Red put the receiver down. His hand throbbed painfully. His stomach was an active, squirming bagpipe filled with worry gas and various poison body liquids. He returned to the sofa and watched television until two in the morning. When he finally got into bed, he couldn't sleep, because his mental speed would not slow down to that of an ordinary man.
By the time the sun started to come up, every muscle in Carr's body was sore.
Kelly snored himself awake in a back seat littered with empty pop cans and chili-stained napkins. He sat up and rubbed his hands roughly over his face and hair.
"Breakfast time," he said. "I'll walk down to that little restaurant at the corner." He got out of the sedan.
Less than a minute later Red Diamond walked out of his apartment and got into a Chevy parked at the curb. He started the engine, made a U turn, and headed toward Hollywood Boulevard.
Carr made the same U turn and followed a half-block behind. He slowed near the restaurant to let Kelly jump in.
"You might know he'd leave as soon as I tried to grab a bite," Kelly said.
Carr drove at a safe distance behind Diamond down a deserted Hollywood Boulevard to La Brea.
Diamond turned south and continued past motels and coffee shops, and pulled into a small shopping center.
Carr stopped farther up the street. Kelly used the binoculars.
Diamond opened the trunk of his vehicle and carried something into the small shopping center.
"A Laundromat," Kelly said. "He's going to do his laundry. Just our luck. I know what you are going to say: 'Have patience.'"
"Time sure flies when you are having fun," Carr said. He rubbed the small of his back.
Red Diamond had a headache from lack of sleep. He shoved the bundle of clothes into the washing machine and dropped the quarters into the slot. The machine hummed.
He closed his eyes and leaned on the machine with both hands for a long while. Then he stood up straight, walked to the pay phone in the corner, dropped in a dime, and dialed.
He hung up the receiver in a moment. His head throbbed. Another dime. He dialed a number. It rang five times.
"Hello," Ronnie Boyce said. He was out of breath.
"This is Red. What are you doing?"
"Fucking and sucking about a hundred miles an hour."
"I gotta talk with you in person. Meet me at the Paradise Isle."
"Right on," Ronnie said. "Just as soon as I get off once more." He laughed.
Red hung up.
"He's been in there almost an hour now," Kelly said. "Maybe there's a back door. He might have gone out the back."
"Here he comes," Carr said.
Kelly started the engine.
Diamond got in his car, backed out of the parking space in front of the Laundromat, and drove south on La Brea Kelly pulled into the flow of traffic a few cars behind him. Red turned right on Sunset Boulevard. The agents followed, making a right turn on a residential street.
He must be heading back up to Hollywood Boulevard," Carr said. Diamond was a block ahead of them.
Suddenly an old Chrysler flew back-ward out of a driveway directly in front of them. Kelly slammed the G-car in reverse, backed up, and tried to get around it, but was blocked by a car parked at the curb. The blue-haired matron in the Chrysler had stalled. The street was blocked.
Carr wanted to jump out and chase Diamond's car as he watched it round the corner ahead of them. It was out of sight. Kelly sped in reverse for half a block until he could turn a corner. It was too late. They had lost him.
They drove back to Diamond's apartment to see if he was there. No luck.
"We've lost him," Carr said, gritting his teeth.
"Goddamnit to hell!" Kelly exploded. "We just wasted a whole day in this stinking car because of that old maid! Sheeyit!"
He slammed a fist into an open hand.
"Let's take a shower break," said Carr. "Why don't you drop me off at my place and pick me up in a couple of hours and we'll set up again on his apartment. He's got to come back sometime."
****
TWENTY
Carr sat at a window table and watched Kelly finish eating. Kelly, with his mouth full, waved at Prince Nikola of Serbia.
The ex-wrestler, wearing a white butcher's apron, put a second basket of French rolls in front of Kelly. "You eat too much bread. Pretty soon you are three hundred pounds, like Man Mountain Dean." He filled his cheeks with air and made a face. "He used to get winded just climbing in the ring." He gave a mischievous smile.
