by Bill Bernico
“That’s a lot more than we usually get,” Dad said. “Why so much?”
“Because I need fast results,” Smith said. “And because what good is it going to do me where I’m going? Believe me; you’ll earn every penny of that before you’re done.”
Mr. Smith,” Dad said. “Let me ask you one more thing, if I may.”
“I wondered how long it would take you to get around to it,” Smith said. “You want to know why I’m doing this.”
“Well, yeah,” Dad said. “It had crossed my mind. Most guys in your situation would have just spent the whole twenty-five grand and lived it up for two days. Why does this guy deserve a reprieve?”
“Because he’s my father,” Smith said. “He pissed off the wrong guy and made himself a target.”
“Didn’t the guys who gave you the contract know he was your father?” I said.
Smith shook his head. “They don’t even know my real name or anything else about me and that’s the way I want it to stay, even after I’m dead. Got it?”
“I can’t tell anyone what I don’t know,” I said. “As far as Dad and I are concerned, you’re John Smith, period.”
Smith pulled another slip of paper from his pocket and passed it Dad. “That’s Dad’s name, address, phone number and where he works. He lives alone. Mom died many years ago.” Smith looked at his watch. “You two better get started right away. And I don’t want him to know that I was the man hired to make the hit, understand?”
I nodded. “And how will you know if we’ve succeeded?” I said.
Smith sighed. “I’m just going to have to trust you on that,” he said. “Unless you can fake his death in the next thirty hours or so.”
“We’ll do our best,” I assured him. “Either way, we’ll make sure nothing happens to your father.”
Smith got up from the bench and turned to leave.
“How will we contact you?” Dad said.
“You won’t,” Smith replied. “I’ll check back with you from time to time. Keep your cell phones on.” He walked south on Alvarado and disappeared into the pedestrian traffic.
Dad and I looked at each other, our eyes getting wide with wonder as dad pried the envelope open, exposing all those fifty dollar bills. He closed the envelope again and shoved it into his pocket. “I guess we should just start at the beginning,” Dad said, “and try calling Smith’s father at home.
“Great,” I said, “but let’s get away from here first. All that money makes me nervous.”
Dad and I hurried back to my van, slid in and locked the doors.
“What’s his father’s name?” I said.
Dad checked the slip of paper Smith had given him. “Fleming,” he said. “Harry Fleming.” Dad flipped open his cell phone and dialed the number on the paper that Smith had given us. The phone rang nine times before Dad gave up and closed it again. “Strike one,” Dad said. “He’s probably already at work. Let’s try there next.”
I started the van and turned to Dad. “Which way?” I said.
Dad looked at the name of the place where Harry Fleming worked. “Downtown,” Dad said. “The metro bus station. He’s a driver.”
I made it to the bus station in twenty minutes. I stayed with the van while Dad went inside to try to locate Harry Fleming. Dad came out of the bus station ten minutes later and slid back into the van. “He’s on his route already,” Dad said. “They told me the area that Fleming covers. Drive over to Fountain and LaBrea. His bus is number twenty. His route covers Fountain and LaBrea west to Fairfax, south to Melrose, east to LaBrea and north again to Fountain. Just keep an eye out for bus number twenty. And drive the route in reverse, otherwise we could be following him endlessly and never catch up to him.”
“Got it,” I said and drove west to LaBrea. I drove south to Melrose and then east toward Fairfax, all the while keep a watchful eye open for bus number twenty.
Ten minutes later Dad pointed out the windshield. “There it is,” he said. “It’s picking up some passengers on that corner.”
I turned right and circled the block, coming up behind bus number twenty. I passed the bus and watched in my rearview mirror as it stopped at the corner to pick up another passenger. I hurried ahead to the next corner and let Dad out.
“Get to him,” I said. “I’ll stay behind the bus while you’re on it. It doesn’t matter how you do it, but you have to get Fleming off that bus.”
