He nodded.
- You're right. We all have a past, and almost all of us would like to forget it. But others won't let us do that, even though, God knows, they would also like to get rid of their past forever. Of course, it can nail me - just like anyone else. But it won't do you any good.
- Is that so?
- Of course not. I'm not the boss. I'm just the poker they use to turn coals. If I get crushed, I won't be happy, but neither will you. You won't get much use out of it. I'm just a puppet on a hand whose owner is hidden from you by a screen. You can chase me for a long time, and I think you'll finally catch me. But what's the use? By that time, the hand that controls me will be gone, and it has all the strings, not me, Mr. Hammond.
He got up and took a few steps across the room. It was evidently a habit of his.
- Understand, I'm just a bargaining chip, a vanguard, aimed at a tight formation. When I am defeated, the main forces will be too and there'll be nothing to stop your headquarters from being hit.
He shrugged.
- And you like being a bargaining chip?
- I'm a realist. Besides, my position is much more stable than you might think from what I said. I was just thinking of a last option. I don't think you can get to me.
He tilted his head sideways and looked thoughtfully into the distance through the soft pink ceiling.
- I think I've been overworked for the last month, Mr. Hammond. I'm thinking of taking a little vacation, for a week maybe. I'll go away somewhere... Just to be back in time for the process.
He turned and looked at me again. His smile was open, sweet and disgusting. I grinned, too, and stood up.
- Thank you for the mineral water, Mr. Ruell. Lest you find me ungrateful, I'll bring you a bottle to jail.
He laughed and gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder.
4
As I approached my car, which I had left in front of the Ruell's house, I was boiling with anger. The jerk was acting like he had all the cards in his hand, and it pissed me off. But what really pissed me off was that he was absolutely right.
However, the mineral water turned out to be quite good.
I always lock my car carefully, especially when I leave it in suspicious areas. The place where my new friend Craig lived was not, but I was sure that all the doors were carefully locked. So I was quite surprised to see someone sitting in my car.
I wouldn't have been able to tell how old she was. At first glance it seemed that she is still quite a girl, but after a moment I came to the conclusion that she is not. Her already upturned nose is pointing proudly somewhere in the sky, and her thighs wrapped in dark stockings are firmly clenched. She is dressed as only a vulgar woman would dress. For decent society - that is vulgar. Of course, she was sure of the opposite.
- Did I forget to turn off the "free" sign? I asked. For your information, the bill will include all the time that you spent inside the cab.
She didn't smile. She seemed to have lost the ability to smile for a long time.
- Michael Hammond? she asked.
- An autograph? I reached for my pen.
- Quit clowning around, she said sharply. For someone who just sneaked into someone else's pre-locked car she was acting too defiant. I have to talk to you.
I leaned back in the seat, examining her outfit curiously.
I leaned back in the seat, curious about her outfit. I wondered what she was used to wear in her usual surroundings.
She was silent for a few seconds until it occurred to her that I was waiting for her to begin.
- Not here, her voice sounded even sharper. Drive off somewhere, find a quiet place.
Then I wondered if Craig Ruell was watching me drive away from his house, or not. As far as I could get to know him during our conversation and from our subsequent meeting, he must have done that. Still, I wished I had looked up to the windows of his house at the time. Who knows maybe I would have taken that as a signal. Or maybe I wouldn't.
I pulled into the driveway, and we spent a few minutes in silence. I am wondering if she was going to run me for the presidency of the United States, then she was looking for the right place.
- Here, her voice sounded like an order, and I didn't like it.
- No, I replied grumpily. Since you are sitting in my car, I will choose the place myself.
And so I did, pulled over at the junction on the side road and turned off the engine.
- If you were going to declare e your love for me, now would be the time, I announced. But I must warn you, my heart is already taken. I'm madly in love with a soccer player.
- Shut up, she said.
I still don't know how a gun appeared in her hand. It isn't exactly my finest morning.
- So you're Michael Hammond who takes out the garbage after rich people, the girl hissed.
I took another look at her costume and finally came to the conclusion that I didn't like it.
- Do you want to litter even more? I asked. Who the hell are you to talk to me like that?
- Who am I, she whispered bitterly. That's the way a shriveled-up wrinkled old woman would speak to a cruel tyrant who ordered her 3 sons to be sacrificed alive to an alien god. Who I am. We're all nobodies to the rich people from Beverly Hills.
- I don't live in Beverly Hills, I protested in indignation.
- Shut up. That money-bag Vaughn hired you to keep his goddamn nephew out of jail.
I have to admit, the words she used weren't exactly the way I'm quoting them.
- Amber was my best friend, she said. And this playboy, he killed her.
I smirked; she didn't pay attention to me.
- Amber was a good girl, she said, turning to the windshield glass. I know a lot of people would call her a whore, but that's not true. She was a good person.
I probably would have cried from her story and blown my nose loudly into a big checkered handkerchief, but the barrel of a gun pointed at me completely broke my spirits.
