Conspiracy of Fire
Page 31
“I thought you were dead. I thought—”
Buchanan frowned. “Would you stop your yap sweet-‐cakes? And quit pointing that goddamn commie-‐cannon at me would you?” Buchanan turned, and unleashed a furious burst of gunfire over the bridge gantry towards the deck below. Then he looked back and said, “If you want to keep breathing we best go now.”
53
Los Angeles, California Driving along Santa Monica Boulevard towards Beverly Hills, Reed Goodman came to a halt and began to tap his fingers on the steering wheel. Traffic was bad today, even by the log-‐jammed standards of Los Angeles. In the distance he could see the 405 Freeway bridge stretching high across the boulevard. Horns blared, engines revved and a smog of frustration filtered in from every
gridlocked side street and slip road in a twenty-‐ block radius.
“Are we nearly there yet daddy?” Carly was riding high in the passenger seat. She probably shouldn’t have been, but Reed figured She was a big girl now, so what harm could it do?”
Reed twisted his lips thoughtfully. “That all depends sweetheart.”
Carly furrowed her brow. “On what? Why can’t we go to the beach?”
“Well, the President of the United States is in town to meet up with his friends, so we are all going to have to be patient, for a little while at least.”
“The President has friends?”
“Sure he does sweetheart, they all get to hang out at his little clubhouse and talk about dull stuff like the economy.”
“Why can’t he do all that boring stuff in Washington?”
Reed turned to Carly and said, “Is there something wrong with your iPad?”
“The batteries are down,” said Carly. She
looked back at Reed, her amber eyes melting into
him, “You should have taken Olympic. Olympic
would have been much quicker.”
“No doubt. If you reach into the glove box I
have a spare charger in there,” Reed said. He gave
her a reassuring smile and looked into her big eyes,
Christ, she looked just like her mother.
Carly pouted, “If we had headed down the
beach we wouldn’t be sitting here would we?” Reed nodded in slow agreement, all the
while keeping a look out at the motionless vehicles
that hemmed them in. “I guess you are right, but we
have to pick up your mom, her car is in the shop,
remember?” Julia had rear-‐ended her SL550 into
the back of Sparkletts water truck five days earlier.
The Mercedes still wasn’t fixed, which meant Reed
had extra chauffeur duties to add to his ever-‐
burgeoning schedule of house husbandry. “Julia isn’t my mom.”
“Be nice Carly, let’s make pretend, like we
talked about remember?”
“But she told me she wasn’t my mom,”
pouted Carly. “She said she didn’t want to be.” Reed had heard this one before. Carly was
pushing buttons. She liked to do that when things
weren’t going her way. Instead of getting mad, Reed
considered this revelation for some moments then
said, “What she probably meant by that darling is
that no one will ever be able to replace you real
mom. But Julia is our special friend right? And
while she might not be your birth mom, she tries
super hard to be your friend doesn’t she?” Carly didn’t acknowledge. She rummaged
around in the glove box looking for the iPad
charger. When at last she found it, she discovered to her delight that it was tangled around a half open packet of Life Savers rainbow candy. Pretty soon, her fingers were sticky and her checks bulging, as she chomped on her freshly discovered booty. Reed watched her as she plugged in the iPad charger. Her sticky little fingers were leaving prints everywhere. God only knew what kind of miracle liquid he would need to clean up a mess like that. Finally, she sensed him looking at her and she threw him a gooey pink smile.
“You do know that hard candy will turn your teeth black, don’t you?”
Carly shrugged and said, “Let’s listen to some music.”
Reed gave her a tight look, Carly’s ideas about music, differed widely from his. She liked to jump around to that cheesy teen beat electro music, where all the songs blended into each other and all the singers—if you could call them that—had the same whining little helium voices, so emasculated you could hardly tell if they were male or female.
Too-‐late—Carly’s sticky little fingers were already crawling all over the front of the sound system. Reed cringed. He opened up the armrest and offered Carly a handful of wet wipes. “Hey, would you clean your hands off before you filthy up anything more?”
Carly rolled her eyes and snatched up the tissues. She made a big pantomime of cleaning off her hands and face, whilst Reed readjusted the sound system with a cautious finger—the buttons were sticky to the touch. Suddenly, the sound of KNX1070 News filled the cab.
“Borrrring!” trilled Carly.
