Final Appeal (6 page)

“New tenant?”

Michael nodded. He didn't trust his voice. The older woman had asked the question, but Michael couldn't seem to stop staring at her companion, who was jogging in place.

Her whole body was jiggling, and it took an effort to tear his eyes away from certain parts of her anatomy. He guessed that was because he hadn't seen a woman in anything other than a white's nurse's uniform for years. Everyone wore uniforms at Oakdale, even the maintenance people. It was a convenient way to set the staff apart from the patients.

“You're in 301?”

Michael nodded again. The younger woman was wearing a perfume he thought he recognized. Channel No. 5? No, that wasn't right, but whatever it was, it certainly made him feel very short of breath. The women on the staff at Oakdale hadn't worn perfume. It was against the rules.

“You must be the strong silent type, Right?”

Michael nodded for the third time, and the older woman laughed.

“Well, you may not be much on conversation, but at least you jog. Good shoes, those Reeboks. And I like your warm-up suit. It's that new lightweight material isn't it? I like a man who's serious about his workouts. Most of the people in this building think that physical fitness mean driving to pick up their pizza instead of having it delivered. Were you looking for the track?”

Michael nodded again. He really couldn't force out a word with the younger woman so close.

“There's one two blocks from here, but they haven't resurfaced it in years. I'll show you our personal two-mile circuit instead. My name is Doris Evans, from 408. And this is Antonia Novak, apartment 305. You can call her Toni. Now, what do we call you?”

“Mike, My name is Mike Kruger.” Michael gave the name on the phony identification Stan had provided.

“Nice. I like it. Michael means ‘honorable' in Hebrew. Of course, you probably already knew that. Most people know what their name means. Mine means ‘sea goddess' in Greek, but I haven't let it go to my head. Come on then, Mike Kruger, do your stretching and then we'll go.”

Before Michael could think of an excuse. Doris had him going through a series of stretching exercises right there in the hallway. As she supervised his routine, she asked more questions.

“Are you married, Mike?”

“No. I'm single.”

“So is Toni. I've been married for twenty years to the only man who'll put up with me. My husband is a man of infinite patience. Are you new to this area, Mike?”

Michael was about to shake his head, but he caught himself just in time. Mike Kruger had an Ohio driver's license.

“I just moved here from Cleveland.”

“You'll love California, Mike. It's a paradise compared to the Midwest or the East. Of course, it always takes time to get used to a new area, so if you need to know where something is, just ask me. Or you can ask Toni. Isn't that right, Toni?”

Toni looked surprised, but she nodded. “Of course. I'd be glad to help.”

Michael felt a pleasant jolt as he heard Toni's voice, for the first time. It was warm but slightly tentative. He could tell she wasn't as outgoing as Doris.

“Put your hands down a little lower, Mike.” Doris gestured. “Now lean against the wall and extend. You have to get the kinks out before we start. So what do you do, Mike?”

Michael froze, what did he do? Luckily, Doris jumped in before he had time to think of an answer.

“No, don't tell me, let me guess. If you were a businessman, you'd be at work right now, so that's not it. And you don't have calluses on your hands. That rules out manual labor. You're not suntanned, so you work inside. And you watch people intently, especially Toni, but that's understandable. She's pretty, isn't she?”

Michael laughed and nodded. Doris didn't pull any punches. He glanced at Toni and noticed she was blushing, but she looked amused. Good. She had a sense of humor.

“Okay, Mike. Switch to the other leg. You're almost ready to run. Now, back to the subject of what you do. I get the feeling that not much escapes you, and that makes you a student of human behavior. You don't look like a school teacher, because you're not burned out. And I can't see you as a doctor or a dentist. I know! I bet you're either an artist or a writer.”

Michael latched onto her suggestion. Not an artist. She might want to see some of his work.

“You're right. Doris. I'm working on a novel.”

“I knew it! And you work at home?”

Michael nodded and Doris beamed. “That's wonderful! Toni and I work at home, too. I do custom sewing for a local designer. Toni? Tell Mike what you do.”

“I'm a computer researcher.”

