by John J. Lamb
I asked, “And just what was the job, Merv?”
“Lizard Eyes knows all about me. He knows my PI business is in the crapper. He knows I need the money. He says that all I have to do is contact a guy, deliver the bag, and pick up some merchandise.”
“When were you supposed to deliver the goods to Lizard Eyes?”
“Tomorrow. The guy is supposed to call to set up another meeting.”
I chuckled in disbelief. “My God. Weren’t you at least a little worried that you were being asked to work as a dope mule?”
“I’m not an idiot, Lyon.” Bronsey glowered at me. “I told the guy that if this was a dope deal, he could go straight to hell. Look, I may not have been a recruiting poster cop, but I’ve never been in the narc trade.”
“So, I guess it must have come as a shock when the guy told you that you were buying a stolen robotic teddy bear.”
“He never said it was hot.”
“And I’ll bet you never asked.”
There was a long pause and then Bronsey said, “Just for once, come down from your freaking high horse and try to look at it from my point of view. I was drowning, Lyon. The guy told me that there was nothing illegal in what they were doing. They just wanted to keep their company’s name out of a potential lawsuit.”
“Okay, Merv, I’ll assume you didn’t believe you were breaking any laws.” I glanced at Ash, whose look of annoyance clearly said that she didn’t like being lied to. “Even if my wife doesn’t buy a word of it. What else did this guy tell you?”
“He says that Kyle Vandenbosch is getting a royal screwing from some company I never heard of, called Lycaon. The story was that Kyle developed some whiz-bang new toy on his own dime and wanted to sell it to the guy’s company, but that Lycaon is claiming it’s theirs.”
“And you were supposed to conduct the actual transaction, so that the buying company’s hands would stay as clean as Pontius Pilate’s.”
“I guess.”
“So, you accepted the job. What happened next?”
“The guy gave me Vandenbosch’s phone number and told me that he didn’t care where I set up the meet, so long as it was done quickly and the location had a telephone landline.” Bronsey took another swallow of his drink and crunched an ice cube between his teeth. “If I had it to do all over again, I’d have taken that number and flushed it down the toilet.”
Ten
“But you still have Kyle’s number?” I asked.
Bronsey nodded. “Yeah.”
“Could we have it?”
“Why not? I sure as hell ain’t gonna call him.”
He reached into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet and as he did his jacket flapped open, revealing a black auto-pistol in a brown leather shoulder holster. He opened the wallet and handed me a dog-eared business card. It read MERVIN J. BRONSEY, CONFIDENTIAL INVESTIGATIONS, and his phone number was printed beneath the name. There was another number handwritten in pencil on the back of the card. It was completely different from the phone number that Lauren had told us was Kyle’s cell. I slipped the business card into my shirt pocket.
The front door swung open and I pretended to give the newcomer a disinterested glance. I didn’t want to provide Merv with even the slightest hint that we were waiting for someone to arrive. However, I was beginning to get nervous. More than twenty minutes had passed and there was still no sign of Heather and Colin.
A groggy-looking, bearded tramp stumbled into the bar and I could smell the booze emanating from his person all the way across the room. Back when I started in cop work, I’d have referred to him as a “drunken bum” or “wino,” but I suspected that modern-day San Francisco cops were encouraged to call such people more politically correct names, such as “sobriety-challenged victims of societal oppression.” The rummy shuffled up to the bartender and diffidently offered to sweep the sidewalk in front of the bar for five bucks. I turned my attention back to Bronsey as the bartender nodded and went to go get the broom.
I asked, “Did your original contact tell you what the merchandise was?”
“Yeah, a robot that looked like a teddy bear,” said Bronsey.
“I think it’s safe to assume you know as much about real robots as I do, which is nothing. Given that, what was to prevent Kyle from selling you a mock-up of the genuine article?”
“Him and Lizard Eyes had already worked that out. I had to talk to the bear and watch it walk. Sounds weird, I know.”
Actually, it didn’t, but I couldn’t say anything and I hoped Ash could keep her poker face.
