“Except this,” said Willows, hefting the plastic bag full of white powder.
Parker said, “If he does come, and he asks about the drugs, then you can tell him we searched Emily’s room. Otherwise, please don’t mention it.”
“Yes, all right. What time is it, please?”
Parker checked her watch. “Just past four.”
“I missed Geraldo,” said Betty Chan. “Do you ever watch his show? He’s so much fun. That time the identical twins were on, and he asked that man if he ever wanted to go to bed with his wife and her sister … ”
Outside there were several small children digging energetically but to no obvious purpose in the sandbox, while an older child in tattered coveralls made high-pitched engine noises as he steered a remote-controlled car in a complex circuit around the playground.
Parker glanced around. The area was hemmed in by the coop buildings on all four sides. It was probably one of the safest places to play in the entire city. But the sandbox and swings and brightly coloured plastic slide and other equipment were in shadow even though it was only mid-afternoon. Because of the surrounding buildings, the sun would reach the area for only a few hours each day, even during the summer. The playground was secure, but the lack of sunlight seemed a high price to pay.
Parker’s thoughts were interrupted when Willows suddenly shouted a warning, and clutched at her arm. A split-second later the remote-controlled car struck her from behind, smashed into her ankle and rebounded and raced away.
Willows looked for the boy, but he had ducked out of sight, was hiding somewhere, keeping a low profile.
“Damn it,” said Parker under her breath. There was a scrape on her skin and her nylon was torn.
“Hit and run,” said Willows. “He must’ve been doing about a hundred and fifty scale-miles per hour. You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”
“Very funny.”
“We check all the toy stores in town, maybe we can come up with a lead. No, wait a minute — did you get his number?”
Parker said, “No, but I’ve got yours, Jack. Knock it off, or I’ll buy myself a wind-up Ferrari and chase you all over the squadroom.”
They were walking down the narrow road leading to the guest parking lot when the bright red model car suddenly reappeared, racing towards them from behind a hedge of dwarf junipers.
Parker’s instinct was to draw her service revolver and shoot the thing to death, but a deep-seated concern for ricochets and paperwork stayed her hand.
She waited until the last second, and then kicked out. The little car veered sharply away, miniature tires scrabbling for a grip on the pavement. It raced thirty feet up the road and then skidded around on its own axis, so it was facing them.
Willows waited. The car shot towards them. He picked up a rock, cocked his arm. The little car veered away and hit the curb and rolled, came to rest belly-up in the middle of the road.
There was a howl of rage from behind the hedge.
Willows walked over to the car. Its wheels were spinning furiously. He picked the car up and flipped open the battery compartment. Duracells, eight of them.
Across the street, the hedge trembled and then the boy pushed through.
Willows dropped a battery on the road, kicked it with just the right weight and watched it vanish down a storm drain. He fastened the cover on the battery compartment and put the car upside down on the road.
The kid hovered in the shade of the hedge. His face was pinched and angry. He wanted his car back, but not quite badly enough to risk a cuff on the ear.
Willows and Parker walked towards their unmarked car. Willows unlocked his door and climbed in, reached across to unlock the passenger side door. When Willows started the engine, the kid dashed across the road, scooped up his toy and ran back and vanished through an unseen gap in the hedge.
Willows backed the car out of the parking slot.
“Step on it,” said Parker, rubbing her ankle. “Let’s scram before the little creep gets our number.”
16
Burnaby. Frank had been there once or twice before, years ago. He couldn’t remember why. As he saw it, the municipality was a kind of low-rent bedroom community for the city. Guys who drove trucks lived there, people like that. Lulu had to use a certain amount of friendly persuasion to convince Frank a day trip would be a good idea. Her destination was a sprawling shopping complex called Metrotown.
Frank wasn’t keen on the idea. The summer days were slipping by. He’d slept in again this morning, snored away his chance at Claire Parker. The missed opportunity had left him sour-faced and grumpy. What kind of killer was he? The way things were going, he’d be surprised if Newt didn’t give him his walking papers, send someone else out to do the job.
