Dead Eyes

by Stuart Woods

  Larsen handed his glass to Danny. “I’ll go first,” he said. “You follow when we’re down to half a dozen people.” Parker was not talking to Chris now, but he was at the bar, only a few steps away, pouring himself another glass of champagne.

  Larsen approached Chris. “I’d better get going,” he said, sure that Parker could hear him.”

  “Oh, can’t you stay a while longer?” Chris asked plaintively. “The sunset is going to be marvelous.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go to a meeting at the office; my boss insists. I should be through by ten or so, if you want to have a late dinner.”

  “Okay; I’ll wait for you here.”

  Larsen shook Mike Moscowitz’s hand, then left the house.

  Danny wandered out onto the deck, looked to make sure he was alone, then lowered the stairs to the beach. On his way back in he stopped and chatted with the framer, Bud Carson.

  Larsen got into the car, took the small receiver out of his pocket, placed it on the seat beside him, and turned it on. A babble of sound hit him, and he turned down the instrument. Jim had been right; this equipment wasn’t good enough to distinguish one or two among a lot of voices.

  He started the car and, with some difficulty, maneuvered around a dark blue van parked behind him. He had seen that van before somewhere; he made a mental note of the license plate number. He pulled out into traffic and drove back toward Los Angeles.

  Suddenly Danny’s voice was loud and clear.

  “Chris, I have to run to the drugstore in Malibu Village; will you be all right for half an hour?” Danny had made sure to stand near the living-room bug.

  Chris’s voice was lost in the babble, but Larsen didn’t need to hear it. A couple of hundred yards down the beach, he began looking for a break in the houses so that he could go through to the beach. There was none. Malibu property was too valuable to allow for gaps between houses. Larsen knew he was getting too far from the house; he began to become alarmed.

  He pulled over, stopped, and reached into the glove compartment for the little Radio Shack CB transmitter.

  “Danny, it’s Jon; do you read me?”

  There was some crackling, and then Danny’s voice came back weakly. “Yeah, I’m here, Jon.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Down the road a few hundred yards from the house. I can’t find a way to get down to the beach.”

  “I’m having the same problem. There’s a restaurant down your way; see if you can get through that. Crawl out a window, if you have to.”

  “Over and out,” Danny said.

  Larsen pulled his car right up to the nearest house; he got out and rang the front doorbell. A man in a bathrobe came to the door, and Larsen flashed his badge.

  “I’m a police officer; I need to get to the beach. May I go through your house?”

  “Let’s see some ID with a picture,” the man said.

  Larsen produced a plastic ID. He was now very worried that he had been gone too long.

  The man examined it carefully and compared the photograph to Larsen’s face. “You got a warrant to enter my house?”

  Larsen shoved the man aside. “I haven’t got time for this; I’m coming through.”

  “Hey, I’ll call the cops,” the man yelled after him.

  “I’m the cops,” Larsen said, finding the kitchen. There had to be a way out of here. He found a deck with a stair arrangement similar to Chris’s, got the steps down, and ran down to the beach.

  “Fucking cops!” the man yelled after him from the deck. “That was unconstitutional!”

  Larsen ignored him and started to run.

  CHAPTER

  58

  Chris was talking with Jimmy, the plumbing contractor, and his wife, who had both had a lot of champagne and were very merry.

  “Listen, I could tell you stories about my clients,” Jimmy was saying. “People will say and do anything around a plumber; we’re like cab drivers—people act like you’re not even there, you know?”

  “I can imagine,” Chris said. She had been keeping an eye on Mel Parker’s shape; he had never left the bar, and he seemed to be in conversation with another shape.

  Mike Moscowitz appeared at her elbow. “Well, folks, it’s getting time to call it a night,” he said.

  Chris felt for his arm and whispered into his ear. “Mike, don’t let Parker leave; if he starts to go, tell him I want to talk to him about some more security stuff, then you go, too.”

  “You’re sure?” Moscowitz asked.

  “I’m sure.” She turned to Jimmy and his wife. “Please excuse the whispering; just some last-minute business.”

  “No problem,” Jimmy said. “Well, we’d better get going.”

  “I’ll drive,” his wife said.

  “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

  Moscowitz saw them to the door, then came back to Chris. “Mel,” he called, “Chris wanted a word with you.” He leaned into Chris. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure; don’t worry.”

  She saw a shape approaching.

  “Well, I’m off,” Mike said. “I think we’re all ready for your move tomorrow, Chris. Should we come and clean up the bottles and leftover food?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Mike; the caterers will be in tomorrow morning to clean up.”

  “Good night, then,” Moscowitz said.

  Chris heard the front door close behind him. Now she was alone with Mel Parker.

  Down the beach, Danny was arguing with the restaurant manager. “All I want to do is get down to the beach,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but we have an agreement with our neighbors that we won’t allow the public to get to the beach through our establishment. The goodwill of our neighbors is very important to us; I’m sure you understand.”

  “I understand,” Danny said. “But you don’t understand. I have to get to the beach; someone’s life may depend on it.”

