Sunset Express

by Robert Crais

  Pike said, “Don’t bother. It’s in the tree.” Pike was circling the ficus.

  I stopped at the base of the stairs. “What do you mean, it’s in the tree? How would you know that?”

  “Because it’s where a lightweight would put it.” Pike grabbed the ficus and yanked it up hard. The ficus came out of its pot, and there was the dope stash. Like Pike had sensed it.

  Ray and I stared at each other. We stared at Pike. Ray said, “Nawwww.”

  Pike made a little shrug.

  Ray said, “You’re pulling our legs. You saw him foolin’ in there through the window last night.”

  Pike angled the flat lenses at Ray. “You think?”

  You never know with Pike.

  The ficus had covered two Baggies of white powder, one Baggie of brown powder, a metric scale, and assorted drug-sales paraphernalia. I told Joe and Ray what I wanted them to do, and when, and then they left. I stayed. I took the dope out of the planter and put it in a neat pile on the coffee table, then replaced the ficus, looked through the scattered CDs until I found something that I liked, put it in the changer, turned on the music, and sat on the couch to wait. The Police. Reggatta De Blanc.

  Forty-two minutes later, keys worked the lock, the door swung open, and Lucas Worley came halfway through the door before seeing me. He was carrying a newspaper and a Starbucks cup. He looked surprised, but he hadn’t yet seen the dope on the table. “What the fuck is this? Who are you?”

  “Come inside and close the door, Luke. Can I call you Luke? Or is it Lucas? Lucas seems pretentious.” He was a little bit taller than he had looked in the car. His eyes were bright and sharp, and he spoke quickly. You could tell he was used to talking. You could tell he was used to saying bright things and having them appreciated, and you could tell that he thought he was brighter than he really was. Probably where the smugness came from.

  He said, “Maybe I’m confused. Isn’t this my house? Isn’t that my sofa? The only thing that doesn’t seem to belong here is you.” Showing attitude.

  “Look at me, Luke. Do you recognize me?”

  “Sure. On television. You’re the detective who’s working with Jonathan.” He closed the door. He was moving slowly. Wary, but trying to be oh-so-cool about it. “How’s Jonathan?”

  I smiled at him. “Funny you should ask, Luke. Jonathan is why I’m here.”

  That’s when he saw the Baggies. He stared at them for most of an eternity, and then he said, “What’s that?” Like he’d never seen them before.

  “Here’s the deal, Luke. You used to work in Jonathan’s contracts department, and I want to know everything there is to know about Jonathan and his relationship to Teddy Martin. You’re going to tell me what you know, and then you’re going to get me into his office so that I can see for myself. Are we on the same page with that?”

  He shook his head as if I’d spoken Somali. “Are you high? I don’t know you. Get out of here.”

  I leaned back and spread my arms along the back of the couch so that my jacket would open and he could see the Dan Wesson.

  “Look, I’m not doing anything for you. I’m going to call Jonathan right now. I’m going to tell him what’s going on.”

  “Oh, you’ll go along, Luke. Trust me.” I pointed at the Baggies with my foot. “You’ve been a bad boy.”

  He smiled like he’d decided exactly how he was going to play it out and he knew he could beat me because he was smarter than me. “Is this how you’re going to get me to do what you want? You’re going to call the police? You figure you can have me bounced for violating probation?”

  I shook my head. “No way, Luke. We don’t need the police.”

  He smiled wider and moved past me, going to the phone. “Tell you what. I’ll call them for you.” He picked up the phone and waved it, showing me just how in control he thought he was. “Because when they get here and pull us in, I promise you that I can beat this nine ways from Monday in court.” Waving the phone at the dope. “That’s not mine. You’re here, you planted it, and you’re trying to extort me to screw Jonathan because of the Martin case. Man, Jonathan will have a field day with that one. I can see it now.”

  I looked disappointed. “You didn’t listen, Luke. I’m not going to call the cops. I’ve already made my call.”

  Worley frowned and looked uncertain. “Who’d you call?”

  Someone knocked at the door.

  Lucas Worley suddenly didn’t look so sure of himself.

  “Don’t you think you should get that?”

  He didn’t look at the door. “Who is it?”

  Someone knocked again.

