I was willing to bet that this time next year, the number would be three.
“How about that Luigi?” Eddie was grinning as we headed over to the church. “Don’t that tux fit like it was made for you?”
“As well as I’m sure his bridge does.”
Eddie laughed. “I’m just like a Lexus. Relentlessly pursuing perfection. And the dollars that go with it.”
Alicia, who was in the backseat, reached over and slapped his shoulder. “Don’t be so cynical.”
“What?” Eddie made a half-assed attempt to look wounded. “I got a right to do follow-up work on things, don’t I? Jim’ll tell you.”
Not wanting to get in the middle of what I hoped would be their penultimate pre-wedding day disagreement, I kept my mouth shut.
“So I bill his insurance for a little occlusal adjustment. Who gets hurt?”
“You should be nicer to him, all he did for you with the tuxes,” she said.
“Nicer? He’s got some great-looking choppers now. Thanks to yours truly.”
“And what about the insurance company?” she shot back. “Somebody still has to pay, right?”
“And that’s all part of the game of life,” Eddie said, his expression showing that he obviously felt he’d scored the deciding run. “You didn’t see him offering to give us a free ride on the tux rentals, did ya?”
I stretched and glanced in the side mirror, catching a glimpse of a silver Lincoln following us. The “objects may be closer than they appear” mirror made it impossible to tell, but I almost thought I caught a glimpse of a long-jawed driver who looked vaguely familiar. I turned to look out the back window, but the Lincoln slowed and made a right turn.
“See something?” Eddie asked.
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“Oh,” he said, “I figured you spotted a nice looking chick.”
Alicia reached up and slapped him again.
As wedding rehearsals went, this one was pretty typical. The minister gave us the rundown, and we practiced our entries. I was partnered with a maid of honor who looked young enough to be my daughter. I wondered if anyone would mistake Eddie for the father of the bride. Still, Alicia had turned out to be a very nice young lady, and, since it was her first wedding, she’d insisted on wearing white. I glanced at my watch and mentally calculated the hours until my return flight on Sunday.
Eddie had informed me that we were dropping Alicia off at her girlfriend’s so she could have her bachelorette bash. “Then we’re going to your hotel for my party,” he said.
“Haven’t you already had one of those?”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “Twice. The third time’s gotta be the charm. I’ve got a couple of strippers lined up that’ll do the deed. They been rehearsing this act called ‘The Dentist.’”
“Hey wait a minute,” I said. “I don’t want to get mixed up in that sort of thing.”
“Aww, relax. They’re strippers, not hookers.” He grinned again. “Plus, it’ll just show some innocuous business name.”
Frowning, I shot him a glance that told him how I felt about it.
When we got to the hotel, our first stop was the bar. Eddie had two martinis and I had a virgin piña colada. I figured one of us needed to remain sober. He was busy punching in numbers on his cell phone and frowning when the call seemed to take time getting connected. Finally he got hold of someone and reconfirmed the strippers were coming. He was getting sloppy now, as he covered the mouthpiece with his hand and asked me loudly, “What’s your room number again?”
I felt like belting him, but relented, against my better judgment. I said, “Four twenty-five,” in as low a voice as I could.
“Got that? Four twenty-five!” He was speaking so loudly now practically everyone in the damn bar must have heard him. “Forty minutes? Good.” He terminated the call, then leaned drunkenly toward me, placing a hand on my shoulder and confiding that he was ready for them.
“You don’t look so ready,” I said.
“Whatcha mean?” His face grew lugubrious for a second, as if I’d insulted his manhood. Then the sly look reappeared and he withdrew a mouth mirror out of his pocket. “Don’t leave home without it.”
I nodded, but he shook his head.
“This,” he said, edging closer to me and looking around to make sure no one else saw, “is what they call a multifaceted tool.” He gripped the small, circular mirror and twisted. Suddenly the end slipped off and a shiny blade protruded from the end. His voice was a whisper now. “See, when they tie me up, so they think I can’t grab their boobies, I just slip this outta my back pocket, and presto! In no time flat my hands are free to roam.”
