City Havoc

by Jack Adler

  “So I’d like to go to this meeting on Sunday night,” I said. “It might be useful, and I’ll catch the first flight Monday.”

  Wolcott didn’t reply right away, and I could visualize him deliberating. Finally, he said, “I’ll defer to your judgment on this meeting, Derry, but that’s it. DeCosta is extremely impatient, and we don’t seem to be getting anywhere. I just hope there aren’t any more murders.”

  “The HAP is going to slip up,” I predicted.

  “But Holly is still our responsibility, though the legal picture is muddled,” Wolcott said. “All right, get me back to with any news.”

  The likelihood of that was dubious, I thought. More time to fail.

  “Is this Greene a danger to us?” Rona asked Bender as they sat before the television after the noon news program featuring Derry’s interview ended. Luke was getting gas for the car, and Holly was in her room, avoiding their company as usual. Luke brought her pocket books and women’s magazines and doted on her like a servant. It was disgusting, Rona thought. Who were the captors and who was the hostage?

  “I don’t think so,” Bender said. “He doesn’t know anything. It’s just a PR thing for Tramerica.”

  “But he said he disagrees with the police, and he thinks Holly is a dupe.”

  “So what? Lots of people disagree with the police. We do.”

  Bender smiled at his own witticism, but Rona was still displeased.

  “So we just let it go?”

  “We’re able to keep tabs on him. If we show we know too much or try too hard to know more, it would be a mistake.”

  “What about this other private detective?”

  Bender said, “You know, the more people who look for us, the more they’ll get in each other’s way. We just have to be very careful, which we are. And we’re not going to be here that much longer.”

  Rona shrugged. “How long can we keep the bitch?”

  “Rona,” Bender said as he shook his head, tired of Rona’s obvious hatred of Holly. “She’s our utensil. Let’s keep the utensil, and in good shape, as long as she serves our purpose.”

  “I know,” Rona conceded. “I just can’t help despising her. Spoiled rich brat!”

  “Well, she isn’t too spoiled or rich right now, though that might change fairly soon.”

  Rona saw Bender’s eyes twinkle the way they did when he was harboring some secret. Her face brightened into a smile, though she also recognized that she would be unable to ferret any details out of Bender until he was ready.

  “The sooner the better,” she still had to say.

  At a small but atmospheric Italian restaurant on Ventura Boulevard, we started to share a half bottle of California chardonnay. Val ordered osso buco while I felt like some beef with a side dish of spaghetti. The meeting with Professor Cabral and the upcoming second encounter at his home had cheered me up. But Jez Boomie’s derriere, as round and plump as it was, had the opposite effect. The HAP was still winning this fight, and my time was running out.

  "I think Jez Boomie should run for mayor," Val joked as we went over the day’s events.

  "She'd probably win. She has attributes he doesn't."

  "I'm glad you didn't say assets."

  So am I, I thought, grinning. "What're you doing over the weekend?" I asked.

  Val shrugged. "Errands. Vacuuming. Finishing some other stories."

  "Oh, those."

  "Yes, those. To making a living."

  Val had begun distancing herself, and I couldn't blame her. Even though Wolcott was letting me stay an extra night to attend the meeting at Cabral's home, what difference would it really make? Any other extension of my stay in Los Angeles was unlikely. Wolcott had been firm on that score. I returned Cabral’s book to her. Maybe I’d take it out of the library when I got home for a thorough read.

  Suddenly, my appetite dimmed considerably as Detective Ruiz materialized before our booth. I had decided that whoever had followed us had to be either the police or Frank Conrad—I had been wondering what he was up to—though I couldn't understand why either would want to keep such close tabs on me. Afraid Val might think I was paranoid or too frightened to continue, I hadn’t said anything to her. Now it was too late.

  "Hey, look who's here," Ruiz said with false cheer and surprise. He stood by the table wearing a light brown sport jacket and dark brown trousers. His splashy yellow tie, which fell below his belt, created too strong a contrast with his blue shirt. He glanced with approval at Val. "Introduce me to your friend."

