Hollywood Hills (2010)

by Wambaugh, Joseph - Hollywood Station 04

  "It's great, Mr. Dibble," Megan said, smiling at him over the rim of her glass.

  "Raleigh. Call me Raleigh," he said.

  "Okay, Raleigh," she said, taking another sip and licking her lower lip.

  She was so young! He felt a shiver in his stomach that went clear to his toes. "I'm an excellent chef," he said. "You should let me prepare a meal for you sometime. And your parents, of course."

  "That would be nice," she said. Then Megan added, "You said it's a lonely house. Who lives here with you besides Mrs. Brueger and Mr. Marty?"

  "That's all. But Mrs. Brueger's getting married soon, and the house will be put up for sale. I'll miss it."

  "That's too bad," Megan said. "What will happen to all the beautiful art?"

  "It'll go into storage," Raleigh said. "And eventually it'll be moved to their vineyard in Napa. She thinks she wants to live there and make fine wine. That was a common fantasy in pre-recession days. She may change her mind. I can tell you, it's not easy to produce a fine wine."

  "This one's sure good," Megan said.

  "It's amusing," Raleigh said.

  "Oh, that reminds me," Megan said. "A few nights ago ... I don't remember when it was ... my mom was out walking with Cuddles just after dark, and she said an art truck sped out of your driveway like mad and flew down the hill."

  "An ... art truck?" Raleigh said.

  "She said it had an art gallery name on it or something like that. I didn't get the whole story."

  "Nope," Raleigh said, taking more than a sip this time to quell the starburst of fear. "Not here. She's mistaken."

  "That's funny," Megan said. "She said the truck came from the Brueger driveway. It scared her because it almost ran over Cuddles."

  "No, I've been here every night since Mr. Brueger has been in the hospital. There was no one here in a truck or a car."

  "She must've been wrong," Megan said. "She gets a little rattle-brained these days. But speaking of art, what would some of these paintings be worth?"

  She looked so innocent, so like the child she really was, that Raleigh longed to impress her. He said, "Valerie, you might not believe it, but there are paintings in this house that're worth half a million dollars."

  "Really?" she said. "For one painting?"

  "For one painting," he said.

  "Wow!" she said, and it made him chuckle with pleasure. Her eyes popped wide like the little purple umbrellas he used to put in mai tais when he was catering parties. Then she said, "I like so many of them. I'd love to have an inexpensive copy of a few of them. I forget what you call copies of paintings."

  "Lithographs?"

  "Yes, lithographs. Are there any places where I can buy a lithograph of some of these?"

  "No, I've been told that each painting you see is an original and there's not another like it on the planet."

  "Wow!" she said again.

  He loved hearing her say that. "If there was an inexpensive lithograph available for some of these pieces, I'd buy them myself," Raleigh said. Then he looked over the edge of his glass at those violet eyes and said, "I'd present one to you as a gift if I could."

  "You're very sweet, Raleigh," Megan said, finishing the wine.

  "More, Valerie?" he asked quickly.

  "I think I'd better take another look around for Cuddles and then walk home," she said.

  Raleigh was about to offer her a few calendar dates to choose from for the home-cooked dinner, when the house phone rang. He hurried to the kitchen phone for privacy, and when he picked up, he heard the now-familiar voice of Rudy Ressler.

  "Raleigh," the voice said. "It's Rudy Ressler."

  "Yes, Mr. Ressler," Raleigh said. "I've been waiting for your call."

  "We're in New York," he said. "It's been hell getting flights on short notice. Unless plans change, we'll be arriving at LAX late tonight, and we are totally drained. You can pick us up and drop me at my house. Then be prepared to do a light supper for Mrs. Brueger before she hits the hay. She'll sleep for twelve hours, at least."

  Raleigh felt cold again and his limbs went weak. He had to ask Rudy Ressler to repeat the airline and the flight number. Meanwhile, Megan Burke was standing in the corridor, running her fingers over the poster-board replica of The Woman by the Water.

  Raleigh hung up the kitchen phone and returned to Megan, now in the foyer by the door. She smiled and said, "Thanks for a wonderful time, Raleigh."