“Give me a break would you honey? If we
listen to the news for five minutes we might get
some kind of idea on what’s happening with the
traffic situation.”
Carly pulled a face and made a razzing
noise.
Reed turned up the volume. The radio
pundit had a baritone rumble that made everything
he said sound like a movie trailer. Reed figured the
dude must inhale a steady diet of scotch and cigars
to get a voice as rough-‐edged as that.
The guy with the cigars voice was talking
world news—more trouble in the Middle East and
trade deficit figures with China that sounded like
they would never come good. Reed’s heart sank.
Why was the world always in such a damn mess?
With all the smart minds and money and
technology, why were things sinking lower every
single day? It just didn’t make sense.
Carly had her face at the window now,
probably pulling a face at the poor guy in the next
car. Reed chose to ignore her. Very slowly the car in
front inched forward, then stopped abruptly,
gaining so little ground it was hardly worth closing
the gap. Reed let the SUV roll forwards anyway. If
you left any kind of gap in this city some ass-‐hat in
a semi-‐rig would try to roll into it, then park up for
the duration.
The radio blared adverts—snake-‐oil
medicines, insurance and junk food—the sort of
useless crap no one would choose to buy without
the constant drip, drip of the ad agency call to arms.
Finally, the dude with the baritone voice was back
and he sounded more than usually full o
f himself—
We have traffic chaos in West Los Angeles today
listeners, from LAX to Western Avenue, from the 105 to Mulholland Drive, traffic is at a standstill. The reason, the G20 summit of world leaders is having a get together right here in the City of Angels. Reed groaned, listening as the announcer detailed the reason for the snafu, apparently the arrival of so many important heads of state required road closures across a wide area, causing the already heavily clogged roads to become gridlocked with traffic that had been diverted away from the affected area. There is an extra heavy volume of traffic along Santa Monica Boulevard, Wilshire Boulevard, and on Lincoln in the Marina Del Rey area. Continued the announcer. The world leaders will meet for lunch at the Jonathan Club in Santa Monica, before moving on to Beverly Hills later this evening.
“Aw, goody, the President is going to the beach!” said Carly, as she bounced in her seat. “Maybe we will see him daddy. Do you think he will bring his surfboard?”
“I am not sure that the President is the surfing type honey. Besides, with traffic the way it is, we will be lucky if we get over to pick Julia up, let alone drive back to the beach. Wouldn’t you rather get some ice-‐cream and see a movie?”
“They only show babies movies during the holidays daddy. Besides, I can’t eat ice cream, it’s fattening. Didn’t you know that?”
“Who told you that?”
“Julia,” said Carly, with a happy smile. Reed Goodman nodded slowly, his fingers
tightening on the steering wheel, “I think what Julia meant to say was that if you eat too much, too often
it might not be too good for you, but a little bit once in a while isn’t going to do any harm, right?”
Carly scrunched her face up and gave Reed a doubtful look. “I don’t want to eat things that aren’t good for me, I might get sick and die, like my real mommy.”
Reed frowned, “Did Julia tell you that honey?”
Carly shook her head, “No, I figured that out myself. She told me that you and mommy went to some place called Afghanistan and that now mommy is living with the Angels. Is that right daddy?”
Looking out at the traffic for a long time Reed finally looked at his daughter, smiled and said, “You know I don’t like talking about all that kind of stuff honey, it all happened such a long time ago. I know it’s hard for you right now, but maybe when you are older you will understand.”
“Oh, I understand,” said Carly, her voice matter of fact. “And I don’t mind, not a single bit. I like Angels, I like them a lot. When they come and visit, they help me tidy my room.”
Reed looked out into the traffic, saw it beginning to move, so he slid his foot off the break and let the big SUV roll forwards. Jeez he thought, kids say the craziest things sometimes.
54
Oahu, Hawaii Donald Mālama didn’t look surprised to see her. Sure, he stopped dead on the quayside for a double-‐ take second while he processed the scene, but he corrected so seamlessly, the untrained observer might have taken this pause as the prelude to some kind of delighted welcome.
“This is a pretty nice boat you got here Donald,” said Karyn, her feet resting on the stern.” “I thought I might bump into you Ms. Kane.
You will have to excuse me, but I have a busy day
ahead of me. If you have any further questions
regarding the Johnston case, I suggest we meet up
in my office at a more mutually convenient time—” “Cut the bullshit Donald and climb on
board. I want to talk to you now.”
