Come Morning - Joe Gores

by Gores

The door burst open and Runyan stormed in past Gatian's protesting secretary. His shirt was open halfway to his navel; there was a twitch to his hips and a lisp in his voice.

  "Gatian sold me the ring for five thousand dollars last week," he exclaimed, "but my friend says it isn't worth a penny over three thousand, and I'm not going to be taken advantage of just because Gatian and I had a moment together. . ."

  Delarty took his hand unobtrusively out from under his jacket. The flustered Gatian caught the movement. "Ah, Brenna, I'll ... ah ... take care of ... um. . ."

  He herded the distraught secretary out of the room as Runyan plunked himself down in the big impressive padded executive's swivel chair. He grabbed the edge of the big impressive executive's desk and spun himself around and around in the swivel chair as a kid might have done. He stopped himself by slamming a flattened palm down on the newspaper headline.

  "You've got a problem, Gatian. Tenconi was a shit and Delarty here is a shit. But he steps into Tenconi's percentage so you two are partners." He gave an amused laugh. "Bambi and Godzilla." He tipped back in the swivel chair, and said to Delarty, "Your problem is stupidity. I'd like you for the hit on your partner, except that you aren't really smart enough to come up with that peephole idea ..."

  Blood suffused Delarty's already slightly choleric face. He took two steps forward and threw a roundhouse right at Runyan's jaw. Runyan snapped up a cocked leg so the fist thudded into the sole of his shoe. Delarty did a little dance about, nursing his skinned knuckles and breathing through his nose.

  Runyan laughed. "You are smart enough," he said to Gatian, "but no guts." He came out from behind the desk. He looked from one to the other. "Which perhaps leaves Bambi and Godzilla together again, ridding the world of poor old Tenconi--and his claim to a percentage of the take."

  "You could have worked it," said Delarty stubbornly.

  "Sure I could have. But ... kill me before I can recover the stones, you get nothing." He laughed aloud again. "Leave me alone, maybe you get dead."

  Gatian, still nervous, began, "I'm sure we can work-"

  "Or maybe it was Cardwell," suggested Runyan. "Maybe something snapped inside his head and he went after Tenconi." He grasped the doorknob and turned it, not quite pulling the door open. "Or maybe it was one of you, working independently, not telling the other how you were going to do in old Tenconi. I'd keep an eye on each other if I were you."

  Then he opened the door and slipped through, closing it firmly behind him. Delarty glanced almost accusingly across the room at Gatian--and was startled to meet an equally hostile glare from him.

  ***

  From Gatian's, Runyan went to the nearest medical office in the phone book and waited until a doctor could see him. He explained that he was involved in a complicated business deal that he found impossible to put out of his mind, so he was having difficulty getting to sleep at night. The doctor gave him a prescription.

  Forcing himself to consider only the necessity Louise's phone call seemed to dictate, he had the prescription filled at the drugstore on the corner. Then he went in search of Louise, feeling guilty but more secure.

  CHAPTER 20

  The day was an education for Louise. She was seeing a new Runyan, perhaps Runyan as he had been before the destructive years in San Quentin. He was funny and loose and a little reckless, turning up at the hotel and kissing her in the lobby where she'd been waiting for his arrival. "Let's go spend some money," he said.

  They spent it in a mountaineering shop, renting or buying boots, jackets, a two-man tent, a Coleman pressure lantern and fold-up stove, Gold Line rope, pitons, chocks, and a pair of odd-looking clamplike things which he called Jumar ascenders. Louise reached for her credit card, but Runyan said he had money from his brother.

  She turned away, looking almost embarrassed, as the clerk tallied up the charges. He was a husky kid wearing a T-shirt which showed the tracks of climbing boots on his chest, one foot going each way, with the legend underneath, JUST A LITTLE BIT CRAZY.

  "Where are you climbing?" he asked.

  "It's great this time of year." Louise returned to stand close with an arm around Runyan as he counted out the money. "Which climbs are you doing?"

  "I thought we'd warm up on Monday Morning Slab, then try the Royal Arches," said Runyan.

  "Which ascent?"

  Runyan grinned. "The easiest one."

