‘Oh fucking hell, they never get it right. Bernie. Bring me a drink.’
“Police are now saying Miss Bourke is planning on fleeing the country. Our contacts are telling us evidence of her complicity in Sweeney’s murder is overwhelming. A witness has placed her at the scene, and a gun registered in her name was the murder weapon. The police wish to advise the public if they see Miss Bourke they are not to approach her. If you do see her, please call 9-1-1 immediately.”
‘Doesn’t look too good for your friend.’ Bernie handed Cathy a glass of wine. ‘She’s got herself in some serious shit now.’
She pushed the glass to one side. ‘Try her again.’
He tossed her the phone. ‘You. I know what’s going to happen. Voice mail again.’
He was right. She left a message asking her to call her back.
‘We need to go to Venice and see if we can find her.’
Bernie pulled on his beer and wiped his chin. ‘No. The cops can’t find her, there’s no way in hell I’m going to wander around freaks-vile looking for her.’
‘Oh there are days you really piss me off. Where are the keys? I’m going.’
‘No you’re not.’
‘To hell I’m not.’ She grabbed the keys from the coffee table and made her way to the door. ‘Don’t wait up. Seriously. You’ll be wasting your time.’
The Killer laughed when he heard the news about Ellie leaving the country. He giggled and slapped his steering wheel. ‘Like fuck. Maybe in a box, in pieces, back to Australia.’ He smile dimmed. He was still no closer to finding her. He knew generally where she was, but the specificity - he giggled and tried to say that out loud: ‘specisifity. Fuck.’ - of her location was missing. His contacts had gotten him her number though. He could harass her. And he would.
He pulled on to the PCH and dialed her number on his throw-away phone. It went to voicemail. He started to talk and saw red and blue lights flashing in his rear-view mirror. The police siren let off a whoop. He pulled the phone away from his head. ’Oh, fuck. Fucking cops.’ He hung up and tossed the phone on the passenger’s seat and pulled over.
He rolled down the window as the cop approach.
‘License and registration, please.’
‘Right. Hang on a sec.’ He took out his wallet and handed the constable the documents. ‘Officer,’ he leaned out the window and read the name tag, ‘Morris, what have I been pulled over for?’
‘Talking on your mobile phone while driving and,’ he looked pointedly at the driver, ‘driving without a seatbelt.’ He opened his ticket book. ‘There’s a $50 fine for the first and $142 for the second. There will also be court costs.’ Constable Morris copied the driver information on the ticket pad, noted the infractions and gave the book to the driver to sign. ‘You will be notified of the court date.’
‘I can’t just pay the fine?’
‘Afraid not.’
‘What if I don’t sign?’
‘You’ll still have to show up in court. Signing is not an admission of guilt. It’s just validating what I wrote on the ticket. Your choice whether you sign or not.’
The Killer grunted. ‘Fine.’ He signed the ticket. ‘You’ve been fantastic. I was wondering how I could keep fueling the rage and you’ve just added the perfect ingredient. Like lemon for chicken or hot sauce on wings. Just. Fucking. Awesome.’ He shoved the ticket book out the window. ‘Have an absolutely fucking wonderful evening.’ The book bounced off the ground.
Constable Morris unclipped the restraining strap on his holster and kicked the book away from in front of the door. ‘Step out of the car, sir.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I told you to. You are now going to be required to perform a roadside sobriety test, and, if you fail, you will be arrested for driving under the influence and taken to the station. Get out. Now.’
‘Oh, sweet fuck. My tax dollars at work.’ He opened the car door, got out and stood facing the officer. ‘Fine. I’m out. What tests would you like me to perform?’
The constable took out his pen and held it about a foot in front of the killer’s nose. ‘I want you to continue to look at the pen while I move it back and forth.’ He moved it to the left about two feet, then back past the center point to the right two feet, and back to the center.
‘Was it supposed to disappear or something? That’s like the worst fucking magic trick ever.’
