He held out his hand to help Lou Ross aboard. She was wearing a glittery T-top decorated with red, white, and blue sequins that formed a small American flag and a large elephant. Her tinted henna hair said hot rollers and hairdressers, and she was ten pounds past looking good in red stirrup pants.
"It's for George Bush," she explained, indicating the T-shirt. "The Republican elephant? I had it made special when we met Mrs. Bush at the fund-raiser. You like?"
She thrust out her chest when she said it, and he had to admit she had pretty nice hooters. His eyes told her that, and she smiled, brushing the back of her hand against his fanny when she walked by him to the saloon.
"About time," her husband complained. "I can't just sit at the guest dock all day."
"Tut tut," she said. "Old grump wants his baby to look nice, doesn't he?"
Lou Ross turned and winked at Jules, then disappeared inside the saloon to pour herself a generous noontime shot of rum on the rocks.
"It's so good to see you, Jules," she said, when she returned. "You are coming with us, aren't you?"
Jules looked at Willis Ross and said, "Well, I hadn't planned on a boat ride."
"Might as well," the lawyer said. "We can talk up on the fly bridge after we get out to the ocean."
"The fly bridge is his refuge from women," Lou Ross said, when her husband walked forward to untie the bow line.
"So glad you're here, Jules," she said. "Hurry and talk business, then come on down so we can have a nice chin-wag."
"Sure," Jules said, then started aft to untie the stern line. She put her hand on his bottom and boosted him when he hopped onto the dock.
Jules had the feeling he'd be paying one way or another for his free legal advice, but that's how things work, he always said. Nothing was ever free, not advice, not even love, if there really was such a thing. Life was just one big whorehouse.
After Willis Ross eased the big boat out of the marina and they were powering slowly through the channel, Jules took a seat in the fighting chair, lifting his face to the sun. The lawyer's steering station was high up on the fly bridge, so the wind, the rush of water, the growl of the twin diesels, all made it impossible for Willis Ross to hear anything but shouts from where Jules sat on the open deck.
In a few minutes, Lou Ross appeared wearing a wide-brimmed straw sun hat with a scarlet band. She handed Jules a long-billed fishing hat, along with a generous glass of rum.
"Put it on, handsome," she said. "We don't want skin cancers on that baby face, do we?"
Jules usually didn't mind flirtations with older women. In fact, he'd thrived on them. Two of the investors his father had accused him of bilking were older divorcees, both of whom Jules had had to serve sexually in order to get their six-figure investments in a shopping mall that went belly-up.
He put the hat on and said, "Do I look like Papa Hemingway?"
Lou Ross laughed and said, "He was a notorious womanizer, Jules. Is the resemblance coincidental?"
Jules just grinned, and Lou Ross sashayed back into the saloon causing Jules to think: She's way past stretch pants.
He put his feet up on the gunwales while they cruised out the channel, passing a Sturgeon-class submarine being demagnetized at the degaussing pier on Point Loma's lee side. There was a Los Angeles-class nuclear sub in one of the huge dry docks, the same dry dock that caused a lot of jokes during the epic visit of the Soviet fleet in 1990. The dry dock had been completely blanketed to prevent the Soviets from taking a peek. This, when every Sunday of the year there were thousands of camera bugs in everything from cruise ships to rubber dinghies sailing past the dry docks, snapping away like at high school graduation.
When the Bertram rounded the lighthouse at Point Loma, Willis Ross pointed the boat out to sea in order to clear the vast kelp beds that every local yachtsman avoided. He got her cruising at thirty knots, and the engines almost obliterated Lou Ross's voice when she said to Jules, "Why don't you have lunch with me later this week?"
"I'd love to, Lou," he said, "but I'm in the process of trying to sell my business and
. . . you know how it is."
"You're getting out of that dreadful toxic waste thing? Good for you! Are you gonna retire?"
"I'd like to," he said, smiling. "But I'm barely forty. I'm afraid I have a lotta years to work."
"Barely forty," she said, primping at her blowing hair, for fear the wind might reveal the cosmetic surgery scars. "You are a baby, aren't you?"
"Maybe I need a mommy," Jules said.