  As they piled the back seat of Louise's car high with their gear, she kept looking for Moyers. And kept not seeing him. She finally mentioned it to Runyan.

  "He's got other things to do."

  "How does he know we won't ditch him again?"

  "He knows where you're staying, and Sharples dated my permission letter to go camping in the Sierra for tomorrow instead of today. What does that tell you?"

  "Nothing," said Louise promptly.

  "That Moyers told him to postdate it. Because Moyers knows we aren't just going to go camping-"

  "I don't know that," said Louise suspiciously.

  "Well, we aren't. So Moyers will make sure we don't ditch him at the vital moment."

  "That doesn't bother you?"

  "I wouldn't have it any other way."

  He must have been an excellent thief, she thought scrutinizing this new Runyan. His mind was always moving, leaping ahead, figuring angles, foreseeing contingencies. Except he hadn't foreseen the unexpected arrival of a guard.

  "Well, are you going to tell me about it?"

  "Why spoil your fun?" he said, and wouldn't say another word on the subject.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon at the Department of Motor Vehicles on Fell Street. Runyan read the booklet, took the written test--00 out of 100--and then the driving test. He was issued his temporary license.

  They were back to her hotel by ten o'clock. The sodium lights of the underground garage gave the cold concrete a golden, almost sensuous glow by which they embraced and kissed until both were slightly dizzy. They went off to the elevators with their arms around one another, so relaxed that their steps were unsteady as a drunk's.

  "We'll be making an early start in the morning," he warned.

  "And an even earlier start tonight."

  "We're going to get something straight between us?"

  Her muted, silvery laughter followed them through the doorway marked ELEVATOR TO MOTEL.

  After nearly a minute, a car door slammed, and casual footsteps echoed hollowly in the empty garage. Moyers strolled past the backs of parked cars until he reached Louise's. His hand brought the little black cigarette-pack-size box out of his pocket; he bent quickly and reached in under the rear bumper. There was a muted clank as the magnet on the side of the box grabbed the metal of the bumper behind the rubber sheath.

  He strolled back to his car and pulled out of the garage. He was pretty sure they weren't going to try any tricks like taking off at one minute after midnight, because Runyan would think his change of address had taken care of Moyers's ability to find him again. But just in case, another night in the car. He was used to all-night stakeouts from years of practice. Runyan might be a hell of a thief; but he was pitiful going up against a professional like Moyers, whose job it was to keep tabs on people who didn't want tabs kept on them.

  ***

  The low steady beeping noise which had lulled him to sleep turned to a steady electronic whine. Moyers sat up straight and checked his watch. Nine a.m. An intermittent beep meant the car was motionless; the whine indicated the car had started moving.

  There was a square black radio receiver/viewing screen attached to his dashboard. Its glowing red sighting bar was steady. The Toyota appeared, Runyan behind the wheel, and Louise beside him. Probably got a driver's license the day before, along with all of that camping equipment. He wouldn't take a chance on a parole violation by driving without one.

  Moyers stayed where he was until the Toyota was lost in the traffic ahead; then he pulled out, secure in the knowledge that the transmitter would guide him.

  ***
>
  Runyan drove west through the Avenues on Geary Boulevard, toward the Cliff House and Ocean Beach. They swung down past the crumbling fake rock face of Sutro Heights in the grey chill morning fog, then followed the Great Highway south. The Pacific boomed off to their right, occasionally visible over the sea wall and between the shifting pale sand dunes. Louise had the heater on and Runyan had to use the windshield wipers.

  "It ought to burn off about eleven," said Runyan.

  He pulled off parallel to the storm fence that helped hold the dunes back from the highway. Wind-whipped sand stung Louise's face and gritted between her teeth as he led her up to a point above the sea. In the surf far below, the blackened ribs of a wrecked sailing ship formed an oval just visible a foot or two above the sand.

  "I read about this in Q," Runyan called to her above the moan of the wind. "An old British sailing ship from the mideighteen-hundreds. Beached herself here and just rotted away."

  "Couldn't they salvage it?" she yelled.

  "Not in those days. And I guess the storms covered her with sand so everybody forgot about her until last year, when the storms finally uncovered her again."

