by Karen Black
“What in the hell were they looking for?”
Corky shrugged. “Mrs. Morales didn’t know. As she kept saying, ‘she’s just a poor old lady that doesn’t keep money or anything in the house.’ All she really had was a lot of postcards and souvenirs from Charley from all over the world. He must have sent her something every time he took a trip, and she saved them all. I even found a postcard showing the Hotel de los Ojos Caliente in Baños, Ecuador, where you first met Charley. She had them in albums, which were all torn apart and scattered around the room. Even the pictures were torn out of the frames. They had to be looking for some kind of paper…map…letter….”
I nodded. “Did she call the cops?”
Corky shook her head. “She’s too frightened, and she doesn’t believe the police would waste any time on just another break-in in that neighborhood.”
“If they linked her with Charley, they would.”
“I spent the next couple of hours helping her pick up the pieces…until it was time to come downtown and get you. I told her I would take her to Charley’s funeral.”
When the waiter stopped by to ask if we wanted another drink, I looked at my watch. “Oh, shit, it’s almost five. I better call Leonard’s secretary about the arrangements for tomorrow.”
CHAPTER XVIII
Los Angeles, Day 5, Late Friday, Bombing
I went to the pay phone in the corner and dialed Leonard. Instead of the usual, “Mr. Nathan’s office,” in tones that could be put to music, Sandra answered, “Oh my god, Greg…Dr. McGregor…It’s you. We were afraid you were…we thought you might be….”
“I’ll take it, Sandra,” Leonard’s voice came on smoothly. “Greg, something terrible has happened. About an hour ago Hennie’s house was demolished in a tremendous explosion.”
My mouth felt strangely dry. “Hennie?” I managed to croak.
“Nobody seems to know for sure. They tell me there’s just a crater. I’m going out there as soon as I get off the phone. But, look, about the funeral, Sandra will fill you in.”
Corky knew it was bad news as soon as she saw my face. “I’m scared,” I said after giving her the news. “Not for me. For you. Oh, what the hell, I’m no hero. I’m scared, period. What I mean is, I can stand being scared for me, but I can’t stand being scared for you. It was different at first. Darwin and Charley were murdered before my eyes and that created a hot, bitter rage to drive me on. But something else has happened, I met the smartest, sexiest, cutest, gutsiest girl I ever dreamed of and fell head over heels in love. It’s crazy, but I find myself laughing and loving and having the time of my life in the midst of what any normal person might call a nightmare.
“You feel guilty about that?” Corky broke in.
“Well, it’s okay for a couple of days, but it can’t keep me going forever. When romance and fun heat up, rage cools down, and that makes me vulnerable. If we’re going to get the job done, grim determination and some cool thinking has to take over. That’s where we are about now.”
“And you’re telling me,” Corky’s face was pale and set, her eyes hard and black as obsidian, “that I’m good for laughs and a romp in the hay, but when the going gets tough, I can just fuck off.”
“Dammit, what I’m telling you is that I love you so much I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you.”
“Look,” she said, “if you think I can stand something happening to you any better than you can stand something happening to me, forget it.”
We were staring, almost glaring, fixedly into each other’s eyes. I reached my hand across the table. She gave me hers, and I held it tightly for a minute. Her face softened, but I had seen something tough and enduring like ancient Aztec stone beyond the prettiness. “If anything happens,” she said huskily, “let it happen to both of us.”
“So where are we going?” Corky asked as we headed to the car after polishing off some sushi and a couple servings of chilled sake.
“First, I have to stop at a Nordstrom or Brooks Brothers and buy a dark suit. That’s the uniform for the pallbearers.”
“There’s a Brooks Brothers at that mall by the museum.”
After my successful acquisition of a dark suit off the rack that fit surprising well, and a long-sleeved white shirt…they had a nice selection of 36 length sleeves…I headed the car toward the Hollywood Freeway.
“Now, where are we going?”