Toni stepped a little closer, and Michael felt his heart beat faster. Since she didn't seem inclined to elaborate, he searched for something to say.

“I'm afraid I don't know much about computers, Toni. What kind do you have?”

Toni began to smile as she described a laptop with a second external hard drive with a graphics card that was on the cloud and hooked up to her hotspot. Mike didn't have the slightest idea what she was talking about, but he noticed that she didn't seem shy at all when she was describing the equipment she used for work.

As soon as Toni stopped speaking, Doris reached out to grab his hand. “Okay, Mike. Let's go get some exercise.”

Then, before he even had time to catch his breath, Michael was jogging down the hallway between Doris and Toni, heading for the door to the stairs.

“Where do we go from here?” Michael slowed a little as they approached the door.

“Up one flight and past the four hundreds.”

Doris led the way, running up the stairs backwards so she could continue to talk. Toni followed her, and Michael was treated to an even more enhanced view that thoroughly destroyed his breathing.

“In case you don't know, this building has seven floors. We don't bother with the first or the second. A couple of tenants down there have little dogs, and they always yap when somebody runs by. The hallways are six hundred and sixty feet long. We make a circuit, jog back to the starting point, and go up the stairs to the next floor. You're breathing heavy, Mike. Are you out of practice?”

Michael grunted his assent, and Doris gave him an encouraging smile.

“Don't worry about it. I'll have you back in shape in no time. Anyway, by the time we're back down on your floor, we've done exactly two miles. Not counting the stairs, of course. They're a bonus.

“That's nice.”

“Nice? It's great!” Doris opened the door at the top of the stairs and motioned him through. “That means we can jog every morning, rain or shine. And the hallways are heated in the winter and air-conditioned in the summer. It's an even seventy-six degrees, and we don't have to inhale the smog. It's a perfect surface for running, and no one's home after eight in the morning, so we don't disturb the tenants. I'm really glad you moved in, Mike. There are times when Toni and I feel like nuts doing this all by ourselves.”

They were jogging past the four hundreds now. As they approached the end of the hall a door opened, and a uniformed policeman came out. Michael's heart jumped into his throat, and he turned his face away.

“Hi honey. Hello, Toni. Are you two girls ready to come down to the station and run my boys around the track?”

The two women stopped to jog in place, and Toni grabbed his hand, so he had to stop, too. Her fingers were firm yet soft. He'd forgotten what a real woman's hand felt like.

“Not unless you put us on the payroll.” Doris laughed and kissed him. “Besides, your boys are so out of shape, they couldn't keep up with us.”

“She always says that.” The man winked at Michael. “This looks fairly serious with the handholding, Toni. Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Oh!” Toni blushed and dropped Michael's hand. She looked thoroughly flustered. “I was only . . . never mind, Harry. Meet Mike Kruger. He just moved into 301, and he's from Cleveland. Mike, this is Captain Harry Evans, Doris's husband.”

“Nice to meet you, Mike.”

Harry held out his hand, and Michael could do nothing but shake it. It would have seemed strange if he'd turned tail and run.

“So fall in, Harry.” Toni spoke up. “You haven't jogged with us in a long time.”

Harry sighed. “I know, but I don't have the time right now. I've got to get down to the station. Some guy escaped from Oakdale last night, and there's a chance he might be headed our way.”

Toni seemed interested. “What does he look like?”

“He's about Mike's height, and Doris thinks he looks like a young Robert DeNiro. Hold on, I've got his picture right here. They're going to run it on the evening news.”

Harry handed Toni a picture, and she studied it carefully. Then she handed it to Michael.

Michael's hands were shaking as he took the photograph. There was no doubt that Harry was talking about him. But when he glanced down at the picture, he breathed an almost audible sigh of relief. It was his old mug shot, the one they'd taken when he was booked. And there was no comparison to the way he looked now, after all the surgery. The doctors had built him new cheekbones and changed the shape of his face when they'd reconstructed his nose. Michael had never thought he'd be grateful to the guys who'd smashed up his face in prison, but perhaps they'd done him a favor.

“Have you seen him, Mike?”

