by Rod Reynolds
‘They brought you in for a reason. If Bayless is off the board, they’ve accomplished nothing, so there’s no sense in them dispensing with you – and meanwhile your wife is safe.’
I took a slow breath and bowed my head.
‘Look, I can’t deny there are risks, nor can I force you to take them. The decision is yours to make – but trust your gut. When you laid it out to me, the word you used was indispensable. We can take great strides here – with your help.’
But it wasn’t my safety I was thinking about, nor the greater good. I just needed Lizzie protected. ‘All right.’
He grimaced, nodding his appreciation. ‘I need you to take note of every man in the place, everything that’s said, every detail. Things you think have no value might be useful to us.’
‘Where does this end?’ I realised the irony that it was the same thing I’d asked of Rosenberg.
‘Get through tomorrow. Make your own way back to the Breakers afterward, we’ll debrief there. But be sure they don’t put a man on your tail. Your wife’s safety depends on it.’
‘I’ve kept us alive this long.’
‘I don’t want you to get complacent now I’m involved.’ He put his hand on my shoulder.
I recalled the black and white tiles of the floor, the gun next to my head. ‘I can handle it.’
‘Keep your wits about you. No one’s kicking down the door if you find yourself in trouble.’
‘You said you’d be watching.’
‘Exactly that, but we can’t see everything. That’s why your part is so important.’
‘If they kill me you’d have your case at least.’
He looked dismayed, then saw my crack for what it was. ‘I’d rather go about it the long way round.’ He leaned across me and yanked my door handle. ‘Get some sleep.’
I got out and went around the front of the car onto the sidewalk. Bayless came over, trailing smoke. He stood in front of me, taking a drag and working up to something. ‘You really spoke to Siegel?’ he said.
‘His right-hand man. They weren’t for negotiating.’
He nodded, thoughtful. ‘I asked a man at my studio to get a message to Siegel. To meet. I never heard back but that night … well, you saw what the answer was.’
‘I didn’t know anything about that. I’m sorry.’
His gaze roved over my face and then he looked away.
Mention of his studio made my mind jump to a different tack. It felt crass in the situation, but my desperation was stronger. ‘Let me ask you something – do you know anyone at TPK Studios?’
He squinted. ‘Why?’
‘Humour me.’
‘It’s Hollywood. Everyone knows everyone – until you need something.’
‘Two girls were invited onto the lot, on a day there were no casting calls and most everyone was out on a shoot. What would they be going there for?’
He tilted his head. ‘All I would say is I hope she wasn’t your sister.’
‘Figures. If I gave you their names, could you find out who they went there to visit with?’
‘If it’s what it sounds like, no one will ever remember their names.’
‘They haven’t been seen since.’
He blinked at that. Dipped his head to take a drag and blew it at the ground. ‘That’s not usually part of the arrangement.’
‘That’s why I’m concerned.’
‘How do you know the two things are connected?’
I scratched my cheek, looking for an answer I still couldn’t put into words. ‘Instinct.’
He frowned. ‘I’ve got enough trouble on my hands, Yates, I could do without any more.’
The car horn sounded, making both of us start on the dark street. I turned and Tanner was motioning for us to wrap it up from behind the wheel.
Bayless rubbed his neck, his eyes distant again. ‘It’s not even my goddamn house. That’s what I feel worst about.’
‘Julie Desjardins and Nancy Hill. December third. Please?’
I waited but his gaze was trained over my shoulder. He dropped his cigarette between us and stamped it out. ‘Thanks for what you did.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lizzie stood behind me in the mirror as I dressed in silence the next morning. She reached around to flatten the collar on my suit jacket, leaving her hand on my lapel.
She pressed her forehead to my back.
I turned and wrapped my arms around her.
She let me hold her a moment, then planted her fingers on my chest and pushed back a fraction, to look me in the face. ‘When we were young, our grandpa was fond of telling Alice and me, “You can’t hit second and come first in a fight.”’
