by R. J. Kaiser
“What happened to him?” she asked.
“According to the paper he did a home invasion and got shot. And you’ll never guess who did it. That detective that Art hired to check up on the maids. Jade Morro.”
“Jade shot Angel?”
“According to the paper. Blew him away right out in front of her house.”
Manuela’s mouth sagged open. “The fucking bitch.”
“Mr. McGowan was there, too.”
Manuela grimaced. “Mac?”
“That’s what the paper says. There was some other guy with Angel, but he got away. Cops are looking for him.” Ella took a final drag on her cigarette, then stubbed out the butt on her plate. “You know anything about this, Manuela, or shouldn’t I ask?”
“It don’t matter,” she said numbly. “Everything’s so fucked up now.”
Tears filled her eyes. Manuela could see that her whole life was totally messed up. As soon as the cops caught the guy with Angel, they’d know she was the one who was paying to have Jade and Mac killed. She’d go back to prison, this time for a long, long time. And while she was rotting away in the slammer, scrubbing toilets, the bitch cop would be living in Mac McGowan’s big house, the beautiful house that should have been hers.
“Ella,” she said, “I’m tired of getting screwed over, and I’m not putting up with it no more. I’ve had it. You know where I can get a gun?”
“Manuela, what are you thinking?”
“It don’t matter what. In fact, better you don’t know. Just tell me where I can get a gun.”
“You sure?”
“Ella, do I look like I’m joking? I’m really sick of my life. Honest to God I am.”
“I don’t have a gun,” Ella said, “but when that shithead Kenny took off, leaving me all those bills, he could have left that .22 pistol of his around here somewhere.”
“Like where?” Manuela said.
Ella shrugged. “It could have been in the hall closet on the shelf, but who knows? I don’t pay attention to that shit. For all I know, somebody could have already taken it.”
Manuela was confused, but then she saw what Ella was getting at. She was playing dumb on purpose.
“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” Manuela said, getting up from the sofa.
She walked to the hall closet. She was too short to reach the shelf, but she pulled over a chair and climbed up. Sure enough, she found the gun, a nice shiny one. And it was loaded.
Manuela weighed it in her hand for a second or two. She remembered the last time she’d used a gun and the way she felt after she’d wasted that sonovabitch Donny. That time she didn’t have half as good a reason as she did now. The bitch cop had shot her brother. Sure, Angel was an asshole, but he was still her brother.
But even more important than that, Mac and Jade had ruined her life. She’d never be rich, never have that house and lots of babies. Her mother would die sad and poor and it was all because of them. Well, fuck ’em. They weren’t going to have it, either. She’d kill them first. With Ella Vanilla’s gun.
Bel Air
Jade was vaguely aware of the aroma of coffee, but also the flowered scent of the sheets. She had a terrible headache, as well. And a lump on the side of her head like a big fat goose egg. Last night the paramedic had told her she had a slight concussion and, because she’d been unconscious for a couple of minutes, needed to be checked out by a doctor. But she didn’t want to go to the hospital, even when Mac urged her to.
“All right, then,” he said. “If you’re going to be stubborn about not getting medical attention, I insist you come home with me.”
“Why? Because you want to play doctor? I thought that syndrome usually ended around age five.”
“Smart-ass. No, it’s because I gave my neighbor, Dr. Chuck Benjamin, a hell of a deal on a new pool, and I’ve been looking for a favor he can do for me. I’ll ask him to make a house call. He only has to walk across the street and up a house.”
She’d liked that idea a lot better than going to the hospital, an experience that invariably bothered her because of the ordeal she’d gone through with her mother. Anyway, being with Mac had a lot of appeal. She’d feel safe and comfortable in his big house. And she trusted him.
The homicide detectives had shown up at her place about fifteen minutes after Jade got her ice bag. Their questioning had been a bit more rigorous than the beat cops. By the time she and Mac were finally allowed to leave, the second suspect hadn’t been either arrested or identified. It was after eleven when they finally reached his place. She brought only a change of clothes and an overnight bag for toiletries and the few valuable possessions she had, like the emerald ring she’d inherited from her mother.
Mac’s doctor-neighbor, a portly little man, was nice but hadn’t looked very doctorly in a polo shirt and chinos. He concurred with the paramedic’s diagnosis of a light concussion. “I am going to have Mac wake you up every couple of hours, though. Concussion can be tricky and you were out a little longer than I’d like to see.” He’d smiled wryly. “I assume you won’t mind having a male nurse.”
The doc must have assumed she and Mac had something going. She didn’t bother to correct his misapprehension. It would give the neighbors something to talk about. After he’d left, she asked Mac if playing nurse was his fallback position for guests who didn’t want to play doctor.
“Don’t get sassy. Doctor left me a big syringe with instructions to medicate you if you start mouthing off.”
“Nurse Ratchet.”
“I predict you’ll be sick of my face after I’ve awakened you three or four times in the night.”
“Mac, this may be the end of a perfectly delightful relationship.”
“Go wash up and get to bed! And don’t forget to scrub behind your ears.”
