Streeter could tell that the little man would be out for a while. He saw Richie lying off to the right. Reaching out, he gently shook him. “You okay?”
Richie was almost out, too, but he managed to turn his head in the direction of the voice. “Yeah. Go get Tina and make sure she’s okay.”
Streeter knew he’d better not be there when the police arrived. Richie was right: go find Tina. He grabbed the Baer and got back in the car. Once behind the wheel, he started his engine and jammed into reverse. When he was about a car length away from the building, he saw the punker slumped against the wall. He reached into the glove compartment as he dropped the Buick into forward. Pulling out his cell phone, Streeter punched in 911. He was moving fast toward Santa Fe by the time he started giving the police dispatcher the location of the shooting. That was the only thing he told her that was truthful.
TWENTY
“If this don’t beat the hell out of anything I’ve ever seen,” the police detective said as he watched the last ambulance leave shortly before noon. Hooper had just made the rank, but surveying the blood-splattered asphalt in the lot, he wished he was back on foot patrol at the Arapahoe County Fair. He looked at one of the uniforms. “Makes no sense at all. The best I can figure out is that the little guy with taped glasses beat the snot out of the guy with the curly hair. Then the skinhead—or whatever the hell he was, with the green hair—got himself shot by the little guy. Once that was over, the little guy again turned back and shot Curly in the leg. Something like that, or maybe he shot him first. Then, just to make sure that everything was all totally fucked up, the little guy shot himself in the gut. How the hell am I supposed to make sense out of all this?”
“Maybe you better wait until the lieutenant gets here before you start panicking,” the uniform said, not looking at the detective.
Hooper stared at the uniform for a long time before he turned and headed toward his car. He walked up to Sergeant Steinke, the man in charge of the scene. “You getting anything here, Carl?”
Steinke was watching the uniforms measuring distances with the walking tape machine. He shook his head without looking at his new partner.
“You want to head over to the hospital and get a statement from Curly?” Hooper pressed. “The little fat guy looks like he’ll be in surgery or recovery for quite a while. He maybe won’t come out of it ever. Curly’s our best bet at getting something. What do you say? Go over and ID him and find out what the hell happened.”
Steinke, twenty years older than Hooper and about to retire, finally nodded. Once they got to the hospital, they were told that it would be over an hour before they could speak to the injured man with the curly hair. They had an orderly get them the guy’s wallet so they could check for identification.
“No wonder I thought Curly looked familiar,” Hooper said as he handed Steinke the driver’s license. “That there’s Richie Moats. Marty Moats’s nephew. You remember all that horseshit a few weeks ago when he was missing down in Mexico or Central America or wherever it was. Everyone thought he was killed down there.”
Steinke studied the driver’s license and finally looked up at his partner. “That’s him, all right. Let’s you and me talk to him before we call the lieutenant in.”
Actually, it was almost four by the time they got to interview Richie. Still groggy from surgery, he didn’t have much to say to the two suburban detectives. “It’s been a rough two or three weeks,” Richie muttered with his eyes closed. “Lemme sleep, okay? Some kind of robbery…I guess.” With that he nodded out.
Once the local media got hold of the story, they camped out in front of Littleton Hospital and chased Marty down at one of his stores. The old man gave them a couple of sound bites about being in the dark regarding what had happened to his beloved nephew.
“I’m just as surprised that he’s alive as all of you folks are,” Marty said, staring thoughtfully into the news cameras as he stood on the showroom floor. “My wife, Marlene, and I have gone through pure hell over these past few weeks. Pure hell,” he repeated sadly. “And suddenly last night the boy shows up asking for a place to stay. This morning I was headed over to take him to lunch. I can’t tell you how shocked I was at what happened. It’s a combination of delight and agony that swept through me and Richie’s aunt over the last twenty-four hours. She’s down at the hospital now and that’s where I’m headed.” He made a sweeping motion with his arm toward the showroom. “Even if that means my being away from our annual ‘April Showers’ weekend sale, featuring the biggest savings in Colorado waterbed history.” He allowed himself a quick smile. “That’s at all thirty-four of our convenient Front Range locations.”
“Marty didn’t get those thirty-four locations by not knowing how to blow serious smoke,” Frank told Streeter as they stared at the five-thirty television news in his living room. “There’s times that guy makes even Bill Clinton look sincere.”
The bounty hunter was leaning into the Formica that separated the kitchen from the living room. He was nursing his third Johnnie Walker Red since he got home a couple of hours ago. Normally, he never drank alone, but he was rattled. Most of the afternoon he’d spent trying to track down Tina. That and calling his lawyer to see what kind of trouble he was in. The television anchorman was saying that the identity of the man shot to death was still not known. Nor was the identity of the man who killed him. That second man was in Littleton Hospital in critical condition with a gunshot wound to his stomach. Inexplicably, the second wound was self-inflicted.
“Self-inflicted my ass.” Streeter spoke to the screen from across the room. He looked like he was about to say more, but instead merely took a sip of his Scotch.
Frank studied him for a moment. “What did Bill say about your situation?”
