Blood is Pretty

by Steven Paul Leiva

  “Where?” Anne asked.

  “Well, I don’t really want to… ”

  “Oh, of course,” Anne said, showing nice sensitivity. “Well, actually, Tom and I were going to fly to Lake Tahoe tonight for a few days. ”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah. We’ve got bags packed in the limo and a 2 AM flight. It was a mad, impulsive idea. ”

  “Well, get madder and more impulsive then, and come with me now. I’ve got a helicopter on the roof. ”

  “Well, what if—I mean the rumors. We don’t have our passports. ”

  “Hey! I’m a world citizen. I don’t deal in passports. Believe me, it will be no problem. Look, the whole world seems to want to know what Andy Rand is going to do next. Come with me and you’ll have the privilege of finding out. And the added bonus is, if you’ve packed for Lake Tahoe, then you are packed perfectly for where I’m going to take you. ”

  “Well…. Tom?”

  “Sure. Why not? It sounds exciting. But only if we can talk about movies too. ”

  “Oh, of course. Love to talk about movies. ”

  Anne smiled. “Well, okay. Why not?”

  “Great!” Rand raised his right hand and suddenly there was man with a long, passive face standing next to him. “Could I have your valet ticket?” Rand asked me. I gave it to him. He turned to the man. “Get the bags from this limo. Pay the driver with a handsome tip and dismiss him. Then bring the bags up to the helicopter. ”

  “Leaving now?” The man said in careful English, as if trying to hide an accent.

  “Yes, I think we can leave now. ” Rand turned to Anne and me. “Shall we?”

  We said our good-byes to Sara and the rest of the table, and then headed towards the exit. A little voice in my right ear said, “Be sure to dump the stuff. ” I scratched my nose in acknowledgment of the message. “By the way, did you recognize long face? Don’t know his name. But I connect him with the Basque ETA separatists”

  “Dump the pin,” I whispered to Anne as we were passing a bus cart from the kitchen. She quickly took it off and put it on top of a half eaten dessert. I placed my earpiece next to it. Roee, looking very smart in his waiter’s uniform, took the cart to the kitchen.

  Chapter 16

  Chateau de la Lune-shine

  Can I be blamed for a little smugness? It’s always nice when suppositions prove correct and plans based on those suppositions run smoothly. Of course, this had always seemed like a sure thing. Start with a man who’s just been the center of positive attention. That man will feel powerful, as if the world really does revolve around him. Place before him a most desirable woman. The man will obviously be attracted, but his current powerful state of mind will embolden him to do something about that attraction, not to let this moment slip by. Then immediately place before him another attraction, something possibly more cerebral, but no less visceral than the smooth skin and warm presence of the woman: The acquisition of More. More property. More position. More power. Tie one to the other, and the man will think that he is twice blessed, that he cannot lose, that the world is his for the taking. And the man will act to consolidate his spoils, just as you have predicted. Easy. But then I’m only asking for a little smugness.

  We were escorted, Rand, Anne and I, by an appreciative hotel representative up a private elevator to the roof of the Century Plaza Hotel. There, warming up, was a spectacular Aérospatiale Dauphin commuter helicopter, its rotor blades spinning powerfully, the noise from them deafening, the disturbed air blowing in a confusion of directions. Rand motioned us to duck our heads, and quickly led us to the craft, opening a sliding door to the back seats in the cabin. He indicated the boarding step and offered Anne his hand. She stepped into the helicopter with a surprising grace, given the formal nature of her attire. I followed, making note of the unusual landing skids the craft rested on. Why customize landing skids? Especially ones that seemed, even considering the size of the craft, larger than necessary? I sat next to Anne. The pilot, sitting in his seat on the flight deck, turned to look at us. It was a hard, Hispanic face that refused to reveal any of the confusion apparent in his eyes. Rand entered and shouted to be heard, “I’m taking some guests with me, Miguel. ” It must have satisfied, because Miguel snorted an “it’s your money” snort and turned back to his controls. Then the man from the ballroom, the Basque, came onto the roof with a hotel bellman bringing our luggage, which he quickly stored in the baggage compartment at the rear of the craft, then he came around to enter the helicopter and sit next to Miguel on the flight deck.

