Glamour Puss

by R. J. Kaiser

  “I hope you’re taking precautions,” Bev said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “They say she has a nasty violent streak, Mac. She’s killed before.”

  “Manuela isn’t going to try a home invasion, Bev. Not after what happened to her brother.”

  “But until she’s arrested…”

  “Stop worrying. The best thing you can do is cover the office for me. I’ll take care of things on this end.”

  Bev agreed, but she wasn’t happy. She’d never liked the idea of hiring ex-cons as pool maids, even though the vast majority of them had requited themselves quite well. But he wasn’t going to let one or two bad apples spoil an otherwise effective program. That was not his immediate concern, however. Mac kept thinking about Jade and the mystery woman. He also thought about Stella, wondering if she was busy figuring out how to turn the screws a notch or two tighter. And then there was Jaime Caldron to consider. He’d been mysteriously quiet of late. Maybe he’d put his faith in Stella coming through for him.

  Ironically, Mac couldn’t say it was a bad bet. He had no idea what his wife would do, even after having been partners in crime with her for twenty years. Would she be vengeful enough to sell him down the river? All that would accomplish would be to hurt him—and Lord knew it wouldn’t do a lot for her social standing, or for Troy’s career, either. Still, Stella remained unpredictable. Given her seeming desperation, anything could happen.

  It was rapidly becoming an untenable situation. Maybe the time had come to accept the fact he couldn’t keep running from the past forever. The realization almost came as a relief. Stella and Troy had kept him going all these years, but now his wife had turned against him, and Troy seemed to have gone his own merry way. With Glamour Puss about to rise from his grave, Mac had his back to the wall and he knew it.

  A drink of hard liquor before evening was a rarity for him, but he found himself craving a jolt. So, he went to the wet bar to fix himself a vodka tonic, when the phone rang again.

  “Mac, I just heard. Are you all right?” It was Stella. “Why are people trying to kill you? Was it the man who took that shot at us last week?”

  “I don’t know, Stella, but it’s quite possible.”

  “Do you know what it was about?”

  “A problem at work, I think.”

  “Oh. Well, thank goodness you’re safe.”

  “Yeah, what if I’d been killed? Who’d you blackmail then?”

  “I’d like to think we’re both looking out for our interests, Mac. My objective is not to hurt you, it’s to get you to try to look at things from my point of view.”

  “That’s the damnedest rationalization for extortion I’ve ever heard.”

  “Call it what you will,” she said icily, “I want to know what you’re going to do.”

  “I’m still thinking about it.”

  “Well, you don’t have forever. Lieutenant Caldron called me this morning. He got the district attorney’s office to go along with his plan. It’s you they want, Mac, and I can walk, if I cooperate with them.”

  “It’s hard to see how that’ll make you a big star, Stella.”

  “Mac, they could put me in prison. All I want you to give me is a reason to take that risk.”

  “I would have thought our mutual obligation to one another was reason enough.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re the one who…well, you know what happened that night.”

  “Okay, fine, Stella, I know where you stand. What’s your point? Are you giving me a deadline? Is that why you called?” There was a click on the line, indicating another call was coming through. “Hang on a second,” he said. “I’ve got another call.” He hit the flash key. “Yes?”

  “Mac, it’s me.”

  “Jade.”

  “Got an initial report for you.”

  “Hang on, let me get rid of this other call.” He hit the flash key again. “Stella, I’ve got to go, I’ve got a call I have to take.”

  “Okay, but could you come by later so we can discuss it?”

  “I’m buried at the moment, Stella. You’re not the only blackmailer I have to contend with. I can only deal with one extortion attempt at a time.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up and went back to the call waiting.

  “Jade?”

  “Yo.”

  “Sorry. You okay?”

  “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I’ve been worried.”

  “Mac, you aren’t supposed to worry about your investigator.”

  “Well, I do. And it’s not a knock on your competence. It’s a comment on my feelings.”

  There was silence on the line. Mac wondered if he’d gone too far. He didn’t want to scare her.

