"You wouldn't have been able to pull the trigger, Nick."
I squirmed and tried to get out of his arms.
"Nick, hold on. Stay with me."
He wouldn't let me go. I thought about kneeing him in the groin, but then took a breath and thought better of it.
"Look at me, Nick."
I closed my eyes and shook my head. "No."
"Then listen to me."
I huffed. "Fine."
"I've thought about this, long and hard. I've even dreamed about it. You wouldn't have been able to kill him. He would have killed you because I know you and you wouldn't have gone with him and that's what he wanted. He wanted to possess you. And you can't be possessed."
By that point, I'd opened my eyes. He was still crying. "What do you call this?"
"I call this trying to get through to you. We can't wonder about what if. What if you hadn't talked back to George Hearst? What if Jeffery hadn't run off to Mexico? What if we'd fought that subpoena to go to D.C.? What if we hadn't gone to Georgia? What if you hadn't decided to build that building? What if Ike and Sam and Mrs. Kopek and all those crazy Czechs hadn't come into our lives?" He took a deep breath. "But, most important: what if your father had never married Lettie? That's the one to remember. If we'd stayed quiet and not done anything, then we wouldn't have moved Marnie and Lettie into the neighborhood. We needed them to be near us. Think about it. That morning when Lettie told us that she was gonna take us to a mah jong party. And she told us what to wear. And then she marched us along the street and told us to hold our heads up high." He was still crying. "That's what changed our lives. You and me would still be living on Hartford. Sure. But look at all the things that have happened because you talked back to goddam George Hearst. Andy and Henry and I are all friends. I never thought that would happen. Look at all the men who have work now because of you. They would have been fired and you wouldn't have had a company to give them jobs at. Mike would be a miserable police lieutenant. Or also fired." He smiled as the tears stopped. "And you let me buy a goddam Christmas tree. That's something. And now my mother is about to get married to a man who loves and cares for her. And that wouldn't have happened if all the other things hadn't happened before."
I had stopped squirming as what he was saying started to get through. I thought about all the things he mentioned. I realized he'd left himself out. He had been fired. And that was because of what I'd done. I started thinking of all the ways he'd changed since that night. That led me, in my mind, to the night when Sam had shot Ricky. Carter had watched the whole thing go down from the sideline.
I suddenly realized how self-centered I'd been. I could see him and Sam carrying me out of that room where Ricky's body was stretched out over the bodies of the three F.B.I. agents he'd just murdered a few minutes earlier. I could see him watching me go crazy in that room covered with photographs of me. I could see him telling Mike they had to set the place on fire and telling him how to do it. Only a fireman could do that. But it had to have hurt his conscience to do such a thing. I could see him looking at me sleeping for a day and a half, exhausted from what had happened, and worried about what it was doing to me. I could see him being patient over the last few months as I'd tried to deal with all that had gone on. I could see him, the Friday before, calmly watch me break the mirror in our bedroom and then organize things so we could get on a plane and fly away from those memories.
I wanted to say so many things but the only thing that made sense was what came out of my mouth. "I've been a fool, Carter. I'm sorry." I covered his face with kisses. "I wanna go home. I wanna roll around in that big bed with you for a night and a day."
"Me too," said Carter, looking relieved.
I shook my head and looked at his blood-shot green eyes. "I'm such an idiot. I'm sorry you were worried about me and that you had to watch me have a breakdown. I'm sorry you had to set that building on fire. I'm sorry you had to be so patient with me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry." I started crying hard and buried my face against his neck.
He stroked my back for a long moment. Finally, he whispered, "Thank you, Nick."
For some reason, that made me cry harder. But it was good in an odd way. I felt like something really heavy was being lifted. After a moment or two, the tears just ended. I was finished. The crying train had arrived into the station and it was time to get off.
I pulled him in as tight as I could. "I love you so much, Carter Woodrow Wilson Jones. I really, really do."
He put his hand on the back of my head and said, "And, I love you, Nicholas Williams."
Chapter 28
Hall of Justice
211 West Temple Street
Los Angeles, Cal.
Thursday, July 14, 1955
A few minutes before 9 in the morning
"I'm sorry, I can't let you in to see him since you're not his attorney of record." The very nice woman behind the counter seemed to be trying to help. She was in her middle 40s, had black hair that was tied back off her face, and was sensibly dressed.
Kenneth smiled tightly. Carter and I were watching from a distance while Benjamin was standing right next to Kenneth. Tom was outside, waiting for us on the steps.
"Mr. Martinelli's attorney is deceased."
"I'm very sorry to hear that."
"So he no longer has representation."
The woman nodded. "That's unfortunate."
Kenneth nodded. It was good technique. "So, now Mr. Martinelli will need to select a new attorney."
"Yes, he will."
"So, can you tell him that I'm here to offer my services?"
She frowned. "I don't think I can do that."
"Why not?"
"Because the only contact he's allowed is from his attorney of record."
Kenneth took a deep breath. "So, the jail staff are not allowed to talk to him?"
She thought for a moment. "I guess they must be."
"Are you jail staff?"
"Oh, but I'm not allowed back in the lockup. You'd have to send someone else."