  The wreckage seemed to have some special meaning for him, but Louise, her teeth almost chattering until the heater took over again, was glad when they returned to the car.

  "Will they salvage it now?" she asked.

  "Naw. A year or two, the storms'll cover her up again, and they'll forget about her for another hundred years or so." He looked over at her. "I always wanted to go diving in the lagoon at Truk atoll in the Pacific. A whole fleet went down there in World War Two. It would be something to see."

  He felt her eyes on him, turned and caught her questing gaze. He shrugged, almost sheepishly.

  "One of the great moments of my life, I must have been ten or so, was when I realized I didn't have to be a judge like my father, and didn't have to live in Portland my whole life." He paused, shrugged again. "From as far back as I can remember, all I wanted was to be free--away, on my own ... But. .."

  "But 'they' wouldn't let you?"

  "I wouldn't let me. I always fucked it up."

  "Yeah," said Louise, thinking of her own life, "tell me about it."

  They both laughed.

  The highway left the sea and joined Skyline Boulevard by Lake Merced. Patches of anemic blue were starting to show through the fog: joggers huffed and puffed along the running paths around the lake. At Daly City, Highway One swept down to Pacifica and the sea once again. Oddly, the tickytacky houses faced each other rather than the ocean, as if the remarkable view had been too much for the developers to take.

  "Did you come this way the night ... that night?"

  Runyan laughed. "I know somebody else asking that question about now."

  Louise looked involuntarily around, but there was no way to tell whether a car was following them in the freeway traffic.

  Runyan stopped at Shelter Cove for a bucket of the Colonel's best, with rolls and fries and slaw and cokes. A few miles further on, he pulled over into one of the numerous view areas which flanked the highway.

  "A picnic?" she asked in disbelief.

  "Man does not live by diamonds alone."

  "You're just having yourself a hell of a time, aren't you?"

  "I'm trying," he said with great delight.

  The sun was strong now, the fog gone; suddenly a picnic on the beach seemed a good idea. They started down a steep earth path through the greasewood and manzanita toward the sheltered triangle of sand far below.

  ***

  Excitement tugged at Moyers as he eased into an unpaved pull-off with a good view of the rugged coastline ahead. He dictated into his recorder, "Subject vehicle has stopped at eleven-fifty-one a.m. at a view area on Highway One approximately five miles south of Rockaway Beach."

  He got out, binoculars in hand. Runyan could have come this far south that night, and still gotten back up to Marin in time to go off the freeway and eventually into San Quentin. But he couldn't be so goddamn gone on the woman that he was just going to take her right to the place where the diamonds were stashed, could he?

  At the row of boulders left over when the road had been scraped out of the face of the cliffs, he used the powerful glasses. The Toyota was empty in the view area a quarter of a mile ahead. He scanned down toward the beach below. So suddenly that it startled him, two tiny dots of scrambling color sprang full-size to life as Runyan and Louise, just going in a rush together, hand-in-hand, down the final steep bit of trail to the soft sand of the cove's beach. He could even read the familiar red Kentucky Fried Chicken logo on their big white paper bag.

  That explained the stop at Shelter Cove--a goddamned picnic! And him without a damned thing in the car to eat. He raised the glasses again. They were spreading out their food in the shelter of a big driftwood log. Runyan was clever, he had to give him that. If the diamonds had been hidden here, this was a recon--which Louise would think was just a picnic.

  Refresh his memory in broad daylight, then come back here at night to get the diamonds. Yeah. Damned clever.

  But not as clever as the man who had fastened the bug to the inside of his back bumper. Moyers permitted himself a self-satisfied stretch, then raised the glasses for another look.

  CHAPTER 21

  Louise rummaged with greasy fingers in the bucket for the final piece. She took a big crunching bite and gestured with the maimed thigh as she chewed. "No diamonds stashed here?" Runyan's gaze followed her gesture around the little cove. Gulls wheeled and keened overhead. Down at the surfline, sandpipers dressed like tuxedoed dandies chased a receding breaker back toward the ocean on spindly legs.

  "Maybe no diamonds stashed anywhere."