Jade smiled at the recollection of their repartee. Mac had tried to put her at ease. He’d largely succeeded. Every two hours he did come in to awaken her, but he’d been gentle, usually tousling her hair or giving her cheek a pinch before turning off the light and retreating to his own room. Were it not for the dull ache in her head, she might have pronounced her stay at Mac’s to be a delight.
His guest room was really a guest suite with its own bath and small sitting room. She’d taken one look at the big four-poster bed and almost cried. First, because she’d been dead tired, and second, because she’d never slept in such a grand bed before. The closest had been when Ricky had taken her to the Del Coronado in San Diego to celebrate their “engagement.” How could the bastard have not seen how cruel that would seem in retrospect?
But Mac McGowan was a different kettle of fish. He struck her as everything Ricky Santos was not—a gentleman, a guy who didn’t have to put his own interests first, a considerate human being. And though he wasn’t the prototypical dreamboat, he had a quiet strength that was compelling. Mac was the kind of guy who grew on you and became more attractive the better you got to know him. Ruthie would have found his money alluring because that kind of thing impressed her. Not Jade. It wasn’t that she had taken a vow of poverty or eschewed material goods— money just didn’t excite her the way it did some people. She appreciated Mac for his modesty. He really was a decent person.
There was a very light rap on the door.
“Yes?” she said.
“Can I come in?” Mac’s voice.
“Sure.”
He stuck his head in the door. “Final wake-up call.”
“I was awake.”
He opened the door wider, but didn’t come into the room, respecting her privacy even though three times during the night he’d come to the bed. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit over the head with a hose bib, but otherwise pretty good.”
“Feel the pea under your mattress?”
“Sure did.”
“Terrific. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“What?”
“In this establishment genuine princesses get fifty percent off the rack r
ate.”
“But that still includes breakfast, right?”
“It does indeed. Coffee’s on, by the way.”
“You wouldn’t have tea, by any chance?”
“That’s right, you’re a tea drinker. I forgot. I’m sure we can accommodate you. There’s also juice, muffins, oatmeal, toast, eggs any style as long as they’re scrambled or boiled… That’s pretty much my repertoire, I’m afraid.”
“A muffin and juice would be fine.”
“No extra charge for cholesterol.”
She laughed. “You’re a wonderful host, Mac.”
“You were fortunate to come during low season.”
She smiled appreciatively. “Seriously, the only place I’ve ever been that’s ever come close to the accommodations here is the Hotel Del Coronado.”
“Ah, the Del. That’s where I honeymooned.”
“Me, too! Well, sort of honeymooned. It was a festive weekend, let me put it that way.”
Mac seemed to understand without being judgmental. It was funny how comfortable he was to be with. And how nice it was not to be afraid of being herself. Maybe that’s what she disliked most about men—they seemed to force a woman to look at herself through their eyes. Mac McGowan seemed to be an exception.
“By the way,” he said, “you made the paper. Actually, we both did. A brief piece in the metro section. ‘P.I. Thwarts Home Invasion, Suspect Killed In Shootout,’ or words to that effect. Why they threw my name in, I don’t know.”
“You captured one of the guys.”
“And let him get away.”
“Only because you were concerned about me.”
“Well, none of that was in the article, so it doesn’t matter. Maybe they were going for the prurient interest of me being at your place that time of night, I don’t know.”
“You’re rich and famous,” she said. “Being hounded by the media goes with the territory.”
Mac laughed. “‘Old Tycoon And Fetching Female Detective,’ is that what you mean?”
“Not exactly,” she said, blushing.
“Hopefully, that will be the end of it.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“Well, onward and upward, I guess. I don’t mean to be a stern taskmaster, but weren’t you going to see if your friend was able to get us reservations at the Getty?”
“Oh, that’s right! I forgot.” She started to throw back the covers, until she remembered she had nothing on but panties and an oversize T-shirt, her favorite sleeping attire.
He noticed his presence was inhibiting. “I’ll be down in the kitchen fixing your breakfast. You can call after you eat.”
“No, I’ll call first. It might take Ruthie a while to arrange things, so I need to give her a little notice. But I will avail myself of the powder room first.”
“On that note, I’ll leave.”
Mac gave her a wink and stepped out, closing the door behind him. Jade sighed. It was a mistake to make too much of these good feelings, she told herself. In the past, happiness always seemed to transform itself into misery, raising its ugly head and biting her in the ass. To like someone too much was—in her experience—inviting trouble.
“The Getty?” Ruthie said when Jade reached her. “Why don’t I get you tickets on the Concorde while I’m at it?”
“So, the blackmailer has class, what can I say?”
“Okay, I’ll have two parking reservations waiting. One in your name and one in the name of…”
“Joseph McGowan.”
“Right. You want me to call you back to confirm?”
“Sure, but I’m not at home. I’m at Mac’s.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“No. Spent the night…innocently, of course.”
“Seein’ it’s you, girl, maybe I can believe that. So, you going to tell me what happened?”
“It’s a long story, Ruthie, parts of which might upset you. Apparently the whole thing’s in the paper. But the bottom line is, everything is copacetic now. I have to get going, though, Mac’s making me breakfast.”
