“Shit,” she muttered, punched my arm, and climbed off. “Well, I guess that’s a wrap.”
I smacked her butt and rolled out from under her. “If it’s nothing, we could do a second take.”
“Maybe,” she said, and sat moping on the bed.
I went into the bathroom, peeled off the rubber, and tossed it into the toilet. I hit the flusher and watched it circle in its descent like a lamprey.
I was dressed and ready to go, when Darla said, “Why don’t I go with you?”
“No need to. I’ll check it out and be right back.”
Darla slid off the bed and pulled her skirt on. “I don’t feel like staying here by myself. I want to come with you. You mind?”
“No, why not?” I said reluctantly.
She arranged her breasts into the halter’s confines and smiled at me. “Besides, I can make the drive over more interesting.”
“I’ve no doubts about that.”
We almost didn’t make it to the office. Darla hiked her skirt up, braced her legs on the dashboard, and masturbated most of the way over, not even bothering to slow down at stoplights. I pulled into the lot and parked in the far corner.
“Stay in the car.”
“Why?”
“Because, if there is somebody in there, I don’t want to be worried about you. I’d rather take care of it myself.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“This is not negotiable. Stay in here until I get back. Keep the doors locked.”
“Okay. Why don’t you leave me the keys. If I’m not going in with you I don’t want to sit out here. I’ll go down to that 7-Eleven we passed, get some wine, think about that second take.”
I reached into the glove compartment and took out a pencil flashlight. If they knew about Melrose’s death, this would be a good place to start cleaning up after me. Take whatever files I had and leave me for the police. So far Hoss hadn’t called in. The only thing of value in the office would be the credit card report. I needed to retrieve that and give Hoss a safe location for the passenger lists.
There wasn’t any cover so I went straight to the front door. The overhead security light was out. Smashed, not removed. No subtlety here. A pane of glass was shattered but the lock was still set. Juveniles probably. But I had to check it anyway. I circled the building and saw that all of the back windows were intact. I returned to the front door, slipped my key into the lock, and released it.
I closed my left eye to habituate it to darkness before I went inside. After ten seconds I counted to three, took a deep breath, and slipped inside.
Kelly’s area was clear. I stepped to the side and peered into the waiting room. Holding the flashlight high and away, I snapped it on and off. Nothing.
I walked past Kelly’s desk and checked the lock on the records room. Untouched. The bathroom door was open but empty. That left our offices and the conference room.
I started with Larry’s. I unlocked the door and stepped back. Then I pushed the door open quickly and rolled the flash across the floor. No response. I stood up, reached around, and turned on his light.
I did the same with Del and Clancy’s office. The conference room door was ajar, but we hardly ever locked that. I stood to one side, reached around, and slammed the door back. No groans. A quick scan with the flash revealed nothing.
I tried my office. The door wasn’t locked. Shit. Stepping back, I visualized the layout. No real place to hide. If someone was there I’d know it fast. I pulled the Colt out, stepped back, and kicked the door open. Let’s hear a big round of silence for Mr. Careful. I turned on the light, walked into the office, and found nothing.
I took a deep breath, holstered my gun, and went around locking everything back up. I opened the records room and took the fax from the credit card company off the machine.
My beeper went off and I saw Hoss’s number materialize. I called him back. He’d had no problem getting the flight lists and was faxing them right over. I thanked him and waited to hear the machine start up.
When it started to hum I went to the records room, took the sheets off the tray, and studied them. There were three no-shows on the first flight, Darla Sorenson, Burton Melrose, and Alan Sirkis. I flipped to the second list. Tupperman, Melrose, and Sirkis.
I took the papers back to the desk, dialed information, and asked for Alan Sirkis’s number and address. I scribbled them down with one hand and dialed with the other.
Come on, baby, be there. It rang and rang and rang. Shit. I called Walt at home. “Walt, this is Leo. The name of the tech is Alan Sirkis.” I spelled it out and gave him the address.
“Try to get somebody out there to him ASAP. He’s the key.”
“Will do, Leo. Kearny’s got an investigator down there on another case. Some monster repo job. He’ll pull him as soon as we get a name and address, but he can’t sit on him for long.”
“Great. Gotta go, Walt,” I said and hung up.
A knock on the door startled me. Darla. I’d forgotten all about her. “Listen, I’ll be just a—” I said, looking up. Only it wasn’t Darla.
“You Haggerty?” he said, and followed a large pistol into the room.
“No. He’s on the run from the police. I’m one of his associates trying to clean up after him. He leave you high and dry too?”
The big son of a bitch chuckled. He looked to be in his mid-twenties. Bronzed, long blond hair, and thumbtack eyes. He moved awkwardly as if he couldn’t remember where all his muscles were. He had enough for that to be a problem.
“That’s good. Only I got a description of you before I came out here. You’re Haggerty.” He looked down at a piece of paper in his hand. “Anyway, I got a work order here for you.”
“A what?”
“A work order. It says I’m to deliver five thousand dollars’ worth of damage to you. You ready?” He grinned at me, obviously pleased with the look on my face.