  “Sir,” the manager said, “I hear all sorts of excuses from people who want to get to the beach and peep into the stars’ homes, but I just cannot allow it. Now if you’ll go down the road another mile or so, there’s the pier, and you can reach the beach from there.”

  “I don’t have time for that,” Danny said.

  “Well, I’m sorry, but if you want to get onto Malibu Beach, you’re going to have to take the time to go through a public area, and this is not a public area.”

  Danny rose to his full five feet five inches. “Mister,” he said, “I’m going to the beach out your back door, and if I can’t go around you, I’ll go through you.”

  “Just try it, pal,” the manager said.

  Larsen tried to pace himself. He had started his run at least a mile from the house, and it had been a long time since he had run a mile. The tide was out, and he kept to the wet sand where the going was easier. As he jogged along he reached into his pocket for the receiver and switched it on. He heard Mike Moscowitz’s voice clearly, saying good night. Chris was alone with Parker. Larsen picked up the pace a notch. Don’t sprint, he told himself; if you do you’ll never make it. He thought he could see the house up ahead.

  “Anything I can do for you?” Parker asked.

  Chris tried to keep her breathing normal. “I’ve been having a rather unusual security problem,” she said. “I was wondering if you might have some ideas as to how to solve it.”

  “Probably,” Parker replied. “Somebody been bothering you?”

  “Sort of,” she said. “Actually, he seems like the sort of guy I might like to know, if the circumstances were a little different.”

  “If you want to know him better, then why do you need more security?”

  “I think I may have given him the wrong impression. You see, early on I involved the police, when that may not have been the right thing to do.”

  “You mean your buddy Larsen?”

  “Yes; and now I don’t seem to be able to get rid of him.”

  “Would you like me to get rid of
him for you?” Parker asked.

  “How would you go about that?” she asked. She was standing where she had been told to; she hoped to God that Larsen could hear her, that he was on the deck.

  “I could handle that for you,” Parker said.

  The lights suddenly went off in the house.

  Down the beach, Larsen was a hundred yards from the house when he saw the lights go off. What the hell? Every light in the place had been on, so that the wives could see the whole house, and every light had gone off at once. Either the main breaker had popped, or someone had thrown the main switch. He was nearly winded now, but he tried to run faster.

  “What happened?” Chris asked.

  “Looks like the main breaker went,” Parker said. “There’s enough light from the sunset, though.”

  There wasn’t enough light to suit Chris. Her eyes didn’t adjust to changes in light as rapidly as they used to, and she was now virtually in the dark. She looked toward the windows; the sunset was a dim radiance surrounded by a deep gray.

  “Can’t you fix it?” she asked. “I can’t see very well at this light level.”

  “I could,” Parker said, “but I sort of like it like this.”

  “Please,” she said, “please go and fix it.”

  “Oh, all right,” Parker said. “I’ll be right back.” He walked away from her.

  Chris stood trembling in the dark. She put her hands in her pockets and felt for the little pistol. It was there, warm from her body heat.

  Then she was startled by a hand on her shoulder.

  Larsen reached the house, panting, gasping for breath. He paused for a moment, resting his hands on his knees, then looked for the steps to the deck. They weren’t there. Larsen looked up at the deck, panicked. Then he heard Chris’s voice, loud and clear over the receiver. “You must be crazy,” she said.

  CHAPTER

  59

  Larsen remembered that he had once before been in this situation, unable to reach the folding steps from below. Feeling his way in the dark under the deck, he looked for the gap where he had been able to reach the front of the house; it was now completely covered over with siding and shingles. He ran back onto the beach and looked both ways; as far as he could see, houses stretched into the distance. There were no breaks between them, and no access from the beach.

  Chris was spun around by the hand on her shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” she asked. The lights were still off, and she could barely distinguish a shape in front of her.

  A voice whispered, “I thought it was time you and I were alone together.”

  The hair stood up on the back of her neck. “Maybe it is time, at that. Where have you been?”

  “I’ve been here all along,” the voice whispered.

  “Why are you whispering now?” she asked. “Why can’t you speak like a man?”

  “I like to whisper,” the voice said. “It’s more intimate.”

  “Funny,” she said, “you haven’t been acting like a man who wants intimacy; in fact, I’d say you’ve been behaving like a man who’s afraid of women.”

  Suddenly he took hold of her hair, and for the first time, he spoke in something like a normal voice. “You think I’m afraid of you, huh? I think I’ll show you just how unafraid of you I am.”

  Chris spoke very loudly and distinctly. “You must be crazy!” she said.

  He backhanded her, hard, across the face.

  Chris struggled to get closer to him, but he was holding her at a distance by her hair. He slapped her again.

  “Don’t like to get close to a woman, huh?” she said, grabbing hold of his shirt. She tried to pull herself closer to him, but he was too strong for her. “Go ahead,” she said, “take me in your arms.”

  He reached out and circled an arm around her waist, then he released her hair and put his other arm around her, pulling her tight against him, squeezing the breath out of her.

  Chris found his face with one hand. “At last, you sonofabitch!” Chris screamed. She drew back with her other hand, made a fist, and, as hard as she could, jammed her thumb into his right eye. He screamed and stepped back from her. Chris went for the gun in her pocket.