  I said, “I kinda figured that you wouldn’t cooperate, and that if I tried setting you up with the police that you’d find a way to beat it, so I called a guy I know named Gerald DiVega. You know DiVega?”

  His mouth formed into a little O, like the name was ringing a bell but he couldn’t quite be sure of it.

  I went to the door. “Gerald DiVega sells drugs to westside hipsters like yourself. For many years he sold drugs on the streets, like so many other gentlemen of free enterprise, but in the past few years he’s chosen to cultivate a more upscale clientele: movie and TV people, music people, lawyers and doctors, the very same people you’re selling to with your little pissant business.” I opened the door and Ray and Joe stepped in. They were both wearing sunglasses and looking somber. Ray reached under his jacket and drew out a Colt. 45 Government model. Joe Pike took out his Python. I said, “This is Mr. X and this is Mr. Y. Mr. D sent them because he doesn’t like you cutting in on his clientele.”

  Ray Depente said, “This the muthuhfuckuh?” He took a black tube from his jacket pocket and screwed it onto the muzzle of the .45 as he said it.

  “That’s him.”

  Lucas Worley’s eyes went wide, and he took one step back. “Hey. What is this? What’s going on?” Smug was gone. Arrogance had vanished.

  Ray and Joe crossed the room like two large, sinuous sharks gliding toward a blood spoor. Ray moved between Worley and the stairs, and Joe moved in from the other side and grabbed Worley’s throat hard and rode him down on the couch. When Joe grabbed him, Lucas made a gurgling sound. I said, “I guess you should’ve called the cops when you had the chance, Luke.”

  Ray waved the .45 at me. “You can split now, you want. Mr. DiVega says thanks.”

  “Can’t I stay?”

  Ray shrugged like it was nothing to him. “Either way.”

  Lucas Worley’s eyes were bulging and his face changed from red to purple. He was clawing at Joe’s one hand with both of his, but it was like a child trying to bend steel bars.

  Ray jacked a round into the .45, then put the muzzle of the suppressor against Worley’s cheek and held out his other hand to shield himself from the blood-splatter that would surely follow and Lucas Worley thrashed and moaned and his bowels and bladder went loose at the same time. Guess the real world wasn’t seeming like Easy Rider anymore. Guess it wasn’t like a movie or a television program. Not much glamor in messing your shorts.

  I said, “You guys, don’t shoot him, yet.”

  Lucas Worley’s eyes rolled toward me.

  I walked over and squatted by him to look into the rolling eyes. I said, “I helped Mr. DiVega out a couple of years back, and he owes me. He knows that I want something from you, and he’s willing to play this however I want. You see?”

  Lucas Worley was trying to shake his head, trying to say he wasn’t trying to cut in on anyone’s trade and wouldn’t do it anymore if only they’d let him live. Of course, since Joe was strangling him, we couldn’t quite make out the words.

  “These gentlemen have orders to kill you unless I tell them not to.”

  Ray said, “Kill yo’ ass dead.” I frowned at Ray over the top of Worley’s head, and Ray shrugged. Overacting.

  I said, “So what’s it going to be, Luke? You going to help me out with Jonathan Green, or do I walk out the door and make these guys happy?”

  Lu
cas Worley gurgled some more.

  I said, “I didn’t understand you, Luke.”

  Joe released some of the pressure, and Lucas Worley croaked, “Anything. I’ll do anything.”

  Ray Depente pressed the gun in harder and looked angry. “Shit. You mean we don’t get to kill the little muthuhfuckuh?”

  “Not yet. But maybe later.”

  Ray squinted down at the rolling eyes, then withdrew the gun and stepped back. Joe let Worley go and also stepped away. Ray said, “You got a pass this time, dipshit. But Mr. DiVega be on your ass now, you understand?”

  Lucas Worley was frozen on the couch like a squirrel in front of an onrushing car.

  Ray said, “You just retired from the dope dealin’ business, didn’t you?”

  Worley nodded.

  Ray said, “You’re giving Mr. DiVega your word, and you know what will happen if you break your word, don’t you?”

  Worley nodded again. I think he was too terrified to speak.

  Ray looked at the framed Harvard Law School diploma and shook his head. “Dumb muthuhfuckuh. You oughta be ashamed of yourself.”

