by R. J. Kaiser
Angel followed them into a parking garage and managed to park less than ten spots away, so as not to lose them. He trailed them at a distance, admiring the way Conti’s woman looked, in her short shiny dress that was tight as hell. The bitch had damn good legs, even if she didn’t have any tits.
Leaving the garage, they walked across the plaza area along with a bunch of other couples that were all dolled up, too—guys in monkey suits, broads in fancy party dresses, all looking like they were going to the prom, even if most of them were old and fat and gray. Angel was really confused, especially when he saw where everybody was headed—to the goddamn aquarium. The aquarium? What was this?
Conti and the broad went inside. Seeing that everybody had tickets, Angel knew that was as far as he was going. He wouldn’t get in the way he was dressed, even if he did have a ticket. Not that he had any interest in any fancy-schmancy party. He just wanted to scare the bejesus out of Conti and be done with it. Manuela would like it if he pulled it off someplace public where he could make Conti look like a jackass, though Angel still had trouble understanding why Manuela got off on that.
“They won’t even know it’s coming from you,” Angel told her, “so what’s the big deal? Better you spit in their eye.”
“I want to do it my way, Angel, all right?”
He just couldn’t understand it. “Hell, half the pleasure of whacking some sonovabitch is seeing the look in their eye when you shove the blade between their ribs. The whole thing only takes a second, but you know exactly what they’re thinking. ‘Fuck, Angel Ordon˜ez got me. That little sonovabitch.”’ He’d laughed. “There’s nothing like knowing your face is the last one they’ll ever see.”
“Hey, amigo,” one of the ticket-takers in the monkey suits called to him. “Service entrance is around the side.” He pointed.
For a minute, Angel didn’t understand, then he realized the guy thought he was a worker. He was about to tell the guy to go fuck himself, when it occurred to him they could be handing him an opportunity to get inside. So he went over to the guy and said, “Uh, yeah, but I wanted to make sure I had the right place. Which party is this?”
“Area Chamber of Commerce Ball.” The guy pointed again. “Staff goes in the service entrance.”
Angel nodded and wandered around the building. He found a catering truck at the gate and half a dozen guys unloading stuff from the back. Acting like he belonged, Angel walked past the truck, following one of the guys through the door. He wandered down the hall to the big kitchen where a whole mob of people were scurrying around, getting ready for the party. Then Angel saw a guy and a broad coming out of a little room to the side. The guy was buttoning up his white jacket and, for a second, Angel thought maybe they’d been screwing. But when somebody else came out, he realized that was where the workers were dressing.
Angel went in and, sure enough, it was a changing room with lockers. There were two guys talking while they put on their white jackets. Nobody paid much attention to him. Seeing a couple of piles of the jackets in different sizes, Angel went over and picked one out. All he had on was a T-shirt and black pants. His pants were pretty badly worn, but not all that different from what the others were wearing. He slipped on the jacket and buttoned it up.
The two guys gave him a funny look as they left, maybe because Angel hadn’t shaved for several days and had a bandage on his face. Maybe he didn’t look so sharp as everybody else, but what the fuck—what were they going to do, fire him? He followed the guys through the kitchen and out to where a fat woman with the attitude of a prison guard was giving assignments. Angel didn’t wait for somebody to figure out he didn’t belong.
Entering the main hall, he was amazed. The big room was filled with tables with white tablecloths and fancy dishes and glasses and flowers. The room was long and curved, with what seemed like hundreds of tables spread the length of it. Against one wall there were alcoves with dozens of huge fish tanks with all kinds of brightly colored, wildass-looking fish. Guests were milling about, standing, talking, drinking, staring at the fish. Halfway down there was a band playing, and a few couples were dancing in the empty area that had been made into a dance floor.
Angel wandered along, amazed. He’d seen stuff like this on TV, in James Bond movies and shit like that, but he’d never actually been to this kind of party. Judging by all the gold watches and diamonds and pearls, not to mention all those expensive cars in the parking garage, there was a lot of dough—as well as fish—floating around this place.
Angel kept his eyes open for Conti and Jade, though he wondered if he’d find them in this mob. At the end of the hall there was a smaller darker passage, which people seemed to be entering and leaving. Angel followed the crowd, discovering it accessed dozens more tanks containing a jillion kinds of exotic fish and other creatures. In the relative closeness of the winding passageway, he could smell the perfume and cologne. The darkness reminded him of the Haunted House at Disneyland, except for the fact that the walls were fish tanks and everybody was talking and laughing.
Angel figured that if Conti was in here checking out the fish, he’d never find him, so he turned around and went back to the main hall. During his trip along the concourse, he realized there was an open-air terrace outside the hall where dozens more guests were having drinks in the balmy air. He made a quick circuit and was just about to give up when he spotted Conti and the woman by the railing, looking out at the moon shining on the bay.
Angel wondered if this might not be the opportunity he needed to humiliate him in front of a bunch of people, though he wasn’t sure just what he could do. He’d left his gun in the car, but maybe something else would do.
Nearing them, Angel realized they weren’t being all kissy-face, they were arguing. The broad was really giving it to him.