She flushed at volunteering it, nerves making her talkative.
I touched her face.
‘Is there no way we can leave this in the FBI’s hands?’ she said.
‘They want me to go. Their help comes with strings.’ Anything to keep her safe.
I heard a car pull up outside, and both of us looked towards the window. The curtains were closed most of the way, only a narrow band of light coming into the room. I motioned for Lizzie to step back and crossed over to look.
A second agent had relieved Bryce by the time I’d returned the night before, but now he was back, leaning into the man’s car. An animated discussion. Bryce looked up and saw me at the window. He said something else to the agent in the car, then started across the lot towards us.
I opened the door. ‘What’s going on?’
‘May we talk inside, Mr Yates?’
I backed up to hold it open for him.
He rushed past me and set himself in front of the window, nodding to Lizzie. ‘Ma’am.’ He turned to me, his posture rigid. ‘Sir, have you had contact from Mr Bayless in the last several hours?’
My guts knotted up. ‘Not since I left him with Tanner last night. What happened?’
‘Do you have any idea as to his whereabouts?’
‘No. I don’t even know where you had him.’
He parted the curtains to signal the agent in the car, shaking his head twice. Lizzie came to stand by my side.
‘Bryce, what is going on?’
He turned back to me. ‘Mr Bayless is unaccounted for right now.’
‘You lost him? You couldn’t keep him for a single goddamn night?’
‘We’re not at liberty to detain him against his will.’
‘You’re telling me he just walked out?’
‘He asked to use a telephone. He intimated it was something on your behalf.’
The girls and TPK. Guilt cut through me like a knife.
‘Given the circumstances, Special Agent Tanner advises for you to proceed with your appointment today. If Mr Bayless shows up, we’ll endeavour to bring him in again.’ He looked at Lizzie. ‘Agent Hendricks will remain posted outside in the meanwhile, ma’am.’
I tried to keep up with my own thoughts. ‘What about you?’
‘Sir?’
‘You need to stay here too. If they’ve taken Bayless …’
‘Sir, we don’t know that’s the case.’
‘It’s a hell of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?’
‘In my experience, it doesn’t pay to jump to conclusions.’
‘Look, either you stay here, or I do. Put that to your boss.’
Lizzie gripped my hand. ‘Charlie? Do you mean to go through with this?’
‘I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.’
‘Why? What did you ask of him?’
‘The girls.’ I felt Bryce’s eyes on me, like an accusation. ‘I asked him to make a call, nothing more. I never meant …’ I felt Lizzie’s hand slip from mine. I jammed my head back against the wall. ‘Goddammit.’
Bryce looked at his watch. ‘Sir, it’s almost eleven.’
I opened my eyes. ‘Stay or go, Bryce?’
‘Hendricks is a very capable agent, Mr Yates. Your wife couldn’t be in safer hands.’
‘I’m not questioning tha
t. I want more than one man here.’
He looked at Lizzie, her back to us as she roughly fastened one of our bags.
‘All right,’ he said.
I nodded and went to her, kissed her goodbye on the cheek without saying another word. She kept her back to me but leaned into me and I could tell she didn’t want Bryce to see her eyes were wet.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ciglio’s looked different in the daylight. Without the spotlights, the gold letters came off as plain garish. Even the diners at the outside tables looked somehow cheap.
Inside, the piano man was still warming up – a staccato tinkling that mimicked my pulse. Kitchen smells came at me – oil and garlic and cream, the scent of a heavy sauce, fetid to my senses in that moment. The maitre d’ saw me right away, the same man as before, and out of the corner of my eye I registered someone at a far table glance up when he moved towards me. Looking properly, I saw it was Gilardino.
A signal went to the back and then Moe Rosenberg was at the kitchen doorway. Seeing him appear, the maitre d’ returned to his lectern and his reservation list – clued in to what was going down, happy enough to bury his head. Rosenberg made no sign for me to approach, just waited on me, jangling a set of keys in his right hand. I took a breath and started walking towards him, all of it so subtle that the sprinkling of other patrons didn’t even notice what was happening. As I passed him, Gilardino rose from his table, leaving a half-eaten plate of linguine and a white napkin covered in orange stains. He fell in step behind me.
