“What do you mean?”
“He called me yesterday, assumed the cops would have the drop covered and gave me an alternate location.”
“And you didn’t tell the Captain?”
“I want to catch this prick, Stacy, and I’m not going to do that if the LAPD’s got men ‘hidden in plain sight’ as carpenters and gardeners. The Gravesnatcher’s too smart for that. He’ll figure out it’s a trap and boogie. Our best chance is to meet him alone. Take care of him ourselves.”
“Do you have any idea what Captain Rocket will do to you when you don’t show up at the Bowl?”
“What can she do? Force me to quit again? I don’t work for her. Besides, her business card’s not the one attached to all the ransom notes. I’m the one with something to lose here. So I figure I’ve got a little leeway in how I deal with the Gravesnatcher.”
“I’m going to need a little leeway, too, Gideon, since I’m the one in the blond wig and red nail polish. Since the Gravesnatcher won’t show up unless ‘Lisa’ shows up, this party ain’t going to happen without me.”
“We’ll never catch this guy playing by the rules. He doesn’t play by the rules.”
“Yeah, well, if I don’t play by the rules, I’ll get fired. I need my job.”
“No, you don’t. You can become a PI, too.”
“No, thanks.”
“You can work with me. Be my partner.”
“I’ve got plans, Gideon. To make Captain, like Dad. That’s not going to happen by disobeying a superior officer.” She took a cell phone out of her purse, started punching in numbers.
“I hate to bust your bubble, Stace, but thanks to the Gravesnatcher, you are on a career path to nowhere. If you think my evidence planting hurt your career, that’s nothing compared to your turning Magic Land into a shooting gallery and David Hunter into hamburger. That’s going in your jacket. Think about it; you’re never going to make Captain. Hell, when the dust settles from this case, you’ll be lucky if they don’t bust you back to patrolwoman.”
Stacy had the number punched in, her finger poised over the SEND button. It stayed there, poised, as she digested what I’d said.
“The best chance you’ve got to save your career is to catch this creep. And that’s not going to happen without our playing by his rules. You and I can do it, Stacy, I know we can.”
“What’s your plan?”
Okay, here’s where it got tricky. I could lie to her, make up some bullshit about trying to get the drop on him at the zoo, or I could be honest and tell her about the C-4. If she reacted to the bomb the same as Hillary, she would pull out now and that would be that. No ‘Lisa,’ no Gravesnatcher.
But, I thought, if Stacy and I really had a chance to make it as a couple again, it shouldn’t be built on a lie. Besides, she was bound to find out the truth when the Gravesnatcher did open the backpack and his hands did a disappearing act. So ...
“I’ve hidden a letter bomb in the backpack.”
She looked at me, expressionless, like she was having trouble processing what I’d said. “A bomb ...” she finally repeated.
“Not very ethical, I know. Comparisons to my fuck-up with the Ernie Wagner evidence planting must spring to mind. But so does the old expression, ‘fighting fire with fire.’ ”
An incredulous quality snuck into her voice. “A bomb ...”
“Look, if you have a better idea, I’d be happy to hear it.”
“No. I just can’t believe I didn’t think of it first. It’s brilliant, Gideon! Let the motherfucker take the backpack, and when the bomb goes off he’s got two choices: call for help or bleed to death. I love it!”
“I love that you love it!”
“And it’s foolproof. No cops for him to spot. No chance of another Magic Land. We just do what he says and boom de de boom boom.”
“Boom de de boom boom.”
“How’d you make it?”
“The way you taught me. Six-by-three strip of C-4, blasting cap, nine-volt battery, loop wire attached to the zipper.”
“Oh, this is good.”
“So, you’re in?”
“I’m in. I must be nuts, but I’m in.”
I was thrilled. No, elated. And the ferocity of my emotions surprised me. The thought of Stacy and me working together, being together, clearly meant more to me than even I realized.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” she asked.
“What?”
“That we reunite while I’m dressed as Lisa Montgomery, the woman that broke us up in the first place.”