Benjamin asked, "Who would you recommend?"
"Well, the staff aren't supposed to talk to the general public about jail matters." She smiled. "That's why I'm here."
Kenneth took another deep breath. "Do you have a supervisor?"
She nodded helpfully. "Mr. Worth. He's out of the office today. His wife is sick."
Benjamin said, "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Yes. She's been sick quite a lot lately, which is a shame. Lovely woman."
Kenneth asked, "Does Mr. Worth have a supervisor?"
The woman thought for a moment. "That would be the sheriff."
"Could I talk to him?"
"I'm sure you could."
I was trying very hard not to laugh.
"Where would I find him?"
"Oh, he might be anywhere. Los Angeles County is awfully large."
Kenneth nodded. "You've been very helpful. Thank you so much."
She smiled. "My pleasure." She looked around the room. "Who's next?"
Kenneth and Benjamin walked towards the door. We followed them out into the hallway. After a minute, Kenneth pulled us aside.
"What now?" I asked.
Benjamin said, "We could go track down a judge."
Kenneth looked thoughtful. "We could. But I'd hate to—"
Carter said, "What about Tom's buddy?"
"What buddy?" asked Kenneth.
Carter grinned. "Tom's."
Benjamin added. "You know. His buddy. Tom's buddy."
I said, "He and Tom have been buddies for years."
"Although I hear he's been sick." That was Carter.
"Poor thing." That was Benjamin.
Finally, Kenneth burst out laughing. Several people walking by stopped to stare. To the crowd, I said, "He just got a joke someone told him last night."
One woman said to her friend, "Everyone's a comedian these days," as they walked on.
Chapter 29
Hollyw
ood Mercedes-Benz
9019 Santa Monica Blvd.
West Hollywood, Cal.
Thursday, July 14, 1955
A quarter past 10 in the morning
After Tom made the call to his mysterious buddy, we crammed into the Mercedes. I suggested we go over to Hollywood Mercedes and see if Mr. Richter had found a used car for us. If not, we would go find one for ourselves. If the five of us were going to pal around, we needed a bigger car. Besides, as the weekend approached, I figured we would want something that didn't stick out as much as the Mercedes. I still wanted to track down the places that William had been frequenting to see what might be there to discover.
About thirty minutes later, Carter parked the car in front of the dealership. Leaving Tom, Benjamin, and Kenneth in the car, Carter and I walked in to see if we could find Mr. Richter. Mr. Schultz, the man who'd been rude to us before, saw us coming and scampered into the garage to find his boss. A few minutes later, Mr. Richter emerged, wiping his hands on a shop towel and smiling.
"Hello, my friends. Everything OK? No more bender-fenders?" He grinned at us.
Carter laughed. "No. So far so good."
I said, "Did you ever find a used car for us?"
Richter nodded. "Yes. Did—" He hit his forehead with the heal of his palm and said some choice words in German. "I am sorry, my friends. Again with this idiot." He held out his hands, placatingly. "Stay here. I return in a moment."
He stalked over to where Schultz was standing and looking nervous. Richter boxed him in the ear and called him something in German. Schultz nodded and replied. Richter boxed him in the ear again and shoved him into an office.
I looked over at Carter and shrugged. He walked over to one of the gullwing cars and looked at it. "I wish I could fit in one of these things. I saw one yesterday as we were driving around. I meant to point it out to you."
I ran my hand over the hood. "It's handsome, I'll give you that. But, I'd hate to be in a bender-fender in one of these." I grinned up at Carter who nodded. "Don't worry, Chief. We'll find you one that you can fit in and that won't kill either of us when you decide to take it for a spin along the coast."
Carter nodded thoughtfully. He started to say something when Richter walked up.
The bearded man held out a key and said, "1953 Buick Super. For all the troubles, I give it to you. If you only need for short while, you bring back. Otherwise, come to see me and we do the pinks."
I blinked back the tears that suddenly sprang to my eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Richter."
He looked concerned. "Are you well?"
Carter said, "He used to have a '52 Super. It was totaled last summer. Damn good car."
Richter nodded. "Yes. Good car. Not German." He grinned. "But good."
Chapter 30
717 North Cañon Drive
Beverly Hills, Cal.
Thursday, July 14, 1955
Half past 10 in the morning
Carter let Tom drive the Mercedes back to the house while I drove the Buick with Carter sitting next to me. The body was vanilla. The interior was brown leather. The convertible top was white. It was in excellent condition. And it rode like a dream.
Carter had his hand on my neck the entire time. Following Tom, we turned off Santa Monica onto Cañon Drive. As we did so, Carter said, "Son, you are going back there and buying this car from him. Promise me that."
I nodded. "Hell, yes. And, we're gonna ask Tom about the best place to go parking."
Carter said, "I like the way you think."
I grinned at him as we pulled into the driveway behind the Mercedes.
As everyone piled out of the cars, Benjamin asked, "How is it?"
I ran my hand along the fender. "Like a dream. I can't believe I bought a Roadmaster instead of getting another one of these."
"Why's that?" asked Tom. He didn't seem to be too impressed.
