Free to Die

by Bob McElwain

  “You’re easy to look at,” Brad commented.

  “Oh, I don’t mind the looking; I like it.” She flashed a dazzling smile, unashamedly revealing teeth that had never visited an orthodontist. “I can even handle mental seduction. It’s rape I can do without.”

  Amanda joined them with a rush. “Bail’s been arranged, Brad. But why I bother with you I’ll never understand.”

  “You love me.” He put one arm around her shoulders and hugged her gently.

  “I loved your father,” she snorted, “but you were a brat.” She placed her hand on his and gave a strong squeeze. “Now unhand me. We’ll go to my office.”

  Brad knew she was closer to sixty than fifty, but she looked terrific. Age had softened her plain features, added lines and fine wrinkles that reflected years of kindness and love, despite the hard career she’d elected. Her high-styled clothes added an elegance she didn’t need.

  She slipped her arm in his and they started toward the stairs. For a long moment, Brad forgot where he was and why he was here. He enjoyed being with this woman. Then he remembered and understood why he felt so cold.

  Near the top of the stairs, Sgt. Walters joined them. In a strange way, his light green sport suit looked both new and slept in. His dark eyes were uncharacteristically grim. His rugged, lean features showed little concern but Brad knew otherwise. He’d seen that tight, lazy smile before.

  “I talked with the office,” he said. “Nothing new. I’ve got no idea why the fast shuffle.” His easy drawl further disguised his concern. “We’ve been had.” His dark eyes flashed angrily, but briefly.

  “Not by the judge,” Josie said.

  Hank nodded agreement. “That .45 she gave me,” he said, nodding toward Josie, “it checked out clean. It was Allison’s piece and it wasn’t used to kill him. That alone should have done it.” He placed his slender hands on Brad’s shoulders. “Givin’ advice, it’s not my way, but I’ve got some.” His mellow base was pitched low.

  Brad nodded.

  “Three years ago you cut out. I mighta done the same. You’ve gotta be pissed and maybe scared with this latest crap. But it’d be a bad move to split now.”

  “Are you listening to the man?” asked Josie gently. Amanda tightened her grip on his arm. Brad said nothing.

  Hank broke the silence, his dark eyes searching for a sign from Brad. “Somebody in the DA’s office stiffed us. I can handle it.” He waited with a patience one can only be born with.

  Brad nodded, then gripped the hand his friend offered. As Hank walked away, Brad watched his receding figure. Every move spoke grandly of indifference, almost indolence, but Brad knew Sgt. Hank Walters had things to do and meant to get them done. He also knew he wouldn’t want to be the one who got in the way. But the knowing didn’t help. Icy fingers still tied his stomach into a grand knot. It was Amanda who turned him back toward the stairs.

  “Who was that man in the back of the courtroom?” asked Josie.

  “The fella that left?”

  Josie nodded.

  “Lt. Stratford. He arrested me. I didn’t much like the look on his face.”

  “I could see that,” Josie said. “You looked as though you wanted to beat him into the ground.”

  “Might be fun.”

  As Brad walked down the stairs with Amanda. Josie fell in step beside them. The elegant marble steps were broad. They also seemed haunted by hopes and dreams that had died here.

  * * *

  Amanda Pothmore’s office reflected her heritage. It seemed more an exclusive European salon than the office of a bail bondsman. She maintained a small cubbyhole office near each of the principal jails in the city. But she handled important clients here, largely those who controlled major California money.

  The highly polished oak floor was covered with oriental rugs, bold in their design and beautifully executed. Brad remembered Amanda’s desk had been hand tooled out of walnut, more than a hundred years ago. As she seated herself behind it, he settled himself in a dainty-looking antique chair that was surprisingly sturdy and comfortable.

  “You told Sgt. Walters you’d stay. Will you?” she asked.

  “If it weren’t for your money . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “Oh, posh,” she interrupted. “That didn’t stop you three years ago. And I’m two hundred thousand dollars better off today. Don’t give it a thought.”

  “When I signed those papers, I thought I owned my folk’s home.”

  “I know; it wouldn’t have mattered had I known otherwise. But you didn’t answer my question. Are you staying?”

