Tipping the Valet

by K. K. Beck

  “He’s getting away,” said Yuri. “Come on. We’ll get him, too. Get in this car.”

  Dmytro dutifully crawled inside the open passenger door of Tyler’s Volvo and opened the driver’s door. Yuri clambered in behind the wheel.

  Flavia was now sitting up, clutching the headrest and staring out the back window. “Those guys are following us! In your car!”

  ———

  DETECTIVE Chin was on the radio yelling at his backup patrol cars. “All hell is busting loose! Get down there and seal off the cul-de-sac! But don’t turn on your sirens and lights. Thompson and I are going down there on foot on the water side. At least two guys in valet jackets, and a bunch of other guys—I think five. I want ’em all. When you’re in place we’ll move.”

  Tyler had just realized that the winding alley he took had now dead-ended in a large gate with a sign on it that said MARINE ENGINE REBUILD. QUALITY WORK SINCE 1954. DOGS ON PATROL.

  “Damn,” he said, spinning around 180 degrees to get back out and clipping a Dumpster and a pile of bricks. Even in his adrenaline-laced state, the old valet instincts kicked in, and for a nanosecond he worried about how majorly pissed off the owner of this Lamborghini would be when he got his car back. He was driving halfway on what appeared to be some kind of sidewalk with a curb. “Put on your seat belt!” he yelled.

  Now Flavia was looking out the front window. She was speaking Italian way too fast for Tyler to understand her, but it was clear what had agitated her. Tyler’s car was headed right toward them. He floored the Lamborghini and managed to pass it on the left. “Oh my God!” she said, now in English, fumbling with the seat belt.

  “This Lamborghini is way faster than my Volvo,” said Tyler.

  He tore back down the little lane. Flavia was now reporting from the rear window again. “They’re turning around!”

  Tyler got the Lamborghini to the end of the lane and headed back to where he had emerged from the cul-de-sac, then made a sharp right toward what he hoped was a short spur to Leary Way.

  “Can they see us?” he yelled. “Can they see which way we turned?”

  “Not yet,” said Flavia.

  But he knew they would in a few seconds. So when he saw the parking garage entrance of the Malibu Fitness Center, he turned into it and executed a quick series of corkscrew turns. Damn! The car handled them beautifully. But at this rate of speed there were some amazing squeals coming from the tires. “Maybe we can hide here,” he said, pulling his phone out of Chip’s spare Elite Valet jacket. “And maybe we should call 9-1-1.” He was pretty sure whoever was following them would fly right past the entrance. But did he really want to call the cops? What would he tell them? That Vic and Chip messed up his car window?

  ———

  “WHERE the hell did they go?” demanded Yuri as he emerged onto Leary Way.

  Dmytro said, “Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe we should get out of here.”

  As Tyler executed his final turn up onto the parking garage roof, he was amazed to see a police cruiser heading straight toward him. And there was one more right behind it.

  He threw the Lamborghini into reverse, and corkscrewed back down almost as fast as he’d come up, his head over his shoulder. Flavia stared straight ahead, making eye contact with the two policemen in the patrol car. The front bumpers of each car seemed about ten inches apart and both of them were hurtling in circles toward the street.

  “Jesus!” said the cop at the wheel. “He’s got a female passenger.”

  “Whoever he is, he sure knows how to drive fast backward,” said his partner. He grabbed the radio. “Got some kind of exotic Italian car right in front of us. Male driver, female passenger. Want us to proceed to the cul-de-sac or follow this vehicle?”

  “You get over to the cul-de-sac, and the other car should stop the Lamborghini,” said Chin. He and Thompson had now run on foot to the yawning chain-link gate of Swanson Dry Dock and unholstered their guns. They crept up behind the group of men. There seemed to be three assailants who had now dragged the two guys in matching windbreakers to their feet and were backhanding them across their faces. Chin drew his gun, while Thompson looked up at the looming trawler. “There could be more of them in there. Wanna wait for backup?”

  ———

  “HE’S gone,” said Dmytro to Yuri, the wind from the broken window ruffling his hair. “We can never catch a Lamborghini in this car. Let’s go back.” He tugged plaintively at Yuri’s sleeve.

  “Goddammit!” said Yuri, executing a U-turn and heading back to the trawler. “You people fucked this up real good!”

  Tyler had now pulled onto Leary Way from the parking garage and headed in the same direction he assumed his pursuers had taken, away from the cul-de-sac. One police car was behind him. The other went in the opposite direction.

  “The police are right behind us!” shrieked Flavia.

  “I know, but I want to lead them to those guys in my car. I don’t want them to get away. In this car, I can definitely catch up to them. We can explain later.” Behind them they now heard sirens.

  “Wait! There’s your car,” Flavia screamed as Tyler’s Volvo shot past them in the other direction.

  Tyler made a sharp U-turn and headed back after his own car. The patrol car executed the same turn, but not so tightly, and followed Tyler and Flavia in the Lamborghini, with the Volvo ahead of it. “I’ve almost got him!” said Tyler.

