To Die in Beverly Hills (23 page)

"I appreciate the help, Nick," Carr said. He pointed his thumb in the direction of the ring. "Why the cage in the ring?"

"Tonight is grudge match," Nick said. "GI Joe against the Masked Phantom ... no holds barred." He chuckled. "The cage was GI Joe's idea: a fight to the death ... wonderful idea. The auditorium is complete sellout. You should stay and see the match. GI Joe is a nice Hungarian boy from Pittsburgh. I teach him everything, including Boston Crab."

A muscle-bound young man wearing olive drab wrestling trunks and an army fatigue jacket with corporal stripes lumbered over from behind a locker. Nick introduced him to Carr.

"I gotta ask ya something," GI Joe said to Nick in a discreet tone. He glanced suspiciously at Carr.

"Charlie is my friend," Nick said to the young man.

GI Joe nodded.

"Could you go over it once more for me," he said. He had a worried look.

"Which part?"

"The ending."

Nick stood up, put an arm around the wrestler's shoulder and spoke fervently in his ear. "Cage is lowered back into ring. I unlock door. You and Phantom wrestle out of door. I pull you apart from Phantom and walk you towards a corner. Phantom sneaks up and gives you judo chop. Go to your knees and do slow burn. Then you get mad and chase him around the cage. On the third circle around, you grab him by the mask. He goes down and you pin him with the Boston Crab. I give the one, two, three, and you are the winner. Got it,"

GI Joe rubbed his chin. "I hope so."

"Not to worry."

An intercom on the wall came alive.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the grudge match of the century," said a ring announcer with a tenor voice.

GI Joe headed out the locker room door, followed by a beefy wrestler wearing an executioner-style mask.

Nick shook hands with Carr and trotted out after the wrestlers.

Carr followed the wrestlers along the corridor to the arena. The crowd roared as they climbed into the ring. GI Joe tossed tiny American-flag lapel buttons at the crowd while the bull-like Masked Phantom stretched on the rope and growled. After introductions and referee instructions, the wrestlers climbed into the cage. Slowly the cage was hoisted above ring level. As the wrestlers made contact, the cage tipped from side to side. The crowd booed and cheered.

Carr left through the back door.

On the way to his apartment, he stopped at a supermarket to purchase the ingredients for chili and beans, one of the four or five simple meals he knew how to prepare. As he roamed the aisles in the market, his mind was on what Jack Kelly facetiously called strategy. Should he attempt to interview Bones the bartender? ... Or was it too soon? He mused over the details of the shooting incident for the thousandth time. At the checkout counter, he shook himself out of his trance, paid for the groceries and drove to his apartment.

In his kitchen, Carr sautéed onions, then unwrapped a pound of hamburger meat and tossed it in the pan. As the meat sizzled, he wondered how much Amanda Kennedy really knew. By the time he added salt, tomatoes and flour, he decided that she probably knew a hell of a lot.

Having forgotten to get the chili, he searched frantically through the cupboards. "Damn," he said out loud. He was out of chili. He stirred the colorless mixture until it was cooked, said the hell with it and scooped it onto a plate. Having doused the mess with catsup, he took a bite. It tasted awful. He tossed the concoction into the sink. To allay hunger, he drank two glasses of water before he went to bed.

Carr got up twice in the night, unable to sleep.

The next morning he ate a double breakfast at a coffee shop on Santa Monica Boulevard and headed for the Field Office. There, he spent the day filling out On-the-job injury forms for Jack Kelly, Daily Report forms (which he invariably managed to postpone until the end of the month when they were due), case status reports (he always checked the box marked Investigation Continued-No New Leads because he knew it avoided more useless paperwork in the long run).

As he sat at his desk and plodded through the fruitless tasks, he heard whistling in the hallway. Carr recognized the sound as he would the sound of a garbage truck passing by at three in the morning. He smelled pipe smoke.

Norbert Waeves stepped into Carr's office. Pipe jutting, he made a mighty puff and pulled the pipe from his lips as if it were a thermometer. He licked his lips. "Doing some paperwork I see."

Carr continued writing.

"Kelly's going to need a statement signed by a doctor stating that his injuries were caused by a gunshot. Without the statement, headquarters won't approve his temporary sick pay-new regulation. Three copies and one for the office file." He made a pipe puff.

Carr nodded and kept working. He felt like yanking the pipe out of No Waves's mouth and breaking it in half.

"Seen the new ammo headquarters sent us?" No Waves asked.

Carr shook his head without looking up.

"It's some super-velocity stuff," he said, "...real stopping power." He made a punch gesture, then left. Carr could hear him whistling "Stout Hearted Men" down the hallway.

By late afternoon, Carr had completed the paperwork. He paper-clipped the sheaf of papers and tossed them into a typing pool basket.

He phoned the Beverly Hills Chamber of Commerce and learned that First Fidelity Bank of Beverly Hills was holding a bank grand-opening party at 8:00 P.M. Carr wrote down the address.

It was dark.