  “I feel as if someone’s out there again. And I don’t like steel bars.”

  “That’s perfectly natural, don’t you think?”

  He rose abruptly and moved to the window. He watched the flurry of cars and people four floors below on Wilshire Boulevard. The traffic sounds were hushed by the heavy windowpane. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the city that had been his home until he had returned to it. Now he wondered if it would ever be home again.

  The scream of the siren on a hook-and-ladder rig brought him back. Amanda was standing beside him, also watching the flow of traffic. She looked up at him.

  “Nothing’s easy, is it?” he asked.

  “Only for fools,” she answered.

  He sighed and turned back to his chair, aware of Josie’s close scrutiny. Amanda again sat down behind the desk.

  “I’ve never understood why you went to get Gerald,” Amanda commented.

  “I’m not sure myself.” He tugged on his ear. “But when Lydia asked, I went. When the jerk pulled that .45, I took it and left. That was enough for me.”

  He was silent for several moments. “When Lydia said she’d seen me kill him, I didn’t know what to think. After a night in jail, Judge Tofler didn’t impress me. I couldn’t see a reason to stay, so I left. Maybe she hates me, too, just as her brother did.”

  “I don’t think she hates you,” Amanda said. “She’s a user. In college, you were a football hero, a campus favorite. Your status was sufficient for her then. But now she has others to select from. The airline she inherited isn’t much, but it gave her a degree of wealth and power she hadn’t known before. By the time you got back from Vietnam, she didn’t need you anymore. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Maybe she did think of you,” Josie said thoughtfully. “She didn’t have to change her statement. You were gone. She could have let the police continue to believe she’d seen you kill Gerald.”

  “Brad,” Amanda said, “they didn’t have a good case initially, and I don’t see any now.”

  Brad nodded. “Neither do I, but the charges weren’t dropped?”

  “I have confidence in Jeffery Walden,” Amanda said. “If he’s not worried, you mustn’t be.”

  “I can’t seem to stop it, the worry, I mean.”

  “Are you tough enough to beat that? Or will you run again?” asked Josie.

  “You’ll stop me?” He regretted it immediately. The warmth disappeared from her eyes.

  “No. It saddens me to think of you running for the rest of your life. Particularly when there’s no need. I know you don’t think much of Judge Tofler, but he did listen. I think he gave a great deal because of your past. Perhaps he even understood. But if you run again, I don’t think any judge will be sympathetic.”

  When the phone rang, Amanda picked it up. “Ms. Pothmore,” she said.

  She listened carefully for several minutes. “Thank you so much, Mr. Walden.”

  When she hung up, Brad leaned forward in his chair. “It seems Lt. Stratford asked the District Attorney’s office to reconsider before dropping charges,” Amanda said. “I gather he believes you’re guilty. But Mr. Walden assured me charges will be dropped next Monday.”

  “What else?” Brad demanded.

  Amanda hesitated. “Lt. Stratford did claim there would be new evidence. But that’s what he’d have to say to get them to break their agreement with Judge T
ofler.”

  Leaning back in her chair, Josie said, “I wonder if Brad knows something we don’t.”

  “What’s that mean?” he asked with a bit of snap.

  “Only that clients don’t always tell me the whole story. Perhaps you’re holding something back. If the police could come up with anything at it, it could make things more difficult for you.”

  “Brad,” Amanda said, “if you’ve even an idea, let’s hear it, and give Mr. Walters an opportunity to defend against it.”

  “There was trouble between us.” There was a lot that could be told about Gerald Allison. “If they’ve anything new, it’ll be more of the same.”

  Amanda seemed mollified, but Josie remained skeptical. He stood up. “Guess I’ll go see Tuckman.”

  “Lydia’s uncle?” Amanda asked.

  “That’s what he said.”

  “What does he want?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Be careful. He plays rough.”

  “You sound like a mother.”

  “Perhaps, but what I said is true. He is a dangerous man.”

  “Ok, Mom. I’ll be good.”

  “Humph,” Amanda snorted, but she was smiling.

