Tightrope

by Teri White

  “Right.”

  “Well, I guess that doesn’t have to mean anything. Necessarily.”

  Blue nodded. “Necessarily. It probably doesn’t mean shit, in fact. But still, it’s interesting. We might want to keep an eye on good old Toby.”

  “Yep, I think so.” Spaceman stood. “Come on, it’s time to get the hell out of here.”

  Blue shrugged. “Guess so.”

  They walked out of the building without talking and crossed the lot to where their respective cars were parked side by side. There, they both hesitated.

  “So,” Spaceman said. “Have a good Christmas.”

  “Sure, you too. Give Lainie my best.”

  Spaceman nodded. They got into their cars, then he rolled down the window. “You’ve got plans, right?”

  Blue smiled and waved as he drove away.

  32

  The bar was crowded and noisy, jammed mostly with people who didn’t have anyplace else to spend this night or anybody better than a bunch of strangers to spend it with. Most of the fevered celebrants would probably have preferred to be somewhere other than the Galaxy Lounge, but they were all making the best of it.

  Lars Morgan, however, wasn’t pretending to enjoy himself; he really was having a good time. Even the lingering effects of the beating and his cold couldn’t dent his spirits. “You know, Dev,” he said, “this is the first Christmas we’ve spent together in about eight years.”

  Devlin just nodded.

  Lars peered at him. “You down about something?”

  Now he smiled faintly. “Just a case of nerves, I guess.”

  “Hell, there’s nothing to be nervous about. I’ve got everything under control.”

  “I was talking about the opening of my show, you idiot. The bloody diamonds are your problem.”

  “No problems at all tonight, lover.” Lars reached into his pocket and pulled out a quarter. “Call it,” he said, tossing the coin.

  “Heads.”

  He grinned. “Sorry.”

  Devlin shrugged. “You’re on a roll, Morgan. Go for it.” He still didn’t sound very enthusiastic.

  Lars frowned. “You really want to play the game, Dev?”

  He smiled again. “Sure. Of course, Lars. Pick a winner.”

  Lars got up and began a slow walk around the room. He wanted to find a special broad for tonight. It was Christmas, after all, and this choice would be sort of like a present to Dev. Knowing just what kind of woman most appealed to his friend, Lars passed up several possibilities, finally settling on a tall, willowy blond at the bar. She didn’t look like the kind of woman who would be hustling in a bar, but he supposed that was just a matter of degree. A whore was a whore, whether she stood out on Hollywood Boulevard or whether she worked out of a fancy Beverly Hills apartment by “referral only.”

  He stopped next to her. “Hi.”

  “Hello,” she said in a voice that was soft and sexy as velvet.

  Lars rested one arm across the back of her stool. “We could waste a lot of time here,” he said. “But why bother?”

  “Time is money,” she said.

  “Right. I have a friend over there, the good-looking Aussie. He and I would like you to spend some time with us this evening. If you know someplace close by.”

  “As it happens, I do.” She looked him up and down speculatively, then glanced toward Dev. “You’re not cops I hope?”

  He grinned and shook his head.

  “Two on one?”

  “Nope. Just one and then the other.”

  “Time and half, since it’s a holiday.”

  He shrugged. “What the hell.”

  She picked up her purse from the bar and slid from the stool.

  Lars gave a quick thumbs-up gesture to Devlin, who signaled his approval.

  Lars drank a beer as he undressed slowly. There were still several good-sized bruises along his rib cage. The woman was already naked, sitting on the bed and smoking a pastel cigarette. Even without clothes she was a classy broad. Elegant.

  Devlin seemed vaguely amused by the whole thing. He got like that sometimes. Lars often thought that Devlin didn’t really believe anything was true unless he saw it through the camera lens. It could be he was right.

  Lars grinned at Devlin, then slid into the bed next to the woman. She smelled of violets and something else, something heavy and musky.

  Across the room, he could see the orange glow from Devlin’s cigarette and hear the mild pop of another beer being opened. Someplace down the hall, a radio was playing Christmas carols.

