"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the grudge match of the century," said a ring announcer with a tenor voice.
GI Joe headed out the locker room door, followed by a beefy wrestler wearing an executioner-style mask.
Nick shook hands with Carr and trotted out after the wrestlers.
Carr followed the wrestlers along the corridor to the arena. The crowd roared as they climbed into the ring. GI Joe tossed tiny American-flag lapel buttons at the crowd while the bull-like Masked Phantom stretched on the rope and growled. After introductions and referee instructions, the wrestlers climbed into the cage. Slowly the cage was hoisted above ring level. As the wrestlers made contact, the cage tipped from side to side. The crowd booed and cheered.
Carr left through the back door.
On the way to his apartment, he stopped at a supermarket to purchase the ingredients for chili and beans, one of the four or five simple meals he knew how to prepare. As he roamed the aisles in the market, his mind was on what Jack Kelly facetiously called strategy. Should he attempt to interview Bones the bartender? ... Or was it too soon? He mused over the details of the shooting incident for the thousandth time. At the checkout counter, he shook himself out of his trance, paid for the groceries and drove to his apartment.
In his kitchen, Carr sautéed onions, then unwrapped a pound of hamburger meat and tossed it in the pan. As the meat sizzled, he wondered how much Amanda Kennedy really knew. By the time he added salt, tomatoes and flour, he decided that she probably knew a hell of a lot.
Having forgotten to get the chili, he searched frantically through the cupboards. "Damn," he said out loud. He was out of chili. He stirred the colorless mixture until it was cooked, said the hell with it and scooped it onto a plate. Having doused the mess with catsup, he took a bite. It tasted awful. He tossed the concoction into the sink. To allay hunger, he drank two glasses of water before he went to bed.
Carr got up twice in the night, unable to sleep.
The next morning he ate a double breakfast at a coffee shop on Santa Monica Boulevard and headed for the Field Office. There, he spent the day filling out On-the-job injury forms for Jack Kelly, Daily Report forms (which he invariably managed to postpone until the end of the month when they were due), case status reports (he always checked the box marked Investigation Continued-No New Leads because he knew it avoided more useless paperwork in the long run).
As he sat at his desk and plodded through the fruitless tasks, he heard whistling in the hallway. Carr recognized the sound as he would the sound of a garbage truck passing by at three in the morning. He smelled pipe smoke.
Norbert Waeves stepped into Carr's office. Pipe jutting, he made a mighty puff and pulled the pipe from his lips as if it were a thermometer. He licked his lips. "Doing some paperwork I see."
Carr continued writing.
"Kelly's going to need a statement signed by a doctor stating that his injuries were caused by a gunshot. Without the statement, headquarters won't approve his temporary sick pay-new regulation. Three copies and one for the office file." He made a pipe puff.
Carr nodded and kept working. He felt like yanking the pipe out of No Waves's mouth and breaking it in half.
"Seen the new ammo headquarters sent us?" No Waves asked.
Carr shook his head without looking up.
"It's some super-velocity stuff," he said, "...real stopping power." He made a punch gesture, then left. Carr could hear him whistling "Stout Hearted Men" down the hallway.
By late afternoon, Carr had completed the paperwork. He paper-clipped the sheaf of papers and tossed them into a typing pool basket.
He phoned the Beverly Hills Chamber of Commerce and learned that First Fidelity Bank of Beverly Hills was holding a bank grand-opening party at 8:00 P.M. Carr wrote down the address.
It was dark.
Charles Carr pulled into an underground garage at the bank building and parked. He took an elevator to the ground floor. A young brunette wearing a strapless red chiffon dress sat at a reception table in front of the glass doors of the bank. "Good evening, sir," she said. "Welcome to First Fidelity of Beverly Hills. May I have your name?"
"Charles Carr."
She checked the guest list. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't seem to have your name on the guest list."
Carr pulled his Treasury badge out of his pocket. He flashed it at the woman and shoved it back in his pocket. "I'm a federal bank examiner. The president of the bank invited me this afternoon."