  When he turned toward the door, Josie asked, “And then what?”

  “Back to the hotel, I guess.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” Josie rose and faced him. “I know what’s on your mind, and I want it out in the open where everyone can see it.”

  “Expect I’ll try to find a killer. Will you help?” His face was expressionless now; his arms hung loosely at his sides.

  “No. This is not the time.”

  “Then I’ll go it alone.”

  “The gifted amateur, right? All you’ll accomplish is to muddy the water. This isn’t some game; this is the real thing. Suppose, with damn fool luck, you do stumble on a killer. He or she will be forced to kill you, too.”

  “Maybe. And maybe I can only muddy the water, but the pros screwed up. At least somebody did. Maybe it was you.”

  “Maybe I what?”

  “Screwed up.”

  Her dark blue eyes flashed dangerously for an instant, then changed. Brad couldn’t tell what it meant, and then he didn’t care. “Lt. Stratford caught us all with our pants down. Seems to me someone on our team should have seen this coming.”

  In response, Josie moved to the window.

  “Brad, you’re being terribly unfair,” Amanda said. “Josie is one of the very best. Jeffery Walden is tops. And Hank Walters is clearly a very competent man. None of us had a hint of this. I think an apology is in order.”

  “Expect so,” he said, but the anger was too close; the words wouldn’t come. He reached across the desk and gently clasped both her hands in his. “Any point in thanking you?”

  “Posh,” she replied. “But,” she added impishly, “you could say something to Josie.”

  He turned and looked at the tall slender figure silhouetted against the window. “Josie,” he began dutifully. “I . . .”

  “Go jump!”

  He turned to the door and left.

  * * *

  When the door had closed behind Brad, Amanda said, “I’m surprised at you, Josie. You don’t usually allow people to upset you.”

  Turning from the window, Josie replied, “I’m surprised myself.” She sat down. Long fingers sought to make curls in her hair. She grinned ruefully. “Frankly I’m angry, and I can’t tell whether with myself or with him.”

  “He’s an attractive man,” Amanda commented innocently. “All that wild, tanned, weathered look. And did you notice his eyes? He’s been too long alone, I think.”

  “Are you suggesting I do something about that?” Josie demanded.

  “Of course not, dear. Still he is cuddlesome, don’t you think?”

  “Like a grisly bear, perhaps, and many times more dangerous. His war record makes this clear. If there’s any doubt, I saw the carnage he created in that filling station in Las Vegas. He nearly killed three men in a matter of seconds.”

  Amanda seemed not to have heard. “I knew his mother, you know. And his father.” She smiled, remembering. “When she died, Brad was only six. He had always been a quiet boy. After that, he seldom said a word.

  “For the longest time, I hoped Big Red Ashton would marry me, but it never happened. So now I poke and pry into Brad’s life and think of all manner of things I wish had been.” When she looked out the window, there was a touch of sadness written in her eyes, but acceptance dominated.

  “And that means, I suppose,” Josie said with a wry smile, “you want me to babysit this blundering beast until next Monday’s hearing.”

  “He’s not any kind of a beast and you know it,” Amanda snapped, all business again. “He’s a man like any other. He’s had a difficult time and needs our help.” She opened the second drawer of the desk, extracted her checkbook, wrote a check for $3000 and handed it to Josie. “You’ll agree, I hope, that’s a fine fee for a week of babysitting.”

  “I can’t take your money. What would I do with him? Take him to the zoo? Or to Marineland?” She dropped the check to the desk.

  “Brad has never asked me for help. It’s just not in him. But I’ve never failed him. I don’t intend to now. I thought we had it all arranged. I’ve the strangest feeling about all this, and it isn’t a good one.

  “I want you to look after him as best you can. Brad is precious to me. He’s all I have left of his father.”

  Josie sighed. “All right. I’ll do what I can.” She bit her lower lip thoughtfully. “But I don’t need the check.”

  “Oh posh,” Amanda snapped. “I’m extremely grateful for what you did in Las Vegas. And I’m flattered you wouldn’t even take expenses. This, however, is something quite different.