Harry was waiting for an answer, and Michael shook his head. He hadn't seen the face in the mug shot for almost ten years. Someone was definitely sleeping at the switch at the prison, at the hospital where the surgeries had been performed, or on the staff at Oakdale. Everyone was looking for the old Michael Hart, the man who had ceased to exist. If this picture was the only one the police had, he could walk right into the biggest precinct in Los Angeles and no one would give him a second glance.

The rain had been coming down in sheets all afternoon and the gusty winds matched Margo Jantzen's mood perfectly. She was a hurricane looking for a place to destroy. It was already past six, and Lenny was over an hour late for their appointment.

The doorbell rang, and Margo got up to answer it, her high heels clicking against the tiles in an angry staccato rhythm. He'd better have a damn good excuse.

“What took you so long?” I told you it was urgent.” There were high spots of color in Margo's cheeks as she confronted her ex-boss. How dare he treat her this way!

“So I'm here now.”

Lenny brushed past her and tossed his navy blue coat on the couch. Margo winced as she noticed it was soaking wet. If the dye ran, her new white furniture would be ruined. She picked it up, holding it gingerly by the collar as she placed it in a less critical spot. With the money Lenny made, he ought to buy himself something decent. He still dressed like a street bum.

“Well? What did you want?”

Lenny stood there glaring at her, and Margo almost laughed. With his massive shoulders and his booming voice, he was glaringly out of place in the feminine room. A bull in a china shop, as her mother used to say. But she'd also used to warn Margo that you could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

Margo put on a smile as she led Lenny to the couch and tucked a pillow behind his back. “Sorry I was crabby, Lenny-bear. I guess I was worried about you. The traffic must be a mess with the rain and all.”

“Okay, okay.” Lenny didn't look like he was buying it, “Drop the phony stuff and get to the bottom line.”

“I'm getting a little short of cash, Lenny-bear. It's time to make another deposit to my checking account.”

Lenny shook his head. “The well's gone dry, Margo. Maybe you'd better go out and get yourself a job.”

It was definitely time for Margo to go into her act. She knew the effect she had on Lenny when she pretended not to cry. He was a pushover, despite the bad reputation he had for being a tough guy. And Margo had learned just how to handle him. She'd been doing it for over five years now, ever since she discovered the evidence to expose his illegal sideline.

“Don't tease me, Lenny-bear.” She pouted a bit, and her lower lip quivered. “If I took a regular job with regular hours, we couldn't have all those wonderful afternoons together.”

Lenny's face was hard and set. “What wonderful afternoons? All you do is hit me up for more money. And don't be giving me that same old song and dance about those papers you got stashed away. I found a way to cut you off, and I'm doing it!”

Margo stared up into his unyielding face and felt the first stirrings of fear. What was he talking about? The papers she had could convict him!

“Come on, Lenny-bear. You know I love you. And I'd never use those papers. I promised you that.”

“Sure you did. And pigs fly. But it's the end of the ride, babe. And if you're smart, you won't bother me again.”

Margo began to panic as he got up and put on his coat. “Lenny! I don't understand!”

“Think about it real good, babe. And remember what I said. Nice girls, the kind that got plenty of smarts, don't get hurt.”

Margo's mouth dropped open as the door slammed behind him. Then she jumped up and rushed to double-lock the door. He'd looked mean enough to kill her. Did he have an extra key? He'd bought this condominium for her, and she hadn't bothered to change the locks. She'd better call a locksmith immediately to put in a deadbolt. They'd charge her a fortune for working after hours, but it would be totally worth it. There was something terribly wrong. Lenny had never acted like this before.

After she'd called the locksmith, she hurried to the bedroom and pulled out the box of linens on the top shelf of the closet. Thank God, the papers were still there! Why hadn't she thought to put them in a safe deposit box? Anyone could break in and steal them.

Margo ran to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Maybe she was overreacting, but now she was glad she'd bought the gun.

It was already loaded and ready to use. The man at the store had showed her how. All she had to do was push the red button, point it in the right direction, and pull the trigger. If anyone tried to break in her door tonight, she'd shoot first and ask questions later.

