“You didn’t answer me. Who was killed in your apartment?”
“It was a drug heist. The guy was waiting to rip me off. Dorie helped me to take him out,” he lied.
“Stand up,” Pablo demanded. He patted Stark down. No gun. “What did you kill him with? Where’s your gun?”
“I dunno. I must have dropped it on the way out. I ran with my girlfriend. So do you want to meet my boss?”
“Yeah, but your girlfriend stays here. I don’t want you to get any funny ideas. We’ll take your car.”
Pablo signaled to his men that he would go with Stark, alone, to La Jolla. Clearly he didn’t trust his own men. A few words in Spanish were passed. Stark didn’t understand a word, but clearly understood when a .45 automatic was passed to Pablo.
“Stark, are you leaving me with these animals? I don’t like the look of them. I’d rather they shoot me than fuck me.”
Stark asked Pablo for some woman to keep Dorie on ice until they returned. Pablo yelled in Spanish to the rear room of the cantina, and a fat, middle-aged Mex woman came out, wiping her hands. Clearly the patron’s wife.
Dorie stepped into Stark’s outstretched arms. She whis- pered in his ear. “Get back here safely. Watch yourself with this guy,” and then more loudly to Pablo, “Take care of my fella. I’ve gotten quite used to him.”
The two men went back to the car. Stark was still in the driver’s seat.
“I need something to keep me going. I’ve been driving all night. Been shot at by one of your goons and had to kill a thief. It’s been a long day and a longer night.”
“No fixes, junkie. I need you awake until we meet your boss. Then you’ll get a long sleep. Here’s a couple of dex-ies to keep you going.”
Stark dry-swallowed the pills, but didn’t at all like the bit about the long sleep. He put the car in gear and slowly drove down the dusty street, now alive with people and animals, as they headed back to the border.
As they approached the crossing point, he hoped the border cops would stop them.
“You signal these guys,” said Pablo, “and your girlfriend and you will both die. I’m not fucking around.” The gun prodded into his side. It made the point.
“Would you please open your trunk,” the border guard asked politely, after giving the interior of the car a quick glance. A few minutes later, they were back in the U.S. and on the highway headed north.
“I think I should call my boss to let him know we are coming. I’ll tell him you want another sample of his product, to make sure of the quality, but that you are coming to discuss a new distribution deal that will make everyone money.” “What’s your angle in all this, Mr. Stark? How do you fit in? As near as I can tell, you are a user of the product, not a seller. Why does your boss trust you? I wouldn’t. I don’t get it.”
“I’m not really hooked. I just geeze once in a while. The Beast from the East is not my real hang up. My first choice is weed.”
“Are you telling me that your shit comes from the East?”
“Nah, that’s just an expression we use. What about the call?”
“Okay. But I’ll be standing in the booth with you. One wrong word, and…”
“Okay, okay. I get the picture.”
Stark kept watching for a roadside phone booth. Or the cops. Maybe the gas station jockey had seen the lipstick on the mirror and called Crowley. Miracles do happen. Happen all the time in the movies.
Outside a gas station, he spotted a phone booth. Maybe he could leave another message in the bathroom. He thought not. This guy was no dummy.
It was crowded with the two of them and soon got hot in the narrow phone booth. After putting in the additional change for long distance, he was connected to the travel agency in La Jolla.
“Let me speak to Klein, it’s Burdman calling.”
A few minutes later, a hesitant Klein came on the phone. “Hello,” she asked. “Who is this?”
“Klein. It’s Stark. I’m on my way to your office. Should be there in about an hour. I’m bringing you a guy who will make you rich. I’ve given him some samples of your merchandise. He’s thinking of switching to your brand. He can handle a lot of volume.”
Pause.
“Have you heard from Dummy?”
“Yeah, he took care of Momo, but missed me. He had a bad accident. He won’t be calling in.” He chuckled at the idea. There was no laughter from the other end. “Now, you only have me and my new partner to deal with.”
“I told you I wanted to think about it. I’m still not ready to go big time.”
