Fade Route (Burnside Mystery 2)

by Chill, David

  Taylor nodded. "That's just what I wanted to hear. I like doing business with motivated people. I'll tell you, the types we have to watch out for is people like Wayne Fairborn. He used to be a good businessman but ever since he entered politics, it was like dealing with another person. He considered selling to us last year, then backed out because he thought it would hurt him in the election."

  "He did seem to change his mind on development," I offered.

  "That guy was as two-faced as they come," Taylor sneered. "He told me that if we waited until he got into office, he'd sell me the lots and approve the project quickly. It would be business as usual. He just figured it would be easier to get elected by taking a stand against development. He knew he couldn't beat Callison any other way. Crazy election. Fairborn's practically a Tea Party Republican campaigning against development. And he was running against Callison, a Liberal Democrat who's been pro-growth. Only in California."

  "Nobody ever said politics made sense," I said. "So it wouldn't have affected you either way. No matter who got elected."

  Taylor shrugged. "We've worked with Callison before, so he's a known quantity. If Fairborn lost, Callison was ready to use eminent domain to take over those lots Fairborn owned. The business park will get built either way."

  "So," I joked, "you didn't need to go out and shoot Fairborn yourself."

  "Nah," he scoffed. "I mean, I was a little concerned when Fairborn got knocked off that there would be a delay in acquiring those three lots. But I'm not about to kill anyone over a business deal."

  "Makes sense," I said and brought up another subject. "Do you know anything about a DVD that was sent to Fairborn a few weeks ago?"

  A small smile formed on Taylor's lips. "Not a thing," he said. "At least nothing I can talk about."

  "You have a wonderful political posture," I noted. "You ought to run for office some time."

  "I'd rather pull the strings offstage," he said. "It's cleaner and safer. I like where I'm at."

  "Don't blame you," I said, glancing around the well appointed office.

  "So from what you told me, it looks like the wife is ready to deal."

  "Sure," I said, hoping he didn't give Crystal a call tonight for verification. "She has no political leanings on development. And who wants to hold onto commercial property that a buyer is willing to pay premium dollar for? It's not like there's sentimental value to a parcel of land that houses diesel engine parts."

  "How much does she want?"

  "Make us an offer."

  Taylor opened a desk drawer and pulled out a file. "Let's see," he said, scanning through some papers. "We offered Wayne four point two million last year. That's still a good price."

  "That was last year. Make it four point eight and I'll get her signature," I said, knowing virtually nothing about real estate except that you never accept a first offer.

  Taylor shrugged and played with a tiny calculator on his desk. "Maybe we can work that," he said and looked up. "Provided she agrees right away."

  "I can talk her into it," I said. "We'll need a formal offer, signed by all the principals. I believe your subsidiary company is called Carat & Carat?"

  Taylor peered at me. "You've done your homework," he remarked. "I like dealing with people who know what they're doing. You got it. One thing though."

  "What's that?"

  "This deal is strictly confidential. Nothing's discussed beyond the owners or the deal's off. Understand?"

  "Mister Taylor, I'm a real estate professional," I said, with some hurt pride. "You can count on me for discretion."

  "Okay," he said, nodding his head. "Stop by tomorrow afternoon and I'll have the offer sheet drawn up. Funny how the ball bounces sometimes. I thought this deal would take a while to get done. Shows you just never know."

  I smiled. "Ain't that the truth."

  *

  I left Taylor's office and headed for home. While navigating up Eleventh Street though, I noticed the car that followed me from Colorado was still right behind me. The bluish halogen headlights had stayed with me through four turns. It was too dark to get a description of the car, so at the next stop sign I waited until they caught up and made a normal left hand turn. From my side view mirror, I could see the car following me. It was a brown Firebird.

  I drove a few blocks, keeping my eyes on the rear view mirror as much as on the tree lined street in front of me. There was a near full moon out, so I waited until I reached a street where there were a few broken street lamps. Pulling over to the side of the road I stopped the Pathfinder parallel to the sidewalk and with no cars in front of me. The Firebird cruised past me and parked about twenty yards ahead of my truck. I turned off the headlights, but kept the engine running. Stepping out of the truck for a moment, I waited until the lights went out on the Firebird and the motor had been cut.