  Lars relaxed, allowing his control to loosen, so he was caught up in the smells and the feel of the woman’s mouth on him and the throbbing music. The whore was good and when he finally crashed over the edge in climax, it left him exhausted and sweaty, breathing heavily.

  Too tired even to walk across the room to the chair, he just rolled off the bed and rested there, leaning against the mattress. He felt the bed shift as Devlin got in. A hand reached down and placed a freshly lit cigarette between his lips. He inhaled gratefully.

  Just at that moment, fleetingly, Lars felt that if something happened to screw everything up and they never got the damned diamonds, he could still be happy.

  Blue parked the car. From where he was, he could see the boat that belonged to Toby Reardon. There was a light on in the cabin. Blue snapped the plastic lid off the coffee cup and sipped the cooling liquid.

  He didn’t really know what had possessed him to drive out to Marina del Rey just to sit and stare at Reardon’s boat, but here he was. It was chilly down by the water.

  The door to the cabin opened and Reardon appeared. Blue slid down in the seat, although there was no reason to think that Reardon would think he was being watched by the cops. Especially a cop in a Porsche.

  Reardon was wearing a heavy sweater and drinking something from a white mug. He was alone. All he did was stand at the railing and stare out over the water. Hell of a way to spend Christmas Eve, Blue thought.

  After thirty or so minutes, Reardon went back inside. Shortly, the light went off.

  God rest ye merry, Blue thought sourly.

  Cold and tired, he started the car and left.

  33

  Light and noise crashed in on him. He woke sharply, filled with terror. It took him an endless moment to remember that he was home, on the boat, and then more time to realize that he wasn’t alone.

  “Reardon?” The voice was rough as gravel and absolutely unfamiliar.

  Blinking against the flashlight that was aimed directly at his face and trying not to shiver from the touch of deadly cold steel against his chest, Toby nodded.

  “We want Wolf. You know where he is?”

  “Maybe.” The gun barrel jabbed into him. “Hey, take it easy. I’ll tell you what I know. I know where he might be.”

  “Better than telling us, we’ll all go there together.”

  He was nudged up from the bed. “Can I put some clothes on first?”

  Suddenly, unexpectedly, the man laughed; it was an ugly sound. “Sure, sweetheart,” he said, bringing one hand down to smack Toby’s bare ass. “No sense causing fucking riots in the streets, right?”

  Toby moved a couple of steps, fumbling in the early-morning half-light for a pair of jeans. “Why me?” he said.

  “Hey, don’t take it personal. Boss says visit Toby Reardon, we do.”

  “I’m nobody.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re a nobody that’s been hanging tight with Wolf.”

  “My mistake.”

  “Probably,” the guy said cheerfully.

  Toby pulled the white sweater on and slid his feet into the loafers. “My glasses,” he said, running one hand through his hair. “I have to find my goddamned glasses.” He spotted them on the table and put them on. The three men were all armed. Toby shook his head vaguely. “Hey, what the hell,” he said suddenly. “Isn’t this Christmas? Isn’t this fucking Christmas Day?”

  The leader grinned, showing a s
et of teeth badly in need of orthodontic work. “Season’s greetings, sweetheart.”

  Toby directed them to the only place he could think of: Devlin Conway’s apartment. He didn’t honestly think they’d find Lars there, but he hoped and prayed that Conway would know where he was. Tight as they were, it made sense.

  At a nod from the boss, Toby pounded on the door. He wondered what the neighbors would think, if anybody looked out and saw what looked like the cast from a bad gangster movie gathered.

  It took a couple minutes of hard knocking before they heard a voice from inside. “Yeah? What the hell is going on?” The door swung open. Devlin, wearing only shorts and obviously just awake, stood there. “Toby, what the—” He saw the whole group and shut up abruptly.

  “These, uh, gentlemen would like to see Wolf. I thought you might know where to find him.”

  Devlin stared at Toby for a moment, then glanced back into the living room.

  “Let them in,” Lars said.