“I don’t really think you have any choice. It’s us or the cops.”
“Get here at two o’clock. The office closes at one on Saturdays. I’ll be waiting for you both.”
The line went dead.
“Stark, your Mr. Klein sounds like a woman. I smell a rat.”
“No, no. This is legit. She’s a dame. But no sweetheart, believe me. She wants us to show up at two when there will be no witnesses. She’s got a staff of kids who work for her. The travel agency is no front. A great cover. The cops would never tumble to it.”
As they got back in the car, Stark bent over quickly as if he was putting the key in the ignition and reached under the seat for his gun, sliding it into his left pants pocket as they pulled away. Pablo was watching the road for oncoming cars. They rode the rest of the way in silence, Stark thinking of how to get out of this jam and free Dorie in Mexico. Nothing came to him. He tried to figure out Pablo, but the guy wouldn’t talk. Every time he tried to start up a conversation, to pass the time, he was told to shut up. He turned on the radio, hoping to catch some jazz. Instead, he got the news, which he tried to tune out. Suddenly, he caught his name. The police were looking for an Ernie Stark, white male, in connection with the murder of two men, both suspected of narcotics dealing. There followed a more detailed description.
The A.P.B. must still be out on him. The cops were probably looking for his station wagon. Pablo heard the same report.
“Stark? That’s you. Two murders? You must be some tough guy. You’re hotter than a firecracker. If they’re looking for you, they must be looking for this car. Pull in at the next bus stop you spot. We’ll ditch the car and take a bus to La Jolla. After the meeting, you’re on your own. You’re too hot. You’ll draw the cops like flies on sugar cane.”
They ditched the car a couple of streets over from the bus stop. They waited an hour for the next bus. The bus was overcrowded with people too poor to own cars. Most of them Mex. The bus stank. Pablo’s nice white suit was getting messy, Stark noticed with a smile.
It was after three when, after many stops, they finally rolled into La Jolla, both of them sweaty and dusty. Some businessmen, Stark thought. The agency lights were off. The sign in the door said “Closed.” Stark knocked, loudly, hoping Klein could hear it in the back room. He saw her, finally, come to the glass door. She didn’t look happy.
“You’re late. Where’s your car?”
“We had to ditch it.”
“I heard the news that Dummy and Momo are dead. Is that your doing, or his?” pointing to Pablo.
“He didn’t do it. Let’s get inside where we can talk. This is Mr. Pablo, my associate.”
Pablo did not smile or stretch out his hand. As they walked to the rear room, he asked, “Where’s Mr. Klein? Stark kept talking about the Man.”
“There’s no Mr. Klein. Stark knows that. I’m the boss.”
Inside her office, Klein sat behind her desk and pointed to the two chairs opposite. “Well, Mr. Pablo, what’s your proposition?”
“First, I need to know where your narcotics are coming from. This is high-grade shit, if you’ll pardon the vernacular.”
“I won’t tell you. That’s my protection.”
Pablo pulled out his .45 and pointed it at her. “Lady, you don’t have any protection. If you want to live, you’ll answer all my questions.”
“It’s coming in from Thailand. I have a branch of the agency t
here. I am sent a package by courier as I need it. The package is marked Tourist information,’“ said Klein, a little more hesitantly, as she looked down the barrel of the gun.
“Let me check another sample. How do I know the taste that I got from Stark was not specially created as a sell technique at a special discount price?”
“I can assure you that all of my product is first class and never sold below market.” She got up and went to a wall-safe behind a picture of Thailand hanging behind her seat, opened the safe, and took out several packets.
“Try any one you want. You’ll see they are all the real McCoy.”
Pablo pulled one packet across the desk with his left hand, the gun in his right, still pointing at her. As he tried to crack open the packet with his left thumb, his attention was momentarily distracted. Klein whipped open her desk drawer, but before she could get her gun out, Pablo fired twice. A .45 bullet leaves a big hole. The top of her head flew off and splattered the picture. Blood poured out over the desk and the samples as Klein fell over dead.
“I hate competition,” said Pablo. “Especially from amateurs. Especially gringas.”
