by Teri White
Spaceman acknowledged that with a shrug. “Has anything come back from Washington on the photo? Or the name Wolf?”
“No. I checked a couple times yesterday and first thing this morning.”
“Yesterday?” Spaceman looked at him. “What the fuck were you doing in here yesterday?”
Blue regretted the slip. He shrugged.
“Working on Christmas, when we had the day off. Shit.”
“I just caught up on some paperwork. Things were quiet.”
“I can imagine.”
Blue slammed the desk drawer closed. “I think everybody in the government went to Florida for the holidays.”
“Probably. And probably at my expense. Well, we’ll just have to muddle along without them, won’t we, partner?”
“For as much good as it will do us,” Blue said glumly.
As the day went on, his pessimism seemed more than justified. It was one of those shifts when absolutely nothing happened; a detective’s nightmare that was all too common in real life. Hours of muddling along with names and rumors netted them a flat zero.
They had lunch at a Mexican joint on Alverado, where Spaceman knew everybody and Blue decided going in that he was going to get indigestion.
Over the tacos, Spaceman seemed lost in thought, which suited his partner just fine. But then he looked up. “You should’ve called,” he said suddenly.
“What?”
“Hell, we had plenty of food and stuff. You could’ve come out and had Christmas dinner with us.”
Blue shrugged, finishing the last bite of his taco.
“You like being a fucking martyr?”
He smiled. “Next time, I’ll call,” he said.
“All right,” Spaceman said, seemingly mollified.
Things got no better after lunch. By the time they signed out, neither detective had much holiday cheer left. The fact that there had been no new killings by Wolf was the only thing that even resembled a bright spot.
Without even discussing the matter, they both walked across the street to the Lock-up. In the bar, they isolated themselves in a rear booth and downed some beer, not talking.
After two drinks, Blue stood. “I’m going to a gallery opening,” he said. “You want to come along?”
Spaceman was unwrapping a package of cheese crackers. He looked skeptical, then shook his head. “Maybe next time,” he said. “Enjoy yourself.”
The Addison Gallery was ablaze with lights when Blue pulled up and parked the Porsche. At the door, he displayed the opening night invitation and was waved in. Addison himself was nearby, greeting the arrivals. There was a respectable turnout, considering that it was still the holiday season and that the subject matter of the exhibit could hardly be called cheerful. That so many of the town’s beautiful people had shown up was due, no doubt, to the influence of Addison himself. He was, in Blue’s opinion, something of a fussy ass, but still a powerhouse on the local art scene.
He saw Blue and brightened. “Blue, so nice to see you. It’s been too long.” He probably was happy, considering just for example, the price Blue had paid for the Monet in his living room.
Blue replied with all the right words.
“I think you’ll find this most interesting. Wander, look, have some refreshment. The photographer himself is here, too.”
Blue nodded and moved off as Addison turned to welcome someone else. He picked up a glass from a passing tray and sipped the just barely adequate champagne as he started around the room.
He wasn’t quite sure why he was here; the past was something he tried not to think about. Maybe it was because of the damned telephone calls; maybe he thought there could be some kind of answer in the pictures.
The images of war hit him harder than he had thought they would. He moved slowly, from picture to picture, separate from all the people around him, lost in memory.
“You were there, right?”
Blue, startled, glanced sidewise at the tall, dark-haired man next to him. Like Blue, he wore a white dinner jacket and held a glass of the pitiful champagne. “It shows?” Blue said ruefully.
“Yes. To the practiced eye. Something in the way you stand. Defensive. Or aggressive maybe. But it shows.”
Blue heard the accent and remembered what he’d read in the catalogue. “You’re Devlin Conway, right?”
“Guilty.”
“Blue Maguire.” They shook hands. “Your pictures are terrific.”
“Thank you.”
Blue sipped champagne and tried to put into words what he was feeling. “They’re almost too real. I mean, photographs show reality, but these … they show the truth, too. If that makes any sense.”