I dropped Dad off at the next corner and pulled over to the curb a short distance ahead. Dad waited at the bus stop and got on number twenty stopped. Dad stepped up into the bus, dropped his money into the meter and sat directly behind the drive.
As the bus pulled away from the curb, Dad leaned in toward the driver and whispered, “Harry Fleming?”
“Sit back, sir,” the driver said. “You’re not allowed to talk to the driver.”
Dad pulled his I.D. and shield and held it where the driver could see it. “Mr. Fleming,” Dad said. “We have a bit of an emergency here. You are Harry Fleming, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Fleming said, “but I still can’t talk to you or anyone else. I have a bus to drive.”
“Mr. Fleming,” I said, more emphatically this time, “Your life is in danger. I’m going to need you to come with me right away.”
“How would you like me to drive you to the police station?” Fleming said. “Now sit there and be quiet.”
Dad could see that conventional methods weren’t going to work in this scenario. He pulled his .38 out from under his coat and stuck it in Fleming’s ribs. “Pull over at the next corner and kill the engine,” Dad said.
Fleming looked down at the gun stuck in his ribs and flinched noticeably. “All right,” Fleming said. “Don’t do anything rash. I’ll stop the bus.”
At the next corner Fleming pulled up to the bus stop, shut off the engine and opened the folding door to the street. He and Dad stepped down onto the sidewalk and proceeded to the back of the bus where I waited in the van.
Dad opened the passenger door and pointed with his gun. “Get in,” he told Fleming. Fleming slid into the passenger seat and Dad slid the side door open and got in, crouching behind the two front seats.
I pulled around the bus and drove north on Fairfax. I could see the scared look in Fleming’s eyes. I looked back at Dad. “Are you crazy?” I said. “This is kidnapping.”
“He wouldn’t listen to reason,” Dad said, holstering his weapon. “What else was I supposed to do?”
I turned to Fleming. “Look,” I said. “We’re not kidnappers, honest. We’re trying to save your life, believe it or not.”
“Trying to save my life?” Fleming said. “You have a strange way of showing it, if you ask me.”
“Mr. Fleming,” I said. “I’m going to pull into that parking lot so we can all talk, okay? I just don’t want you jumping out of the van when I do. Do you understand?”
Fleming held both palms up. “I won’t go anywhere,” he said, “but you’ve both got a lot of explaining to do.”
I shut off the van and turned to Dad. “Do you want to start?” I said to Dad. “Or should I begin?”
“Go ahead,” Dad said. “If you leave anything out, I’ll fill it in.”
I began by telling Fleming about the phone call Dad took this morning and how we had to meet the guy in the park. I explained everything that Smith had told us, leaving out the fact that the hit man was Fleming’s own son. When I’d finished relaying the story to Fleming, he settled back into his seat and sighed heavily.
“Gees,” Fleming said. “I wonder what I ever did to get on someone’s hit list. I don’t have any money to speak of. Hell, I’m just a bus driver. I don’t have anything anyone would want. I don’t know anything that I shouldn’t about anyone else. Why would someone want me dead?”
“I couldn’t tell you, Mr. Fleming,” I said. “But there is one thing that is for sure. Unless these people think you’re dead, they’ll never stop looking for you.”
“So wh
at can we do?” Fleming said, his voice a little shakier than before.
I have an idea that just might work,” Dad said to Fleming. Are you game?”
“Hell yes,” Fleming said. “If it would keep me alive I’d dress up like Shirley Temple.”
“I don’t think we need to get that drastic,” Dad said. “But speaking of dressing up, I have a friend at one of the movie studios that owes me a favor. I also know a reporter at the television studio. I’m pretty sure I can get both of them to cooperate with me.”
“Doing what?” Fleming said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’d like to know what you have up your sleeve, too.”
Dad turned to Fleming. “Whatever we do,” he said, “you’ll never be able to go back to your old life after today. You won’t be driving a bus anymore. You can’t live in your house or visit with any friends or relatives—nothing. You can’t take anything from your house or empty your bank account. That would send up a red flag right away and they’d know you weren’t dead.”
