Ded Reckoning (16 page)

"It's Ms. Columbo, and yes, I'm fine.  Just wet and pissed."

Hunter adds, "And safe."

The officer checks the man on the concrete.  He's beginning to regain consciousness.  The cop rolls the man over, cuffs him, then rolls him back over and drags him to the stucco wall of the house.  Using both hands on the shoulders, he props the man up and asks harshly, "Who the hell are you?"

With an obvious Irish brogue, tainted with a distinct Boston accent, the man grumbles, "The back of me head feels like a smashed potato and me forehead feels like it was hit with a hammer.  All I was trying to do was ask this lad here ..."

"Mister.  Before you say another word, I need to warn you of your rights."  The patrolman reads him his Miranda rights, then asks, "Do you understand?"

"Yes, but by all the saints ..."

"What's your name and what'dya doing here?"

Hunter says, "You are at the least trespassing, and more likely something worse. Now start talking fast."  Then to Dee, "Ms. Columbo, why don't you go inside and dry off.  Change clothes.  I believe you said you were about to leave?"

Dee nods an understanding and having already stepped out of the Jacuzzi, sprints on the balls of her feet around Hunter and the officer to the gate while snatching a towel to cover her breasts.

As she leaves, the man says, "My name is Mickey O'Rourke.  I'm from Boston, here visiting and trying to find out what happened to my friend, Patrick Shanahan.  I was told by a reporter at the local paper ..."

"Your friend, who?"

"Patrick Shanahan.  I was told he died here Saturday morning."

The patrolman shouts, "Your friend was involved in a bombing and killed a woman."

"Listen Mister," Hunter hisses.  "A friend of mine was killed here Saturday.  This friend of yours did it.  The police are investigating and ... and you listen carefully.  That's the extent of my knowledge.  Now, you broke into my house.  Anything else you have to say, tell the patrolman at the station or on the way.  My understanding is that your friggin' friend took a header off the cliff down there."  He pauses, then says to the patrol officer, "How about getting this guy out of here and downtown?  And call Bradovich from the car right away."

"Mister Kerrigan," Hunter cringes at the use of his name by the patrolman, "I will do that.  Will you be pressing charges?"

"Only if Bradovich thinks I should."

"Well sir, I will have to notify the Agent Ryder of all this.  Mister Kerrigan, sir, our instructions are ..." his words trail off relative to the intensifying stare from Hunter.

Hunter snarls, "Do what you must, but I would call Bradovich right away if I were in your shoes.  I don't know this jerk or the guy he's talkin' about.  Get him outta' here," and shoves the man's shoulder with his foot, toppling him over onto his side, his head scraping down the stucco wall on the way to bouncing off the Cool-Crete again.

O'Rourke snaps, "You not be doin' that, lad, if I were not all tangled up with these ..."

Hunter leaps at the man, and with his right hand jerks him to his feet, shoving him against the stucco of the house.  "If it weren't for this officer here, you'd be dead.  I might do it anyway," and draws back his left hand.

The patrolman grabs Hunter's left arm and shouts, "Enough.  Hold it.  This man is under arrest.  Now, let him go."

Hunter yanks his arm free releasing his grip on the man's shirt and tie.  Hunter growls, "Get him outta here.  Pronto."

"I will, sir.  I understand."  The officer grabs O'Rourke by the shoulder, yanks him to his feet and says, "Let's go.  And shut up, you're goin' in for breaking and entering."

The man begins to speak.  The officer yells, "Shut up and get movin'," as he pushes the groggy intruder through the open back gate that's hanging from one hinge.

Hunter enters his house and goes directly to the closet in his office.  He dials a number.  Waits.

Then says, "Joe.  I'm about to shove-off.  Just got paid a visit from a guy from Boston, name of Mickey O'Rourke.  Broke in my house."

"You mean today?  What the hell?"

"Yeah.  Just now.  In town poking around.  Snuck in and surprised Dee and me.  The police have him.  The guy out front who is supposed to be preventing all this has him in custody.  O'Rourke was asking about his friend Patrick Shanahan."

Joe Zachary moans, "Jesus.  What is going on?"

"You tell me.  Remember, you're the one that said this doesn't involve me.  You and Oboe.  I will see you shortly, as planned.  And, Joe, get this joker off my back.  Out of my life. And away from my job.  Quickly, or he's gonna be collateral damage."