"Maybe you do," she said peering coyly over the lip of the glass. "Come on, let's go inside before the skipper-from-hell opens up both engines."
Willis Ross steered the motor yacht northwest after they'd cleared the kelp. The seas were very calm, permitting him to cruise at thirty-eight knots without buffeting the passengers below.
The main saloon had air-conditioning, an elaborate sound system and a video entertainment center. The saloon was cabineted, draped and mirrored. Lou Ross stretched out on a peach settee and leaned her elbow on plum and persimmon pillows. Jules sat across the saloon in a barrel-backed chair done in tangerine and banana. When Lou Ross had replaced the factory decor everybody said she now had the world's most expensive floating fruit salad.
"I don't usually drink like this so early in the day," she said.
"Of course not. Neither do I."
"I think it's because you're here," she said.
"Oh?"
"You make me feel ..."
"What?"
"Dangerous."
"I bet you are dangerous," he said, taking her empty glass and refilling it.
When he handed the drink to her, she took it and his hand, saying, "And naughty. Jules, you always make me feel naughty and young."
"You are ..."
"Stop that," she said. "You know very well that I'm, well, several years older than you."
"Oh, I don't know about several," he said.
"Willis is going to Cabo San Lucas on a fishing trip next Thursday. He'll be gone for ten days."
"You're not going with him?"
"Are you crazy? I wouldn't spend more than a day on any boat smaller than the QE Two."
"What're you going to do for ten days?" He freshened his drink and sat down next to her on the settee.
"That depends," she said, "on several things."
He inched his hand closer to hers and said, "Such as?"
"Whether or not I'll be alone. What're you doing then?"
"Tying up the loose ends at my office."
"If a few loose ends could wait, you might like to consider a trip to New York. I've got some good theater tickets, and a girlfriend I'd invited can't come. I don't wanna go alone. Won't cost you a dime. Naturally, we don't want Willis to know about it."
"How many days?"
"Four. We can stay longer if you like. They take care of repeat clients at the Carlyle."
"Is that the hotel the Kennedys always stayed at?"
"Uh huh."
"Where Bobby Short sings in the cafe?"
"Uh huh, you've seen the Woody Allen movie. Interested?"
Jules was thinking about a lot of things. He did have plenty of work to do before the escrow closed, but maybe it could wait. There might be opportunity here. It was rumored that after Lou Ross's father died, she'd inherited enough real and personal property to be worth twice as much as her husband, and he was worth a bundle. There was no telling where this could lead.
And then he studied her. She was showing him a provocative boozy smile. With the rum hot in his belly, he thought she really wasn't too bad. He'd slept with a lot worse in his time, but only when it was advantageous to do so. He could manage Lou Ross quite nicely. Yeah, she wasn't all that old, Jules was convincing himself.
"Okay, but I think you should be forewarned: I have a morbid fear of flying . . . coach."
"First-class all the way. And I wanna see you tonight, Jules." It wasn't an invitation, it was a command.
"Tonight?"
"Yes, tonight."
"Where? Why tonight?"
"At my condo. And tonight because Willis is going to a boring retirement party for a superior court judge."
"But is it wise if I come to your house?"
"I didn't say to our house. I said come to my condo. I bought it for an investment after my father died. It's mine, not ours."
"Where is it?"
"At the Meridian. Ever been there?"
"I've been by there a number of times, of course."
"Then you'll enjoy seeing it from the inside," she said. "Twenty-seven floors of good views and fabulous views. Mine's fabulous. On the bay side, of course. It's a getaway nest. Willis hates it. I love it. I have everything I want there, including lots of service and lots of protection. You could easily get used to it, Jules, if you're like me."
"I better go up topside and talk to Willis," Jules said. "He'll wonder what's happened to me."
"Eight o'clock, Jules," she said. "I'll have something for us. A light supper, maybe."
"Sounds perfect," Jules said.
When he climbed up to the fly bridge, he brought a fresh drink for Willis Ross. The lawyer looked surprised, as though he'd forgotten that Jules was aboard. As though he'd forgotten that anyone was aboard. Willis Ross was in his element, and Jules had no doubt that when the lawyer retired he'd set foot on land only when he had to.
