by Stuart Woods
“Lucky for me, so does Chita, I think.”
“Careful, Carlos, she looks like the marrying kind.”
“I already suggested to her that she ought to do that.”
“You’re kidding!”
Rivera shrugged. “What the hell, my ex-wife’s alimony payments ran out last month. I’m free as a bird, and my salary is all mine.”
“That’s a dangerous position to be in,” Rossi said. “Don’t make any mistakes.”
“I don’t plan to,” Rivera said.
33
CHITA ROMERO SAT in the passenger seat of Carlos Rivera’s car and sniffed. “It has that new-car smell,” she said.
“It ought to,” Carlos replied, “I bought it this afternoon, not long after I saw you at the studio.”
“I like the leather,” she said.
“So do I.”
“What kind of car is it? I mean, it looks familiar, but I don’t know it.”
“It’s North Korean,” Carlos replied with a straight face.
“You mean you would buy a car from that fat . . . Wait a minute.”
Carlos laughed. “The North Koreans don’t manufacture cars,” he said. “Just nuclear missiles. I was thinking of buying one of those, too.”
She laughed. “You’re funny, Carlos, I never know what you’re going to say.”
“Read my lips,” he said, “and from up close.”
“You’re bad.”
“Now you’ve nailed me.”
• • •
THEY SETTLED INTO a corner table of the garden behind an Italian restaurant and ordered drinks.
“How come you’re coming to see Dax Baxter so much?” Chita asked.
“Twice is much?”
“It’s twice as many as most people do. He’s not the most popular guy in town.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Carlos replied, sipping his margarita. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve found out about him since I’ve been working this case, and I’ve only been on it for three days.”
“What case?”
“His stolen car. We sit up and take notice when there’s an eight-hundred-thousand-dollar theft in our jurisdiction.”
“Listen,” she said, looking around, “there’s something you should know.”
“All ears.”
“His car wasn’t stolen.”
Carlos widened his eyes to the max. “No!”
She laughed. “I take it you knew that.”
“I figured it out about ten seconds after I started talking to him the first time. I considered arresting him for making a false report, but he began to interest me.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Well, who would be stupid enough to pull that kind of stunt?”
“Dax would, if he thinks he can get away with it.”
“Do you know what kind of guy you’re working for?”
“Do you know what kind of money I make?”
Carlos laughed. “Probably more than a detective sergeant on the BHPD.”
“Probably,” she said.
“How long have you worked for him?”
“A little over two years. I was working for another exec who got canned, and Personnel sent me to see him. He liked what he saw.”
“Oho, I’ll bet he did!”
“Don’t worry, looking is as far as he got. But he likes having a Latina on display outside his office. It makes him look like an equal opportunity employer.”
“Is he?”
“Sort of, but that’s because he can pay Latinos and blacks less than whites.”
“You make him sound like such a sweet guy.”
“He’s the most volatile human being I’ve ever known,” she said. “Anything can set him off.”
They ordered dinner. “Do you know much about him?” Carlos asked.
“I know just about everything about him,” she replied smugly.
“So you know about the Russian?”
“Where did you hear about the Russian?” she asked.
“It’s my job to hear about things.”
“Are you going to arrest him for that?”
“For what?”
“You know.”
“Maybe. You tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine.”
She shook her head. “You, first.”
“The Russian is a killer for hire.”
She looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know about that.”
“You told me you know everything about him.”
“I know the Russian works for him sometimes, but I don’t know what he does.”
“Now you do.”
“Then why haven’t you arrested Dax and the Russian?”
Carlos shook his head. “It didn’t happen in my jurisdiction. That’s Santa Fe’s problem. Also, I couldn’t prove it all if I tried.”
“Have you tried?”
He shrugged. “Maybe I took a stab at it.”
“And you couldn’t find anything?”
“Maybe I haven’t finished.”
He was getting close to the point where he would have to decide whether to trust her. He decided not to. “Right now, I’ve got him under surveillance twenty-four hours a day—for his own protection, of course.”
“He’s in danger?”
“The guy he tried to have killed by the Russian may try to get even.”
She thought about that, then shook her head. “I know Billy Barnett a little,” she said. “He offered me a job in his office when my boss got fired, so I had an interview. I liked him a lot, and it’s a really interesting production company, but then Dax offered me half again as much money. I’ve got a little girl in Catholic school, and the money makes that possible.”
“You were married?”
“I still am,” she said.
Carlos looked around the restaurant. “I hope he’s not the jealous type.”
She laughed. “He is, but he’s afraid of cops. Also, my lawyer tells me we’ll be divorced in a couple of weeks. We’ve been trying to get him to pay for the school, and he’s agreed to pay half. That’s good enough for me.”
“How old is your daughter?”
“Six. She’s in the first grade.”