“It does.”
Blue moved on a little and Conway moved with him. The stark black and white portrait of a naked child sitting on the ground next to his dead mother needed no comment. Blue just shook his head.
He stopped at the next picture. “God, this brings it all back,” he said in a voice that wasn’t entirely steady. The sweaty, anguished face of a young soldier stared at him, so real that it almost seemed he would speak.
“Maybe we don’t want it brought back.” Conway said.
Blue shrugged. Abruptly, he leaned forward to get a better look. The face of the soldier was strangely familiar. Someone he had known over there? The eyes seemed to pierce him and suddenly Blue realized who the young man was. “Who is that?”
Conway didn’t say anything.
Blue turned to look at him. “Do you know who this is?”
“Why?” Conway was watching the crowd.
“I have a good reason for asking,” Blue said, trying to keep his voice calm. “I’m a detective with the L.A.P.D.”
Now Conway shot him a quick look, then he glanced at the picture. “I don’t know,” he said flatly. “Why should I? I don’t know who any of these subjects are. They were just there. And that was a long time ago.”
Blue stared at him, wondering. Conway did not meet his gaze.
Conway finally gave him a weak smile. “Excuse me, but Addison is waving me over.”
“Nice talking to you,” Blue said absently.
Conway nodded and moved away quickly. Too quickly?
Blue turned back to the photograph once again. It was the man they knew as Wolf, no doubt about it. He took a deep breath. Damn. Damn.
Devlin unlocked the door and went into his apartment.
The only light in the living room came from the dim glow of the television screen. Lars, who was apparently here for the duration, was stretched out on the couch, a can of beer balanced on his stomach. His eyes were closed.
As Devlin ripped off the damned tie and jacket, he watched the even rise and fall of the other man’s chest. Then he sat down on the edge of the couch and took the beer can.
Lars smiled without opening his eyes. “So, big shot, how’d it go?”
The beer was flat and warm, but Devlin drank some anyway, because his mouth was so dry. “There was a cop.”
Lars scooted up a little and opened his eyes. “What?”
“There was cop at the show.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at the fucking pictures, Lars, what do you think?”
“So?”
Devlin tried to settle his jangled nerves. “So when he saw the picture of you, he asked me about it.”
Lars was wide awake now. “What did he ask?”
“If I knew who the soldier was.”
“And what did you say?” Lars asked in a gentle voice.
“I said no, of course.”
Lars relaxed. “Okay, no problem.”
“Why was he asking?”
“How the hell do I know?” Lars said irritably. “Probably just because that’s what cops do. Ask questions. It makes them happy. Just don’t worry about it. Things are happening very fast now. Couple more days at the most and we’ll have our fucking stones, lover. The cops can play with themselves all they want then.”
Devlin wanted to
ask more about the cop and about just what was happening, but he knew the tight-jawed expression on Lars’ face too well. The smartest thing he could do was shut up about that subject.
He took another sip of the warm beer and then he started talking again. But it wasn’t about the cop or even the diamonds. Instead, he talked about the good things that had happened during the evening. The praise his photographs had received. The number of people who seemed keen to buy.
Lars stretched out again to listen, a faint smile on his face.
35
Spaceman was beginning to get a little nervous. On Christmas Eve, for the hundredth or so time, he’d asked Lainie to move in with him. Except that this time, instead of just making some kind of joke about it, she thought for a moment, then said that it might be a good idea.
But now he was getting itchy.
Not that he didn’t want Lainie to live with him. He did. For sure. He thought.
The problem was, he hadn’t lived with anybody since the end of his marriage, so his previous experience was less than terrific on any number of counts. He didn’t want to fuck up what was now a perfectly good relationship.
As he turned into the parking lot, Spaceman was seriously considering asking his partner’s advice on the matter. Which was, he realized with dismay, some comment on the desperation of the situation. Asking anybody for help didn’t come easily to Kowalski, but anybody as smooth and classy as Maguire, with all that dough to boot, had to know the tricks of handling broads.
