Time passed slowly. The crowd thinned even further. Two o'clock came and went. No ET
Bone got out of the car to stretch his legs. He had another look while standing. He blinked and refocused the glasses. A Lincoln Town Car had appeared and was parked in the back, near the private entrance. Two men got out of the car. One was huge, the other of average height and weight. Neither one was black. No Ernie Taylor. Disappointed, Bone almost looked away, but did a double take and zeroed in on the smaller man. He brought the sweaty features into focus then grunted.
"Well, I'll be damned."
Down below, the taller dude got back into the backseat of the big car. It drove away. Bone watched the younger, smaller man as he walked across the empty parking lot. The kid's shoulders were slumped forward, and he looked up only to zero in on his vehicle. He appeared thoroughly miserable.
Bone tossed the glasses onto the passenger seat and cruised down the slope with the lights off. Hissing tires, the crackling of pebbles. He passed the casino without being noticed by the sleepy security guard and eased into the back of the Wagon Wheel's parking lot.
Meanwhile, the young man had found his car, a shiny red BMW. He raised a remote and the alarm chirped. Bone pulled the binoculars again, focused. The guy got in the Beemer and fired up what could have been a small cigar.
Bone dropped the glasses, opened the door and eased out. He left his vehicle and jogged along the back, near the bushes, then crept up to the parked BMW. The driver's window was cracked and the skunk odor of top-quality marijuana permeated the cool evening air. Bone leaned close and spoke through the opening.
"Juicy fruit?"
"Ah!" The young man in the car jumped, coals went flying. He slapped at his expensive pants and shirt. "Jesus!"
"Actually, it's Bud Stone. How're they hanging, Jacob?"
Jacob Mandel swallowed and waved his hands around. "Uncle Bud? What the hell are you doing here?"
"Oh, you know. Vacation."
They looked at one another. What was left unsaid hung in the air like thick syrup. Bone heard a burst of wild laughter from the back entrance as a group of revelers left the casino. Finally, he rapped his knuckles on the glass. Mandel reluctantly lowered the window the rest of the way.
"Uncle Bud, you scared the shit out of me."
"Lawyers are too full of shit to have any scared out of them. No, I ain't on vacation. Now, I know why I'm here, but what are you doing in Vegas, slumming, gambling, or getting your dick sucked? Last time I saw you, it was going to be Beverly Hills or bust. This town is beneath you."
"Nice of you to think so."
"And by the way, how's Jack?"
Mandel licked his lips. "Better. He's still got a little speech impediment from the stroke, but he's up and around again."
"Shitty thing to happen to such a young man."
"You know it."
"You tell him I send my best. The Chief was always a damned good man. We were bro's, your dad and me."
"Tell me something I don't know. I grew up hearing those stories, Bud. Sometimes I felt like I was in Iraq with you guys."
"Yeah, well, soldiers do like to reminisce. So why are you in Vegas?"
"I have a small office here, just for the time being. I'm sort of concentrating on this one special client."
"Who's that, Jacob?"
"A new outfit called The Valley of Fire Corporation." Mandel cringed as he said it. Bud noticed.
"Just the one client?"
"It's kind of hard to explain."
Something crouching between the lines again. Bone probed a bit. "Hey, try me."
"You want to go get a drink or something, Bud? Maybe catch up?" Mandel was clearly trying to change the subject. He opened the door as if to get out, but by now he was too stoned to stand properly.
Bud motioned for Mandel to stay in the car. "I've had enough booze for one lifetime." He slid into the passenger seat. "Jacob, I need you to do me a favor. I'm only here for a few days, and it's kind of on the quiet, so keep it to yourself if you run into someone we know, okay?"
"Sure."
"Actually, keep it quiet period."
"Uh, okay."
"It would be good to catch up with you. Hey, you got a business card or something, Jacob?"
Mandel patted the pocket of his jacket, handed over an embossed card. He was pretty faded, but Bud's caution finally registered. "You okay, Uncle Bud?"
"Yes and no. I might need a way to speak to you in confidence."