  “We were all going to be winners. Now I’m not so sure. And as much as I hate to admit it, you’re absolutely correct. Brad has a capacity for violence that worries me. It could be very dangerous for you.” A twinkle flickered in her eyes, accented with a faint smile. “Maybe there’s more here than even you can handle.”

  Josie ignored the comment. “What am I to do if he decides to go hunting for a killer? You know what nonsense that is.”

  “Of course you’re right, dear.” Amanda closed her eyes, thinking. When she opened them, they were clear, bright and determined. “Do as you think best. However, I’ll pay costs, if you decide to work with him.

  “Brad grew up hunting with his father. They were both good at it. And it sounds as if Brad did well in Vietnam. He might surprise you.”

  “Now you do sound like his mother, all pride and nonsense. There’s a difference between knocking over an enemy supply depot and finding a big city killer.”

  “You’d be a better judge than I,” she replied demurely. “But if he does go hunting, and I suspect he will, it would be nice if he had professional help, don’t you think?”

  “You’re impossible. Do you ever lose?”

  “Never.”

  “All right. I’ve a few things that must be cleared up, then I’ll get on it, but there’s a condition.” Amanda settled in for serious debate. “I won’t take the check.”

  In the end, Josie left with the check. She managed a last word of sorts by tearing it into little pieces and dropping it into the ashtray by the elevator. Waiting, her thoughts strayed from the task ahead.

  Sure. Any girl would like to run her fingers through that jet-black mane of hair, then down across that broad powerful chest. But there’s a price tag here and no discounts are offered.

  By the time she reached her car, she knew she was disappointed; she wanted Brad’s good opinion more than she had realized. She remembered the rock hardness of his forearm when she’d squeezed it. She sighed as she opened the car door. The price was clearly marked, and it was much too high. There was no way she could afford more than a professional relationship with Brad Ashton.

  * * *

  Sgt. Hank Walters could tell it was
going to continue to be one of those days. Even his toes itched. What in the livin’ hell is that goddamn DA doin’ now? It had taken over two years to get his hands on Brad Ashton’s case file, two months more to set up a deal, and only a couple of seconds for Danielson to blow it out of the water. Screw me, you shitheads, and it’ll be the ultimate fuck. Harsh feelings were buried deep beneath his outward calm, as he walked up the steps toward the district attorney’s office.

  Inside the building, he took the elevator to the fourth floor. You bastards, he thought. You deal every day. Now you mess with me and Ashton. It had been a hard lesson. Bust your ass, bleed a little or a lot, then watch them turned loose with deals. He’d tried to learn not to care, but with little success. He did his job, handed them good cases, then tried to let go. But this is different, fuckheads. There’s no way I’m gonna lose this one. He opened the door, stepped inside and closed it silently behind him, smiling pleasantly at the receptionist.

  * * *

  Willard Tuckman sat unmoving behind the large scarred desk. His bushy gray eyebrows overlapped the frames of his glasses. Light reflecting off the thick lenses gave him a sinister look. His huge hand dwarfed the yellow pencil and the paper cluttered with doodles. I handled that boy wrong, he thought. I surely did.

  It was only after finessing a deal that he could be ruthlessly honest with himself. He ain’t no kinda mamma’s boy like Lydia said. But he knew it didn’t matter; he’d figure a way. He always did, didn’t he?

  And if Ashton couldn’t see the light, well, there were other ways. But it’s a bunch more fun to deal. He smiled broadly. He knew it was not a nice smile, not one to use when dealing.

  * * *

  Another man, finishing his late lunch, watched the few remaining diners, but he was thinking only of Brad Ashton. He knew the man was no one special. It occurred to him no one had ever been special to him. That Ashton was back was merely inconvenient. It added to the risk, and he didn’t like risk. He chuckled aloud at this thought; he knew full well he was always at risk. A little more was virtually meaningless.

  Besides, he had the edge, those special abilities, those finely tuned instincts that kept him well ahead of the others. He toyed with the red ruby ring on his finger, thinking of a next move. He wondered idly, with no real concern either way, if Ashton would run again. Maybe it would be best if he stayed. It might be safer to kill him; it would minimize the risks.