude the world and, worse, deceive those that possess them.

Jade began to regain control. Reluctantly, I
pulled myself away, went into the kitchen and again stared in disbelief at the
$100,000 check Halladay had given me. I shook myself loose and placed it in my
wallet. I took two Bud Lites out of the refrigerator, grabbed a glass for Jade,
unscrewed the cap and took a long, welcome swallow. She was visibly embarrassed
over her breakdown, and barely glanced at me as she filled her glass, and drank
it like a veteran in four or five long swallows.

Bobby and Brad arrived at 7:30 carrying Chinese
take-out. Five minutes later, Audrey who loves to shop and had made the most of
this opportunity, arrived. I helped her carry several bags into the house.

I watched them eat fried rice and chicken
l’orange. “We’ll go over everything
first thing in the morning, and as of right now, everybody’s on payroll.”

“I don’t want your money,” said Bobby. “I want
your wife.”

“I’ll take either,” added Brad.

I turned to Audrey. “Could you drive Brad and me
back to Whittier?”

“Why not? I’m already about seven hours late.”

At 8:15, we trotted in as Cassady was putting the
finishing touches on some salmon steaks. Maleah was playing on the computer and
talking on the phone. I was damned glad to be home.

Immediately after dinner, Brad, who was exhausted,
went down to the guest room.
 
After
Cassady and I put Maleah to bed, we went into our room. Cassady usually sleeps
nude, but tonight she put on a lacy negligee with a scooped neckline. As soon
as I got into bed, she grabbed me and pinned me down.

“How come you smell like perfume?”

“Don’t ask.”

She slapped me hard across the face and then made
love to me. When I met Cassady, 22 years ago, I thought she was the hottest
woman in the western world. She combined artistry and passion and we would make
love ‘til we were exhausted. As the years passed, we discovered that we
actually liked each other. Having met so young, we’ve each had flings over the
years, but never anything serious enough to threaten our marriage. Since
adopting Maleah nine years ago, I’ve been monogamous and I believe Cassady has
too. We’ve never actually talked about it; it just seemed that once you’re a
parent, you forego extracurricular pleasures for the sake of the family. When
we were finished, Cassady lay her head on my chest and we talked. I described
the case and Jade’s breakdown and the 100K retainer.

I felt Cassady tense up. “That’s too much money.”

“Yeah, does seem a little excessive.”

“Halladay’s dirty. He’s buying your cooperation,
just in case.”

“Or maybe it’s just really important to him not to
be exposed. His incompetence in this instance is pretty shocking.”

“I hate to say it, but maybe you should give the
money back.”

“I thought about it, but it’s not that easy.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Jade and Richie. They’re in real danger.”

“Can that danger reach us here?”

“Maybe.”

She raked her eyes across me and got out of bed.
Naked, she crossed to the closet and pulled something off the upper shelf. I felt
myself grow aroused again at the sight of her rippling dancer’s thighs and her
trim curved ass, which tightened as she stood on tiptoe. She came back carrying
two boxes. One held her 9 millimeter Beretta, double action, semi-automatic
handgun and the other, her cleaning kit. She sat down cross-legged, pulled the
sheet over her thighs and went to work, methodically disassembling the pistol.
She ran the bore brush carefully through the breech end of the barrel, pulling
it back with great care to avoid damaging the muzzle. After several passes, she
dripped solvent onto a clean patch, wrapped it around a jag, and ran that
through the barrel three times before extracting it. The gun hadn’t been
cleaned in a long time and the patch came out fouled and black. She repeated
the process with a clean patch. Better. Then a dry patch, which came out nearly
spotless. Her lips, usually full and pliant, were set in a hard line. She
cleaned the slide with a toothbrush and ran it along the frame grooves. Then
she lubricated each piece separately and reassembled it. Her model takes a
fourteen round clip, which she loaded with standard 9 millimeter, NATO shells.
She flicked the safety to the
‘on’
position, and placed the gun back in its box. She returned the boxes to the closet
and before getting into bed, very deliberately ran her oily fingers across her
breasts ‘til they glistened. We made love, silently, with a ferocity that was
frightening.