  "Why don't I believe you?"

  "Why doesn't anyone believe me?"

  His tone made the movement of her jaws slow for a moment as she weighed whether he was serious or not. Then she laughed and stood up and brushed the front of her jeans. "You'd be in a mess if there really weren't any diamonds." Runyan stood up also, doing a lousy W. C. Fields imitation.

  "That I would, m'dear," he said, "that I would indeed." They stuffed all the junk into the Colonel's bucket and started back toward the path, their shoes sinking deep into the soft pale sand at each step. There was a momentary flash of light, not repeated, from the bluff a quarter of a mile back.

  "Why are you grinning, monkey?" Louise demanded.

  "What is it that guy says on television? 'I love it when a plan comes together'?"

  Going up the steep narrow winding path was easier on the knees than coming down, but it took Louise's breath away almost instantly. "That doesn't have to be Moyers up on the bluff with a pair of binoculars."

  "It doesn't make sense any other way. He had Sharples date my permission to leave for today instead of yesterday so he would have time to put a bug on your car." Louise noted enviously that he wasn't even breathing hard. "I hope he had time to put a bug on your car. Otherwise we're in big trouble."

  ***

  When Moyers's headlights swept across the sign which read ENTERING YOSEMITE NATIONAL PARK, the gate was untended. He swung down a long curve flanked by tumbled grey granite, and was on the valley floor. Even with the windows closed he could hear the clatter of fast brown water over the rocks of a nearby riverbed.

  Runyan had driven up over the coast range at Half Moon Bay, had crossed the Bay on California 92, then had used the Interstates to Manteca to pick up California 120 directly here. Obviously going to camp in the park for a day or two, making it look good. Probably also trying to make sure nobody was on his tail. Moyers chuckled silently to himself. The homing device on the dash emitted its thin unvarying whine.

  Still early enough to call Vegas when he got in. And to get some supper. God, he was starving, he was glad he'd had his office make reservations ahead. He'd spent a Labor Day weekend at the Ahwanee Lodge with his then-wife almost 15 years ago; alone was better, he wouldn't have to keep faking awed reactions to the mountains. A mou
ntain was just rocks piled up too high, and never would be anything else to him.

  Camp Four was called the Zoo, because the serious rock climbers stayed there. Louise had never camped out in her life, but Runyan set up their two-man tent and made supper on the one-burner Coleman stove with admirable efficiency. Bacon, onion, and garlic sauteed in a saucepan, two cans of baked beans and half a bottle of syrup dumped in for the last few minutes. They ate it all.

  The two climbers at the next numbered pad had started a fire, so Runyan got out the bottle of red wine they'd bought. He stepped to the edge of their fire and raised the freshlyopened bottle by the neck interrogatively, totally at his ease here, with none of the tensions and quick suspicions she had come to think of as part of his basic nature.

  "Hey, great, man!" exclaimed one of them.

  It was cold enough that all four were wrapped in their heavy down jackets. Runyan took a slug of wine and handed the bottle to Louise. She drank and passed it on to the one who'd spoken to them. He was a man in his early twenties who talked incessantly and smoked relentlessly. His name was Steve.

  His partner was in his mid-thirties, with piercing eyes and thin floppy black hair and a pair of newish jeans and positively filthy tennis shoes. He wordlessly saluted Runyan with the bottle and drank deeply.

  "He's Italian," said Steve. "Wherever there's a mountain he speaks the language. Except English." Steve held out thumb and forefinger a scant quarter-inch apart. "I speak a little Spanish so we don't have any problems."

  "Giovanni," said the Italian suddenly.

  Runyan leaned forward. He pointed to his chest. "Soy Runyan." He indicated Louise. "Esta es mi mujer Luisa."

  "Ah. Luisa." Giovanni grinned and leaned forward gallantly to kiss Louise's hand. Then he shook enthusiastically with Runyan.

  Louise said to Runyan, "Where did you learn Spanish?"

  "We had a lot of Latinos in the joint."

  There were so many facets to Runyan that she didn't know about. The thought almost numbingly and suddenly struck her: I am in love with this man. Screw everything else, I'm in love with him.