EIGHTEEN
Wycliff had been cool and collected in the restaurant, but now, in his car, he began shaking. Had he actually agreed to kill someone he didn’t know, had no grudge towards, had never even laid eyes on? He had lived on the low-down for most of his life, and, not withstanding present events, probably would for the rest of it. He was too old and too cynical (and too beaten down) to con himself.
To make the situation ever more difficult, the killing must not look like a premeditated hit. Laurie Abramowitz (the name on the crazy bitch’s driver’s license), had hammered that point home. A contract murder would lead to her. The killing had to appear to be the product of a fucked-up car jacking, botched home burglary, random holdup on the street gone wrong.
He lit a cigarette, feeling the nicotine rush bang his lungs. What are you thinking, he railed at himself. You’re going to commit murder? Who the hell are you kidding? You have as much business trying to pull this off as you do performing brain surgery. Stick to what you know: highjacking cars, stealing from widows and orphans. Penny ante shit. Because you’re a penny ante guy.
Except he wasn’t, not anymore. He wasn’t ready for the big leagues yet, not by a long shot, but he was not the small time grifter he had been the day before yesterday, before he had landed here, taken charge of his brother’s life, met Charlotte, met Amelia, gotten a taste of the high life.
There are a few defining moments in a man’s life. What he did with this opportunity would be one of them, because that’s what it was: covered in blood, yes, but still, a chance. To be someone, instead of what he was and always had been, a nobody. The opportunity had been handed to him. All he needed was the balls to take advantage of it.
Of course, Laurie had to come up with the money, or the scheme was all smoke. Until she did, he didn’t have to make a decision.
His cell phone rang. He checked caller ID and answered. ‘Call the doctor and Sadie!’ he screamed at the caller on the other end of the line. ‘I’ll be there as fast as I can.’
By the time he arrived back at the house Billy’s condition had been stabilized, as much as was possible now. His organs were failing; he was essentially poisoning himself from the inside out. The doctor had given him medications to counter that, and they were working, but only temporarily. He was sleeping now, his frail body trying as hard as it could to suck in air and push it out.
‘It’s never been if, it’s always been when,’ the doctor told Wycliff wearily. ‘Until when actually happens, it’s an abstraction.’ He rubbed the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. ‘When is now.’
Wycliff’s stomach was in knots. ‘How long?’
‘A week to ten days, give or take. But it could be tonight or tomorrow. His system is completely shot. He has nothing left to fight with. We could put him on a respirator and maybe squeeze a little more time out, but his living will stipulates no heroic measures. My intervention this time was walking right up to the line. I don’t think we should go beyond that. I know I can’t.’
‘No, we’re not going to,’ Wycliff agreed.
The doctor grabbed Wycliff’s shoulder and squeezed tight. ‘I’m really sorry. You can know it’s coming, but you’re never ready.’
The sun went down but the moon was full and it was pleasant outside, the kind of dry, balmy evening that makes Los Angeles so enjoyable to live in at night. Billy hadn’t awakened, but he was breathing regularly. Wycliff, a nervous mother hen, finally stopped checking on him every two minutes and went out back to catch a smoke.
Earlier, he had phoned Charlotte and given her the news, which meant they were not going to see each other tonight and maybe not tomorrow, either. She told him that she would pray for Billy. He thought about probing her more about Cummings, the financial planner she had introduced him to who had become the catalyst for what could be his plunge into the abyss, but he held his tongue. Under the circumstances it felt callous, and he didn’t want her thinking about his money, either from his brother or anywhere else. She didn’t know there was an anywhere else, and he needed to make sure she wouldn’t.
Amelia was a much harder call. She was a nurse who lived with life and death on a daily basis, but this was personal. She had bonded with Billy, and Wycliff knew this bleak information would be devastating to her.
It was. She started crying over the phone. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, but they were fifteen miles apart and that distance couldn’t be breached. Adding to her upset, she had to pull an extra shift this afternoon and tonight. Three of the nurses had called in sick. A powerful flu was going around the wards, so all healthy hands had to be on deck.
