Stardom Can Be Murder: Charlie Parker Mystery #12

by Connie Shelton

  “Yeah, I know.”

  I got the feeling String would figure out how to make Mole’s suggestion seem like his own idea. An hour passed without comment. I felt myself actually drifting toward sleep.

  “California,” Mole said.

  My brain registered the word but sleep still pulled at me.

  “That’s where she lives,” String said. “But that producer guy. He was in New Mexico, right? How do we know he’s not still there? It’s his phone number, right?”

  Mole seemed to mull this over. “So . . . where will they bring the money?”

  “They’ll bring it wherever we tell them.” String’s confidence sounded a little forced, to me.

  I peered through my closed lashes. Both men in the front seat sat back—relaxed, conversational. I didn’t see another battle brewing just yet.

  “I need some food,” String said. “Next town, we’ll stop.”

  My ears perked up at that. But when he turned to stare into the back seat, I appeared to be blissfully asleep.

  The car slowed. Billy and Ollie stirred so it seemed like a legitimate time for me to do the same. We were on a main street of some little town. I saw Ocho Rio Hardware and Ocho Rio Supermarket, so I made a guess at the name of the town. A Dairy Queen appeared on the left and Mole pulled off the road, going around to the side of the building with the fewest windows. With the vehicle standing still, the midday June heat blasted into the car like a furnace.

  Once again, they sent Ollie inside with instructions. This time, Billy went along to help with the fetch and carry. Alone in the car with String and Mole, the sweat on my body felt chilly. I stared them down but didn’t for a second believe that either of them would cut me any slack once they found out I wasn’t worth a pile of cash to them.

  After a minute they both turned to face forward, watching the door through which the two younger guys had entered the fast food place. I briefly considered my chances of diving for one of the side doors and bailing out but that pistol was still sitting mere inches from String’s fingertips. He beat a nervous rhythm on the center console until the other men appeared, some ten minutes later, Billy carrying two large paper sacks and Ollie with a cardboard tray full of soft drink cups.

  They piled back into the rear seat of the car, closing off the small bit of fresh air I’d enjoyed in their absence. I’ll tell you, four men in a hot car in the desert sun is not a pleasant experience, either for the eyes or the nose.

  Ollie passed the drinks around and Billy handed out sandwiches.

  “I thought you might like grilled chicken, Miss Cross,” he said, handing me a foil-wrapped packet. Bless him.

  The smell of warm meat and bread just about made me swoon. If I hadn’t already been sitting, my knees would have buckled.

  Mole got one corner of his hamburger unwrapped and a bite into his mouth before String ordered him to start moving. I looked longingly at the air-conditioned restaurant, but it was gone before I had time to get too attached to the idea.

  Despite the sweaty bodies and unwashed clothing and oppressive heat, they managed to put away the food in record time. I have to admit that I voraciously went after my chicken sandwich and Coke, too. The wrappers joined the detritus of coffee cups and donut bag from the morning’s repast, on the floor of the car. By tonight I figured it would be up to my knees.

  I resisted the urge to neaten up. I’m not picky about eating in the car—what else does the term ‘fast food’ mean anyway?—but I confess to being one of those nutty types who tosses every bit of litter in the trash at the next stop. At the moment, though, I had more dire things on my mind than the neatness of a stolen car.

  “Over there,” String directed, pointing with his red-dyed right hand while tossing a crushed French-fry wrapper to the back. It landed in my lap and I flicked it to the floor.

  What he was pointing out was a small motel, one of those not-quite-name-brand places that looked clean enough and was probably owned by Pakistanis. The parking lot only held a few cars, this being past the checkout time for most folks. I would have thought he’d wait and find a place later in the day when it would be easier to blend into the crowd. But I wasn’t complaining—each window of each room had a nice square air-conditioning unit under it.

  We parked beside a little fenced swimming pool that had plastic lounge chairs around it and not a scrap of shade. String peeled some cash off a wad he’d stuck into his pocket and handed it to Mole.