  “But that’s another story,” he said. “You were saying you had something to report.”

  “I’m about ninety percent sure who the mystery woman is. The name Ginger Lane mean anything to you?”

  Mac ran it through his head. “No.”

  “How about Hernan Payro?”

  “Hernan Payro… You know, that is vaguely familiar, but I can’t tell you why.”

  “I’m pretty sure Ginger’s the name of the woman you talked to at the Getty. I followed her to a car parked in Sherman Oaks registered to a person by that name. She drove to an apartment complex in Van Nuys and later left with a guy in a car registered to Payro. Odds are that’s who the guy was. I followed them to a place in Pacific Palisades and that’s where I’m staked out now. They’ve been inside for a while. I thought I’d hang around, see if I can find out who lives here.”

  “Boy, you’re efficient.”

  “You’re paying me well, I ought to be.”

  “When you finish up, why don’t you come by?”

  “For a more detailed report?”

  “No, for dinner.”

  “Mac…”

  “Yes?”

  He sensed her angst even though she didn’t utter a word. But then she surprised him.

  “Okay. It could be a couple of hours, though.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “I have a feeling this whole thing is about to break wide open,” she said.

  Mac heard the joy, the elation in her voice. It was understandable; the woman was doing her job and doing it well. He was pleased, but more for her than for himself. The people who were after him no longer seemed to matter. But he knew what did.

  “Jade,” he said, “this may not be the best time to ask you this, but I really want to know. What do you think of me?”

  “What do I think of you?”

  “I mean as a person. You know my story, what I’ve done, the way I’ve lived my life. You’ve been a cop, you’ve seen a lot. Where do I fit in the picture? What kind of a human being do you see me to be?”

  She was silent for a while, then she said, “That’s not an easy question to answer.”

  “Try.”

  “I admire you, Mac. If for no other reason than you care. You’re a decent guy.”

  “What about Aubrey St. George?”

  “This might sound funny to you, but it doesn’t fit with the Mac McGowan I know. Not that I doubt what you’ve told me. It’s just that…I don’t know, when you talk about that, it seems like you’re talking about a different person.”

  “I see. Okay.”

  “I hope that doesn’t hurt your feelings. If anything, I mean it as a compliment.”

  “No, that’s fine, Jade. I understand what you’re saying. I appreciate your candor.”

  “Honest?”

  “Honest.” He couldn’t help smiling at the concern in her voice. “Hey, hurry home, okay?”

  “Check.”

  Mac hung up the phone with a happier heart, but also with a sense of resolve. He’d had an insight. The noose around his neck was tighter now than it had ever been, and yet he felt almost—but not quite—free. What it boiled down to was that when he was with Jade, he was more the man he’
d been before Aubrey and Stella. Innocent, maybe. Even starry-eyed. It could be he was running from the truth, kidding himself, but he liked this new Mac McGowan a lot better than the old one. This one seemed alive. This one had something to live for.

  It was clear now what he had to do. It was so obvious he was surprised he hadn’t latched onto it sooner. In fairness, though, something had changed. The change was Jade Morro entering his life. Not that she’d necessarily said or done anything to awaken him. But the conversation they’d just had did confirm what underneath he’d felt but hadn’t been able to put his finger on. Simply stated, she’d inspired him to be the man he truly was.

  Mac picked up the phone and dialed his wife. “You know, Stella,” he said, “maybe you’re right. Maybe we do need to talk.”

  “Really?” she said, sounding hopeful and delighted.

  “Yes. But would you mind coming to my place?”

  “I suppose I could. Are you going to give me a hint as to what you have in mind?”

  “I don’t want to spoil it,” he said, “but I’ll tell you this much, I’m going to try and accommodate you. You and Troy both. In fact, I’d like him to be here, too. Do you think you can track him down and get him to come?”

  “I can certainly try.”

  “Please do. Tell him I’m going to do my best to make his day. That might lure him out of the bushes.”

  Stella hesitated. “This isn’t a trick, is it?”