  “All right, let’s go,” Rand said into the microphone of a headset, and the craft rose up, immediately giving us that feeling of lift and hanging by a rope that distinguishes flight in a helicopter.

  I fully expected the craft to make the ridiculously short trip from Century City south to LAX, where a private jet would be waiting. I had thought a helicopter was a bit more than was required—a limo from and to the airport would have done nicely—but I had put it in the ego column, something ostentatious Rand needed for his self-image. So I was surprised to realize that we were moving not south, but east, at a good clip, away from the airport, away, indeed, from the city itself.

  “So, can you tell us now where we’re going?” Anne asked.

  “Not far. Not far at all. Have you ever heard of Lake Arrowhead?”

  “Yeah. Up somewhere by the Big Bear skiing, isn’t it?”

  “Big Bear is at 7000 feet. This is a man made lake 2000 ft below it, about a hundred miles from here. Been a resort for years. Boating, water skiing, fishing. Some industry people have vacation homes up there, but nobody on the A-list. That’s why it was perfect for me. No one would think I would take a house there. They all expect me to be in Aspen or Switzerland or even, god forbid, in some monk’s retreat in Tibet. People in motion pictures are so predictable. So I found a hideaway right in my own backyard. I’m like the Purloined Letter. ”

  “Purloined letter?”

  “Uh, it’s from Poe, Anne,” “Tom” informed his sister. “A man hides a letter by putting it in plain sight. ”

  “Oh. Anne said. “That’s very clever. ”

  “I thought so. ”

  Yes, very damn clever—clever enough to dull my little smugness. I wondered what Roee was thinking right now as he was facing the disappointment of not being able to test drive the jet.

  “I bought a house on the lake through a dummy corporation. Sent a rumor out that it was being bought for an exiled Central American politician. Not a big fish, not anybody really infamous, just someone who got away. ”

  “Altering the ‘Letter’ slightly. ” I said.

  “What?” Rand asked.

  “Like in the story. ”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve never actually read the story. ” He turned his attention back to Anne. “Cost me 7. 9 million. I think you’ll like it. ”

  Anne and I turned now to watch the lights pass below us. We were leaving L. A. proper and traveling over Alhambra, El Monte, and West Covina. There was nothing much distinctive about the land below outside of the rivers of white and red lights that were the freeways, high school football fields, and the well-lighted masses of the occasional mall. Soon we were over Pomona and the chopper veered slightly north and headed for the San Bernardino Mountains. The lights disappeared as we came to the mountains, and we were suddenly enclosed in the dark as we swiftly ascended. Anne must have felt it keenly, for she inhaled a deep breath of fear.

  “Don’t worry about the night flying,” Rand said. “Miguel is very used to it. ”

  Exactly why, he didn’t say. Nor would Anne have thought to ask. But I was pretty sure it was experience gathered in flying guns or drugs, or both, into and out of some inhospitable jungles in Central or South America.

  Then, suddenly: The lights of Lake Arrowhead. Most were clustered at the village on the South end, but spots of bright peeked up here and there out of the thick growth of pine trees indicating homes along the lake. We passed over
the village then headed over the lake for two coves at the northeast end. As we were approaching, Miguel flicked a switch above him and lights blazed ahead illuminating a large house on a promontory that divided and helped define the coves. Also illuminated was a large dock on the lake about forty feet below the promontory, and an orange metal tram and its track that ran up those forty feet along a fairly steep hillside, passing between tall pines, allowing access to and from the lake.

  “Chateau de la Lune,” Rand said. “I swear I didn’t name it. That’s what it’s always been called. ”

  Miguel hit another switch and there was a sudden and scary combination of sounds: A mechanical opening of some sort followed immediately by the sound of decompressing air and inflating material. I looked out the window and confirmed what I was beginning to suspect was the need for the oversize skids. They had contained a system to turn the skids into pontoons. There were now large, inflated silver bladders extending from the bottom of each skid, which allowed us to touch down gently on the surface of the lake, just to one side of the dock.

  “Oh, wow!” I said, displaying my scientist’s sense of wonder. “What are they made out of?”