  "Yes, it was lovely, Valerie," he said, looking agitated now. "I hope you find your little dog."

  "I will," she said. "I'm just going to call him a few more times. He'll come home when he's tired. He always does. Will you open the gate for me?"

  "Certainly," Raleigh said.

  "One thing, Raleigh," she said. "Could I maybe call you sometime? I really enjoyed talking to you. Maybe we could go somewhere and have another glass of wine. I know a good little bistro."

  Stunned, he said, "Yes, of course. Call my cell." And he ran to get the notepad and wrote down his number for her.

  She kissed him on the cheek and said, "You're a doll."

  That kiss from this delightful young woman would have made him happier than he'd been in months, except for the dread he felt over Leona Brueger's homecoming.

  He opened the door and watched her striding up the driveway, calling, "Cuddles! Here, Cuddles!"

  Raleigh pressed the button on the wall panel inside the door, and the gate swung open. When she was out, he dialed Nigel Wickland. After the third ring came the voice that he had come to hate.

  "Yes?" Nigel said.

  "They'll probably be home tonight."

  "Tonight?"

  "Yes, tonight," Raleigh said. "Has that goddamn thief called you yet?"

  "Not a word since the first time," Nigel said. "This is somewhat worrisome."

  "This is disastrous," Raleigh said.

  "Don't lose your head."

  "Stop saying shit like that!" Raleigh said. "I have a right to lose my head. For listening to you and your crazy scheme in the first place."

  "If you hadn't left the keys in the van ..."

  "Okay, let's not go over all that again. Now what?"

  "Now we sweat it out, Raleigh. The ball is in the court of my mentally challenged tormentor. Now, either we stay out of prison and make a million dollars or--"

  "Don't tell me about the or again."

  "All right, dear boy," Nigel said. "As long as you are clear that despite your obvious aversion to gays, we two are in bed together for the foreseeable future."

  Megan was so excited and her mind was working so furiously, she feared she'd have an accident on the dangerous winding road as the VW descended from the Hollywood Hills toward the roaring traffic below. She only hoped that Jonas had recovered enough to understand the significance of her amazing discovery. Their scheme had changed completely. Before she arrived in east Hollywood, she had decided on a whole new game plan, and Jonas Claymore was no longer the quarterback.

  He was standing in the shower when she got to the apartment. She dropped her purse on the kitchen table and entered the bathroom, but Jonas didn't even see her. He was still coming down from the euphoria and never saw her hand reach inside the shower curtain and turn off the hot water. A blast of cold water made him squeal.

  "What the fuck you doing?" he said, shutting off the water. "Here, dry off," she said, handing him a towel that was reasonably clean.

  "Where you been?"

  "Out," she said.

  "Yeah, I figgered that. But where?"

  "I was trying to score some ox at Pablo's, but there was nobody there that I knew or even recognized."

  "What were you gonna use for money?"

  "I was going to try to talk somebody out of a quarter."

  "Goddamnit, girl," Jonas said. "How many times I gotta tell you that nobody. in Hollywood sells ox on the fucking installment plan. This ain't Bend fucking Oregon. Christ, Megan, is your brain totally wacked, or what?"

  "I'm just not as smart as you," Megan sai
d, going to the kitchen for some milk and cereal. Anything to settle her stomach.

  When he was dressed in the same jacket, shirt, and pants he'd worn to the cybercafe, he joined her in the kitchen, running a comb through his hair. It looked to Megan like a sopping mound of straw. Like they'd mucked out of the stable back in Bend, where she'd taken riding lessons that her mother couldn't really afford, a lifetime ago.

  It was growing harder for Megan to believe that she'd ever been attracted to Jonas. But at times like this, when some inner defense mechanism allowed her to think and remember her past life, she could realize and admit that it had never been Jonas, it had been the ox. They had both mounted the ox and had ridden it into the arena that was Hollywood, and after that wild ride, her world had changed.

  She said to him, "I know you're running the game, but I think we should go right to that man Nigel Wickland and collect our money and make arrangements for him to pick up the paintings."