They talked for a few minutes, inconsequential chatter, nothing from the heart, that would be too painful. Tomorrow, after she was relieved and grabbed a few hours of sleep, she would come over. No pizza, but chicken soup from Nate ’n Al’s, better than any miracle drug.
‘This man has more lives than a bushel basket of cats,’ the doctor declared when he arrived in the morning to examine Billy, who was awake and cleaned up, courtesy of his brother’s morning ministrations. ‘You’re definitely better than you were yesterday. The big fella upstairs must be looking after you.’
Billy shook his head against divine intervention. ‘Him,’ he whispered, fluttering a hand in Wycliff’s direction. The hand looked like a dry leaf: veinous, mottled, the flesh taut and fragile. A mummy’s hand, Wycliff thought as he looked at it, dug up after centuries of its burial. Except Billy was still alive.
‘How are you with the pain?’ the doctor asked. ‘Worse?’
Billy answered yes by blinking his eyes. He tried to speak, but couldn’t. Wycliff leaned over and fed him water through a straw.
‘I’ll increase your meds,’ the doctor said. ‘Keeping you comfortable and pain-free is what’s important now.’
Billy nodded his thanks, then closed his eyes. In a moment, he had fallen asleep again.
‘How are you doing?’ Sadie asked Wycliff anxiously, after the doctor had left. ‘You must be exhausted.’
‘I’m running on fumes,’ he admitted, ‘but I’m okay. Can I ask you a favor?’
‘Sure.’
‘Can you stay with him for a couple of hours? There’s something urgent I have to do. If I could put it off I would, but I can’t.’
‘Of course. Don’t beat yourself up, Wycliff,’ she counseled him.
‘Thanks. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
If Charlotte was surprised to hear from him, she didn’t let on. ‘Of course I want to see you. You know where to find me.’
He showered and shaved and dressed in one of the outfits she had bought him and was at her condo in less than an hour. She was ready this time, dressed smartly in a white silk blouse and black skirt, makeup and hair perfectly in place.
‘How are you?’ she asked. ‘You look very nice,’ she complimented him, running a finger along his shirt collar. Then she turned serious. ‘It must be awful, what’s going on.’
‘It’s been the shits, and it’s getting worse.’
He looked at her. Then he cupped the back of her neck and roughly pulled her to him. He lifted her off her feet and carried her into the bedroom. They made love quickly and violently, finding a harsh, needy rhythm.
They lay on top of the covers, sharing a cigarette. ‘What can I do for you?’ she asked him.
‘You just did.’
‘Besides that.’
‘Be there when I need you.’
‘I try to be, as much as I can. I hope you know that.’
‘Thanks. I’m sorry.’ He slumped back against the pillows.
She propped herself up on an elbow to look at him. ‘You don’t have any reason to be sorry.’
‘I can’t help it. I know feeling sorry isn’t going to change anything, but I still do. For him, not for me.’ He tried to force a smile, but couldn’t. ‘Thanks for letting me use you.’
She kissed him tenderly. ‘I’ve used you, too.’
‘Don’t get up
. I’ll let myself out.’
He was dressed again, sitting on the edge of the bed, tying his shoelaces. She was still lying on her side, watching him. ‘I’m glad you came,’ she said. ‘I know how hard it must be to get away.’
‘I needed to.’ He leaned over and kissed her. ‘I’ll call when I can.’
He closed the bedroom door behind him and walked across the living room to the front door, pausing long enough before leaving to open the side table drawer and take out the gun.
NINETEEN
Billy drifted in and out of consciousness all afternoon and into the evening. Wycliff hovered at his bedside. The house was dark, the shades closed against the glare of the fading sun, the only sounds the hums of the air-conditioner and Billy’s ventilator. Amelia, bringing wine and groceries, came over after her shift ended. Even though Billy was asleep she talked to him while she prepared dinner, as if they were having a normal conversation. Wycliff sat by quietly.