“You definitely gave me the impression Mac was going to be here, Art,” she said, sounding real pissed.
“I thought he was. Honest, Jade.”
“Did you?”
“Yeah. And he wants to see you, too. Badly. In fact, he said tomorrow, if you can do it. At his place.”
“Seriously?”
“Swear to God. I’m being straight with you. The whole point of this was for you to be with Mac. He couldn’t come at the last minute, that’s all. Otherwise he’d be here.”
Angel, who was at the railing, only a few feet away, felt somebody grab his arm.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
Angel turned. It was the fat broad from earlier who’d acted like a prison guard. She towered over him, the folds of fat forming a scowl on her face. He jerked his arm free.
“Back off, huh.”
She drew herself up, all stiff and haughty like she had a broomstick up her ass. Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you just standing around? Haven’t you been given an assignment?”
“I never did no assignment in school, why should I do one now?”
She looked astounded. “What’s your name? I don’t recognize you. Are you one of the contract workers?”
“No, I’m one of the rich SOB’s who came to dance. So why don’t you go back to your pigpen and leave me alone?”
Her eyes rounded. “Who are you?”
“Fuck off.”
The woman turned and called to a couple of the barmen, beckoning them to come help her. Angel groaned, knowing there was going to be a confrontation. Glancing over his shoulder he saw that Conti and the broad, Jade, had wandered off. Now he wouldn’t be able to find out what was up. He glared at the sow, whose pink skin had turned scarlet. The two barmen came up next to her.
“Escort this man to the kitchen and call security,” she told them.
“What’s your problem?” Angel said, getting really pissed.
“Come on, buddy,” one of the guys said, taking Angel’s arm. He was a head taller and outweighed him by fifty pounds.
Angel shoved him away. “Keep your hands off, asshole.”
“Security!” the woman bellowed. “Security!”
Angel, who was really pissed now, stabbed his finger at them, punctuating each word as he spoke. “Keep-your-goddamn-hands-off. Comprende?”
The man on the ground bellowed like a wounded moose. Everybody within fifty feet was staring.
Angel knew it was time to split. He threw a final hateful glare at the sow, muttered, “Fucking bitch,” then he walked off, giving them all the middle-finger salute over his shoulder.
Santa Monica
The time difference in India was thirteen and a half hours, but Percy Gaylord could never figure out whether to add or subtract the extra hour and a half. Oh, sod it! he thought. The hour there was decent in any case, so he’d ring up Dharam at the Times and see if his fax had produced results.
As usual Dharam Awasthi was slow to come to the phone. His secretary said he was taking morning tea, but he could be bothered for a jingle coming halfway around the world.
“Awasthi here,” he said over the crackle on the line.
“Dharam, it’s Percy in America. Los Angeles.”
“Yes, dear boy.”
“Did you get my fax?”
“I did indeed. The photo was difficult to make out, but we think we may have made an identification.”
“Smashing! Who is he?”
“Quite likely one Arjay Pantel, an inveterate impostor with half a dozen aliases of record, presently wanted in Britain, Canada and New Zealand.”
“Virtually the whole bloody Commonwealth.”
“Quite right.”
“What’s his game?”
“Fraud and theft, for the most part. Seems to ingratiate himself with the wealthy, influential classes, then, in the dead of night, makes off with the silver and jewels. His specialty seems to be impersonations. The gentleman’s sufficiently urbane and cultured that he passes himself off as whatever the situation calls for—university professor, international banker, art dealer, even minor royalty on one occasion. The authorities tell us Pantel has been living abroad in semiretirement, but nobody seems to know just where.”
“No longer true, old bean.”
“Then you have him in your sights, do you?”
“I do indeed.”
“Judging by the photo there’s a connection with Miss Kumar.”
“Yes, but too early to share details, Dharam. You shall have the whole bloody business in good time, I assure you.”
“Keep in mind, I’m not interested in gossip, Percy. I want the Ramda Bol story.”
“And you shall have it, I promise you. Have your checkbook ready.”
“You have my word.”
“Cheerio!”
Percy slipped the receiver back into the cradle and gave himself a spirited “Hurrah!”
For a few minutes he paced the room, considering strategy. He had the leverage he needed to force Venita’s hand. That was key. Arjay Pantel was a godsend. Blimey! Percy couldn’t have asked for more.
But if he were to do this right, he’d need more photographs. Lots of photographs. The more lurid the better. Perhaps that should be the first step, even before his interview with Venita, an interview she would have no choice now but to give him.
Giddy with joy, Percy went to the window and, pulling back the curtain, peered out at the avenue. Up the street he saw the blinking lights of a pub called Charlie’s Joint. Normally he wasn’t much of a drinker, but Percy Gaylord was in sufficiently high spirits that he reckoned he’d indulge himself a wee bit. Oh, happy day!
West Hollywood
As they turned onto her street, Art Conti glanced over at her. “You still pissed?”
Jade shifted uncomfortably. “I really hate being used.”
“That wasn’t my intention, honest. I really wanted to help you. And you did make some good contacts tonight, didn’t you?”