They were well offshore by then, but the oceanfront homes along La Jolla's Gold Coast were large enough to be clearly seen and admired, even from that distance. As a lad, Jules had attended many parties in that row of homes, where ocean breakers would explode against offshore rocks and hurl foam and spray fifty feet in the air. Where well-to-do young revelers drank punch laced with hidden bottles of gin, and the green sloping lawns and ocean surf were bathed in white light. When you could not help but believe that youth and summer would never end.
Perhaps because of Jules's troubled look Willis Ross said to him, "Let's just enjoy the ride for a little while. Lemme get her turned around and headed back into the bay; then I'll put on my powdered wig and try to help you with your problem."
With a toss of his head toward the saloon, Jules said, "Is Lou okay alone or should I a. * * *
"Don't worry about Lou," the lawyer said. "She'll be in the stateroom having her afternoon snooze any minute now. She can't stay awake after her noon cocktails."
Chapter 17
While Jules Temple cruised unhappily in the placid waters of San Diego Harbor, Fin Finnegan foundered in the turbulent waters of show biz.
"I'm not surprised," he said to his agent when he received Orson's call at the police substation.
"I'm shocked," Orson said. "It wasn't too much dialogue for you, was it?"
"He's toast," Fin said.
"What?"
"That was the dialogue. He's toast."
"That was it?"
"I said it every way I could think of. I coulda done it in Uzbek, but it wouldn't of mattered. Can you get me a second chance with somebody that has better karma?"
"I don't see how I can go around her."
"Orson, I'm not asking to play Macbeth at the Old Globe!"
"I can try."
"In the length of time it took you to get me the last job, Russia turned democratic. Can you be a little more speedy?"
After his agent hung up Fin was even too depressed to wallow, so he called Nell Salter.
"Good day to you!" he said.
"By that delighted exclamation, this can't be Detective Finnegan," she said. "He'd be attending an A. A. meeting today."
"I'm sorry about last night," he said. "I don't usually ..."
"Yeah, you said. You don't usually."
"By way of apology, let's do lunch. Sorry, I was just talking to my agent. Let's have lunch."
"Too much work to do."
He tried another tack: "I was thinking about driving over to that waste hauling company. You know, Green Earth?"
"Why in the world would you do that?"
"Well, the stolen-vehicle report was made here at Southern, wasn't it? In my presence. So I've got a proprietary interest in this case. I think I oughtta talk to the truckers in more detail. There're a lotta part-time truckers and full-time thieves hanging around Angel's Cafe where the truck got ripped off. These Green Earth truckers might have a thought or two now that they've had time to remember. Like who they mighta seen there on the day in question."
"That's remote," she said.
"Sure, but it's worth doing because of the load they lost, isn't it? I mean, if I can get a lead on the suspect, I might find the stuff. The truck thief died from it, so maybe I don't want someone else to die. I thought you might feel the same way."
That neurotic little bastard was laying a guilt trip on her! And it worked! "Okay," Nell said, sighing. "I'll meet you at Green Earth in thirty minutes. But I can't do lunch."
"See you there," Fin said.
When he hung up, he opened his desk drawer and gathered his electric razor, his shaving lotion, and his emergency toothbrush. He figured that after he did the cursory questioning of the two drivers, he'd be able to persuade her to have a burrito at his favorite Mexican joint on Palm Avenue where all the cops and Border Patrol did lunch.
They were well inside the jetty, cruising past a buoy where, on this sunny afternoon, three adult sea lions shared their space with two young ones. Every animal was asleep and did not stir when the yacht motored past them.
Jules and Willis Ross still sat quietly on the fly bridge, the lawyer looking up when they passed under the Coronado Bridge. It soared 246 feet above the water, and was dedicated in 1969 by then Governor Ronald Reagan. Since then, more than 150 pitiful wretches had leaped from it into the cold dark water.
After they'd passed the bridge Willis Ross slowed to watch the Navy SEALs practicing helicopter drops and pickups in the south bay. Only when he tired of it did he finally turn to Jules and say, "Okay, tell me your troubles."
