by Rex Burns
The flight to San Diego touched down a little after six, Pacific time. Devlin worked his way through the crowded, small airport located almost in the center of the city. Despite being cramped, it was one of Devlin’s favorite airports because of its downtown location. But it would only be a matter of time before real estate interests—hungry to develop the prime land—would convince voters to build a new facility on some miles-distant mesa. The car rental was waiting at the end of a shuttle bus that lurched beneath tall palm trees, and Eckles had answered the telephone, assuring Kirk he would be waiting too. The colonel hadn’t been difficult to find. He expected settlement of his claim and had been in touch with the insurance company regularly since the burglary. When Devlin showed up at the sprawl of multi-leveled stucco and bougainvillea that made up the Wind ‘n’ Sea Residential Plaza, Eckles was all smiles and anticipation.
Soon dashed. “I need to ask you a few more questions about your claim, Colonel Eckles.”
“More questions? Jesus, you people didn’t ask so many questions when you wanted my money for premiums.” His trimmed gray hair and clipped mustache echoed the note of command in his voice.
“I’m sure that’s true, Colonel.” Kirk settled onto a rattan couch that faced the small balcony. It had a fine view of San Diego Bay and Point Loma beyond. The man’s wife rattled around in the tiny kitchen, clinking ice cubes into glasses. “It’s about the household effects you stored at your sister’s in Arvada. The sterling silver, the clothes, the stereo components. Are they the same items you’ve filed a claim on, Colonel?”
The blood drained from the man’s tanned face, making his pale blue eyes look twice as large. Then it rushed back in a purple flood. “I—ah—I forgot all about taking that stuff over there!”
“Here’s some iced tea. Would you like lemon with it, Mr. Kirk?” Sharon Eckles, nervous as a tuning fork, smiled brightly over the tray of glasses. They were large and squat and had cheery Hawaiian motifs painted on them. The tray was a familiar white and blue and said Clark Air Force Base, PI—Officers Club. “Dear? Lemon?”
“Out! Get out!” Crouched in his chair, Eckles whipped his face to the woman in the doorway. “Leave us alone!”
“Ralph, what—”
“Get out, God damn you!”
The kitchen door swung shut behind her. In the ringing silence, Kirk heard the blat of traffic from a freeway nearby. “You forgot you took it over there?”
“Yes—completely—just forgot. With the move and all. And then the burglary … I just assumed …” He took a deep breath and forced stiff lips up into something like a happy face. “I’m relieved it’s been found!”
Kirk nodded and pretended to write something on his clipboard, letting the tension work for him. “Have you had any luck selling your house?”
“No.” The purple had ebbed from Eckles’s face to leave two bright marks above his cheeks and a film of sweat on his forehead. “Not yet.”
“And you’re still delinquent in your payments?”
“I don’t see that as any of your business, Mr. Kirk. And I’d like to know just what gives you the right to pry into my affairs! A man’s entitled to some privacy—”
He tapped the clipboard. “It’s your claim, Colonel Eckles. When you file a claim, you authorize investigation into everything pertaining to that claim.”
Eckles’s lips pressed into a thin line.
Kirk turned back to the clipboard. “The stereo components listed as stolen you say have a value of three thousand dollars. But the ones I found at your sister’s house retail routinely for under a thousand.”
“I—ah—might have made a mistake. I can’t remember the cost of every item I own.”
“The value of the silver is listed as quite a bit higher than its actual value too.”
“Damn it—”
“It raises questions about the value of other items in your loss report, Colonel. Would you care to make any adjustments to the claim?”
Eckles scraped at the corners of his mouth with thumb and forefinger and tried to read Kirk’s eyes. “Well, certainly, if the statement’s not true. I don’t want to make a false claim. Even accidentally. You understand, I was guessing at the value of those things.” A small laugh came out like a catch of breath. “People always think what they own is worth a lot more than it really is, I suppose.” Another laugh-like sound. “Anybody who sells a used car goes through that, don’t they? Or a house?”