Hunter answers a few questions from Joe.  They talk for another several seconds.  Hunter hangs up, closes and locks the closet.  As he walks into the hallway, he sees Dee coming in the house through the sliding glass door that leads from the patio.

Hunter picks up his clothing bag.  Says, "C'mon.  We're leaving for the airport.  Get your things," pointing to her luggage on the couch in the living room.  They have been reduced to a cloth clothing bag and a briefcase.  The bag is Navy blue with a gold "USN" and aviator wings stenciled on it.  The briefcase is brown leather and a flap top with straps.  Hunter adds,   "We're goin' in your car.  Nice bags.  Wear a neon sign why don't ya?"  He snarls, "Change the Navy one before we leave the country."

Dee stammers, "Bag?"  Then spits, "Sign?  I'll give you a ...  My car?"

"Yes, no one is watching you.  We'll go in through your back door.  Load up in the garage.  I'll lie on the back seat.  You drive out like any normal day."

"Got it.  Let me get my things and I'll be over in a sec.  I'll lock up behind me."

"That's your job. You're the friggin' property manager."

Hunter hears Dee sputtering or muttering as he leaves through the gate and into her backyard.  He uses the gate latch to hold it in place and up.  Dee closes and locks the sliding glass door behind him.  Picks up her clothing bag and briefcase, leaves by the side door locking it as well, goes down the path to her back gate, and into her house.

Minutes later, with the patrolman gone and no replacement in sight, Dee backs out of her garage.  Stops and gets out of her car.  Pulls the garage door closed.  Lowers her sunglasses from atop her head and slides into her car behind the wheel.  Closes the door, backs out of the driveway and goes up the hill on Arcola.  She takes a route other than the one she would ordinarily take when leaving their houses.

After a few minutes, Hunter says from his cramped position on the floorboard in back, "See anyone following us?"

"Nope.  No patrol cars.  Only a new Caddy and an older car, convertible loaded with children."

"Good.  Keep watchin'.  I'm staying down until we park at Lindbergh."

"Roger!  Oh, and next time you save my butt, don't smack me so hard."  She hears Hunter laughing and muttering.  She says, "What?"

"That was the best part of my day."

"Well, if that's the case, all I can say is that you're easy to please. Bubba."

"Sticks and stones will ..."

"Shut up."

"Roger."

 

 

Danny Shanahan lets the lace curtain slip from his fingers at his mom's front window.  He continues to peep out from the corner of the pane of glass.  Glares over to his younger brother, Sean, sitting in his father's old chair by the stone fireplace.  "Muldoon has some bloke posted outside, watching."

"Just one?"

"No, two.  One is in back as well."  He pauses for several moments.  Then speaks deliberately, "Do you remember that meeting about two months ago in the back of Michael O'Rourke's cobbler shop?"

Danny comes away from the window and sits in his mum's chair in front of the fireplace and across from where Sean is sitting, in his father's.

Sean watches him settle, says, "Aye, I do."

Danny pauses, eyes squinting a tad, then asks, "Didn't he mention his brother in Boston?  Said something like, 'Mickey is becomin' a Southie' or something like that?  Do ya remember?"

Sean nods his head slowly, and says, "Aye.  Aye, I do, come to think of it.  What a lucky guy gettin' to live and work in Boston.  A lot of good fortune for that Mick, I'd say.  Not havin' ta stay here bein' bossed around by Muldoon and that clod of a son he bred out of that sow he calls his 'Woman'.  Besides, the Brits were lookin' for him, hard.  Still are.  He'll play hell getting back in the country."

"Yeah, but me point is, he was, like Muldoon, part of the old IRA.  He and Muldoon made the split together, and he and that arsehole bein' tighter than ticks, I'd bet a quid or two they still are."

"Meanin'?"

"Meanin' that's Muldoon's contact.  In the U.S."

Sean thinks for a spell, then says, "Yeah, I believe you're right.  He must be the one."  Sean sits staring at his brother for several moments, watching Danny gaze into space.  The light bulbs are nearly visible.  After more than a few moments, Sean mutters, "Don't see where that will help us.  Mickey won't be talkin' to the likes of us.  Only Muldoon or possibly his brother, Mike, from time to time."

"And perchance another."

Sean shakes his head.  "Certainly not the clod."

"Ah, Sean, me lad.  You be right, but a little slow on the up-take."

"How's that?  I wasn't last night at chess.  Fourteen moves and you were done."

