“This the lady that called before?”
“Yeah.”
“You get ahold of Bill?”
“Before I tell you, I need to talk about Lattimer. Is he there?”
“No. Comes in at five.”
“Five p.m.?”
“Yeah.”
“He say anything about skipping his shift?”
“Nope. What’s this about?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there in ten minutes.”
Sal met me at the door, a fortyish swarthy fellow of Sicilian descent if I had to guess. I pushed past him and into the lounge where I’d first talked to Bill. “You alone?” I asked.
“Yeah, since Bill didn’t come in.”
“Have a seat.” I sat on the edge of the sofa, and after a moment he grabbed a chair and set himself on it, puzzled.
“You don’t look like I pictured you,” he said.
I ignored that and put on my best bad-news sympathy expression. “I just came from Bill’s condo. The cops were there.”
“Something’s happened?”
I nodded slowly, heavily.
“Mother of God. Is it bad?”
“Bad as it gets. He’s dead, though it didn’t look like he suffered. Hit on the back of the head for sure. I’m waiting on an official cause.”
I watched closely as Sal buried his face in his hands, looking for a hint of anything off. After all, if one employee here might be in on it, who’s to say another wasn’t? A moment or two later, he ran his fingers through his slightly too-long hair and took a deep breath. “That sucks,” he said, and I saw his eyes were full.
“Yeah. Majorly.” I lifted out my P.I. license and showed it to him. “Bill was helping me on a case. It may have got him killed. Last night four guys made a run at me too, but I scared them off. Can you keep your mouth shut?”
“Me and Bill, we go way back. He brought me out here from Chi-town to work. Best move I ever made,” Sal said, scratching under his watchband.
I noticed he had prison ink there. “How’d a con hook up with a cop?”
Sal shrugged. “You know. He busted me for armed robbery, put me away in juvie when I was seventeen. Best thing that ever happened to me.”
“How so?”
“Bill visited me every week in the joint. I was just a stupid young punk. Mob wannabe, you know, and maybe I would have been, but Bill kept me off that path. Father figure, I guess you’d call him. Got my record sealed and when I got out told me to come out here and work for him. Gave me a real chance at life.” Sal shook his head and a tear fell.
“You want some back?”
Lifting his head, Sal’s eyes narrowed. “How? I ain’t gonna get sent up again. That’s not what Bill would have wanted.”
“Lattimer is involved. We weren’t sure how, but some way. Give me everything you got on him and I’ll take it from here. Nobody will know about you unless you tell them.”
“That rat-bastard. I knew there was something I didn’t like about him. Bill’s got – he had – a soft spot for reformed cons, but some of them you just can’t trust, you know? I tried to warn him. Takes one to know.”
“Just tell me where I can find Lattimer.”
“You gonna kill him?”
I chuckled grimly. “I’m a P.I., Sal, not a hit man. I might rough him up a little, but he’ll be alive when I leave him. More than that you don’t wanna know.”
“Yeah. Okay. Gimme a minute.” He stepped briefly into the monitoring room, showing me a glimpse of a room full of computer screens, and then came back with a piece of paper. “Here’s his info. You didn’t get it from me.”
“Nope. He tough or what?”
“Naw. White collar. Nerd.”
“Good. By the way, I wouldn’t be surprised if Homicide interviewed you soon. Best to forget you talked to me, okay?”
Sal nodded solemnly. “Just find out who did this, sister.” He placed his hand on his heart. “I’ll owe you big.”
“No sweat.”
“Hey…what do I do about the business?”
I shrugged as I stood up. “Not my department. Did he have relatives?”
“A sister back in Chicago.”
“Call her, then. You next in charge?”
“Yeah. Assistant manager, more or less.”
“Sounds like it’s all on you. Sorry, Sal.” I handed him one of my business cards. “Put that out of sight. Call me if anything comes up.”
“I will.”
“Oh, one more thing. You ever hear anything on the street about someone named Houdini? Maybe a dealer?”