Morris ignored him. ‘Stand with your heels together, hands down to your side, and lift your left foot six inches off the ground. Count until I tell you to stop.’
‘Bullshit. You won’t say “stop” until I tip over. You do it first.’
‘Are you refusing?’
‘I am. Don’t think there’s much you can do about it either. Do you smell alcohol on my breath?’ He blew in the officer’s face. ‘No? I’m not drunk, inebriated or under the influence. My sister is waiting for me to help her change a flat and you are unnecessarily holding me up because you don’t like my attitude. Well tough fucking luck. Give me my fucking ticket and let me go on my way.’
Morris clenched his jaw. He couldn’t compel the driver to continue with the field sobriety tests and he had no evidence of inebriation. He tore the ticket off the pad and handed it to him. ‘Make sure your seatbelt is fastened before you pull off the shoulder.’
‘Get fucked.’ The Killer got back in the car and pulled away, his left hand out the window, middle finger extended.
And a traffic ticket on the passenger seat which would set him back over $200 once the fucking court costs add up.
‘And it’s her fault.’ He turned right on N. Venice and made toward the ocean. It was only 10:30. The night was young. She couldn’t run while she was sleeping and she was doing it rough, somewhere around here.
Cathy eased up in the accelerator until she passed the police car on the side of the road giving some poor schmuck a sobriety test. She turned right on N. Venice and headed toward the beach. She tried the number again. Again the voicemail. ‘Ellie, it’s Cath. I’m in the neighborhood. Thought you might like to get together for coffee or something.’
She hung up and continued west. The gate at the parking lot on the beach was locked. She pulled in behind a store on the corner of N. Venice and Ocean Walk and parked her car. ‘Okay, honey. Come out, come out, wherever you are.’
She locked the car, kept her keys in her hand, individual keys sticking between the fingers of her fist, and started strolling the boardwalk. It wasn’t dead yet. There was still night traffic, kinda rowdy and definitely loud.
She brushed off a couple of propositions. She wasn’t dressed for that role, and she wasn’t in the mood for bullshit. They backed off pretty quick.
She had passed the skate park when someone grabbed her arm and spun her around. ‘Ellie?’
She looked at the man in front of her. ‘No. Ellie who? Who did you think I am? Who are you?’
‘Sorry. Thought you were someone else.’
‘I am someone else. And I don’t look anything like Ellie. Were you looking for Ellie Bourke?’
‘Who are you?’
‘I asked first.’
Kent held out his hand. ‘I’m Kent Williams. I’m an old friend of Ellie. You know her too?’
Cathy looked around. The population on the beach was thinning. There were no police to be seen. ‘Good friend for the last few years. So you know what’s going on with her?’
Kent shook his head. ‘She’s got herself into some pile of shit, that’s for damn sure.’
‘She didn’t kill him.’
‘There are witnesses who say different.’
‘Wait, are you the friend who has contacts in the police department? You’ve been a big help. Thanks.’
Kent nodded. ‘Why are you looking down here? This would seem to be the last place she’d be.’
‘I’ve got a gut feeling. But she’s going to the wind soon.’
‘She told me she was planning on leaving the country. Not a wise move.’
‘Earlier this evening.’
‘So you’ve been talking to her today. Excellent. I thought maybe she was hurt or her phone had died completely.’
Kent considered for a moment. ‘You know Ellie well?’
‘Best girlfriend. Maybe not as long as you, but we split costs for a few months after Sweeney was arrested. And I had left my boyfriend.’
‘She’s got a new phone number. You should probably have it too.’
‘How did you get it’
‘She - I have a friend who had it. Another one of her friends. Here.’ He displayed the number on his phone and showed it to Cathy who copied it to her contacts.
’Thanks a lot. Do you want to look for her with me?’
Kent had other plans. ‘Sorry, Cathy. I’ve got to go. Other things I need to tend to right now. Sorry.’ He stuck his hands in his pockets and limped away from her.