Kirk nodded and doodled some more interlocked boxes on the clipboard. The faint sounds from the kitchen had started again, and from the tenseness behind the door he heard the dry squeak of a cork pulled out of a bottle. Kirk looked up suddenly, nailing the man with a hard stare. “Want to tell me what’s in the self-storage unit? The one you rented on Wadsworth Boulevard?”
The shade of gray in Eckles’s face didn’t change this time. But he sagged slowly against the seat cushions as if something were slowly draining from him.
“You can tell me voluntarily or I can get a warrant.”
The man’s hands hid his face, and his fingers dug into his scalp and jaw. A wet, muffled sound came from behind them and Kirk saw the colonel’s shoulders jerk.
“It’s the rest of the stolen goods, isn’t it?”
The head nodded.
“I didn’t hear you,” said Kirk.
“Yes! My God, yes. All of it.”
“There was no burglary?”
A long silence as Eckles mastered his breathing and scrubbed at his wrinkled eyes with a knuckle. Then he whispered something.
Kirk leaned forward. “What?”
“I want to withdraw my claim.”
Kirk turned off the tape recorder in his vest pocket. “That will be up to the company, Colonel.”
CHAPTER 17
ON THE FLIGHT back to Denver, Kirk finished the draft of his report on Eckles. The man had tried again and again to convince him that the claim should be withdrawn, and Kirk had replied again and again that it wasn’t his decision to make. Finally, as Kirk tugged himself loose from the grasping fingers, Eckles had begged Kirk not to say anything to his sister about the fraud. Mrs. Eckles never returned from the kitchen to hear him plead.
If Eckles’s insurance company followed standard procedures, the colonel was in a lot more trouble than Devlin cared to tell him about. To start with, his name would go on the shitlist and any insurance coverage would be hard to get. More important, and Devlin knew Allen Schute and Security Underwriters would take care of this as soon as the report was received tomorrow, Colonel Eckles’s name would be turned over to the FBI for investigation of mail fraud and wire fraud. And that, given Eckles’s need for a security clearance to hold his present job at Avionics Instruments, would leave the man stranded. All for the sake of chiseling a few thousand dollars off an insurance policy.
It wasn’t satisfaction Kirk felt as he walked the long, almost empty corridors of Stapleton Airport toward the baggage claim. It was a shade of sadness. So far, Eckles had gotten what he deserved. Now that he was caught, the man would learn how impersonally vindictive a righteous insurance company could be. They would make an example of him. Eckles would be pursued through the courts by an army of attorneys whose reputation depended on the amount of blood they squeezed from that particular turnip.
Still the man had brought it on himself. Like any other thief, he wanted something for nothing. How he got it made no difference. Like any other thief, the Colonel had put his own greed ahead of the rights of others, and the only error he perceived was getting caught.
Kirk rode down the escalator past cleaning crews that moved with the contented slowness of people putting in their time. At the luggage carousel, a handful of sleepy passengers waited for their baggage to thump down the ramp onto the broad aluminum apron. Devlin fished his suitcase from the tumbled pile and drove home through cold streets to be greeted by the glow of Mrs. Ottoboni’s porch light and the red gleam of the telephone answerer beside the living room phone. He took time to
pry off his shoes and open a beer before turning on the tape.
Among the several routine calls was Bunch’s voice: “Dev, call me as soon as you get in.”
He did, and Bunch woke up quickly to tell Kirk about Humphries and the difference between yojimbo and samurai. “I kid you not, Dev—a goddamn yojimbo. That’s what they’re afraid of.”
“You think it’s true?”
“I really don’t know. Mitsuko swears her father would do it. But she’s using Humphries. Hell, they’re using each other. He’s a spoiled rich kid who wants to have his cake and eat it too. She’s playing her own game and I can’t quite figure it out.”
“We can’t keep them under surveillance twenty-four hours a day, Bunch. We don’t have the people for it.”