It suddenly occurred to Frank — and why hadn’t he thought of this earlier — that Newt might slip Rikki’s leash. Now there was a scary thought. Frank remembered watching Rikki slice a Thanksgiving roast turkey in a Beverly Hills restaurant. Despite the oily, muttered objections of the joint’s maître d’, Rikki insisted on using his own knife; a switchblade with a ten-inch blade and weighted handle he’d bought by mail from a specialty shop in Tokyo.
Frank had never seen meat cut so thin — the Mexican was an artist with a blade. But what he’d never forget was the
demented glint in Rikki’s eye, the bubbling froth of saliva that had appeared in the corner of his sagging mouth, the hiss and moan of his breath and the way the tendons had stood out in his wrists and the backs of his hands as he’d gone to work on that glazed and juicy bird. The look on his face, every last pore contributing to the effect, was — sure I’m having fun, but gimme a live bird if you really want to see me enjoying myself.
But no, Newt wouldn’t risk sending Rikki across the border to Vancouver. There was too much fruit in Rikki’s cake. You had to watch him every minute, his every move. Frank had heard the story about the guy in the washroom, how Rikki had surgically removed his ear with a stroke so deft it probably had Manuelito rolling over in his grave.
You could get away with that kind of behaviour in Los Angeles, maybe. But it was front-page news in Vancouver. Frank told himself that Rikki wasn’t a problem. Newt was crazy, but he wasn’t insane.
Frank’s armpits were damp. He was breathing heavily. Maybe Lulu was right — it would do him some good to get out of the city, grab a breath of suburban air. The reason she wanted to visit Metrotown was to try a shot at another robbery. Frank had been teaching her theory and she wanted to go out in the field and see how well she’d learned her lessons.
Flatly, without being bitchy about it, just stating a simple fact, she pointed out that it seemed only fair he do a little something for her, since she’d spent the last few days waiting on him hand and foot. Besides, she casually added, she’d spent an awful lot of money on her disguise.
“What disguise is that, honey?”
Lulu made Frank turn around and cover his eyes while she changed into her cute little outfit, the dark-green jacket and matching pleated skirt, white blouse and knee socks, roundtoed patent leather flats with a shiny black strap. The crowning touch was a Heidi-type wig, blond and braided.
Frank said, “Holy cow, you look about ten years old. What is that, some kind of uniform?”
Lulu nodded, smiling. The uniform was from a local Catholic girls’ school. She’d paid fifty dollars for it from an ice-cream-cone-gobbling hundred-and-ten-pound thirteen-year-old with lots of freckles and no brains.
“Nice,” said Frank.
“What d’you think of the wig — is it too much?”
“No, it’s great.”
Lulu curled up in the tub chair by the hotel window. The pleated skirt rode high up on her thigh as she sat down. Her pale skin gleamed in the light. She said, “So, the overall look, would you say it was kind of sexy, or what?”
“Sexy, yeah. But at the same time, I got to admit I’m not all that comfortable with it. I’m pushing forty, Lulu. You look young enough to be my dau
ghter.”
“But you don’t have any children, do you, Frank?”
“Nope.”
“And I’m twenty-two years old, aren’t I?”
Frank nodded.
Lulu held out her arms. “C’mere, baby, and gimme a great big kiss.”
Frank wanted to drive to Burnaby but Lulu said she couldn’t stand looking at all that urban blight, so they caught the Sky Train — the elevated light transit system that moved commuters in and out of the city — at the subterranean Hudson’s Bay Station.
Frank said, “How come they call it the Sky Train? We must be twenty feet underground.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Lulu, making herself comfortable on his lap. She nibbled his ear. “Just sit back and enjoy the ride.” She wiggled her hips. “I’m going to.”
There was a crowd at the Metrotown station. Frank’s size and the set of his jaw got them through.
They wandered through the mall for the better part of an hour. Roger had a birthday coming up and Lulu had her heart set on a gold wrist chain — a really heavy one, something that would cost in the neighbourhood of ten or fifteen thousand dollars, if you bought it.
