Blues in the Night

by Dick Lochte

  ‘Eventually. My original orders were to . . . become friends with the two Southern California entrepreneurs who were bidding on the formula. When I reported my discovery that Tiny was being backed by Brox, I was told to forget him and concentrate on Paulie, specifically to verify that he intended to set up a deal with a USA-approved weapons manufacturer.

  ‘When the formula – the coin – was hijacked, it was assumed that Tiny was the culprit. Au revoir, Paulie. Hello again, Tiny. My assignment from Langley was to verify his possession of the formula and to reclaim it. I found that Tiny had the coin, but I wasn’t able to discover where he was keeping it.’

  Paulie began making loud mumbling noises. He evidently didn’t like being bound and muzzled. Or maybe he just wanted to hear what they were talking about. Mace considered cutting him free but he didn’t want to break the confessional mood. And, in truth, he felt Paulie deserved the inconvenience.

  ‘How did Abe get involved?’ he asked Angela.

  ‘We’ve known for some time that Brox wanted a toehold on the West Coast and that Abe was running several small operations for him. Employing young Russian émigré hookers, of course. Supplying pornos and bootleg DVDs and CDs for Brox’s international distributors. Nothing worth our immediate attention. But it seemed logical that he was at least peripherally involved in the deal between Tiny and Brox.

  ‘One night out at Point Dume, I overheard Abe and Tiny getting hot and heavy over the coin. Tiny was holding out for a bigger cut of the deal. Abe was threatening him to play nice.’

  ‘And you became friends with Abe,’ Mace said.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, defiantly. ‘My supervisors felt he could be used to induce Maxil Brox to set foot on US soil illegally. Brox’s arrest would have not only removed a world-class villain, it would have given his good friend Putin a serious kick in the ass, diplomatically speaking.’

  ‘Did you set Tiny up for Abe’s hit man?’

  She hesitated, then replied, ‘I had no proactive involvement. But I knew it was going down. I was ordered to, and I quote, “sit tight and see what develops”.’

  ‘They thought the coin would surface after Tiny’s death?’

  ‘Or it wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘Either way, with Abe trusting me, I’d be in a position of control. Then you arrived, Mason, to screw things up royally by taking the coin. Where is it, by the way? I know where it isn’t: the back of Paulie’s TV.’

  ‘I don’t have any idea,’ he said. ‘I never had it. Maybe Tiny ate it.’

  She stared at him. ‘If it shows up and you are in any way connected, I’ll make sure you get your old cell back. And you’ll be sharing it with your fat friend.’

  Mace looked at Paulie who was staring at them, red-faced, eyes bulging in indignation.

  ‘You’d better untie him and get the hell out of here before my associates arrive. When they see this temporary graveyard they’ll want to blame somebody and it won’t be me.’

  ‘What about Monte?’ Mace asked.

  ‘Jerry? What about him?’

  ‘Wasn’t Abe working for him?’

  She gave him a sad, disdainful look. ‘My God, weren’t you listening? Jerry knows less about all this than you do.’

  ‘What about the pornos being made on this lot? He owns the place, right?’

  ‘The only pornos Jerry knows about are the ones starring him. He’s never set foot on this lot. And he won’t until all this is torn down and his West Coast offices are up and running. It was all Abe.’

  ‘It’s hard to believe,’ Mace said, getting out Drier’s knife to use on Paulie’s bindings. ‘Nine years ago, the guy was a happy whoremonger, sitting life out on Sunset. I wonder what made him decide to go for the gold?’

  ‘Running whores, making pornos and selling coffee most not have given him enough creative satisfaction,’ Angela said. ‘Who’d have thought?’

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Shit. You ripped the goddamn skin off my lips,’ were Lacotta’s first words after Mace pulled the tape from his mouth.

  ‘Get a chap stick,’ Angela told him, walking away.

  Lacotta wiggled his freed fingers. ‘Oh, man, got those little needle pains.’

  Mace handed him Drier’s knife and suggested he use his needle-pained fingers to cut the tape from his ankles. He approached Angela who was kneeling beside the now-silent Timmie, checking for signs of life.