"Not my troubles," Jules said. "Troubles belonging to the guy who's buying my business. Troubles from his other waste hauling company."
"Then tell me why I should be giving free legal advice to some guy I don't know."
"I'm asking you for myself," Jules said quickly. "Because if he gets in trouble with the EPA or the D. A., he might not be able to close escrow. That's why I'm so worried about what happens to him."
"Okay, as long as it's for you, gimme the whole scenario."
"Apparently a couple of his waste haulers, truckers with brains like insect larvae, mighfve dumped a load of hazardous waste that they should've returned to his yard for proper transfer to a disposal site. And somebody might get very sick from the dumped material."
"I'd say the truckers're in big trouble, but the owner of the company isn't in trouble unless he knowingly committed an offense. Did he know they were gonna dump it?"
"No, he didn't."
"Then I think he's okay."
"But there's a hitch. See, he'd improperly manifested that load of waste. He'd shown it to be one thing on the manifest when really it was much more dangerous than what he showed. And he was gonna haul it to an improper site and dispose of it in an improper manner. That improper site was also listed on the manifest."
"Improper? You mean, unlawful?"
"Let's say unlawful. But whatever happened, it occurred before he had a chance to transfer it to the unlawful site."
"Let me get this straight. The truckers just took it upon themselves to dump the stuff. Why?"
"Who knows why? They're scum of the earth, all of them. We're not sure why they'd do such a thing."
"Well," the lawyer said, "it's gonna look pretty bad for the owner of the business. He did some tricky stuff on the manifest, you say? It could be alleged that by not alerting his employees to what dangerous material they had, he'd contributed to their later actions of dumping what they couldn't have known was extremely dangerous."
"That seems very unfair to the owner."
"How sure are you that someone might get contaminated?"
"Let's say someone dies from it. Then what?"
"I know this much: Intentional mishandling that results in an injury or death can result in prison time, and some fines that'd scare even Ross Perot. I think your friend should talk to a lawyer. You can refer him to me."
"I'll do that," Jules said, "but tell me this, Willis. What if it was dumped out of our court's jurisdiction?"
"Where?"
"Say in Mexico. And let's say it's a Mexican citizen who gets hurt or dies. Does my guy still have to worry?"
"This is getting wildly speculative."
"Well, there's some evidence that his load could've gone to Mexico for illegal dumping."
"I'll tell you this as a practical matter, Jules," the lawyer said. "If the NAFTA agreement sails through the Congress of the United States under our sure-to-be-elected President Clinton and our green-as-grass environmentalist, Vice President Gore, I would not wanna be in your friend's shoes. Not if a Mexican citizen is injured by our hazardous waste that's been illegally dumped in their country."
"I see what you mean/' Jules said.
The yacht had proceeded as far south as The Castle, a quixotic barge anchored in the shallows off Chula Vista. The barge had been constructed from surplus U. S. Navy landing crafts in the form of a floating castle with turrets at all four corners. The barge had served as a party-boat in good times and as a warehouse in bad times. Tied to one end of The Castle was a floating dinghy-dock littered with marine trash and guano, the gulls of San Diego Harbor being The Castle's primary users.
Jules looked at The Castle and felt a sudden chill. In its abandoned state it had taken on the look of a prison. Mini-Alcatraz!
Willis turned the Peligrosa around and headed to Glorietta Bay, throttling back, barely causing a ripple when he took the boat inside, passing the Naval Amphibious Base and pointing toward the Coronado Yacht Club.
Beyond the little club was the Hotel del Coronado, the Victorian fantasy resort opened in 1888 on one of the loveliest white sand beaches in all of California. The hotel now stood like a proud but seedy old aristocrat surviving on money from package tours, but in bygone glory days a dozen U. S. presidents had stopped there. Legend had it that in 1920 the-man-who-would-be-king was mesmerized there by a naval officer's wife whom he later courted and won, declaring to the world that he was renouncing the crown for the woman he loved. Perhaps the Del's greatest glory in more recent years was that it represented the Palm Beach resort ill the film Some Like It Hot.
Finnegan's Week (1993) Page 15