I watched his self-congratulatory simper as he tried to reassemble the mouth mirror. Finally, I grabbed it and did it myself, handing it back to him and watching him try three times before finally slipping it back into his rear pants pocket.
He had one more drink while I nursed mine, glancing at my watch. Maybe he’d be so drunk that I could just slip the strippers a quick tip and get rid of them at the door. I could tuck Eddie onto the couch in the room so I could get some sleep. It was already getting late, by my standards.
We went up to the room and Eddie ordered a bottle of champagne on ice. When he mumbled to charge it to the room, I thought seriously about cutting his wedding gift in half. Donna had convinced me that it would be best, considering the groom’s proclivities, to just give money inside a card. The universal gift. But I was thinking about including a copy of How to Win Friends and Influence People.
The knock at the door startled me. Figuring it was the strippers arriving early, I went to open it and got the shock of my life. Roland Vanderberg stood in the doorway looking somber. His next words answered my unspoken query.
“Dr. Link, we have to leave right away.”
“What are you talking about? And what are you doing here?”
He licked his lips. “It’s your wife and daughter, sir. There’s been an accident.”
Eddie came over and stood by the doorway looking as dumbfounded as I felt. He blinked several times and began fishing in his pocket for his keys.
“Where are they?” I asked, reaching for my cell phone.
“I’ve got the hospital number on my cell,” Roland said. “Let’s go down to the lobby.”
He stepped back, allowing the door to slowly close. I rushed over, grabbing it, but it swung inward from a hard push. Roland came inside with it, followed by Mr. Pelican himself, Marco Fabian. He held a long pistol that I realized had a sound suppressor on it.
“Don’t move,” he said.
I looked at the black hole of the barrel and raised my hands.
Fabian motioned for Eddie to raise his also, but the alcohol was obviously overriding his better judgment. He smirked and said, “Why? What are you gonna do? Shoot me?”
Fabian moved forward with a quick step and backhanded Eddie across the face. The blow left a red mark on his cheek. The Pelican then jammed the elongated barrel into Eddie’s soft gut.
“You wanna make more fun of my jaw now, ash-hole?” His face showed a controlled rage, the dark eyes full of hate.
Eddie raised his hands, saying, “Okay, okay. I didn’t mean anything about your underbite. I was only trying to offer some professional advice.”
“Shaddup,” Fabian said, cocking his arm back again. Eddie cringed but no blow came. Fabian turned to Vanderberg. “You get their keys. I think we’ll use this dude’s Lexus. It’s time to go start another one of them wildfires.”
“Roland, what’s this all about?” I asked.
He compressed his lips and looked down at the floor as he went through Eddie’s pockets.
“What about my family?”
“They’re fine.” He swallowed hard. “It was just a ruse. I’m sorry.”
A ruse? Suddenly it all came together in my head. Good old venal Roland. I should have seen this coming. “Montoya. He bought you off, didn’t he?” Vanderberg seemed to wither under my st
are. “You Judas.”
“Look, I didn’t have any choice,” he said. “They made me do it. I owe them a lot of money. This’ll get me out from under.” His eyes met mine for a fleeting second and I suddenly knew how this little train wreck was going to play out. A nice, convenient accident in the desert somewhere, with drunken Eddie strategically placed behind the wheel. We’d both be conveniently killed, I’d miss testifying before the Grand Jury to obtain the search warrant for the original plaster mold, which was probably already being destroyed, and Montoya’s trial date would never arrive. Vanderberg fished the keys out of Eddie’s pocket and handed them to Fabian. He shook his head and tossed two plastic flex-cuffs on the bed.
“You’re gonna drive that one,” he said. “Now tie their hands.”
He looked hesitant, and the Pelican barked a repeat of the order. “Do it! Do it now!”
As Vanderberg grabbed my hands he muttered, “Sorry, Doctor.”
“What makes you think they’ll let you off the hook, Roland?” The moment they took us out of the room, we were as good as dead. “Once you’re in this, you’re a liability.”
