by Pat Warren
“I recognized his picture,” Curtis mumbled, wiping his nose on a dingy sleeve. “The poster says he drives an old-model white Caddy and likes to dress up like a dude. That’s Wesley Greiner. I’d bet on it.”
“Where can I find him?” Michael asked.
Curtis closed one eye and looked up. “How much you willing to pay?”
Sherlock stepped in. “I told you Michael will pay when he checks the guy out.”
The beady eyes swung to the chubby man. “Who says I can trust him to come through?”
“I do,” Sherlock said quietly.
Curtis thought that over and apparently decided he would have to live with it. “Wesley lives on Alabama off El Cajon Boulevard. There’s an adult bookstore on the corner. His is the last house at the end of the block. You can’t miss it. It’s painted blue.”
“You know him?” Michael questioned.
“Sort of.” Curtis shuffled scuffed shoes in the dry grass. “He used to do P.I. work for this company I worked for, only the cops pulled his license. He takes odd jobs now. I stay away from him, mostly. He’s a grifter.”
“Okay,” Michael said. “I’ll check him out and be in touch.” He nodded his thanks to Sherlock, then walked with Fallon back to the van.
“What’s a grifter?” Fallon asked when they got under way.
“A con man. Pretty funny, isn’t it? One con man saying he avoids the other one.”
It was three days after they’d learned of Daryl’s death and a day after the boy’s forlornly sad funeral attended by only a handful of people from Michael’s House. Fallon had been spending her days looking for Laurie in every conceivable place, surmising that she had to be waitressing somewhere, as she had been in L.A.; and her nights with Michael, keeping him from slipping into despair, from blaming himself for Daryl’s apparent suicide.
Maybe finding the man who’d sabotaged his van would lift his spirits. “What are you going to do when you find this Wesley Greiner?” she asked him.
“Make him talk.” Michael’s mouth was a thin line.
“Shouldn’t we involve the law? Sam’s been pretty helpful.” She didn’t like the dangerous look on Michael’s face.
“Eventually. I’m going to drop you back at the house and...”
“Oh, no, you’re not. This is my battle, remember? This man came after you because of me. I’m going along.” She saw his jaw clench and went on. “That is not negotiable, Michael.”
“You could get hurt.”
“So could you. Everyone has said this guy is big. You’re in good shape, but I don’t imagine you’ve got a black belt in karate or something similar. And I don’t suppose you have a gun in the van, do you?”
He sent her a frown. “With kids in here all the time? Hardly.”
“Okay, then, I’ll walk with you, standing back a ways, holding your cellular phone. If he makes a wrong move, I’ll dial 9-1-1 so fast his head will spin.” To show him she meant business, she picked up the phone and placed it in her lap.
He tried to keep his lips from twitching. There was nothing humorous about their mission, but being backed up by a woman who probably weighed a hundred ten, armed with only a phone, struck him as slightly ludicrous. But he didn’t want to insult her so he nodded solemnly and concentrated on his driving.
He hadn’t been in El Cajon just east of San Diego proper in some time. The streets off the boulevard were named alphabetically after states and others were numbered. The area, sprinkled with cheap hotels and seedy bars, had definitely seen better days. Even so, he had little trouble finding Alabama Street and following it to the end.
“Well, it certainly is a blue house,” Fallon commented as they rolled to a stop two doors from the cinder-block bungalow painted blue that stood out like a sore thumb, even in this nonconforming neighborhood.
In the driveway was parked an old white Cadillac, its hood propped up. A man in stained overalls was leaning in, tinkering with something. At the sound of their car stopping, he straightened and looked over. He was tall with a full beard, his hair thinning.
“That’s our man,” Fallon whispered.
Michael kept his eyes on the man who he was certain recognized his van. “Fallon, I’d like you to stay here.” He opened his door, wishing she would listen to him, for once.
“Michael, I’m sorry. I’m going with you.” She got out on her side.