They went out back after dinner, bringing their glasses of wine. ‘Smoke ’em if you’ve got ’em,’ she said, grinning at his surprised, you-got-me look. ‘I know you’re still smoking. You can’t be expected to quit under this emotional pressure. Just make sure you brush your teeth before you kiss me.’
He mumbled thanks, went inside, and came back out with a crumpled pack of Camel filters and a vintage Zippo lighter he’d bought in a head shop on Hollywood Boulevard. He fired up and sucked in a lungful of smoke. The nicotine hit felt good. It was a crying shame smoking was bad for you.
‘I really am trying to stop,’ he told her sheepishly. ‘I’m going to, I promise.’
‘The least of your worries. My heart is so sad, for both of you.’
‘I’m really glad you’re here. He is, too. He’d tell you if he could.’
‘He doesn’t have to say any words. I can feel it.’
He pulled her to her feet and kissed her and she didn’t push him away even with his cigarette breath, kissing him back with equal passion. ‘Goddamn,’ he whispered into her neck, ‘thank you.’
They drank some more wine. He had felt bottled up all day, from being with Charlotte and why he had gone to see her, feeling guilty about using her, and now using Amelia, too. ‘All I think about is what’s going to happen after he dies. It’ll be merciful when he goes, he’s paid more dues than he needs to. But still …’
She nodded and listened, knowing this was not the time for her to speak, he didn’t want conversation, he needed to spew out the emotional bile that was festering inside of him, poisoning him.
‘Mostly I think about me, which is selfish as hell, but I can’t help it.’
She wanted to tell him it wasn’t selfish, it was natural, but she remained silent.
‘What will I do, where will I go?’ He took in their surroundings with a wave of his arm. ‘I’ve cut all my ties in Arizona. This is the only home I’ve got.’
‘Maybe you’ll be able to stay here.’
He shook his head like an old dog trying to escape a swarm of fleas. ‘That’s not going to happen.’
He told her about the deathbed meeting between the lawyer and Billy from which he had been excluded. ‘I thought maybe …’ He threw his hands up in surrender. ‘It’s not going to happen.’
‘You don’t know that,’ she argued half-heartedly.
‘Yeah, I do. I came here for a reason and Billy knows it, and my last-minute good Samaritan dog-and-pony act couldn’t make up for a lifetime of anger and distrust. He saw right through me the minute I showed up. You could have read my intentions in Braille.’
He drank some wine and inhaled again and blew the smoke out his nostrils. ‘But that doesn’t matter, ’cause you know why? It changed me, coming here and taking care of him. It made me a better person. I’m not coming to Jesus or anything, but it changed something in me.’ He made a face at the sound of the words coming out. ‘That sounds stupid. I’m rambling, I’m sorry.’
‘It doesn’t sound stupid,’ she retorted. ‘You can’t be stupid if you’re real, Wycliff. Doing what you’re doing didn’t make you a better person. It was always there. You can’t manufacture that, it had to have been there already. You just didn’t know it or couldn’t feel it or didn’t believe it in yourself. Whatever the reason, it’s real.’
‘Thanks,’ he muttered, not looking at her, knowing that if she looked into his eyes she would see through to the cheating soul hiding behind them. Then he did look up at her. ‘You know what, though, either way? I did learn one thing. I learned that I actually love him. And that some part of him loves me, too, even if it’s just a tiny part. We hated each other all our lives, and now we don’t. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?’
They went to bed and made love and he felt like a total hypocrite. Charlotte before, now Amelia, using them both, he castigated himself to himself, lying there beside her, her body snuggled up against his, knowing that she loved and trusted him, which made everything worse, more rotten. She could praise him to the heavens, but he knew the truth. His future was bleak. Billy would die and she would learn his true nature and whatever scheme Charlotte was hatching would come crashing down on him. All that was coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop any of it.
In the morning Amelia showered and dressed and put the coffee on while Wycliff checked on Billy, who was sleeping easily. The sunshine on his face through the kitchen window as they drank coffee and ate toasted bagels made him feel better, not much but enough that he could keep moving on, that his emotions wouldn’t paralyze him.
Billy woke up and Amelia said goodbye to him, promising she would come back later. Wycliff walked her to her car.
