by G. M. Ford
"And then he gets the call," George finished.
My turn again. "Lukkas has been ranting and raving around his new apartment ever since Beth called and told him she was pregnant. Doing that weird role-playing thing of his. I'm bettin' that's the voices the neighbor swears she heard. He works up this screaming migraine. He needs a shot. Who does he call?"
"Not Ghostbusters," offered Ralph.
"He calls Conover. Come over and help me with a shot." I shrugged. "Look at the position that puts Conover in. He's just flat losing control of the kid. And then what happens?"
"Manna," said Normal.
"Help me with my shot, Greggy," Ralph gargled through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
"And Conover carpes the diem," I finished. "Whatever else you can say about the guy, he's always known an opportunituy when he saw one. It's the whole story of his career."
"Strike three," from George.
"Dirty bastard," Selena said under her breath.
"I still don't believe it," Goza said.
"Let me ask you this. When Conover came to you at the funeral and offered to help you, did he know you were pregnant?"
She stared at me blankly. "Sure," she said. "He, you know, said how sad it all was. What a great loss, you know, all that stuff, and then he said something about how he understood how a woman in my condition could use some help at a time like this and how he hoped I'd let him be the one. He was such a gentleman."
" 'In your condition' were his exact words?"
"Exactly." She put her chin down. "He knew; I know he did."
"So how did he find out?"
She knit her creamy brow. "That I was am pregnant?"
"Yeah. Who told him? Did you?"
"Not me." She shrugged. "Must have been Lukkas."
"And when did that happen?"
She thought it over. Stopped. And then thought it over again. "Must have been the night I... he ... that night. He was ... It could only have been ... before I got there " It dawned on her slowly. As she thought it through, she began to relive the sorrow. Tears began to pour down her cheeks. "He looked so sad lying there on the floor," she sputtered. Whatever she said next was washed away. Everyone went silent as she cried.
When she regained some measure of control, I said, "Conover claims he hadn't spoken to Lukkas in a couple of days. That's what he told the cops. That's what he told me."
"Me too," she sniffled and then again began to cry.
The crew went back to eating. The sounds of working jaws and gulping throats filled the slack air. More beer.
"Damn near worked, too," Jed said. "If Leo hadn't been so dead set on messing around with this, Conover would have just waited for justice to ran its course, released the new record, and buried whatever shortages there were in the ocean of money that was about to come rolling in. He was almost home free."
"Then you guys served them papers on 'im," Selena said. "And that's when they come around lookin' for me." I nodded.
"Probably a leg-breaker named Cherokee. He works for Conover. He'd be the one. Probably figured they could scare you off."
"Or worse," observed Ralph.
"Wadda you figure Conover's doin' about now?" asked Harold.
"Shittin' his pants," said Judy.
Jed shook his head. "Uh-uh. He's hiring counsel and preparing to hunker down and ride out the storm," he said. "As long as he's in line for the proceeds of the new record, he's high on the hog. Misuse of funds is one thing. So maybe he loses the radio show. Maybe he doesn't speak at any more charity dinners. That he can live with. Murder is another matter. He's clean on the murder. That's what's important. At this point, he's probably better off in court than anywhere else. No, his pants are clean."
That's what I was afraid of. Once it got reduced to the level of lawyer fodder, all things were possible.
"Before it gets down to lawyers, guns, and money, maybe we ought to make one last effort at actual justice," I said. "Give him one last chance to save his own ass altogether. Just one last chance to stay the King of Seattle Rock and Roll. What say?"
"Wadda you mean?" asked George.
I turned to Jed. He met my gaze. "I think this might be where you exit stage left, buddy. No self-respecting officer of the court should hear what I've got in mind. They'll disbar your miserable ass."
I knew he'd be torn. That part of him would want to see this thing through. To jump in and work with the crew. So I made a joke about how he was the attorney of record for all of us and reckoned how we would probably be needing good legal advice. After a moment's consideration, Jed reluctantly agreed and then worked his way around the table to handshakes and hugs.