Donald Mālama looked nervously over his
shoulder, like he was making ready to run off down
the quayside. “I don’t know that would be such a
good idea Ms. Kane. I understand there were a
series of unfortunate events last night, events that
fall outside my jurisdiction.”
“Have you heard yourself Donald? You
sound like Lemony Snicket. Now climb aboard right
now, or I am liable to get all cranky and you better
trust me when I tell you that you don’t want that to
happen.”
Mālama paused, his lips working like he
was going to let rip with some smart assed
comment, then suddenly thought better of it. He
made as though he was going to climb aboard, but Karyn held up her hand, “Hold it. Stop right there.”
The Chief paused, one foot riding the quayside, the other reaching out for the boat, “What in the hell are you talking about Kane? You want to talk to me, so I am coming aboard.” His foot wavered mid air and he said, “It is my goddamn boat after all, you shouldn’t even be here.” The words came hollow, like he was trying to believe them himself.
“Can the righteous indignation Donald. Save it for someone who gives a damn and while you are about it, take your left hand and very carefully reach out that snub nosed .38 you have got nestling down the back of your pants. I wouldn’t want you to blow yourself a new asshole before I have had chance to pipe you aboard.”
“I am the Chief of Police, I have a license for that weapon, damn you.”
“Real cute Donald. You sound like you got yourself a halo to polish. Now, do as I tell you—do it slow and easy and once you are done reaching it out, I want you drop that bad boy into the ocean.”
“I have had this gun for close to twenty years damn you, it was a present from Daryl Gates.”
“You ever shoot anyone with it Donald?”
“No, I never had to,” said Mālama. “But that’s hardly the point, the weapon has sentimental value.”
“I can understand why a family man such as yourself would get all sentimental Donald. You got your pretty wife to think about, your kids and career too, I could understand you getting all weepy about something like that, but crying over
some hunk of oily metal? You got to be kidding me right?”
Mālama gave her a nasty look. He opened his mouth like he was going to argue some more, then his eyes ranged down and saw the Sig Saur with the black suppressor sitting in her lap.
Karyn gave him a pleasant smile, “What’s the matter Donald, are you thinking I can’t take you out right here and now? Perhaps you think you can pull one of those fast little gun fighter moves they teach you down at the Police Department pistol range? Well, be my guest. But, it would all be rather messy wouldn’t it, you bleeding out, all over this lovely white upholstery?”
Mālama looked sour faced. He reached out the gun as directed, holding it gingerly between finger and thumb and dropped it into the soft lapping ocean that played against the dockside. The water swallowed the gun whole, with barely a sound. “You don’t know what you are dealing with Kane,” he said gruffly.
Karyn nodded and said, “So step aboard Donald. Sit yourself down and tell me all about it.”
Donald Mālama climbed stiffly aboard. His face taught and gr
ey. He looked like a man who was about to take a long walk into damnation. Karyn rose up out of the big white reel chair and directed his passage with the tip of her gun. “No, not there, over here.” She pointed towards the wheelhouse with her gun.
Mālama looked at the captain’s chair, then back at Karyn, his mouth working open and shut, like a puzzled guppy. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Karyn raised her gun. “Do I look like I am joking?”
He looked at her then, looked at the gun and gathered his thoughts very carefully, “No, I don’t suppose you do,” he said.
Karyn smiled, gave a quiet nod then said, “So, be a good boy, and hop in the chair, we are going on a little sightseeing trip.”
He looked alarmed then, just the briefest hint of desperation flashing across his face. He tried to correct, tried to make out things were copacetic, but Donald Mālama’s world was in turmoil, every safe little convenience he had taken for granted in his life thus far swept away by a wave of growing horror.
“There isn’t enough fuel to go anywhere,” he stammered, his guppy lips working open and shut.
“Yes there is,” said Karyn flatly. “We are going on a little fishing trip Donald and I better catch the answers I am looking for, or you and me are going to have a little fall out.”
“You can’t do this—what about regulations? There are rules to be followed—Laws—If you think you are going to intimidate me into making some kind of spurious admissions Kane, I will report to your superiors at the Justice Department—They will throw your ass in a sling when they get to hear of this.”
Karyn scrunched her face. “That little statement right there Donald is an indication of just how much trouble you are in.”
He paused then, his guppy mouth falling slowly wide, as the implications hit home. “You are not from the Justice Department at all, are you?”