‘I didn’t want to say it in front of him, but I can’t come tonight and probably not tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Nights are my shift this week. I got covered last night, but I can’t again, unless it really turns worse. If it does, promise me you’ll call. If I have to walk out, I will. I’ve got too much seniority for them to mess with me.’
They kissed goodbye and she drove off. He watched her go for a moment, then went back inside and took care of his brother’s needs and sat with him and they watched Regis and Kelly, until Sadie came to relieve him.
‘I won’t be long,’ he apologized. ‘You’ll call if anything—’
‘Of course.’ She had her knitting, she was all set.
‘I really appreciate this.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she assured him. ‘I’ve got it covered.’
TWENTY
Laurie had already arrived at the Westfield Shopping Mall in Century City when Wycliff came out of the underground parking garage, checking the surroundings for suspicious activity from force of habit. Satisfied he wasn’t being spied on, he sat next to her on one of the benches outside the movie complex. She was visibly jumpy, one jiggling leg crossed over the other.
‘You need to calm down,’ Wycliff warned her. ‘You start acting weird, people are going to know something’s screwed up.’
She took a deep breath. ‘I’ll be okay.’
‘You’d better be.’ When he spoke again, he didn’t look at her. ‘The money has to be in cash. No bills bigger than fifties. Checks or wire transfers can be traced.’ He had been thinking this part through. It worried him. ‘How are you going to come up with that amount of money without raising a red flag?’
‘I’ve been preparing this for months,’ she said, following his lead of not looking at him as she talked. ‘I’ve lived the high life. My having an ample amount of cash on hand isn’t unusual.’ She held up her left hand, now ringless. ‘I’ve cashed in other resources, too.’
That felt better, knowing she wasn’t flying by the seat of her pants. ‘Where is the money now?’ he asked.
‘At my apartment. I wasn’t going to carry it around with me. It’s practically a whole suitcase full.’
‘Is it there now?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right, then. We’re on.’
‘Great.’ She took a file folder out
of her purse. ‘I brought the information you wanted,’ she said, handing it to him.
‘When can I get the first payment?’ he asked her.
‘Anytime you want to come over.’ Her leg was dancing overtime.
Her nervousness was contagious and he fought his own urge to shake. ‘I’ll try for later today,’ he told her. He tapped the folder. ‘I need to get started on this. Figure out how I’m going to do it.’
He stood up and looked around, old force of habit. No one was paying them any attention. ‘When you leave, go in the opposite direction. I’ll call you, you don’t call me.’
He walked away, resisting the impulse to look back and check to see if she was doing what he had told her to.
Sadie assured him that Billy was holding steady, that he didn’t have to hurry back. He wanted to anyway, but that would have meant driving clear across town and then coming back over to the Westside, so he again promised her he would do what he had to do as quickly as possible.
The prey was easy to find. Laurie’s dossier informed him that the victim was a creature of routine. He waited in his car across the street from the yoga studio in Brentwood where the woman took instruction, and sure enough, out she came at five after one, wearing designer workout sweats, a rolled-up exercise mat under one arm, Gucci purse adorning the other. She walked with the aid of a cane, which threw him off – Laurie hadn’t mentioned that. It gave him a pang, that he was going to kill a cripple, but that meant she wouldn’t be able to offer as much resistance as a healthy woman could when he made his move. On his way over he had paid cash for a camera with a zoom lens at Samy’s Camera in Culver City, and he used it as a telescope to check the woman out more closely. According to her bio she was Laurie’s age, but she looked older: short, heavy in the hips, curly hair dyed copper-red with gold highlights. Thank God she wasn’t a doll, it would be harder to kill a pretty woman. Hard to kill any woman. He forced himself not to think about that.
The woman’s car, a jaunty eggshell-blue top-down Audi convertible, was parked in front of the studio. She got in and pulled away from the curb. Wycliff waited for a break in the sparse traffic, made a casual U-turn, and followed.
Turn Left at Doheny--A tough-edged crime novel set in Los Angeles Page 16