Charles Carr pulled into an underground garage at the bank building and parked. He took an elevator to the ground floor. A young brunette wearing a strapless red chiffon dress sat at a reception table in front of the glass doors of the bank. "Good evening, sir," she said. "Welcome to First Fidelity of Beverly Hills. May I have your name?"

"Charles Carr."

She checked the guest list. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't seem to have your name on the guest list."

Carr pulled his Treasury badge out of his pocket. He flashed it at the woman and shoved it back in his pocket. "I'm a federal bank examiner. The president of the bank invited me this afternoon."

"Uh, certainly," the woman said. She handed him a bank brochure and motioned him to the doors. Inside the plushly carpeted lobby, a crowd of well-dressed older men and mostly younger women milled about. In the middle of the crowd was a champagne fountain, a portable bar with two bartenders and an hors d'oeuvre table decorated with ice carvings and bouquets of flowers. As Carr roamed through the crowd, he heard bits and pieces of conversation: purchasing property, taxes, oil stocks, limited partnerships.

Crossing over to the opposite end of the lobby, he almost bumped into Bones Chagra. He was dressed in a blue double-breasted blazer with a Yale emblem, gray trousers and a maroon striped tie. Carr pictured his mug shot photograph. Chagra chatted with two young women wearing cocktail dresses. They looked like models.

Carr strolled to the hors d'oeuvre table and had a snack. He watched Chagra move through the crowd introducing himself and chatting amiably. The women followed him and helped with the conversation.

After an hour or so the crowd noise became louder. Two middle-aged men toting cocktails went with Chagra to a corner of the lobby, with Chagra's women following like quail. The crap game began. Carr joined the crowd that gathered to watch it.

Soon there were at least twenty people watching the game. Chagra lost for a while, and other members of the crowd joined the game. Lost of cash exchanged hands. Chagra's women slipped away from the crowd one at a time, leaving through the front doors. Chagra began to win. The bets increased. Chagra continued to win. Though Carr stared at Chagra's hands on every roll, he was unable to see the dice switch.

As the game started to break up, Chagra's blazer pockets were filled with cash.

Carr spotted a private office near the lobby doors. He opened the door and saw that it was unoccupied.

Chagra patted people on the back as he headed toward the door. As he walked past, Carr tapped him on the shoulder. "I'd like to speak with you for a moment if you don't mind," Carr said, showing him his badge. He motioned to the office.

Chagra gave a look of incredulity. "What's this all about?"

"Leon Sheboygan."

"I'm in a kind of a hurry," Chagra said, swallowing.

"So am I." Carr opened the door of the office. They stared at each other for a moment, until Chagra stepped inside. Carr followed him in and closed the door. The room was handsomely furnished with an oversized walnut desk, a conference table and sofa that looked like a page from an interior decorator's magazine.

"Who told you I was here tonight?" Chagra said.

"When was the last time you saw Lee Sheboygan?"

"I've never heard the name before in my life."

"You lived with him."

Chagra folded his arms across his chest. "I don't know what you're talking about. And I'll tell you something else, Mr. Gumshoe, I don't appreciate being followed around like this. It's very embarrassing."

"I bet you'd really be embarrassed if I yanked those loaded dice out of your pocket right now and showed 'em to all those suckers you just fleeced."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Lee Sheboygan is dead. Answering a few questions about a dead man isn't going to make you a snitch. If you'll answer a few simple questions for me, I'll guarantee that what you tell me will go no further. I'm working on an important investigation, and it looks like you're the only person that can help me."

Bones Chagra reached into his blazer and pulled out a package of cigarettes. He hung a cigarette on his lower lip and flamed it with a lighter. "Questions bore me," he said nonchalantly. He blew smoke and coughed.

"Did you share an apartment with Sheboygan up until a few weeks ago?"

Bones Chagra shook his head. He looked at his cigarette as if it had somehow just appeared in his hand by magic.

"I've already verified you lived there. I've spoken with the other residents at the apartment house."

"Come to think of it, I did live there for a little while."

"How was Sheboygan making a living?"

"I never asked him about personal matters."

"Who did Sheboygan hang around with?"

"He was a loner."

"When did you last see him?"

"I don't remember."

"Did Sheboygan tell you about the burglaries he was committing?"

"Your questions are starting to bore me," Chagra said. He blew smoke in Carr's face.

Carr stared at him for a moment. He reached into his suit coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, gave the pack a little tap before removing one. "May I use your lighter?" Carr asked, placing the cigarette between his lips.

Grudgingly, Chagra dug the lighter out of his pocket and handed it to Carr. Carr lit the cigarette, held out the lighter to Chagra. He reached out to accept it. Carr flamed the lighter on the palm of Chagra's hand.

"Ouch!" he said, jumping backward. He kissed the burn.

"Are you still bored?"

Chagra stared at his burned hand. Suddenly he made a fist, swung at Carr and missed. Carr counterpunched and drove his fist into Chagra's stomach. Chagra slammed backward against the desk and slipped to the floor. Eyes wide and mouth open, he struggled to catch his breath. Carr stood over him. "My partner is in the hospital, you goddamn creep. If you play dumb with me I'm going to show you some tricks that'll help wise you up."