“He’s making you breakfast.”
“Yeah. He really is a sweet guy.”
“No, he’s a smart guy. He gets sweet when he starts leaving diamonds and sapphires on your pillow.”
“Bye, Ruthie.”
“Hey, at least give me the damn phone number.”
Jade did.
Los Angeles
The parking attendant checked Mac’s name against the reservations list and waved him through. Mac drove into the covered parking structure, left the Lexus, then rode the crowded tram up to the architectural marvel perched against the side of the Santa Monica Mountains. The museum had a panoramic view of the Los Angeles Basin, which explained the observation decks and the use of glass. Mac went to the upper level, hardly noticing the paintings and statuary, though he was aware of the people. Because the facility was spacious and admission strictly controlled, the crowds were not overwhelming.
He paid special attention to younger women who appeared to be alone, watching to see if any of them might be observing him—following him, maybe. But he saw no one suspicious. To get to the observation upper deck, Mac took the escalator to the top floor, then went through the room containing the Renaissance paintings. There were some Japanese tourists out on the deck, taking pictures in the southeast corner, where the caller had told him to situate himself. Mac waited until they moved on before taking his position. Jade was around somewhere, but she’d instructed him not to look for her. They’d come separately. And she’d told him to let her worry about the woman after the meeting was over.
“Be cooperative with her,” Jade suggested, “but noncommittal. If you can, draw her out, get as much information as possible, and pay close attention to what she says. Nuances can be important.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And this time, don’t try to be a hero.”
It was a jab at his attempt to take on that gunman the previous evening. When the detectives had questioned them about the man’s description and actions, Mac had related their little skirmish. Jade had been duly horrified. “You’re paying me to handle the rough stuff,” she’d said. “No,” he’d objected, “I’m paying you to be the brains of the outfit. Getting into gun battles was not what I had in mind.”
Mac couldn’t think of her without feeling happy. Jade could be feisty, even a little trying in her stubbornness, but he found her endearing. Now, if they could just get through the present ordeal without one or the other of them getting shot or maced or blown to pieces by an antitank weapon…
Sighing, Mac leaned on the railing and peered out at the hazy city, which broiled in the heat of the midday sun. And he waited. It was almost noon.
As he stood there, he went over the woman’s instructions in his mind. He was to stand at the railing, looking at Westwood. “I’ll come up next to you,” she’d said. “Don’t look at me. Keep your eyes on the view. We’ll talk about solving your problem.” Her tone had been threatening, but there’d been no real demand, except that he show up at the Getty to discuss Aubrey St. George.
Mac continued to wait and, by ten after, the mystery woman still hadn’t showed. He started wondering if she hadn’t sent him on a wild-goose chase. Maybe she regarded this as a test run to see if he had involved the police. She could be among the throng on the deck, standing off a bit maybe, watching him, looking for signs of trouble. He hoped she hadn’t spotted Jade. That could be what was wrong. Once the woman had determined he wasn’t alone, she may have beat a hasty retreat. Maybe he’d leave, never having seen her, only to have an angry message waiting for him at his office.
After a while Mac started getting tired of standing immobile. The instructions were not to look around, to stare at the view. But for how long? At some point he was going to flick it in. Several times someone had come and stood beside him, but no one spoke to him. They’d take a photograph or gawk at the view, then leave.
Mac kept peeking at his watch
, growing more and more anxious. He wasn’t enjoying the game, but he was also afraid not to play it. Then someone came up next to him again. He waited.
“Don’t look at me,” she said.
It was the same voice he’d heard on the phone. Mac stared down at the San Diego Freeway, looking at the mysterious figure out of the corner of his eye without turning his head. She was small; he had the impression of a wide-brimmed hat.
“Are you alone?” she asked, snapping the chewing gum in her mouth.
“Yes.”
“Are you wearing a listening device?”
“No.”
“Take off your jacket and put it at your feet, but do it without looking at me.”
Mac did as he was told.
“I’m alone,” he said, “and I’m not wired. I want this problem to go away.”
“Fine, so do I.”
“What are you asking for your cooperation?”
“Yeah,” she said. “There’s always a catch, isn’t there? What I want is simple. Five million dollars.”
“Five million? You’re crazy.”
“You can afford it. And it’s enough that you’ll never have to think about this again.”
“How can I be sure?”
“Because this is a pain in the ass for me as much as it is for you.”
“How do I know you aren’t bluffing?” he said.
“About it being a pain in the ass?”
“No, about Aubrey St. George. There’s been a lot of speculation about what really happened. If you’re selling your silence, you’d better know something.”
“You killed the sonovabitch in the pool house and buried the body under the pool you were putting in for him. Is that enough, or do you want the bloody details?”
“You seem pretty confident of your story.”
“Don’t fuck with me, McGowan.” She snapped her gum loudly.
“All right, let’s say you and I work out a mutually satisfactory figure,” Mac said. “Let’s say you’re happy, but your good friend decides to cash in, too. What am I supposed to do then?”