  He put away the .45, then he and Joe Pike walked over to the bar and made themselves a drink.

  I said, “I told you that you’d see it my way, Luke. Now go wash off and change your clothes. We’ve got some work to do.”

  29

  When Lucas Worley was in the shower I looked at Ray Depente. “ ‘Kill yo’ ass dead’?”

  “I thought it was very effective.”

  Joe Pike shook his head. “Samuel L. Jackson.”

  Ray frowned. “Since when did you become Sir Laurence Olivier?” Pike’s mouth twitched, and he went over to browse through Worley’s CDs.

  By the time we got Worley out of the shower and dressed and sitting in the living room, it was two-forty that afternoon. Joe and Ray were back in character, Joe standing behind the couch like an ominous shadow, Ray watching ESPN on the big-screen. I said, “Luke, do you have a gun here in your house?”

  He was sitting on the couch with his hands in his lap and his hair wet and spikey. He still looked scared, but now he wasn’t looking panicked. “Yeah. Up in the nightstand.”

  Joe drifted up the stairs.

  “That the only one, Luke? You wouldn’t have any surprises tucked away, would you?”

  He shook his head, eyes jumping with the certain knowledge that surprises would get him killed. “That’s all. I swear.”

  “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “No.”

  “No one dropping around to pick up a little smack? No girlfriends? No repairmen?”

  “No. Honest.” A dope-dealing ex-attorney saying honest.

  “Okay. I am now going to tell you exactly what I want, and you’re going to tell me how to do it. Okay?”

  He looked worried. “If I can.”

  Ray whirled away from the big-screen, loud and angry and snapping, “What did you say?”

  Lucas Worley jumped as if he’d been slapped. “I’ll tell you how. Sure. Whatever you want.”

  Ray’s eyes narrowed, and he turned back to the big-screen, mumbling.

  Joe Pike came back down the stairs with a pistol. “Glock nine.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nope.” He sat by Ray.

  I said, “Okay, Luke. Here’s my problem. I suspect that your mentor, Mr. Green, is suborning testimony. I think he may even be involved in murder, only I can’t figure out why a man in his position and of his stature would risk his ass by so doing. Do you understand that?”

  Worley wasn’t just looking at me; he was watching my lips move, careful to get every word. He blinked when he realized that I’d quit speaking, then shook his head. “Of course, he wouldn’t. That’s dumb.”

  “That’s what everyone says.”

  “It’s true. If he’s caught he’d be throwing away his career.”

  I smiled at him. “Sort of like you.”

  Lucas Worley swallowed, then shrugged. Like he was embarrassed. “Yeah, but I was just a lawyer, and I never liked it much. He’s Jonathan Green. He loves it.”

  “Well, you’re going to help me find out if it’s dumb or not. Would Jonathan enter into a verbal agreement with a client?”

  Worley grinned. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Okay, so everything would be written.”

  “Absolutely. But no one is going to admit to a crime on paper. You’re not going to find a paper that says ‘I will do murder for X dollars.’ ” He was smiling at the thought of it. “Such a contract isn’t enforceable, anyway. You couldn’t sue somebody because they didn’t perform an illegal act. You’d be incriminating yourself in conspiracy.”

  “So Jonathan wouldn’t put anything in writing that he couldn’t support in a civil action.”

  “Not a chance. No lawyer would.” He spread his hands. “Look, you’re not going to find anything incriminating there. I promise you. Jonathan isn’t that stupid.”

  “That’s not your concern. Your job is to get me access to all the contracts between Teddy and Jonathan. That is the sum total of your value to me.” I nodded toward Joe and Ray. “You know that much, don’t you?”

  The worried look came back. “Hey, I said that I would. We can’t just walk in there in the middle of the day. There’re people.”

  “When do the people go home?”

  “The office closes at six, but some of them stay late. Christ, we used to work until ten, eleven at night. Sometimes later.”

  Joe said, “How many people?”

  “A few. It’s a big office.”

  I said, “But most of the people go at six?”

  “Yeah. There shouldn’t be more than eight or nine there later than that.”

  “You have a card key to get in?”

  “Oh, yeah. I kept it.”

  “How about the elevator to Jonathan’s floor?”

  “The card key accesses the parking garage, the elevator, everything.”