"Uh, certainly," the woman said. She handed him a bank brochure and motioned him to the doors. Inside the plushly carpeted lobby, a crowd of well-dressed older men and mostly younger women milled about. In the middle of the crowd was a champagne fountain, a portable bar with two bartenders and an hors d'oeuvre table decorated with ice carvings and bouquets of flowers. As Carr roamed through the crowd, he heard bits and pieces of conversation: purchasing property, taxes, oil stocks, limited partnerships.
Crossing over to the opposite end of the lobby, he almost bumped into Bones Chagra. He was dressed in a blue double-breasted blazer with a Yale emblem, gray trousers and a maroon striped tie. Carr pictured his mug shot photograph. Chagra chatted with two young women wearing cocktail dresses. They looked like models.
Carr strolled to the hors d'oeuvre table and had a snack. He watched Chagra move through the crowd introducing himself and chatting amiably. The women followed him and helped with the conversation.
After an hour or so the crowd noise became louder. Two middle-aged men toting cocktails went with Chagra to a corner of the lobby, with Chagra's women following like quail. The crap game began. Carr joined the crowd that gathered to watch it.
Soon there were at least twenty people watching the game. Chagra lost for a while, and other members of the crowd joined the game. Lost of cash exchanged hands. Chagra's women slipped away from the crowd one at a time, leaving through the front doors. Chagra began to win. The bets increased. Chagra continued to win. Though Carr stared at Chagra's hands on every roll, he was unable to see the dice switch.
As the game started to break up, Chagra's blazer pockets were filled with cash.
Carr spotted a private office near the lobby doors. He opened the door and saw that it was unoccupied.
Chagra patted people on the back as he headed toward the door. As he walked past, Carr tapped him on the shoulder. "I'd like to speak with you for a moment if you don't mind," Carr said, showing him his badge. He motioned to the office.
Chagra gave a look of incredulity. "What's this all about?"
"Leon Sheboygan."
"I'm in a kind of a hurry," Chagra said, swallowing.
"So am I." Carr opened the door of the office. They stared at each other for a moment, until Chagra stepped inside. Carr followed him in and closed the door. The room was handsomely furnished with an oversized walnut desk, a conference table and sofa that looked like a page from an interior decorator's magazine.
"Who told you I was here tonight?" Chagra said.
"When was the last time you saw Lee Sheboygan?"
"I've never heard the name before in my life."
"You lived with him."
Chagra folded his arms across his chest. "I don't know what you're talking about. And I'll tell you something else, Mr. Gumshoe, I don't appreciate being followed around like this. It's very embarrassing."
"I bet you'd really be embarrassed if I yanked those loaded dice out of your pocket right now and showed 'em to all those suckers you just fleeced."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Lee Sheboygan is dead. Answering a few questions about a dead man isn't going to make you a snitch. If you'll answer a few simple questions for me, I'll guarantee that what you tell me will go no further. I'm working on an important investigation, and it looks like you're the only person that can help me."
Bones Chagra reached into his blazer and pulled out a package of cigarettes. He hung a cigarette on his lower lip and flamed it with a lighter. "Questions bore me," he sai
d nonchalantly. He blew smoke and coughed.
"Did you share an apartment with Sheboygan up until a few weeks ago?"
Bones Chagra shook his head. He looked at his cigarette as if it had somehow just appeared in his hand by magic.
"I've already verified you lived there. I've spoken with the other residents at the apartment house."
"Come to think of it, I did live there for a little while."
"How was Sheboygan making a living?"
"I never asked him about personal matters."
"Who did Sheboygan hang around with?"
"He was a loner."
"When did you last see him?"
"I don't remember."
"Did Sheboygan tell you about the burglaries he was committing?"
"Your questions are starting to bore me," Chagra said. He blew smoke in Carr's face.
Carr stared at him for a moment. He reached into his suit coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, gave the pack a little tap before removing one. "May I use your lighter?" Carr asked, placing the cigarette between his lips.