  They stepped inside and somebody closed the door. Lars had apparently been sleeping on the couch. He was wide awake now though, propped against one arm of the leather sofa, the blanket kicked aside and a gun in his hand. The gun was pointing toward them.

  Steel rammed again into Toby’s spinal column. He had a moment of panic, made worse when he saw Morgan’s emotionless slate eyes. Don’t point the fucking thing at me, he wanted to tell the creep holding the gun, Morgan doesn’t give a damn. Point it at Conway; he won’t let you shoot the Aussie.

  But then Lars lowered his gun. “What’s this all about?” he said reasonably enough.

  Toby exhaled as the gun in his back was removed.

  “Mr. Delvecchio would like to take a meeting with you, Wolf.”

  “It’s Christmas.”

  “Yeah, that’s what everybody keeps saying.”

  “Shit,” Lars said mildly. But then he got up from the couch and reached for his shirt. He’d apparently been sleeping in jeans and socks. He buttoned the shirt slowly. “Just where are were going?”

  “You’ll know when we get there.” The barrel of the gun touched lightly against Toby’s spine again. “You come, too.”

  “Why me?” he said again.

  “Why not?”

  That seemed sufficient reason.

  Devlin was leaning against the wall, still looking half asleep and bewildered. “What about me?” he said.

  “Boss didn’t say nothing about you. Must be your lucky day.”

  Lars finished dressing. “Well, let’s go then, damnit.” He glanced at Devlin. “See you later.”

  Devlin just nodded.

  Inside one of the neighboring apartments somebody started playing the Johnny Mathis Christmas album. It was a nice touch.

  Lars and Toby were jammed into the backseat with one of the armed gorillas, while the other two sat in the front. Toby’s mouth was so dry that he could hardly even swallow. Lars, on the other hand, seemed totally at ease, whistling “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” under his breath and relaxing as best he could in the crowded seat.

  Toby looked at him and Lars winked reassuringly.

  Toby wasn’t especially reassured.

  The car finally stopped, someplace along the Santa Monica beach, and they all piled out. The ocean was choppy and there was a sharp breeze blowing across the sand. Probably later the day would be warm enough for all the transplanted Easterners to come down and go into the water, at least briefly. They could then let all the folks back home know that in the promised land you could actually swim on Christmas Day.

  But right now, Toby was cold, even in the heavy sweater. He shoved both hands into the pockets of his jeans as they walked across the beach to where another car, this one a long black limo, was already parked. As they arrived, the back door opened and two men stepped out. One looked like a lawyer, three-piece suit, briefcase, and all. The other was too old by a couple of decades to be hanging around the beach at the frigging crack of dawn. He wore a heavy overcoat, though, so at least he was probably warm.

  Maybe because it was so unpleasant on the beach or maybe because this was Christmas and everybody had better things to do, nobody wasted any time on the amenities.

  “Wolf,” the old man said, “You were warned to back away. Instead of taking this friendly advice, however, you killed my messenger.”

  “Vacarro pulled a gun on me,” Lars said. “I thought he might use it. Whatever happened to him was strictly self-defense.”

  “That is maybe true, but it is not particularly relevant.” Delvecchio stared out across the grey water thoughtfully. “I don’t have much time to spend on you. My grandkids are going to open their gifts very soon and I should be there. The family is important.” He glanced at them again. “You know, Wolf, in the old days we wouldn’t even be having this conversation, because you would already be dead. Things were easier then. Now …” He gestured toward the briefcase toter. “Now everything is lawyers and committees. Even a simple hit is a big deal.”

  Toby was trying not to listen, figuring that the less he knew, the better. An old man talking about killing him was not especially what he wanted to hear, anyway. He turned away from the conversation to watch the water, pretending that he was out there safely on his boat.

  “Wolf, these diamonds you are chasing belong to me. Or I should be specific: They will be mine in a very short time. The deal has come down and there’s no room for you and your associates.”

  Toby considered raising his hand and volunteering the information that at least one associate was quite willing to step out of the picture. Instead, he glanced at Lars.

