The Money Shot

by Stuart Woods

  “I believe it. Good. I was worried. I drove by Stone’s house last night and your car wasn’t there.”

  “I moved out.”

  “To where?”

  “An undisclosed location.”

  Tessa paused. “Well, I suppose it’s better if I don’t know.”

  58

  Teddy pulled up in front of his house, or what was left of it. He parked on the street and walked up the drive, just an unfortunate owner inspecting the damage.

  A crime-scene ribbon was strung in front of the rubble, due to the fact that the police were considering it arson. Teddy stepped over it and went up to the stoop. The front door was gone, indeed, as was most of the front wall. The remnants were no longer smoldering. There was no smoke. Except for the danger of falling debris or a floor cave-in, it was relatively safe.

  Teddy walked through what had been the living room. Nothing remained. He checked where his office had been. His computer had melted from the heat. There was no hard drive for him to destroy.

  Teddy was in luck. The firemen had managed to save part of an interior wall. It was worthless in itself, but it blocked the view from the street. Behind it was the real reason Teddy had come. The wall would protect him while he inspected it.

  Teddy stepped around the corner to see if his incredibly expensive, state-of-the-art safe was really fireproof.

  It was. The massive floor safe was covered with ashes and debris, but the titanium underneath had not dented, blistered, or in any other way succumbed to the heat.

  Teddy crouched down out of sight from the street and went to work on the combination. The dial stuck a little, but the tumblers clicked. Teddy took a breath, and swung the door open.

  The safe had stood up well. The Ziploc bags containing his sets of credentials had not melted. The bills in his cash supply were still crisp. The wigs and disguises and makeup kit appeared to be fine, too.

  But all of that was incidental. Teddy’s eyes were immediately drawn to the gun that had killed Ace Vargas. It was separate from his other weapons in its own evidence bag. He snatched it up and examined it. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was fine.

  Teddy loaded the gun into the backpack he’d worn for that purpose. He put the bills and credentials in, too. He packed the wigs and disguises into trash bags he’d brought along in the backpack, and grabbed the makeup kit. He locked the safe, just in case he was interrupted and not able to get back, and toted everything to the car.

  No neighbor came out to commiserate with him on the loss of his house, which was damn lucky, as he was dressed as Mark Weldon and had no right to be there.

  Teddy locked everything in the trunk. He grabbed an empty backpack and a suitcase and hurried back to the safe. It opened easily—no sure thing when it stuck slightly once.

  He’d cleaned out everything but the weapons, of which there were many. There was the sniper rifle he’d designed himself, with the silencer and the scope. It had its own case, but other things didn’t. They included a wide variety of handguns, some with silencers, and some designed to be as noisy as possible. Some were huge. Some held only two shots but could fit in the palm of your hand.

  Teddy had brought towels to wrap the hardware in. He filled the suitcase and the backpack.

  There were still a number of burglar tools remaining, such as crowbars and wire cutters, but nothing that related directly to crime. Teddy grabbed the case with the sniper rifle, locked the safe, and toted the weapons back to the car.

  He locked his arsenal in the trunk and exhaled in relief.

  And looked around.

  Teddy had another bag in his trunk that would hold the burglar tools, but entering the house a third time would be pushing it. He had everything crucial. He should drive away, thanking his lucky stars. But in the back of his mind he had a vision of a fire inspector and the head of the arson squad forcing him to open the safe in their presence, and then demanding to know why he had such a massive security device just to protect a few simple tools. Far better they find nothing to discuss.

  Teddy grabbed the bag and hotfooted it back to the house. The lock stuck this time, wouldn’t you know it, but he got it open and stashed the tools in his bag.

  Teddy locked the safe and made a last perilous journey from the house to the car.

  As he drove away from the house, waves of relief flooded over him. He had retrieved everything that had been in the safe. And now he had no reason to go back.

  59

  Teddy finished unloading the car into his hangar apartment and called Mike Freeman.

  Mike was pleased to hear from him. “I hear your house burned down.”

  “Your vast network of spies?”

  “I saw it on TV.”

  “I’m surprised I rated the coverage.”

  “There was a hint of arson.”

  “It was a pretty broad hint. At least a dozen empty gas cans were found at the scene.”

  “It’s a wonder the police don’t have you in handcuffs.”

  “Maybe they were stumped by my lack of motive. Burning it down while I was in it also struck them as a dumb move.”

  “Do they have any other suspects?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “What about this Nigel Hightower the Third?”

  “What about him?”

  “Could he have done it?”

  “In a word, no.”

  “Are you sure? It would be a relief. To know he’s still alive.”

  “He’s still alive, Mike. But he couldn’t burn a house down unless it was a fraternity prank and someone else brought the matches. Trust me, it wasn’t him.”

  “You know who it was, don’t you?”

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

  “Are you going to do something about it?”

  “Would you want to know if I did?”

  “I guess I’d better hang on to my ignorance and plausible deniability,” Mike said dryly.

  “Probably better,” Teddy agreed. “Anyway, I bought a house on Mulholland Drive.”