Bronsey continued, “The buyer said that if I wasn’t freaking amazed, then abort the deal and walk away.”
“But if you were amazed?” I asked, while watching the wino leave the bar.
“I was supposed to call a number on a landline phone and then plug one end of a data cord into the phone jack and the other into the back of the bear. I’d get a call on my cell when they were done with whatever they were doing.”
“Which was probably interacting with the bear’s computer system to ensure it could do everything that Kyle promised the buyer.”
“That’s what I thought, too.”
“And this guy gave you a data cord?”
“Yeah, but I left it in the room.” Bronsey sounded a little sheepish. “I guess the thing stayed connected to the phone jack, when I grabbed the bear to run.”
As far as I knew, the detectives never found a data cord in the motel room, which meant that unless Merv was lying, someone had tidied up the room before the cops arrived. I asked, “Do you remember the contact number the buyer gave you?”
“He made me write it down. But I left the card on the nightstand near the phone. I was just getting ready to make the call when everything turned to crap.”
I remembered the detectives hadn’t found a business card either, so it must have vanished with the data cord. I said, “Even the area code would be helpful.”
“No area code. It was a local number. Started with a six . . . I think.”
“But you can’t remember. Were you told how much money there was in the gym bag?”
“Four hundred thousand dollars. It was the most cash I’ve ever seen. The guy made me count the bill bundles and told me that I’d end up as one of the ingredients of gourmet sausage if I didn’t give it all to Vandenbosch.”
“That must have gotten your attention.”
“You got that right. You know how some guys talk big smack and you know it’s all just BS? Not this guy.” Bronsey rubbed his unshaven throat. “He meant exactly what he said.”
“But you went ahead with the deal.”
“Like I told you, I didn’t really have a choice.”
Ash couldn’t hold her tongue any longer, not that I could blame her. Bronsey’s self-pitying view of events was nauseating. She said, “You had a choice. You could have told him no and gotten another job. There are all sorts of jobs in the security field.”
“I’m not going to be some freaking department store rent-a-cop, honey.” Bronsey’s hand tightened around the glass and he continued in a goofy yet sarcastic voice, “Excuse me sir, have you paid for that leather jacket?”
“Merv, relax,” I said.
Bronsey pointed at Ash. “You don’t understand. You think your old man was the only one who liked being a cop? I was king of the freaking streets out here. You don’t just walk away from that and then be satisfied with a job keeping teenagers from ripping off the earring display.”
It came as a mild epiphany to realize that, in his own way, Bronsey had been proud of being a cop, even if it was for all the wrong reasons. I gently pressed my leg against Ash’s to signal that I wanted to get the interview back on track and said, “I understand what you’re saying, Merv. Now let’s get back to Kyle. When did you call him?”
He exhaled sharply, took a drink, and said, “That night. Thursday.”
“Tell me about the phone call.”
“I called him and gave him the code word.�
�
“What are you talking about?”
“The guy with the money gave me a code word so that Vandenbosch would know that I was the courier. Didn’t I tell you that?”
“No, but you’ve got a lot on your mind. What was the code word?”
“Talus. First time Lizard Eyes told me, I thought he said, ‘Dallas,’ but he spelled it for me.”
“The buyer likes playing word games,” Ash murmured. “Talus is the name of a mechanical bronze warrior from Greek mythology.”
I’ve known my wife for almost three decades, yet she still has the capacity to surprise me. I asked, “How the heck do you know that?”
“I grew up reading Bulfinch’s Mythology.”
“And I grew up watching Bullwinkle. It’s a good thing I fell in love with a smart girl.” I turned back to Bronsey, “Okay, so you give this guy the secret password. What happened after that?”
He took a swallow from his drink and then heaved a big sigh. “This guy Vandenbosch sounds like a little geek. But he’s copping this monster attitude, like he thinks he’s some bad-ass criminal genius.”
“Understandable. We both know that it’s the cowards who always act like the movie tough guys,” I said, hoping Bronsey didn’t realize I was including him in that description.