As he began to swivel around his chair, Stark whipped out his .25 and fired three times into the white suit and self-satisfied smile. The room was filled with gun smoke. Good thing the neighboring stores on both sides of the travel agency were also closed this hot Saturday afternoon.
Swiftly, Stark stood and wiped his fingerprints off his gun and put it in Klein’s right hand. The cops will think they killed each other, he thought. He picked up her gun. He would need it.
He went to the safe and took nearly every bindle of shit he could find. There was almost twenty-five ounces there. He’d leave enough for the cops to buy the story of a drug deal gone bad. He’d taken enough to set up his own business in another city. And cash. He didn’t count it all, but it looked like twenty-five Gs. He was in business, for real, now. He threw it all into the bank deposit bag he found in the safe.
He needed wheels to get back to Dorie. Remembering that Klein had her car parked out behind the agency, he went through her purse and found the car keys. He took the cash in her wallet, as well. Every bit helped.
Before he left, he made sure to wipe his prints from the chair he’d been sitting in. He reached over the desk and picked up the packet Pablo had been trying to open. He needed a taste just to get back on the road. Klein’s blood hadn’t soaked the powder. He found the back door and opened it, then wiped down his prints with Klein’s handkerchief.
Her car was just where he thought it would be. It was a beauty. A new Cadillac, with a dark blue finish. As he got into the car, he put Klein’s gun in the glove compartment. He realized that it was one of his dreams to drive a great new car like this. It made him feel rich. Shit, he was rich. If only he didn’t have to go back to Mexico for Dorie. He turned the motor on and thought about it for a moment. He didn’t owe her anything. He never wanted anyone to owe him either. She was a survivor. She’d get back on her own.
20
__________
As he nosed the Caddy out on to Main Street, the car, almost as if it knew he’d made up his mind, headed south for the border.
“I must be nuts,” he said aloud. Stark was wrestling with himself. “The dame doesn’t mean anything to me. All right, she is a knock-out, has a nice sense of humor, has all the right moves in bed, but remember how quickly she wanted to set up house after one night? How did she hook me?
“I’ll be goddamned. Me, whose philosophy is to always keep moving. Never get tied down. Never let a dame get her hooks into you. The con artist conned by a dame. You’d never see Humphrey Bogart take a fall for some skirt. Didn’t he even send his girlfriend to prison?”
How was he going to free Dorie, surrounded by Pablo’s goons? They’d not be happy to see him - without their boss. Maybe he could buy them off with this Caddy? Must be worth a fortune in Mexico. Nah, that wouldn’t work. Not the dough or the high grade shit he was going to use to set up his own business would buy Dorie free.
The Caddy kept heading south. Always within the speed limit. Crowley must have discovered his abandoned station wagon by now. Would it confuse him that the car was headed north when Stark parked it? Or would Crowley think that he and Dorie had hoofed it into Mexico? Whatever, he’d have every badge in the state looking for him.
Maybe he should give the copper a call. They wouldn’t find Klein’s and Pablo’s bodies until Monday morning when the agency opened for business. Maybe he should give Crowley the news and let him wrap the whole business up. He wanted the Man. The Dealer. He’d give him two. And Momo’s murderer. Maybe that would buy him off.
He pulled into the first gas station on the road with a phone booth. It wasn’t until he told the gas jockey to fill it up that he realized this was the same gas station he’d stopped in last night with the hoods. Fortunately, it was a different jockey. He checked the men’s room. His lipstick message was still there. Under it was another message: “Call Kilroy instead.”
After feeding enough coins into the phone to satisfy the long distance operator, he was put through to Crowley. “Where are you? You are dead meat unless you turn yourself in. I’ve got the whole L.A.P.D. looking for you.”
“Let me get a word in, for Christ’s sake.”
“No, you listen to me. Not only are you wanted for Momo’s murder, but we found Dummy’s body. And guess whose apartment he was found shot in? Yours, bright boy. We’re talking a double homicide. It’s the gas chamber, unless you come in. Even then I can’t guarantee to save your ass.”