“No, sorry. I’m clean now, and I stay away from people in the life.”
“How about Luger?”
“Nope.”
“Fair enough.” I turned to leave, and then looked over my shoulder, hand on the doorknob. “You might want to plan for someone to cover Lattimer’s shift.”
***
Back inside Molly, I called the M&Ms. “You boys finished with your carne asada and chili verde?” They always ordered the same things no matter the time of day.
“Almost.”
“I’m swinging by. Be outside and ready to follow me in five.”
“On it.”
When I pulled into the parking lot my watch read five after nine. Meat sat behind the wheel of their lifted dually with the monster tires, his younger, slightly smaller brother Manson standing nearby with a white Styrofoam carton. They both wore clean jeans and calfskin jackets, their version of “dress like P.I.s.” Leather fedoras like hats out of Rocky covered tattoos of crosses on their foreheads.
Could be worse.
Manson handed the box through my open window and I placed it in my lap, unwrapping the first warm breakfast burrito as I talked. My stomach rumbled. The pastries had long since digested. I stuffed the wrap into my face, hardly chewing. Once I’d finished with the first roll of heaven, I spoke.
“There’s a little girl that’s been kidnapped for leverage in a heist. This guy Lattimer works at the security center and he helped cover up the job. Someone just wacked his boss, a guy named Bill Clawson that was helping me. I need to find out what he knows, so you guys do your best to scare him shitless. If that doesn’t work, we start with pain and proceed to injury. Cool?”
Manson nodded solemnly. “Cool,” the younger one said. Meat scowled. I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that expression.
“Follow me, then. Stay back a bit. That cowboy Cadillac of yours is memorable. When I pull in at his place, park at the end of the block and join me on foot. He’s supposed to be a geek but he may rabbit, so we’ll run a standard bounty drill.”
“Got it, boss.”
I handed them most of the green in my money clip. “Down payment for today.”
“Thanks.” Manson saluted me with the folded cash before climbing into the passenger side of the truck. When I pulled away, they followed.
The address I had turned out to be a small single family home in a decent neighborhood of pre-World-War-Two construction. Not rich, but no broken-down cars adorned the green front lawns, which seemed more or less neatly kept. Few garages, but most had carports on the side and lots of mature trees. Quiet.
I parked Molly at the curb on a property line a couple houses away beneath a spreading Eucalyptus. The smell washed over me when I stepped out, reminding me of my childhood in Menlo Park. An old tabby gazed momentarily at me once from the front porch of the nearest home before turning to continue cleaning its flank.
I leaned against the big tree and idly peeled off a section of its papery bark, staring across at Lattimer’s house as I waited for the M&Ms. It seemed exceptionally neat and tidy, this one. Combined with Sal’s description of him as a nerd, I pictured a small guy with thick glasses, acne and dandruff.
“Dogs?” Meat asked as he walked up beside me.
“Forgot to ask. Sorry. Other things on my mind.”
“Guns?”
“I doubt it.”
Meat slap
ped his chest. “Got vests and stunners.”
“Good. Firearms?”
Meat shuffled uncomfortably, remaining silent.
“Okay, just keep them holstered unless you see a deadly threat. He’s a bit player, I’m pretty sure.”
“Pretty sure?”
I turned to raise an eyebrow. “That’s all you boys get today. Wanna back out?”
“Naw. Let’s do this.” Testosterone has its uses, especially when it lets me dare men into doing things I want them to do.
A teenaged girl walked past us with a well-behaved Lab, iPod in her ears and head down to text one-handed on her flip-phone, oblivious. Other than her, the street was empty.
“Okay.” I shoved off the tree with my shoulder and sauntered across the shady asphalt, the two ogres behind me doing their best to look inconspicuous. We approached the target’s house and turned in.