He nodded in vigorous agreement. “I tell him I want an immediate meet, but he says he can’t, because he thinks he’s being watched. Then he asks if I want to make an extra thousand on the deal.”
“And you said . . . ?”
“I wanted to know what I had to do. He tells me that he wants to make it harder for Lycaon to file a lawsuit claiming they own the toy.”
“Did he have some ideas as to how to accomplish that?”
“Lyon, this kid is an utter weasel. He says he wants me to pretend I work for Lycaon and mess with his mom big-time.”
I sat back and interlaced my fingers across my chest. “Define mess with.”
“Call her and threaten her. Follow her when she’s going someplace. Scare her so that she complains about Lycaon harassing her.”
“Rob her at a teddy bear show?”
“Yeah, that was all Vandenbosch’s idea.” Bronsey wagged his finger at me. “The kid says that the worse we can make Lycaon look, the better for him. And I didn’t hurt her. There was never any plan to hurt her.”
“Physically. So, let me get this straight. You agreed to terrorize an innocent woman and run the risk of going to state prison for stalking and robbery for a measly thousand dollars?”
He looked down at the table and muttered, “No. I wouldn’t agree to do it until he doubled his offer.”
“Well, I’m relieved to hear that you stood up for your principles.” I glanced at Ash, who was gaping at Bronsey as if he were an enormous cockroach.
Outside, I heard the unmistakable throaty rumble of a big Harley-Davidson motorcycle coming to a stop in front of the bar. Whoever was riding it revved the engine loudly a couple of times before shutting the hog off. The overwhelming majority of Harley owners are decent folks, but I also knew that decent folks would never leave their prized bikes unattended outside a bar in a demilitarized zone like the Tenderloin. There’s only one kind of Harley owner who feels safe doing that: the kind who wear motorcycle gang colors and absolutely hate cops, whether they’re still on the job or retired. I shot a wary glance at the door and was suddenly a little relieved that Bronsey was armed.
Bronsey had also turned in his seat to watch the entrance. The door flew open and it took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to shout, Young lady, just where do you think you are going dressed like that? It was our blue-haired daughter, Heather, who was marginally attired in denim cutoff shorts that were way too short and tight, black boots, and a skimpy black tank top. Merv was staring like he’d just seen paradise and I wanted to slap him. Meanwhile, Ash was slack-jawed with amazement.
Heather sauntered over to the bar, followed by Colin, who looked every inch the grimy outlaw biker, right down to the tattoo of a laughing Satan on his right bicep. He had a smoldering cigarette in the corner of his mouth, and when the bartender meekly said there was no smoking in the bar, Colin gave a brutal laugh and told the guy to shut up unless he wanted his ass beat. This seemed to settle the issue of whether he could smoke in the bar. Heather and Colin sat down on bar stools, ordered beers, and demanded that the bartender turn the music up. A few seconds later, the place was vibrating to the sounds of Eric Clapton’s “Cocaine.”
I cleared my throat. “Getting back to Vandenbosch’s diversionary operation. Merv? Can I have your attention, please?”
Bronsey finally tore his gaze from our daughter’s derriere. “Yeah, Vandenbosch.”
“Merv, focus on me and don’t look back over there again. Motorcycle Man will squash you like a bug if he sees you looking at her like that,” I said quietly, while resisting the urge to clobber him myself. “Was the man killed at the Paladin the same guy who was dressed in the bear suit in Sonoma?”
“Yeah. His name was Joey Uhlander. He used to be one of my street snitches when I was still on the PD and he did odd jobs for me.” Bronsey held up his empty glass to signal the bartender that he needed another refill, which also gave him another opportunity to devour Heather with his eyes.
Ash gave me a brief and icy sidelong glance that unmistakably said: I don’t know how much more of this I can take before going postal.
Once the drink had been delivered and Bronsey had paid for it, I asked, “So, why did you bring Uhlander in on the deal?”