  “A super thick, multi-layered Mylar. Very tough,” Rand answered. Miguel maneuvered the chopper to the dock and the Basque jumped out and secured a line to it. We then exited, using the Mylar pontoons as a step to get us onto the dock. Rand led us off the dock and to the tram, which was nothing more than a metal cage with padded seats and a simple UP BUTTON/ DOWN BUTTON control. Once we were settled, Rand hit the UP BUTTON and the tram jerked into motion, slowly climbing, leaving behind Miguel and the Basque, who busied themselves securing the chopper and retrieving our bags. When we got to the top we could see the Chateau de la Lune through a small forest of pines. It was illuminated for glory and did not fail to impress.

  “They tell me it’s a copy of a chateau in Rheims,” Rand said.

  “Oh, Andy! It’s beautiful!” Anne waxed.

  “Wait until you see it in the daylight. ”

  We followed Rand up a path to the house and entered by tall glass French doors that led us into a large living room with a cathedral ceiling, the underside of the gable roof, secured by a series of connecting cross beams, jutting up and coming to a point far above our heads. Hanging from the center cross beam on a long ornamental metal cable was a large ornate brass chandelier, originally made to hold large candles, now holding electric lights in the shape of candles. Dominating at eye level, directly opposite the glass doors, was a 14-foot high fireplace, the huge fire pit large enough for a man to walk into.

  The walls were unpainted plaster adding to the antique feel of the place. The furniture, two large sofas arranged opposite each other and several club chairs, was all upholstered in the same red and blue fabric of fussy design. There were tables where needed.

  “Very dramatic, Andy,” Anne said.

  “Well, don’t blame me if you don’t like the interior design. Everything came with the place. ”

  “For 7. 9 million, I would hope so. ” Anne laughed.

  “Do you need anything, Mr. Andy?” The voice came from the side, from a doorway into what look like the dinning room. There stood a beautiful dark young woman, maybe 18 or 20 years old, dressed in a servant’s uniform. Not a “sexy maid’s” outfit, just a plain, dull gray knee length cotton dress with a demure white collar and a utilitarian white apron. Nonetheless, “sexy” shouted through it, a rather natural, native, elemental sexy.

  “Well,” Rand said to us, “here’s where I have to admit to a heinous crime. Imelda here is an undocumented worker and I do not pay her social security. Of course, for the absolutely excellent service she renders this house, I more than adequately compensate her. I’m also helping to put one of her brothers through college in Peru, a very bright young man who wants to be an engineer. And I’ve managed to extricate her other brother from the clutches of The Shining Path rebels. ”

  “Is that Miguel?” I asked.

  “No,” Rand answered simply, then left the subject. “So you see, Anne, I could not enter politics, even if I wanted to. This immoral behavior of mine would be found out by the opposition and used against me. Once the public found out how despicably I have improved the lives of these people at the expense of the immigration and tax laws of this land, they would flow in massive numbers into voting booths to vote against me. ” He turned to Imelda. “Yes, Imelda, thank you for staying up so late, there is something you can do. Please escort Miss Anne and Mr. Tom up to the guest bedrooms. Make sure they are comfortable and get them anything they require. ” He turned back to us. “It is late, I’m sure you’re both very tired. ”

  I yawned. “Now that you mentioned it. ”

  “Good. I will see you both at breakfast then. Nine o’clock. Good night. ”

  He turned and left, exiting into a room that seemed, from the quick glance I got of it as he passed through the door, to be an office or study.

  “Come, please, this way,” Imelda said as she turned and led us out of the living room and into the foyer.

  “I’m glad I packed my slippers,” I said quietly to Anne, stopping her.

  “What?” Anne asked.

  “Look at the stone floor. Italian, I’m going to guess. But very cold in the morning, nonetheless. ”

  “Oh, right. It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” She was sincerely impressed.

  “This way, please. ” Imelda was already half way up a winding, mahogany staircase. We followed. At the top of the stairs, there was an arched opening that looked out onto the living room. Here its full effect hit you. It was a magnificent room, a literal sculpturing of space into an aesthetically pleasing form.

  “Miss Anne, this will be your bedroom. ” Imelda was halfway down the hall holding a door open.

  Anne went to her and looked inside. “Oh, very nice. ”

  Imelda moved across the hall and opened another door. “And Mr. Tom, this is your room. ”

  “Thank you,” I said as I moved to the room.

