by Alex Ames
“Is that Photoshopped or…?” he said, pointing to a picture of me beside the king and queen of Sweden.
“No, the real deal. Charming Swedish accent. She is from Germany; did you know that?”
Henry stopped asking anything else.
The red snapper I had prepared was delicious, the salad was perfect, and the pizza bread hot and steaming. The wine fitted perfectly to this arrangement, and I had some easy music on the CD player, James Taylor crooning about “Carolina” and “the good die young.”
“Hmm … this is perfect. Do you have any other housewife qualities?” Henry marveled after we sat stuffed and unmoving.
I looked at him over my wine. “I can clean up pretty good after I mess up a house, too. I can bake mean pies. What about you?”
“I’ve had a housekeeper from about the time I could afford it,” Henry laughed. “I eat out most of the time, and after a brief spell of bad eating habits and thirty pounds added within a year, I restricted myself to health food during the work week.” He patted his non-existent stomach. “Seems to work out.”
“Typical Californian health nut,” I teased him.
“What made you…?” he started.
“Don’t you think you’re asking too many questions?” I said.
“It’s hard to forget what you are,” he said.
“Same for me,” was as much as I dared to reveal.
The next hour passed quickly. I was in a constant state of forcing myself not to look at the clock in the kitchen. I felt torn between hunting down Rip and enjoying Henry’s company, but it was a date waiting to be over; I was sitting on hot coals. Henry helped me clean up the cooking aftermath, and we settled down on my sofa and talked about books, locations, people, diamonds, and police work—and sipped the rest of the wine until Henry poured the last drops into my glass.
“Oops, there goes the mood,” he said, playfully sad.
“You want to open another bottle? I have some nice Napa Valley lying around.”
“Better not, I may be stopped by my own people and checked for alcohol.”
The conversation lagged, and when we didn’t find a new thread for a minute, Henry looked around the bungalow. I looked at him, and we smiled at each other, looked away, and I had to roll my eyes.
“What?” Henry asked.
“I think this is the moment when you are supposed to kiss me, stupid!” I said, sliding nearer to him.
“I just realized one thing,” Henry said. “You know that you have the lifestyle of a cat? No, I’m not referring to the allegations of you being a cat burglar. But look around you. You live in a kind of bungalow on a larger estate like a cat in a family household. You are independent and go your own ways most of the time.”
“Is this some excuse not to kiss me?”
Henry raised his hands. “I just formed this theory, and I’ll try to find more evidence in the future. What did you say before my discovery?”
“This is the moment….”
“Oh, yes, I am so out of touch,” Henry muttered.
“Amateur hour,” I said, and we kissed. And I forgot everything about my other plans for the evening.
Henry had a very soft kiss and strong hands, a killer combination, especially when the hands started moving all over my body—and when the last year hadn’t been actually full of kisses nor hands of any kind. I was deep into enjoying every move he made and finally was courageous enough to start my own. We became seriously entangled in hands and hair and kisses, testing the couch’s abilities to accommodate two bodies.
And after a long period of hugging and kissing and quick stops for breathers…
Just like in a movie, Henry’s cellphone started to ring.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Girl on a Mission
My head was still spinning from kissing and touching, and I cursed at the criminal who had dared to interrupt our base hopping, concentrating willfully on the late evening traffic.
I was driving north again, toward Van Nuys, and made good time on the freeway—there wasn’t much traffic around 10:30. Mick had sounded astonished when I had called him and tried unsuccessfully to convince me not to pursue this little trip.
Jesus, where is this leading? I thought while the silence of my car lulled me in. The burglar in love with a policeman … the policeman interrupts the date to hunt some criminals in the neighborhood, and the burglar uses the freshly found spare time to break into a house in the next valley.
The whole thing was beginning to get out of control; it felt like an overload of my sensory systems. My last serious boyfriend with more intense body contact had been about four years back, and after things fell apart, I’d had the urge to be alone more than ever, except maybe for an attempt or two. Right now, the collected turmoil of emotions was overshadowed by the lingering feeling of Henry’s lips and the memory of his fingers on my spine, neck, and other important areas. I hoped that in the morning I was able to think about this affair, this love affair, more clearly. I stared at the red taillights of my co-cruising nighthawks and remembered Henry’s cat analogy. The independent feline….
I had to shake myself out of it and opened the side windows wide to let in the cold night air and keep me fresh for the task at hand. Usually I went better prepared and better rested into a job. I didn’t drive around in my own car with a sports bag of B&E tools in the trunk, and my nerves weren’t affected by such an overdose of hormones. I felt a little nervous because I had never broken into the home of another criminal. Well, not completely true, I had broken into the safe of my fiancé once upon a time—and had paid the price for it. Rip Delaware was not comparable to Thomas Cornelius, but both had a certain effect on me. Maybe the criminal undercurrent in their respective personalities were in sync with my own criminal instincts on some level.
Cousin Mick waited for me outside the Adlon Apartments. I parked my car legally a few yards down the road and slipped into his brown, nondescript Ford Taurus. He switched off the low-volume blues rock music from Sirius XM.