Mandel focused those bleary eyes. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"Actually, I am. And you're in some kind of trouble, too, aren't you, Jacob?"
Mandel's eyes filled. He turned his head away and studied the night sky. "Oh, man. You don't want to know."
"Yes, I do."
"I can't talk about my clients."
"Not to put too fine a point on it, Jacob, but of course you can. We just have to make certain you don't get caught."
Bud watched Mandel closely, saw wheels turning in his head. They heard high heels on pavement, some laughter. Several young women came their way, probably dancers getting off work. The two men fell silent. Bud Stone slid down in the front seat. The women turned to the right several cars off and their voices faded away.
Mandel sighed. "You know who Paul Pesci is?"
Bud nodded in the gloom. Bingo. "Sure, I've heard of Pesci."
"Well, he's behind this new company. And they have some people working for them that give new meaning to the term mob."
"Go on."
Mandel sobbed quietly. "Jesus, Uncle Bud, I'm in way over my head. I've seen some things, bad shit. I don't know what the fuck to do."
"Maybe we can help each other out."
Mandel wiped his eyes. "How's that?"
"I'm in a box of my own," Bud said. He gave Mandel bits and pieces of the story, just enough to score points. Said he owed Pesci money, and that he was being squeezed to find some stolen property, that it was spiraling out of control. "So you can't tell them I'm here, okay?"
"Of course not," Mandel said. "Man, it sounds like we're both fucked."
"Not really. Maybe we can help each other."
"I don't see what either one of us can do."
"You will." Bud opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement. He looked around. The coast was clear. "Hang in there, kid. I'll be in touch."
"Uncle Bud," Mandel said quietly, "these people play rough."
"That's okay," Bone said. "So do I."
Twenty-one
I'm dreaming, can't wake up. . . . A big kid with a runny nose is circling me in the dirt ring, fists raised. His right eye is swelling. He's been crying. The men around us are hooting, laughing, cursing, and mocking him for being afraid. My heart swells with pride because Daddy Danny is pleased and we're going to make a nice piece of change on this one. Everyone thought Scott would put me down. He kicks at my crotch, I twist and give him a hip, then an uppercut that straightens him up like a board and drops him in the dust on his back. Scott cries "Uncle" and quits. I give it some theater, spit at his feet. The crowd cheers. Some part of me has the decency to feel ashamed. That's the first night Daddy Danny offers me booze to celebrate.
I am eleven years old.
I woke up to the roar of a leaf blower and some shouting as the next-door neighbor's gardener browbeat his Latino employees in what sounded like Japanese.
The bed was empty. Darlene was long gone.
I rolled out of bed, disturbed by the dream, heart kicking against my rib cage. I went flat on the floor, stretched, and did one hundred push-ups and enough stomach crunches to create a nasty burn. Went off to the kitchen, started a pot of strong coffee. To the bathroom for a long, cool shower.
I came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and found Mary Kate waiting in the hall. She was wearing the same clothes, and looked a whole lot better than she smelled. Darlene had patched her up pretty well. Except for a major hangover, some minor swelling, and a small bandage on her sc
alp, she seemed okay. Turns out my sister was a pretty woman.
"I'm sorry."
"You should be."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck me? Fuck you."
We glared at each other for a long beat, and then burst into laughter. Mary Kate hugged herself. "Well, I don't suppose you keep a hair of the dog around?"
"No booze in this house."
She shrugged. "I'll get something later, just to take the edge off."
"That will start it all up again."
"I know that whole speech," Mary Kate said. Her voice dropped to a whispered mixture of defiance and remorse. "I don't want to hear it again."
"Well, then, what I'd suggest is a mug of hot coffee with honey, some plain wheat toast, and a few aspirins."
She brightened a bit. "You could talk me into that."
I led her back to the kitchen. "If you're feeling better later on this morning, I'll whip up a protein shake with fruit. You'll need to get something decent into your system pretty soon."
