Unwanted Company - Barbara Seranella (19 page)

"
Sure, sure," Victor said. "I will
take a hot bath, change my clothes. Tonight we will go out and have a
big steak. My treat."

"
My people are growing impatient, Victor. It's
time to wrap things up."

"Are you going to report what happened on our
trip?"

Victor asked.

"I haven't decided
yet," Raleigh said. "Let me deal with one mess at a time."

* * *

When Ellen woke up, the truck was parked in the
shade. It was obvious by the look of the tree-lined street that she
was in some upper-middle-class suburb. Paco was gone. The keys
dangled from the ignition, not that they'd do her any good. Her
street education didn't include driving eighteen-wheelers with
fifteen-gear transmissions. Besides, maybe ol' Paco was coming back.

She was definitely in Ozzie and Harriet land. The
houses all had gingerbread trim, flower gardens, even some white
picket fences. Her mouth was dry, and she had to pee. She cracked
open the heavy door of the semi and climbed down the corrugated
chrome step in search of a spigot and maybe a bush. Hopefully, she
wouldn't freak out some citizen in the process. She blinked at the
brightness of the day, trying to figure out what time it was. She saw
a fat edition of the morning paper leaning against someone's garage
door. After she got a drink and relieved herself, she might just
borrow it and try to get a fix on where she was.

She stepped onto the easement. The grass there was
thick and green and perfectly trimmed. There wasn't even dog shit
anywhere. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and started looking for
the green coil of an unattended hose.

The cop pulled up out of nowhere. One moment she had
the street to herself, the next he was there with lights blinking and
radio muted. He was riding solo. She watched him get out of his car.
He had that prissy, pursed-lip kind of look cops get—like he just
knew you were shit, didn't belong there, and was up to no good. She
hated judgmental bastards like him. Who was he to make such
on-the-spot assessments of her? Where was his humanity? The pig, son
of a bitch. What ever happened to the old "to serve and protect"
motto?

She looked at his blue-and-white patrol car.
According to the door he was part of the Lajolla Police Department.
She was in worse trouble than she first thought. Cops who worked nice
neighborhoods never had any play in them. The biggest crimes they
interrupted were dogs off their leashes. She doubted he'd have much
trouble finding some code she'd broken; it would be the bust he
bragged about all year. He'd probably come unglued if he ever had to
work East L.A. or Venice Beach—this Andy Mayberry of Lajolla.

"How's it going?" he said with that false
cheeriness. He ran a hand over his trim little cop mustache and
smiled to reveal straight white teeth. His hand swaggered to the butt
of his gun. He probably felt like he was totally on top of the
situation—in absolute control. There wasn't a damn thing she could
do to oppose him, and he knew it.

"
You got some ID?" he asked. He stood at
parade rest, all six feet of him. His posture was perfect.

She reached to her back pocket, knowing it was empty,
but smiling at him all the while. And not that sniveling con smile
that said she'd roll over and let him do whatever he wanted. She wore
her innocent look, followed immediately by her surprised look. "Well,
I'll be," she said, turning so he could watch her pat the empty
pocket of her tight jeans. "Maybe I left it in the truck."

"Is this your truck?" he asked.

Like he even thought that was a possibility. "Why,
no," she said, eyes going wide again. "I just hitched a
ride." She thought about all the times she'd used that line as
part of her defense. And now here it was true. Wasn't life just full
of its little ironies?

"Where's the driver?" the cop asked.

"You know," she said, "I was just
wondering the same damn thing. I just woke up a little bit ago, and
he was gone."

"So you probably didn't even know the truck was
stolen."

There he goes again, being sarcastic. And here I go,
she thought, feeling her eyes widen again, but this time in genuine
surprise. "Honest to God?" she asked. "Well, as I live
and breathe. Wait till I tell my mama."

"Step over here," the cop said, indicating
a spot on the sidewalk near his patrol car.

She refrained from assuming the position. That was
always a dead giveaway.

