Teddy and Betsy showered together, as had become their habit, then had breakfast.
“Betsy,” he said.
“You sound serious.”
“Don’t I always sound serious?”
“Well, you have a sense of humor, you know.”
“Right now, I’m serious.” He showed her the photo of the Viper. “This man is in town with Majorov, and he’s very dangerous. If you see him, avoid him and call me.”
“All right.”
“I’ve told you before that we might have to move on short notice.”
“You have.”
“That time may be near. I want you to come to the airport with me this morning and see where we’ll be moving, if we need to.”
“All right.”
“And I want to make a stop along the way.”
“I’m yours for the day.”
“Okay, give me a hand with a couple of bags, will you?” Teddy went to a locked closet, opened it, and handed Betsy a duffel and a small suitcase. He grabbed another, heavier duffel and a briefcase, and they took the elevator down to the garage and stowed the things in the Speedster’s tiny trunk and behind the two seats. Betsy held one duffel in her lap.
Teddy drove to a large office supply depot and bought a roomy safe with a digital combination, then paid extra to have it delivered to the airport immediately.
He was at the hangar by ten o’clock, where he found Peter’s Mustang parked alongside his own airplane, and the keys on Tim’s desk. Then, while they waited for the safe to be delivered, Teddy showed Betsy the apartment.
“This is nice,” she said, checking out the modern kitchen and the view of Santa Monica from a large window. “I could live here.”
A truck’s horn blew downstairs, and Teddy went to show the driver where to put the safe, which was in a closet in the pilot’s lounge. He tipped the man, then gave Betsy the car keys. “You have two assignments this morning,” he said. “While I’m flying with Peter, I’d like you to buy some things for the apartment—whatever it needs—and get it ready for us to move in.”
“That’s easy—what else?”
“I want you to buy a car.”
“What kind of car?”
“Whatever you want.”
“New or used?”
“Whatever you want, but it should be large enough for us to make a move in, maybe an SUV.” He went to the large duffel he had brought, which was full of cash, and gave her ten bundles of $100 bills. “Here’s a hundred thousand dollars,” he said. “That’s your budget.”
“I don’t think I’ll need that much.”
“Then keep the change.” He unpacked the rest of the cash, put it into the safe, along with his briefcase and a suitcase, set a new combination, and locked it. “If we need to leave, the money is what we take first,” he said. He got her to memorize the combination and open the safe twice.
Tim Peters arrived, and Teddy introduced him to Betsy, then she left. Teddy sat Tim down, gave him a photograph of the Viper and the lecture on how dangerous the man was.
“I keep a nine-millimeter in my bottom desk drawer,” Tim said.
“Don’t use it unless you have to, but if you have to, use it fast and aim for the head.”
“Gotcha.”
• • •
Peter arrived in an SUV with a Strategic Services driver, and Teddy introduced him to Tim, then they unlocked the Mustang and had a good look at it.
“Now to work,” Teddy said. They towed Teddy’s airplane out of the hangar, and Teddy showed Peter how to perform a preflight inspection. That done, they got aboard, with Peter in the left seat, and Teddy ran through the prestart checklist with him.
“Have you used the Garmin 1000 avionics suite before?” Teddy asked.
“Yes, I trained in airplanes equipped with it.”
“Then you have a head start on your instrument training and your Mustang training,” Teddy said. He took the younger man through engine startup, then they got permission from the tower for a VFR departure to the north.
Peter took off and flew the airplane with some assurance, which encouraged Teddy. They flew north and west and found some airspace, and Teddy took Peter through some turns, slow flight, and stalls, then they made some landings at a small airport and returned to Santa Monica.
Teddy chocked the airplane and took Peter into the pilots’ lounge. “I’m going to use this room as an office, if that’s all right with you.”
“Sure it is.”
He sat Peter down and started ground school with a long lesson in how to read IFR charts and approach plates, then they walked to a restaurant on the field and got some lunch.
“I have the feeling I’m traveling with the Secret Service,” Peter said over burgers. “Mike’s people and you are always watching.”
“That’s why I took the gunfighter’s seat,” Teddy said. “In the corner, facing the room and the door.”
“Yeah, I noticed that.”
“Are you armed?”
“The holster is on my belt, under my shirttail,” Peter said. “There’s a magazine in the weapon, but the chamber is empty.”
“When we’re back in the hangar, pump a round into the chamber, leave the hammer back, set the safety, and holster the gun. You may need to move fast, and all you’ll have to do is thumb the safety down and fire. Also, replace the ejected round in the magazine.”
Peter nodded.
When they returned to the hangar there was a shiny Mercedes station wagon inside, and Betsy was unloading shopping bags. Teddy introduced her to Peter, who left them to make some phone calls.
“New?” Teddy asked.
“Two years old, nine thousand miles,” she said. “And it’s got the V-8 engine. I paid forty-six thousand and I put the change into the safe, less some walking-around money.”
“You done good, sweetheart.”
“Thank you.”
“You want to come flying with us, see some California countryside?”