  “Get a room.”

  Wait. One room?

  “I want my own,” I piped up in my best Cristina demeanor. Hey, if they wanted to think I was a star, I would make some effort at acting like one.

  He shot me an annoyed glance. “Okay, make it two.”

  The small victory felt amazingly good.

  Mole came out a few minutes later with some plastic key cards in his hand. “I asked for rooms on the back side. Told the lady it looked shady over there.”

  “You didn’t—”

  “I didn’t make a stink about it. She won’t remember me.”

  Something about the way he said that chilled me. I rubbed my bare arms to ward off the goosebumps.

  Two minutes later we’d parked outside Room 137. There was a little hubbub about who would walk next to me, which eventually String settled by stepping in and grabbing my arm in a grip that left no doubt that I would not simply shake him off and run for it. Both he and Mole had their hands near the grips of their pistols so the question was moot anyway.

  We were on the back side of the U-shaped building, without another car or a maid in sight. No one would probably notice a gunshot or two.

  I walked along with my best docile manners on. Surely an escape opportunity would present itself at some point.

  My idea of having my own room was quickly quashed. The two rooms were adjoining and Mole made sure the connecting doors were open and would stay that way. Additionally, he assigned Billy to sleep in my second bed and Ollie to sit up and keep watch. The two men could switch places if they wished (how magnanimous) but I was never, under any circumstances, to be left alone. His exact words. It was the longest speech I’d yet heard him make.

  Frankly, until the air conditioning got up to speed, I really didn’t care. I chose the bed nearest the AC unit, cranked it up as cold as possible, and stretched out. The air dried the sweaty places on my clothes but my skin felt sticky. I got up and, after assuring myself that the bathroom door had a lock, I stripped down and took the quickest shower of my life.

  Putting the three-day-old clothes back on wasn’t the degree of refreshment I wanted, but I had to admit that I felt a whole lot better.

  As if it had not otherwise occurred to them, once they saw what I’d done, my two guards took their turns at the shower as well. Too bad I couldn’t suggest a shopping trip for fresh duds, but it was not to be.

  I paced the room, to get a little exercise if nothing else, but String didn’t like the movement. I caught him watching me through the connecting door and knew what he was about to do, even before he walked into my room.

  “Take this. We’re all gettin some sleep.” He sneered, his pointy little teeth showing, as he held out the pill bottle and watched a single pill tip out into my hand. “Into the mouth. I’m makin sure you really take it.”

  I pinched the white pill between my thumb and forefinger and showed it landing on my tongue. When I turned to pick up my plastic cup of Coke, I shifted the pill to the side of my cheek. Then I drank deeply. Satisfied, he turned and went back into his own room.

  Out of his sight I quickly fished out the pill but at least half of it had dissolved. Drat! I stuck the damp thing into the top of my sock moments before Ollie walked back into the room.

  On one of the beds in the other room, String lay on his side with his hand on his pistol. Mole flopped down on the other bed and they were quiet.

  Billy, semi-fresh from his shower, stretched out on the empty bed in my room and Ollie took the chair. Since it was the closest piece of
furniture to the blessed AC unit, I suspected that was the real reason he accepted first stint at guard duty. I pushed the flowered bedspread aside, ignoring two cigarette burns and some stains that I didn’t want to think about, and crawled under the sheet.

  In their hurry to get away from String’s grandmother’s place, they’d come away without any fresh rolls of duct tape and I didn’t want to give reason for someone to run to the nearest hardware store for more. I curled up, the most comfortable position I’d had in days, and once I heard snores from the other room, allowed myself to drift off to sleep.

  Voices, raised in hot debate, roused me. I couldn’t be sure of the time but some hours had passed. The room’s blackout drapes were still drawn but I could tell it was dark outside.

  “California,” String said.

  “New Mexico.” It was Mole.

  “Look, the lady lives in California. That producer lives there. The film company must be there—it’s where they all are. That’s where we go to get the money.”