My words had little or no effect. He tightened the plastic band around my wrists so I couldn’t move my hands. Fabian fingered Eddie’s keys, then handed them to Vanderberg.
“You drive this one,” he started to say, then his dark eyes flashed at the sound of a knocking on the door. “Go see who it is. Use the peephole.” He turned to us and pointed the barrel of the pistol at Eddie’s forehead. “Not a sound.”
Vandenberg moved to the door, then scampered back. “It’s two bimbos.”
“They alone?”
“Looks like it.”
Fabian considered this for a moment, then tapped the long barrel on Eddie’s forehead. “Who are they? Hookers?”
“They’re not hookers, they’re just strippers,” Eddie said. Tears rolled down his swollen cheek. “It’s my bachelor party tonight.”
Fabian stared at him intently. Another knock, more persistent this time, caused him to smirk. Turning to Vanderberg, he said, “This might work out better than I figured. Go answer the door. Tell them things ain’t ready yet and take ’em downstairs for a drink.”
Vanderberg blanched. “I wasn’t supposed to get this involved. Montoya promised—”
Fabian whirled and grabbed him by his shirt, doubling it up inside his fist. “You do what I tell ya! Now go take ’em downstairs. When I call your cell, take ’em to the Lexus.”
“How am I going to do that?”
Fabian pulled Vanderberg’s face close to his. His voice was low, guttural. “Tell ’em you got some weed in the trunk. I don’t care, just do it.”
He released Vanderberg with a rough shove and I almost wished he would have shot him. I know I wanted to.
Straightening his collar, Vanderberg moved to the door, opened it slightly, and began to step out. I could already hear him exuding that unctuous, artificial charm. The son of a bitch.
Fabian waggled the long barrel at us. “Come on, we’re taking the stairs. And if either of you tries anything, I’ll shoot you both and leave you laying there.”
My mind raced. I’d been an airborne ranger before I’d entered dental school, and had seen a little action in Operation Urgent Fury. I’d learned that escape was best accomplished before your enemy was totally set up, using the element of surprise. But with my hands tied behind me, I also knew I’d be dead before I could do anything. We went to the door and Fabian opened it, glancing up and down the hallway, then motioning us out. He draped a jacket over the long-barreled pistol and carried it down by his side. “Go down that way to the stairs,” he said. “Real slow.”
We walked single file, with me in the lead. I thought about the chances of making a break for it on the stairs or when we got to the lobby, but either way I’d be abandoning drunken Eddie and leaving myself open for a lethal shot. I had to wait for my chance.
Fabian had obviously spent some time on planning. He directed us down the stairway and through the back hallways to the parking area. It looked as deserted as a pauper’s funeral. Pulling a set of keys and a remote from his pocket, he pressed the button and a black van next to a pillar flashed its lights. Fabian cocked his head toward it. When we got there, he pulled open the side door and ordered us in. The rear windows were darkly tinted and all of the seats had been removed from the rear portion. As we struggled to get inside, Eddie slipped and fell sideways. Fabian reached down and pulled him up, pushed him inside, and then punched him twice on the side of the face.
“Leave him alone,” I said. “Can’t you see he’s defenseless?”
My rebuke inflamed Fabian more, and he pushed me to the floor. Stepping into the space, he closed the side door after him and kicked me hard in the stomach. I curled into a ball and fought for breath.
“You want some more?” he asked.
All I could do was struggle to breathe.
Fabian stood crouching over us for a few more seconds, then plopped down in the driver’s seat. He shoved the keys into the ignition, started the van, and backed out of the parking spot. He drove about twenty feet and stopped, taking out his cell phone. I listened to the one-sided conversation as he spoke.
“Yeah, Vanderberg? You got the broads with you? Okay, I’m by the ashhole’s Lexus. You know where it’s parked? Okay, bring them down here and we’ll club ’em and stick ’em in the van.”
He turned to us and grinned malevolently, his prognathic jaw making him look like a caricature. “This will look real neat. Two middle-aged ash-holes in a car with two hookers, and they all die in a fiery crash.”