“I want to see what happened at Hennie’s house.”
We rode on in silence out past Universal City. “Are you sure this is what we want to do?” Corky asked.
“Why?”
“There will be cops and firemen and crowds of gawkers, not to mention Leonard Nathan and other people from TINMAN.”
“We’ll stay in the car.”
“Don’t you think your Chinese friend with the walkie-talkie or cell phone has given them a description of the car?”
She was right of course, but I stubbornly let the Ventura Freeway slip by and was coming up fast on Victory Boulevard when I suddenly cut across two lanes of traffic and barely made the exit ramp, the same maneuver I’d yelled at numerous other California drivers for doing.
“Your message just got through to me,” I said sheepishly to Corky, who had murmured something like ‘Madre de Dios’ through her clenched teeth. It had just struck me that Corky needed a different car that the bad guys didn’t know about to take Mrs. Morales to the funeral. I also realized that my tail had seen me in the travel agency where I had made our reservations for Anchorage. A call to the agency from someone claiming to be my secretary was all it would take to find out when and where we were going and arrange a reception for us. I headed west toward the San Diego Freeway.
“May I be so bold…” Corky started to say.
“Don’t gloat,” I broke in. “I’m beating what is known as a strategic retreat and heading for the airport, where we’re going to turn this car in for something different. Then we’ll change our reservations to a different flight.”
The major airport rental agencies were booked solid, but we finally found a funky little joint about a mile from the airport called “Hire a Heap.” It was run from a broken-down La-Z-Boy reclining chair by a very fat man with two rather dashing young Latino car jockeys, and they had a heap to hire. With much panache and squealing of tires they wheeled up a fire-engine red cheapo sports model with all kinds of extra chrome and accessories including a car phone. They flung the door open for Corky with a flourish, scarcely sparing a glance for me. Corky, giggling and swiveling her hips outrageously, I thought, swished into the driver’s seat, bestowed upon them her dazzling smile, cocked her head to one side, pursed her lips, knitted her brow and, with an air of great concentration, began an exhaustive check-out procedure accompanied by a small litany of automotive ailments as she detected them.
After she had revved the engine, tested the clutch against the brakes, tried all the lights, checked out the signals and tested the wiper and washer, she pulled the hood latch, and stood demurely in front of the car, waiting until one of the boys, riveted by her performance, leapt to raise the hood. She wrinkled her nose at the corrosion on the battery terminals, looked at the color of the oil on the dip stick (it was a quart low and dirty) and indicated by a glance that she wanted the oil added, checked the coolant, brake, washer and transmission fluid levels, plucked the pump and alternator belts, wiggled the ignition wires and demanded a look at the air filters. “It’s a heap, all right,” she announced when she had finished.
Los Dos Caballeros, as I had silently christened the boys, awed by her performance as much as her figure, swarmed over the heap applying cosmetics and attending to all the minor things that could be done on the spot. “Okay, okay, es bueno,” Corky said, smothering a giggle, “It ought to get us to Beverly Hills and back,” and Los Dos Caballeros, protesting ardently that nothing could go wrong, assured her that if by chance some totally unforeseeable glitch developed, she need only call at any hour of the day or night from any poi
nt on the globe and they would be there instantly. With this heartfelt but undocumented warranty, we departed.
It was dark before we could get back to Hennie’s neighborhood. What was left of the house was cordoned off. A couple of Police and Fire Department utility vehicles and crews were still there poking through the debris with flood lights looking for remains, I surmised with a shudder. “Let’s go,” I said, and Corky nodded silently. As we headed off in the direction of the freeway, I saw a very ordinary-looking Chevy pull away from the curb about a half block or so behind us. Damn! How could we have picked up another tail?