 

 

Lenny let himself into his apartment and put the beer in the refrigerator. He'd bought a whole case. Eddie was coming over tonight, and they always went through a couple of six-packs talking about the old times when they were just starting out in Chicago. They were both respectable Southern California businessmen now. Eddie ran a big sports equipment outlet in the valley, and Lenny had his auto parts business. But you never got the streets of Chicago out of your blood. They both dabbled a little on the side.

Damn Margo! Lenny shrugged out of his coat and threw it over a chair. She was getting way out of hand. At least he'd scared the hell out of her, and that made him feel good. She didn't know it was all a bluff. He'd have to cough up some dough again in the end.

He grabbed a beer and turned on the television to catch the news. That Mexican guy was on with the weather, and there were loops and squiggles all over the map. He was saying it would rain tomorrow, so Lenny knew he could put away his umbrella. The weathermen were always wrong. You could make book on it.

The rain had been pouring down like a faucet this morning when Lenny had driven to work. Cars had been skidding and wiping out all over the freeway, but the weatherman on the radio had still been predicting a ten percent chance of showers. Lenny should have called the station and told that idiot to shut up and look out the damn window.

Lenny finished the beer and tossed the empty bottle in the case that was sitting by the couch. He felt like throwing it against the wall, but then he'd just have to clean up the broken glass before Eddie got here. Damn Margo for getting him in such a bad mood! She'd been real sweet when they'd started up, but lately she'd turned into a real liability. If she had her way, he'd be forking it over until the day he died. Or the day
she
died. Lenny sighed loudly. If he knew some muscle he could trust, he'd be tempted to have her hit.

A picture flashed on the screen, and Lenny leaned forward. It looked like Robert DeNiro in
The Godfather
, his favorite movie. The announcer said it was Michael Hart, a convicted murderer who'd escaped from Oakdale. They thought he might be in the L.A. area, and people were supposed to call in if they'd seen him. That name was familiar, Michael Hart.

It took a couple of minutes, but then Lenny remembered. The Hart trial, Margo had been working as his secretary then, and he'd had to excuse her for five weeks of jury duty. She hadn't developed all her fancy tastes back then, and she'd been real grateful to get an invite from the boss to have a beer and tell him all about the testimony she'd heard.

It had been like a puzzle with new pieces every day, and they'd worked it all out, all the evidence against the guy and how it had happened. Lenny had thought the story was better than a movie. The wife had gotten herself knocked up, and then she dumped on Hart. They'd had a big fight, so loud that the neighbors had heard it. Hart had slammed out and gone to a bar, where he'd had a few drinks to screw up his courage. Then he'd gone back home to murder his wife. Blam! One shot through the chest at close range. Hart's lawyer had tried to tell the jury that someone else had done it, but they hadn't swallowed it. Hart had no alibi, unless you counted that amnesia crap. And he'd been pretty stupid, too. He'd wiped the grip and the trigger before he'd ditched the gun in the dumpster behind his own apartment building, but his prints had been all over the cylinder.

Lenny had sort of hoped that Hart would get off. Wives dumped on their husbands every day, and they always got away with it. But he hadn't said that to Margo. She'd been hot for conviction. It was probably because the wife was pregnant. Women always reacted like crazy when there was a kid involved, even if the kid wasn't born yet.

He hoped Margo had heard the news. Lenny could see her now, sweating it out in the swanky condominium he'd bought her. The murderer she'd convicted was on the loose. Wouldn't it be something if Hart was carrying a grudge against the jury? Then Margo could be in big trouble. If Hart killed Margo, all Lenny's problems would be solved.

He needed another beer. Lenny went to the kitchen and came back with two bottles and the opener. Margo was driving him to drink. It was the only way he could forget about the way she was treating him. He'd made a big mistake right at the beginning, when he'd given her the first chunk of money. He should have laughed and said the papers were nothing important. Then she would have tossed them, and he wouldn't be jumping through hoops like a trained seal.