  There was only one person sitting in the Firebird but it was too dark to make anyone out. If I moved towards their car, they might make a hasty exit. Instead, I pretended I had forgotten something and walked slowly back to the Pathfinder. Opening the door, I quickly moved inside, shifted the transmission and roared down the block. As I reached the Firebird, I screeched my truck to a stop directly adjacent to the Firebird, giving them little more than a couple of inches of room. The driver was stuck, and the wild look in his eye told me he didn't like that one bit.

  The car effectively immobilized, the driver rolled out of the passenger door exit and rumbled around the corner. I followed casually in the Pathfinder for two blocks until he made a right turn down a one way street, that would have put me going straight into traffic. I pulled the truck to the side of the road and began to pursue on foot. I was half a block behind but unless he was in good condition, I knew I would eventually wear him down.

  I maintained my pace about fifty yards behind, watching the figure lunge ahead, his lanky frame bouncing slightly up and down. I took my strides deliberately, trying to cut the distance between us and keeping him in view. My breathing was deep and rhythmic and I enjoyed the feeling of strength in my legs and chest. I hadn't been running since my jog through Palisades Park a few mornings ago and I was feeling good. After three blocks, I had cut the distance between us to twenty yards. He made another right turn and was obviously heading back to his car. I kicked up my pace another notch and opened my throttle into a dead sprint.

  As he was about to turn the final corner towards his car, I tackled him from behind and we rolled over into the street. As we did, he managed to get an arm loose and elbowed me in the face. It caught me in the meaty area just under the cheek and I saw stars for a moment before regaining my vision. In that moment, he squirmed out of my grasp and tore down the street again. Angry at letting him get away, I scrambled to my feet and took off after him. He was only ten yards ahead of me, but it was far enough for him to open the passenger door of his Firebird and dive in. I reached the car a few seconds later and was about to drag him out when I stopped dead in my tracks.

  Mel Fenster looked up at me, his chest heaving up and down. In his hands was a Beretta nine millimeter handgun. It was pointed straight at my chest.

  Chapter 19

  In one of his James Bond books, Ian Fleming made an attempt at a Japanese haiku. He wrote that you only live twice: once when you are born and once when you look death in the face. It was hardly the first time I had had a gun pointed at me, but the intensity of feeling is always the same.

  Mel got out of his car, holding the gun like an amateur, too tightly and too far away from his body. He quivered slightly and the gun wavered, though not enough to move the barrel away from the center of my torso. I raised my hands to the level of my head, which would make it easier in the event I chose to make a move for the gun. It's far easier to lower your hands than it is to raise them, but hopefully it wouldn't come to that. We stared at each other wordlessly for a long minute before I finally spoke.

  "That's a nasty looking weapon," I said slowly. "You could do some real damage with that."


  "You bet your ass I could," he said. "I could blow you off the face of this planet!"

  "Yes," I said. "The operative question however, is why you would want to."

  He licked his lips. "I've been waiting for you to make your move."

  "I've made lots of moves. Which one is going to affect you?"

  "You prick," he sneered. "I know what you've been up to. You've been biding your time waiting to make a play for Nina. And when you do, you're going to get a taste of this!"

  "Ah," I said, beginning to see some motivation. "You think I've got it for Nina and because she's rejected you, you're going to get even with whoever wants a go at her."

  "Uh-huh."

  "And that's why you tried to run me down the other day. Because you think I'm having a thing with Nina. Even though you've never caught me with her, and I've never admitted an interest in that direction."

  "C'mon, damn it. She wants you. And you know she's hot."

  "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want her. You've got a lot to learn about what I want. It certainly isn't for a twenty-four year old who thinks life is a candy land with no limits. She's gorgeous on the outside and if I was your age, maybe that's all that would count. But I'm forty years old and I don't look at life quite the same way at this point."

