Cross Dressing (31 page)

But the Fujioka board of directors showed more loyalty than anyone expected. The chairman of the board, Mr. Ihara Fujioka, was enamored of the American expression “dance with the one who brought you,” and he was going to do just that, assuming, of course, that he liked what The Prescott Agency came up with next. Otherwise he’d be sticking with the old Japanese expression
sayonara.

Oren Prescott had been dodging Ihara’s phone calls for weeks, but the day of reckoning had finally come. Mr. Fujioka was on line one. Oren took a deep breath and grabbed the phone, prepared to blow enough smoke to blind the entire board of directors.

“Hello, Ihara, I was just—”

“Mr. Prescott,” a thin, stiff voice interrupted. “I know what a busy man you are as you are unable to take so many of my phone calls, so I will make this quick. I expect your presentation within fourteen days. Otherwise, we are considering the proposals of The Sinnert Group and Chiat/Day.”

Oren was suddenly nauseous. “No sweat,” he croaked. “In fact, I’ve got a terrific idea I’m polishing up right now. I’ll set the pitch next week, okay? Ciao!” In one swift motion, Oren hung up, then banged his head on his desk. “I’m doomed,” he said.

E
arlier in the day Butch Harnett was looking at his copies of the hospital records. He was interested in the name in the
“next of kin” box. According to the records, it was Dan’s brother, who appeared to be a priest, a Father Michael Steele. But there was something funny about the signature. The “Father” part looked as if it was signed as an afterthought, sort of wedged in ex post facto. What Butch needed was a true Father Michael signature to compare to this one, so he headed to the diocesan offices to see what he could find.

Butch approached the woman at the front desk and told her what he needed. The woman said she had worked for the diocese for twenty-two years and knew most of the clergy working in the L.A. area, but she denied knowing a Father Michael. “Perhaps you should speak to Father David. He can access the database.”

So Butch went to the third floor to meet Father David. “I’m looking for Father Michael Steele,” Butch said.

Father David went to a row of filing cabinets. “Do you know in which diocese he was ordained, or if he’s ever changed diocese?”

“No idea,” Butch said.

“That would make it easier. I could just search the letters dimissory of the appropriate Bishop.” Father David had his back to Butch. He was reading something in a file that seemed to catch his eye. “Do you know if—” Father David suddenly stopped. He closed the file and the file drawer. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter,” he said. “I have nothing here on any Father Michael, sorry.”

Butch smelled a Catholic rat. “Are you sure?” He gestured at the filing cabinet. “It looked like you saw something in there.”

“I’m telling you, I don’t know the man,” Father David replied rather defensively. “Good day.” Father David locked the filing cabinet, then disappeared into a back room.

Butch was getting the ecclesiastical runaround and he knew it. He was surprised such a simple piece of information
was so hard to come by. He began to wonder if thirty pieces of silver might buy him what he was looking for. Obviously it was too late to test Father David’s price, but another opportunity lay just down the hall. There was a man looking up at something, his hands clutched behind his back. As he approached, Butch could see that the man was admiring a painting of St. Matthew, weeping bitterly. The man looked like a Bishop in his splendid black robe with red piping and buttons to match. “Excuse me,” Butch said, pulling a wad of bills from his pocket. “I’m trying to find a Father Michael. I was wondering if you might know him.” He peeled a twenty off the stack and dangled it like a green carrot.

The man in the robe appeared insulted, as if to say a man of his rank couldn’t be bought so cheaply. He returned his attention to the weeping St. Matthew without saying a word.

Butch peeled a few more carrots and waved them at the Bishop. “This Father Michael I’m looking for, he’s in his mid-thirties, average height, brown hair. Are you sure you don’t know him?” The Bishop glanced down at the money and held his hand out like a shabby maître d’. Butch withheld it until the Bishop considered the question.

“Let’s see, Father Michael,” the Bishop mused. “Oh yes, I remember hearing something about him …” He scratched at his empty palm and looked up at Butch.

Butch shook his head. “You have to earn it,” he said.

“Yes, well, if I remember correctly,” the Bishop said, “he was in Africa and Cardinal Cooper—” The Bishop paused a moment and looked as though he had just remembered something important. Something he wasn’t supposed to share with strangers. He clasped his hands together behind his back and turned back to St. Matthew. “No, I’m mistaken,” the Bishop said. “I’ve never heard of him.”