  She stood, looked at Mace and said, ‘Dead as Hillary’s dream.’

  He shook his head in wonder. ‘You may be the greatest actress I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Better than Heather Locklear? I always figured if I could achieve that . . .’

  ‘You were way beyond her last night,’ Mace said.

  She gave him a half-smile. ‘Suppose I said I wasn’t acting then? Where would that leave us? The agent and the ex-con. Tune in next week for more hilarious adventures.’

  ‘Might be a long-running hit.’

  ‘Wouldn’t last even a mini season,’ she said.

  ‘Hey, Cisco,’ Paulie called out, ‘let’s went.’

  ‘Good plan,’ Angela said.

  ‘I get the deal about you following the formula,’ he said. ‘That explains your hooking up with Paulie and Tiny and Abe. And me.’

  ‘I didn’t fuck them,’ she said. She began walking him to the exit, where Paulie was waiting impatiently.

  ‘Good to know,’ he said. ‘But my question is: if Monte wasn’t a major player in—’

  ‘What’s your thing with Monte? He was just a bankroller Corrigan hoped to use if we got our hands on the formula. An afterthought.’

  ‘That being the case,’ Mace said, ‘why were you hanging out with him?’

  Her smile was patronizing. ‘You may find this hard to believe, but sometimes our caseload includes two, even three, separate jobs. Monte is . . . ass-deep in negotiations with certain Chinese businessmen. We are interested.’

  ‘Then you’re still . . .’

  ‘His main squeeze? Yep. That’s me.’

  ‘Won’t he be pissed off about last night?’

  ‘Pissed off? Yes. But more interested than ever. He’s left dozens of phone and text messages for me. He’s a guy who likes to win. Don’t you know anything about men, either?’

  ‘Not Monte’s kind,’ he said as they reached the exit.

  ‘He’s a job,’ she said. ‘Easier than most. It’s what I do. If the agency ordered me to get close to Al-Zawahiri, I’d give it a shot.’

  ‘I sure never figured you for a spook, Angie,’ Lacotta said.

  ‘Are you asking me to kill you?’ she said.

  He held up a halting hand.

  ‘You should leave,’ she said. She tapped her right ear where a tiny shard of clear plastic was not quite hidden. ‘My crew picked up Sweets on Mulholland about a half hour ago. They’ll be here any minute now.’

  ‘I don’t suppose they, uh, cleaned up my place while they were there?’ Paulie asked.

  ‘We claim our own,’ she said. ‘Unlike some.’

  ‘So long, Angie,’ Lacotta said, heading out. ‘It’s been fun. Not.’

  ‘Before I go . . .’ Mace began, but she put a finger to his lips.

  He removed her finger. ‘Before I go,’ he began again, ‘I left the Sig Sauer on the table. I’d appreciate it if you’d give it a wipe. You might want to stick it in Corrigan’s hand. It belongs to him.’

  ‘I was expecting sweet talk,’ she said.

  ‘OK. Then here’s a little: I’m going to steal your car for a few hours. Paulie will get it back to you.’

  She moved against him, stood on her toes and kissed him.

  It was a good kiss, as farewell kisses go. More than he’d expected.

  FORTY-NINE

  ‘Have you been fucking her?’ Lacotta asked as they got into the Mustang.

  ‘Why would you want to know that now?’

  ‘I don’t know. Because I’m an asshole? Have you?’

  ‘No,’ Mace said.

  ‘Good.
I didn’t think so,’ Paulie said, watching him. ‘Something the matter with the seat?’

  ‘Nothing. I just wanted to adjust the tilt a little.’ Mace wondered how many more lies he’d have to tell before his plane took off.

  He put the top down on the car and they roared away, looking like two LA guys showing off their classic wheels.

  They were stopped by a red light on Santa Monica Boulevard, a few blocks west of Formosa. The light changed and, as Paulie began another of his romanticized milestones from their past, a black van glided by heading toward the studio. It looked like the same vehicle Mace had seen at the Florian. Angela’s crew. Another of his mistaken assumptions. Whatever else the nearly fatal trip to LA had or hadn’t achieved, it had given him a few needed lessons in humility.