  I noticed his eyes moisten. "You told Nina I was in love with her! What kind of an asshole are you? I didn't want her to know that. Women treat you like shit when they know you like them!"

  Logic like that was difficult to argue with. "I didn't tell her you were in love with her. I told her you said the two of you were going out."

  "Well, she took it to mean something else," he said, his voice choking with emotion. "And she ended it with me. And then... then you had to slap me around in front of her. Man, I can never face her again!"

  "You knocked her down," I reminded him. "You're twice her size. Anyone would have stood up for her."

  "Man, I can't face her again," he repeated, whining. "Or any of those people." He sniffed back a tear and the gun trembled again. It was time to make my move.

  In one motion I threw my hands down onto his wrist with enough force to push the muzzle away from my direction. I shoved the handle into his groin area and as he winced, I jerked it upwards and straight out of his hands. Taking a step back, I pointed it at him and ordered him to move away from the car.

  "Hands on top of your head," I barked. When he didn't perform this task as rapidly as I'd have liked, I took a step forward and kicked his left ankle with my right foot. He let out a yelp and a pained expression formed on his face. Combined with the long hair and dark complexion, he began to resemble an Apache Indian more than a Bay City businessman.

  "Okay, let's start by telling me why you've been following me. If you thought I was playing around with Nina, why didn't you just confront me?"

  "I wanted to catch you two in the act," he sobbed. "Then I'd take care of you both at the same time. I know you were over at her place the other night. I watched the whole thing through the window with my binoculars. You're lucky you didn't touch her or I would have been in there like a flash."

  "Well you don't have to worry about that anymore because it's not going to happen. Nina and I don't have a thing in common. Never had, probably never will. But why try to run me down?"

  He shrugged. "I was angry. You broke us up. First I wanted to just kill your ass right off. Then I figured I'd just wait and catch you with Nina. Then I'd nail you both in the act."

  "Uh-huh," I said, not sure of whether to believe him, but I've found men tend not to lie when they have tears streaming down their faces. "What about Wayne Fairborn? You knew he was getting it on with Nina, didn't you?"

  Mel shook his head. "Not until after he was dead. I thought Wayne was just getting it on with Amy. I mean, I knew they had split up and Amy was really teed off about it, but I hadn't known he was after Nina. I'd of been the one who plugged him if I knew."

  "What do you know about Amy?" I asked, watching him closely.

  "She's a nut," he said. "And a whore. I mean, she was pretty psyched about getting Wayne. She had it bad for him and it didn't matter if he was married. I asked her out once. I think the only reason she agreed was to get even with Wayne. Rub his nose in it or something. We went to some campaign fundraiser together and Amy got really wasted on tequila. Thought it would be great fun to scare Wayne's wife on her way home. Damn near killed her. Said I should be glad, because with Crystal out of the way she could have Wayne and I could have Nina. I didn't know what she meant at the time, other than she's got a few screws loose upstairs."

  I gaped at him. "Does Amy have an SUV by chance?"

  "Yeah," he said. "Dark blue Expedition. How'd you know?"

  *

  I ordered Mel back into his car and directed him to drive off. I waited until the glowing red tail lights of the Firebird disappeared before walking back to my truck. My final warning to Mel was that while I had no interest in Nina, if I ever caught him following either of us I'd make sure he'd get some jail time. I also reminded him of what he once said. Nina wasn't the only fish in the sea.

  There is nothing as awkward as walking around town holding a loaded Beretta. Explaining how I got it to one of Bay City's finest would have been difficult to say the least. I surreptitiously emptied the weapon and tossed the gun into the nearest garbage can, and the ammo into one on the next block.

  It took many hours, plus a number of bottles of Blue Moon ale, before I drifted off to sleep that night. I dreamed that I was back in my LAPD uniform but the setting was in the midst of a jungle battle. There was lots of shooting and screaming and explosions, but the scariest part was that I didn't know which side I was on. Anarchy reigned supreme.