  The man he saw standing next to him was the Morgan he remembered from Nam. Tough, cold, unyielding. To hell with the fact that Lars was a little crazy; when things got rough, you wanted him there and in charge. “I think the stones rightfully belong to anyone who can get them, Papa D.,” he said in a cold, even voice. “This is still the home of free enterprise, right? And our claim is older and better than yours.”

  He had a point, Toby thought, the bastard had a damned good point. There was a long silence, during which he watched two gulls fight over a fish.

  “Even today there are limits, Wolf,” Delvecchio said. “You have just reached yours. Any more trouble and it will be easier to kill you, even if it makes the lawyers frown.”

  The lawyer frowned.

  “Understand?” the old man said. “There won’t be any more warnings.”

  “Fine.”

  In another moment, Delvecchio and his legal beagle got back into the limo and drove off. The three apes climbed into their car and left, too. It got very quiet.

  “How the fuck are we supposed to get home?” Toby said.

  Lars shrugged. “Find a phone. Call Dev. He’ll come get us.”

  “Great.” They started walking. “Do you know what I was going to do this morning?”

  Lars grunted in the negative as they trudged toward the highway.

  “I was going to make a pitcher of Bloody Marys and stay in bed. Plug in the old Betamax and watch a Bogart film festival. It’s what I do every Christmas.”

  “Yeah?” Lars lighted a cigarette, handed it to him, then lit another for himself.

  Toby smoked in silence for a time. “Why didn’t he just kill us?” he asked finally.

  “Like he said. The lawyers don’t like it.”

  “Yeah?” Toby said skeptically.

  “Well, that’s part of it. Maybe another part is that I hear a federal committee on organized crime is poking a little too close. Delvecchio is an old man. He wants to spend his last years in Palm Springs, not Leavenworth. So, if he can avoid stirring things up too much right now, he will.”

  “I guess that makes sense.” Toby kicked at an empty Coke can. “So what happens next?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I mean, nothing’s different. We just keep at it.” Lars glanced at him. “Or are you losing your taste for this little adventure, Tobias? It�
�s harder than screwing old ladies for a buck, right?”

  Toby got mad suddenly. “Fuck off, Morgan.” He pointed to a spot a hundred yards or so up the road. “A phone.”

  Lars laughed softly, although there was nothing funny. Maybe it was just the spirit of the season.

  Toby threw the cigarette butt away. As far as he was concerned, to hell with the season, to hell with old men talking about death, and to hell with Lars Morgan.

  34

  Blue looked up and saw his partner approaching.

  Ostentatiously, he glanced at his watch, which showed almost fifteen minutes past the time Spaceman should have arrived, but all he said was, “Love the tie.”

  Spaceman glanced down at the wide swath of purple and yellow stripes that adorned his chest. “Yeah?” he said doubtfully. “The kid gave it to me.”

  Blue personally thought that Robbie must have been joking, but he didn’t say so.

  Spaceman dropped heavily into his chair, smoothing the tie over the faded madras sport shirt he was wearing. “You know what my New Year’s resolution is going to be?”

  “What’s that?”

  “To drop ten pounds.”

  “Terrific,” Blue said. “Why not go for fifteen?”

  But Spaceman shook his head. “I don’t want to get all gaunt looking. Besides, if I lost that much, none of my clothes would fit.”

  Which in Blue’s eyes would have been an additional blessing. But discretion being the better part of a relationship, he did not say that. “Where the hell are we going with this thing?” he asked instead, indicating a pile of folders on the desk.

  “Which particular thing is that?”

  “Wolf, of course.” As far as he was concerned, all their other cases were way back on the burner.

  “Of course.” Spaceman leaned back dangerously in his chair. “Ah, you know, I’m beginning to feel a sneaky fondness for that bastard. I mean, anybody who puts the screws to Papa D. can’t be all bad.”

  Blue frowned and twisted a paper clip out of shape. “I’m glad you’ve found a new hero to admire. It’s just a shame that we can’t ask Marybeth Wexler what she thinks about him. Or Hua.”