“I’ll bet she’s gorgeous,” he said. “Like her mother.”
“People say she’s the spitting image,” Chita said. “You like kids?”
“Yes, I do, but I didn’t want any with my ex-wife, so I took precautions.”
Chita frowned. “What kind of precautions?”
“I stopped screwing her after the first year, told her the Viagra didn’t work.”
“You took Viagra?”
“Nope.”
She laughed aloud. “And what was her reaction to that?”
“She took a lover, thereby relieving me of the duty of servicing her needs. Now, fortunately, she’s married to the guy.”
“That’s convenient.”
“It saves on alimony payments,” he said. “I celebrated by buying the new car.”
Dinner came and they dined. Afterward, when they were on dessert wine, he popped the question.
“So,” he said, “tell me everything you know about Dax Baxter.”
34
TEDDY AND SALLY departed Centurion Studios at the end of the day. He checked his rearview mirror.
“Anybody following us?” she asked.
“Not that I can see, not so far. It takes a while to spot a tail, unless it’s something really noticeable, like the yellow car, the first time.”
“Billy, are we in danger?”
“I think we scared them off, but I think it’s best to behave as if we’re being followed.”
“How do I do that?” she asked.
“Leave it
to me, and don’t worry about it.”
“Should I go back to Santa Fe?”
“No. If somebody means us ill, you’ll be safer with me than back in Santa Fe.”
“We could both go back there and live in my house.”
“I have a job here—no, a career. Come to think of it, so do you.”
“I’ve only been at it for a few days.”
“I know, but you like it, and everybody at the shop likes you, too. Also, you’re making better money than you could make in Santa Fe.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“And I’m making a lot more money than I could make in Santa Fe.”
“Should I carry a gun?” she asked.
“Do you know how to use one?”
“Yes, my daddy taught me to shoot when I was a kid.”
“Do you have a license to carry in Los Angeles County?”
“No.”
“Then you’d be at risk for being arrested here, and I don’t think you’d enjoy the accommodations.”
“It might be worth the risk, if I could defend myself.”
Teddy turned onto the Pacific Coast Highway. “Let me explain something to you,” he said.
“Go ahead, the more I know the better.”
“Maybe not, but I want you to know this much. If you should ever shoot someone, for any reason, your life will get worse in a hurry, and it will never be the same again. It doesn’t matter if it’s self-defense.”
“Why not? Self-defense is legal, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but you’d have to prove that you fired in fear of losing your life. You’d need an expensive lawyer to help you do that, and you’d need witnesses. Of course, if you were lucky and killed the son of a bitch, the most important witness against you would be dead, but then you might face a murder charge, and there’s all sorts of other kinds of evidence—ballistic, blood spatter, powder traces.”
“And if all of that supported my story, would I be all right?”
“Maybe, but things would never be the same. You’d be all over the newspapers, attracting the attention of people you don’t want to know—paparazzi, TV reality shows, and worst of all, crazy people who’d turn up at your door wanting either to shoot you or you to shoot them.”
“Why would they want me to shoot them?”
“Because they’re crazy. And even if you satisfied the DA that you fired in self-defense, he’s still going to charge you with illegally carrying a gun, and you would have no defense against that.”
“Billy, are you carrying a gun?”
“As I recall, you frisked me this morning.”
“That was in bed. You could still be armed.”
“I’m not carrying a gun.”
“Do you intend to?”
“Only if I feel that it’s necessary. But I have a license to do so. Depend on me to do your shooting for you. You can be a witness in my defense.”
“Are you carrying some other kind of weapon?”
“Sweetheart, there are always weapons at hand, if you know how to use them.”
“What kind of weapons?”
“A chair, a fireplace poker, a broom handle, an umbrella, a rolled-up newspaper.”
“How is a rolled-up newspaper a weapon?”
“Tightly rolled, it’s like a thick stick. You can poke somebody in the eye with it, hit him in the solar plexus, or just smash him upside the head. It’s unlikely to knock him unconscious, but you’ll stun him and give yourself time to find a way to kill him.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” she said.
“There was a time when I hardly thought of anything else. That’s how I was trained. Once it’s sunk in, the knowledge is always there, it doesn’t go away.”
“I’m starting to feel safer,” she said.
“Would you like me to give you some self-defense training?”
“Yes, I think I would.”
“Then, this weekend, we’ll devote a little time to that.”
• • •
DAX BAXTER LEFT HIS OFFICE a little later than usual and pointed the Porsche toward home. Somewhere well behind him, a car flashed its headlights, and he was suddenly tense. Was it a signal to somebody up ahead, somebody waiting with a sniper’s rifle?
He switched off his headlights and made a sudden turn into a residential street, shifting down to slow the car without braking. He pulled into a driveway behind a row of trees and stopped. A moment later, a car drove past, then turned into a driveway a few doors down. Somebody coming home from work, or somebody looking to kill him?