Frank said, “That’s one of the nice things about being a thief — when the clerk asks you what price range you’re interested in, you can tell him the sky’s the limit, and mean it.”
By two in the afternoon, they still hadn’t decided who to give their business to.
Frank said, “Let’s hit a restaurant.”
“What?”
“I’m gonna die if I don’t get a cheeseburger in the next ten minutes.”
There was a fast-food joint on the lower level with a table available that had a good view of a jewellery store called Silver Threads Among The Gold.
The waitress brought the menus and asked Frank would he like a drink. Frank said no. Lulu ordered a martini the way James Bond liked it, but with an extra olive.
The waitress asked for some ID.
Lulu said, “Watch me drink it — you’ll know I’ve done it before.”
The waitress hesitated. Frank caught her eye. He smiled in a neutral kind of way. Indicating the Catholic school jacket, the waitress said, “You teach there, is that it?”
“Advanced Sex Techniques,” said Lulu, flashing her milk-white teeth.
“Guess I’ll have a beer,” said Frank, “to wash down my cheeseburger, double bacon.”
Lulu ordered a side salad, no dressing.
Eventually, the drinks arrived. Lulu ate an olive, held her glass up to the light. “I’m going to have to make this last, aren’t I?”
“Drinking and stealing don’t mix too well.”
“But one won’t hurt.”
“Probably not.”
Lulu parted her lips and bit gently down on an olive, pulled it slowly from the toothpick. The olive vanished into her mouth. She licked her lips, chewed slowly, and swallowed. She smiled. “You never lie to me, do you, Frank?”
“Nope.”
“Not even when it’d make things a lot easier.”
Frank said, “I can’t think when that would be.” He sipped at his beer. “Is something bothering you?”
“I think I’m in love with you. I mean really in love.”
The food arrived. Frank cut his burger in half. The knife blade was serrated but he had a little trouble with the bacon. An image of Rikki flashed across his plate. He pressed down more heavily and the knife cut through. He said, “Maybe we should forget about Roger’s present, go shopping some other day.”
“Because of one little martini?”
“No, I didn’t mean that at all. It’s just you’ve got my mind going in a different direction, and that ain’t healthy. If we’re gonna do some robbing, it’s important to concentrate on the business at hand.”
Lulu’s eyes darkened, but she held her peace.
Frank said, “How’s the salad?”
“Limp.”
Frank poured some ketchup on his french fries. “How late’s this place stay open?”
“What day is it?”
“Friday.”
“Until nine.”
Frank had left his Rolex back at the hotel. He said, “What time is it now, about two-thirty?”
Lulu checked her watch. "Twenty past.”
“Is there a hotel or motel around here?”
Lulu said, “We're on Kingsway, Frank. Everywhere you look, there's a motel.”
“Why don’t we finish lunch, grab a taxi and find someplace close where we can grab a little nap. Later on, if we feel like it, we can come back here and take care of Roger.”
Lulu said, “A nap isn't exactly what I’m in need of, at the moment.”
“Well whatever.”
The motel the taxi driver took them to turned out to be just right — not exactly seedy, but definitely a little rundown. Frank opened the window as wide as it would go. He turned on the TV — here they were in late July and it was snowing on every channel. He turned the TV off and went to join Lulu in the shower.
They were back at Metrotown a little after eight. The clerk at Silver Threads Among The Gold was polishing the glass display case. He had a roll of paper towels under his arm and was pulling the trigger on a spray bottle of Windex as if it was a high-powered pistol.
The crowds were thicker than ever. The mall was air-conditioned. Frank smiled. There were at least two good reasons to be there, then. To cool off or pull a heist. He said, “Okay, let’s go over it one more time.”
Lulu said, “Don’t show him the piece unless I mean to use it.”
“Right.” Frank had loaned Lulu a .32-calibre automatic. The weapon weighed almost as much as she did, even though the magazine was empty. He wasn’t proud of the fact that he’d given her a useless gun. But at the same time, he knew from experience that otherwise normal people sometimes went absolutely nuts when they got their hands on a gun.