“Listen carefully, Crowley. I’m not coming in. I’m not going to take the frame for both murders. Check Dummy’s gun. You’ll see he fired the bullets that killed Momo. He was gunning for me. Waiting in my own apartment to take me down. I shot him first, but this was home invasion. He’s a killer, and I was next on his list.”
“Tell it to the judge. You are not conning me, kid. I’m making you for both murders.”
“Crowley, I’m no patsy. I’ll trade you two more stiffs for a long leash.”
“Long leash? Are you kidding? What could you possibly trade that would get you off the hook?”
“Two top drug dealers. You’ve been after me to find out who Momo’s supplier is. The Man. Well, the Man is not a man. It’s a middle-aged woman. A legitimate business person who’s been supplying Momo.”
“Give me a name.”
“Not so fast. I can also turn over the boss who’s been running the Mex network. He’s an even bigger deal.” “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“I was there when the two dealers shot it out. No one has found their bodies, yet. There’s drugs and records in her safe. The guy probably has a record.”
“Sounds fishy to me.”
“Her staff will identify me as Mr. Burdman. I met her a couple of days ago. Dummy left me a clue that I followed up.”
“So where can I find these individuals?”
He gave Crowley the address of the travel agency.
“La Jolla? That’s out of my jurisdiction. That’s not going to do me any good.”
“Crowley, call the head of the California Narcotics Squad. Tip him off that one of your ‘agents’ uncovered both ringleaders. They’ll give you a promotion.”
“Let’s see how things play out. Meanwhile, call me back tomorrow. I’ll call off the bloodhounds for twenty-four hours until I see if this story is legit. It better be.”
“What a pal,” said Stark as the phone disconnected.
It was late afternoon as Stark neared the border. He was tired and a little strung out. He needed to fix or at least get another taste to keep going. He still hadn’t figured out how he was going to rescue Dorie. Some suicide mission.
As his car pulled into the long line of vehicles, mostly American guys looking for a hot, cheap Saturday night in Tijuana, he noticed, on the other side of the road, a dame hitchhiking. Her thumb stuck out, her dress hiked up. Showing some leg t
o the sucker who might pick her up. But all the traffic was heading south. It took him a moment to register that the dame was Dorie. How the fuck had she managed to escape? Was he seeing things? He made a fast U-turn and pulled up alongside her.
“Nice car,” she said coolly. “Did you just buy it? Looks new.”
“Nah. It’s a trade-in. I got a good price on the station wagon. The dealer said it’s a valuable antique. Looking for a ride?”
“I’d rather go with anyone else, but it looks like you’re the only choice,” she quipped.
“How’d you escape? There were two mugs watching you.”
Dorie got in the car. “Fortunately, there’s a thing here called siesta. The two gentlemen were acting like rapists, so the Mrs. Cantina locked me in a back room and stood guard. I fell asleep, and when I woke up, she was snoring. I opened the latch on the door with my bobby pin. It wasn’t a real lock, just a hook-up job. The two heavies were asleep on tables in the cantina, so I just tip-toed out. I didn’t think they’d come after me if I tried to hitch a ride from the American side and close to the border cops.”
“Smooth. No muss. No fuss. And, we’re away.”
“What happened to Pablo?”
“The same thing he was planning for me. I just moved a minute faster. Faster than Klein did. He took her out and almost made it a double.”
“So now what do we do? Won’t the cops be after us? Actually, it’s you they want. Not me. I was just going along for the ride. Nice, though, to think that you were coming to my rescue. I never thought I’d see you again. Dead or alive.”
As Stark steered the car north, he decided to share his luck with Dorie.
“Look what goodies I’ve brought you, babe. Look at this stash I copped from Klein’s safe. There’s enough here to get stoned for a couple of years and enough cash for us to go into business. Even legit.”
He showed her the bag with the bindles and the cash.
“Are you nuts? Every cop in California is looking for you. And you want to go into the drug business? Pull over,” she said. “I need to get a taste. I’m really strung out.”
Stark: A Novel Page 14