‘Weird.’ She continued walking down the beach, scanning faces, listening for a familiar voice. It was promising to be a very long, frustrating night.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ann woke me with a poke to my back. ‘You need to go.’
‘Wha?’ I rolled away from the wall and looked through squinted eyes at my hostess who had an almost feral look.
‘Best you go. Not good right now. Just get out.’ She had all of her coats on, her knit hat perched on her head and the remains of my dress wrapped around her neck.
I nodded. ‘Sure. Whatever you want, Ann. Thanks for letting me stay here.’
‘Just go.’ She sighed and lay down, facing the wall. ‘Please.’
I collected my small amount of belongings and leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Thanks again. See you around the beach.’
She muttered and pulled her coats tighter.
I slipped out the door into the back alley. The early morning sun baked the sand dusting the street. There was no wind. I was sticky from one end to the other. Almost three days without a shower was unprecedented. For me, anyway. My stomach growled and I felt like I just slept on a bag of rocks.
I turned on my phone. I needed an answer from Marty. It was a reasonable request, as far as I was concerned. A couple of hundred grand in return for a much larger share of the earnings in the movie. And they’d be huge once DVD sales were factored in.
I came out on the beach south of the pier. I was in a large parking lot, closer to the Marina than I was to my apartment along side a couple of large RVs. Two bike cops pedaled by, paying me no notice. Really, if this was the best they could muster for a manhunt I had nothing to worry about.
My phone vibrated with four messages. Two missed calls and two text messages.
‘What the fuck?’ One missed call was from a number I was pretty sure belonged to Cathy. I dialed it.
Cathy answered after half a ring. ‘Ellie? Where are you?’
I took the phone from my head. I could hear Cathy. Not just on the phone; for real. Couldn’t see her, but I could definitely hear her.
I lowered my voice. ‘Doesn’t matter, Cath. How in the hell did you get this number?’
‘Ran into a friend of your. Aussie guy.’
‘Tall and dark or short and blond?’
‘Tall. Kent someone. Said he got it from another friend.’
‘Jesus. I got this number to stay below the radar and now everyone has it. Where did you say you were?’
‘I didn’t. I’m near the Venice Fish Pier, looking for you. Am I getting warm?’
Shit. I definitely didn’t want to see her. Well, I did, but I didn’t want her getting caught up in all this. ‘Cath, hon, go home. Don’t get dragged down in my mess. Please. And delete this number from your phone and stop calling it. The cops will eventually catch up with what’s going on.’ I walked closer to the pier, keeping covered, mostly, by the parked cars. I sidled along the edges of the public toilets until I was as close to the pier as I thought safe.
‘Ellie? What are you doing? Where are you?’
‘It doesn’t matter. As soon as I rustle up some cash I’m out of here. Nice knowing you. Where’d you park?’
‘Behind a store. Why?’
I didn’t want her to come up here and find me. ‘Because you should probably move it before it gets towed. Have you been out all night?’
‘Pretty much.’
I had a panic attack. ‘With Bernie?’ I looked around for 6’-6” Bernie.
‘No. Left his sorry ass at home. Wouldn’t come with me. I hope he’s freaking out.’
Typical Cathy. ‘Go home and rest. You’re a great friend and I don’t want you to end up in a jail cell. Tell Kent, if you see him again, he’s a bell-end for giving you the number.’
‘I probably won’t see him again. He was off in a hurry last night going somewhere. He’s not that big of a dick-head. He’s getting information from the police department for you.’
‘It hasn’t helped much, but yeah. I guess.’ I closed my eyes and rubbed the back of my neck. ‘Ditch me, Cath. Forget you ever knew me.’
‘Oh shut up, Ell. I can’t forget ever knowing you. You’ve been the biggest positive influence in my life since I was a kid. You’re innocent and there’s no reason for you to run.’
‘Ah, if only it were that easy. I’m going to hang up. Don’t want you nabbed.’
I terminated the call. I had to forget about her. I stood by the showers and watched her walk back along the boardwalk toward the skate park and N. Venice Avenue.