Mary Kate planted herself at the kitchen table. A beam of sunlight cut through the plaid curtains and blinded her. She blinked rapidly and changed positions. The chair squeaked on the linoleum. My sister winced and rubbed her temples. "Oh, man. This one is brutal."
"Lots of honey for the blood sugar? I'd advise it."
"Yeah. Sure."
I knew better than to lecture, but it was hard to watch her suffer and just keep my mouth shut. AA has an old saying about being "a program of attraction, rather than promotion." Of course, I hadn't been a very good AA member lately. That's why Hal had been on me about getting back into regular meetings. I made her sweet coffee and some toast, poured myself a cup and sat across the table. Mary Kate licked her lips. "Damn, I'm really thirsty."
I got her a glass of ice water. A plane crossed west to east on the way to the Burbank airport. My other neighbor came outside whistling, started watering his yard. Mary Kate ate most of the toast and finished the coffee. We talked around things, rather than about. Shared how we missed the desert sometimes, how the city smelled bad and felt crowded. We both agreed that country music was in the toilet except for the Dixie Chicks and that they had brass ovaries for speaking out against the war a few years back.
"Don't you have a show to do?"
I told her I was out of work again. Said I hoped to find something soon, but didn't know where I'd end up. Mary Kate expressed sympathy, and it seemed sincere. We agreed we'd have to make an effort to stay in touch.
Finally, I poured a second cup. "Let's talk about dickhead. How long have you known the guy?"
She sighed. "A couple of years and change."
"It's serious?"
"As a heart attack. We were engaged once. I broke it off because all we did was fight all the time." Mary Kate looked up. "He won't forget about this, Mick. You should have told him you're my brother."
I laughed. "Okay, you can tell him if you want. Personally, I didn't think he deserved to know."
"He's not so bad. Usually."
"Mary Kate, he beats you up. I know I don't have to explain how low it is, you're smarter than that."
"I bring it on myself sometimes," she said, and then blushed. "I can be pretty hard to get along with."
"I can't believe I'm hearing this crap from you."
Her eyes flashed, but she didn't argue. The blush deepened to purple. Mary Kate picked at her fingernails. "You know, we still have to make up some nicknames for each other one of these days. You been thinking on that?"
"Not really, not yet, but I will."
"Okay."
"Mary Kate, I'm biting my lip to keep from going off on you. Have you ever tried the program? For real?"
"AA ain't for everybody," she said defiantly, repeating my own sentiments. And, of course, she was right. It was there for everyone, but only worked for a fortunate few.
"You gave the program a shot?"
"I went to meetings in Reno for a time and even got a sponsor, but I can't handle all the God crap. It's too much like a cult."
"It can be. It can also save your life. A lot depends on how you approach it, and who you choose to hang out with. You ever change your mind, want to give it another try, I'll introduce you to some women who have it together."
She met my eyes. "Not likely, big brother."
I shrugged. "Standing offer, kid sister."
"Fuck you," she said, but not unkindly.
I touched her arm. "Hey, and fuck you, too."
The wall clock seemed to get louder. Our eyes went moist and drifted sideways. Mary Kate and Mick Callahan, sentimental Irish fools. We both looked out the window as if suddenly fascinated by the shadows caressing the leaves. A couple of awkward kids.
My telephone rang, almost on cue. I left her at the table and went to answer it in the living room.
"Callahan."
"Good morning, sunshine," Jerry barked. "This is your lucky day."
I took the portable phone out onto the back porch, lowered my voice. "What have you got?"
"We found the car Faber and Toole rented. It's sitting unclaimed in a parking lot out by LAX."
"Did you call Donato?"
"Yeah, and he suggested we stick with Lopez. Like, why bring someone new into it, right?"
"Makes sense, but Dave said he was out."
"Five hundred bucks in cash changed his mind. Anyway, late last night Dave and I had a look. We were careful, believe me."
"And. . . . ?"
"And nothing. Zip. Nada. That ride was wiped clean of prints, Mick. It didn't have so much as one cigarette butt in the ashtray. Maybe a police forensics team could turn something up, but one thing I can tell you for sure is that Faber and Toole really don't want to be found, not any time soon."