“I couldn’t pull off the robbery and then hang around to pin it on Lycaon, could I?” Bronsey sounded annoyed that I was so obtuse.
“But why dress him in a bear costume?”
“Joey grew up in Sonoma. He was afraid somebody would recognize him.”
“And if he looked like most street snitches, you probably wanted him in disguise anyway. Especially at a teddy bear show. He’d have stuck out like a sore thumb.”
“That, too. ”
“Not that it’s important, but how much did your associate get for his work?”
“A hundred plus whatever was in the cashbox.”
“Did he get anything extra for going to the Paladin with you?”
“No.” He took a big swallow of rum and coke and then continued in a small voice, “I feel bad for Joey. I had no idea that crap was going to go down.”
“You must have had some idea that there could be trouble.”
“What do you mean?”
“Kyle told his mom that Uhlander pulled a gun,” I lied and reminded myself to be damn careful. If I said anything to give away the fact I’d been at the Paladin with the detectives, the best-case scenario was that Bronsey would bail before we could find out what had happened in the motel room. And I didn’t even want to think about the worst-case scenario.
Bronsey grimaced. “Look, you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t know Joey was carrying. But even so, he was acting in self-defense.”
“Were you armed?”
“I’m a PI. I have a Concealed Carry permit.”
“I guess that’s a big yes. What kind of a gun?”
“Glock nine-mil.”
“So, who picked the meeting site at the Paladin?”
“Vandenbosch. He called me just after seven to tell me that he’d slipped whoever was tailing him. He said to come over to the Paladin, Room Four, at eight o’clock.”
“So, you and Joey went. Did anybody else go with you?”
“No. Why?”
“Because Kyle’s mom also says that some woman tried to force her way into the room just before you got there. Kyle apparently thought you sent her as a distraction.”
“Then that was geek boy’s first time staying at the Paladin. You know what kind of place it is, Lyon. It’d be suspicious if a chick wasn’t trying to get into your room.”
“Agreed. But just so that we’re clear on this, you don’t know who the woman was?”
“Not a clu
e.” Bronsey sounded like he was telling the truth.
I asked, “Did you and Joey go there in different vehicles?”
“Yeah. I took my truck. Joey had some beater car.”
“And there’s no delicate way to phrase this, so I’m just going to come right out and ask. Were you and Joey going to rob Kyle of the bear and keep the purchase money?”
Bronsey had the glass to his lips and managed to catch himself before spraying us with his drink. “You’ve got to be kidding. I wouldn’t cross Lizard Eyes for a million bucks. That dude is poison.”
“So, you just went there to make the deal.”
“And get out ASAP.”
I noticed that Ash was trying not to stare in the direction of the bar and I had a powerful premonition that I probably shouldn’t look to see what she’d found so fascinating. Still, I turned and saw Heather and Colin entwined in an amorous embrace. I knew it was crucial that nobody made them as cops, but their performance seemed to be above and beyond the call of duty. I had to wave my hand in front of Bronsey’s face to get his attention. “Getting back to the Paladin ...”
Bronsey took a noisy sip of booze. “We show up and knock on the door and the little doofus lets us in.”
“Was he worried that Joey was there?”
“Nah, he knew Joey was coming along. I’d told Vandenbosch that I wasn’t going to carry four hundred grand around this freaking town without some extra security.”
“What happened next?”
“We’re in the room and Vandenbosch tells me to give him the bag. I say to him, ‘Whoa, cowboy, let’s see the goods first.’ That’s when he pulls this big teddy bear from like a blue nylon equipment bag.”
Ash seemed to have temporarily forgotten about what was still happening at the bar. She leaned forward a little, now utterly focused on Bronsey’s narrative. Unfortunately, that meant Bronsey felt obligated to study her décolletage in what he erroneously imagined was a discreet manner. It was frustrating. Despite his age and macho man bluster, the guy was like a sex-crazed eleven-year-old boy.
“Merv, stop gawking at my wife’s chest and tell me about the bear.”
