“So why did you hold back on Thursday?”
“Would you have believed me?”
“Not ‘til we’d checked it out, no.”
“So either way we’d have landed in here.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You guess?” They looked at me without expression. “And can you guess where Bobby is?”
Jansen said, “Next door.”
“Is he okay?”
He snickered. “About the same as you.”
I nodded and wanted nothing more than to knock the smirk off his face. I put that thought on hold and continued, “We drank a few beers and went to sleep. The only time I’d ever seen Tarkanian was Thursday morning.”
“Why’d you think he’d be interested in personal injury cases?”
I sighed inwardly. I knew where this was heading and unless I revealed Halladay’s involvement, which I was avoiding like grim death, this could be a very slippery slope. Right at the moment the death certificate was sitting in the glove compartment in my Camry.
“I was tipped off that he might be involved in Cicero’s death, and used that as a ruse to get in to see him because I felt he was the guy who signed the death certificate.”
“How in hell did you figure out that this dead doctor, the same guy who had his face burned off with a blowtorch, was the one who signed the death certificate? Unless you already had it, in which case, you should’ve also told us that on Thursday afternoon.”
“After I realized Cicero wasn’t killed in a hit-and-run, one of my contacts told me to check out Tarkanian.”
“Crane,” said Jansen, “you’re not getting out of here until you produce that contact.”
I ignored Jansen and continued to address Karsagian. “I tell sawbones I have evidence he signed Cicero’s death warrant. He looks like he’s about to have a heart attack and he tells me that the family called him, and he went over to their house. It turns out that Cicero’s had a massive myocardial infarction and that his gig’s up.”
“Wow, you’re really quite the detective,” said Jansen.
“Yeah, I am. Thanks.”
“It wasn’t a compliment, asshole.”
“Knock it off!” snapped Karsagian. “Finish what you were saying.”
“I happen to know that nobody in Cicero’s family was around when he got whacked, so I knew the doctor’s lying. I threaten to make a citizen’s arrest and this time I really thought he was gonna stroke out. He says that Koncak and Fishburne, you know, the two fake cops you still haven’t found?” They looked at me like I was a freshly laid turd. I grinned and continued, “He told me they still owed him 5 large and were sending someone to pay him off Friday, at the McDonald’s on 3rd, in Koreatown. I send Bobby to tail whoever makes the drop, and he confronts him. The dude tells him that Koncak used to live in his building and that his name is Ernie, but that’s all he knows.”
“You should’ve told us this on Thursday,” said Karsagian.
“Yeah, except Bobby didn’t witness the exchange ‘til late Friday afternoon.”
“So why didn’t you tell us on Thursday that they were gonna pay him off on Friday?”
“I didn’t think it really much mattered. Turns out I was right.”
“Wrong. You concealed key evidence concerning a capital crime,” barked Jansen. “You, Crane, are a true asshole.”
“I know this might be difficult for you, Jansen, but try and think it through. If you’d have arrested Tarkanian, he’d have been sprung in five minutes. We all know that. You’re not gonna hold a guy for signing a phony death certificate. You’d release him and give him a date. And you might tip off the medical board to start proceedings to get his license pulled. But that’s it. Tarkanian got in bed with the wrong snake and got bit. He knew too much, so they smoked him.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“You made it very clear you weren’t interested in solving Cicero’s murder. You wanted to pinch the fake cops. Had you done it, the doc might still be alive.”
Jansen was incredulous. “You’re blaming us?”
“Why not? It’s as ridiculous as blaming me.”
He looked at Karsagian. “I need some quality alone time with the prisoner.”
The detective ignored him and said quietly, “We haven’t been able to find ‘em. Can you?”
I sighed. “Maybe.”
Karsagian stood up and paced around as best he could, given the limited space of my cell.
I watched him and said, “Arnold’s the key to all this.”
“Why do you think that?”
“The guy’s a psycho. Everything’s a game to him.”