Meat went around the back while Manson backed me up at the front door. I motioned him off to the side, out of sight, and then pulled out my P.I. badge and knocked. A moment later I saw movement behind the inset upper window. I spoke loudly. “Mister Lattimer? I’m Detective Jones from the San Rafael Police Department. Can I speak with you?” I waved my P.I. badge, and then closed the wallet with a decisive snap.
“What do you want?” he asked as he opened the door. A small man with short, mouse-brown hair, neatly dressed in slacks and button-down shirt, he didn’t seem to be any threat. I almost felt bad about what we were about to do until I remembered Bill lying dead, and Talia…
“It’s about your boss, Bill Clawson. May I come in?”
“Sure.” He stepped back to allow me to walk past.
Manson pushed in behind me and grabbed the little guy by the shoulders, hustling him over to throw him down on a nearby sofa while I shut the door. Lattimer gibbered on his back, hands up in front of him. I quickly let Meat in the back door and then returned.
“Listen to me, Lattimer.” I leaned over the terrified man while the M&Ms loomed behind me looking scary. “Bill Clawson is dead and you helped get him killed. Homicide will be here soon enough and you’ll be arrested for accessory to murder. You can talk to me or you can talk to them.”
“I…I…what?” His eyes fixed on the muscle behind me.
I slapped Lattimer across the face. “Look at me. What’s your first name?”
“Ow. It’s Phil.”
“So Phil, here’s the deal. Tell me everything or I turn these guys loose on you. After that, if you’re lucky the cops will take you to the hospital before they throw you in jail.”
“You said you were a cop!”
I slapped him again, drawing a whimper. “Focus, Phil. I lied. If I was a cop would I be threatening you with severe pain? Tell me about the heist?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“My mom is in a home. This guy who called me told me he would make her suffer if I didn’t do what they said.”
“That’s it?”
Lattimer looked away. I could see what Sal meant. Shifty.
“I guess a few slaps won’t be enough.”
I jerked my head at Meat, who reached down and grabbed the man’s left hand. Manson exhibited the teamwork the brothers were famous for by covering Lattimer’s mouth with one large paw. He tried to protest, but all that came out were muffled throat noises.
Meat bent Lattimer’s pinkie back until it almost folded against his hand. The man screamed and jerked beneath Manson’s gag of flesh, but the M&Ms held him effortlessly.
“That’s just the beginning of the hell you’ll experience if you don’t tell me everything. Your mom was the stick. What about the carrot?”
Manson lifted his palm enough to let Lattimer speak. “They promised me a hundred thousand dollars.”
“See? That was easy. When and where are they supposed to pay you?”
“Tomorrow. Said he’d call with the details.”
I cursed under my breath. Catching the bad guys after the fact was cop work. Nothing Lattimer had said was getting me any closer to Talia.
“Anything else you can tell us about the heist? You’re only helping yourself if we catch these guys and get the kid back.”
“The kid?”
“Yeah, didn’t you know? They kidnapped a ten-year-old girl for leverage.”
“Damn. I didn’t know. What could I do?” He actually had the decency to look distressed.
I shrugged again. “Water under the bridge. What did the guy who called you sound like?”
“Middle age. White American, probably.”
“Very helpful. Only a million of those around here. Anything else? Anything at all?”
Lattimer shook his head.
“You ever hear of someone called Houdini? A dealer, maybe?”
The little man’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, just a few whispers. Moves a lot of product, I hear.”
“Cartels? Mob?”
“I don’t know. Really, I don’t.”
I stared at him for a while but he didn’t flinch. “What about Luger?”
“Him I heard of.”
“Anything to do with this heist?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.” I nodded to Meat, who prepared the next finger.
“Really, I don’t! I only know what I told you!”
I could see the naked fear in the man’s eyes so I decided to believe him.
“Okay. Let him up,” I said to Manson. “Let’s go. Cops could be here any minute.” Pointing a finger at Lattimer, I said, “The less you say about us the better. It will only complicate your life and it will piss my friends here off. When they get pissed off they like to break more than just a finger or two. Get it?”
“Yeah. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”
“Not that I could tell,” I said.