A porch light went on, and a man stepped outside his front door. Dax quickly backed up and drove back the way he had come. At the intersection, he looked carefully in both directions, then pulled into the road, turning his lights on again. Lights appeared again in his rearview mirror. By the time he got home he was a nervous wreck.
He opened the steel garage door, drove inside, and pressed a button that operated a turntable, rotating the car 180 degrees. He let himself into the house, grabbed a skateboard by the door and pushed off. In a twenty-one-thousand-square-foot, one-bedroom house, it got him around faster than walking. He rolled into his study and poured himself a stiff scotch, not bothering with ice. He took two big gulps and sank into a chair, waiting for the booze to find its way to his fear. It took no more than a minute.
He settled back into his chair, resting the glass on the leather arm. Warmth coursed through him, and confidence. He closed his eyes. And took a deep breath.
This was crazy, he thought. If anybody was following him, it would be the cops. If he was under twenty-four-hour surveillance, what did he have to worry about? He laughed at himself.
• • •
DAX JERKED AWAKE. There had been a noise. The digital clock across the room said that it was just after midnight. What was that noise? He eased from his chair, went to a cabinet, opened his safe and took out a loaded 9mm pistol, pumping a round into the chamber and flipping off the safety. He went back to the living room and looked intently around the darkened room. The noise came again, louder this time, making him jump.
It was the ice machine, making ice.
35
CARLOS RIVERA WAS at his desk the following morning when his phone rang. “Rivera,” he said.
“Sergeant, this is Dax Baxter.”
“Good morning, Mr. Baxter.”
“I just wanted to check with you—were your people watching me last night?”
“Let me check my team’s field reports. They just came in.” Carlos put the man on hold, opened his laptop, and found the GPS file. He pressed the line button again. “Mr. Baxter?”
“I’m still here.”
“I’m sorry for the delay. Here’s the report. You departed your office at six-forty PM yesterday and drove in the direction of your home, but you made a detour along the way. You turned left into a residential street and entered the driveway of a house. You remained there for four minutes, then drove back to the main road and continued your journey home, arriving at seven twenty-six PM. This morning, you left your house at eight forty-five and drove to your office, arriving at nine thirty-two. You’re still there.”
“Your men are to be complimented, Sergeant. Please give them my thanks for their attention.”
“You’re very welcome, Mr. Baxter.”
“How long will this surveillance continue?”
“Until we’ve apprehended a suspect.”
“No matter how long it takes?”
“Oh, it shouldn’t take all that long, Mr. Baxter. Our average time for apprehension after surveillance is a little under six weeks.”
“Six weeks?”
“That’s the average, sir. It could take less time, but usually not less than four or five weeks. Sometimes it takes longer, but never more than elev
en weeks, in our experience.”
“Thank you,” Baxter said weakly.
“Oh, Mr. Baxter, I’m sure you own more than one vehicle. Would you please let me know if you plan to take another car somewhere, so I can notify my team?”
“Yes, of course,” Baxter said, and hung up.
“That was beautiful,” Joe Rossi said, laughing. “I was listening on the extension. How’d your date go last night?”
“Just great. I think I’m in love.”
“Easy, Carlos, any guy who’s no longer paying alimony is vulnerable.”
“Funny, I like feeling vulnerable,” Carlos replied.
• • •
TEDDY AND SALLY had finished lunch and were lying on the deck, taking the sun.
“Whatever happened to my self-defense training?” Sally asked.
“Is now soon enough?” Teddy asked.
“Sure.”
“Come into the living room.” He opened the sliding door and they stepped into the air-conditioning. He went into the kitchen, came back with a table knife, and handed it to her. “All right, there are two basic attacks—swinging and jabbing. Take a swing at me.”
“But I might hurt you.”
“You won’t. Go ahead.”
She swung the knife toward him; he struck the inside of her wrist with the edge of his hand, and the knife flew away.
“Ow!” she said.
“I’m sorry. Let’s do everything at half speed.”
“Why didn’t you jump back?” she asked.
“Never jump back, he’ll just keep coming until you’re against a wall. Step into his swing. That shortens his arc and gives you a chance to hit him with your other hand.”
“Hit him where?”
“If you’re dealing with a man, who may be bigger and stronger than you, hit him squarely in the nose, as hard as you can. You’ll break the cartilage, stun him, and blood will pour out. Trust me, everybody hates the sight of his own blood. Then run.”
“What if there’s nowhere to run, if I’m trapped?”
“Then, before he can recover, find something with some weight to it and strike him in the temple. Like the little bronze sculpture on the coffee table. That would render him unconscious, maybe even kill him.”
“But I don’t want to kill him.”