Kelly's mouth was full. He said, "Fuck you, too" in three grunts.
Nick laughed uproariously and headed toward the kitchen.
Kelly finally swallowed. He broke another roll in half and plastered it with butter.
Carr stared out at a mixture of people walking in various directions carrying towels, surfboards, and umbrellas.
"Could you recognize him?" Kelly said.
Carr didn't answer.
"I mean if he walked past the window right now. Right this minute...Personally, I'm not sure. He walked up the steps and into Rico's room. I didn't even get a face-on shot of him. I'm just not sure."
Carr continued to stare out the window. "I think I would...But I'm not sure."
Kelly bit into the roll and chewed. "Maybe we're not doing the right thing."
"How do you mean?"
"I mean, maybe instead of doing surveillance on Diamond, we should just go up against him. Kick his door in and have a little heart-to-heart with him about who his young pal is. Knock his dick in the dirt if he doesn't cop out."
"If he won't cop out, we're through. We'll have tipped our hand," Carr said. "I say we watch him for a while longer."
The bar was empty. Gabe, the bartender, made squeaking noises as he dried glasses with a brownish rag. A radio broadcast race results.
Red Diamond joined Ronnie Boyce in the red leather booth. He slid across in order to sit close, pulled an ashtray toward him, and lit a cigarette. He coughed once, richly.
"You're in trouble, baby." Red took a fierce puff from his Pall Mall and turned his head to jettison a stream of smoke.
"What do you mean?" Ronnie said.
"A contract."
"On who?"
"On you."
"Who would let a contract on me?"
"Friends of the young guinea you dumped last week. Somebody fingered you." Red picked a piece of tobacco from his lower lip and flicked it away. "Somebody must have been watching when you met in the motel room. Everybody has a backup man. It's probably for sure he didn't show up alone carrying ten grand. Somebody must have seen your face and put you together someway... The word is that there was a lookout near the motel who saw you walk in the room." His words ran together.
"Who told you all this?" Ronnie leaned closer to the older man.
"I got a call from a friend who's connected real good with the big boys. I've known the guy for years. He called to ask me if I wanted twenty cases of bourbon off a truck job. We're just shooting the shit, see, and he asks me if I know a guy named Ronnie Boyce. Not knowing what is on his mind, I tell him no.
He tells me a contract is out on a Ronnie Boyce for icing a San Fernando Valley boy in a rip-off. Seems the guinea you iced was somebody's mule. He was handling paper between here and Las Vegas for the big boys."
Ronnie rubbed his chin. "What do you think I should do?"
"Only one thing to do. Beat the fuckers to the goddamn punch. If they want to fight, I say there's no better time than the present. We move first. We show 'em our shit." Red made a gun gesture with his thumb and index finger.
"What if everybody's got a baby brother?"
"I've already checked it out. The guy that put out the contract is a loner. No family ties. He's just a juice man; a ten-percent-a-week Shylock. He had the Italian kid buying hot paper for him. That's all. No family connections. Nothing like that. He wants to make himself look good by offing you if we put him out of the way, that would be the end of it. Nobody would t
ake his place. No baby brothers. No revenge bullshit. The problem would be solved." Red sucked in smoke.
Gabe came over with drinks on a tray and said, "Coupla usuals." He put the drinks on the table and slithered back behind the bar.
"How are we gonna do it?" Ronnie said with a puzzled expression.
"The juice man does his business out of the California Plaza Hotel. He rents a suite two days a week and people come to him to do business. This friend of mine can get me an introduction. You will be my bagman. We go to the hotel like we were going to get a loan, and do the fucker right in his room. The sawed-off piece doesn't have any numbers. Drop it in the room, and we walk out nice as can be." Red made the washing-hands gesture.
"He'll probably have a backup, right?" Ronnie said.
"Probably. If so, you'll have to dump him, too. There's no other way."
"Right," Ronnie said. His expression was placid.