  They drove west on Olympic Boulevard.

  It wasn’t until the air started to cool that Paulie realized they’d passed the San Diego Freeway. ‘Where you going?’ he asked.

  ‘To the ocean. Then LAX.’

  ‘What’s the hurry to leave? Everything’s taken care of. Except the coin, of course. But fuck that. Now we can just have fun.’

  ‘That’s my plan,’ Mace said. ‘But not here.’

  ‘Here’s where it’s all happening.’

  Mace smiled and enjoyed the feeling of the wind and the sun.

  When they arrived at Lincoln Boulevard, he took a right and eventually a left and headed to the pier.

  ‘I used to love the beach,’ Paulie said. ‘Until they started dumping all that industrial crap into the water and the lifeguards began showing up in cancer wards.’

  He gestured to somewhere on their left. ‘Remember that night in Chez Jay’s, Mace?’ The reference was to a restaurant on Main in Santa Monica. ‘We were with some Hollywood bimbos and, who was it, Ann Margaret or somebody like that, strolled in and Jay ran from behind the bar and gave her party the table that was meant for us. And when you complained, he said, “The lady’s an actress.” And your broad, or maybe mine, stood up and yelled, “And what are we, fuckface? Didn’t you see Slasher Two? Victims four and five, right here.”’

  Paulie began to laugh and Mace felt surprisingly happy, himself, as he steered the Mustang slowly past the pier’s pedestrian traffic to the parking area.

  ‘Honest Abe, Jesus,’ Paulie said. ‘I sure underestimated the prick. He was a goddamned joke, the pimp who looked like Lincoln. And he had Tiny snuffed.’

  ‘Among others,’ Mace said.

  ‘I’ll say. That sound stage looked like the end of Macbeth.’

  Mace thought he meant Hamlet, but it wasn’t worth the mention.

  ‘Christ, you know something, Mace? If Tiny hadn’t ripped me off, Abe’s killers might have been on my case.’

  The thought actually brought Paulie to a point of introspection. It lasted less than a minute, when he realized that Mace had parked the car and was getting out.

  ‘Where the hell you goin’?’ he asked.

  ‘To say goodbye to some friends of my family.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. I remember. The show biz couple that played the clubs with your folks?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Mace said. ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘I’ll . . . just check out the pier.’

  Paulie got out of the car and watched Mace walk away. He turned toward the Ferris wheel, which was stalled between rides. Then he was distracted by squeals of fear and relief coming from the roller coaster. It had been years since he’d been to the pier. And, in point of fact, it really wasn’t his thing. A little too carnival-like. He preferred the entertainment available at an upscale gentleman’s club.

  He strolled past the noisy arcade where people, kids mainly, fed quarters into gaming machines that paid off in prizes worth pennies. Not a bad scam, but nothing he’d want on his resume.

  At the end of the pier, near the tackle shop, he paused beside a group of old, sun-baked fishermen who sat on boxes or fold-out stools, clasping poles they poked past the railing, their long lines dangling down to the ocean. ‘How you doin’?’ he asked the nearest fisherman.

  The grizzled old guy was wearing khaki shorts, a sun-bleached purple T-shirt and an ancient, faded Yankees baseball cap. The last time he’d shaved had been maybe never. He gave Paulie a suspicious glance and said, ‘Go fuck yourself.’

  ‘Lemme guess. The Bronx?’

  ‘Yeah. So? Buzz off, fatso. I’m busy.’

  Paulie buzzed off, amused at one more reminder of why he’d decided to make Southern California his home. That, and the broads.

  Mace was waiting behind the wheel of the Mustang.

  ‘Everything OK?’ Paulie asked, getting in.

  ‘They’re old,’ Mace said.

  As they drove off the pier, Mace hung a right and headed in the direction of Venice. He didn’t seem to want to talk and Paulie went along with that, though he was curious about where the hell they were headed. It was a very roundabout way of getting to the airport.