He started to walk away, but Butch grabbed his arm. “Are you sure? He’s from around here.”

The Bishop pushed Butch’s hand away. “I’m telling you, I do not know the man!”

S
ince her habit was both conspicuous and unwieldy, Sister Peg changed into jeans and a dark long-sleeve shirt for her mission. Dan simply plucked the stiff white thing from his collar and loosened his top button. In his all-black outfit he looked like a Catholic ninja or maybe a studio development executive. They were in Dan’s VW van, headed southeast on San Fernando Road. Sister Peg was driving. Ruben rode shotgun. Dan was in the back, holding on to Sister Peg’s .38.

It was only now that Dan realized what a great opportunity this was for him. Sure, the idea itself was insane—confronting violent convicted felons who were probably armed and high on something could scarcely be considered bright—but on the other hand, this was a great chance to show off for his girl. Of course, Dan knew it was ludicrous to think of a nun as “his girl,” but it was a well-established medical fact that love tended to make people stupid. And now, with adrenaline and testosterone gushing into his system like an oil spill, all reason had been suspended. Anything was possible in such a heightened glandular state. As they passed Polk Street, Dan leaned forward like a hardened SWAT team member. “So what’s the plan?” he asked.

“I plan to get the kids out of the house, Father.” Sister Peg flashed her eyes in the mirror. She meant business. “I don’t know how.”

Dan nodded. “I’m with you, Sister,” he said. “It’s just, some people are more comfortable with a plan, but whatever. We’ll just play this by ear. We’ll be good.” He wasn’t sure if he believed it, but he knew he had to sound positive.

Ruben signed directions to Sister Peg, then he pulled a second gun from the glove compartment. This was no six-shooter,
either. It was a converted semiauto, essentially a machine gun. Ruben checked the gun’s clip to see that it was full. Then he slid it back in until the magazine catch clicked.

Dan felt this improved their odds somewhat, but it raised a question that had crossed his mind once before. “If you don’t mind my asking, Sister … where’d you get the guns?”

Sister Peg thought about telling him the truth but decided now was not the time. “My old convent was in a tough neighborhood,” she said. Before Dan could inquire further, Sister Peg reached into her pocket and pulled something out. “Here.” She tossed something into Ruben’s lap and handed one back to Dan.

It was a stocking for masking his face, standard armed-robbery gear. Dan rubbed the fine nylon mesh between his fingers. “Nothing beats a great pair of L’eggs,” he said. He stretched the thigh end to see how it fit over his head. That’s when he noticed it wasn’t a pair of cheap panty hose. This was a fine stocking with the imprint of a garter snap on it. “Hey, this is very nice,” he said. “Is this Austrian?”

Sister Peg glanced at the rearview. “You seem to know a lot about women’s hosiery for a priest.”

“Hey, you leave a bunch of guys alone at a monastery …”

Sister Peg looked over her shoulder at Dan and raised an eyebrow.

Dan smiled. “You brought it up.”

Ruben indicated for Sister Peg to take a right. He had the stocking on top of his head ready to roll down. His face was hard as steel plate.

“What do we know about this place?” Dan asked.

“Ruben said it’s just a two-room house. A front door, a back door, and bars on the windows. We don’t even know if anyone’s there,” she said. “Like you said, we’ll play it by ear.”

A few minutes later Ruben pointed at a house. Sister Peg killed the lights, then pulled over and parked. The black S-10
wasn’t there. The lights were on inside, but there were no silhouettes in the windows. After a minute Dan spoke up. “Let’s go get a closer look.” He hoped he sounded brave.

Guns tucked in waistbands and masks pulled over their faces, the three of them crossed the street and slipped into the edge of a row of neglected shrubbery. They paused for a moment looking for their next step. Dan pointed at a side window that didn’t have a curtain. Sister Peg went over and peeked inside. Dan admired her from the bushes.
How many people would do this?
he wondered. Her determination was sexy as hell. She showed no fear. Dan loved that.

Sister Peg couldn’t see the whole room, but she could see four children sitting on a sofa. They didn’t appear to be tied up or anything, but since there was no sign of Razor Boy or Charlie Freak, she wondered why the kids didn’t just leave. She returned to the shrubs and sent Ruben to the back door. She and Dan went to the front and found the door padlocked from the outside. They removed their stocking masks. “The stupid bastards locked the kids inside,” Sister Peg said. “What if the place caught fire?” Ruben came around the side of the house. He signed to Sister Peg, who nodded and pointed at the padlock. Ruben’s face tensed. A flurry of signs ended with his first two fingers bouncing off his forehead angrily. He said he had looked around and couldn’t find anything useful for breaking the padlocks.