“I’ve got more irony for you. Now that we’ve got a plan, we may never get to use it.”
“Why not?”
“We’re being followed.” Instinctively, she started to turn around. “Don’t,” I said. “Use the makeup mirror.”
She dropped the visor, opened the mirror compartment and angled the visor so she could see through the back window. I glanced in the rear-view mirror.
“See the black LTD?”
“Yeah. That’s Bennie Hernandez driving. The bald guy next to him is Healy.”
“And three cars back, the silver Crown Victoria—”
“Betty Rutledge and her partner, Pat something-or-other.”
“Captain Rocket mention a tail when she briefed you?”
“No.”
“So she doesn’t trust us.”
“Or doesn’t trust the Gravesnatcher. She may be afraid he’ll try to intercept us on the way to the drop and put the babysitters back there just in case.”
“What about helicopters?”
“She nixed them. Said they were too easy to spot.”
“That’s a break. We’d never shake the tail if there was air support.”
“I’m not sure we can shake them, chopper or no chopper. The minute we do anything hinky, they’ll call for backup.”
“I know.” I wracked my brain for options. I thought about the old Run and Hide: making a sudden, unexpected turn down a side street then quickly hiding the car in a parking lot, fast food drive-thru or a car wash. That way, when the cops gave chase they wouldn’t see me and go roaring past. But we were in the middle of Beverly Hills on Sunset Boulevard, which offered zero parking lots, fast food joints, or car washes; these are usually built on less pricey real estate.
I kept wracking. There was a Suicide 180, but that was dangerous. I’d have to get in the right hand lane, then at an appropriate intersection throw the car into a 180, skid across the two left lanes—hopefully without hitting anybody—then slide into the oncoming traffic, again without inflating any air bags. Once I had the car going the opposite direction I’d duck into a side street, scoot up to Mulholland, take it to Coldwater, then slip on down to the 101. Dangerous, but effective, and at the moment, our best option. I was about to tell Stacy to tighten her seat belt when a cop stepped into the street, stopping traffic. That’s when I spotted the UFO.
That’s right, a UFO. It was at least seventy-five feet across. But it wasn’t flying under its own power. It was attached to a thick cable suspended from a gigantic crane that dangled it 100 feet over Beverly Drive. Two tanks were parked on the street beneath it, their turrets aimed at the UFO. Cars were parked haphazardly on the street, creating the look of a panicked traffic jam.
They were shooting a movie. Traffic cones and police barricades blocked the street. I saw one camera on a big crane, another sitting on a dolly, a third on a tripod. Lights, equipment and crew were everywhere.
Someone yelled into a bullhorn: “Okay, people, here we go. Quiet please and roll cameras!”
“Speed!” from someone on the crane.
“Speed!” from someone on the dolly.
“Speed!” from someone at the tripod.
A skinny girl ran between the tanks, held up a slate and yelled: “Marker!” Then she clapped the slate and ran behind a bank of two TV monitors where a bunch of director’s chairs were clustered.
Someone at the monitors called, “Action!” And all hell broke loose
. The tanks fired, a fireball rocked the UFO, the UFO fired and an explosion obliterated one of the tanks. Terrified drivers leapt screaming out of their cars and raced for cover—and a light bulb went off in my head.
“Hang on,” I said and floored it.
“Oh, shit,” Stacy said when she realized what I had in mind.
“My thoughts exactly.”
The traffic officer started waving his arms, trying to make me stop. I ignored him, plowing through the cones. Since everyone on the film crew was watching the action on the street, no one saw my lowly Taurus heading straight for them. I glanced in the mirror to see the LTD and Crown Vic pull out of traffic and follow us.
As I roared past a few crew members at the outskirts of the set they starting screaming at us, and I heard someone yelling, “Cut! Cut!” But no one could hear him over all the pyrotechnics.
The tank fired again, another blast blistered the side of the UFO as I started weaving in and out of the cars abandoned on the set.