- We were very close, the girl blew her nose, gasping for air, she told me everything. She was good, really. I know people like you think if a girl's a whore, she's trash. Let me tell you something, mister, Amber had a good heart.
If I were an Old English writer and were going to write a thick novel about the tragic fate of Hollywood prostitutes, I would have been happy to include this personage in it. Next, she should probably have told me about their strong, deep maiden friendship, how the two of them chatted at night, looking out over the sleeping city, about Amber's dreams of becoming a stewardess, and her habit of closing doors with her feet. But instead she pulled away from the windshield and pushed the pistol under my ribs, then muttered:
- And now she's dead, and a scumbag like you is sneaking around to get his rich boy off the hook. No, mister, that won't do. I know the banker paid good money for you to bribe somebody,
but it ain't gonna work. Amber was silly, and naïve. There are a lot of things she didn't understand. She believed in everyone. But me, mister, I'm not like that.
If I was a good guy, a guardian of widows and orphans, I would have smiled manfully and said that no amount of money would replace the truth, that I was ready to expose her friend's murderer, and then in my spare time I would make little plasticine figurines of little statues of liberty with all the colors in the kit, cause I'm not a racist.
She would instantly believe me, shed a tear, give me her gun, and a week later she'd marry me.
But the trouble was, I wasn't a good guy and mediocre at sculpting out of plasticine. And they paid me precisely to keep Rowan Vaughn out of jail, and I was going to do it whether he turned out to be a murderer or not.
So I pulled my elbow back sharply, pressing her hand with the gun against the back of my seat, and in the same second I moved my body forward. It wasn't as dangerous as it might seem, because if she wanted to kill me, it was only for revenge. An elderly policeman once explained to me that one who wants to shoot someone for revenge, concentrates all his attention on the m
oment of the shot, and speaks for a long time, preparing himself for it. From here followed that the avenger would be completely focused on his thoughts and would not have time to react to the attack.
This cop retired after getting shot in the leg, and in that moment I wanted to believe that it didn't happen when he was testing his theory.
The next moment my left hand darted to the right and pinned the hand of the girl and her gun against the back of the seat. Since my insides hadn't started to fall out, I came to the conclusion that I had acted quite fast.
She cursed several times, and I tried to remember those so that I could use them on appropriate occasions.
- I'm sorry for you, lost soul, I whispered.
I shouldn't have been distracted by the conversation as she began to kick, punch and scratch, using her free hand and both legs. Her mouth left no doubt that if given the opportunity, she would start biting as well.
I was in a rather uncomfortable position as my left hand was still pressing her hand against the right side of my seat, and I congratulated myself on having securely lock her away from me. Finally, I managed to free my right hand and I punched her in the jaw.
I admit there is nothing to be proud of here. I spent the day getting dirty money from a moneybag, then I let a guy with the grip of a pimp wash the floor with me, and then I beat up a weak woman. After that, I should be forbidden to ever sculpt the Statue of Liberty, even out of chewing gum.
She immediately went limp and collapsed into the seat. I congratulated myself on the excellent hit, as well as the fact that this time my counterpart was not Tyson. After that I slipped her gun into my pocket and pulled into the driveway.
This time James opened the door for me, and he was quite surprised to see a half unconscious girl, leaning against the wall of the house.
Footsteps sounded in the back of the house, and Ruell appeared.
- You can treat her with some mineral water, I told him, and headed towards the car.
5
While hiding in a glove box the battle trophy taken from the avenger, I felt very proud of myself. I drove down the highway and wondered, whether to go home now or not. I glanced at my watch and concluded that Heidi was probably still perfecting the legal details with Warren Vaughn's lawyer. When two lawyers start discussing something even the sudden death of their mutual client can’t stop them. I once witnessed such an event myself, well, that's irrelevant...
I had plenty of ways to occupy my time before the final conversation with Rowan Vaughn. I could have gone back to the office and throw some paperwork at the secretary. However, I had a hunch that I'd be doing this for hours before this case was finished. I might as well drive around West Hollywood and ask about Craig Ruell and Amber Davis. I dismissed that idea too, because at the moment the police and the detectives I'd hired were probably playing a game of who would step on each other's toes. When you have enough money to hire an army of assistants, it gets boring.
As I approached the town, I was finally convinced I was going to visit the central library and finally learn the meaning of some of the unfamiliar words that Heidi had once used in my presence, and I wouldn’t admit that I did not understand them--but suddenly an idea struck me.
Since I had no decent alternative, I turned right and drove towards the northern suburbs.
When people are in trouble, they come to us. But when a man wants to give trouble to his fellow man, he goes to Stephen Karlsen.
Karlsen kept a large detective bureau, one of the largest in Los Angeles area, but few of the wealthy and honorable citizens called upon his services. But they were often used by others, who were no less wealthy, but much broader in their choice of means of supplementing their capital.
Stephen Karlsen knew everything about everyone, and was prepared from morning till late at night to accept hefty fees for it. The district attorney's office had initiated blackmail charges four times but each time they had to admit that there was no element of the crime. Stephen Karlsen stood on his feet guarding the right to receive and disseminate information.