“I don’t know who sent you but I’ve got a friend waiting outside for me. I don’t come out soon she’s gonna get real worried and call the cops. She knows I’m in here checking on a break-in.”
“I know. I saw her drive off. I figure I’ll be done with you by the time she comes back. I’ll pop her in here if she comes in or I’ll get her in the car. She gets the express treatment. You gotta beg first.”
“You broke in here. Didn’t you?”
“Yeah. I figure with everybody looking for you, my best bet was something like this. Something to lure you out into the open. Next I was gonna break into your house. If that didn’t work, I’d call Mr. Steinmetz, see how long he wanted me to look for you. The longer it took, more chance of the cops getting to you first. So I got lucky. Here we are.”
“Steinmetz sent you after me?” Boy, was he a poor sport.
I did a quick summary on the bruiser. Younger than me, probably quicker, but he didn’t move like it. Endurance? We’d find out in the first few minutes. I hoped to hell he wasn’t the world’s largest triathlete. Strength? Plenty of that. If I was lucky he was built for the mirror, not the plow. I didn’t know if he was a pro in the pain game, but he didn’t talk like a novice.
“Yeah, you shouldn’ta embarrassed him like that. He’s real sensitive.”
“How about if I just write him an apology, like Dear Mr. Steinmetz, I’m real sorry the truth hurts. About five hundred times?”
“I don’t think so. Time’s up, old man. You want to play, you got to pay. Take out the piece and kick it over to me.”
I did what he asked. He took my gun, popped the clip out, put that in his pocket, and tossed the gun on to the sofa. He holstered his and zipped up his wind-breaker. Then he closed and locked the office door.
With that he launched himself at me. I ducked his outstretched arms and pushed the desk at him. He swatted it aside and advanced, his fists balled. The first haymaker whistled by and shattered Sherman’s glass. I hit him in the kidneys and almost broke my wrist. A shaft of pain r
aced up my arm. He was wearing body armor.
He backhanded me high on the head. I saw stars and staggered away to clear my head. That never happened. He swept me up in a bear hug and tried to break my back. I wanted his eyes but couldn’t get to them. He’d buried his face on my chest. I tried to chop down on his neck. It was like hitting a trampoline. I was too high up to butt him or kick him. Another minute of this and my ribs were going right through my lungs. My head swam, my eyes bulged, my ears rang, and I was on fire inside.
I reached down, shoved my thumbs in his ears, folded my fingers in a fist around them, and tore them off his head.
I hit the ground and collapsed. He staggered around howling, blood running between his fingers. I got up and punted him in the nuts. He folded up like he had seams. I dropped his ears and then rammed his head into the wall. I grabbed his curly locks, swung him around, and pounded him from one end of the desk to the other like he was a hole punch. He toppled out of my grasp and collapsed on the floor. While blood poured out of his mouth and nose, he kept saying “My ears, my ears.”
I picked up his ears and put them on the desk. Then I kicked him again for good measure, rolled him over, and patted him down. In his wallet was a piece of paper with a phone number on it.
I sat down at the desk and, when I’d caught my breath, I dialed the number.
“Yes.” It was Steinmetz.
I held the phone down to where the bruiser moaned and sobbed.
“You hear that, Steinmetz, you gutless little fuck, that’s your messenger boy. He’s begging me to give him his ears back, but I don’t think I’m going to do that. I don’t want him to forget about what happened out here. You ever send anyone else after me, I’m coming out there and I’m gonna make you sound just like that. You understand me?”
“I understand. There won’t be anyone else. That boy is my nephew. Please give him back his ears.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, and hung up. Then I dialed Del.
“Del Winslow speaking.”
“Del, this is Leo. There’s a mess in the office. I want you to come and clean it up. He’s lying on the floor in my office. Take him straight to Fairfax Hospital’s E.R. Say you found him like that on the street. He won’t disagree. Make sure he takes his ears with him. They’re in his hands. You need to do this now. Okay?”
“I’m on the way. You do notice how I’m not asking any questions?”
I pressed the ears into one of blondie’s palms and told him to wait for someone to take him to the hospital. If he was lucky they’d still be fresh enough to reattach when he got there.
I went outside. Darla was pulling into the lot. When she stopped in front of me, I walked around to the driver’s side. She unlocked the door and slid over.
“Everything okay?”
I looked straight ahead and adjusted the mirrors.
“Yeah. Steinmetz sent a guy out here. He was supposed to kill us both. I’m sending him back. Whether his ears go with him is another matter.”
Darla groaned. “I’m so tired of this shit. I want my old life back. I used to have fun. When is this going to end?” She hugged herself and looked out, trying to find a better place in the darkness. “You know, when I was a little girl my mother would say that bad things happened because God’s back was turned. I think she had it all wrong. I think that’s when the good things happen.”