Mick was all business and had stopped arguing. “How do you want to play it?”
“What can you tell me about Rip’s house?” I said, emptying myself of emotions and trying to be as professional as I might.
Mick looked ahead and concentrated. “One level, built on the slope, partially overlooking the valley. Main door and garage entrance from the housing complex road, small pool and terrace right on the edge of the slope. BaySec Alarm System, low tech with basic wiring of all doors and windows including the overhead daylights. He left some lights on in the house before he left, including the TV.”
“How fast do you think the security guys will react?”
“In this area? Don’t know, would have to guess. About five minutes, maybe ten if they are standing in the line for a Starbucks coffee?” Mick shrugged.
“Any idea about the code and such?”
“I couldn’t see him entering any number; he was careful to close the door before deactivating the alarm.”
“You seem to know a lot about a house you just discovered last night,” I asked Mick, slightly amused.
“I am good at scouting out locations, if that is what you mean,” Mick said slyly. “I am something like the sneaky guy among our posse.”
“You take after the Moons.”
Mick had to grin. “Mick Moon, at your service.”
“You actually bear Bernie’s name?” I asked, unaware of the fact that Bernie had actually been married to that flame of the season twenty years ago or so.
“Yes, Dad married all of the girls who gave him children. Divorced them, too, of course. I have five more stepbrothers and sisters.”
“My family is growing by the minute.” I was thinking through my plan. “Okay, this is how it goes. You will be the lookout. Do the guys notify you when Rip is on the move?”
“Yeah, last I heard they are in a bar not far from the dinner place they went to. Talking, drinking, kissing.”
“Call me when it
gets hot. I will take the way over the terrace and check out the house inside.”
“What do you hope to find?” Mick asked.
“Not sure what I will find, to be honest. If Rip is a professional, I will find nothing about his crimes in his house. He will have stashes around everywhere but here. Maybe I will find something personal that will tell me who he is and what he is up to. See you.”
I rummaged in my little sports bag and moved my basic gear into the little nylon backpack. I changed shoes and my pullover, then checked my cellphone and set it to vibrate. “You got the number?”
Mick nodded, and I slipped out of the car into the night. I made my way over to the next house, took the trash bin alley, and stayed in the shadows until I had reached the bushes behind the housing complex. Then I stumbled a little bit in the weak moonlight over stones and gravel and came up behind Rip’s house. It was an easy feat climbing up one of the pylons that held the terrace deck. Rip not only had switched on the lights in the house, but the terrace and the pool were bathed in light, too. I climbed over the railing and walked casually like a late-night girlfriend over the terrace and checked the living room.
Thank you for the light, Rip.
I could make out the position of the infrared sensor, and it was far away through the large living room over on the far end of the corridor. I was able to roam the living room without fear of alarms.
I spread out my little toolset, did a little drilling on the underside of one of the windows, located the necessary cables, and bridged the circuit of the alarm system of the terrace door. Easy piece of work. I credit-carded the locking mechanism of the door and slid it open. Hello, Rip’s residence.
I took some precautions and made one very careful round to check for any tricks of the intrusion trade like trip wires and coins, hair over a doorframe and such. I didn’t find any, which I took for a bad sign: Rip didn’t have anything to hide in here.
The living room was spacious and furnished with a modern sofa, coffee table, and some bookshelves with a small bar attached. To the left and the right were two doors leading into the bedroom and workout room. It took me about an hour to make my way through all three rooms that were accessible to me, as I couldn’t go into the front part of the house due to the infrared sensors. It was midnight exactly when I stood in the living room again without learning anything. Nothing revealing Rip’s true identity; nothing showing too much of his personality except that he had good taste in furniture, interior design, and clothes. Nothing hidden anywhere behind walls, floors, or carpets. A perfectly sanitized home.
I froze for a second when my phone in my pocket started humming.
It was Mick, of course. “Rip and his girl left the bar and are in his car. They are on the move, destination unknown. Could be home, could be her place, could be a club.” He hung up.
Outside the air was fresh and cool, and I sat down on one of the deck chairs and looked around. The night was still; only some cold-resistant insects were making chirping noises accompanied by the gurgling of the pool filter. Maybe he had stashed his loot in the bushes downhill? Would be a good place, but a risky one as well. You never know what loonies were walking around the semi-wilderness with their metal detectors or what kind of real estate entrepreneurs were starting digging in the morning. Maybe he had crawled under his house or the neighbor’s house and hid it there? Tacked it to the underside of a deck?
What would I do in his place? He seemed to imitate me in certain techniques, so why not beat him at his own game? What would Calendar do in his place? First of all, I wouldn’t keep the loot. I would get rid of it as soon as possible. So, let’s assume that most of the earlier heists were already in the hands of the fences or cutters. He had recently acquired the stuff from Swan Collins’ Oscar party, and he had the contents of Calendar’s safe. Somewhere nearby.
If it was me, I wouldn’t keep it here. I’d put it in a secure place like any Joe Citizen, the bank. Rent a safe and keep it there until the handover day. Use the mail-it-to-my-fake-identity-PO-box trick.