“How so?” asked Jansen.
“I’m working for Ms. Lamont. Clipper’s already got his fingers into Richard and his money; now he wants her and her money. But, what’s more important to him, is how he plays the game.”
There was a weighty silence and when Karsagian spoke again, it was with immense gravity.
“We don’t have much to connect Clipper to the actor’s death. Just because he had an altercation with him, doesn’t mean he was involved in his murder.”
I grinned and shook my head in disbelief. “Wait, isn’t that exactly what I said to you when you accused me of murdering Tarkanian, because I’d argued with him?”
Trapped, the cops glanced at each other. Then Jansen said, “So what?”
“I know thinking is a struggle for him, but I’m surprised at you, Karsagian.”
Instead of lunging at me, or sniping back, Jansen just stared. I locked eyes with him, and we both knew that a reckoning was coming.
Karsagian said, “I don’t buy your story about getting tipped off that Tarkanian could be dirty, and I don’t believe you can produce your contact.”
“I never said I would.”
“I’m real tired of your shell game. Now either you tell me what you’ve been leaving out, or I’ll find probable cause to transport you to Men’s Central, and put you in K10 with Mario and Sergio and Bustamante. You feel me?”
Jansen finally looked happy. “You’re gonna end up with your ass in the air.”
“How could I have whacked the doc when I was in San Francisco?”
“Don’t know and don’t care,” hissed Jansen. “But unless you tell us everything, you’re gonna get well and truly fucked.”
“I want my attorney.”
The atmosphere changed as they exchanged concerned glances.
“You can’t deny me. You do, and it’ll go even worse for you when it comes out that a licensed detective, an innocent licensed detective, was arrested, incarcerated, beaten and denied legal counsel.”
They looked at each other and although a lot of bad things happen to prisoners, they knew that this was one problem that could blow up in their faces.
Karsagian said, “We’ll get you your phone call.”
“Thanks.”
“Fuck you,” snarled Jansen.
“I will tell you this; I didn’t whack the doc, didn’t have anything to do with it directly or indirectly and you both know that. Right?”
“Go on,” the detective said.
“While Clipper’s the key, there’s someone even bigger to be had, who, I believe, is directly involved and, is pulling most, if not all the strings.”
The tension in the cell was palpable. “Who?” asked Karsagian.
“James Halladay.”
“The James Halladay?”
“No other.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
The cops were salivating like two starving dogs at a banquet. I told them how he’d insisted that his involvement be hushed up, how he’d produced the phony death certificate and how he’d said that if I didn’t play ball, I’d never work again. They listened in silence and I could feel their wheels churning.
“Are you willing,” said Karsagian, “to testify before the grand jury?”
“In return for immunity.”
“Jesus,” said Karsagian, “you wa
nt a lot, don’t you?”
“It’s my ass on the line, not yours.”
He nodded. “All right.”
Jansen was livid. “You’re not seriously gonna give this asshole immunity?”
“Relax yourself.”
“This is bullshit.”
“You can leave, Jansen,” I quipped.
It was too much for him and he flailed with a wild left. I swept the blow away and hit him hard in the left kidney. He screamed and went down like the sack of shit he is.
As Karsagian yanked him to his feet, he wrenched his arm away. “Get the fuck off’a me!”
He guided him to the door. “You deserved that.”
“I hate that son of a bitch!”
“I don’t want this collar screwed up. Get out and stay out.”
I wiggled my fingers at Jansen and smiled.
He said, “I’ll see you soon enough.”
“Anytime, bro.”
His glare was unadulterated hatred. Then he left.
Karsagian got on the phone. “I want James Halladay picked up and brought down to Parker for questioning…yeah that’s right, him…okay.”
There’s nothing the law loves more than going after a dirty, powerful, high-priced lawyer.
The detective hung up and turned to me. “I’m gonna let you and your buddy go, but, and you hear me now, Nick, if it turns out that your fingers are dirty, in any way, I’ll let Jansen take over the case. We clear?”