Grudgingly, Chagra dug the lighter out of his pocket and handed it to Carr. Carr lit the cigarette, held out the lighter to Chagra. He reached out to accept it. Carr flamed the lighter on the palm of Chagra's hand.
"Ouch!" he said, jumping backward. He kissed the burn.
"Are you still bored?"
Chagra stared at his burned hand. Suddenly he made a fist, swung at Carr and missed. Carr counterpunched and drove his fist into Chagra's stomach. Chagra slammed backward against the desk and slipped to the floor. Eyes wide and mouth open, he struggled to catch his breath. Carr stood over him. "My partner is in the hospital, you goddamn creep. If you play dumb with me I'm going to show you some tricks that'll help wise you up."
Carr straightened his necktie, walked to the door. Without glancing back, he opened it and left.
****
TWELVE
THERE WAS the smell of expensive perfume. The seats in the private projection room were filled with Mrs. Wallace's friends, most of whom were members of the Women's Club. All the women were attired in the latest Rodeo Drive fashions-dresses with thin belts or baggy pants and blouses.
Emil Kreuzer stood with his back to the projection screen. Charlene, the hitchhiker, lay on the floor in front of him with her head resting on a pillow. She wore a stylish blue jump suit he'd bought for her. Her eyes were closed and she breathed deeply. As Kreutzer spoke, he was careful to make eye contact around the room, a technique he'd learned in a Terminal Island public-speaking class. As his eyes roamed the flock of rich bitches, he noticed at least five four-carat diamond rings. In fact, a statuesque matron sipping coffee at the end of the first row had a diamond ring that he estimated at at least six carats. He gave her special eye contact."...and as you can see," he continued, "Charlene has slipped very easily, very comfortably, into a deep and restful hypnotic trance. Before Charlene came to me she suffered from insomnia and had an abnormal fear of heights. Even standing at a second-story window or riding a horse would cause dizziness, then eventually nausea and vomiting due to anxiety. Even two or three rungs on a stepladder would cause her to become lightheaded. Her parents, who are both medical doctors whom I met at a conference at the Mayo Clinic, had tried every form of medical and psychological therapy to help Charlene. Nothing worked. After I was allowed to examine her, I came to the conclusion that she was an excellent candidate for rebirthing therapy."
A Mexican maid dressed in a white uniform came into the room with a coffee pot. Mrs. Wallace motioned her away and the maid scurried out of the room.
"And now, if I may, I'd like to ask everyone to be particularly quiet as I lead Charlene back to the beginning of her life, a journey that she and I often take for its therapeutic and cleansing effect." He knelt next to Charlene. Some of the women moved closer to get a better view. "If you feel comfortable and very, very relaxed and at ease, Charlene, I'd like you to give me a slight nod of the head."
Charlene nodded.
"And now slowly, as one would travel in a safe boat across a lake whose water is as calm and pleasant as mirrored glass, I want you to travel back to your fifth birthday. When you have made that trip backward through time, I'd like you to give me another nod."
Charlene continued to breathe deeply for what must have been a full minute. She gave another nod.
"Hello, birthday girl," Kreuzer said. "What do you see around you? You may respond verbally without coming out of your comfortable state of relaxation."
Charlene's lips moved a few times. "Birthday party," she said in a barely audible voice. "Mommy has the cake and the candles."
"What a wonderful happy day!" Kreuzer lowered his voice. "Should we move closer to warmth and total security?"
Charlene nodded before he finished the question.
Using a series of similar suggestions, he directed her backward in time to her first birthday. As he did so, Charlene turned on her side. She put her thumb in her mouth and curled into a fetal position. Some of the women gasped in amazement.
As he directed Charlene farther back in time by reeling off months, her body curled tighter. "...and finally we have returned to the womb." Gentle, Kreuzer pulled Charlene's thumb from her mouth. "How do you feel?"
Her lips moved. "Wet ... warm..." she mumbled, "...and my tummy has something on it."
Kreuzer looked up at the audience. "As you can see, Charlene has now regressed all the way back to the womb, to the beginnings of her life. The feeling on her stomach is the umbilical cord. How do you feel, Charlene?"
