Parishioner (41 page)

Frank called at nine thirty-one but Ecks didn’t answer. It was the first time that he had not hopped to the minister’s call. This made him uncomfortable, but that was nothing new. He was no longer following the edicts of the nameless church and the self-ordained minister. He was out there in the wilderness—a conqueror without an army, a missionary without his Bible or cross.

At two sixteen the next morning a call came in from an unknown number.

“Hello.”

“Egbert?”

“Hey, Lou. I must say I’m a little surprised to hear from you.”

“We have to meet.”

“Why?”

“To make a deal on that money.”

“I don’t know, Lou.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? You’re the one came to me.”

“That’s true,” Ecks said. “But you left me hangin’ and I’ve had time to think that the payday might get me killed.”

“Well, if you don’t wanna get rich I can’t make you.”

“No,” Ecks said simply, “you can’t.”

“Well, I guess that’s it then.”

“Good luck to you, Lou.”

“Hold up, Egbert. What’s goin’ on?”

“Look, man. It dawned on me after you left the coffee shop that people were dyin’ over whatever money there was to be made. And you know I bleed too.”

“I went to see Jerry in lockup. He’s acting as his own lawyer and so told them that he was using me for part of his defense.”

“And what did Jerry tell you?”

“He gave me the names of the people payin’ him and Chick.”

“Really?”

“So we need to talk.”

“I don’t get it, Lou. Why we have to talk if you already got the missin’ piece?”

“I can’t pull this off alone, Noland.”

“You got Jerry.”

“He’s already killed two partners. And he could bring me down with what he’s got.”

“So what do you want from me?”

“We get together. We do what he wants me to do—only for ourselves. Take the money and run.”

For a moment Ecks fell into a familiar reverie. In that waking dream he had been born in a Strivers Row brownstone to professional parents who loved him and sent him to the best private schools. He was the star of the soccer team and graduated at the top of his class. He never fought for anything because he was too smart and well loved.

Ecks couldn’t remember when that fantasy became a part of his mind. He was young but already associated with Swan. Maybe it was the first time he tried cocaine that this unattainable ambition for a better life arose.

“How much money we talkin’ about?” Ecks asked.

“It’s more than even you imagined.”

“Where do you want to meet?”

“My office.”

“That place reminds me of a poor man’s tomb.”

“You afraid of me, Eggy?”

“Just careful.”

“Okay, fine. Where do you want to meet?”

“There’s a little restaurant in a hotel down where Pico hits the ocean. We could have coffee and croissants there at nine. Lots of people, public place make it safe for both of us.”

Ecks had only one more call to make before going to sleep. It took a while to get patched through, but by the time the conversation was over he had put together his schemes.

It was an overcast morning. Ecks arrived at nine fifty and had been preparing for the meet since before seven. He already checked to make sure that Benicia had that morning off. He was sitting at the same table where he had met Benicia reading
The Stranger
by Albert Camus for the tenth or eleventh time. The contemplative quality of the text calmed him while the danger of everyday life seemed to support a worldview that he’d known from birth.

Meursault, the Stranger, moved through life the way Xavier did, step by step, only there was no mistrust, no fear of repercussions. Neither of them felt guilt, and love was just another beautiful day in paradise.

There was some possibility that Lou would take the chance of shooting Ecks right out there in public. He might hire someone to do the job, but no … he’d handle it himself.

But he wasn’t overly afraid of an immediate assassination. There would most likely be an interrogation disguised as a plan—at first.

And Ecks had his own interview to perform.

He was wearing a dark blue suit, black shoes, a cranberry shirt, with a black-and-yellow tie. His socks were bright yellow.

“Hey, Egbert.”

Lou Baer-Bond was approaching from the maître d’s podium wearing cream-colored trousers and a gaudy blue-and-green Hawaiian shirt. Ecks smiled and waved the killer over.

The glass door that led down to the beach was open, letting in the strong smell of the ocean. Ecks was reminded of the car ride with Doris when she opened the window and the breath of the Pacific flooded his senses.

“Lou.”

The detective was looking around for traps or enemies. Ecks noticed that he was wearing
leather sandals, making his feet look like pale dead fish pressed at the edge of a fisherman’s net.

He took a step toward the table for two, looked around a bit more, and then took a seat.

“I would have bet that you didn’t have a bright color in your closets or drawers,” Ecks said.

This observation elicited a dingy smile.

“Why don’t we go outside and take a walk down the beach?” Baer-Bond suggested.

“No offense, brother, but I like it that there’s people around and a long way for you to run if you slip up and shoot me instead of discussing.”

Ecks put just enough fear in his words to puff up the bent PI.

“You never can tell who might be listening in.”

Ecks smiled and said, “You been a dick too long, Lou. I’m not a cop and nobody around here is worried about us.”

“We got jobs to do,” Lou said.

“And what are those jobs?”

“Lester’s getting out of jail tomorrow afternoon. We have to kill him.”

“Why?”

“In order to get paid.”

“By whom?”

“Whom?”

“We been through this, man. Yes—I know how to read. Look, here’s a book I been studyin’. Now—who is willing to pay for this boy’s death?”

“Like they say in the movies,” Lou said, draping an arm on the back of the wooden chair, “need to know.”