Rosenberg turned and made his way down the dark corridor to the same back room. I followed him without a word, steeling myself to see Siegel again. Brooding on what to say. Praying my gamble was right.
The room was empty.
‘Where’s Siegel?’
‘Ben’s got bigger concerns than you. So do I, but, short straw right here, I guess.’
Relief washed over me. Behind it came a sense of disappointment.
The harsh crack of the back door bolt being thrown snapped me to attention. Gilardino pulled the door open and went down the corridor towards the rear entrance. Rosenberg waved one finger, nonchalant, signalling for me to go too. Suddenly the outside door was open and light flooded in, blinding me a moment.
They led me out into the rear lot that had been my first introduction to Ciglio’s. The dented garbage cans and patchedup paintwork were more revealing of the nature of the place than the frontage. A custom Chrysler limousine was idling at the kerb, a man behind the wheel I didn’t know. Gilardino opened the back door and pointed for me to get in. Rosenberg dropped down next to me, Gilardino riding shotgun.
We took off towards Sunset, then crossed it and continued down a cookie-cutter residential block lined with palms. We made two turns in quick succession and my sense of direction failed me, my mind a riot I was no longer in control of.
‘You write the piece?’ Rosenberg said.
‘What do you think?’
‘I think your mouth has balls enough to get you in trouble.’
He took a cigar from his pocket and put it to his lips.
‘What’s the rest of the scam?’ I asked. ‘You said to me—’
‘Don’t tell me what I said. You didn’t write a word, did you?’
‘My editor would never have gone along with it.’ I felt disgust as soon as I said it, an abdication of responsibility I never meant to take. ‘I would never have gone along with it,’ I added, my voice sounding small.
The car turned sharply and Rosenberg waited it out before lighting his cigar. A fleck of half-burned tobacco settled on his necktie, blue-grey smoke diffusing around the cabin. ‘You told him to run,’ he said.
He let the words hang there, my pulse accelerating into the red.
‘You told him to run, didn’t you?’
I kept my eyes on the street, trying to figure where we were, fearing where we were headed. Wondering if Tanner had eyes on me still.
‘That was a bad decision.’ He flicked ash into the silver ashtray in his door.
We drove a short while longer, backstreets exclusively, time slipping. I didn’t notice we were in an alleyway until we stopped outside what looked like a warehouse. Gilardino got out and opened Rosenberg’s door for him. He gestured for me to do likewise, flashing his piece as he did.
A metal door in the warehouse wall had been opened from inside. Gilardino hustled me towards it, and the car was already leaving by the time I went in.
It was unlit inside, but I could tell the building was cavernous, the air cool and damp. It was a warehouse or loading bay of some kind, but empty. Our footfalls echoed off the brick walls, a brittle sound. Gilardino turned a lamp on and set it on the floor.
Not quite empty.
On the far side, a figure was slumped in a chair, back to me. My heart skipped, and then the guilt came on when my eyes adjusted enough to see it was a man – not Lizzie.
‘Real bad decision.’ Rosenberg started moving towards him, the man pitched sideways and unmoving.
I drew up behind the figure and knew it was Trent Bayless even before I saw his face. Rosenberg circled around him, a wide berth, and positioned himself right in front. Gilardino had slipped away into the shadows somewhere, but I heard him draw his gun.
Rosenberg summoned me with two fingers. I followed his path and could barely stand to look as Bayless came into full view. His face was a bloody mess; a dull sheen of blood caught in the lamplight. His hair was matted with clots of it. There were holes in his shirtfront where they’d burned him with cigarettes. His head was lolled to one side, and he looked ready to fall off the chair. The ropes around his wrists were barely holding him in place.
I saw his chest rise and fall, realised he was still alive, and couldn’t look any more. ‘You goddamn son of a bitch.’