  He stared at her and said, "You do?"

  "Yes."

  "And if he's told the cops about us and they're all staked out there, or maybe have the place wired, then we're busted, right?"

  "I don't think we have to worry about that," she said.

  "Oh, you don't?"

  "No, in fact, I'll do it."

  That made Jonas push the calico cat off the kitchen chair and sit. He couldn't believe this new boldness he was hearing. He said, "Yeah, you must be smoked out."

  "Yes, you always say that," Megan said. "Maybe I am, and of course you aren't, because you can handle it. Well, what do you have to lose? I'll go in and get the money and tell him where to find the paintings."

  "And if it's a setup and the cops move in and bust you, what am I supposed to do, fly to Rio? They'll put you in a room and you'll spill your guts and we'll both be sleeping in jail tonight."

  "I give you my word that if it's a police setup, I will not involve you. I'll go to jail and say nothing. My mother's address is on my driver's license, not your address. And she doesn't know your last name or anything about where we live. You'll be safe."

  "Megan," he said, "what makes you so positive that the guy didn't tell the cops that I phoned him? Jist tell me that."

  "I think he doesn't want to lose his paintings. I think they might be worth a few thousand more than he told you. I think he wants them back, no questions asked."

  "How much do you think they're really worth?"

  "More than he says."

  "And you're willing to risk getting arrested by walking in there and collecting our twelve large?"

  "Yes."

  Megan could almost see his thoughts whirling. She got some cat food from the cupboard and fed Cuddles, then refilled her water dish. She gave the calico cat a bonus saucer of skimmed milk and stroked her until Jonas finished thinking.

  Finally Jonas said, "Here's what I'll do. I'll drop you a block from the gallery. Go in there and talk private with him and tell him if he wants his goods, he has to give you half the money right now to show good faith."

  "Six thousand?"

  "You got it. And tell him the next meeting will be for the balance and we'll have his property with us. Tell him he'll get instructions by phone. Get his cell number. I ain't going through that official ... officious bitch again."

  "You'll be close by?"

  "Right. I'll be parked somewhere and watching. And if this is a setup, I'm leaving you there. And I'm trusting that you'll take the heat and you won't rat me out. I'm trusting you, Megan."

  "Okay, you can trust me," she said.

  "I never been in jail except once for DUI," he said.

  "I've never been in jail for anything, but I'll take a chance," she said. "I think I can do this."

  "If he don't have the twelve grand after the talk we had today, then there's something wrong, and you better leave and walk west on Wilshire. Keep walking till I pick you up."

  "Let's get going before the gallery closes," Megan said. "I'm getting burbly thinking about it."

  Chapter Twenty-Two.

  RUTH WAS GETTING ready to lock up when Megan walked into the Wickland Gallery.

  "We're about to close," Ruth said. "May I help you?" "Yes," Megan said. "I'd like to see Mr. Wickland."

  "I can help you," Ruth said.

  "I'd really like to talk to him personally," Megan said. "Please tell him that I've been sent by the gentleman he spoke to on the phone this morning."

  Ruth said nothing but turned and walked through a door behind the showroom to the gallery owner's office and said, "Nigel, there's a young woman to see you. She claims she was sent by someone you spoke to this morning."

  He started to jump to his feet but caught himself and said, "Send her in, Ruth. And you may go home. I'll lock up."

  "Is this something I should know about?" Ruth asked.

  "A man has inherited some art that may or may not be valuable,"

  Nigel said. "There are other parties involved in the family's will and they want a secret appraisal. Mum's the word, and all that."

  Ruth said, "Oh, one of those hush-hush appraisals. Okay, see you tomorrow."

  When Megan entered the office, Nigel didn't get up. He said, "Close the door, please."

  Megan sat in a client chair in front of Nigel's desk and he studied her. "You're not what I expected," he said.

  He was pretty much what she had expected: a tall, elegant older man with a mane of snowy hair. She thought that his hands, with long, tapered fingers and manicured nails, were the most beautiful hands she had ever seen on a man.