Not that Lainie was a broad. Far from it; she was a lady from the word go.
Spaceman almost wished he’d never met her, because it was all getting so complicated.
He was surprised to see Blue in the parking lot, sitting on the front of the Porsche and looking impatient. He pulled in next to the green car and got out.
“You’re late again,” Blue said immediately.
He glanced at his Timex. “Four fucking minutes, for Chris-sake. You gonna snitch to the captain?”
Blue slid from the car. “I’ve got something to show you.”
“Okay, show me.”
“Not here. Get in, I’ll drive.”
Spaceman glanced toward the station. “But—”
“I already signed us both in.” Blue looked at him. “This really can’t wait, Spaceman.” He seemed to be practically jumping out of his skin with eagerness.
Spaceman gave up and got into the Porsche. He reached for a cigarette and it was immediately clear just how stirred up Blue was; there was no dirty look for smoking in his car. “So you wanna give me a hint about what’s going on?”
Blue took a deep breath as he propelled the car through the morning traffic. “I went to that gallery opening last night, remember?”
“Yeah?”
“It was called Visions of Vietnam. Photographs, you know, taken by an Australian photographer named Devlin Conway.”
“Uh-humm. Terrific. Except that I don’t need any Instamatics of that pisshole, thank you very much.”
“Actually, it was good. The pictures, I mean. Real stark and yet sort of dreamlike—”
“Blue,” Spaceman interrupted warningly.
“What?” He glanced over, swerving to avoid a jogger at the same moment. “Oh, sorry.”
“If I want artsy-fartsy, I’ll read Time magazine. Just tell me what the hell is going on.”
“There’s a picture I want you to see. But don’t make me say anymore about it now. Not until you’ve seen it.”
Spaceman grunted and concentrated on finishing his cigarette.
The Addison Gallery was just opening as they arrived and no one was there except a very stacked blond receptionist. She dismissed Spaceman with a glance and gave Blue a long look, which he didn’t even seem to notice. Shaking his head, Spaceman followed his partner.
“There,” Blue said, pointing. “Look at that.”
With an indulgent attitude, Spaceman looked. The picture of the soldier brought a rush of memories, but he pushed them aside, as he always did, concentrating instead on the face. “Wolf,” he said almost instantly. “That’s Wolf.”
Blue exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath a long time. “Yes,” he said. “That’s what I thought.”
“I’ll be goddamned.”
“I asked Conway about the picture, but he claimed not to know who the guy is.”
Spaceman didn’t miss the choice of words. “Claimed not to know?” he said.
Blue let his gaze survey the walls, all the pictures. “Well, what he said made sense. That he couldn’t possibly know who all these people were. Especially after all these years.”
Spaceman agreed. “So?”
“But it was the way he said it,” Blue insisted. “I don’t know, Spaceman, but I just didn’t buy it.” He spoke firmly enough, but there was a shadow of indecision in his eyes.
Spaceman was quiet briefly, not wanting to blow this moment. It could sometimes be a handicap working with a partner who doubted his own capabilities. To be good at what they did required a certain amount of arrogance. Which Blue Maguire seemed not to have much of. “Shit, you may have something here, Blue,” he said finally. Although the words were sincere, he said them with somewhat more heartiness than came naturally.
Blue relaxed visibly.
“Do we have anything on this Conway?”
“I only spoke to him for a couple of minutes. But I got his address from the receptionist here.”
“Good.” Spaceman looked over at the woman, who had probably wanted to give Maguire a lot more than that. Then he glanced back at the picture. There was such a thing as luck in this business. But all the luck in the world wasn’t worth a pail of warm piss without the instinct. That instinct was what he had and maybe Maguire had it, too.
It was beginning to look like Wolf didn’t stand a chance.