  I could hear them moving around in their room. I did a little restless-sleep movement, just to get a quick peek around my own room. Ollie was still sitting in the chair, his attention alert to the other room. Billy snored loudly in the other bed, oblivious.

  Mole paced by the open connecting door. He was shirtless, walking around in jeans and socks. The gaudy arm tattoos ran up his neck and almost completely covered his back, as well. He seemed agitated but I didn’t see his gun.

  “Okay, so let’s say you’re right,” he said to String. “The producer has gone to California now. Where do we set up the pickup for the money?”

  I noticed that he didn’t say anything about exchanging me for the money.

  “I know the L.A. area pretty well. We’ll go scout out some places.”

  My muscles tensed. I knew good and well that neither Cristina Cross’s family nor her producer were going to pay. She would probably get a good chuckle out of the unwarranted demand for money. They would chalk it up to the kinds of crank calls that Hollywood people must get all the time. Law enforcement in California knew nothing about me, about what had happened in a small branch bank in Albuquerque, New Mexico, about the small time crooks who now thought they could hit the jackpot. A ragged sob threatened to escape. I held it back.

  “You don’t know shit,” Mole shouted. “You been to L.A., what, once ever? I tell you, we shoulda kept this thing in Albuquerque where we know people. We got a place to hide, people can help us out.”

  “Oh yeah, and then they either want a cut or they rat us out.” String was on the move. Something made of glass shattered.

  I glanced at Ollie again. He looked like a tightly wound coil, ready to spring out of here.

  The voices from the other room went up another notch. Billy came fully awake in about two seconds.

  “What’s—?” he whispered.

  Ollie gave a small shake of the head. He peeked outside, around the side of the drape.

  I edged upward in my bed, sitting with my back against the wall-mounted headboard. String seemed to rule the gang with an iron hand, but this was the first time I’d seen serious dissention.

  String appeared in the doorway. “C’mon! Now! We’re gettin out of here.” He came into my room and waved his pistol toward the door. “We’re headin for California.”

  Mole showed up right behind him. “No. Albuquerque.” His gun was in his hand now, too, and I could see this thing getting volatile, real easy.

  Ollie, surprisingly, stepped forward. “Hey, let’s all calm down. It’s the middle of the night. We should think about this, make the ransom call in the morning . . .”

  Mole stared at him, his coal-black eyes glittering. “You, shut up.” He marched into the room and grabbed Billy by the shirt collar. “You. Get her ready to leave.”

  Billy stumbled over his own feet as he came around the corner of the bed where he’d been sleeping.

  “Estupido,” Mole muttered. “Where is the tape? I don’t want her able to try anything.”

  Uh-oh.

  “Um . . . I don’t know where it is. I think we left it—”

  “Hurry up!” String ordered. “I don’t like this. Too much noise. Someone’s going to show up.”

  As if in answer to his prophecy, the phone rang.

  “Look at that. Somebody’s complained to the manager.” String aimed the gun at my head. “Pick it up. Tell them it’s the TV and you’ll turn it down.”

  All my plans of shouting for help the first time I got the chance to speak to anybody outside this group flew out the window. I repeated String’s words and hung up the phone. He lowered the gun.

  “Okay, now we’re going to leave quietly.” His voice was so low and ominous that no one said a word.

  We all went slowly to the door and walked out into the night. My first rational thought was that at least it had cooled off quite a bit. Desert temperatures can easily drop thirty or forty degrees between day and night. This was one time that drastic difference felt welcome.

  String took my arm and walked beside me with the gun at my ribs. Ollie and Billy fell in behind us, with Mole at the rear. I took one quick glance and then kept my eyes forward.

  String walked past the faded silver sedan, which we’d left parked several rooms away. We rounded the corner of the building and across the lot before he began tugging door handles. The first unlocked vehicle was a Ford Explorer that was at least ten years old. He whipped open the back door and shoved me inside.