  She did her best to project sophistication and confidence, but her legs were trembling. She smoothed her dress down, trying to cover her knees, but the shirtdress was so short it was hopeless. Her lips were parched and felt stuck to her teeth when she said, "I've come for the reward money."

  "Where is my property?"

  "Did you get your van back?"

  "Yes, but where is my property?"

  Megan said, "I believe my partner told you to have the reward money today."

  "Yes, you'll get it," Nigel said, looking at this ... this child who was brazenly extorting him in his own office!

  "I'll have to have it now, Mr. Wickland," she said. "Those are my instructions."

  "Does your partner really think I'm going to hand over twelve thousand dollars and let you walk out of here with it?"

  "I think you will, Mr. Wickland," she said. "And I think you'd be better off talking only to me and not to my partner."

  Nigel didn't speak for a moment. Then he smiled sardonically and said, "Young woman, you interest me. I cannot imagine what you could be thinking, but I do find you interesting. What are you trying to tell me?"

  Megan said, "I'm trying to tell you that I'm willing to deliver your paintings, but it will cost you the twelve thousand that you had better have with you today. As well as a bonus."

  "I might have known," Nigel said with a sneer. "I told your partner that this gallery is on the verge of bankruptcy, and that's the truth."

  "Yes, I know what you told him," she said. "The recession has been hard on everyone. But I'm still going to require a bonus."

  His fury was mounting, and he gripped the edge of his desk so hard, his knuckles went white, alarming Megan Burke. "And how much of a fucking bonus do you require?" he said, feeling a tremor in his voice. He knew then that he was capable of killing both of them, given half a chance. He kept thinking of the 9-millimeter pistol in his middle drawer.

  She said, "One hundred thousand dollars."

  He didn't know whether he should laugh in her face or play it differently. He sat back and said, "What could you possibly be thinking?"

  Megan said, "I'm thinking that one hundred thousand dollars is a small price to pay for staying out of jail and completing the theft of the two paintings you stole from the home of Leona Brueger."

  She watched the blood drain from his face. When he went pale he looked older, and his mane of white hair almost seemed to fade to the gray of his fl
esh. She was aware that her own heart was hammering in her chest. She was suddenly very frightened of this man, and she said, "My partner is watching this gallery right now, and if I don't walk out of here with the money, you'll be in jail before the night's over."

  When he could find words he said, "You little bitch. You fucking little bitch. What're you talking about?"

  "The Bruegers have paintings that're worth a lot of money," she said quickly, her teeth clicking together. "They have a very valuable collection."

  He thought he understood now. She'd seen the identification tickets that the framers had stapled to the stretcher bars. Perhaps she'd taken the paintings or photos of the paintings to someone who knew or thought he knew their provenance.

  "Whoever you've consulted has grossly inflated the value of those paintings," he said. "You can try to sell them, but you'll get arrested when the art dealer calls the police."

  "We agree with the second part," Megan said. "That's why we're selling them back to you."

  "Young woman," he said. "You are being absurd. I truly don't understand what you think you know about these paintings."

  Megan took a breath and said, "I think I know about the pictures in Leona Brueger's house that are identical to the paintings that my partner has safely put away." Then she said, "Well, not identical but almost. They don't feel the same when you touch them, but you did a good job of reproducing them, however you did it."

  Nigel Wickland felt that he might faint. All he had to do was open the desk drawer and take out the gun. But there was the other thief, the fucking idiot partner.

  She was terrified by the look on his face now. Her voice rose when she said, "Believe me, my partner is watching this gallery, and if I don't return safely to his car, you're finished, Mr. Wickland."

  He wished he had a glass of water. He loosened his necktie and unbuttoned his collar. He took the inhaler from his pocket and took a puff, holding it in his lungs for a moment, and then said, "Who are you ?"

  "I'm the partner of the man who has your paintings," Megan said. "And you need them. And you need to keep your plans a secret. That's okay with me. I don't need to know anything about your plans. I don't care how much you sell the paintings for. That's your business. I agree that we'd get arrested if we tried to sell them to a gallery owner like you. So the best thing to do is sell them back to you. I'm not being greedy in charging you one hundred thousand."