  “I heard that, too. Rather posh, I understand.”

  “It’s a Hollywood house. Modern three-story split-level, with a terrace and a pool. I have no idea what security system is in there now, but it can’t possibly be adequate. I’d like Strategic Services to install your top-of-the-line equipment.”

  “You haven’t seen the security system?”

  “I haven’t seen the house.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Billy Barnett’s on vacation, and there’s no reason to come back. Someone just tried to kill him. I’m hoping they won’t burn down his house if he isn’t in it, but I’d still like it armed. Can you do that for me?”

  “You know I can.”

  “Your men will have to apply to the real estate agent to get in. I’ll let her know they’re coming.”

  “Do you want cameras?”

  “Exterior only. I’m counting on you to make sure no one gets in. Also, figure out where to put a floor safe and get me the best you can find, fireproof, virtually impregnable, that can’t be picked. Something in the neighborhood of six feet high and four feet wide.”

  “You’re letting me design your house for you?”

  “Good point. Your men may run into Marvin Kurtz, who is designing the house, and may be a little territorial. Tell them to go easy on him, but get the job done.”

  “You got it.”

  “Good man. Talk to you later.”

  “You need anything in the way of personal armaments?”

  Teddy glanced at the array of weapons he’d just lugged up from the car.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  60

  Jake reported back to Sammy Candelosi. He’d been putting it off because he figured Sammy wouldn’t be happy.

  He wasn’t. “That’s all yo
u’ve got?”

  “That’s a lot, Sammy. He’s bringing in out-of-town talent. The guy’s been delayed, but he’ll be coming. What more do you want?”

  “Who’s the guy? When’s he coming? Where is he? Why is he delayed?”

  “I thought you knew who the guy was.”

  Sammy’s eyes widened. “You gonna argue with me?”

  “Oh, no, of course not. All that would be good to confirm. But he didn’t want to tell me. What am I going to do, say you gotta tell me, Pete, Sammy wants to know? I’m doing everything I can without tipping him off.”

  “Or you already tipped him off so he’s not giving you anything.”

  “He doesn’t suspect a thing, I swear.”

  “Then get back there and get me some more information. And speed it up, will you? You took so long getting this I thought you were dead.”

  Jake said nothing, just stood there and took the abuse. He figured it could have been worse.

  “Go on, get out of here,” Sammy said.

  Jake grimaced as he headed for the door. It seemed everyone was telling him that lately.

  When he was gone, Slythe said, “What do you make of that?”

  Sammy shrugged. “He’s probably right. The guy’s house burned down, and he’s hung up dealing with it. When he gets his affairs in order, he’ll be headed here.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Damned if I know. No one ever burned down my house.”

  “So he’s still in L.A.”

  “It would appear so.”

  “You want me to go back and try to find him?”

  “That might take a little time. I need you here.”

  “So what do you want to do about him?”

  “There’s guys who handle that sort of thing.”

  61

  Skip tracer Tony Zito was a beefy ex-cop known for his uncanny ability to find people. Less well known was what he was willing to do to them once he found them.

  Sammy Candelosi sized him up. The man didn’t look like a private investigator. Square-jawed and paunchy, he looked like your run-of-the-mill goon.

  “I understand you can find people.”

  “That’s my job.”

  “Even people who don’t want to be found.”

  “It’s not hard finding people who want to be found.”

  Sammy chose not to regard the remark as insolent, though it certainly was. “You also deal with them.”

  “If they need to be dealt with.”

  “This man needs to be dealt with.”

  “I’ll find him for ten thousand. I’ll deal with him for twenty more.”

  “That’s a lot of money.”

  Tony shrugged. “I can just find him and you can kill him yourself.”

  “I’m not a killer, Mr. Zito.”

  “No, you just hire them,” Tony sneered. He was an obnoxious man, too dumb to know how unpleasant people found him. “I don’t think the cops would like that either.”

  “Were you planning on turning me in?”

  “Not if you pay me. Who’s the guy?”

  “A Hollywood producer named Billy Barnett.”

  “That the guy whose house burned down?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So, your man botched the job, and now you require the services of a freelancer.”

  Slythe’s eyes burned fiercely. It was his only reaction.

  “Will you do it?” Sammy said.

  “This guy’s in L.A.?”

  “Last I heard.”

  “If I gotta fly around the country, it will cost you expenses.”

  “On top of thirty grand?”

  “That’s my price. We’re talking expenses. You pay ’em.”

  “Fine. Barnett’s been in L.A. a couple of years. He may have some hidey-holes around town you can check.”

  Tony Zito’s look was withering. “You trying to tell me my job?”

  Sammy’s expression never changed, but he nodded to Slythe.

  It happened fast. One moment Tony Zito was sitting there, and the next he was flat on his back. He came up sputtering with a gun in his hand.

  Both men ignored the gun. Slythe said, “You obviously don’t know who Sammy Candelosi is. He’s new in town, it’s understandable. You’re allowed one mistake.”