"I'll explain later. Now where?" I asked, looking at Kenneth.
He looked at Tom. "When do we hear back from your buddy?"
Tom looked back at me. "Did you set up the answering service?"
"I called Marnie, my secretary in San Francisco, and asked her to take care of it. She said they have to work it out with the phone company. We have to get a special phone, I think. Anyway, it'll probably be next week before that happens."
Tom pointed to the garage apartment. "What about that kid? Can you hire him to be on duty?"
I shrugged. Remembering what he'd done the night before, I said, "Why don't you ask him? Tell him there's fifty bucks in it for him if he stays home all day and listens for the phone. And tell him to be professional."
Tom grinned at me. "What're you afraid of?"
"That I'm gonna deck him. Or that Carter will."
Tom nodded. "I'll ask him and I'll give him a good talking-to."
"Thanks, Tom."
Carter added, "Yeah, thanks."
Tom shrugged. "All the kids think I'm they're daddy, anyways. Might as well put it to good use since it bugs the hell out of me."
I grinned. "Thanks."
He grinned back and then jogged over to the garage and up the stairs.
I looked up at Carter while Tom banged on Howie's door. "While they wait for that phone call, why don't you and me go for a walk over to North Linden?"
Carter nodded.
Looking at Kenneth and Benjamin, I explained, "That's where Juan Zane lives."
Benjamin sighed. "I still can't believe you were almost seduced by him."
Carter huffed. "There wasn't any 'almost' about it."
. . .
To get over to Juan Zane's house, we walked north on Cañon and made a left when we got to the criss-cross intersection of Cañon with Beverly that was intersected by Lomitas. We followed Lomitas along the south side of the road for a few blocks. Right after we'd crossed Bedford, a Beverly Hills black-and-white squad car pulled up and parked along the curb on the north side of the street.
We stopped and waited for the policeman as he grabbed his hat and got out of the car. Looking both ways, he crossed the street and walked up. He was about six feet even and in trim shape. He had brown hair and brown eyes. And the usual Southland tan. I pegged him at about 30. With a smile, he put on his cap and said, "Good morning, gentlemen. I'm Officer Kolchek. I was wondering where you're headed to."
I smiled and said, "We're just having a look at the neighborhood."
Without any change in expression, he asked, "Are you residents?"
I nodded. "As of Monday." I offered my hand. He shook. "My name is Nick Williams. I just bought 717 North Cañon Drive." I grinned. "Or I'm in the process of buying it. I'm renting it from the estate while the paperwork goes through."
The officer nodded. "And who's your friend?"
"This is Carter Jones." Deciding to use the same approach that I'd used on Tuesday, I said, "We're practically brothers."
"Brothers?" asked the officer, scratching the side of his face.
Carter said, "What he means, Officer, is that we're friends but my mother is about to marry his stepfather."
Officer Kolchek smiled. "Well, congratulations to the happy couple."
I nodded and said, "Thank you. They were down here on Tuesday, visiting Mr. and Mrs. Brisson over on Beverly Drive." I guessed that throwing names around would be helpful.
He grinned. "I just love Rosalind Russell. My wife does too. She's such a card. Miss Russell, that is. And just as nice as you can imagine. I wish she made more movies."
I nodded. "So do I."
He smiled and then seemed to remember something. "You two wait right here. I need to call this in. Won't take a minute."
"Nick Williams."
He nodded. "Right. 717 North Cañon Drive."
I gave him a thumb's up. "You got it."
He grinned and jogged over to his car.
"Slick," was Carter's whispered comment.
I shrugged. "That brother bit makes my skin crawl, but it seems to work."
"It's a useful dive
rsionary tactic."
I nodded. "Yeah."
We stood in silence, watching Officer Kolchek as he sat in his car and talked over the radio. We could hear his side but not whoever was talking to him.
"This is car twelve. Tell the chief that it's that Nick Williams. From San Francisco. The other one is that Carter Jones. Yeah. Just like the chief said."
Carter whispered, "Speaking of slick."
I shrugged. "How slick is it to be announcing to your targets of interest that they're targets of interest?"
Carter snorted. "Right."
After a long moment of waiting, a voice squawked something unintelligible back at Officer Kolchek. He replied, "Roger that."
He stepped out of his car, closed the door, and jogged back across the street.
"Thank you, gentlemen. The police chief will be in the neighborhood in about thirty minutes and he wondered if you would be home so he could stop by and welcome you to town?"
I nodded with a smile. "That'll be fine. We should be back to the house by then."
He smiled and said, "I'll let him know. Have a nice day." With that, he tipped his hat and jogged back to his car.
As we continued walking along Lomitas, I could hear him say, "This is car twelve. Meeting confirmed. Tell the chief they'll be there."
The voice squawked back something.
I was pretty sure I heard him reply, "Tell him to bring Connors with him. The other one is big."
The voice squawked back.
"Roger," he replied.
We were crossing Roxbury when he drove by, waving out the window with a smile as he did.
"Welcome to warm, friendly Southern California," was Carter's dry comment.
"Yeah. A detective making direct threats is a lot easier to handle."
The Pitiful Player (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 14) Page 22