William McLean had been the bounty hunter’s personal attorney and close friend ever since they’d lived next door to each other during Streeter’s last marriage. He’d only been able to talk to Bill briefly that afternoon. McLean was in Aspen for the weekend and would not be back in Denver until the next afternoon.
“Not a whole lot,” Streeter answered. “We only talked for a few minutes long distance, but I gather I’ll be visiting the police sometime soon.”
“Might make sense,” his partner said, turning his attention back to the television. “These guys play rough.” He nodded toward the screen. “Even old Marty’s working his own angles here.”
Streeter considered that as he watched the anchorman. “What I’d like to know is what Grover’s got up his sleeve now. This has got to go down as one of the worst days he’s ever had. One man dead, another practically there. And nothing from the lockers. Richie and Tina still alive and it’s only a matter of time before the police come sniffing around. Shouldn’t be hard to connect Sid to him.”
“You got any idea where the girl is? Tina.”
Streeter shook his head. “I tried a few places, like her apartment house, but no luck. She might even be heading back to Florida, or wherever the hell’s she’s from, by now. I have to talk to Marty later. I phoned Marlene before she went to the hospital and she said she’d have him call me when everything settles down. I didn’t tell her I was at the warehouse this morning. No one knows about that but you and Sid and Richie.”
“And whoever it was that called you in the first place,” Frank added.
“Right. Grover doesn’t know about that, although I’ll probably be hearing from him before long.”
Tina settled into the chair next to the bed and opened the Rolling Rock twist-off. The television reporter in front of the hospital listed Richie’s condition as serious but stable. Not life-threatening, which was exactly where she’d find herself if she tried to visit him. Grover certainly has someone planted there to watch for me, she thought as she lit a cigarette. Better to lie low and communicate with Richie through his uncle. She had called the Moatses’ home a few minutes earlier, after she’d heard that Richie was out of danger. But she got the answering machine, so she left
word that she’d call back later. Now, glancing around her motel room, she was anxious. The original files were in the suitcase in the entryway. But they didn’t bring her the same comfort they had before the attack. If Grover was willing to come after her and Richie without knowing where the files were, that meant he was nowhere near as concerned about them as she’d thought. Crazy son of a bitch, working off of anger more than reason. About all Tina could count on was that he’d keep coming after them. She picked up the phone.
“Bail Bonds” came through and she was glad the voice that answered was familiar.
“Mr. Streeter, it’s me. Tina.” She took a sip from her beer. It sounded like he had his hand over the receiver and was talking to someone who was with him.
His voice finally came back. “I was hoping you’d call. Where are you?”
She answered with a question of her own. “You’re not alone, are you?”
“No. My partner’s here. Don’t worry, he knows what happened today.”
“Exactly what did happen today?”
“Tina, I got a call shortly before eleven,” he said. “Some guy telling me that Grover knew where you were staying and he was going to have you killed at about the same time I was handing over the keys. I drove down and I got there just as Sid Wahl was whaling on Richie. Then I pinned some punker against the wall and I’m not sure what all happened right after that. When I finally got out of my car, the punker was dead.” He paused. “Sid and I got into a little scrape and he ended up putting one into his own stomach. Richie said he was all right and that I should go find you.”
Gillis considered that for a moment, so Streeter continued. “I’m getting together with my lawyer tomorrow night. He’ll probably have me go to the police. You might consider coming with me when I turn myself in.”
“I’ve been thinking about that all afternoon,” she said. “This is getting too far out of hand. Someone has to put a leash on Grover. Apparently those files don’t scare him as much as I thought they might.”
“It seems that way. Where are you now?”
“I’d rather not say, Mr. Streeter.”
“Can you at least give me a phone number?”
“Let me sleep on it. I’ll call you tomorrow. When will you be there?”
“One time’s as good as another.”
Tina chewed on her lower lip. “This is one strange standoff we’ve got here. Whatever you do, hang on to those locker keys and don’t give them to Grover. You know he’ll probably come after you for them.”
“That occurred to me.”
“I’ll call Rudy Fontana,” she said. “He might have a line on what Grover’s up to.”
“Just be careful. Royals won’t let up until you’re dead or he’s in jail. Or until he’s dead. There’s nothing in between for him.”
When he hung up, he looked around and saw that Frank had left the room. Streeter stared at the phone for a couple of minutes. Finally, he picked it up and dialed Connie’s phone number. They were supposed to meet for dinner in less than two hours, but there was no way he could do it. As he waited for her to pick up, he really wasn’t sure what he’d say. The truth seemed too dramatic and he didn’t want her to know he was involved with the morning’s shooting. But he didn’t like the idea of lying to her either.
“Hello.” She sounded upbeat.
“Connie?”
A pause. “Streeter?”
“Yeah, right. Listen, Connie. Something’s come up. Business. All hell’s breaking loose on a case of mine and it looks like I have to work tonight. I wouldn’t do this our first time out of the blocks if it wasn’t important, but I can’t make it.” He looked away for a minute. “I’m dying for a rain check, though. Don’t be too mad. Like I said, this is really important.” When she didn’t respond, he continued. “Connie? I’m sorry.”
“If it’s business, it’s business.” Her voice betrayed nothing but she didn’t sound mad. “We’ll make it some other time.”