As Lenny sat down on the couch, again he had a startling thought. Hart was crazy. Oakdale was a maximum-security funny farm in Northern California. The poor stiff was probably wandering around out there in the rain, not knowing where he was or even who he was. What would happen if Lenny killed Margo himself? The way he felt about her right now, it would be a pleasure. Of course, he'd have to do it tonight, before Hart was caught. When Margo turned up dead in the morning, everybody would think Hart had done it. And to put the icing on the cake, Lenny could even hit a couple of the other jurors, just so everything pointed to Hart.

 

 

It was nine-thirty, and Michael was in bed, asleep. He'd tried to read for a while after Stan's call, but he'd dozed off twice before he'd finally given in and turned out the light. His bedtime at Oakdale had been eight o'clock, and it was difficult to stay awake past then.

Michael's eyelids began to twitch as his pupils moved. He was starting to dream. Long moments passed with no sound, only his slightly irregular breathing. Then a moan escaped his lips. His legs bent at the knees and then straightened. He was standing for the verdict. The juror's faces were huge and hard, like the sculptures of the presidents at Mount Rushmore. Their eyes were flat, gleaming stones that accused him. Guilty, Guilty, Guilty. Over and over. How could they say that? They were wrong! And then he was moving, hurtling over the rail in one soaring leap, right into the jury box, and . . .

He was awake now. Or was he? No, the dream was still playing, and the jurors had eluded him somehow.

The jury box was empty. He had to find them, but how?

The telephone book was on the table. He opened it and turned to the J's Jantzen. One woman's name was Jantzen; one woman's name was the same as the swimwear. And her first name was . . . Margo. There it was, Morningside Drive in Westwood.

His feet were moving, he could feel them. But everything was happening very slowly. He felt cold air on his face, and he wished he'd taken a jacket. Just as soon as he realized the cold air was only a part of his dream, he felt warm again. He was really in bed with the blankets around him, having another nightmare.

 

 

“Sounds good to me,” Eddie leaned back and belched. “I never heard of a perfect murder before. Sometimes you got great ideas, Lenny.”

“Yeah.” Lenny sighed and opened another beer. “But what good does that do me? I can't do it, Eddie. I don't have the killer kind of mentality.”

Eddie laughed. “Sure you do, Lenny. Those guys are no different from you or me. The real pros look at it like it's a job that's gotta be done. And it's easy work. Digging a ditch is a lot harder than hitting somebody with a fancy rifle. But I can understand if you don't wanna get your hands dirty. You want me to put you in touch with a guy I know?”

Lenny hesitated, and Eddie could tell he was tempted, but then he shook his head.

“That's okay, Eddie. I don't wanna get involved with that element. But thanks, and—hey, I almost forgot. I got a little present for you on the table. Two tickets to the championship fight tomorrow night.”

“You're a real pal, Lenny.” Eddie grinned and picked up the tickets. Then he reached for his wallet. “Now, what do I owe you? I hear you can't touch these babies for less than a hundred on the street.”

Lenny waved him away. “Forget it, Eddie. I got some connections that owe me favors. They didn't cost me a dime.”

“But that ain't right! You got me the Super Bowl tickets last year, and you didn't let me pay. And how about that big Dodger game that was all sold out? You make me feel like a mooch, Lenny. I'm taking advantage of your good nature.”

“We're friends, right? Friends do things for each other. And I told you, they cost me nothing.”

Eddie sighed deeply and stuck his wallet back into his pocket. “Okay, Lenny, if you won't take cash maybe I can do you a favor sometime. Would that square us?”

“Sure. But I don't keep books, Eddie. As far as I'm concerned, you don't owe me a thing.”

There was a worried expression on Eddie's face, but then he smiled and jumped up so suddenly, he almost knocked over his beer. “I'll be right back, Lenny. I just remembered a phone call I gotta make.”

“You can use my phone. Go ahead.”

“Yeah, I would but, well, I left the number at home. When I come back, what d'ya say we turn on the tube? If you don't have no other plans, that is.”

“Sure, Eddie. I'll turn it on right now. What channel?”

Eddie shrugged. “It's up to you, but since you got cable, I was kind of hoping to watch the Knicks knock the crap out of Boston. I got two big ones riding on it, and I like to keep an eye on my investments.”