I walked him to his car and bent his ear. "When you get home, call Conover. Tell him we're withdrawing our restraining order. Tell him that our client has proved to be unreliable and that we're no longer convinced she's who she says she is. Apologize. Do that semi-humble thing you do. Hell, he was trying to get rid of her. Let him think it worked. Put him into party mode. And then " Now I squinted at him. "Just when it seems like he might skate again, we'll lay it on him."
As I spoke, his eyes screwed down to mere slits.
"Be careful." He wagged a finger at me. "If you're thinking what I think you're thinking, and it goes wrong, you could all end up wearing those nifty orange coveralls."
"I know. That's why we need you on the outside. In case we all end up on the inside."
"You think he'll go for it?"
"I think he's real cagey. He's one of those guys who instinctively know when to step in and when to step out. He's like my old man that way." I held up a finger. "Where he differs from the old man, though, is that he's got no distance at all from it. No perspective. He's been on top for so long he thinks he belongs there. I think if he sees a chance to hang on to it, he'll do it. Besides that, if I'm right, he's already gotten away with it once. I hear it gets easier."
"You think the girl is up to the task?"
I sighed. "That, my friend, is the sixty-four-thousand dollar question."
"How's the Mendolson woman doing?" I inquired.
We stood in the driveway. The sun was sucking up the last of the morning fog, drawing it heavenward, leaving the street seemingly draped in translucent lace. He put a hand on my shoulder. "She's still about six thousand short."
"She couldn't get anything from her bank?"
Jed heaved a sigh. "That asshole Former refused to verify her employment at the library. The bank gave her bubkis. I'm giving her the weekend. After that--"
I was thinking that after that it would be Tuesday and the election would be over, but I kept my lip buttoned.
I went back inside and let the congregation in on what I had in mind. About halfway through, the eating and drinking stopped. Forks were poised in midair. Everybody was suddenly paying attention.
"You figure he'll do it again, don't ya?" Selena asked.
"Last time he found himself in a similar situation, that's what he did," I said. "Old dogs, new tricks, and all that shit."
" 'Specially if we bait him right," slurred Selena. "Somethin' easy. Somethin' he can take care of quick and simple and then all his trouble will be over and he'll be back in the catbird seat."
"A no-brainer," said George. "Somethin' too simple to resist."
"Something pathetic and vulnerable." Norman grinned.
"The old free lunch," leered Ralph.
She'd stopped nibbling.
"Why's everybody staring at me?" Beth Goza demanded.
29
"Scared?"
She nodded. We sat at the top of a long flight of concrete stairs, the high-fenced city reservoir covering our backs. Twenty-five steps down to the level of the natural amphitheater and the band shell. Volunteer Park, the venue for Conover's famous Summer of Love concerts. A little irony never hurts.
I'd coached her to insist on meeting in a public place, just before dark. I'd wrapped the mouthpiece of DuvalFs cellular phone in a dish towel. Even so, I'd held my bre
ath as she'd dialed the number. No need; she was magnificent. A woman answered. Who should she say was calling?
"Beth," he oozed onto the line. "How you doing, Lady?"
"I know what you did."
"Excuse me?"
I thought I detected an involuntary intake of breath.
"I know what you did to Lukkas."
A long pause. "Whatever are you talking about, girl?" he joshed.
"I know you killed him," she whispered.
"Don't be absurd."
"I want a hundred thousand dollars for the baby," she blurted. "And that's just for now."
"Beth, honey--"
"Now!" she screamed. "You bring it to me."
"I'm afraid--"
She was ranting now. "You better be afraid, you--you-- pigman," was the best she could come up with. Tell him he's old, I thought. "You bring it to me tonight."
"Beth, honey, you need help. Let me call my--"
"Ten o'clock tonight."
"I'm going to hang up now," he said calmly.
She looked up at me. I nodded. Time to play the trump card.