The cop pulled out a pen and what she recognized as a
field identification card. "What's your name?" he asked.

"
Susan," she said. "Susan Scott."

He asked for her address, and she quickly rattled off
the first combination of number and street that came to mind, only
realizing afterward that it was Russell's address in Venice.

"Phone number?" he asked.

"Oh, you," she said, finding a giggle in
her bag of tricks. The cop smiled, and she gave him Russell's number.
Hell, Russ had done nothing wrong, so he had nothing to worry about.

"
Do you know your driver's license number?"
he asked.

"No, sir," she said. "Sorry, numbers
were never my strong suit."

The cop walked back to his car and radioed in the
name she'd given him. Three minutes later, the report came back.
Susan Scott had been arrested for forgery, prostitution, and armed
burglary. Shit. The woman had a worse record than Ellen.

"
That's not me," she said. "Did you
get my middle name?"

The cop's expression never changed as he called his
dispatcher back and asked for scriptors. The crackly voice came back
saying, "African-American, five feet ten inches, one hundred and
eighty pounds. Currently in custody."

Well all right then
, Ellen
thought.
It's about time for a little luck.

A couple in a Buick drove by, slowing down to look at
them. The man driving was wearing a black suit; the woman beside him
wore a hat. They both stared. She wanted to yell,
What
the fuck are you looking at?

Instead she took advantage of the distraction. "Is
it dangerous being a cop?" she asked.

"
You never know," he said.

She watched his chest puff out. "Can you give me
a ride to the nearest bus station?" she asked. "I need to
get home. I know I look a fright. You wouldn't believe what I've been
through?

"Try me," the cop said.

She took a deep breath, feeling her mouth begin to
quiver and letting tears Hll her eyes. "My . . ." She
paused to fight for control, swallowed and began again, "My
fiancé left me at the altar." She looked down at her clothes.
"Well, maybe not exactly at the altar. The skunk ran off with
some bimbo from his bachelor party. I guess I had too much to drink,
and now I just want to get home."

She felt his hand on her shoulder and threw in a few
heaving sobs. The tears she shed were real enough. She needed some
dope.
 

CHAPTER 16

Mace gave Cassiletti a list of orders, starting with
the dispatching of a unit to Munch's house and ending with the
cancellation of the border alert.

"What do you want to do with the kid?"
Cassiletti asked. "Pr0tective services?"

Mace looked over at Munch. "No," he said.
"When they locate the kid, have her taken over to Caroline—she's
at my dad's house. Bring the boyfriend, too. Tell Caroline I'm on my
way and that I'll explain everything."

"Where are you now? " Cassiletti asked.

"Down south," Mace said.

"The captain's been trying to reach you. He's
called three times already Steve Brown's called twice. He said he's
got some information for you."

"
Give me an hour," Mace said, "and
I'll be back in radio contact."

Throughout the entire conversation Munch had been
pacing alongside the phone booth. She stopped in mid-step and tugged
on Mace's arm. "What time is it?"

He checked his watch. "Half past one."

"I know where Derek might be," she said.
"There's an A.A. clubhouse on Washington, across from Royal
Market. I bet he went to the midday meeting."

Mace turned back to the phone and asked Cassiletti,
"Did you get that? A.A. clubhouse on Washington and Centinela in
Mar Vista." He turned back to Munch, and asked, "What's he
driving?"

"
A '63 blue Chevy pickup," she said loudly,
then pulled the phone away from Mace and spoke directly to
Cassiletti. "You can't miss it. It has a wooden A-frame glass
rack in the bed."

Mace took the phone back. "I'll call when I'm
back in my unit." He hung up and turned to Munch. "Let's
get out of here. But for God's sake, stay within the speed limit. You
get pulled over down here without your registration, and they'll take
the car. "

"I don't care about the car. I just want to get
back home."

"I know that. Don't worry We're on top of it. I
need you to keep your head." He also needed the limo back in Los
Angeles, where the crime-scene techs could vacuum the upholstery for
fibers and the fingerprint crew could collect latents.