  I thought about it. “How long would it take you to get into the files?”

  Lucas Worley stared at me about six seconds too long. “I dunno. It could take a while.”

  Ray Depente pushed up from his seat and drew out the. 45 and stalked over like he’d just hit the red line on the biggest bunch of bullshit he’d ever heard. “I’m killin’ this fuckwad right goddamned now! Weasely muthuhfuckin’ bullshit, take a while my ass!”

  Worley threw himself to the side and covered his head, screaming, “Twominutes! Icandoitintwominutes, sweartochrist! It’sallondiskandIcangeteverycontractinthegoddamnedoffice!”

  Ray stood over him, breathing hard and pointing the big .45. Across the room I could see Pike shake his head as he flipped through a magazine. Modern Living. Ray smirked and went back to his seat.

  I said, “That’s better, Luke. I think you and I are going to work this out just fine.”

  We had Worley describe the layout of the contracts department, and how we could get in and get out, and then we settled in for the afternoon. Pike left for a time, then returned with a small blue gym bag.

  We listened to Lucas Worley’s CD collection until five forty-five that evening, and then the four of us wedged into Worley’s Porsche and drove to Green’s building on Sunset. We bypassed the public parking entrance and used Worley’s card key to access tenant parking. It was fourteen minutes after six when we worked our way beneath the building, and Worley said, “You see all these cars? There’re still plenty of people working.”

  We found an empty spot as far in the back as possible, pulled in, cut the engine, and waited. Secretaries and office workers and blue-coated security people and attorneys of one stripe or another trickled out of the elevators and, little by little, the offices above us emptied. By seven-forty the trickle had dried and there were only six cars left, every one of which Worley recognized. He said, “The 420 belongs to Deke Kelly and the white Jag belongs to Sharon Lewis. They both work in Contracts. The little Stanza over there works in Cont
racts, also; I forget the kid’s name. He was new. Sharon’s assistant.”

  Pike said, “Contracts is on the third floor.”

  “That’s right. Just like I said.” We’d had him describe it five times. He’d even drawn a little map.

  I said, “And Jonathan is on the fourth.”

  Worley nodded. “Yeah, but we won’t have to go up there. All we have to do is go to Contracts. They have everything in their computers.”

  “What if Jonathan wanted something kept secret?”

  Worley shook his head. “We can still access it from Contracts. The whole office is on the same computer net. Jesus, I should know. I helped design the system.”

  I looked at Pike and Pike shrugged. “Whenever.”

  Worley looked worried. “But what about the people up there?”

  “What about them?”

  Worley was looking even more worried. “You aren’t going to kill them, are you?”

  Ray glared at him. “That up to you. You get outta line, we be killin’ people now till next Tuesday.”

  Pike looked at me and I rolled my eyes. Jesus, what a ham.

  I pushed Worley out of the car and we walked in a tight group to the elevator, Pike with the gym bag, Ray with a hand on Worley’s shoulder. Our footsteps were loud and gritty. “You said two minutes, and that’s all you’re going to have, Luke. Don’t mess up.”

  Lucas Worley didn’t answer. His eyes were blinking fast, and he kept wetting and rewetting his lips. Fear.

  We got into the elevator and rode up to the third floor. If the doors opened and someone we recognized got on, I planned to say that I had come to see Truly and Jonathan and brazen it out, but when the doors opened on the third floor, the reception area was empty. The cleaning crews wouldn’t be in until nine. The door to Contracts was on the left side of reception, opposite a pair of restrooms. Joe checked the men’s room and Ray the women’s. They both reappeared, shaking their heads. Clear. Pike opened the gym bag and pulled out a single gray cylinder. Worley said, “What’s that?”

  I pushed him toward Ray without answering. “Okay, Luke. Here we go.” Ray pulled him to the men’s room.

  I pulled the fire alarm at the same time that Joe Pike used Worley’s card key to open the door to Contracts, then yanked the fuse on the smoke canister and tossed it through the door. He held the door long enough to yell, “We have a fire in the building! Please use the main stairs and go to the street!” The main stairs fed into the ground floor lobby and were off the reception area. There were utility stairs in the rear of the Contracts department that would lead down to parking. That’s how we planned to get out.