  "Valerie, this is Detective John Ruiz of the LAPD, a well-known aficionado of Italian cuisine."

  Ruiz smiled. "Nice to meet you, Valerie, and I do love Italian food. It's great."

  I waited for him to leave, but he obviously didn't intend to. He had this idiotic smirk on his swarthy face as if he had pulled a fast one on me.

  "Look, I don't mean to interrupt your dinner, but could I have a few minutes of your time?"

  Without waiting for a response, Ruiz slid in beside me at our booth. "Your story and TV interview generated some interest."

  "Really?" I said.

  "I told you to back off, and now we're wondering what your company is up to."

  My face clouded over, though I tried to shield my concern. Val seemed intrigued and just watched our faces. "What do you mean?"

  "I think you're trying to cover up some sort of link between your travel agency and the HAP, or you wouldn't be pushing the crap about Holly’s innocence so much. We’re looking into that, chum."

  "So that's why you're following me?" I threw back. I decided not to take a crack at his inability to understand that Tramerica wasn’t a travel agency or his theory on my activities. His comment about Tramerica was indeed a potential problem, but I sure wasn’t going to betray that concern on my part. "Is that a wise allocation of police resources?"

  "Wise ass!" Ruiz glared at me. I don't know if he was angrier at being detected or at my question. "Sorry, Valerie, but you seem to be working with our friend here, and my advice to you—to both of you—is to back off and leave the investigation to us."

  "Is that a threat?" Val said, her eyes narrowing. She was not one to be intimidated.

  "No, just friendly advice," Ruiz said. But his face and his tone of voice were anything but friendly.

  "You don't seem to be getting very far with your investigation," I said, feeling he deserved a dig for interrupting our repast.

  "Go back to New York!" Ruiz snarled.

  "I like the weather here."

  "Wise ass!"

  Ruiz, I thought, was probably a good detective. But he had a limited vocabulary, and he didn’t dress very well, either.

  "As long as we're chatting," I added, "what did Jez Boomie have to say about her unfortunate experience?"

  It was doubtful that the victimized actress, embarrassed in such an outlandish way, had been able to provide any information that might be useful. The HAPs hadn’t been careless—at least not yet. I was still sure that Ruiz wasn't going to share anything.

  "Ongoing investigation, sport."

  Shifting verbal channels, I thought. I always hated being called "sport" or “chief.” For put-downs, I preferred "pilgrim," which wasn't much in vogue.

  "How about you?" Ruiz asked both of us. "Learn anything interesting at the prof's house?"

  "Sure," I quickly responded before Val could react.

  Ruiz smiled and stood. "Hey, that's a good wine," he said, "but you shouldn't drive if you're drinking. You might get pulled over."

  With that parting shot, delivered with another warning look, Ruiz left the restaurant. He had a jaunty walk, like he owned the place.

  "Well," Val said, "that was certainly interesting. Why didn't you tell me we were being followed?"

  "I wasn't sure," I lied. And then I told her another lie; I said I might be able to stay beyond Sunday. It gave me more time to pursue my theory, and Val as well, I thought, nurturing what I knew to be a delusion.

  Val seeme
d sad, which encouraged me, strangely enough. "Val, I'm sorry if I've created any problem for you with the gendarmes."

  "You haven't," she said.

  "And depending on any other developments, as well as the meeting at Professor Cabral's house, you may not be rid of me yet."

  "I'll drink to that," Val said brightly, lifting her glass. "Professionally speaking, of course."

  But now I wasn't so sure. . . .

  Bender spent the late night hours flying his small Piper plane, which he normally housed in a secret hangar over the Los Angeles Dam in the San Fernando Valley. The dam was a major component of the city’s water supply. When he had the right angle, he dropped several packets of a toxic mix of bacterial and man-made waste that would dissolve in the water. The toxin shouldn’t be fatal, though there was no certainty on the matter; but everyone’s unhappiness with the taste would soon turn to panic over drinking tap water. He was doing the bottled water industry a favor, but their turn would probably come in the future. The only problem was that he couldn’t be sure in the darkness if his aim had been good. He’d have to wait until the next day’s news to find out—that is, if the mayor didn’t keep his latest attack a secret.

