Chapter 20
They were less than a hundred feet from the border, waiting in a line of automobiles.
LaMonica's mouth and throat seemed to become drier and drier as they approached the international boundary. His mind was on the sleeping bag in the trunk that contained the phony traveler's checks. He wore a straw sombrero with the word Mexico stitched across the brim.
Sandy squirmed in the passenger seat. "I should have walked across," she said out of the side of her mouth. "You could have picked me up on the other side."
"Too complicated," LaMonica said. He stepped on the accelerator and the car advanced. "Just relax. Look the cop in the eye," he said.
"What are you bringing into the U.S.?" the younger border patrolman said, standing at the driver's window. His olive green uniform was starched, neat; a brass nameplate over his pocket read "C. Roberts."
LaMonica flicked the brim of his silly bat. "Just this," he said. Turning to Sandy: "And I'm afraid the wife is bringing back Montezuma's revenge." Sandy shook her head as if she were embarrassed.
The patrolman smiled. He stepped back from the car and waved them across the line.
LaMonica accelerated into the stream of traffic heading north toward San Diego. Sandy held out her hands. They were shaking. "Look at me." she said.
LaMonica flipped the sombrero onto the backseat. "That hat is worth a million bucks," he said. "It's all they look at."
Less than fifteen minutes up the road LaMonica steered onto a freeway off ramp. At the end of the ramp he turned left and followed a bridge that doubled back across the freeway. He pulled up in front of a motel, a two-story rectangular affair with a coffee shop. Having parked the car, he strolled into the registration office. The woman behind the desk was gray-haired, hefty and wore a flowered dress. Her eyeglasses hung precariously on the top of her nose. She handed LaMonica a registration card and a pen. He signed it "C. Roberts."
In the motel room, LaMonica stood at the window while Sandy relaxed in a chair. "I thought we were going to meet at the Sandstone Motel," she said with a puzzled look. "I told Mr. Cool to meet us there."
LaMonica pointed out the window. "The Sandstone is just across the freeway," he said. "Your man is already there. That looks like his Caddy parked in the lot in front of that room."
LaMonica walked to a nightstand. He picked up the phone and dialed an area code and a number.
"Teddy's Bar," Mora said.
"I need a favor," LaMonica said.
"Shoot."
"I want you to drive up toward San Diego. Stop at the Sandstone Motel Lodge on Interstate Five. There's a telephone booth next to the registration office. I'll call you on that phone. Make sure you travel clean," LaMonica said.
"Gotcha," Mora said. "Can you give me a clue as to what the hell is going down?"
"I don't like to talk on the phone," LaMonica said. "I'll tell you when you get here." He hung up.
The air was filled with the gentle thunder of waves.
Sea gulls, none of which looked the least bit overfed, made swooping attacks on edible items along the strand, then fluttered back to the grassy hillocks above it where Carr and Kelly had been hiding since morning. The birds seemed to launch themselves without urgency, as if to keep from getting bored.
It was high tide, nearing dusk, and Carr's legs felt numb and stiff. Maintaining a low crawl position among the chaparral, the T-man and his partner faced the portion of shore that included Teddy's Bar. They were far enough away that binoculars were needed to make out the faces of those coming and going from the modest establishment but close enough so that when the wind was right, they could hear the sound of Mariachi music coming from the open front door.
Carr looked at his wristwatch, a habit he had always tried to avoid on surveillances because it seemed to make time slow down.
"We're gonna have to move in closer as soon as it gets dark," Kelly said. "If Teddy slips by we could still be up here with these sea gulls tomorrow morning. Wouldn't that be a goddamn knockout punch? Being up here all day peeing in the bushes waiting for Teddy to make a move and we miss him when he leaves?"
Carr smiled. "Sounds like you're not enjoying our little fishing trip."
"On the contrary!" Kelly said sarcastically. "How could I say it hasn't been just barrels of fun being down here in Baja dodging sea-gull shit. I've particularly enjoyed having a pound or so of sand wedged up the crack of my ass all day. Not to mention the third degree sunburn I've developed on the back of my neck. Golly, I haven't had so many kicks since my double hernia."
A light colored Mercedes sedan made a dust cloud as it came down the road. Carr grabbed the binoculars. The vehicle had California license plates and was driven by a man wearing a wide brimmed gambler's hat. He parked the sedan in front of the bar and got out. Carr guessed him at no more than five feet tall. Having taken a quick glance around, the man proceeded to the trunk of the vehicle. He unlocked it and the lid popped up. Sticking his hand in what looked like a leather bag, he pulled out a handful of small white packets. With one smooth motion he hoisted his pants leg and shoved the items into his sock. After closing and locking the trunk, he strolled into the bar.
"So far, everyone who has gone into the place has looked one-hundred-percent wrong," Kelly said.
Carr put down the binoculars and rubbed his eyes. "Sure seems that way," he said.