“It was an afterthought, Art. You intended this as a social thing from the beginning, only you weren’t straight with me.”
“Look, I admit I was attracted to you and yes, I hoped you might see me as more than just a business associate, but the business part is serious, too.”
Art pulled up to the curb and stopped in front of her place. He turned off the engine and looked over at her like a wounded puppy. Jade tensed slightly, hoping he wouldn’t make a play for her, adding insult to injury. During most of the evening he’d been respectful, cautious even. They had danced and he’d held her close, but Jade hadn’t given him any encouragement whatsoever. If he was to be believed, things were under way with Mac McGowan. She hoped that wasn’t bullshit, too.
“Were you being straight with me about Mac wanting to see me tomorrow?” she asked.
“Yes, he’s got some sort of personal thing going and needs an investigator. I told him you were the best, Jade, so he asked me to line something up with you as quick as possible. He said he’d pay you triple your usual per diem since it’s Sunday.”
“You have any idea what it’s about?”
“Nope. Mac didn’t say. You need to call him in the morning and set up a time.”
“And what about the Pool Maids investigation?”
“I guess he plans to talk to you about that, too.”
A flutter of excitement went through her. Maybe playing Cinderella would end up paying, after all. God knew she needed the work. “I appreciate you arranging it, Art.”
“I do have a lot of influence with Mac. And he trusts my judgment. A good word from me was essential.”
Jade understood what he was getting at. What it amounted to was, “You owe me, baby.” So, what did he think? That she’d put out for him out of gratitude? With men, you could never be sure. “I appreciate your confidence,” she said.
Art gave her a long, suave—yes, seductive—look as if to say, “And now, with the niceties behind us, let’s you and me get down to business.” Jade knew she had to cut this one off before it got started.
“It was a nice evening, Art. I got to meet some people. I’m pleased Mac’s interested in talking to me. I had fun and I’d like to thank you.” She extended her hand.
Art Conti blinked, but after a moment he took her hand. Rather than shake it, though, he gripped it firmly. “I had a great time myself. You’re quite a lady, Jade.”
She smiled, but it faded when he ran his other arm lightly over her forearm, all the while looking into her eyes with this “Mr. Casanova” expression on his face. Surely he couldn’t be stupid enough to force himself on her, she thought.
“As a matter of fact, you’re a refreshing change from what I have to deal with day to day. Dating a cop’s a new angle and I like it. You’re an amazing woman.”
Amazing woman? she thought. What was with this guy? Did he think she was an airhead? Didn’t he know how transparent he was? “Thanks,” she said, “but I don’t really think of this as a date. Wouldn’t you say we’re more like colleagues at a business function?”
“The business part’s over, Jade.” Art put his hand on her knee, drawing it a ways up her bare thigh. Her whole body went stiff. Taking his wrist, she removed his hand from her leg. “Art, I’m a serious person, and I’m not interested in you in that way,” she insisted.
There was utter disbelief on his face. She reached for the door handle.
“I’m going in now.” The door swung open and she climbed out awkwardly, feeling like she was all elbows and knees. Art quickly opened his door and got out, too. Jade looked at him over the roof of the car. “Good night. And thanks.”
“Hang on, I’ll walk you to the door.”
“Not necessary.” She turned before he had a chance to argue and headed for her front door.
She hadn’t gone ten feet before she heard a car come roaring up the street, tires squealing. Whirling around, she saw the vehicle flash past
Art, who was smashed against his car, his eyes round as melons. The car, an old Chevy, couldn’t have missed him by more than a foot. Jade looked after it, but its lights were off and she couldn’t catch the plate. The Chevy careened around the corner and was gone.
Meanwhile, Art, with both arms sprawled over the top of his car, looked about as comfortable as a guy in the middle of a prostate exam. “Christ,” he stammered.
Jade went around to the driver’s side as Art unpeeled himself from the door. He was breathing hard, as though he’d just run around the block, his body slack as a wet towel.
“You all right?” she asked.
“Damned if I know. What was that?”
“I think somebody just tried to run you down. Or scare the shit out of you.”
“They were successful.” He looked down at himself, as if to make sure all his limbs were attached.
“Did you get a look at the driver?” she asked.
Art shook his head. “No, I didn’t see a damn thing except the tank bearing down on me. How about you?”
“No, nothing.”
He stared at her for a minute, still struggling to catch his breath. “You got a jealous boyfriend by any chance?”
“Me?” The suggestion seemed absurd, but then she recalled Ruthie’s supposed sighting of Ricky a few days ago. “Well, no,” she replied, “not really.”
“Not really?”
“There’s a remote possibility, Art, but I really don’t think…no, it couldn’t have been anybody I know. I’m sure.”
“Well, I don’t have any jealous boyfriends, that’s for sure. The driver was a guy, wasn’t he?”
“I think so, but I didn’t get a very good look.”
“My impression was a guy, too.”
“You want to call the police?” she asked.
“I don’t think I want the hassle, Jade. And except for losing a couple of years off my life, no harm was done.”
She didn’t want to invite him in for coffee or whatever, but she almost felt duty-bound after what had just happened. Art let her off the hook before she could issue the invitation, though.