  Eight

  SATURDAY

  “This is our toughest operation,” Bender said as Luke parked in the visitor parking area near Dock 17 at the Port of Los Angeles Cruise Center. Light had yet to break through the darkness, but the massive shape of a large ship lay like a lateral mountain against the dock.

  “The ship just pulled in from a cruise to Mexico, and they’ll start disembarking now. But passengers that get off won’t for a couple of hours.”

  Bender slipped off his clothing to reveal a wet suit underneath. He withdrew a bomb from the trunk of the car.

  “If I’m not back in thirty to forty minutes, leave.” He secured the bomb against his chest so both hands would be free to swim.

  “I can’t leave you here,” Luke protested.

  “Do it!” Bender ordered.

  Luke nodded. Bender gave him a final stern glance and then advanced covertly to the edge of the brackish water. He lowered himself into the water without hesitation and swam as silently as possibly toward the SS Carefree. Nearing the ship, he found the anchor chain and swam toward it. He came up for a quick gasp of air and then dove down again. He slipped up the chain but stopped short of the surface. He attached the bomb to the anchor chain and swam away.

  The explosion went off before Bender clambered back on shore. Luke was still waiting for him.

  “They put a blindfold on me, so I couldn’t even see where we were going, but I described the two men who kidnapped me to the police,” Jez Boomie said.

  But we saw a lot of you, I thought as I watched the early morning news. Actually, I recalled how the television segments had censored Jez’s curvaceous bottom in an act of electronic delicacy.

  “How are you coping now?” the female newscaster asked with luminous eyes and a sympathetic expression stitched on her face.

  “I’m all right,” Jez said as if she had overcome the twin traumas of being kidnapped and humiliated in public. She was wearing a tight green sweater over form-fitting white slacks. Deep red lipstick shone through layers of makeup on her round cheeks. “It was a terrible experience and I don’t know if it’s sympathy or what, but I’ve even gotten offers to read for some parts in upcoming movies,” she trilled.

  Pornographic? I wondered. I had read that the San Fernando Valley was the world headquarters of porno films. But that was unfair to Boomie; she was a victim.

  “That’s great,” the newscaster said. “We hope it works out for you, and thanks for being our guest.”

  “Thank you,” Boomie said, shifting her glance to smile at the viewing audience as if it were composed of casting directors.

  “And now in late breaking news,” the announcer went on breathily, “there was an explosion early this morning on the SS Carefree, of Poseidon Cruises, at the Cruise Center.”

  Graphic shots of a gaping hole in the side of the hull of the liner and of a succession of passengers and crew being taken off the stricken ship on stretchers filled the screen. A news announcer broke in: “Preliminary reports tell us that more than forty people, both passengers and crew, have died. More than one hundred people have been evacuated to local hospitals, many in critical conditions. Fires aboard the ship have been extinguished, but total damage is still unknown at this time. Plans to set sail later today have been canceled, and the ongoing schedule is still uncertain. Now we’re going to the office of Mayor Waldon.”

  “Success in the water, apparent failure in the air,” Bender said, switching the television off. He felt very tired after his exertions during the past twelve hours.

  “It’s still possible you got the stuff in the dam,” Rona said. “They’re just not admitting it.”

  Bender smiled and then shook his head. “I tasted the water this morning. Can’t win ‘em all.”

  At the mayor’s office, Waldon was sitting behind his desk looking very stern. He cleared his throat and then spoke.

  “Citizens of Los Angeles, it is with great sadness that I’m compelled to report that this terrorist group has perpetrated another outrage. A bomb exploded early this morning near the hull of the SS Carefree, of Poseidon Cruises. There have been fatalities, and many have been injured. A full report will be made shortly.