After more lip movement, Charlene said, "I want to stay here."
More gasps from the audience.
"I know you'd like to stay longer," Kreuzer said, "but we must come into the world. We must be born." Charlene nodded. As he directed her out of the womb, she thrashed about. "What are you feeling at this moment?" Kreuzer asked gently.
"Something pushing down on me." There was fear in her voice. "I want to come out faster, but I'm too big ... more pushing down ... when I push with my feet it hurts me. I think I'm stuck." Her arms had moved to her sides. "I can hear her. My mom is crying. Push ... push ... push. Something hard around my head ... jaw hurts ... hurts bad... pulling me ... pulling ... pulling ... I hear loud talk ... push, push. Everything is tight and I can't move my arms..." Suddenly, Charlene burst into an infant like cry. She thrashed furiously. Finally, she stopped. Her thumb found its way to her mouth.
"Welcome to the world," Kreuzer said. He patted her hand. Carefully, he gave gentle commands and she progressed forward in time through her birthdays. Finally, they were at the present. He snapped his fingers three times and she opened her eyes. He helped her to her feet. The women applauded, then burst into animated conversation.
Kreuzer raised his hands and the crowd quieted down. "It took Charlene and I five sessions until we discovered the root of her problems. She had been a forceps delivery, as I'm sure many of you were able to surmise. Moments after she was born, the doctor dropped her on the floor of the delivery room."
The women murmured.
"Once Charlene and I were able to determine this, we were able to completely eliminate her fear of heights and her insomnia and the other problems she had were taken care of. She is happier today than she has ever been in her entire life." He looked at her. "Isn't that right, young lady?"
Charlene nodded.
"Rebirthing is the wave of the future in personal development," Kreuzer said, giving his best smile. "This concludes my demonstration. If anyone is interested in rebirthing therapy, I've left some of my cards on the table near the door. Thank you." He made a slight bow as the women applauded.
Outside the house, Kreuzer climbed in the driver's seat of his Mercedes-Benz and started the engine. Charlene leaned back in the passenger seat. "Sometimes I feel like laughing when I'm doing it."
"You did a wonderful job today," Kreuzer said. "You have tremendous acting ability."
"You really think so?
"
"I mean that with all my heart."
Charlene giggled.
A few minutes later they were back at his apartment.
Travis Bailey sat in a sedan parked across the street from the apartment house. He nodded as Kreuzer swung the Mercedes-Benz into the driveway.
Kreuzer turned off the engine and handed the key to Charlene. "You go on in. I have to talk with that man over there." She took the key and climbed out of the car. Kreuzer looked around carefully before he strolled over to Bailey's car. He opened the passenger door and got in.
Without a greeting Bailey started the engine, pulled out from the curb and headed north toward Sunset Boulevard. "Carr is causing problems," he said. "He paid Bones a visit."
"Damn." Kreuzer felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach.
"Bones shined him on."
"Carr does that sort of thing. I told you, the man is a snake. He squeezes people to get a reaction." He ran his hands through his hair. "But he has nothing. He has zero. And Bones is solid. The cops offered him a pass five years ago in exchange for testimony in the Athletic Club gambling thing. He kept his mouth shut and got two years when he could have walked. The man is solid."
Nothing was said for a while. They cruised along Sunset Boulevard past modern office buildings, billboards with motion picture advertisements and crowded sidewalk cafes. On the road in front of them-a bus emitted a billow of black exhaust, like an urban crop duster.
"What about Lee's girl friend?" Kreuzer said. "The one you were worried about?"
"She's no longer a worry." Bailey turned south on La Brea Avenue.
"How can you be sure?"
"She went for a hike up in the mountains."
"I thought she was in jail."
"She was," Bailey said. "Bones bailed her out and she took a trip. I made the arrangements myself."
Kreuzer turned and stared at him for a long moment. He leaned back in the seat.
Bailey slowed down as they passed the Pascoe Military Academy. A group of cadets marched across the playground.
"That's where I went to school," he said. "I was one of the few who graduated without turning queer."
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