Damn stubborn woman, Michael thought as he walked toward the man, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. The big guy watched their approach, his face revealing nothing. Michael stopped a good ten feet away and felt Fallon move up behind him, clutching the phone. “Are you Wesley Greiner?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
The man gripped a wrench in one greasy hand and narrowed his eyes. “Who wants to know?”
“I’m Michael Redfield and this is Fallon McKenzie. We’re looking for her sister, Laurie. They’re both from Colorado. Would you happen to know where she is?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He studied them both for a moment, then turned back toward the car, dismissing them as he peered under the hood as if they weren’t there.
In a move that Fallon was later to think of as faster than a lightning bolt, Michael charged Wesley, wrenched the tool from his hand, tossing it to the ground, and twisted the man’s arm behind his back before shoving his face under the open hood of the car.
Wesley Greiner howled in surprise, then in pain over his arm being all but twisted off, and in fear as he realized he’d badly underestimated his visitor. “What do you want with me?”
“The truth would be nice.”
“I don’t know nothing.”
Michael increased the pressure on his arm and forced the man’s belly to the radiator and his cheek to the air filter as he gazed up at the metal prop rod that held the raised hood in place. “It wouldn’t take much for me to jar that and let this hood drop on you, Wesley.”
The big man grunted, trying an awkward backward kick to catch his captor off guard, but Michael was too fast for him, moving his feet aside while he used his free hand to deliver a sharp blow to Wesley’s back in the vicinity of his kidneys. The man’s shriek was even louder this time. “You don’t want to make me mad, Wesley.”
Fallon glanced around at the other houses, sure someone would run out to see what was happening. Not a door opened nor did she catch sight of anyone near a window. It was truly a neighborhood where people minded their own business. Tough luck for Wesley.
“All right, man, just don’t break my arm.”
Michael let up on the pressure, but only slightly. “You know Laurie McKenzie, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, we met.”
“At the Rodeo Bar. You gave her an envelope of money, right?” He watched the dark head nod. “Who hired you to give her money?”
“Some guy.”
Michael tightened the man’s twisted arm and gave him a quick punch in the back. “Give me a name.”
“Okay,” Wesley groaned. “Guy named Gifford. Roy Gifford.”
Michael’s eyes slid to Fallon and saw that she was listening intently. “Tell me how you got involved with Gifford.”
“He traced me through the an ad I put in the Yellow Pages a long time ago. I used to do private investigating. Gifford didn’t mind that I’d had my license pulled. Said he needed someone who could keep his mouth shut because he wanted to get rid of someone.”
Michael heard Fallon’s gasp. “Those are the words he used?” he asked Wesley.
“Yeah, but he didn’t mean murder. A payoff so she’d go away and never go back to Colorado.” He grunted again. “Hey, man, let me up. You’re breaking my damn arm.”
Michael kept his hold firm. “Not until you tell me all of it. So this Gifford called you from Colorado and asked you to find Laurie McKenzie and pay her to go away and never return. Is that right?”
“Yeah, I already told you.”
“Why did he want you to impersonate a private investigator from C
olorado? Why not just use your own ID?”
Greiner let out a raspy breath. “Gifford told me his other daughter was in San Diego and he wanted a cover, just in case. He had Tompkins’s card from when the guy did some work for the IRS and he mailed it to me. I got some made up at the print shop. The guy’s paranoid. He had me check in at a motel so there’d be no connection to my real identity in case someone snooped around. Okay, I told you everything, now let me up.”
“Not quite yet. How much money did he send you and how’d you get it?”
“Five grand sent through Western Union for the girl, five hundred for me.”
“So you found her, met with her at the Rodeo and gave her the money, right?”
“Yeah, only I had a helluva time finding her. Took me weeks. I called Gifford at his work number, reported in every day like he told me to. Finally, I told him I needed more money. After all, my time’s worth something.”
“Did he send you more?”
“Yeah.”
“How much more?”
“Another grand.”