"How's it sound to you?" Red said. "I mean, do you feel confident? Do you feel good about it?" He resisted the urge to pat the young man's arm.
"What's the guy's name? The loan shark," Ronnie said.
Red's voice was lowered. "Tony Dio. Ever heard of him?"
Ronnie shook his head. "No."
"Very good...uh...I mean, why should you? He's nothin'-a piece of shit." Red gulped down half of his straight soda and spat ice back into the glass.
"Red, how do you know your friend gave you the straight scoop about this thing?"
"Because I've known him for years." Red finished off the rest of the drink and wiped his mouth on the cocktail napkin. "He's solid. I trust him just like I trust you. See what I mean?"
"I see." Ronnie turned his glass on the table.
"We've got to handle this just right. I want you to go back to your motel room and wait there. Tomorrow I'll pick you up about 6:00 P.M. We pick up your piece. We drive over to the hotel and get it over with. If we're lucky, he may even have some dough in the room. If so, it'll be that much better for us. Two birds with one stone." Red smiled as hard as he could.
Carr walked up the stairs and opened the door to his apartment. Magazines on the coffee table included a three-month-old journal of criminology and a couple of Sally's Cosmopolitans.
He showered and shaved and put on a loose-fitting shirt and slacks. He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Green bologna. He pushed it into the garbage-disposal.
The doorbell rang. When he opened the door, Sally looked slightly embarrassed.
"I can't believe you are home for once," she said with a half-smile.
He lowered his head to kiss, but she walked by him and went to the sofa.
She wore athletic shorts and top and tennis shoes.
"Why aren't you at work?" he said.
"Because it's Saturday. The day when normal people don't work. They ride their bikes along the beach."
"I worked all night," Carr said. "I guess I forgot what day it was."
"That's nothing new for you. A new day is a new pinch, right?" Sally slumped down on the couch.
Carr closed the door. He walked back to the refrigerator and began rummaging.
"I came over here to talk."
"Okay." He tossed out a moldy orange.
Sally folded her arms across her chest. "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," she said. "The whole relationship is wrong. It's not based on anything permanent. We're just using one another. It's not a mature relationship. It never has been. I think it's self-destructive. You're a very cold person and I am not. I like stage plays and art galleries and you don't. I'm thwarting my own potential." She spoke as if she had written it out ahead of time.
"I see," Carr said. He closed the refrigerator door.
"You're going out with a waitress in Chinatown," she said. "You've been seen with her. Do you want to talk about it?" Her tone was schoolmarmish.
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Do you sleep with her?"
"Yes."
She chewed her lip a moment, watching him. Then she changed the subject. "You've always had the ability to judge right and wrong by your own strange set of standards. When we first met, I was fascinated by that mysterious trait. Perhaps infatuated is the word I mean." She stood up and walked to the window. She stared at the beach. "Lately I feel out of place with you," she said. "As if I might have been sent from an escort service. The barrier you built around yourself gets stronger and stronger." She turned and faced him. "It's not as if we are married. I'm not some stupid, naggy housewife. I'm not chattel." Her voice cracked. "Why couldn't you have told me about her?"
Carr walked closer to her. He spoke quietly. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to hurt your feelings."
"The same thing happened to your friend Howard. He built a barrier around himself and stopped understanding people's weaknesses. His view became distorted." She looked at her palms. "What I'm talking about is honesty between two people." She looked up. "Being able to have a meaningful dialogue."
"That's a lot of shit," Carr said without emotion.
Sally's jaw dropped.
"Those ideas come from the classes you're taking," he said. "Your teachers are phonies and faith healers whose heads are packed full of mush. They peddle bullshit to people like you, who buy it so you can have something to talk about during coffee breaks. How's that for honesty?"
"What is wrong with the truth?" Sally said.
"The truth? You tell me. You work in a courtroom all day. That's supposed to be Truth City. The only truth in there is that the judge is appointed for life."
"What happens in there has nothing to do with what happens between people," Sally said.
"That's my point."