“I don’t have a house,” Fleming said. “When Janice died I sold the house and got an apartment. And as for the bank account, it doesn’t matter if I take out the whole amount. Three hundred sixteen dollars won’t matter one way or the other.”
“Didn’t you get a lot of money when you sold your house?” I said.
“I did,” Fleming said, “but it was all eaten up with hospital bills. Janice was sick for a long time and I didn’t have enough insurance to cover it all. By the time she died, it was like I was starting over from scratch. Hell, maybe something like this will get me a fresh start somewhere else.”
“So what’s your idea?” I said.
Dad got up from his crouching position in the back of the van and sat at the swivel chair that was attached to the floor in front of the row of mini monitors that I’d had installed for a previous surveillance job. “I figured I could get my make-up artist friend from the studio to do a job on your face and upper body to make it look like you’d been either hit by a car or shot to death or had met some other grisly end,” Dad explained. “After he’s finished with you, I thought I could get my buddy at the television studio to get your picture on the air along with a fake broadcast about how your body was found, blah, blah, blah. Whoever put out the contract is sure to see it and step away, satisfied that their problem had been taken care of.”
“I like the concept,” Fleming said, “but what’s to keep your friends from spilling the beans on what really happened?”
“I see what you mean,” Dad said. “Well, we could eliminate the make-up man and do the job ourselves.”
I snapped my fingers. “Gloria,” I said. “Dad, remember she’s an excellent make-up artist, not to mention her other skills.”
Dad smiled widely. “That solves one problem. Now what about the television coverage?”
I thought for a moment and then said, “Skip the television camera,” I said. “With all that surveillance equipment we own, we can film him ourselves, once Gloria finishes doing the make-up. Then we leave the video in an envelope at the TV station and call them. If we can come off convincingly enough, they’ll still air the footage, giving us the same end result.”
“I think this just might work,” Fleming said.
“Do you think we should let Eric in on this?” I said.
“Who’s Eric?” Fleming said.
Dad jumped in at this point. “Lieutenant Eric Anderson is our friend on the L.A.P.D.,” he explained. “And no, I don’t think letting him know would be in Mr. Fleming’s best interest. You never know how much of the book he’d want to follow for something like this, and as well-meaning as he might want to be, letting him in on it could just cost someone their life.”
Fleming looked alarmed. “Can’t we keep this just between us three?” he said.
“Us three and Gloria,” I said.
“And who is Gloria?” Fleming said.
“She’s the third partner in Cooper Investigations,” I said. “And she also happens to be my wife. You can trust her with your life.”
Fleming thought about everything for a moment. “Okay, so you do the make-up and send the video. Won’t someone along the way expect to see a body?”
“I hadn’t thought of that?” I said, turning to Dad. “There’s an argument for letting Eric in on it. He might be able to smooth things over in that area.”
Dad shrugged. “We might not have a choice. You want me to run it by him, hypothetically, of course?”
I looked at Fleming. “What do you think?” I said.
“How well do you know this Eric?” Fleming said.
“Well enough to know he’s someone you could trust,” Dad said. “I’m sure if I explain the situation to him, that he’d choose to bend the rules a little to save a life.”
“Do we have enough time?” Fleming said.
“A little less than thirty hours,” I said and turned to Dad. “Can you get over there right away and talk to Eric?”
“Drop me back at the office first so I can pick up my own car,” Dad said. “You take Mr. Fleming up to the office and wait there for me. It won’t take me long.”
I pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to our building. I left Dad in the parking lot and took Fleming up to the office and locked the door behind us. I told him to have a seat while I called Gloria. I got her on the second ring.
“Hello,” she said, in a low voice.
“Gloria,” I said, “how’s Matt doing?”
“Much better,” she said. “His fever broke and he’s eating again. He’ll be fine.”
“That’s great,” I said. “Listen, can you get Mrs. Chandler to come stay with Matt? I’m going to need you here in the office for a little while.”