  Traveling along Speedway, Mace took a sudden right, as if on a whim, and drove into a beachfront lot.

  He got out of the car and Paulie followed, though for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what Mace was up to.

  It was nearing noon and the sun was at its strongest. The beach was surprisingly populated for a workday. People with dogs. Nannies with little kids. Young women in bikinis, tanning their wax jobs. The occasional couple, stretched out, catching rays.

  Mace strolled through them, heading for the ocean.

  ‘Slow down, for Christ’s sake.’ Paulie had paused to pull his shoes off. He hopped a little on his sockless feet, rushing to catch up.

  Finally, they arrived at the hard-packed sand near the water. Mace took his shoes off, tied them together and draped them around his neck. He pulled off his socks and stuck them in his pocket.

  ‘Beautiful, huh, Mace,’ Paulie said, puffing a little from the trudge through the sand. In case he was being misunderstood, he waved the hand not holding his shoes at the ocean, the rippling waves, the cloudless blue sky.

  ‘Definitely beautiful,’ Mace agreed.

  ‘Level with me, pally,’ Lacotta said, ‘If you’d had the goddamn coin, you’d have given it to me, right?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Mace rolled his trousers knee-length and walked into the water.

  ‘You get weird ideas, sometimes,’ Paulie said, rolling up his pant legs with one hand and doing a bad job of it. ‘And when I heard you and Angie . . . oh hell, forget I mentioned it.’

  ‘Forgotten,’ Mace said, walking out further, the water just below his knees.

  Lacotta stared at him, frowning. ‘How far out are you gonna fucking walk?’

  ‘Not much further,’ Mace said. His hands were in his pockets. He withdrew his right hand and tossed something far out into the darker water of the ocean.

  ‘The fuck was that?’ Paulie asked.

  Mace returned to the shallow water. He put his arm around Paulie’s thick shoulders and led him back to the sandy beach.

  Paulie kept twisting his head, as if he were trying to fix an image of where the object had entered the water. But all he saw was ocean. ‘I could come back with one of those giant fucking metal detectors,’ he said.

  Mace smiled. ‘If there’s something a metal detector turns up out there, let me know.’

  ‘You fucker. Tell me you didn’t just do what I know you did.’

  Mace didn’t bother to reply.

  ‘Fucker,’ Paulie said again, but with no anger behind it. He grinned. ‘Maybe that was the right move,’ he said.

  At an outdoor public shower, Mace watered the sand from his feet. Paulie tried to copy him but forgot he was holding his shoes. ‘I wet my goddamn Maglis,’ he groaned. ‘This has definitely not been my day.’

  ‘You’re alive,’ Mace reminded him.

  ‘Yeah. There’s that.’

  It wasn’t that long a drive from Venice Beach to LAX.

  ‘Maybe I’ll return this car to Angie personally,’ Paulie said
.

  He was trying to get a rise out of Mace, but, instead, his friend said, ‘I’m sorry about the money you blew on the formula. How are you going to handle Montdrago?’

  ‘I’m guessing I’ll skate on that. When Tiny’s “insurance” surfaces, the big M is gonna have other things on his mind, like how he’ll look wearing orange.’

  ‘Maybe Tiny was bluffing about the insurance,’ Mace said. When Lacotta’s smile went shark-like, he added, ‘I get it. You’re gonna make sure something surfaces.’

  ‘My uncle’s been good to me,’ Lacotta said, ‘but nothing lasts forever. You gotta keep one step ahead. That’s why I want you back here, Mace. My number one man.’

  ‘That’s not gonna happen.’

  ‘It’ll be like the old days, amigo. You and me. Only now, we’ll be large and in charge.’

  ‘You’ll do fine on your own.’

  ‘If you stuck around, maybe you and Angie . . .’

  Mace stared at him, all signs of humor gone from his face. ‘You should know me better than that,’ he said.

  ‘I swear, Mace,’ Paulie said, ‘sometimes I think I don’t know you at all.’