  I woke with a start at a few minutes before six, when the loud rattling of a garbage can thankfully ended my slumber. I glanced out the window at a homeless woman picking through various cans and bottles scattered throughout the bin. Had I been involved in a more sensuous dream I might have been annoyed, but this was a nightmare that could not have ended quickly enough.

  My stomach was growling from lack of nourishment, so I wolfed down some Oreos and a cup of coffee. I normally took better care of myself, particularly in my eating habits, but my life seemed to be in total disarray. I hadn't seen my girlfriend in over a month, I had spent a night in jail, I had gotten into way too many physical alterations and now I was ensnared in the murder case from hell. If things got much worse, my meals might consist of fried pork rinds and glasses of Two Buck Chuck.

  Liebross Motors was located along Venice Boulevard, about a mile east of the San Diego Freeway. The dealership was situated on a large lot, ringed by a high black fence with barbed wire wrapped around the tops of the poles. I took a stroll around the block and found what I came looking for. A dark blue Ford Expedition was parked innocently on the street. Looking into the front seat, I saw some women's magazines strewn about, a compact mirror and a few stray containers of lipstick. Bending over to examine the passenger door, I noticed the paint job was uneven and the metal was scratched. Taking out a key, I scraped off some of the top coat of paint and saw traces of white paint. Bingo.

  I entered the carpeted showroom and looked around. Amy wasn't there so I looked at the half dozen slick new models positioned strategically in the showroom. The Monroney sticker on the window of a Mustang convertible revealed it cost far more money than I had ever paid for a vehicle. According to the ambitious young salesman that approached me though, lack of money was no object.

  "Nobody pays cash anymore!" the kid said. He looked all of twenty-three, and had a gold Rolex watch wrapped around one wrist. "Who can afford to? Everybody I sell to has a monthly plan. We've got the best interest rates in town and we offer one hundred percent financing. That means you don't have to spend a penny of your own money on the down payment."

  "That's mighty trusting of you. How do you know I can pay it all off?"

  "Listen," he said, "you cut a few corners here and there, you find
a way. I can stick you in this baby for a little over seven hundred a month. You make that much?"

  I nodded, more amused, than wary. There are some months when an extra seven hundred bucks seem like a fortune.

  "Okay, we set you up in a six year open ended lease, doesn't cost you a penny. And this baby has a Bluetooth, a moon roof and it's all leather. It's loaded!"

  "Amazing," I admitted.

  "So," he said, taking a breath. "What can I do to sell you this vehicle today?"

  "Probably not much," I replied. "Actually I'm here to see Amy Flanders."

  "Meh, forget her," he sneered. "I can give you a much better deal, plus I know cars. You'd be doing yourself a favor by doing business with me."

  "Sorry," I said. "I bet you'd be steamed if she tried this with one of your customers."

  "Bet your ass," he said, walking away. "This is survival, dude. Only the strong make it around here."

  Or the sleazy. I found Amy Flanders talking with an elderly couple on the lot, discussing the merits of a black Ford Taurus. Having spent the past five years with a black Pathfinder, I had my own opinion about black vehicles. When clean, they're the sharpest things around, but preserving that gleaming finish was next to impossible. And in hot weather, they're as comfortable to sit in as a toaster oven. Amy, however, told them this was the best Taurus on the lot and someone else was coming by that afternoon with a certified check to purchase it. If the couple decided right then and there, she'd be happy to hide it away and save it for them. To their credit, the couple decided to defer purchase. Amy shrugged and handed them a business card. Maybe the other buyers would fail to show up, she said. One never knows.

  "Business booming?" I asked as she walked over to me.

  "Oh, it's you," she said with a dour voice. "No, actually it's been a slow week. The only way to get sales sometimes is to lead these people by the hand. They don't know what the hell they want."

  "Spending this kind of money can be a scary proposition for some people," I pointed out.

  Amy shrugged and lit a cigarette. "Scary? So's getting up in the morning. You interested in buying something?"