Just for the heck of it, I wondered: where would Calendar keep it if she were stupid enough to keep it at home?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Diving Damsel Distressed
Mick jumped in his seat when I tapped stealthily against the side window of the car.
“Jesus, you got nerves!” he said after I had slipped into the car.
“I need your help.”
“Did you find anything?”
“Not yet, but there is one place I want to check before we go—and I need you to go with me to keep an eye on things.”
“Don’t you think this is the better place?” Mick indicated the empty night street.
“It is a risk we have to take, so come on with me.”
“You must be kidding, a swim?” Mick said, disbelievingly.
“Shut up. I am most vulnerable when I am down there in the water because I can’t take the phone with me, stupid, so I want you up here watching out for anything. And if anyone approaches, make some noise like banging the deck chair several times. The sound will travel into the pool, and I will come up immediately.”
“Are you prepared for a swim at all?”
“No. But as you are my cousin, you don’t qualify as a dirty leering young man.”
He raised his eyebrow, looked nervously around to the neighbor’s home, eyed me, and quickly looked away again when he caught me undressing. I neatly stacked my clothes on the deck chair, ready to grab and go, my briefs going last. I tested the water with my big toe and my waterproof Maglite. Cold! It was hard to get in but only motivationally so.
I was stepping into the water on the shallow side of the twenty by ten pool, about to overcome the last hurdle and dip in completely. Mick’s phone buzzed. I froze, and we looked at each other, not moving.
“Mick here.”
My lower parts felt cold, my nipples were hard, and I suddenly thought that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Mick looked around several times to avoid staring at my breasts.
He snapped his phone shut with a worried look. “Rip and his girl tried to hit another trendy nightclub but didn’t get past the door. They just retrieved their car from the valet and are heading straight for our location. ETA about ten to fifteen minutes if they don’t stop for a nightcap.”
I said, “Shit,” and took a deep breath and dived down into the water. The Maglite was very bright underwater, and I checked out the far end of the pool were three water out- and inlets were clearly visible. I managed to open the first of them and checked it out with my first round of air.
I surfaced and heard Mick say, “Eight minutes, driving fast. I bet they want to have a go at each other, urgently!”
The next round of air held for another two minutes, which I took to unscrew outlet number two. It took some effort, and the second I had it open, I felt the draft of the water pouring out to wherever. I had to be damned careful not to be sucked in while I was feeling my way in there, and just as my fingertips felt something round the bend, my air ran out.
“Six minutes, maybe less.”
“My backpack, the pliers, quick!”
He retrieved it from my little heap of clothing. I gulped in enough air for round three and already felt that I couldn’t hold out two minutes anymore. I reached outlet number two again, my right hand with the pliers vanished in the sucking tube. I felt the object just behind the bend—something soft, maybe a textile bag—grabbed it with the pliers, and pulled. Eureka, I had it … or not. I was looking at a very dead, halfway decomposed rat.
I swallowed some water from the shock, lost my pliers, which vanished in the sucking hole, and had to get up quickly in order to avoid drowning.
“Five minutes, they just got off the highway,” Mick said. “Did you find something?”
I coughed, spit out water, and swam to the side. The water level still looked the same, even though some of it was draining steadily away. “Shit, shit, shit. I just caught a dead rat.�
��
“Probably better than a live diving rat.” Ever practical.
Gulping in air for trip number four, I had to close the outlet first, and I grabbed the screw cap. The rat had already been sucked into the outlet again to accompany my pliers. The rat had probably drowned and sunk to the ground. The pool service technician had not bothered when he had drained the pool for maintenance, and the cadaver had been sucked into the tube—to be retrieved by the esteemed Calendar Moonstone, who had come to hate these animals.
I called the pliers a loss and had just finished screwing in the outlet with the last bit of air in my lungs when a thought hit me. The dead rat had shocked me. I hadn’t looked any further because of the revulsion that I had felt. Could I have invented a better distraction? As intended by Rip?
Coming up for air. “The other pliers, please,” I gulped and gasped. Mick fetched them from my toolset and urged, “Two minutes max. Whatever you plan to do, do it quickly.”
“Clean up here, will you? Take my clothes and stuff with you.” I dove back, unscrewed the outlet, felt the sucking again. My left hand vanished into the tube with the other pliers, and I felt for the first thing to grab. Got out the dead rat again. Because of the flow, I had to pin down the rat with my naked knee to the pool floor before I could put my hand back into the tube. I reached further and felt something else.
Bingo, you are a dead winner soon, Cal!
I pulled out a small plastic wrapping, took it in my left hand with the pliers, and let the rat be sucked in again.
I could hear a scraping and banging sound through the water, Mick signaling danger.
My air was running out fast. I screwed the outlet cap back on, fumbled with the outlet thread, had to do it again, screwed and screwed with one hand, the other one desperately held tight to pliers and wrapping, my air running out, lungs almost bursting, longing for air, finally finished screwing on, stars before my eyes, wobbly arms….