"That's a lot of trouble for a couple of drug dealers to go through, since as far as they know, the only one after them is Bud. That is, unless they do know something serious about Gordo and the murder. Or maybe killed him themselves?"
"That's what I was thinking."
"Good job, Jerry. What about the other vehicle, the one that nabbed Brandi?"
"Lopez is doing some legwork. He says we have it down to a few more cars in the LA area that might fit the bill. I'll keep you posted."
"Okay. Thanks."
I cut the connection, sat down on my back porch and considered this new development. The pieces had to fit together somehow, but the pattern eluded me, the next piece tantalizingly out of reach. I finally decided to take Mary Kate to the Hungry Fox for some home cooking, just to take my mind off a steadily increasing state of confusion. I put the phone back.
"Sis, you up for some breakfast?"
No answer. I went into the kitchen. Her plate and cup were in the sink. I went back down the hall to the bedroom then checked the guest bathroom. No one. I looked everywhere. The house was empty. I walked out into the front yard and went to the curb, stared both ways. No sign of her. Mary Kate was gone. Hell, I don't know how, maybe she just hitched a ride with the neighbor's gardener.
"Nice knowing you."
I walked back inside, feeling weighted down. I locked the door and went into the office to fire up my computer. I had three E-mails, one from Judd Kramer. I opened it and discovered a paragraph describing a job offer at a small station in New Mexico. I'd have to do some local news, but the money was decent, and the company would pay any moving expenses. Would I be interested? I did a search on the call letters and called up some photos of the locale. Nice. It pissed me off that Judd hadn't had the testicles to just call me, but then I'd been pretty rough on his sorry ass. Should I even call him back?
Maybe, but not yet. The idea I'd be allowing Judd to collect a commission from me ever again gave me serious pause. Besides, I'd have to sell the house and leave town. I didn't know what it would mean for my relationship with Darlene, if I could still call it that.
Eventually I took the easy way out and e-mailed back that I'd think about it for a couple of days.
The next mi
ssive was from Darlene, asking me to call her as soon as I had some privacy. The third was from Hal. I called him first, tracked him down and pulled him up on video chat.
"Where are you?"
Hal held up a glass full of what appeared to be iced coffee. "I'll give you a hint. It's very hot."
"So? It's hot as hell here in Los Angeles."
"Drive to the coast, young stallion. Enjoy the sea breeze and the clear air. Then you'll have a better idea."
"Hal, it's too early in the morning for this. Hawaii?"
"You think like such a plebeian." He sipped the drink, slowly turned the computer and camera to show me an expanse of white sand and clear water. His face appeared again. He was rubbing on sun screen. "I am ensconced on the beach near San Juan, sir. The people are pleasant, the prices outrageous, and the ladies scantily clad."
"Hey, I am so happy for you, old man."
"You would be if you loved me. Oh, Callahan, I can personally assure you that the thong bikini is the best invention since sliced bread."
"Sliced bread is such an apt metaphor. Can you spare a few minutes, or have you already taken the Viagra?"
"Don't get snippy with me." Hal leaned back, took another sip of his coffee drink. "It is times like these that almost make a man wish he weren't over twenty-five years clean and sober."
"If you weren't, you'd go to sleep in Puerto Rico and wake up in Cleveland."
"Hey, I said almost."
I told him about Mary Kate having shown up and just as suddenly disappeared. Hal shook his head. "This must break your heart."
"What was left. It really is a shame. And I know there's not a damned thing I can say or do to make it better, Hal. Mary Kate has already been to meetings, and she's easily as stubborn as me."
"Perhaps she'll be back, Mick. This is a program of attraction."
"Rather than promotion. I know."
"Any news from Jerry on our project?"
"We're closing in. The car Faber and Toole were driving is out by the LA airport, but it was picked clean. There's nothing for us to go on, except that it was a rental. Hopefully we'll have something more to work with soon."
One of the Wicked: A Mick Callahan Novel Page 17