“Maybe next time. I think I’ll get the apartment sorted out.”
Teddy kissed her, then went to the airplane with Peter, took off, and headed north again.
As Peter made his first right turn, Teddy looked back at the airport and saw a large black Mercedes van being allowed through the gate at Atlantic Aviation. Not the only such van in town, he said to himself. Probably picking up arriving passengers.
Teddy watched from the right seat as Peter made his third landing at Santa Monica. He was pleased with the way the boy had adapted to the single-engine turboprop. Teddy himself had taken a while to get used to landing the airplane, and he thought of himself as a pretty hotshot pilot.
They taxied to the hangar and went through the shutdown procedure, then Teddy took a few minutes to review what they’d done that day and to question Peter on approach plates. “We’ll start flying instrument approaches tomorrow,” he said.
They got down from the airplane and attached the little electric tow to the nosewheel, then Teddy used the remote control on his key to open the bifold hangar door. He stood and stared. Except for the Mustang and his Speedster, the hangar was empty. Tim Peters was absent, and so were Betsy and her new station wagon. Teddy drew his gun. “Stay there,” he called over his shoulder to Peter.
Teddy walked into the hangar, the gun in his hand, watching for movement, listening for a footstep, sniffing the air for the smell of cordite. Tim’s office was empty, as was the pilots’ lounge. Teddy kicked off his loafers and ran lightly up the stairs to the apartment, stepping on the outside of each step to avoid squeaking. He checked the apartment quickly, finding it in excellent order—sheets on the beds, dishes in the cupboards, dusted, vacuumed, perfect. Then from downstairs he heard the closing of a car door—quietly, as if not to attract attention.
He ran down the stairs and found Peter and Betsy leaning on the Mercedes station wagon and chatting. Teddy heaved a huge sigh of relief and put the gun away before they could see it.
“Hi, there,�
� Betsy said.
“Where you been?” Teddy asked lightly, stepping into his loafers.
“I went back to the apartment to pick up a few things—some of your clothes, the liquor.”
“Betsy likes a martini at the cocktail hour,” Teddy said to Peter. “Where’s Tim?”
“Gone for the day. He said you didn’t seem to need him,” Betsy said. “Peter has been telling me I ought to learn to fly.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Teddy replied. “I’ve got my hands full right now, but there’s a flight school on the field.” He pointed at the sign across the runway. “Why don’t you go over there and inquire about training, while Peter and I run over a few things?”
“Help me with the liquor and the bags, and I will,” she said.
The two men carried the things upstairs for her, then went back to Teddy’s new office in the pilot’s lounge. “Let’s do a weight and balance calculation,” Teddy said, “and get that behind us.” His anxiety had finally melted away.
• • •
When they were done for the day, Teddy handed Peter two California carry licenses, one for him and one for Ben.
Peter looked at them closely. “Are these bogus?”
“If you go to the state website, you’ll find your names listed there as license holders.”
“Then I won’t inquire further,” Peter said. He shook hands and stepped into the Strategic Services SUV, which had just pulled into the hangar.
Betsy returned and parked her car in the hangar, then Teddy closed the main door. He checked the lock on the rear door, near his office, then they went upstairs.
“Can I force a drink on you?” he asked.
“I believe you can,” she said.
Teddy made her a martini and poured a bourbon for himself, while she spread something on some crackers. They sat down in the living room on the comfortable sofa.
“I start Monday with my flying lessons,” Betsy said. “I’ll fly three days a week and do ground school the other three. Sundays off.”
“To flying through the air on gossamer wings,” Teddy said, raising his glass.
She raised hers and they took their first sip.
“I’ve brought enough things here so that I can live here without returning to the apartment,” she said.
“You’re a smart woman,” Teddy said.
“You can do the same.”
Teddy laughed. “And getting smarter and smarter.”
“Now tell me what might make us move?”
“At least two people know where we are,” Teddy said.
“Harry Katz and Peter Genaro,” she replied. “Who else?”
“Whoever they might tell.”
“I’ve known them both pretty well for a few years, and I don’t think either of them will tell anybody.”
“I hope you’re right,” Teddy said, “but I’m alive and free because I’m a cautious one.”
“Nothing wrong with caution. Are you ready to tell me what you’re running from?”
“Quite frankly, I thought I was through running,” Teddy said. “I made a … an arrangement with the people who wanted most to find me, but then …”
“Then, what?”
“Then Peter Barrington and his friends came into my life, pursued by bad men, and I got involved. Now I’m very probably being pursued by the friends of those bad men.”
“Majorov and the Viper?”
“Exactly. And those two, in turn, have friends, and I don’t know how far that extends.”
“What is your plan?”
“I plan to stay in Los Angeles until I feel that Peter and everyone associated with him are perfectly safe, and then I plan to go to work for Strategic Services.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s the second-largest security firm in the world,” Teddy said. “Throw a dart at a map of the world, and you’ll hit one of their offices.”
“And where will we move when you take that job?”
“That is undetermined, but I am of the impression that I may have some choice. I like Los Angeles. How would you feel about living here sort of permanently?”