"
Get in the right lane at the border," Mace
said. "And have five bucks ready. They'l1 funnel us ahead of the
other traffic."

"
Let's go,"
Munch said.

* * *

While they waited for their turn to pass through the
border check, Munch reached under her seat and pulled out the tape
recorder. She ejected the tape and saw that it was nearly at the end
of the reel. She slid the tape into the limo's built-in cassette
player and pushed the rewind button. A little girl, no older than
eight, came to Munch's window with a box of candy. Munch dug into her
pocket and handed the kid her change, but waved away the candy. The
tape player clicked to a stop, indicating that the tape had rewound.
Munch hit play.

The first voice she heard was Ra1eigh's. She
recognized the same half of the telephone conversation she had
overheard when she first picked him up on Friday night. He had not
closed the privacy partition again until after they had dropped
Victor off at the Hollywood apartment. The hidden microphones
recorded several minutes of dead air. Expecting this, since she had
listened simultaneously through her earpiece, she pushed the
fast-forward button in small bursts until she again heard Raleigh's
portion of his telephone conversation.

"
A1l set," he said. Followed by, "Later."

Munch pushed the fast-forward again. Raleigh had made
one other call that night.

Munch assumed that the recipient of that last call
had been some sort of love interest. She listened once more to
Raleigh's entreaties for the person at the other end of the line to
talk to him.

Traffic inched forward ahead of her. She stayed
behind Mace's car, refusing to let other cars merge between them.
They reached a Y of traffic lanes. A uniformed guard approached Mace.
While the guard gestured with one hand, his other snaked in the open
window to receive his payoff. The guard then directed Mace to a
faster lane. Mace pointed back at Munch.

She had her bill folded and ready. The guard took it
without looking at her and motioned for her to follow Mace. Sounds
from the tape came out of her speakers: heavy breathing. Munch
reached over and turned up the volume. She heard Victor's accented
voice.

"Do you think she saw anything?"

And then the reply from Raleigh.

"
You're just wondering that now?"

"
What should we do? I will only be of use to you
if I stay free."

"Don't you think we know that?"

"
Shit."

"
Don't worry. "

"By the way, I was meaning to tell you. Pakistan
has come in at three hundred and twenty thousand. I think we can push
Iran to three thirty."

A minute passed where neither of them spoke, then
Munch heard Victor's accented voice once again. "I was always
meant for bigger things. From the time I was a small boy, I was
singled out in sports and academics."

"
Me, too. Top of my class. Destined for
greatness."

Munch noticed the voices were changing, growing
slurred. It was getting hard to distinguish which man was talking.

"Rules developed to govern a society cannot
apply to every individual."

"
Of course not. "

She turned up the volume. With each sentence their
voices grew fainter.

"
A1l the great men through history have had
their idiosyncrasies."

"
Thas right."

Silence followed, but Munch didn't touch the buttons
of the tape recorder. The "she" had to be Ellen. What was
the thing they were worried she'd witnessed? The murders? Had they
killed her, too?

Now the only sounds coming from the tape were the
vibration hums of the limo and the rustling of the passengers
shifting in their seats. Several minutes passed. The drone of the
limo stopped. This could only mean that the engine had shut off Munch
heard a pounding sound and one of the two men shouting, "Why
have we stopped?" The humming resumed. Had the limo stalled?
Munch wondered. That would tie in with the mechanical problems. The
limo restarted. Another minute passed and new sounds began, snoring.
The humming changed tempo, as if the limo had come to a stop but the
engine was still running. Munch heard the car door opening, muffled
noises, a woman's soft grunt of exertion. According to the Mexican
cop, Ellen had robbed her customers and left them unconscious by the
side of the road. Was this what Munch was hearing? No jury in the
world could extrapolate that, could they? The fact that the men had
passed out simultaneously in the rear of the limo made Munch wonder
if they'd been drugged. That wasn't beyond Ellen's capabilities.
Sounded like she had good reason.