“Okay. All right. I hear you. You need to keep some secrets so I don’t run away with the prize. But you got to tell me somethin’, Lou. You know this kid might just be some contract you got and you be settin’ me up for it. I don’t know.”

“What do you want to hear?”

“Without namin’ names, tell me what Jerry has to do with this.”

“Why?”

“Because if I believe in the story then I can have faith in the payday.”

Lou was looking at the crack beneath Ecks’s eye, trying see the secret that ancient wound
held. The detective bit his lower lip.

“Jerry’s a lawyer but he doesn’t worry about what’s legal and what’s not. He got these clients that lost a son when he was a baby. This boy was named Brian after a grandfather on his mother’s side. The old boy was rich and he put in his will that all of his money would be split between the male heirs who bore his name at birth. If that heir was dead then his family would get the money after his thirtieth birthday had passed.”

“So Lester is the kidnapped baby?”

“It’s between him and the surfer.”

“What about the kid lives next to the garbage?”

“Jerry said we don’t have to worry about him. Something about a blood test.”

“What about Sprain?”

“What about him?”

“Look, Lou. I don’t need you to admit to anything or confess. Just tell me what I’m into here. People are dead over this money and these young men. I need to make sure that I’m on the survivors’ side.”

“Sprain was the guy Brayton that Benol Richards was lookin’ for. I found out that he used to do business with Chick Martindale and so I went to him to tell him about her. He told me to hold off for a little bit and then came back to me with Jerry. At that time all he told me was that he’d give me two thousand dollars to tell her that I couldn’t find out a thing about Brayton/Sprain. About three weeks later they came back with a few other jobs that we won’t discuss. But now that they’re both in jail Jerry needed me to do the work they planned. Only I know better than to get close to them after what they did to their own men.”

“Why did they kill their men?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I think that they knew more about the ins and outs of the situation than was safe, so either they had to get paid off or knocked off.”

“And how much can I ask for before I get a bullet in my eye?”

“You and me split fifty-fifty.”

“That’s mighty white of you, Lou. Why you wanna be so generous?”

“Because I need to work fast. Because I need to take care of this cocksucker and get out of the country.”

“Without me you get a hundred percent.”

“Two million each is enough for me.”

Ecks’s tongue went dry over the number. His breath got shallow and his mind honed down to just the money and its hypothetical proximity.

He wanted that money—all of it. He didn’t need it. He wasn’t thinking about what he could buy or afford with the wealth. But forty-six years up against every barrier imaginable made it so he had to have it—had to.

Lou smiled. He could see the hunger in the man he knew as Egbert Noland.

“So what do you say?”

“So it was all just dumb luck?”

“Chick had Jerry go to the parents of one of the missing boys with some bullshit story about somebody lookin’ for them. At first he was trying to find out what trouble they might be causing. That’s when Brian’s parents got all upset that he might be found before his thirtieth birthday. At first Martindale went to Brayton to see if he knew which boy went where. When he didn’t know they went to that crazy bitch Sedra. But she was sly. She could smell that there was money to be made and wanted her share. There were too many chefs by then and so Brayton had to go.

“Now, how did you get involved in all this?”

“My minister, like I told you.”

“Tell me again.”

“My minister said that he knew a woman down south who had met another woman, Benol, who felt responsible for the kidnapping of three baby boys. She gave me the name of Brayton, who turned out to be Sprain. Benol told me about the woman named Sedra, but she got killed with a baseball bat. She also said that she’d been to see you. I just made up the shit about bein’ her cousin.”

“Jerry talked to a woman. He didn’t tell me her name but that’s where he found out about where two of the boys were. He didn’t know which one was which, but he knew where they went. He said all it took was some good dick and a hundred hundred-dollar bills.”

“Tell me somethin’, Lou.”

“What’s that?”

“Why are these people gonna believe you or Jocelyn or Martindale? I mean you can’t just walk in there and say it’s their kid and expect them to believe it.”

“DNA. They got the doctor for Zebra Film-Arts to process it in exchange for lettin’ that little shit Lenny take the test without consequences.”

“And then you take samples off the other two,” Ecks speculated.

Lou Baer-Bond’s grin was an ugly smear across his graying face.

“Yeah,” the detective said. “I bring the evidence and they check it out, fast. Then Jerry wants them to transfer the money into his account. He expects to use that for bail and to skip the country, leaving Chick to fend for himself. But we tell the kid’s family that if they want to see who the blood belongs to they pay us cash.”

“Jocelyn made bail?”

“He gave the judge serious money to set a cash bail that no one would expect him to make. Happens all the time.”

“And why trust you?”

“He’s desperate,” Lou explained. “I’m all he’s got. Maybe he thinks I’m stupid or somethin’.”

Xavier listened and considered. It was a solid chance with iffy odds. But there was a shot at four million. Idly the Parishioner wondered if one or more of his fellow deacons would come in to even out the likelihood of profit and survival.

“How’d Jerry find out about Zebra?”

“What do you care?”

“The more you know,” Ecks said simply. “The more you know.”

“Martindale was that broad Sedra’s connection to them. He didn’t work with regular sales to parents who wanted kids but he worked with sex slaves—the pervert.”