Now the UFO fired again and flames engulfed the tank. The hatch opened and four men poured out, one of them rolling into the street directly in front of me. As he got to his feet I recognized him—the heartthrob of the moment, Jack Stone.
His face registered three entirely different emotional states. First, surprise that we were there at all. Second, anger over us ruining the take. Third, panic at the realization that I wasn’t stopping. He dove out of the way as we zoomed past, giving us the finger.
Meanwhile, in my rear-view mirror I could see the LTD and Crown Vic trying to follow us, but their larger vehicles were having trouble inching between the parked cars.
Up ahead, a soldier had a SAM launcher on his shoulder, aimed at the alien invader. He fired. A huge explosion shook the UFO when we were only fifty feet away; to my horror I saw the cable holding the UFO release and the UFO begin to fall.
“It’s going to land right on us!” Stacy screamed.
“Not if I can help it!” I stomped on the gas and prayed for a tail wind.
I could see the shadow of the thing getting bigger and bigger as it got closer and closer, swallowing us. A tremendous CRASH rocked the car—but the UFO had only clipped the rear bumper, ripping it off.
The UFO landed with a metal-screeching, ground-shaking THUD. Not only did it miss us, but the twisted prop now blocked the road behind us, trapping the cops.
“Cut, print,” I said as I headed into the hills for our rendezvous with the Gravesnatcher.
It’s Showtime, Folks
The zoo parking lot was surprisingly full. Roy had expected the parked line of school buses. He remembered in the fifth grade taking an hour and a half bus ride from his home in Macon, Georgia, to the Atlanta zoo. The highlight was watching a bull elephant mount one of the females while the embarrassed zoo guy tried to break them up with a fire hose. They’d also seen two chimps doing it on the limb of a big fake tree. And two snakes all curled up together, either fucking or trying to choke each other to death. Nobody, including the teacher, was exactly sure how snakes ‘did it.’
Nobody had come to the Atlanta Zoo in those days unless they had to. It was small and smelly and all the animals did was eat and screw.
Well, something special had to be happening at the L.A. Zoo because the place was packed: young couples with kids in strollers, old farts walking in slow motion, camera-toting tourists wearing logo-spackled tee shirts, and lots of lovers, all holding hands, all with that ‘gee whiz life is so beautiful’ look in their eyes.
Well, today would be a day none of them would ever forget. Today they would all witness a murder.
Roy hadn’t felt guilty before killing Winslow. Maybe a little nervous. A little anxious. But never guilty. Snuffing out that life had been a justified act.
Roy hadn’t felt guilty before killing Hunter. Another justified execution. The fucker had ruined his career. Roy just wished he could have been there to see the producer’s face pulverized by the explosion.
But he felt guilty now.
Put it out of your mind, he told himself. Just focus on the plan.
The plan. A plan is just like a script, its execution like a performance. And the secret to any good performance is preparation. Roy had prepared well.
He looked at the paper bag next to him. The same size bag his mother had used to pack his egg salad sandwich in when he went to Minnie Burghard Elementary School. The very same size bag Roy brought with him to the Atlanta Zoo all those many years ago. There wasn’t a sandwich in the bag today. Today there was just a two-pound chunk of Semtex.
Finally, Roy thought, as he watched Kincaid pull into the parking lot at eleven-thirty. Kincaid was still driving the piece of shit Taurus. Roy smiled as he saw the crumpled front end, courtesy of Roy’s fender bender leaving Hollywood. There was new damage—the rear bumper was gone. Roy wondered what had happened as Kincaid parked at the back of the lot, next to a Jeep Grand Cherokee.
Roy had left the Mercedes at home today and rented a Lincoln Towncar. The SL 550’s trunk was just too small. He was parked in the handicapped section, thanks to a stolen placard. The handicapped section afforded an unobstructed view of the parking lot.
Roy watched Kincaid and the beautiful blond in the cashmere sweater as they got out of the car and headed into the zoo.
Roy’s eyes searched the parking lot. Excellent, he thought. No sign of cops. Kincaid’s following instructions. Now it was time for Roy to do the same thing.