  “Do you need anything?” She asked.

  “Only our luggage,” Anne said.

  “That is coming. ”

  “Well, thank you, then,” I said.

  Imelda nodded shyly, then left.

  “Well, Andy seems perfectly nice to me,” Anne said.

  “Seeming is not believing,” I answered.

  “Are you sure we’re not going to be embarrassed by this charade?”

  “No, we will not be embarrassed. We may get killed, but we won’t be embarrassed. ”

  “Oh, speak other words of comfort to me, mon frère. ”

  “Keep performing as beautifully as you have been, Anne, and everything will be okay. ”

  “Well, thank you. Positive reviews are always welcomed. Good night. ”

  “Good night. ”

  We turned to our respective rooms—then she suddenly turned back. “Oh, ‘Tom?’”

  “Yes?”

  “Remember how when we were kids and I couldn’t sleep I use to crawl into your bed? If I can’t sleep tonight, can I crawl into your bed?”

  I smiled. “Sweet dreams,” I said and entered my room, shutting the door behind me.

  It was like being transported to the 1930’s. The room was completely decorated in the Art Deco style: Bed, dressing table, lamp, and end tables, they all had that clean, angular, black and white feel. Not at all warm. And you expected Edward Everett Horton to walk in and have something nervously witty to say.

  Instead of Mr. Horton, the Basque walked in. I jumped, as if startled, and smiled nervously at him. “Oh, my bags. Thanks,” I said. He snorted—a contagious habit, obviously—and dropped the bags at the door and left. I picked them up and put them on the bed and opened them. I always pack my bags in a very distinct way. Although they had tried their best to leave them looking undisturbed, I could tell that they had been searched. Nothing was missing. But then, I don’t suppose they would have had any need for my basically boring wardrobe, tw
o science books, one by Penrose and the other by Crick, and a file folder with student papers to grade.

  I went to the window and looked down on a large stone paved parking area in front of the house, which faced away from the lake. At one end was a driveway that stretched maybe 50 yards ending at a tall metal gate. To my right were the garages. To my left I could see that that wing of the house was substantially larger than the one I was in. Satisfied that I had a good grasp of the physical layout of the front of the house, I grabbed my toilet bag and went into the adjoining bathroom, which was decorated in more Art Deco. I took care of the normal needs, and then returned to the bedroom; put on a pair of 50% polyester Sears pajamas, and then set my watch’s alarm to wake me in three hours. I got under the covers, took seventeen deep breaths, falling, at the seventeenth breath, into a very deep sleep.

  *

  Three hours later my watch vibrated at the precise frequency to wake me into full alertness. I got out of bed and put on my robe and slippers. The Art Deco clock informed me that it was 3:42 AM. I slowly opened the door, left the room and headed for the stairs. Before going down I surveyed the living room through the small arched opening. It was bathed dramatically in moonlight coming in through the French doors that looked out over the lake. Everything was quiet. And still. I slowly moved down the stairs and passed from the foyer into the living room. I crossed quickly to the door Rand had gone through. The gap at the bottom, between the door and the floor, showed no light. Still, I listened carefully at the door. Then I tried the wrought iron metal handle. It pushed down easily. I opened the door and entered. It was a book-lined study. Three of the walls, in fact, featured floor to ceiling built-in bookcases filled with leather bound volumes. They were well dusted, but not, I assumed, well read. They probably came, like the furniture, with the house. There was a door opposite the one I came in, obviously leading to the other wing of the house. The fourth wall was mainly a large window overlooking the lake. In the middle of the room, seeming out of place, was a five-foot slab of smoked glass resting on two marble blocks about two and half feet tall. It was being used as a desk, although a strangely low one. Maybe this was predicated by the use of a simple wooden captain’s chair instead of the normal plush desk chair on wheels. On the glass slab sat a computer, but no printer. There were no file cabinets, no drawers, and no safe. It was hardly worth getting up for. I turned on the computer. It required a password to get into the files. Here’s were I missed Roee. But I decided that probably not much was to be discovered on this computer. Rand most likely had it because one is suppose to have a computer these days. If he did anything at all on it, he probably played video games.