“Let’s take a quick look at Hennie’s neighborhood,” I suggested as I made a couple of turns down the residential streets, not wanting to alert Corky to the possibility of a tail. When I got back to the street leading to the freeway, the car was nowhere to be found. I relaxed, silently assuring myself that it hadn’t been a tail at all, I was just being too jumpy, worrying about a danger that didn’t exist. But as I pulled out on the freeway, my tension returned. Danger did exist. After all, someone had just bombed Hennie’s house and he was probably dead too. We had to be very watchful and careful. When I glanced at Corky, she was staring at me, as if whatever I had been thinking was written on my face and she was reading it. I smiled reassuringly and patted her hand, not sure whether I was trying to calm her or me.
We exited the freeway to return to our motel, and I continued to execute a few evasive maneuvers, just in case, although I was confident no one had followed us.
After a very eventful day, a little tension-relieving activity seemed in order. Our romantic interlude was interrupted by a light tap on the door.
Earlier in the day, I had purchased a large, heavy flash light, something I could use as a weapon that I might still be able to put in my luggage. A gun was attractive, though I hadn’t fired one in over three years, but I could buy one after we arrived in Alaska.
“Hide on the other side of the bed,” I cautioned Corky, as I picked up the flash light, grasped it by the small end, and approached the door.
“Who’s there?” I whispered gruffly.
“It’s Hennie, let me in.”
Hennie, My God! I quickly slipped the latch and opened the door, glancing furtively to the right and left. Hennie, his clothing torn and dirty, entered, and sank thankfully onto the couch.
Sliding the lock back in place, I turned to him. “Thank God you’re okay. We drove by your bombed house. We thought you were dead. What happened?” I picked up a wash rag from the sink and tossed it to him.
He wiped the soot and grime from his sweaty face. “Thanks. I needed that.” He handed the rag back to me. “I knew they would come after me. I thought I saw someone following the limo when Leonard took me home, but I wasn’t sure. When I went to work the next day, I saw a black sedan, keeping its distance, but it convinced me I was being followed. I hid out all day yesterday and part of today, and decided maybe it would be better if I just laid low, somewhere else, for a while. I was thinking of going to Hawaii…or maybe New York. I went back over to the house, and threw a few things in the suit case. I was about to load it in the car in the garage when I heard a car pull up outside. When I saw that same black sedan slow down and then stop, I knew I was in trouble, so I grabbed my bag, rushed out the back door and was in my neighbor’s back yard when the fire bomb exploded.”
“My God, Hennie. You could have been killed. How bad were you hurt?” I asked.
“I was still knocked down by the blast and got a few burns but I wasn’t incinerated as they intended. Of course they don’t know that yet. I hid out at my next-door neighbor’s place–he’s on vacation and I have the key–watching all the goings on over at what used to be my house and checking out who came by. When I saw that outrageous red jalopy stop by, I recognized you, so I ‘borrowed’ my neighbor’s car and followed you. Nice evasive moves by the way. I almost lost you a couple times.”
Bummer. So much for thinking I hadn’t picked up a tail. How in the hell did I miss him, and how long was he there? “Thanks…I think. I guess my moves weren’t that evasive. I obviously need more spy training. But thank God you were able to follow. So, who are “they” and why are they after you? Are they the same people who killed Charley?”
“The answer to your last question is yes. I’m pretty sure they’re the same, but as to the first, I’m not sure. I think it’s someone at the firm or maybe more than one, but I haven’t been able to figure it out for sure. I don’t want to think that any of them are capable of murder, even to protect the hundreds of millions that are probably involved, but someone is.”
Hennie jumped as Corky stood up, fear returning to his face.
“Sorry, Hennie, I wasn’t sure if you were friend or foe, so I asked Corky to hide. Sorry for the scare. Go on.”
Hennie hesitated, clearly thrown off balance by the presence of the woman he recognized as Charley’s girlfriend.
“It’s okay, Hennie, Corky is in this with me. Her life is probably in danger too. The black titan that killed Charlie also broke into the Aspen condo.”