  Larsen heard a man scream, then four loud pops erupted from above, and Larsen didn’t need the radio to hear them. He threw down the receiver, leapt at one of the pilings supporting the deck, and began shinnying up it. Splinters stabbed at his hands and legs, but he kept at it, moving slowly up the piling. There was a horizontal support a few feet above him; if he could grab that he could hoist himself onto it and then reach the floor of the deck. He kept climbing.

  Something struck Chris’s wrist, and the pistol flew from her hand. Hadn’t she hit him with any of her shots? He grabbed her again, and she managed to get hold of his hair with her right hand. She made a fist of her left and jammed the thumb into his left eye. He screamed again, then jerked his head from her grasp and moved to one side to avoid another blow, putting himself between the sunset and Chris.

  Now she could see his shape, silhouetted against the dying sun; she could see that his hands were at his face and that his feet were spread apart. “Now you’re blinder than I am, aren’t you, you sonofabitch!” She took one step toward him and kicked upward with all her strength, screaming with the effort. Her foot caught him full in the crotch, and his hands left his face and grabbed at the new pain. Reaching out for him, Chris found his head. She grabbed his hair with both hands and pulled his face down to meet her rising knee, and she felt the blood seep through the silk pants she was wearing.

  A howl of pain and anger rose from the man, and he staggered through the open sliding doors onto the deck, straightening up. As he did, she saw something bright in his hand. The man started toward her.

  Larsen reached painfully up for the horizontal timber, and got a grip that allowed him to get both hands on it. He hoisted himself up, got a knee on it, then stood. His head was now at deck level; he saw the shape of a man in the fading light, and he was holding the biggest knife Larsen had ever seen. He reached for his pistol, and at that moment another shape rocketed out of the house and onto the deck, colliding with the knife-wielding man and shoving him forcefully back toward the railing.

  The railing gave way from the weight of both of them, and the two shapes, locked together, plummeted toward the rocks twenty feet below them. Larsen put the pistol on the deck and hoisted himself up. He grabbed the weapon and ran toward the broken railing.

  Chris dropped to her hands and knees and felt for her pistol; something was going on, but she couldn’t tell what. Then she found the gun.

  As Larsen reached the gap in the railing, a flash erupted inside the house, and he felt something hum past his ear. He spun around. “No, Chris!” he shouted, “It’s Jon!” She was crouched in a firing position, as he had taught her, the pistol held out in front of her with both hands. She stopped shooting. “Easy,” he said. “It’s all right now.” He started toward her, then he was stopped in his tracks by the sound of a gunshot behind him. He turned and ran back toward the broken railing. As he did, another shot erupted, then another.

  Larsen looked over the edge and, in the dim light, saw a man with a gun standing, straddling another, who was prone on the rocks. “Freeze! Police!” he shouted.

  The man with the gun turned and looked up at the deck.

  “Drop the weapon now, or I’ll fire!” Larsen shouted.

  “Jesus, Jon, it’s me,” a voice said.

  “Danny?”

  “You were expecting the cavalry?”

  “Don’t shoot anymore,” Larsen said.

  “I don’t think I’ll have to,” Danny said.

  “Stay right there; I’ll be with you in a minute. Chris?” He went back into the house and gathered her in his arms.

  “What happened?” Chris asked.

  “It was Danny,” Larsen replied. “He’s taken care of Parker; it’s all over.” He held her at arm’s length and looked at her. “Are you all right?”
/>
  “I want some light,” she said.

  “Stay right here.” Larsen ran into the back hallway, found the main switchbox, and pulled the master switch. The lights came on, and he went back to the living room. “I’m going to go down to the beach and check on Danny,” he said. “Don’t go onto the deck; the railing’s broken.”

  “I’ll wait here,” she said.

  Larsen went out onto the deck, lowered the stairs, and ran down them. Danny and Parker were only a few feet in front of him. “Are you all right, Danny?” he asked as he reached the smaller man’s side.

  “I’m just fine,” Danny said, pointing with his pistol. “He took the force of the fall.”

  “Did you have to shoot him?” Larsen asked quietly.

  Danny turned and looked at him. “You’re damn right I did.”

  “All right, listen to me; you ran out onto the deck and shot him there, understand?”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “The difference between justifiable homicide and second-degree murder; the difference between no charges and twenty years in San Quentin. Do we understand each other?”

  “Perfectly,” Danny said. He looked down at the body at his feet. “I wish I could see him better.”

  “I can see him well enough to know that his mother wouldn’t recognize him,” Larsen said. “You put three into his face; he’s a mess.”

  “I’m glad,” Danny said. “I hope to God he was alive when I shot him.”

  “What took you so long to get here?” Larsen asked.

  “I tried to get to the beach through the restaurant down the road, but the manager was a little tougher than I counted on. So I got in the car, and drove back here as fast as I could. I came through the front door, and I saw Parker on the deck with a knife.”

  “I saw the rest,” Larsen said. “You were great, but remember what I said about where you shot him.”