  As the trio of cars tightened into a closer formation, right at the head of the cul-de-sac, a twenty-foot auto hauler with California plates crossed their path, headed toward the Kapitan Zhukov to take on a load of high-end stolen cars for delivery to California. It was empty and loose and jangly, and because it was very long and the entrance to the cul-de-sac was narrow and at a sharp angle, it had slowed down considerably, so that it was practically stationary.

  The driver of the car hauler noticed three cars coming toward him from his lofty cab and jammed on the gas to get out of the way. The front of the carrier hit a darkened patrol car blocking the cul-de-sac, and fishtailed slightly to the left on impact, but the driver had just managed to avoid getting hit from the side by the elderly Volvo carrying Yuri and Dmytro. Instead, the Volvo crashed into a second car carrier that had been following the first one.

  Close behind it, Tyler took in the sight of the two car carriers, one tangled up with the police car, the other with his own car. He managed to pull the Lamborghini slightly to the right so it bounced off his Volvo and ended up crashing into the tail end of the second empty carrier.

  Just then, the police cruiser that had been pursuing the Lamborghini plowed into the back of the Volvo, then ricocheted into the side of the Lamborghini.

  In a matter of seconds, the night was filled with the sounds of engines, squealing tires and brakes, a total of six crunching collisions of metal on metal, at least one car alarm, and two police sirens.

  Suddenly, there was silence. Smoke rose from the collection of overheated and mangled vehicles. Tyler helped Flavia out of the passenger side past the airbag—the door on his side was caved in. They stood there, hand in hand, as police officers got out of both patrol cars looking dazed. The drivers of the car carriers were hanging out of their cabs looking at the four cars that were now entangled with parts of their vehicles.

  “Are you okay?” Tyler said to Flavia.

  She nodded.

  Tyler looked over at his car. Yuri was getting out of the driver’s seat. Blood trickled down his face. He looked shaky until he saw Dymtro emerge from the other side of the car, then he started yelling at him in Russian, and pounding on the roof of the car.

  “I can’t believe it,” said Tyler. “My car got hit three times. And the windshield is messed up, too.”

  Flavia turned to him and put her hand on his chest. “I didn’t know Americans could drive that fast!” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  THE MEETING AT THE PROSECUTORS’ office had just broken up. Detectives MacNab and Lukowski from H
omicide were out in the hall talking to Debbie Myers from Crimes Against Persons and Dave Chin from Auto Theft.

  “So did I get this right? Everybody flipped?” said MacNab. “Chip and Vic ratted each other out? The Zelenkos ratted out this California dude—Yalta Yuri?”

  “And so did the car carrier drivers,” said Dave Chin.

  “What about the Russian guy on the trawler?” said Debbie Myers.

  “He ratted out Vic. But he said he was coerced by some Russian mafia guys back in the old country. And then he skipped back to Russia,” said Chin. “We’re not sure if somehow the trawler got out of port with him aboard, or if he just flew commercial. Alaska Airlines can get you to Vladivostok. And the guy who killed your tattoo guy and shot at Scott is dead.”

  “That’s right,” said Lukowski. “Sergei Lagunov. The Zelenkos said he killed Old Pasha and he was shooting at Chip, not Scott Duckworth, for trying to muscle in on Yalta Yuri’s car smuggling deal. Hard to dispute, since we found the weapon used in both shootings at Sergei Lagunov’s apartment.”

  “So who killed Sergei Lagunov?” said Debbie.

  “For a while it looked like Dmytro Zelenko was ready to rat out his cousin Volodya on that one,” answered Lukowski. “But he couldn’t come up with any reason why Volodya would have killed Sergei. And the most we could get out of Volodya was that he didn’t do it, but if he did, it would have been self-defense. Then they both stopped talking.”

  He shrugged. “So we ended up not charging anyone for either the murder of the old guy or the drive-by shooting because the killer is dead. And we don’t really have a lead on why anyone would kill him, other than that he was a general scumbag.”

  The detectives were silent for a moment.

  MacNab said, “Too bad we couldn’t get that annoying Tyler Benson on anything. Maybe reckless endangerment. He could have killed someone with those driving stunts of his.”

  Chin looked thoughtful. “Yeah, but without him, we wouldn’t have been able to nail Vic and Chip and those goons from California. Anyway, the prosecutor wasn’t interested in him. Looks like Auto Theft was the big winner here.”

  Debbie Myers added, “I hear the extortion unit is checking into the Zelenkos’ leaning on that Italian restaurant.”

  Lukowski shrugged again. “Well, we got a lot of paperwork to do. But when it’s done, we will have cleared up a couple of cases. And Duckworth’s pals at City Hall won’t be all over us. Let’s go get a beer.” Then he paused. “Wait a minute. What’s happening to Red Ott?”

  “Oh,” said Debbie. “They’re getting him on an unlicensed firearm thing. He could have wiggled out, but he was such a jerk about everything they decided to nail him. His uncle died years ago. I guess he finally ran out of any goodwill from the department.”

  She frowned. “Maybe we cleared a few cases, but I think we might be missing something.”