The office of “Karlsen Information” was located in the basement of a large house, mostly used as a warehouse. Not many people come into the neighborhood, and that suited Fat Steven and his clients. If you ever need his services I can give you his address, but remember that Karlsen is as unclean with his employers as he is with the rest of mankind.
When I parked the car outside the big metal door that led to the detective agency's office, a load of goods was being taken out of the warehouse from upstairs. I wondered if it might be drugs, but then I came to the conclusion that in this part of Los Angeles they pack them in a different color box.
If you believe that the main thing for office deCerition is the first impression, then when meeting "Karlsen Information" you would probably be stumped. Hardly anyone could have found a less presentable place for a major detective agency and Karlsen's was just that.
But as soon as you stepped inside and went down the slightly wobbly metal staircase, the world around you would have changed as dramatically as if you'd been hit on the head with a bottle.
True, it didn't smell like a detective agency either. It was more like the atmosphere of an expensive nightclub, the bar with a wide selection of drinks in the corner, only reinforced the resemblance. A soft light poured from beneath the ceiling, where light bulbs were juxtaposed with expensive microphones. Karlsen always records the conversations with clients and gladly sells them. Keep that in mind if you do decide to go to him.
But as much as the decor of his office conflicts with conventional wisdom about the detective business, Karlsen's was doing very well. It is even said that sometimes, in his cushy armchairs, the bosses of the California mafia rested their bones, but I suspect fat Steven is spreading such rumors himself.
So if there was a hip joint lying around L.A. that Craig Ruell had carefully stored in his closet, then I should have gone to Stephen Karlsen. This visit might have ended as a total failure, but I always wanted to chat with an old friend, especially since I had just made another one.
After hopping up the metal stairs, I stood for a while, waiting for my eyes to get used to the semi-darkness. At that moment she floated out of the darkness and approached me.
Her name was Karina Sue, and she was the right hand and personal bodyguard of Karlsen. Somebody once told me she was also his mistress, but I know for a fact that's not true. Steven Karlsen is homosexual.
- Who's here to see us, Karina remarked. She was holding a packet of chewing gum, she took out a plate and put it in her mouth. She does that a lot, maybe she thinks it makes her look sexy, or it’s for the bad breath.
- Haven't seen you in a while Mikey, she went on. Sit down.
I sank into the chair and continued to watch her laced legs in her stockings, stepping smoothly across the polished parquet floor.
- I'm not offering you a chewing gum, because you'll refuse, she stated. She came right up to me. What brings you to this house of vice?
I cringed a little. First of all, I don't like being called Mikey, Secondly, I had once referred to Karlsen’s by that name in a private conversation. Sue, as always, was there, and now she kept repeating that phrase in front of me.
- I was wondering if you'd straightened out those two crooked teeth of yours. I answered. Where's fat Steven?
She came even closer to me, and then she spread her legs widely and slowly knelt down on my lap. The smell of cheap perfume wafted up my nose.
- Why are you talking about that nasty fat man? her hips moved, she tried to sit down comfortably. Finally, she calmed down and pressed her legs on mine.
- Sitting on Stephen's lap must be more pleasant, I said kindly. They're softer.
Karina's fingers began to untie my tie, there was a twinkle in her eyes.
- You've never asked me out for a drink, Mikey, with pretended languidly, she complained. Or am I ugly?
I was in a quandary because I didn't know what to do with my hands. I
f I were the president of the United States, running for a second term and a patriotic mother would have spiced me up with a toddler for a kiss, I would quickly handle the situation by hugging and kissing him tightly.
I even think that in doing so I would have been able to control myself perfectly and managed to get away from the reporters before I would have thrown up. On the other hand, if I had, Heidi sitting on my lap, the best use would have been to put my hands around her waist. But in this case, neither of those options so all I could think of was to put my hands behind my head and lean it back. I squinted my eyes for emphasis.
- You're all right, I said knowingly, under the circumstances. But if your patron isn't here, I'll read you a psalm and leave.
Karina pressed herself against me, and I felt hot.
- You're a good-looking guy, Mikey, she stretched out. I can't understand why a man like you and a girl like me...
Her hair touched my face, the scent of chewing gum wafted over me.
Karina's fingers ran down my chest. I regretted that I'd already squinted. I should have done it now. So I threw my head back even further and threw a sharp, penetrating glance at Karina.
She jerked back and jumped off my knees. And in her right hand was my pistol, taken out of the shoulder bag.
- You've gotten fat since the last time I bounced you on my lap, I said with sadness in my voice.
- Okay, Michael, don't move, she said sharply. She would have looked imposing with her legs spread wide open and the gun in her hands, impressive, but the gum was ruining it.
The door at the back of the room opened, and I had the good fortune to see Fat Steven himself. Behind him was some dickhead I didn't know.
- Hi, I said cheerfully. I thought I'd stop by and we'd have a little chat.
- Shut up, Steven yelled. He ain't got a gun no more, Sue?
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