“I’m just fine with that, as long as you feel safe,” she said. “As it is, how long do you think we’ll be here?”
“Long enough for you to get your pilot’s license and for Peter to learn to fly his new jet.”
“So, what, three months?”
“More likely six, but we’ll see. I like working at Centurion Studios, too. If we stay on, maybe I can find you a job there.”
“I wouldn’t object to working in the movie business,” Betsy said.
“After you’ve got your private license,” Teddy said. “Maybe your instrument rating, too.”
“When I’ve done all that, will I be your copilot?”
“Sweetie,” he said, kissing her, “after you’ve done all that, I’ll be your copilot.”
She laughed, but Teddy was still worried. He had a history of seeing things go wrong after he had made plans.
Majorov returned to his large suite after a good breakfast at the Bel-Air’s outdoor restaurant, and as he closed the door, he was immediately struck by the smell of gun oil. He walked to the door of the bedroom adjoining the living room, rapped and opened the door. He was met by the sight of Vlad, sitting on the bed, pointing a pistol at him.
“That was very close,” Vlad said in Russian. Various gun parts were spread on a towel on the bed.
“You are not here to shoot me,” Majorov said. “What are you doing to find Burnett?”
“I will bring you up to date,” Vlad said. “There is no such person listed in any directory of any sort in the Greater Los Angeles area—no telephone, no mail delivery, no utilities, nothing. These are the tools for searching for someone, and Mr. Burnett has avoided them all. We know only two things: that Mr. Barrington is at The Arrington, up the street, and competently guarded, and that his son goes to the movie studio every day in a different car with an armed guard.”
“Why can’t you get at him at the movie studio?”
“Because it is fenced and guarded by its own police force, and because, even if I could get inside, I would not be able to find Peter Barrington. The place is like a small city.”
“So you have nothing?”
“Let me finish. You gave me details of Burnett’s airplane, but no such airplane with that registration number is registered with the Federal Aviation Administration, and no airplane of that color and with that registration number is parked at any airport in the Los Angeles area.”
“Then Burnett is gone from Los Angeles.”
“Possibly,” Vlad said. “But we know some people who might know something.”
“And who might they be?”
“The two gentlemen from Las Vegas: Genaro and Katz.”
“They have denied knowing.”
“Katz has a reputation as the best skip tracer in Vegas,” Vlad said. “I cannot believe he spent several days looking for Burnett without finding him. And if he knows where the man is, Genaro knows, too.”
“Then why wouldn’t he tell me?”
“Why would he tell you anything? The man drove you from a profitable business and ran you out of town. Genaro hates you.”
“You’re right, he would never tell us anything.”
“Katz might,” Vlad said.
“Why do you think that?”
“Katz works for money. He sells the location of people to his employers.”
“So I should offer him money?”
“It would seem the best thing to do.” Vlad spread his hands. “And if that doesn’t work, there are other methods. After all, personal safety is as important to a sane man as money.”
“So you want to go to Las Vegas?”
“I’m told it is only a few hours by car.”
“I can’t go to Vegas.”
“I’m not suggesting you do. I don’t require your assistance to do my work. All I require is your money.”
Majorov left the room for a couple of minutes then returned and tossed a bundle of hundred-dollar bills on the bed. “Here is thirty thousand dollars,” he said. “You may keep anything you don’t have to pay Katz. The concierge will obtain a rental car for you.” Majorov walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.
• • •
Vlad began repacking his weapons case, while whistling a little tune from his childhood. It brought back a fond memory: his father had been singing it when Vlad cut his throat with the man’s own razor. He had liked the razor as a tool ever since.
• • •
Harry Katz sat in his office near the casino late in the day; he finished transcribing his notes to his computer, shut the laptop, bent over and reached into his bottom drawer for the bottle of scotch and glass he kept there. When he straightened up, a little man was standing in the doorway to the small reception area, holding a suitcase in one hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Excuse me, please,” the man said. He was harmless-looking, sixtyish, maybe older, dressed in a black suit and wearing a fedora. “May I speak with you for a moment, Mr. Katz? About some business?”
Harry couldn’t place the accent: something foreign with some New York in it. “Have a seat,” he said, waving him to a chair in front of the desk. “Would you like a drink?” He held up the bottle.
“Thank you, perhaps a little later, after I have stated my proposition.”
“Suit yourself,” Harry said. He poured himself two fingers and took a sip.
The little man set down his suitcase next to his chair and bent over, out of Harry’s sight. Harry heard the snap of the locks opening, and when the man straightened, he was holding a pistol equipped with a silencer in one hand and a roll of duct tape in the other. As if that weren’t alarming enough, he was also wearing surgical gloves.
“Forgive me,” the man said, “but since I am not a strong person I would prefer it if you were temporarily immobilized while we talk.” He rolled the duct tape across the desk, and Harry caught it. “If you would please roll your chair from behind the desk.”
“What’s this about?” Harry asked, not moving.
“If I must I will shoot you a little.”
Doing Hard Time (Stone Barrington) Page 19