"This is a stupid conversation. It's my fault. I'm playing a stupid female role." Her eyes were wet. "I came over to see if you wanted to go bike riding. I thought we could stop by Nick's for a drink on the way back." She began to cry.
Carr had a feeling of déjà vu-Sally with him somewhere in sleepy darkness and he was whispering things that he would never have said in the light.
A knock on the door. Carr turned from Sally and, without hurrying, walked to the door and opened it. It was Kelly.
Sally's hands flew to her face, and Kelly retreated down the stairs,
The phone rang. Sally stumped on the edge of the sofa. The sobs came in waves.
Carr picked up the receiver. "Hello."
"Delgado here. I think you're on the right track. Records at Terminal Island show that Red Diamond shared a cell for over three years with a young guy named Ronnie. Ronnie Boyce. He fits the description. We pulled his records package, and he's a bank robber. He likes the heavy stuff-a real psycho. He shanked an inmate during his second year in T. I. but they couldn't prove it. His whereabouts are unknown now. He listed a phony address when he was released."
Carr wrote the name down on a pad. "Sounds like he's our man."
"There's something else," Delgado said. "A teletype just came in. You've been transferred to Washington, D.C. You're supposed to report there as soon as possible. I've stalled it by answering back that you have lease problems with your apartment. You're going to have to move fairly quickly. Sorry I couldn't tell you in person."
"Thanks, Alex." Carr put down the receiver. Sally was gone. He looked out the window. She was peddling away along the bike path.
****
TWENTY-ONE
The bank, like most of the others in Beverly Hills, was spacious and modern, with lots of glass and tapestries on the walls.
Carol, in a conservative gray wig and matching pink skirt and jacket, sat down at a desk marked NEW ACCOUNTS--IUMI ISHIKAWA. A young Oriental woman in ponytail and sundress smiled. On the desk was a framed photo of a middle-aged Oriental couple.
"I'd like to open an account." Carol enunciated each word carefully. Rich-lady talk.
The clerk handed her a signature card. "Please fill this out."
Carol filled in the name and address and got goose bumps. She
always did. It would be just her luck that someday she would forget the name on the phony driver's license. Every account meant memorizing a new name. Since 10:00 A.M., when the banks opened, she had memorized four different names and addresses, one for each bank. She had four thousand dollars in cash in her purse.
She handed the signature card back to the young woman.
"How much would you like to deposit?" She rolled the card into a typewriter.
Carol reached into her purse. "I'd like to deposit this check. It's for three thousand dollars."
Iumi Ishikawa put on her glasses and examined the check. "May I see your driver's license?"
"Certainly. Here you are."
"Thank you." She copied the driver's license number onto the signature card and laid the check in front of Carol. "Would you please second-endorse the check."
Carol held her breath, signed "Gladys T. Zimmerman," and exhaled. The goose bumps started to disappear.
"You're cold," Iumi Ishikawa said. "I think the air conditioning is on too high." She rolled a rubber stamp over the check.
"Uh ... yes ... uh ... too high. I would like one thousand dollars in cash. Make the initial deposit for two thousand instead of three. I'll take the remainder in cash. I'm going to buy a used car today. Cute VW. Got it picked out already." Carol smiled pertly.
"Where did you do your banking previously?"
"In Europe. My husband is with the Foreign Service. He's teaching for a year at USC. No use buying a new car and having to sell it in a year."
The clerk wasn't listening. She was staring at the check.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Zimmerman, but we don't usually allow cash back transactions on an initial deposit," she said.
Carol put a hand to her chest and gave a surprised look. "Then just how are we supposed to buy the VW today? My husband will kill me if I don't get the money for the VW. We're buying it from a student. We're getting a very good deal. Today is Friday. The car could be sold over the weekend. Would you prefer that I speak with the bank manager?"
"Well, if you feel that..."
"That's really not necessary. Surely you can see your way to bending the rules just a little for me. I would so appreciate it...is that a picture of your mother and father?"
"Yes, it is."
Money Men Page 13