CHAPTER 30
I called Walt when I woke up and asked him to call the police and tell them I’d turn myself in at nine o’clock at his office. Then I took a leisurely shower. Every action had a bittersweet edge to it. This could be the last time I can pick out my clothes. The last time I can unlock the door to my room. I dressed and checked myself in the mirror. I looked fit. Everywhere but the eyes. Windows of the soul, eh? I leaned closer to peer into my blasted ruins. Even the looters were gone.
Darla came up and put a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Good as it gets. You want some breakfast?”
“Sure.”
I followed Darla out and lingered at the door. There might come a time when the word heaven would mean this room. I burned every detail I could into my memory. Prison life is soul-sapping repetition. The world outside of your head stripped to its invariant essentials. If your head is empty too, there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. You’re doing hard time with a lobotomy.
We stopped at a greasy spoon diner. There was a tabletop jukebox hanging on the wall. I flipped through the selections. Pablum. Where was Warren Zevon when you needed him?
The waitress took our orders and poured coffee. Darla was shredding her napkin.
“Relax, you’re home free. Walt’s an excellent attorney.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about me. I’m just thinking about you. What do you think is going to happen?”
“I don’t know. I’m a pretty pessimistic guy. I’ve even bet against the sunrise. Twice.” I chuckled without pleasure. “I’ve thought about everything I did in this case. I think I did everything right. Sometimes that doesn’t mean a thing. This may be one of those times. So, I think, yeah, I could be going away for a few years.”
Our meals arrived and I savored every bite. I was feeding my memory, not my stomach. Eggs over easy, hash browns, toast, steak. The same meal my father had before he shipped out. Almost four years in the Pacific and he came back. Maybe it brought him luck.
From there to Walt’s office was a blur. We sat in the car staring at our reflections. I checked the clock. Five of nine.
“You ready to go?” I asked.
“I guess so. How about you?”
I didn’t know about me. Once I got moving I’d be okay. I was always better in motion. I stopped to take a snapshot of Darla and found myself stroking her cheek.
“You think you could spare one last kiss?”
“I could do a lot more for you.”
“No. Any more than that and I’d never go through with this. I’ve got to take my chances.”
“Then take them with this.”
Darla slid into my lap and laminated me with herself. She took my face in her hands and kissed me, her tongue so deep in my mouth I felt vaccinated. I squeezed her in my arms and returned her ardor until I was spent.
Finally I whispered “Let’s go” into her hair.
I climbed out of the car and watched myself march into the building. We took the elevator up, stepped out, and I opened the door to Walt’s office.
The room was filled with people, and they surged forward to meet us. I saw the officers coming for me and slowly put my hands up. They spun me up against the wall, kicked my legs apart, and patted me down. Then they yanked my arms back and cuffed me. I was turned around and given the gospel according to Miranda.
Across the room I saw Walt talking to Darla. In one corner was the county attorney.
Next to him, with a microphone handy, was a local TV reporter, and facing them was a cameraman.
I was nodding away at all the new rights I’d acquired as an accused when Walt came up next to me.
“What’s going on, Walt?”
“I’ve filed motions to block extradition. I’m trying to convince Darla to tell her story in public, establish from the outset our allegations against the district attorney’s office. I don’t want to wait for either trial.”
“What’s the hurry?”
“Alan Sirkis fell down the elevator shaft in his building last night. That’s the hurry.”
If Darla was right, God sure had his eye on us.
“I’m going to stay here with Darla. If she agrees to tell her story, I want to make sure she gets everything out and doesn’t step wrong, then I’ll come down to the jail to see you.”
Before I could answer, each officer put a grip on my elbow and walked me to the door.
I looked back over my shoulder. Walt whispered into Darla’s ear, stepped back, and shrugged his shoulders. Darla was sitting on the sofa, looking into the camera lens. As the door closed behind me, I heard her say
“My name is Darla Jean Sorenson. I am a performer in sexually explicit films.”
I smiled. One less runner in the world.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to thank the following people for the gracious donation of their expertise. Any errors in the book are entirely my responsibility.
Bonnie Dyer-Jones; Sherry Mehalic; Sol Costabile; John Guggenmos, marketing director of Tracks; private investigator Harold W. Gossett of Rowan Associates; George W. Weston, M.D., cosmetic and reconstructive plastic surgeon; Officer Adam K. Schutz, M.P.D.C.; Rhoda K. Schutz; and especially the following people: Neil Ruther, Joe Condo, the legendary Nina Hartley, Jim “Only the Best” Holliday, and Joe Gores.
About the Author
Benjamin M. Schutz was an Edgar and Shamus Award–winning author, and was best known for his stories about PI Leo Haggerty. Based out of the Washington, DC, area, Schutz was also a practicing forensic and clinical psychologist, which influenced his writing a great deal. In his lifetime, he authored seven novels and a short story collection. Schutz passed away in 2008.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1994 by Benjamin M. Schutz
Cover design by Rebecca Lown
ISBN: 978-1-4976-3849-5
This 2016 edition published by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
www.mysteriouspress.com
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THE LEO HAGGERTY MYSTERIES
Mexico Is Forever Page 18