“He tripled your payment just because it was taking longer? You’re leaving something out, Wesley.” He pressed the man’s head hard into the dirty filter, grinding his cheek. “Tell me the rest and let’s stop playing games. Why did Roy want Laurie to get lost?”
“Hey, man, how should I know? He didn’t say and I didn’t ask. That’s all I know.”
“No, there’s more. Come on, Wesley. Why did Roy give you another grand?”
Michael thought he knew exactly what Roy had paid extra for, but he wanted Wesley to say it out loud, wanted Fallon to hear just how rotten her stepfather was.
“Ouch, damn it. All right. He wanted me to find you and disable your vehicle. Nothing serious, just enough to warn you and to scare the girl’s sister into giving up and going back home.”
“So you punctured the brake line on my van, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but only a little hole. I figured you’d notice before anything bad happened. And you did or you wouldn’t be here.”
Michael ached to give the big creep a good going-over at how easily he dismissed their accident. “We were on the highway when the brakes gave out, going downhill. We could’ve gotten killed, you son of a —” He gave one last twist to Wesley’s arm, then let go and stepped back. “Never mind. You’re not worth it.”
Moving slowly, Wesley Greiner straightened and carefully brought his arm forward. On his face was a painful grimace replacing the pugnacious look he’d worn before. He wouldn’t meet Michael’s eyes, but instead glanced over at the wrench that had been taken from him with such ease.
“Don’t even think about it,” Michael warned him. “I imagine you know I could use that phone and have the cops here in minutes. I think they’d be real interested in how handy you are at disabling cars.”
There was helpless fury in the look Wesley sent Michael.
“I’m not going to do that, this time. But if I ever catch you near either of us, my house or my vehicles, or if I hear that you’re looking for Laurie again, I’ll be back. You’ll have a whole lot more than a sore arm to contend with then.” Still watching Wesley, he motioned Fallon to get in the van. “And I wouldn’t be calling Roy Gifford about this, if I were you. Let’s just keep this friendly visit between the three of us. I know where you live and I have a good memory.”
Michael got behind the wheel. Even as they pulled away, Wesley just stood there holding his painful arm, his eyes once more radiating impotent fury.
They were back on El Cajon Boulevard before Fallon released a nervous breath. “I had no idea you could be so tough and unafraid.”
“Who said I wasn’t afraid? Only someone truly stupid wouldn’t be afraid of a hulk like that without a conscience who’d do most anything for money.”
“You moved so fast, I was amazed.” She replaced the phone, still awestruck that things had gone as well as they had.
“Did you forget that I lived on the streets for years? You learn how to defend yourself quickly, or you don’t make it. A street fighter can be a dangerous man because he knows how to fight dirty.”
“Did you ever get hurt badly?”
He tapped his nose. “Been broken twice. A couple of cracked ribs. Nothing that time didn’t heal.” But he didn’t want to talk about himself. “How do you feel about Roy being willing to pay five thousand to get Laurie out of his hair?”
“Awful, of course. But that still doesn’t tell us why he’d want her gone so badly. I mean, I know that raising a teenager is no picnic these days, but to pay to have her gone! That’s terrible. If Mom only knew.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
Fallon was thoughtful. “First, I’m going to confront him. I want to hear if he’s going to try to weasel out of this. Knowing him, he’ll just say he never heard of Wesley Greiner and that the man lied.”
“I don’t think he lied, do you?”
“No, I believed him. It’s Roy I don’t believe.” She noticed that he was heading back to Michael’s House. “What are your plans for this afternoon?”
“I’ve got a staff meeting I must attend since I’ve postponed it several times. And tonight, I’ve got that fund-raiser that I promised Jonathan I’d attend. He’s been really good about getting donations. I can’t let him carry the whole load.”
“Of course not.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to nose around some more. I can’t just sit by and do nothing. Maybe someone’s seen the poster and spotted Laurie. Maybe Sherlock will come through again.” She leaned her head back, wondering just where they hadn’t searched. It seemed to Fallon that she’d personally visited every hill and valley, every street and alley in San Diego.