Dan had nothing in the van either, no crowbars for prying them off and no rope or chain for pulling the bars off the windows, and they couldn’t chance shooting the locks off, since there was no way to predict what might happen with a ricochet.

Sister Peg heard the notorious booming of a gangsta car somewhere in the general vicinity. “We better do something before these yahoos come home,” Sister Peg said, looking up and down the street. Suddenly, “Car!” She grabbed Ruben.
They dove into the shrubs and kept low. The sound was there long before the car was, menacing and vulgar.

Ruben shook his head and signed to Sister Peg. “It’s not them,” she said. The car slowed at the house and the pitch-black window glided down. “What if it’s a drive-by?” She reached into Dan’s waistband and grabbed the gun.

Dammit
, Dan thought.
I should have drawn the gun.
On the other hand, she had practically reached into his pants. He felt that was a step in the right direction. After a moment, the car’s window glided back up and the car drove on.

Dan took the gun back from Sister Peg, then went over to the window and looked in. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. The television was on. It was a big-screen Fujioka, exactly like the one stolen from Dan’s apartment. In fact, the room was filled with all the stuff Dan had bought when he maxed out his credit cards. The solution hit Dan like a set of stone tablets. “Sister, you and Ruben get the kids’ attention,” he said. “Get ‘em over to this window and keep ’em here.”

Dan raced to the van and waited for Sister Peg’s signal. When she waved, Dan backed the van over the curb, then suddenly gassed it, heading straight for a corner of the house. He was pretty sure this would impress her. He was going about thirty when he crashed into the living room. The cheaply made entertainment center collapsed like the tower of Siloam. The big-screen Fujioka disintegrated in a flashbulb of sparks. From the driver’s seat, Dan looked over and saw one of the children staring at him, his mouth wide open. The kid could think of nothing else to do, so he waved. Dan smiled and waved back before pulling the van back out onto the yard.

Sister Peg and Ruben rushed in through the breach and started clearing the debris so they could gather the kids. “Let’s do this fast,” Sister Peg said. She didn’t want to be there when the owners returned. Dan got out of the van and went back to the house, unaware that neighbors were peering out their windows,
taking in the details. Ruben pushed the splintered Sheetrock out of the way while Dan cleared a path out of the house. Sister Peg called to the kids, reassuring them that everything was going to be all right. Still, they seemed uncertain. Dan stood behind her, watching, waiting to take the kids. He was mesmerized by the way she moved. Her sweet, calm voice was dazzling and—God help him—he couldn’t help but notice how well her jeans fit.

Ruben suddenly punched Dan’s shoulder. “Hey! What the hell was that for?” Dan said. Ruben scowled and signed like a psychotic first-base coach giving signals. Dan didn’t know whether to swing away or take the next pitch, so he threw his hands up in surrender. “Whatever.”

Sister Peg, watching the whole thing, broke into a broad smile. “Hey, Father, nice job getting us in here,” she said.

“Anything for you, Sister,” he said. Dan turned and jabbed Ruben’s shoulder in retaliation.

“Here!” Sister Peg handed Dan one of the kids. “Get her in the van.” Dan took the little girl. She was scared and she struggled against Dan’s grasp. Dan tried to calm her down, but the child was beyond soothing talk. Sister Peg handed another kid to Ruben, then took the remaining two by their hands and led them out of the house. “Let’s go,” Dan shouted. “Buckle up!” With everyone secure in the van, Dan gunned it down the street, lights off. None of them noticed the rustling curtains of the neighboring houses. A couple of blocks later, with tensions eased, Ruben nudged Dan and signed something. Dan turned to Sister Peg. “What is he saying?”

“He said Razor Boy’s going to be pissed about his TV,” Peg said.

“I should hope so,” Dan said.

Sister Peg smiled. “Oh yeah, and earlier he said you shouldn’t be looking at my butt that way.”

Oh, jeez …
Dan suddenly felt light-headed. “What? No, I
was …” He knew he was busted. There was no point. “Sorry, Sister. It’s the way you were standing, I—”