  ———

  HELENE Applegate and Scott Duckworth sat next to each other on the sofa in her office. “I went ahead and cut that reward check to Roger’s son, Tyler,” said Helene.

  “Okay,” said Scott, pecking away at an iPhone.

  “And as far as Roger’s desire to have you bankroll that Rigatoniria thing, I hope you agree it’s not a winner. I mean, the customer does all the work and then the food would probably all spill in the car on the way home and get cold. I feel sorry for him and all, but you can’t cave in to everybody that wants a piece of you. It’s not like Alba. That’s a good investment. They have a proven track record. And the food is so wonderful! Flavia and her brother are nice young people and they deserve a break.”

  “Fine with me,” said Scott. He gestured toward the window. “What’s going on out there?” A team of landscapers was at work, removing large amounts of gravel in wheelbarrows.

  “Oh, I thought I told you about that,” said Helene. “That Japanese garden was so depressing. We’re doing a kind of Mediterranean patio. Pots of geraniums. It will really cheer me up.”

  “That’s good,” said Scott. “I really want you to be happy.”

  “Oh, I am,” said Helene.

  ———

  “OKAY,” said Tyler, sitting in the passenger seat next to Flavia. “You’re doing great. You can change lanes now. So signal.” She’d had her learner’s permit for a month.

  From the backseat Gus Iversen said, “Tyler, I’m really looking forward to this. It’s pretty exciting to have an in with the owner of a fancy restaurant like this. And we’ve got so much to celebrate. You graduated. You paid off your student loan. The cops aren’t after you, and Veronica got that felony off your record.”

  Tyler said, “And Flavia’s doing great, too. Okay, see the red light? Prepare to stop. Think you can make it all the way? Are you ready for downtown? We don’t have to take the freeway.”

  “I never take the freeway,” said Grandpa. “What’s the point? Surface streets are good enough for me. Why’s everyone in such a rush?”

  Fifteen minutes later, when they arrived at the valet area in front of Alba, Tyler said, “Okay. Now all you have to do is pull up, but leave the keys in the car.”

  Behind the valet podium, Brian put down his pen and the notebook with his zombie screenplay in it and opened both Tyler and Grandpa’s doors, and Carlos, another valet who had been promoted to Alba from Donna’s, opened Flavia’s door.

  “Hey, I think I did everything right,” said Flavia, unfastening her seat belt and looking at Tyler with a dazzling smile of triumph. While Gus poked his cane out of the car and got out of the backseat, Tyler leaned over, removed Flavia’s glasses, tossed them into the beverage holder, and kissed her.

  “Yes, you did everything right. Just don’t forget to tip the valet on the way out.”

  About the Author

  K. K. BECK is the author of many mysteries and the creator of two series sleuths (besides Lukowski & MacNab): Iris Cooper, a 1920s coed, and Jane da Silva, a down-on-her-luck lounge singer. Under her full name, Kathrine Beck, she wrote the biography Opal. Her short stories have been nominated for the Edgar, Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity awards. She is the mother of three grown children and lives in her hometown, Seattle.

  Critical Acclaim for K. K. Beck

  “Ms. Beck neatly brings everything together. The story is imaginative, the presentation light-hearted, the characters believable.”

  —Newgate Callendar, New York Times on The Body in the Volvo

  “She knows how to combine mirth and murder in a slickly packaged, highly satisfying story.”

  —San Diego Union Tribune on The Body in the Cornflakes

  “From the first few paragraphs of K. K. Beck’s We Interrupt This Broadcast you know you’re going to find the book smooth, easy, and a delight to read.”

  —Houston Chronicle

  “You’re likely to find yourself laughing out loud.”

  —Seattle Times on We Interrupt This Broadcast

  “Beck’s deft pacing keeps readers furiously turning pages.”

  —Publishers Weekly on Bad Neighbors

  “Hitchcock would have loved K. K. Beck’s new novel, Fake, a clever thriller that moves along at a terrific pace.”

  —South China Morning Post

  “A finely tuned eye and ear and a benignly critical edge… Good work from Beck, whose unhackneyed stories get better all the time.”

  —Kirkus (starred review) on The Body in the Volvo

  Mystery Fiction by K. K. Beck

  Workplace Mysteries (with Lukowski & MacNab)

  The Body in the Volvo

  The Body in the Cornflakes

  We Interrupt This Broadcast

  Tipping the Valet

  Iris Cooper Series

  Death in a Deck Chair

  Murder in a Mummy Case

  Peril Under the Palms

  Jane da Silva Series

  A Hopeless Case

  Amateur Night

  Electric City

  Cold Smoked

  Other Mystery Fiction


  Death of a Prom Queen

  Young Mrs. Cavendish and the Kaiser’s Men

  Unwanted Attentions

  Without a Trace

  Bad Neighbors

  The Revenge of Kali-Ra

  The Tell-Tale Tattoo and Other Stories

  For Younger Readers

  Fake

  Snitch

  Nonfiction

  Opal: A Life of Enchantment, Mystery and Madness