He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, punched in a number he knew by heart and hit SEND. After three unanswered rings an answering machine picked up.
“Hi, this is Detective Irving Piccolo. I’m not home right now, but at the sound of the tone, please leave a message.”
Roy did.
Lions and Tigers
And Bears
I’d never been to the L.A. Zoo. I guess the reason most people go to the zoo is for the kids’ sake, and since Stacy and I never had them, we never went. I had gone to the zoo in Milwaukee with my folks. I remember standing in front of the gorilla cage staring into the big black eyes of one of those hulking beasts as he stared back at me. He looked thoughtful, intelligent even. I’d been about eight at the time, and I thought he looked smarter than me. If he’s so smart, I wondered, how come he can’t talk? Or won’t talk. That was it, I realized. He could talk, all the apes could talk, but they wouldn’t when we humans were around. I shared my revelation with my parents, but they never bought it.
And now, thirty years later, I found myself looking into the big black eyes of another gorilla and thinking the same thing.
“You ever notice how smart gorillas look?”
Stacy studied the gorillas for a beat. “You mean when they stick their fingers up their asses or when they jerk themselves off?”
“Okay, they don’t have our social skills, but look in their eyes. They seem intelligent, don’t they?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean anything. When I look in your eyes, you seem intelligent.”
I laughed. We were actually having a good time. It was almost as if we were lovers out for an afternoon of fun, rather than a PI and a cop on a ransom drop to a cold-blooded killer.
I glanced at my watch, 11:55. We’d been out there for about twenty minutes, killing time until noon. The zoo was packed but the folks looked different than at Magic Land. People were much calmer here, no one rushing to get into the next long line.
A few of the folks stared at Stacy. A couple others took pictures. Obviously they thought she might be Lisa Montgomery so I knew the make-up was working.
I wondered how the Gravesnatcher would show up this time. A few people were floating around in costumes—a couple of clowns, a green dinosaur and a giant kangaroo. He could be any one of them. Or he could show up wearing just a fake beard and wig.
I moved to the bench, sat down. I’d had to lug the heavy backpack full of money from the back of the parking lot all the way to the gorilla cages. Two million bucks in one hundred dollar bi
lls weighs about forty-two and a half pounds, so I was pooped.
Stacy sat down next to me, rubbed a foot. “I don’t know how Lisa walks in these things. My feet are killing me.”
A young couple walked by pushing a baby carriage. Stacy watched them, wistfully. “I never thought I wanted children,” she said.
“I remember. I think your exact words when I first asked you were, ‘No fucking way.’ ”
“But now here I sit, thirty-five, divorced, about to be fired, and alone.”
“It’s not too late to have children.”
“Is that hope I hear in your voice, Kincaid?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Oh, come on. You always wanted to recreate that apple pie Milwaukee boyhood of yours. But it’s not possible anymore. The world’s changed.”
“It changed when I was still a kid, remember? At least for me.”
She took my hand. “Oh, God, Gideon, I forgot about your parents, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I know. Don’t worry about it.” I squeezed her hand and our eyes met. We smiled at each other.
BRRRING.
That oh so familiar old-fashioned ringtone. “It’s him,” I said. “He’s hidden a cell phone somewhere.”
BRRRING.
I dug through a nearby trashcan. Stacy searched through some bushes. My nose reacted to a vaguely familiar smell, but I placed it too late, right after I stuck my hand into a discarded, and very full, baby diaper.
“Got it,” Stacy called, pulling a cheap Motorola out of the scrubs. She held it out to me, and I took it with my left hand. “What’s all over your right hand?” she asked. Then the smell hit her. “Never mind.”
I flipped open the phone. “You buy these phones by the case?”
“As a matter of fact, I bought them on the Internet. With your credit card.”
Stacy grabbed a handful of napkins from a guy selling pretzels and handed them to me. “I know,” I said. “Just like you charged the dog collar. Thanks a lot. I got hauled in by the cops.”
“Good. They finally made the Doggieworld connection. They figure you and I were working together?”
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