‘In every sense, you did this to him.’
A faint wheeze came from Bayless’ throat.
‘Let him go. He needs a doctor. Let me take him to a hospital—’
‘He’s past that, and you know it.’
‘No.’
Rosenberg waved his hand again, not at me. Footsteps from the dark—
‘NO—’
Gilardino appeared in the lamplight and shot Bayless in the temple. The chair toppled sideways and he fell the short distance to the floor, hitting shoulder first with a soft thud.
I gripped my head, my hands like a vice. Couldn’t tear my eyes off the corpse in front of me.
Rosenberg stepped to my shoulder. ‘He tried to set up a meeting with Ben. That your idea too?’
Took me two tries to get a word out. ‘No.’
‘You sure? Because that was what marked him out in the first place. Then you telling him to run came out this morning, once we got to talking, and that was the ballgame right there.’
I screwed my eyes shut. ‘But he didn’t run.’
‘No, but it wasn’t him we needed to punish.’
My jaw trembled, from guilt as much as anger.
‘You understand?’
He took a photograph from his pocket and held it out to me between his thumb and fourth finger, cigar in the same hand. Before I could think, I slapped it away, the cigar skittering across the floor, embers sparking off the concrete, and the photograph spinning off to the side.
In a blur his hand came up and I braced for a punch, but I realised he was holding up his palm, telling Gilardino to hold off. I looked around, saw he was only a few feet behind me.
Rosenberg dropped his hand. ‘You just can’t keep out of your own way, can you?’ He folded his arms. ‘Pick it up.’
I stood there, motionless – not defiance but a fear that as soon as I bent over he’d shoot me. But he inclined his head towards where it lay, said again, ‘Pick it up.’
I backed away a couple steps and crouched down to get it, hating myself every inch of the way, keeping both men in front of me and in sight as I did. The photograph was face down. I snatched it and stood up, held it out to give back to
him. ‘I don’t want it.’
‘That’s not your choice to make.’
I lowered my eyes and turned it over. It was a shot taken from distance, and hard to make out in the gloom. I held it closer, squinting, and saw Lizzie standing at the window of the Breakers Motel.
It fell from my hand.
‘Think about how you’ll feel when it’s her at your feet over there, and not a stranger.’
My eyes followed Rosenberg’s finger, almost a surprise to see Bayless’ corpse again – briefly forgotten in the shock. Fresh blood pooling under his head and creeping across the concrete.
‘You screw around this time, and it’s her next. And if you get some stupid idea like you’re indispensable, think twice. I know what you’re about, and once she’s dead, there’ll be no screw left to turn on you, so you’ll go too.’
I kept staring at Bayless, my vision losing focus, seeing only red on grey shrouded in blackness; then looking straight into the lamp, the white light burning through my eyes and searing into my brain, knowing I deserved the pain and more, and that it was only a down payment on what was to come – for them, for me, for all of us. All of us apart from Lizzie. ‘I’ll never let you lay a finger on her.’
He watched me a moment and I could feel his eyes roving over my face. ‘Do as I say and you won’t have to worry about it.’ He sounded almost conciliatory, as if the conviction in my voice unnerved him.
He nodded towards Gilardino. ‘Vincent’ll give you the next envelope. Three days to make them pay the money, but I want your piece written and ready to print inside of forty-eight hours. Bring it by Ciglio’s so I can see it. Square it all with your editor now – he presents you a problem again, you take care of it. No excuses this time.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Standing in the sunlight outside felt like a betrayal. Feeling its warmth on my skin, seeing the powder-blue sky, even being alive to take a breath – all of it facing the man who’d put a bullet in Bayless. Waiting on him to give me my next assignment.
The car that’d carried us to the warehouse was waiting when we came out. Gilardino popped the trunk and produced an envelope same as the last one. He handed it to me, but kept a grip on it when I reached to take it. ‘Why’d you act up? Kid would still be alive but for you.’