“Why are you doing this?” Eddie said, his voice cracking. “What did I ever do to you?”
Fabian smirked, then said, “Shut up. Be a man.”
Eddie began to sob and Fabian turned away with a laugh. I rolled onto my side and edged closer to Eddie, reaching my hands down toward his back pockets. If I could get his dual-purpose mouth mirror there was a chance, albeit a slim one, that I could free myself. He rolled away at my touch and I worked closer to him, not daring to whisper. Fabian turned toward us.
“What are you two doing?”
“These damn plastic bands are cutting into our wrists,” I said, managing to tap Eddie’s behind with my fingers. I hoped he would realize what I was trying to do. “Can’t you loosen them?”
Fabian emitted a low chuckle, the air whistling through his gaping crossbite. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to suffer much longer.”
My fingers caressed the cheek of Eddie’s large posterior, walking their way up the flat edge of his back pocket. He stiffened, but stayed put. I worked my index finger and thumb down into the pocket, my hands feeling numb from the lack of circulation. Eddie held fast, even moving up slightly trying to assist me. I felt the circular edge of the mouth mirror and moved my finger down along the beveled metal, curling around it, twisting, working my thumb around to secure the grip, then lifting, pulling.
I had it. My fingers were nimble and strong from years of working in small oral cavities with minute movements. This was proving even more challenging. I twisted the mirrored end off and felt the sharp blade between my fingers. Working it up toward the tight band that was securing my wrists, I readjusted my grip and began a sawing motion, hoping Fabian wouldn’t choose that moment to turn around.
His cell phone rang, and I heard him say, “Yeah, I see ya. Keep coming.” He chucked again. “Nice-looking broads. Too bad we ain’t got time to have some fun with ’em.”
I continued the sawing. The blade slipped off a few times, and the pressure on my wrists was constant. Fabian shifted in his seat, then opened the driver’s door. I heard him speaking, then a loud female voice of protest, followed by a truncated scream. Noises of someone colliding with the side of the van, then moving toward the rear quickened my pace. It was now or never. I pressed the blade against the plastic band again, pressing and sawing, pressing and sawing.
It gave way with a click. My
hands were free, but so numb and tingling that I doubted I could use them. Struggling to my knees, I grabbed the small metal instrument with my left hand, and worked the fingers of my right, flexing and shaking. The rear door opened and I saw Fabian holding the pistol against the head of a young blond girl with a terrified look on her face. His protruding jaw rubbed against the girl’s temple.
“Get in there, bitch,” he said.
I took this moment to jump forward, reaching with my left hand to grab the elongated barrel of the pistol, and plunging the sharpened point of the mouth mirror into Fabian’s left carotid. The gun popped, sending a round whizzing by my head and into the roof of the van. I threw my weight forward and we both were on the hard cement, rolling, punching, and kicking. Suddenly his resistance evaporated and he began to go limp. I pushed myself up on my hands and knees and saw the pelican man’s lips twisting back over the huge jaw in a deadly grimace, bright arterial blood gushing like a broken pipe onto the gray floor.
I secured my grip on the pistol and saw one of the girls staring at me in terror.
“Find his cell phone,” I said. “Call nine-one-one.”
Vanderberg was standing a few feet away and began talking as I straightened up and walked toward him.
“Doctor Link, I can explain everything,” he said, his voice quavering. “They forced me to tell, to cooperate. Forced me to tell them where you were. I had no idea—”
He stopped talking when my left fist collided with the front of his mouth. The punch, one of the first I’d thrown in anger in many, many years, knocked him backwards, sending him down to the concrete floor. His head made a popping sound as it hit the ground, which gave me an almost sadistic sense of satisfaction. His eyes rolled back into his head, exposing the white scalera momentarily, then the irises snapped back into place. He rolled onto his side and began coughing, spitting out a pool of blood with at least three broken porcelain crowns from his front incisors.
At the Scene of the Crime Page 22