  “I’m sure the man meant no offense,” Sammy said. He put his arm around the skip tracer’s shoulders and walked him toward the door. “I’m not trying to tell you your job, Mr. Zito. Show me that you know how to do it.”

  62

  Teddy woke to the sound of breaking glass. He slipped out of bed with his gun in his hand and stepped into a pair of sneakers. He crept to the door. There was no sound behind it. He eased it open. There was no one on the stairs, but he could hear someone walking down below. The guy was clearly an amateur—he was making more noise than progress. Evidently he hadn’t brought a light.

  Whoever he was, he had no right to be there. Peter or the pilot wouldn’t show up at two in the morning. If they did, they’d turn on a light. And they wouldn’t break a window to get in.

  The intruder was thrashing around. Teddy half expected to hear him knock over a carton of Coke bottles from the soda machine, a relic of past years. Cokes were still ten cents in the machine, a losing venture but well worth it just for the nostalgia.

  The crash did not come, but a crackle of paper indicated he was making his way toward the stairs. Teddy didn’t want him to get there. He grabbed a flashlight he always kept on the table by the door, slipped out, and crept down the stairs.

  The intruder was almost there. Hoping the battery worked, Teddy clicked the flashlight on.

  A beefy man with a gun in his hand blinked in the sudden light. His face was a picture of consternation. He tried to aim the gun.

  Teddy shot him in the head.

  The body fell on the gun with a heavy thud, but it didn’t go off. That was the only thing Teddy had been afraid of, an unsilenced shot that would draw attention.

  Teddy rolled him over and pried the gun out of his hand. He was a goon, your standard, card-carrying enforcer. Teddy had known enough of them in his day. This one was out of his league.

  Teddy pulled out the goon’s wallet and checked his ID. The man who’d tried to kill him was Tony Zito. He had a Las Vegas driver’s license.

  So, it looked like Mason Kimble and Gerard Cardigan had brought in out-of-town talent. That figured. Not knowing where he was, they’d hired a skip tracer. The fire starter had probably also been an import, though it probably hadn’t been this guy. The guy who built the fire and failed to kill Teddy would hardly get a second chance.

  Neither would Tony Zito.

  * * *

  —

  Teddy went out to the parking lot and found the goon’s car. It wasn’t hard. It had a Nevada plate, and Teddy had the keys. He clicked the button and the lights flashed.

  Teddy drove it around to the hangar, opened the bay door, and pulled in. He popped the trunk and stuffed the dead man inside. He backed out of the hangar and closed the bay doors.

  He had to ditch the car. He didn’t want it found close to the airport, but he didn’t feel like walking back either.

  There were usually bicycles parked in front of one of the larger hangars across the way. Teddy checked to see if any were unlocked. None were, but he chose one with a flimsy lock he could pick in thirty seconds and threw it in the backseat of the car. He set off along the coast.

  About five miles away he found what he wanted, a cliff overlooking the sea. He stopped the car and took out the bicycle. He hopped back in, put the car in gear, and headed it for the edge of the cliff. He gunned the motor and jumped out at the last moment.

  It wasn’t pretty. The car didn’t have enough momentum to sail off the cliff. It just barely made it
over, dropping straight down, striking the side of the cliff as it fell, landing upside down in the shallow water.

  Teddy didn’t wait to see if the tide would sweep it away. He just hopped on his bike and started back for the hangar.

  As he rode he heaved a sigh. The dead hit man, easy as he’d been to take care of, posed a real problem.

  Someone knew about Billy Barnett’s airport apartment.

  He’d have to move again.

  63

  Teddy checked with Paco Alvarez, the super at his apartment. Mark Weldon’s bed and computer had been delivered, and his Internet service had been installed. His furniture hadn’t all arrived, but that was enough. There was no reason not to move in.

  Teddy loaded everything he had into the car. It wasn’t much. His collection of guns and disguises from the safe made up the bulk of it.

  The pilot arrived at the hangar while he was finishing up. “You moving out?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I’ll be sorry to see you go.”

  “This was only temporary, while I got back on my feet.”

  “Is your new house ready?”

  “No, but I’m on vacation. I only stuck around to deal with the fire damage. My house will be ready by the time I get back.”

  “So you won’t be using the apartment?”

  “Only in emergencies. I hope we don’t have any. I’ll be around to fly.”

  “Are you getting a new plane to go with your new house?”

  Teddy’s turboprop was fine for short flights but wouldn’t do for a cross-country trip. He borrowed Peter’s jet on those occasions.

  “I hadn’t thought of it,” Teddy said, “but that’s an interesting idea.”

  Teddy hopped in the car and took off for his new apartment. He stopped off at Stone Barrington’s house on the way. He didn’t bother getting the key from the front desk at the Arrington Hotel, he just picked the lock. He went in, grabbed his makeup kit, and changed from Billy Barnett into Mark Weldon in case he encountered the super on his way into the apartment. The odds of that happening were good. Paco didn’t stay in his apartment much, and could often be found hanging out on the stoop.