  String took the driver’s seat, settling the question of where we would be heading. Mole jumped into the back, right behind String, and held his gun on his lap. The way he stared at the back of String’s head sent my stomach churning. Billy got into the other back seat, leaving Ollie to ride shotgun.

  It took String about four seconds to hot-wire the vehicle and he had it in gear and out of the parking lot in under a minute. I imagined the owner in his room, sleeping through the whole thing with the whir of the AC unit blowing. He wouldn’t discover the loss for at least another six hours.

  From the motel parking lot, String made a right and carefully cruised down the main street of whatever little town we were in. Six blocks later, past dark businesses and sleepy motels, he came to the onramp for Interstate 40. He took the westbound lane.

  Beside me, Mole just about came unglued. “What the hell—” He clenched his teeth and held his pistol to String’s neck.

  “What, you gonna shoot me while I’m driving seventy-five?”

  “Pull over!”

  String kept going.

  “Stop the car.” Mole’s voice went deadly serious. “Now.”

  String faltered, only the slightest bit, but the balance of power had changed. From my place in the center of the back seat I could see the cold anger in his dark jaw.

  “You’re right, Mole. We need to settle this now.”

  He whipped to the right, jarring our teeth as he crossed the rumble strip and slewed the car to the very edge of the pavement. Beyond that, the roadway dropped off about three feet and I caught myself holding my breath. He could easily roll the high-centered SUV.

  String jammed the gearshift lever into Park and whipped his door open so quickly it was as if the car had never fully come to a stop. His right hand grabbed up his pistol and he was at Mole’s door in a split second.

  The last place I wanted to be right now was inside that vehicle. Apparently the others all felt the same way. Ollie and Billy had opened their doors; I fumbled with my seat belt and scrambled to the right, ready to bail over Billy’s lap if that’s what it took.

  A little slow on the move, Billy blocked the door with his bulky body in a fateful moment of indecision.

  String, faster on the move than Mole, fired.

  Billy’s head slammed against the window as his body fell lifelessly out the open door.

  Chapter 21

  Drake sat in the silent JetRanger, running his fingers over the pale blue ponytail band he’d found in the farmhouse
, feeling numb. Charlie had been this close. Although the burned candles were now cold, the food in the kitchen stale and rotting, he had a strong feeling that the gang were not that far away. They couldn’t have left the house more than a few hours ahead of the FBI team’s arrival.

  His cell phone rang. A glance at the readout—Ron.

  “What’s happening?” Charlie’s brother demanded.

  “I should have called sooner—sorry. The robbers were here. With Charlie. But they got away before we arrived at daybreak.”

  “Had to be in the middle of the night,” Ron said. “I mean, the other report said two cars were there yesterday afternoon, right?”

  “Yeah. The stolen sedan is gone now.”

  “How did they get past—”

  “No idea. Kingston’s men are bagging evidence but I don’t see much point. The day is getting away from us and we haven’t found any clue as to where they might go next.”

  Ron sounded as discouraged as Drake felt.

  “I feel like we’re back at square one. I’d be surprised if we got another call today. Kingston’s right, they’ll probably wait until Monday and try to get the ransom money with as few calls as possible.”

  Ron groaned at the other end of the line. “Let me know what I can do here. I’ll stay at the office.”

  Neither man had words to comfort the other.

  Drake spotted Kingston walking through the lengthening shadows, toward the helicopter. The senior FBI man looked older and wearier than even a few hours ago. Drake slipped out of his seat and met the agent.

  “I’ve put out a multi-state alert for the car,” Kingston said.

  “Let me fire this up and try tracking them from the air.”

  “Drake, it wouldn’t do any good. Look at this map.” Kingston unfolded the rumpled map they’d referred to last night. “Once they got off this property there were a dozen ways they could go. I figure they were at least a couple hours ahead of us. They could be back in New Mexico by now, or heading for Wyoming or Arizona or Utah. There’s just no way to know.”