“I don’t like you going alone. Some of these areas are no place for a woman alone, even in the daytime.”
Fallon shoved back a fall of her hair. “Michael, please, understand. I’ve got to find her. You know I’m careful.”
“All right, but I’d like you back around four so we can get dressed for the fund-raiser dinner. It’s being held at the Del Coronado. Very elegant. Dressy, tuxes, all that.”
Inwardly, she groaned. She didn’t feel much like an elegant dinner with people she didn’t know, no matter how worthy the cause. She hadn’t packed with a party in mind. “I don’t know. We’ll see.”
He reached over and took her hand. “I’d really like you to be with me.”
She turned to look at him. “Why?”
That stopped him. He swung his eyes back to the traffic to buy a little time. “Do I have to have a reason beyond the fact that I want to be with you?”
And she wanted to be with him. But she wanted more, and she doubted if what she needed from Michael would ever be forthcoming. Fallon sighed. Well, he hadn’t lied, had never promised a thing; had in fact warned her that he didn’t want and didn’t need love or a permanent woman in his life. She’d been the one reading more into his words than he’d obviously intended.
No easy answers. “Let’s wait and see,” she said again, noncommittally.
“Hello, Mom,” Fallon said into the phone in Michael’s office. “How are you?”
“Oh, Fallon, it’s so good to hear your voice.” As usual lately, Jane Gifford’s voice held a trace of tears. Except when Danny was home. “I’m all right. How are you?”
“I’m okay.”
“Have you found any trace of Laurie?” A small sob escaped. “All this time with no word. I can’t believe it.”
So Roy hadn’t told her mother about her call to him at his office when she’d mentioned finding Laurie, then having her take off again. Fallon hadn’t expected he would. “Still nothing, Mom,” she answered, keeping up the charade. It wasn’t a lie, after all. She saw no reason to offer her mother false hope until she found Laurie a second time.
“Are you just looking there, in San Diego? Maybe she’s gone elsewhere. Maybe ... maybe you should just come home.” There was a sense o
f hopelessness apparent in each slow word.
“I feel sure she’s here, Mom. And I will find her.” She shifted to the real reason for her call. “May I speak with Roy?”
“He isn’t here, dear. He had to go out. Is it anything I can answer for you?”
It was Saturday afternoon, a day that Roy always spent at home. “Do you know where he is?” If he was working overtime in his quest to stockpile the almighty dollar, she might reach him there.
“No, I don’t. He just said he had an errand to run.”
Of course, Roy Gifford came and went as he pleased, not feeling it necessary to inform his wife of his whereabouts or his business. Despite Michael’s warning, maybe Wesley Greiner had let him know about his unexpected visitors and Roy was out rounding up still another shady character, this time to finish the job by making sure their van went over a cliff. She shuddered at the thought, well aware that Roy was a dangerous man who’d paid someone to commit a crime that could have ended with two dead, possibly more.
“So you don’t know when he’ll be back?”
“No, but I can ask him to call you.”
“Better not. I’m going to be in and out. I’ll call him later.”
“Are you really all right, dear? You sound, I don’t know, kind of funny.” Again, Jane’s voice cracked.
“Well, Mom, this hasn’t exactly been a picnic for me.”
“I’m sure, and I feel terrible. Both of my girls not home.”
Fallon loved her mother, but knew she had a propensity for hand-wringing and a tendency to hide from ugly realities. She wished she could indulge in that herself right now. “I’ll be talking with you again soon, Mom. Bye.” Slowly, thoughtfully, she hung up the phone.
Michael was upstairs in his staff meeting. It was already two. She didn’t have much time before he would corral her into attending that charity dinner. She had too much to do to spend time making nice with the upper crust.
Fallon rose and grabbed her shoulder bag. She would take her car and go to Balboa Park and see if she could pick up some leads. Anything was better than sitting around and worrying.