  “Again, be fully assured that the police will apprehend these terrorists. They will be caught and prosecuted to the full extent of the law. We will not yield to these criminals. The city of Los Angeles will not be held hostage. The police, aided by federal authorities, have expanded the special task force working to catch these criminals. They will be found. They will be punished.”

  Great determination, I thought, but few results so far. But the same could be said for me. Now I had to call Wolcott. First, I tried him at the office, where he often was on Saturdays, but he wasn’t there this time. Agnes wasn’t there, either. He picked up at home, though. Surprisingly, he was already aware of this morning’s disaster. Bad news traveled fast in our brave new electronic age.

  “Derry, the situation is becoming graver. There isn’t much point in your staying any longer.”

  “Let me stay over the weekend. Maybe I’ll pick up something we can use at the Sunday soiree.”

  I could almost hear Wolcott pondering over the phone. “OK, but set up your flight for Monday. Call me with details.”

  Then I told Wolcott of my meeting with Frank Conrad.

  “Did you get a sense of where he stands in finding out anything?”

  “Yes, and he doesn’t know much. He was feeling me out, and vice versa.”

  “Well,” Wolcott said, “he’ll have the field to himself soon.”

  I saved my best or worst ammunition for last. “Wolcott, there’s only one other thing: the detective I saw originally caught up with me at a restaurant last night, and I don’t know if he was just trying to scare me off because of the media stories, but he said they were still looking into a link between us and the HAP.”

  “What?!” I was expecting a minor explosion from the usually conservative and reserved Wolcott and wasn’t disappointed.

  “I think the police were just unhappy with my saying I wasn’t sure that Holly had really joined this group.”

  “I told you to be careful.”

  “I was. You’ll see. The print story and the tape were sent to the office by Federal Express. I thought you’d be at the office.”

  “I’ll go in this afternoon,” Wolcott said in a clearly unhappy tone.

  That hadn’t worked out as I had hoped; I half-expected Wolcott to want me to stick around to see what the police were up to, but at least I received a minor extension. First, I called the airline and booked a late Monday morning flight. Then I phoned Val.

  Bender and Luke positioned themselves near the Burbank Airport, careful not to attract attention. “Security is not as heavy here as at LAX,” Bender said as they w
atched a descending plane, its engines roaring an early morning salutation.

  “They fly really low here,” Luke said.

  “Which makes it noisy for homeowners and easier for us.” Bender hesitated a moment, waiting for the jet to land. But before it advanced to the gate, he ordered, “Lock and load.”

  Luke quickly aimed the grenade launcher at the jet on the tarmac.

  “Bull’s-eye!” Bender said, congratulating Luke. From their vantage point, they could see the plane enveloped in flames.

  ****

  Mayor Waldon was furious.

  "These bastards aren't going to get away it. Only twenty-four passengers got out of that plane, and the others died a horrible death."

  Police Chief Calpin nodded. This one-on-one meeting was going to be difficult, as he had little results to report, and now the cruise ship and airport disasters had really enraged the mayor. “The emergency crew put the fire out quickly.”

  “Not quickly enough.”

  Calpin nodded. “We've rescinded vacations and added street personnel, and we're guarding all public places."

  "And yet they can stick bombs on ships and hit airplanes and just disrupt the city at will."

  "We can't be everywhere," Calpin said with a gulp.

  "No, but they can," Mayor Waldon said, exasperated. He quickly added, "I'm sorry, chief. It's not the fault of the police. We've never faced anything quite like this group before."

  "That's for sure," Calpin said, relieved. "If only the media could cut down on their reports. They’re making the public even more nervous. People are afraid to travel, shop and participate in normal activities."

  "News is news," Mayor Waldon snorted.

  Calpin was forced to nod. It was a sorry relationship between terrorism and the news; they fed on each other like a true symbiosis, he thought. But how could they totally embargo what had to be acknowledged as hard news? It had to be voluntary on the part of media.