Frank had his eye on a gold chain, not a headline that screamed, BLOODBATH IN BURNABY!
Lulu said, “Speak in a normal voice, and don't talk too fast”
“Good”
“Be careful not to touch anything”
Frank said, “Especially now, since he’s just finished cleaning the counter. The cops find any prints that aren’t his, they’re gonna know right away who they belong to.”
Lulu said, “But what difference does it make, if they can’t identify us. I mean, since they don’t have a record of my fingerprints, how can they make a match?”
“They can’t,” said Frank. “At least, not until they get their hands on your fingers.” Lulu giggled. He frowned and said, “It might seem funny now, but it won’t be all that hilarious when they put you away. This’s a risky business, and don’t you forget it.”
“I won’t.”
Frank glanced around. “After he hands you the gold chain, then what?”
“I tell him to lie down on the floor and stay put for five minutes. That if he doesn’t do what I tell him to, I’ll kill him.”
“Good, good.”
“If he stands there like a dummy, I show him the gun.”
“Part of the gun.”
“And if he still doesn’t do what he’s told, I point the gun at him and repeat my instructions.”
“But you don’t shoot him.”
“I know. I know. Don’t be such a worry-wart. I’m not going to do anything wrong.”
“Okay, fine.”
Frank glanced around the mall, failed to spot any stray cops or security personnel. He leaned over and kissed Lulu on the cheek. “Go get’em, kid.”
Lulu walked into the jewellery store. The clerk looked up, saw her coming. He put the paper towels and Windex down on the counter, and smiled warmly. From thirty feet away, Frank saw Lulu yank the .32 out of her purse and thrust the barrel into the clerks startled face. She said something. Frank couldn’t hear what. The clerk nodded, pulled a burgundy-coloured tray from beneath the counter. The tray was draped with heavy gold chains. The clerk
dumped the chains into Lulu’s open purse.
Lulu cocked the .32. What a sound it made. Like the last tick of the world’s last clock. The barrel skidded across the clerk’s sweaty forehead. Lulu said, “So long sucker,” and squeezed the trigger.
17
The Corvette was still frozen in mid-crash, the shiny nose of the car protruding through the cinderblock wall. But even so, something wasn’t quite right. The wild-eyed girl sitting in the drivers lap was a redhead. Willows was pretty sure that she’d been wearing a blonde wig, the first time around.
Some things never seemed to change, though. Bob was still wearing the same blue overalls unbuttoned halfway down his sagging, furry chest, and the swampy remains of a cheap cigar continued to jut pugnaciously from his mouth.
Bob pointed the cigar at Willows and said, “The cop, right? Where’s the pretty lady?”
Willows smiled to take the bite out of his words. “Where she can’t hear your dumb-ass chauvinist remarks, Bob. Lucky for you.”
Bob’s upper lip twitched. His teeth looked rusty. He made a sound like a toilet being flushed, turned his head and spat a shred of tobacco at the floor. “Lookin’ for Joey?”
“Is he here?”
“Nope.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Detective. Probably better, in fact, since you got the advantage of all that training.”
The toilet flushed again. Bob’s face was the colour and texture of weathered brick. Willows realized he was laughing.
The counterman scratched his chest. His oily fingers played with a silver Saint Christopher’s medal. He said, “Joey didn’t come to work this morning. Didn’t phone in sick, neither. Way I see it, he’s gone and joined the swelling ranks of the unemployed.” He waved the cigar at Willows. “Gotta match?”
“No.”
“I cared about him enough to track him down, first place I’d try is his bedroom. Kid never seemed to get enough sleep, was always nodding off during lunch. Sneak up on him real quiet, you’ll probably catch him in the sack, makin’ love to his dreams.”
Parker started the unmarked car as Willows walked out of the building. He climbed into the car and slammed the door.
Accidental Deaths (A Willows and Parker Mystery) Page 14
