The Quality of the Informant (31 page)

As Mora spun his bar stool, Paul
LaMonica
grabbed his arm, "I'll take it," he said. Mora stared at him as if he wanted to protest, but said nothing.

LaMonica
stood and picked up the receiver.

"George is home," the bank manager said. The phone clicked.
LaMonica
repeated the phrase.

Teddy Mora jumped off his bar stool. He clapped his hands together. "I told you everything would be a go.
A
one-hundred-percent go. We're heading for Hollywood."

LaMonica
followed him out the front door.

Kelly steered into the parking lot and cruised slowly. American tourists milled in and out of the enormous lot toting border-town souvenirs: cheap pottery, straw baskets, stuffed iguanas. At one end of the lot was a gate leading to a pedestrian walkway across the international boundary into Tijuana.

The green Chevrolet was parked at the end of a row of vehicles next to a high fence that spanned the perimeter of the parking lot. "There it is," Carr said.

Kelly wheeled the G-car into an open stall a few rows behind the Chevrolet. He turned off the engine. "How do you think we should work it?"

Carr rubbed his chin for a moment. "I say we let him get right up to the Chevy. That'll put him in the corner of the lot with nowhere else to go. You take the
right,
I'll take the left. Teddy will be able to run either way." He looked at his watch.

Kelly pulled out his revolver and spun the cylinder. He snapped it closed. "I'd feel a lot better if there weren't so many people in and out of this parking lot."

"Me too," Carr said.

Nothing much had been said during the brief trip from Ensenada to Tijuana. Teddy Mora pulled up to a stoplight on the outskirts of town.

"You're quiet," he said, glancing at
LaMonica
. "I get the same way when I'm right in the middle of something. It's probably just concentration."

The light changed. Mora turned onto a
road which
paralleled the high chain-link fence that marked the U.S. border. Steering with his forearms for a moment, he lit a cigarette and puffed. "A suggestion," he said. "I could let you out a block or so away from the border crossing. You could walk straight across into the parking lot and pick up the load. I could meet you up the street across from the tourist information center. That way we could avoid driving through the crossing point, making a U-turn, and driving back into the lot. You have to admit, if some border pig just happened to notice that kind of an act he might get a little suspicious."

LaMonica
leaned back in the seat. "Good idea," he said. "But why don't you walk over and pick up the package? I'd rather drive."

Teddy Mora sucked deeply on his cigarette. He spoke with a mouthful of smoke. "Uh this car isn't registered to you. It might cause a problem at the crossing point."

"Maybe you're right."
LaMonica
rolled his window down to clear out some of Mora's smoke. "We'll both walk to the lot to make the pickup."

Mora fidgeted. "Is there anything wrong? You haven't said shit since we left Ensenada. I mean if you think there's a better way to do this, just say the word."

LaMonica
turned to the other man. His expression was blank. "As long as things go right, there's nothing to talk about."

They passed through the border checkpoint with no problem. Mora drove less than a mile north, pulled over into the middle lane, and made a U-turn. They headed back toward the border.

LaMonica
grabbed the steering wheel and tugged. The vehicle veered to the right shoulder of the road. Mora slammed on the brakes. "I'll drive,"
LaMonica
said. He got out of the car and walked around to the driver's side. They exchanged seats.
LaMonica
put the car in gear and headed toward the parking lot. He stopped a few feet away from the entrance and got out of the car. At the fence he grasped the chain link and stared into the lot for what seemed like a long time. He climbed back in the driver's seat and put the car in gear.

Mora was pale. "It pays to be careful," he said. "
Paulie
the Printer takes things one step at a time."

LaMonica
steered into the parking lot. Though he noticed the green Chevrolet almost immediately, he drove by it, continuing among the rows of vehicles.

Mora pointed. "That was it. You just passed it," he said.

Carr and Kelly ducked below window level of the sedan. They almost bumped heads. "That sneaky
sonofabitch
is casing the lot," Kelly whispered.

Carr peeked above the dashboard. He pulled his revolver out of its shoulder bolster. "He's turning around ... heading toward the Chevy. This is it."

Kelly's gun was out.

LaMonica
pulled up behind the green Chevrolet. A young woman was loading straw baskets into the trunk of a sports car parked next to the vehicle. He slid the revolver out of his waistband. "Get out and get the package," he said.

Mora stared at the weapon. "Everything is cool," he muttered on his way out the door. He ambled to the rear of the vehicle. Keeping his eyes on
LaMonica
, he reached into the right rear wheel well and fished around.

LaMonica
climbed out of the car, holding the gun under his shirt. "Is it there?" he said.

Mora pulled out a key and held it up. He winked.

Charles Carr kept low, moving between automobiles. Kelly flanked on his right two cars away. Finally, only one car separated him from the Chevrolet. Holding his revolver with both hands, Carr sprung from behind it. He aimed at
LaMonica
. "Freeze! Federal officers!" he said. Mora ran.