"True, but me mind was elsewhere.  Now then, brother dear, doesn't Mr. Mickey O'Rourke have a daughter livin' with his brother, Mike, over that shop.  Helpin' 'bout the house since old Mrs. O'Rourke passed away and their father long before her?"

"Yes, and a pretty lass she is, and not that fond of her uncle and the way he treats her.  Often talks about goin' to America to stay with her dad.  But he won't have it, least ways any day soon."  He pauses, grins.  "Ahhh, she's a looker, she is.  Lean, lanky, and with more than two handfuls of boobs, but with a religious streak from her chin to 'er knees."

Danny leans forward in the chair, "You be knowing her well, lad?"

"Oh, she's always been sweet on me.  I've been with her a time or two, or three, more actually but the parish priest has her ear and she's keepin' her knickers on, her knees tight and rubbing themselves raw."  Sean sighs.  "I be comin' close the last time but ... ahhh, well, better to be free and a bit horny than tied down and punching leather with an awl for her uncle."

Danny leans back in the chair, his arms close to his chest and his chin resting on his thumb and index finger.  A grin spreads across his face and he nods his head like a puppet on a string.  He stands, pounds his right fist into the palm of his left hand.

"Sean, me lad.  Let's go up to our room.  I have a plan I be wantin' to discuss with you."

Danny starts for the stairway with a crooked finger motioning Sean to follow.

 

 

After the PSA flight lands in San Francisco, Hunter and Dee hurry from the plane, and with only carry-on luggage, they uselessly beat most of the flight to the rental car agency.  The agent moves at a pace of a drunken snail although smiling and customer satisfaction pleasant.  The rental is a Ford Custom 500.  Hunter and Dee lay their clothing bags flat in the trunk on top of her briefcase and head north for Napa Valley and her family's vineyard.

The traffic at the airport and in the city slows them.  It should be only about an hour and fifty minute drive, but it will be longer today.  Nonetheless, the delay isn't noticeable because of the conversation the two are having.  For the first time, no digs, no jabs, and no innuendos.  Dee, as Hunter did on their Hotel Del ride, fills him in on some Napa Valley history.  First regarding the Yount family and vineyard, and of other famous families.  Then about the Napa Valley Vintners and onto her family's winery,
Per Semper
.  And finally one piece of useless trivia:  that being the original settlers here, the Wappo Indians, named this valley, Napa.  Meaning the land of plenty.

Hunter laughs and says, "The Wappo Indians?  C'mon.  That sounds like one of the names of the Marx brothers.  Groucho, Harpo and Wappo."  He roars in laughter at his own joke.  Dee gives him a playful punch on his arm.

After a few minutes, she says, "Turn right at that next road."  He does, then in less than a mile she motions, "Turn in here.  We're home."

Hunter turns as directed, goes under a brick and stone archway.  A kept fresh painted sign reads, "DeLuca Vineyards and Winery" and under it the words,
"Per Semper".
  Hunter says, "Forever."  Smiles, "That's nice."

"That's right, you speak and read Italian.  And several others."

"Yeah, and one for sure you don't.  Gaelic."

"Got me there.  Take a right up there," pointing, "and we'll head for the house."

Hunter smiles, "Head for the house."  Then sees it.  "Wow!  Little Teresa DeLuca did well for herself."

"Little Teresa DeLuca does a lot of things well.  Oops, broke my word.  Oh well, we're here."

Hunter pulls onto a circular driveway and stops in front of a smallish but gorgeous two-story stone and masonry house that whispers Tuscany from every curtained window and from every ledge and crevice.  The gardens in front, and in the circle, are in full bloom and have the look of a woman's touch.   Dee says, "Oh-oh, here comes, Cab.  Should have brought, Magpie."  Hunter gets out on the driver's side; Dee doesn't wait for him to come around the car.  She's out in a quick slide and greets the leaping Cab, the family Lab.  Still sprite for an old timer.

Hunter stretches, strolls around the car, looks about and says, "Man, what a place.  Wappo was right."

"The Wappos were right, and you ain't seen nothin' yet, Marine.  Wait 'til my granddad gives you the tour on his cycle.  You'll love the sidecar, and love more the leather helmet with goggles that go with it."  She laughs.  Then says, "Here they come.  Cab was first.  Now the clan follows.  And you watch out for Maria, she'll eat you alive."

"Really?"

"Yes, literally."