“Right. I told him. But he’s safe enough as long as he’s at home. There’s plenty of electronics to warn of anybody coming after him there. And I hooked up an automatic nine-one-one to the sheriff’s office. All he has to do is flip a switch and the call goes out.”
“So what’s that give the killer? A half hour to do the job? Come on, Bunch.”
“Closer to twenty minutes. I also showed them where to barricade themselves in the house while waiting for the cops. And how to use a thirty-eight—I figure a revolver’s better for them than an automatic. Anyway, when they’re at home, they’ll be warned and armed. It’s the best we can do without moving in with them, Dev.”
That left Humphries’ place of work and the trip back and forth. The office complex had its own security force and clearances, so with a few additional precautions, he’d be safe enough on the job. “What’s his transportation setup? Chauffeur or convoy?”
“Convoy. I went ahead and hired Peterson to help out. Humphries didn’t want to do it. He wanted to rent a goddamn armored car and drive it himself. But I convinced him it was better to have Peterson convoy two times a day.”
That was true—two cars gave an assailant more to worry about than a single one. “Peterson knows what he’s facing?”
“I filled him in. And I’ll be along too.”
That seemed okay to Devlin. Peterson, despite his soft and pudgy appearance, was a competent man for bodyguard work, and Devlin had used him before. “Sounds fine, Bunch.”
“Here’s topic number two. I checked the tap on Minz about an hour ago.”
“And?”
“Well, good old Louise is still after the guy. Wants to know if he’s trying to avoid her, and if he is, all he has to do is tell her, because she sure as hell isn’t going to sit around waiting for any man to call her.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Just thought you’d be interested. There were a couple more messages on so-called real estate deals. And a very familiar voice: your buddy and mine calling to say the shipment from Pensacola’s due sometime next week.”
“Vinny?”
“Didn’t give his name. Didn’t have to.”
“Pensacola. That’s in west Florida. That’s where the Advantage Corporation has its East Coast manufacturing plant.”
“You suffering too much jet lag to go over and spoil Vinny’s beauty sleep?”
Vinny had moved his office into his apartment. It was a suite of rooms on the first floor of a large red stone mansion that had been cut up for rentals. He said that business fell off after one of his clients was found dead in his old office. Besides, this arrangement was better for tax purposes: part of his utilities and rent could be listed as business expenses. And it cut down on commuting time too. The outside lock on the front door of the house took Kirk about two minutes before it squeaked open to a hallway that held permanent odors of boiled cabbage and ineffectual detergents. Bunch said it was bush-league time, and to prove it, picked Vinny’s door in one minute, four seconds. The door was bolted from the inside by a safety chain which Bunch snipped with a pair of cutters. They eased into the living room/office, with its mixture of well-worn couch, gray metal desk with crooked drawers, stuffed and sagging armchair with neighboring lamp, filing cabinet, and a scattering of men’s and women’s clothes strewn in a hasty trail toward an open door.
Vinny and another figure lay tangled in the covers on an oversize waterbed while the dull light of a television screen showed the various pinks and browns of bodies entwined and grunting. Bunch noiselessly shut the windows and pulled the curtains tight. Devlin groped for Vinny’s pistol under his pillow and set it across the room near an uneasily burping lava lamp.
“Vinny … oh, Vinny … Someone here to see you … .” Bunch rocked the blotchy flesh of the man’s shoulder.
He knuckled a gummy eye and snorted. Kirk flipped on the bedside light and the eye popped open, bloodshot and startled. “What the hell!” Beside him, the woman groaned and pulled the covers over her head.
“What the hell are you people—”
Bunch shut off the panting and gasping VCR. “Can’t you do it without a training film, Vinny?”
The sound of a second male voice popped the woman’s head out of the covers. “Who are you? Vinny, who are these men? What’s going on here?”
Devlin tossed her a grimy towel from the floor. “Scram.”
“Better get rid of her, Vinny. We need some privacy.”