"You haven't gambled it all away, have you?"
"Excuse me? What did you say?"
"I know about you," she said musically. "You just bring me that money, mister." Before he could speak again, she told him where to bring the money and broke the connection. The Goths gave her a standing O.
She shivered once as the sound of shoes came down the black path at our feet. George climbed the dark stairs and squatted below us. He was winded and bleary-eyed.
"Everybody's in place," he huffed. "The big monkey-- what's his dumbass name."
"Cherokee," I helped out.
"Yeah, he took a couple of laps looking for citizens. Told Waldo to get lost or he'd kick his ass. He jimmied open the women's crapper. He's in there now."
"Which way does the door open?"
He thought it over. "Out."
I told him what to do. He liked the idea. "We ought to leave him in there for a few days. Those crappers have been closed for twenty years. There ought to be some serious livestock living in there by now."
"Just make sure he doesn't get out until we're ready."
George gave me a two-fingered salute.
"Where is everybody?" I asked.
"Normal and Ralph are down there in the trees." He pointed east, behind the band shell. "Judy and Frank are on the far side of the grass under one of them picnic tables." He gave a dry chuckle. "They started making like they was doing the hokeypokey every time the big monkey came by. Even Godzilla wanted no part of that shit."
Nobody was better than the crew when it came to surveillance in public places. The old, the poor, the addled, have become so unpleasantly endemic that our species has systematically learned to shut down those portions of our brains that recognize their existence. In Seattle, the destitute and the depraved have become so prevalent that the crew could loiter places for days on end without attracting unwanted attention. They seemed to operate from beneath a cloak of cultural invisibility. They were there, but they didn't count.
"Harold?"
"He's holdin' Selena's hand back at Ms. Duvall's house."
"You've got Rebecca's cellular?"
He yanked it out of his pocket. "Just like you said."
"The second anything starts, you call the cops. If you even think anything is going to start, you call the cops. You understand what I'm saying here?"
Without a word, he picked his way back down the stairs and disappeared into the gloom. It was five to ten. I turned toward the girl. "You ready?" I took the shaking to be affirmative and helped her to her feet.
"What if he doesn't come?" Her eyes were the size of saucers.
"Then he's who you think he is, and we're probably going to end up explaining to the heat why we were trying to shake him down."
"And if he does?"
"Then he's who I think he is, and unless we fuck up, he's going to be the one doing the big-time explaining."
"Well, I guess we'll see, then, won't we?" she said and turned away.
As she started down the steps, I moved up onto the path that surrounds the reservoir, walked about thirty yards west, and slipped down into the thick bushes. I stayed low and duckwalked out to the front of the shrubbery. I was forty yards from the lip of the bandstand. The hundred-year-old bricks had been tagged so many times that the spray paint had come to form something abstract and vaguely impressionistic. Beth appeared from the left and walked slowly to center stage, where she wandered about in small circles, hugging herself.
I could hear the water falling behind me as the aerator fountain in the reservoir frothed and recycled its brackish charge. A black Mazda pickup buzzed up the park road toward the top of the hill and the main entrance, the buzzing of the engine eventually losing itself in the overhead rush of the breeze.
Beth's pacing was becoming more frenzied, taking her nearly to the edges of the stage, back and forth. Five miles later, she stopped, put her hands on her hips, and looked impatiently in my direction. I stayed put. She returned to walking back and forth.
Conover was late and lazy. It was ten-fifteen when he pulled the Range Rover to the curb at the right of the band stand and turned off the lights. Beth Goza stopped walking and focused on the car like a pointer. The engine hummed quietly. He stayed inside. She looked my way.
I'd coached her to stay out in the open, not to go anywhere near the car, but her anxiety seemed to be getting the better of her. She began to walk toward the road. I reached for the 9mm and began to rise. Suddenly, as if reading my thoughts, she turned back my way and stopped. She took an audible breath, stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets, and strode back to the center. I settled back down on my haunches and waited.