I nodded solemnly.
They gave us back our personal effects and guns, and we took a taxi out to an impound lot in Culver City to retrieve Leo’s Yukon. Why they stashed it way out in Culver City when there were three lots nearby is beyond me, but I suspect it had something to do with Mr. Green. When we got there, it was obvious that the vehicle had been searched. On the drive back, as we sat in traffic on Interstate 10, Bobby, feening for CNN, snapped on the radio. The newscaster announced a breaking story about a prominent Los Angeles defense attorney who had been abducted from his Hollywood Hills mansion. LAPD had found signs of a break-in and struggle; the living room was trashed.
I glanced at Bobby. “I almost feel sorry for him.”
“Screw that asshole.”
“I said, ‘almost.’”
Bobby nodded and we fell silent. Then a few minutes later he spoke up. “Dude, we gotta talk about something. The silence is killing me.”
“Relax, bro. We’re almost home.”
“I wanna tell you this story.”
I could tell that it was important to him, so I smiled and replied, “Okay, sure.”
His words came slowly, cryptically, like they held both question and answer. “It was maybe five years after I’d got back from Nam and by then, I’d pretty much reached the end of my rope. I couldn’t get Charlie out of my mind. Dude was haunting me. I was in San Francisco and had discovered some caves at a beach, near Half Moon Bay, south of the City. So I drive down there late one afternoon. I’m wearing fatigues and carrying my Bowie knife. “The caves are like dark triangles in the rock face, and I sit down below them on the beach, facing the water, watching the tide come in. The sun’s going down so I take off my prosthesis, bury it in the sand, and just sit there, deliberately waiting. The tide comes in and pretty soon the water’s up to my neck.”
He looked at me and although I wanted to acknowledge him, I kept my eyes on the road.
“Anyway, the undertow was powerful and started pulling me out to sea. It’s completely dark, no stars, just blackness everywhere. I spent half my boyhood in Mobile in the water, and I’m a damned good swimmer, so I decide to strike out for those caves, but each wave is bigger than the one before, and the harder I fight, the more I’m being sucked out to sea. I’m fighting for my life now, don’t know how I did it but somehow I reach the headland. Had to be half a mile out. Waves as big as mountains. Suddenly the undertow hits some type of cross current and propels me back in toward those caves.”
“Jesus, bro.”
“With each wave, I’m carried closer to the caves, but there’s rocks and the waves are bursting like napalm. There’s nothing I can do. So I don’t.”
“You don’t fight it?”
“No point. I wasn’t afraid anymore. I felt peaceful. It was great. The Vietnamese have this old saying, ‘water will always find the easiest path,’ and it did. A wave picked me up and surfed me right between the rocks and suddenly I was in one of the caves. It seemed like it happened instantly but it must’ve really taken ten minutes or so. I’m inside the cave and it’s pitch black, and I know Charlie’s in there too. I killed those gook tunnel fuckers more times than I can remember, but--”
Bobby paused and his eyes glistened. I wanted to say something but knew better and kept my mouth shut.
“--But he took my soul.” He fell silent and dragged one of his rough, massive hands across his eyes. He sighed deeply and continued. “With each wave, the water gets higher. If I stay there, I’ll drown. If I go deeper in the tunnel, Charlie’ll kill me. Fucked if I do. Fucked if I don’t. The tunnel’s almost full and the water’s ice cold. I found a spot, like an indent in the rocks and wedged myself in. I pulled my blade and for some damn reason I still can’t figure out, I ran my thumb across it. I’m bleeding like a stuck pig and my blood’s mixing with the water and I know that soon enough some fucking shark’s gonna smell it and I’m dead, if Charlie don’t get me first.”
“You once told me that the enemy could smell you in the tunnels.”
He nodded, his jaw set tight, the muscles flexing rapidly. “We could smell each other. Each other’s fear.”