Kelly pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and spread it out in his hand. Tucking one of its sides under the back of his baseball cap, he allowed the cloth to cover the back of his neck, legionnaire style. "Matter of fact, from the looks of the people so far, I'd say if you wanted to give the world an enema you could probably start by sticking the nozzle right in the front door down there," he said.
Carr grabbed the binoculars and adjusted the focus. "That's him," he said.
Teddy Mora, wearing a tropical shirt, came out of the bar. Ostrichlike, he sauntered across the parking lot and headed toward a green camper truck. Mora unlocked the driver's door and got in. The engine roared as he headed up a road leading to the highway.
The agents jumped up and ran through the chaparral like firemen heading for a hook and ladder. Carr vaulted into the driver's seat and started the engine. Kelly jumped in on the passenger side and slammed the door. Throwing the sedan into gear, Carr hit the accelerator and zoomed toward the highway at full speed. Nearing the main road, he caught a glimpse of Teddy Mora's camper proceeding north at what seemed a leisurely pace. The T-man steered through brush and bumped across rocks and onto the highway. Adjusting his speed, he was able to keep Mora's camper truck barely within sight. As it grew dark, Carr kept up the cat-and-mouse game by turning the sedan's brights on and off intermittently as they rounded curves.
By the time they reached the outskirts of Tijuana, it was dark. The green camper truck wound through the border town's business district, a winding maze of illuminated beer advertisements and winking neon that touted B-girl dives with names like Sailor's Lounge, Rosa's and Hula Girl. At the western edge of the town, the camper made a turn and followed a sign pointing toward the U.S. The vehicle crossed a small bridge and pulled into one of the lines of cars inching up to the border.
"He's going across," Kelly said. "Should we stay on him?"
"We might as well see where he's going," Carr said.
"With our luck, he's probably going across the line to pick up a six pack of American beer," Kelly said.
At the checkpoint, a border patrolman leaned down and said something to Mora. Mora answered. The patrolman stepped back from the camper. He nodded, and Mora drove into the United States.
Carr followed, using other vehicles on the freeway for cover. He sped up as they neared the outskirts of San Diego. Maneuvering the sedan around some vehicles, he pulled up to within three car lengths of the green camper. "We'd better stay close," Kelly said. "He might turn off for town."
"That's not it," Carr said in a worried tone. "I think it's the wrong camper."
"You'
re right," Kelly said angrily.
Stepping on the gas, Carr zoomed past the vehicle. Ahead on the highway were a couple of sports cars and a sedan pulling a boat.
"Sheeyit!" Kelly said. "He must have already turned off. We missed him!"
Carr jammed the accelerator to the floor. The car sped north on the highway for two miles. Teddy's camper was nowhere in sight.
"Time to backtrack," Carr said.
Carr swung the sedan violently onto the dirt shoulder of the road, threw a wheel spinning U-turn, and crashed across the curb and grass in the middle of the highway. Racing south, he took the next off ramp. Similarly structured motels had been built on either side of the freeway. Slowing down, Carr pulled into the nearest motel parking lot. He drove slowly, scrutinizing the rows of automobiles. It took a few minutes to cover the whole lot.
"Sheeyit!" Kelly said. "We've lost him. We came all the way to Mexico on our day off and lost him!" The Irishman's bear paw hands slammed the dashboard. "Shee-hee-yit!"
"Let's check out the motel on the other side of the freeway," Carr said.
He maneuvered the sedan up the street and into another motel lot.
The green camper was parked under a strong streetlight next to the motel office. "There's our boy," Carr said. "Standing by that phone booth."
"Must be some kind of a deal," Kelly said.
Carr's eyes surveyed the other cars parked in the lot. He made one pass and drove out of the lot and up a grade that led to a residential area. They passed a foreign car facing down the bill toward the motel. It was occupied by two young men.
"Looks like Teddy might be in a little trouble," Carr said.
Kelly nodded. "Now that you mention it, there were some people sitting in cars…"
Carr pulled into a parking space across from a Spanish stucco home. Below, the motel parking lot was in full view. Teddy paced around the telephone booth. He kept looking at his watch.
"This could be real interesting," Kelly said.
LaMonica had been staring out the motel window for a long while.
Sandy stood in front of the bathroom mirror applying makeup. "I'm going to go over there and talk to Mr. Cool," she said.
"Not just yet," LaMonica said, leaning against the window frame. "I want to show you something."
She came to the window and stood beside him. "Just watch for a few minutes," he said.
She gave him a puzzled look. "What am I supposed to be watching for?" she said. "Oh, there's Teddy's camper."
LaMonica grabbed the phone off the table beside him and dialed.
A woman's voice: "Sandstone Motel."
"Mr. Cole's room, please," LaMonica said.
The phone clicked. Mr. Cool said hello.