I related how Charlie had sent me a ticket to Alaska, why I had gone to Aspen, and how the two of us had sneaked out of the condo and gone to Grand Junction and what had happened at Charlie’s L.A. apartment. “Corky and I have been together since Aspen, and we’re just lying low until we head to the airport tomorrow.”
“I want to go with you,” Hennie said excitedly.
“We don’t even know where we’re going…things there may be….”
Hennie interrupted. “That’s where I can help you. I don’t know what Charlie was talking about, but you need me. We need each other. I’m still not sure why Charlie wanted you involved in this. He apparently thought it was important, so I‘ll accept his judgment.”
Then he turned toward me, “Look, I’m dead.” He paused and grinned sheepishly at his ironic choice of words. “Well, not technically, and certainly not from a lack of their trying. But I have been on the run and haven’t been able to sleep for two days. Can I just crash here on the couch?”
Corky and I exchanged slightly disappointed looks. I raised my eyebrows and shrugged and caught the “sure okay” nod from Corky, then clasped Hennie on the shoulder. “Of course. Help yourself to a good shower. Do you have a change of clothes in your pack?”
“Yeah.”
He grabbed the roughed up two-suiter and disappeared into the bathroom.
With the noise from the shower running, I pulled Corky into my arms. “Sorry for the interruption, but this may be a lucky break for us. Hennie probably worked closer with Charley than anyone else and probably knew him better than anyone else, too.”
She gave me a peck on the cheek. “I know,” she smiled coquettishly. “Back to my hippy days…sharing a room with several guys.” She winked.
I slapped her on the butt and she jumped into bed, pulled the covers up to her neck and rolled over.
I threw one of the pillows and a blanket on the couch, where Hennie literally passed out there after his shower. I had lots of questions, but we could talk later.
CHAPTER XIX
Saturday, Los Angeles/Anchorage
The three of us woke early on Saturday morning. Corky, dressing first and looking chic in her new black dress, went out and came back with coffee and three muffins. “Sorry, this is all they had.”
She placed the coffee on the desk and said, “Okay, I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous,” I kidded, but she ignored me.
“Greg, no one knows I’m here with you, at least no one that we know of, and as you said, I’m your secret weapon. Why don’t I go pick up Mrs. Morales and take her to the funeral as I promised, and just say, if anyone asks, that I wanted to pay my respects to Charley and make sure Mrs. Morales had a way to get there–which, of course, is true. But I’ll let people think I just came in for the funeral from Denver where I had been staying after learning of Charley’s murder and after the break-in at his condo, and that I s
pent the night at Mrs. Morales. I’m sure most of the corporate types at TINMAN knew Charley had a girl living at his place in Aspen. Most have probably heard my name.”
“Corky, that sounds like a great idea.” Why did her levelheaded thinking still surprise me? “The pallbearers have to be there early, so I’ll just take a cab over to the church.”
Hennie nodded his head in agreement. “I think you’re both right on. I’m not going to be able to attend. I don’t want anyone to know they weren’t successful in their little ‘Hennie-go-boom’ activity yesterday. Charley was my best friend, and I’m angry as hell that I can’t show proper respect. Plus, it’s maddening not knowing why someone wants me dead. But I think if I showed up, they might need to make room for one more in that casket.”
“I know what you mean,” I agreed. “And if they…whoever they are…are trying to knock off people who knew or worked with Charley, what better place to find them than at his funeral? I’ll try to keep a low profile too until we can get out of town.”
“I’ll just head on out to the airport and get a ticket on the first available flight to Anchorage. There’s no reason we need to travel on the same plane, probably better if we don’t. I’ll find some place to stay and leave a message for Dr. Gregory at the Alaska Airlines arrivals counter in Anchorage.”
“Makes sense. Okay, Corky, after you take Mrs. Morales home, just take the car back to our Hire-a-Heap boys and have them drop you off at the departure area. They’ll be falling all over themselves for that chance!” Corky snickered. “I’ll take a cab right after the funeral.”