“You need some privacy! What the hell about me? What the hell do you—”
Bunch sat on him. The bed gurgled, and the big man jammed a hard knuckle into the thin bone under Vinny’s nose. “Keep mouthing off, fucker. One more word. Go ahead—one … more … word.”
His eyes, blinking tears of pain, squeezed shut and Vinny quivered his head no.
“Get out,” Kirk said to the woman. “Now.”
“Well I can’t just—”
“Now!”
Gathering the towel around her lumpy body, she backed into the living room and office to grope for her clothes. Her wide eyes watched Kirk and Bunch as she hopped on one foot and jabbed the other at her underwear.
Bunch rose and pulled the covers off Vinny. “Stand up, my man. We talk.”
“Let me get my goddamn pants on, Homer!”
He wrapped a wide hand around Vinny’s neck and lifted him like a plucked chicken out of the tangle of bedclothes. Vinny’s eyes bulged and he made little gack-gack-gack noises as Bunch carried him in one hand to the middle of the bedroom carpet. “What’s my name?”
“Gack-gack-gack.”
He set the man down. “What’s my name?”
“Bu … unch …” It came out a wheeze but they could understand it.
“And your name is Asshole. Now, Asshole, we want to know about the shipment coming in and we want to know why you didn’t tell us.”
“What—?”
“Vinny, Vinny, Vinny. Don’t fib to us. You’ll get a lump of coal in your stocking.” Bunch smiled—an unnerving sight—and nodded toward Kirk. “And Devlin there is royally pissed at you. He takes these things personally. I don’t know how long I can keep him under control.”
Vinny’s eyes slanted Kirk’s way to see what the grim and weary face was meditating. He hurried to explain. “I didn’t know about it until today. Honest to God. I just found out this afternoon.”
Behind Kirk, a final zipper yanked and the door closed hurriedly. “You should have called in.”
“I was going to—believe me. But this broad, you know, we had a couple beers at the Rocky and got to talking to each other. Man, it wasn’t my fault! What the hell would you do? She was all over me—”
“The shipment, Vinny. Tell us now.”
“There’s a shipment. I heard there’s a shipment. It’s coming from somewhere back east. That’s all I know. Honest!”
“Where back east?”
“I don’t—”
“He’s fibbing again, Dev.”
Kirk stepped forward. “That’s naughty.” Bunch had trained in karate and tae kwon do. He liked the hitting and punching techniques of those styles. Devlin preferred the holds and throws of jujitsu and judo—an affinity growing out of
his high school days on the wrestling team and the Secret Service training in how to grapple with assailants. Leverage and body joints, like the wrist that Vinny was lifting to ward him off. You grasped the thumb side of the hand firmly and twisted back to skew the upper body off balance. Then, combining a sweep of the leg at your opponent’s feet with a straight pull on the bent wrist and a stiff arm to the opposite shoulder, you could lever your opponent to the ground, where an immobilizing hold could be effected by making use of your knee under his elbow.
“Goddamn! Quit it—that hurts!”
“Where back east?”
“Pensacola. Pensafuckingcola!”
“Stand up, Vinny.” Kirk said. “Tell us more. In fact, tell us everything.”
“There’s a shipment of coke coming in from Pensacola. That’s someplace in Florida.” He flexed his arm and winced. “It’s coming in sometime this week but I don’t know the exact day.”
“How’s it coming?”
“By truck. It’s in a bigger shipment of company parts. Martin’s got some kind of code so he knows what container it’s in.”
“What kind of code?”
“I don’t know! Honest to God, I don’t know that! I got the word from Atencio, not from Martin. He knows what Martin’s got set up, but he don’t know how it’s done. Martin’s never told him, so he couldn’t tell me.”
“You and Atencio real asshole buddies now?”
“No, not real buddies. We talk. I share a joint with him, we talk, that kind of thing. I told him I wanted to make some big money and he asked if I cared how and I said no.”
“That, we believe.”