  “Trick? No. My eyes have been opened, Stella, that’s all. I’m going to do what I should have done a long time ago.”

  “And we’ll be pleased?”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  “What time do you want us there, Mac?”

  “How about around five o’clock?”

  “See you then.”

  Mac hung up the phone feeling great, as though a tremendous burden had been lifted from his shoulders. It was the obvious solution to his problems—giving his wife and son what they wanted, but also to take what he so desperately needed. What could make more sense than that?

  Next, Mac got Jaime Caldron’s business card. He dialed the number on the card, but Caldron wasn’t in. Mac left a message on the detective’s voice mail. “Lieutenant Caldron,” he said, “this is Mac McGowan. I’ve had a change of heart and I’d like to talk to you about Aubrey St. George. If possible, please come to my place this afternoon at five.” He hung up, feeling better by the moment. He took a big slug of the drink he’d fixed himself, grinning as he savored it. Then the doorbell rang.

  Mac went to the door without thinking. Opening it, he found a small but voluptuous Hispanic woman at his door. Manuela Ordon˜ez. She had a gun in her hand. It was pointed directly at his midsection.

  “Hi, Mr. McGowan. Remember me?”

  “Manuela…”

  She smiled. “Fucking A, you do remember! I thought maybe after you step on somebody, you just wipe your feet, forget they ever existed and go your merry way.”

  “Manuela…”

  “Don’t Manuela me, asshole. It’s too late. Where’s your girlfriend, the bitch cop?”

  “If you mean Jade, she’s not here.”

  “Fine. Then let’s go inside and wait for her. That okay with you?”

  “She isn’t coming, Manuela.”

  “Oh, yeah? I bet you’re lying. I seen her car here this morning. She spent the night. Don’t fuck with me, Mac. I’m tired of people fucking with me.”

  “Look, you’re making a terrible mistake.”

  “Yeah, well, fuck you. I didn’t make the mistake. You did. Now get your ass inside.”

  Reaching out with her free hand, she gave him a shove in the chest, then entered the house and closed the door.

  Pacific Palisades

  Jade was bored. Surveillance had to be the worst job in the world, especially when all there was to do was stare at a building half hidden by a high wall. At least being near the ocean the air was milder than it had been in the valley. Even so, she was feeling rump-sprung and got out of her car to stretch her legs. As she leaned against the fender, a scrawny little man came out of the house down the street. He had a prissy white toy poodle on a leash. Man and dog made their way up the hill in her direction.

  When he was nearly abreast the car, Jade said, “Excuse me, sir. Could you tell me who lives in that house there?”

  He pulled on the crepey folds of skin on his neck. “Why?”

  She hated questions that served no purpose except to impede. “My boyfriend’s supposed to be at his grandmother’s but I followed him here. I’m hoping it’s not some lady friend’s place.”

  The dog lifted its leg on the tire to Jade’s car not three feet from where she stood. The man watched the little stream of pee run off the tire and trickle down the pavement. He appeared unconcerned.

  “Film people,” he said in answer to her question. “Foreigners. Arabs or something. To be honest, I don’t give a damn, except for all the coming and going. Don’t like that.” He pulled gently on the leash. “Come on, Skippy.” Without another word he continued on. Jade silently bid him adieu.

  When the man had disappeared over the hill, Jade sat on her front bumper and stared out at the hazy gray ocean. She tried to decide how she felt about Mac’s apparent desire to escalate things. Was it more male stuff, a guy on the make? Sure, he had an interest in her, but that was hardly grounds for complaint—she had an interest in him, too. But what kind of interest? That’s the part that scared her. She didn’t trust herself to make good choices.

  About then, she heard voices coming from across the street. A heavyset guy had come out the front door of the house and said goodbye. Jade watched him waddle to a big Buick and climb in behind the wheel. She got back in her car. After maneuvering past Hernan’s vehicle, the big man drove to the street. He glanced in her direction as he passed by. The face was familiar but it was the hair, the guy’s big bushy head of salt-and-pepper gray hair that really rung a bell.