In the brief flash of the dome light, I could see that Conover was clad in a pair of gray stonewashed jeans and a black leather jacket. Leaving the car running, he clicked the door shut and walked around the rear. I stepped out of the bushes and began moving down the tree line, staying in the shadows, holding the automatic down by my right knee as I shuffled forward. As I'd hoped, Conover was so focused on Beth Goza that I was nearly in his pocket before he noticed me. When he turned my way, I held the gun up above my shoulder, eliminating any doubt as to what I was carrying.
He stopped three paces short of the girl and swung his leonine head back and forth between us. "And what is this?" he wondered out loud.
"That's what we're here to find out," I said.
"This is a very troubled girl " he started.
I waved the gun in his face. "Show me what's in your jacket pockets," I said.
"My pockets?"
"Is there an echo out here? Show me," I said. "Slowly."
As he pulled the pager from his left jacket pocket, he pushed the button. A dull thump came from behind the bandstand. Then another, louder this time. Muffled shouts, and then a series of Aythmic crashes began. Conover kept looking over his shoulder. I helped him out.
"Cherokee will be spending just a bit more time in the ladies' room than he anticipated."
He looked around, confused. "What?"
"The other pocket. The right pocket now."
His hand stayed put. His car suddenly stopped running. His head jerked around just in time to see Earlene and Mary scurrying off into the darkness with his car keys. Frank and Judy were on their feet now, closing the circle from the south end. My feet could feel the force of the blows being delivered to the rest-room door. I could hear the sounds of shoes and strain. He suddenly pulled his hand from his right pocket I aimed the gun at his head. The hand was empty.
"What's in the pocket?" I repeated.
"You're going to be sorry for this. Do you have any idea "
I stepped right up to him, grinding the barrel into his forehead, cutting him off. "If I'm wrong, I'll apologize later. Empty the rucking pocket." He stood stock-still.
"Put your hands on your head." He did it.
"Beth," I said. "Reac
h in his jacket pocket. Be careful."
Hypnotized by the gun, she obeyed, slipping her hand into the jacket and coming away with a small brown paper sack.
"Open it," I said.
She placed the bag on the edge of the stage. Instinctively, Conover started to move. I pressed harder with the barrel. "Don't," I suggested.
When Beth Goza turned around she was using only two fingers to hold a large syringe with red markings. A blue plastic safety cap protected the business end. Her disappointment was palpable.
"In case she had a migraine?" I asked Conover.
His jaw muscles worked overtime, but no sound was forthcoming.
From behind the bandstand, the shouting grew louder. The timbre of the blows became sharper and the sounds of struggle more intense.
I grabbed Conover by the collar and forced him to his knees.
"Lie down. All the way," I growled.
He unlaced his fingers and complied.
I handed the 9mm to Big Frank. "Protect the girl," I said. "If he tries to get up, shoot him in the leg."
I sprinted around to the right, just in time to see the first rusted hinge pop, allowing the door to swing free at the top, making it impossible for Norman and Ralph to keep the door in its frame. As I stepped up to lend my weight to the project, the door burst from the frame, sending Ralph reeling backward and burying me beneath Norman's bulk, which was in turn buried beneath the door. Cherokee's great weight drove the wind from my body as he ran across the shattered door and then turned back to face us. He paused just long enough to sneer down at me.
I'm sure, in his own mind, Ralph thought he had Cherokee just where he wanted him. Somewhere, he'd found a stout four-foot piece of tree limb, which he held straight over his head like an ax as he moved forward. With a mighty grunt, he brought it down, swinging for all he was worth. Cherokee never even flinched. He merely hunched his shoulders and allowed the blow to be absorbed by his overdeveloped pile of trapezius muscles.
The limb shattered. Ralph stared dumbly at his hands. Cherokee reached out, wrenched the remaining piece of stick from Ralph's shaking fingers and backhanded him across the face with it. Once in each direction. Ralph staggered back, turned a clean half circle, and went down in a pile.