The public shower was tempting. If I had a swimsuit on I wouldn’t stand out. But standing under one with all my clothes on would raw a bit of a crowd, even down here. Standing under it naked, an even bigger crowd.
I walked under the pier. It was evident someone had been hanging out here by the trash scattered across the ground. Maybe Ann.
But it was vacant now. I peeled off my jeans. My underwear was more conservative than most of the bikinis on the beach. I wasn’t wearing a bra - didn’t really need one - so I kept my golf shirt on. I folded the pants and lay my shoes and phone in the folds. Put the sunglasses and cap on top. The swim would be refreshing. I might even feel a bit cleaner after, saltwater not withstanding.
The swim was an echo of the one I took, what, only two days ago? Hard to believe. Felt like a life-time.
The knots worked out of my shoulders in the first five minutes. The water was a little bit rough, but not too bad. I swam past a couple of guys on boards waiting to catch a good one. They said something to me about seeing a mermaid or something, but I ignored them. Maybe another day.
I turned after my brain had told me I had swum for about thirty minutes. The swim back passed in a haze. I zoned out.
I body surfed in, slaloming around the pier’s piles. Not the safest of tricks, but not impossible for someone who had been swimming as long as I had.
I stood when the water was about waist deep and slowly waded to shore. I felt good. Muscles a little sore, breath a little short, I knew I had just had a work out.
The day wasn’t going to be all good, though. Some snot-nosed little punk was going through my stuff under the pier.
‘Hey. Asshole. Hey. Get back here.’
He grabbed my mobile phones and ran.
Big mistake. I grabbed a beer bottle and ran after him.
I’d just spent close to eighteen months in an almost non-stop fitness program. Ratner had me doing as many of my own stunts as the insurance would allow. I was in better shape than I had ever been.
And I was a good foot taller than the punk running with my stuff. He didn’t have a chance.
I caught up to him after less than fifty steps. I grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head and yanked. His feet flew out in front of him and he landed on his ass.
I pushed the base of the beer bottle against his left eye. ‘Give them back or I’ll break this over your skull.’
‘Give what? You’re assaulting me. Help. Police!’
<
br /> ‘Shut up. The police come over here and you’ll be explaining to them why one of my phones is in your front pocket and the other one is in your hand.’ I kicked at his leg. ‘Unless you know the pin code to the iPhone, then I’ll apologize and walk away.’
‘It’s a trick so you get to know my pin code.’
‘Listen, shorty. Hand them over before I rearrange your skull.’ Two bike cops approached from about a hundred yards away. Shit-tastic.
I dropped the bottle and squatted. ‘Look, kid. I’m not going to press charges. You just give me my phones back and I won’t tell those cops over there anything.’
He twisted and looked over his shoulder. ‘Aw, shit.’ He dug my phone out of his pocket and hand me it and the pre-pay. ‘Take them. For fuck’s sake, put some pants on. You’re really distracting me. And Jesus, how do you run so fast?’
I inspected them for damage, found them okay and mentally dismissed him. I kept an eye on the cops as I walked back to the pier. They continued on toward the skate park. Crisis averted, as they say.
I re-dressed and went for a slow walk in the sun, drying my shirt. I looked at the pre-pay. There were two text messages I hadn’t opened yet.
“Charlie here. You should stop phoning your old contacts. That’s how I got your number. I can still keep an eye on your location, but the cops haven’t caught on yet. They’re still looking for your old number. But if they wise up, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll have to give them your location.”
Trust Charlie to find me. He must have given my number to Kent who gave it to Cathy. God only knew who else had it.
The second message chilled me.
“No, no, no. Changing your number won’t help. Changing your phone won’t help. I will find you. It doesn’t matter what you do. And I’m thinking a suicide in the LA River would be appropriate. Don’t make any plans for tonight.”
Sweet Jesus. My stalker still had a bead on me. I did have plans for tonight and they did include getting out of town.
G'Day USA Page 17