With what seemed like an almost practiced motion,
LaMonica
grabbed the young woman standing at the sports car by her hair. She screamed as he pulled her in front of him. He pressed a pistol to her temple.

Mora darted between cars.
LaMonica
swung the revolver in his direction and fired once. Mora dropped. He bellowed in pain.

LaMonica
pulled the screaming woman closer to him.

Carr drew a bead on
LaMonica's
forehead. Carefully he pulled back on the trigger. The woman's head bobbed in the way. He released tension.

"I'll kill her!"
LaMonica
shouted. "Get back or I'll splatter her brains all over this lot!" Using the woman as a shield, he backed toward his car.

Carr ducked down. He motioned to Kelly. The Irishman vaulted across the hood of a car and grabbed
LaMonica's
gun hand. They struggled with the weapon. The woman fell down. The gun fired in the air.

Carr aimed. He pulled the trigger.

Paul
LaMonica's
head snapped backward violently. A spray of blood stained the hood of the car. Kelly grabbed the woman and pulled her away as
LaMonica
slumped to the ground. She screamed gibberish and thrashed about hysterically. Kelly grabbed her arms and pulled her away. People yelled and ran about frantically. Carr took a few steps forward. He picked up
LaMonica's
gun and stuck it in his belt. He bent down. His fingers touched the wounded man's neck. There was no carotid pulse.

Carr found Teddy Mora on the pavement lying between two cars. He was doubled up in a ball, his features ashen,
lips
blue. He was bleeding.

A police car with red lights flashing zoomed into the parking lot and sped up to Carr. The T-man held his badge over his head. "Ambulance!" he said. The officer grabbed the microphone off the dashboard.

By the time the ambulance arrived, Mora had stopped breathing. The ambulance attendant complained to Carr about having been called out on a dry run. With an angry squeal of brakes, he departed.

****

Chapter 28

FOR CARR and Kelly, the rest of the day was taken up with interviews conducted by the San Diego sheriff's detectives, signing statements and forms and making telephone calls.

It was midnight by the time the agents arrived back in Los Angeles. At Kelly's insistence, Carr steered off the freeway at Vermont and headed for Calhoun's hot-dog stand. He parked in a no-parking zone in front of the place.

Calhoun loaded the counter in front of them with hot dogs and steaming cups of coffee. Kelly unwrapped a frankfurter and, holding it with three fingers, inserted fully half of it into his mouth. He chomped and tore the hot dog in half.

"What do you hear from your son?" Carr asked Calhoun.

"Tyrone called me from basic training this morning. The drill sergeant picked him as a squad leader. He sounded like he was real proud of himself."

"They always pick the tallest guys," Kelly said with his mouth full.

"I can't wait for the basic training graduation," Calhoun said. "I'm going to drive up to Fort
Ord
to see it. My boy will be marching and standing tall, and I'll be right there in the stands watching." He slapped together a second round of hot dogs and set them on the counter. Neither man made the usual protestations.

"You both look like you could use some sleep," Calhoun said.

The next morning Carr sat at his desk and turned the pages of the operations manual marked "Shooting Policy." There was an atmosphere of military decorum in the office-a remarkable quiet
;
none of the usual horseplay or swearing. Most of the special agents had found something to do in the field. The secretaries and clerks were dutifully at their desks rather than gossiping in the coffee room. Someone had covered the counterfeiting squad room's Supreme Court photograph (monkeys in dresses sitting around a table) with a map.

It was the usual atmosphere that prevailed in the office whenever the inspectors came to town.

Carr turned a page. He read:

In the event a Special Agent has reason to believe he is in fear of his life, or the lives of others, he is authorized to fire his issued Treasury revolver (Ref. Manual Sect. 387.90) for the purpose of stopping the suspect from committing whatever act he may be engaged in, keeping paramount in his mind the safety of others...

Kelly sauntered into the squad room. He took off his suit jacket and tossed it on a rack.

Carr looked at his wristwatch. "My, my," he said, "two full hours."

"I figured while I was in there, I might as well come clean. I copped out on every time we'd violated the manual regulations," Kelly said with a wry smile.

"If you'd done that it would have taken you a lot longer than two hours." Carr flipped the manual shut.

Kelly peeked out into the hallway. "It's
Heckel
and
Jeckel
. They tried to get me to say that there was some other alternative other than shooting ... the usual second-guessing bullshit. No Waves chimes in with meaningless questions every few minutes. God, I hate that asshole."

"
Heckel
and
Jeckel
?" Carr said.

"The two jerks that were out here the time Howard
Dumbrowski
beat up his next-door neighbor."

Carr nodded.

Special Agent in Charge Norbert T.
Waeves
, pipe jutting from jaw, slipped into the room. He made his usual entrance, sort of a quick slide around the doorjamb hoping to catch a few words of conversation. He puffed smoke and took the pipe out of his mouth, said, "We're ready for you now, Carr," and made an about-face. He marched back to his office.