  Who was he? Then she remembered. He was a P.I. by the name of Boots Conroy. Jade had met him while she was working with Harry Naismith. Harry hadn’t thought a lot of the guy. “Boots started out as a skip-trace,” she recalled Harry say. “Takes a certain mentality I don’t respect hunting down bail-jumpers.” Boots, who’d always been large according to Harry, had to give up skip-tracing when he got too slow afoot and the stress of the job did a number on his blood pressure. Mostly he did less demanding work now, like tracking down missing persons and finding truant husbands and wives.

  The P.I.’s presence at the same hideout with Ginger and Hernan was an interesting development. On an impulse Jade decided to follow Boots, maybe ask a few questions if she could catch up with him. After all, he’d been inside the place and had to know something about the people there, including Ginger and Hernan.

  She took off down the hill and had some trouble following the big guy. He was not only rotund, he had a heavy foot on the peddle. She didn’t catch up with him until he’d reached the light at Sunset Boulevard. As it was, she had to run a red light so as not to lose him. It earned her a horn blast from a blonde in a Porsche. Jade would have flipped her off, but she’d long since learned to take pity on blondes.

  Boots, meanwhile, had sped east on Sunset. The way he was flying, Jade wondered if he’d spotted her. She had to push the envelope to regain contact. Boots left Sunset at Allenford Avenue, a route that took him south, around the Riviera Country Club and into Santa Monica. As she followed him down Twenty-sixth Street, she had the distinct feeling Boots knew he had a tail. Considering she was cutting it a little close making traffic lights, she wondered if maybe she shouldn’t just honk her horn and flash her lights to get his attention. Maybe he’d stop and talk.

  At Wilshire Boots gunned the Buick through a red light and Jade knew she was cooked. Screeching to a halt she cussed the bastard, knowing he’d done it on purpose. She watched him disappearing down the street. Two blocks farther, at Santa Monica Boulevard, he made a right. When the light fin
ally changed, Jade drove on down, turning at the same intersection herself. Naturally, there was no sign of him. She slowed, thinking he may have pulled over or into a side street. Then, reaching St. John’s Hospital, who should she see in the parking lot but Boots.

  He pulled into a parking space. Since there wasn’t another empty slot nearby, Jade stopped behind the Buick and got out. Boots, who obviously was expecting her, lowered the window next to him. He turned his jowly face to her.

  “Well, it is Harry’s girl.”

  “Former girl,” she said. “Harry and I are divorced.”

  Boots rubbed the first of his chins. “Maybe I did hear that. What’s up, toots?”

  “Thanks for making me risk life and limb to have the opportunity to tell you.”

  “I don’t remember issuing you an invitation.”

  “Okay, never mind. I guess the question of the moment is are we working the same case or what?”

  “I guess that depends,” he said. “What case are you working?”

  “I asked first.”

  Boots took a yellowed handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face. His hairline was so low on his forehead that there couldn’t be much more than two inches between the gray forest of hair atop his head and his eyebrows. Dissecting his brow was a furrow that was so deep it collected perspiration like a rain gutter. Boots made another swipe at it. “I asked second.”

  “I’m interested in the couple that arrived half an hour before you left that house up in Pacific Palisades, Boots. Ginger and Hernan.”

  “Actually, they don’t interest me and I can’t tell you a thing about them.”

  “How about the folks who live there?”

  “Now, that’s another story.”

  “Who’s your client?” she asked.

  “Who’s yours?”

  Jade decided it was worth risking the truth. “A guy named Mac McGowan.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, you going to reciprocate?” she said.

  “Nope. I respect my clients’ privacy, honey.”

  “If your client lives in the place, I can find out who he is easy enough.”

  “I’ll save you the trouble. He don’t.” A drop of sweat formed on Boots’s nose, he dabbed it off, then swabbed the rivulet on his brow again. “So, how about we end this conversation? It’s goddamn hot in this tin can.”