We were finally off the freeway, getting close to Bobby’s house, so I pulled over and parked to give him time to finish his story
“Then I see him.”
“Who?”
“Charlie.”
“You hallucinated?”
“No. Only he wasn’t a gook with an AK, he was a shark. A Great White, I guess. It was massive and just cruised right past me.”
“Fuck, bro.”
“It freaked me. I suddenly realized that Charlie was in Nam, dead and buried, where I’d left him and where he wanted to be. But the shark was real. You understand?”
“Not really.”
“It was the physical manifestation of my own fear.”
“Physical manifestation?”
“That’s what my therapist said.”
“I didn’t know you had a therapist.”
“Fuck, yeah. Why d’ya think I’m still alive?
“Okay. Got it.”
“It sucks being alone. You’ve got Cassady. It’s the loneliness that’s killing me now.”
“I didn’t know, bro. You always told me you liked being alone, with your goats.” I knew it was a lie and felt instantly guilty.
Bobby gave me a strange look. “I do, mostly.”
I nodded and waited for him to finish his story.
“Anyway, the shark smelled blood and I knew it was only a matter of time before he figured out where I was.”
“How did you see it? I mean, you said it was really dark?”
“Full moon that’s reflecting off the water.”
I nodded.
“What I didn’t know was that an injured seal was also hiding in the cave. It tried to make a run for it, but it was no good. The shark snapped down on him and bit him in half. Man, I’ve never seen so much blood in the water. The shark eats what he wants and leaves. There’s bits of meat and blubber and blood floating around me. But I was damned glad it was him and not me. I put the knife away and try to hang on. I’m freezing and can’t stop trembling and my teeth chatter so hard, I think I’m gonna bite my tongue off. At times I prayed and at times I screamed, and some of the time I sang those fucking marching songs that we all knew. Finally the water recedes. Even the longest night has to end.”
I looked at him and I was proud to know the man.
“The tide goes out, and I follow it stomping through the sand into a cold, grey dawn.
You know how it gets on the California coast up north. Earth and sky are a sheet of gray mist. I dig up my prosthesis and get out of there. I had a good breakfast that morning.”
“What did you eat?”
“You know, the heart attack stuff -- eggs and bacon and hash browns and blueberry pancakes with gobs of butter and three or four cups of coffee. All the while I was shivering and my clothes are still wet. The waitress is looking at me like I’m crazy, but keeps filling my cup. I tipped her a five and drove back to San Francisco.”
“That’s why I respect you.”
“Because I left her a five?”
“No, because you’ve made it this far. You decided to live.”
“You know what, bubba, that’s why I respect myself.”
Part Three
Chapter I – Ladies Love Outlaws
It was Sunday afternoon and the air was clear. People thronged the open-air markets. We stopped at a burrito stand near a park and watched the Aztec dancers go through their paces while we ate.
Bobby slathered hot sauce onto his burrito and washed it down with Diet Coke. “What do we do now?”
“We wait while LAPD look for Ernie and Tom--”
“--The fake cops?”
“Yeah and come all over themselves trying to find Halladay.”
“Clipper, that motherfucka, must be in ecstasy.”
“He might be. Halladay sure isn’t.” I finished my burrito and swigged the rest of my Sprite.
“I never saw that coming, him snatching the lawyer.”
“All that’s left now is for him to get his hands on Jade. Then it’s mission accomplished.”
“Not exactly.”
“What d’you mean?”
“Clipper wants you along with everybody else.”
“Then let the fucker come get me.”
Bobby finished his diet coke and dumped the can into the blue recycle bin. “You know your Revolutionary War history, right?”
“Pretty well.”
“How did we turn it around?”
“Nathaniel Greene and the Swamp Fox, Francis Marion. Guerrilla tactics. Strike fast, hit hard, lose the battle, win the war.”
“Very good. Most Americans have no idea how we won. They may not even know that there was a war.”
Cicero's Dead Page 17