“What is it, Elliott?” Gloria said.
“Can’t discuss it on the phone,” I told her.
“It’s that important?” she said.
“It is,” I said. “In fact, let me call you back on your cell phone.” I hung up and dialed Gloria’s cell. She answered right away.
“Elliott, what’s going on?” she said.
“We have an important job that will take all three of us,” I explained. “You’ll need to bring your make-up kit and bring one of my shirts from the closet. Find something I don’t wear too much anymore. Don’t ask me anything else about the case right now. I don’t have a lot of extra time. I’ll fill you in when you get here? How long will it take you?”
“I’ll call Mrs. Chandler right now,” Gloria said. “Give me forty-five minutes.”
“The office door will be locked,” I said. “Call me on your cell when you get off the elevator.” I hung up and turned to Fleming. “I think this is going to work.”
Dad knocked on Lieutenant Anderson’s office door and stuck his head inside. “Can we talk, Eric?” Dad said. Dad filled Eric in on most of what we’d learned, leaving out Fleming’s name until he was sure he would have Eric’s cooperation.
Eric weighed the pros and cons of the situation for a moment and then said, “I think I know you and Elliott well enough that you wouldn’t steer me wrong on this, Clay. If it means saving a life versus bending a rule or two, you can count on my discretion.”
“Thanks, Eric,” Dad said. “We have the subject at our office right now. Gloria’s coming over to make him up before we take the stills and videos for the television station. You know, a word or two from you to the studio manager could help move this process along.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Eric said. “Just get me the photos and I’ll talk to Murphy over at KTLA.”
“Thanks, Eric,” Dad said. “When this is over we’ll help you any way we can in trying to identify the people who put out the contract on Fleming.”
“And this Smith character?” Eric said. “Could you find him again if you had to?”
“We won’t have to,” Dad said. “He’ll be dead in less than thirty hours. Someone will let you know where his body turns up.”
“Did thi
s Smith guy say anything about who might have poisoned him?” Eric said. “And come to think of it, how can you be sure he’s telling you the truth about all of this?”
“I can only tell you my impression of how the meeting went,” Dad said. “He seemed genuinely concerned about our client. I got the feeling he was telling us the truth, for whatever that’s worth. Otherwise, what would he have to gain by dragging me and Elliott into it?”
“I suppose so,” Eric said. “Of course you know that John Smith won’t be his real name.”
“Yes,” Dad said. “I figured that out right off the bat.” Something occurred to Dad and he paused momentarily to collect his thoughts.
“What is it, Clay?” Eric said.
“I was just thinking,” Dad said. “We have our client’s real name and he is apparently this Smith guy’s father, so Smith’s real name would have to be the same as our client.”
“And don’t you think you should tell me that name, Clay?” Eric said. “If we’re going to work on this mess together, it would help me if I knew who to look for.”
Dad leaned in toward Eric. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone, and I mean anyone here at the station. Not even your captain. Leaks can come from the most innocent of circumstances, so we have to keep this between you and me and Elliott and Gloria.”
“Agreed,” Eric said.
“Our client’s name is Fleming,” Dad said. “Harry Fleming.”
Eric made a note of it. “I’ll check records for Harry Fleming and see what his son’s name is,” Eric said. “I’ll meet you back at your office when I finish.”
Dad got up and left without further discussion. He came back to the office to find the door locked. “Elliott,” he said from behind the door. “It’s me. Open the door.”
I let Dad in and locked the door again. “We’re still waiting for Gloria,” I said. “How’d it go with Lieutenant Anderson?”
“He’s in,” Dad said. “He’s going to check the records for Fleming’s son’s name.”
“My son?” Fleming said. “What are you talking about?”
Dad and I looked at Fleming. His face was awash with fear. “We didn’t tell you earlier, Mr. Fleming,” Dad said, “but the guy who hired us to find you said you were his father. He didn’t give us his real name but inadvertently he told us who he is.”