“Good.” He nodded. “That’s really good. Look, I have to go. I’ll call you in a day or so when things settle down. Okay?”
“Okay, Streeter.” Her voice had its original bounce back. “This is a school night, so my mom wouldn’t let me stay out too late anyhow.”
When he hung up, Streeter drained the rest of his Scotch and thought about what a truly depressing day it had been all the way around.
Rudy was sprawled out on the couch in his office with the phone on his right ear, listening to Tina bitching about what Grover had tried at the warehouse. She was being cagey, but he could tell she wanted information.
“I know that we put you in a jam with that robbery, Rudy,” she was saying, “but Jesus, we’re talking about murder now. Grover wanted to assassinate us.” She paused and lowered her voice. “Did you know about that setup ahead of time?”
Fontana thought that one over. If he told her he was the one who’d called to warn Streeter, he’d gain her trust. That might help him get the locker keys for himself. But if he told her and somehow it got back to Grover, well sir, Rudy might as well just hang up now and go join Dub McCullough down at the morgue. So he did what he always did in a tight spot: he lied. “Tina, if I knew ahead of time, it would a been me that called the bounty hunter.” His voice sounded hurt, like how could she ask such a thing. “No doubt I was very mad at what you two did to me, but I’m no killer. You know that.”
“Right.” Her voice sounded like she didn’t know that at all. “I better get going, Rudy. You tell Grover for me that—” She didn’t finish the sentence.
“Tell him what, Tina?” Rudy sat up.
“Never mind.” She hung up without saying another word.
Rudy put the receiver back and stared at the ceiling over the couch. Not a bad day’s work. Wahl nearly dead, Richie on his back, and Grover empty-handed. Not to mention that the cops should be breathing down the big man’s neck soon. Normally, Sid was as loyal as a beaten German shepherd, but this time the police wouldn’t let up on him until he told them what was behind that parking-lot massacre. Rudy stood and poured himself a drink. Grover was extremely vulnerable and, with phase two of his plan now in motion, Rudy felt better than good.
Speaking of Grover, he thought as he glanced at the door, he should be back here anytime now. They’d talked on the phone about an hour earlier. Not much of a conversation. Just his boss ordering him to be in the office at six-thirty. Rudy sat behind his desk drinking for another few minutes until Grover arrived. He was more subdued than usual, but in his leather jacket he looked to be in a war mode.
“You still hitting the sauce?” Grover asked when he first walked in.
“Hello to you, too,” Rudy responded. Bad approach. Don’t want to seem too confident tonight. “I mean, you want one?”
Grover nodded and stared at him, although his attention seemed elsewhere. “What the fuck happened this morning? Streeter never showed up and the next thing I know, some asshole on the TV’s talking about Richie Moats being shot, Sid’s in the IC ward, and that harp buddy of his from Mars is dead. No Tina, no money, no ludes.” He took the drink Rudy offered him, his eyes wide with disbelief. “I tell you one thing, I’m going to find out what went wrong and take care of everyone. Streeter, Richie, Tina. I got a man down at the hospital now. If Gillis shows there for a second, she’s dead.”
Rudy sat back in his chair behind the desk and tried to sound concerned. “What about Sid? He comes outta that coma and those cops are gonna be on his ass like wet hair. What if he lays it all out for them?”
“Then I take care of him, too.” Royals leaned over the desk. “Don’t make any mistake about this one, Rudy. I don’t care who you are or how we’re connected. After today all bets are off. I’m going to find out what went wrong and then crush anyone who had anything to do with it. If there’s a shit storm coming my way, I’m gonna make sure that everyone around me gets to enjoy it as much as I do.”
Grover downed his bourbon in one long gulp and glanced away. “Now I g
otta go talk to the guy I report to. My partner.” He shook his head. “He’ll only take about two pounds outta my hide for this.”
Rudy sat up and studied Grover. He’d never seen the big man look so worried. Rudy knew Grover had another investor, but he had no idea who it was or that the man could actually command that kind of attitude. Hell, he thought, that’s Grover’s worry. But it was worth the price of admission just to see him jangled like that.
Marty Moats used a pay phone just outside the hospital to call Streeter. At seventy, he didn’t want to be inside a hospital any longer than absolutely necessary. He put the quarter in and dialed Frank’s number. Luckily, the bounty hunter answered. Marty was in no mood for small talk with the old bondsman.
“Streeter? That you?” Marty shivered slightly. The ten o’clock temperature was in the upper forties and he didn’t have a coat on over his white shirt. “Marlene said you wanted to talk to me. What the hell’s going on around here, son?”
“All I know is what I see on the tube. And one other thing. I never made it to the meeting with Grover this morning.”
“Why the hell not?” Marty sounded furious.
“Someone called me just before I was going to leave for the bus station and warned me off.” Streeter decided not to mention the part about being sent to the warehouse.
“So you still have the keys to the lockers?”
“Yes. And I’ll keep them until I decide what to do about all this. I’m talking to my attorney tomorrow and it might be that I’ll hand everything over to the Littleton police.”
Streeter Box Set Page 60