“Cops don’t break fingers.”
“Some do.” Jay had.
A knock came at the front door, startling everyone in the room. Manson clamped down on Lattimer’s mug. I jerked my head at Meat, who looked carefully out the front window from the farthest edge, peering between the blinds and the frame. He held up a hand for silence.
The knock came again and Meat stood there, palm out, while I waited and Manson held Lattimer immobile. After a long minute, Meat dropped the hand and said, “He’s gone.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Slim white guy in expensive sunglasses. Long dark hair, light colored trench coat. Twenties.”
“Cop?”
“I doubt it. Besides, where’s his partner?”
“Around the back?”
Meat padded into the rear of the house to check. “Nobody.”
“Did you see a car?”
“Yeah. Dark green foreign job.”
I jumped to my feet and ran the several steps to the front window. I saw the back of a trench coat sauntering across the street and down a couple houses toward a green Audi. “Damn. You see that guy again, grab him.” I began moving toward the back door.
“Who is he?” Meat asked.
“No idea, but he’s involved,” I called as I walked. “Bill saw him the other evening when we were staking out the heist. I’m guessing he’s with the perps, tying up loose ends.” I turned at the kitchen door to look into Lattimer’s wide eyes. “If I were you, I’d forget about your hundred grand and lay low. Get out of town, maybe. If we hadn’t been here you might have joined Bill in the morgue.”
When Manson lifted his hand from Lattimer’s mouth he said, “I’m so screwed. Why does this shit always happen to me?”
I shrugged. “Some people got all the luck. Guys, let him go. I’ll call you later. I’m gonna try tailing this guy.” With that, I slipped out the back.
Chapter 10
I waited until I saw the back end of the Audi round the corner before I sprinted across the street and threw myself into Molly. I started her up and accelerated as fast as I could without laying rubber, all four tires pumping power i
nto the pavement, hurling the lightweight car forward like an eager racehorse. Rounding the block, I spotted the Quattro’s distinctive tail pattern as it turned onto another residential street.
Turning one block early, I scrabbled to pull my racing harness on and snap the buckles while steering with my knees, a technique I’d learned, believe it or not, from a traveling pastor in my younger days. Once I was wedged in tight I goosed the throttle, and then slowed to take the next curve.
The Audi crossed in front me as I slowed and pulled over to the curb. I made sure to aim the dash-cam at it as it went by. Maybe Mickey could use electronic trickery to pull the number off the mud-smeared plate.
As my target rolled out of sight I picked up speed again to keep him in view. Whoever this guy was, I could hope he would lead me to something, anything, even if not Talia herself.
Or maybe I’d follow him right to her. Stranger things had happened. As every poker player knows, sometimes you have to get lucky, and winning was about putting yourself in a position to get lucky.
That’s what I was doing.
I followed the Audi out of the neighborhood and onto Andersen Drive, running southwestward through light industrial buildings and behind shopping centers. I thought for a moment he would head south toward the Golden Gate and the City, but instead he cut over to cross the long bridge to Richmond, a dense semi-suburban city jammed between the water on the north, west and south sides and the hills overlooking the San Pablo Reservoir to the east.
By trailing him at the limits of my vision I hoped not to spook him. He accelerated to over seventy on the bridge, but that wasn’t unusual. In fact, doing so was a routine precaution against surveillance, upping the stakes and forcing any watchers to work harder.
A one-car tail was hard to maintain. Law enforcement pros used at least three ground vehicles, one trying to stay in front and two rotating from the rear in order to minimize the footprint. A helicopter with a long-range stabilized camera, such as those used by TV news, was even better. Best of all was to plant a tracking device on the car itself, especially one of the new GPS-enabled ones, and stay out of sight entirely. But I didn’t have a tracker. I’d have to get Mickey to make me up one, though there was still the problem of planting it.
Loose Ends: A California Corwin P. I. Mystery (California Corwin P. I. Mystery Series) Page 10