36
Lars could feel a growing sense of excitement that was almost sexual. Although, in fact, this was better, because there was always another fuck down the road, but here was his chance to make the big score of all time, and how often did that happen to a man?
None of what he was feeling showed, either on his face or in the easy slouch of his body in the chair. He tilted the beer can up and took a long drink of breakfast.
Devlin appeared in the doorway. “Do you want me to come along?” he said. He hadn’t shaved yet and his eyes were bloodshot from too much booze and not enough sleep the night before.
“Not necessary. Tobias and I can handle this just fine.”
Devlin leaned against the wall. “Toby sounded a little pissed on the phone before.”
Lars just smiled. “He’ll settle down. Basically because, if somebody is going to get left behind on anything, he doesn’t want it to be him. Tobias still doesn’t quite trust me not to shaft him.”
“Jackass.”
“Ah, well, not everybody has your touching faith in me.” He finished the beer and tossed the empty can at Devlin, who caught it backhanded. “I better get my ass in gear. Tran is nervous and I don’t want him bolting on me.”
Devlin crushed the can easily. “This thing is almost over, right?”
“Right, lover,” Lars said, heading for the bathroom. “Almost over.”
Lars—showered, shaved, and dressed—was waiting on the sidewalk when the silver VW pulled up less than thirty minutes later.
Behind the wheel, Toby looked sullen.
“Cheer up, buddy,” Lars said as he got in. “Those diamonds are so close that I can almost smell them.”
“Right. Well, I’m worried. The cops already talked to me and Devlin told me what happened at the opening last night.”
“I told him not to worry about that.”
“Fine. Maybe he isn’t. I am.”
Lars glanced at him, a small smile flickering across his face. “Lemme tell you something, babe.”
“What?”
“If you’re looking for something to worry about, I suggest you put the cops pretty far down
on the list.”
“Oh?” Toby shifted gears gratingly.
“You better believe it. All they can do is ask their stupid questions and maybe, just maybe, bust you. Papa D. can kill us. He’s already promised that, right? And as for the gooks, I wouldn’t even like to think about what they might do.”
Toby sighed. “Thanks. You’re very comforting, you bastard.”
Lars just shrugged.
Tran sat near the back of the run-down diner, nervously drinking coffee from a chipped mug. He barely looked up when they sat down across from him.
Lars signaled the fat waitress for two more cups. She waddled over with them, poured some pale brown liquid into both, and left. “Well?” Lars said then.
Tran dabbed at his mouth with a crumpled paper napkin. “My father always said that you Americans were nothing but a bunch of wild cowboys.”
“Did he? Gosh, that’s really interesting,” Lars said, dumping too much sugar into his cup. The words dripped with sarcasm.
Toby sipped his coffee as if he didn’t quite trust it.
“Phillipe, you want to know something?”
“What?”
“I don’t give one good flying fuck what your father used to say, okay?”
“There is a point to what I said.”
“Oh, wonderful.” He nudged Toby with an elbow. “Phillipe here has a point. What is it?”
Rather surprisingly, Tran smiled. “If you keep on doing what you are doing, you will probably die.” It was just a fact the way he said it, not a threat.
Lars pushed at his hair absently. “Well, I look at it like this, Phillipe. Whatever I do or don’t do about the stones, I’m going to be dead. Sooner or later.”
“In this kind of trouble, I think sooner, much sooner,” Tran said. He looked at Toby. “Wolf here talks big, like always. But maybe you don’t feel the same. Maybe you’re not a cowboy.”
Toby was quiet, then he shrugged. “I’m in this with Lars,” he said. “Wherever it goes. Whatever. I’ll be dead one day, too.”
“Thank you,” Lars said, his voice only slightly mocking.
“Shit. Everybody ought to be a cowboy once in a while.” Toby smiled sheepishly. “Actually, I wasn’t quite sure until this moment. But it’s true.” He nodded. “I’m in till the end.”