"This is LaMonica. Sandy wanted me to phone you. We've decided to call the thing off. I just spoke with Teddy. He says there's cops watching the Sandstone. He's got the package in his camper right now the whole thing. I told him to get his ass back across the border as fast as possible. You'd better do the same." LaMonica set the receiver down. He picked it up again and dialed.
Sandy stared at him. "Why did you tell him there was something wrong? Why did you lie to him?" she said angrily.
"Keep your eyes on Teddy," he said. LaMonica dialed the pay booth. The phone rang.
"Teddy's going into the phone booth," she said.
"Hello." It was Teddy's voice.
"The whole thing is burned!" LaMonica said. "Get the hell out of there right now! We've been snitched off. Cops all over the place!" He slammed the phone down.
Teddy ran out of the booth to the camper truck. Men in street clothes jumped out of vehicles and ran to the camper. They had guns. Cars sped into the motel lot.
"Cops!" Sandy said.
The plainclothes cops spread eagled Teddy against the side of his camper truck. They ripped seats and bedding out of the van and tossed it on the pavement. Teddy was searched and searched again.
Sandy shook her head for a long while. Finally she dropped back on the bed as if she had been punched in the stomach. "It had to be Mr. Cool," she said stoically. "Mr. Cool is an informant." Her hands covered her face. "That rotten … How did you know?" she moaned.
"Just an educated guess," LaMonica said.
"What about Teddy?" she said.
"They've got nothing on him," LaMonica said. "They'll have to let him go." He picked up the telephone.
"Who are you going to call now?" Sandy muttered.
"Lockhart," he said. "Now it's safe to go ahead with our thing."
Chapter 21
Kelly used the binoculars to get a better view of the activity at the Sandstone Motel. "Feebs," he said. He put the binoculars in Carr's hands. "That's my guess.
Carr used the binoculars for a moment. "You pegged that one," he said. "Tom Luegner just walked out of one of the rooms.
"I wonder what that asshole is doing down here?" Kelly said.
Plainclothesmen climbed in and out of Teddy's camper. They took out the seats and put them back. Someone lifted the hood of the vehicle and fiddled around in the engine compartment. The hubcaps were removed and replaced. Luegner pointed his finger at Teddy's face. The gaunt man kept throwing his hands up and gesturing at his van. Other agents milled about. Some made notes on clipboards. The camper was searched again. Finally, after an hour or so, Teddy was allowed to leave. He got in his truck and drove out of the lot, steering south when he reached the freeway.
The FBI men took their time piling into vehicles and departing. Only Luegner was left. After a while, the crowd of motel guests that had gathered to watch the gangbusters returned to their rooms.
A black man came out of a ground-floor room. He approached Luegner sheepishly, shaking his head. As he spoke, he kept throwing up his hands.
"He must be the snitch," Kelly said.
Carr nodded. "Could be," he said.
Luegner patted the man on the shoulder. The black man shook his head some more and returned to his room. Luegner climbed into his sedan and departed. Minutes later the black man exited his room and climbed into a gold Cadillac. Carr noted the personalized license plate: MR. COOL.
"Let's follow him," Carr said.
"What for?" his partner said.
"It might be interesting."
Carr started the engine. He drove down the hill and waited near the freeway. The Cadillac headed south. The agents followed, keeping far behind. When it became clear that they were about to cross the border again, Kelly made a gruff remark about having nothing better to do on a weekend than drive in and out of Mexico.
They followed the Cadillac through Tijuana and along the coast past Rosarita Beach. By the time they reached Ensenada it was almost midnight. The black man pulled into a motel at the edge of town and parked. He climbed out of the Cadillac and strolled to a room near the swimming pool. Removing a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and went in.
Carr and Kelly approached the motel room carefully. The light was still on. Carr put his ear to the door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kelly slip his revolver out of its holster and hold it in the pocket of his windbreaker. They positioned themselves on either side of the door. There was the sound of a radio playing rock music.
Carr knocked. The sound of a drawer being opened and closed. "Who's there?" said the black man.
"Agent Carr. My partner and I work with Tom Luegner." He kept his voice low. Footsteps came to the door. Carr thought he could hear the man breathing.
"What do you want?"
"Tom asked us to run something by ya," Carr said.
Nothing was said for a few moments, and then, "Slide your I.D. card under the door."
"Sure." Carr removed his Treasury credential from his wallet and shoved it under the door.
"This ain't no Bureau I.D.," said the voice inside.
"Look man, Tom Luegner and I work together on a federal agency task force," Carr said. "You can call him if you want," he said, showing a set of crossed fingers to Kelly.
F
ootsteps. A drawer was pulled open and something heavy was tossed inside. The drawer slammed closed. Moments later, the chain latch was removed and the black man pulled open the door. Without a greeting, he shuffled to a chair and plopped down.
"What is all this bullshit, man? I need to get me some muthafuckin' sleep."
"Sorry to wake you up," Carr said, "but Tom said you wouldn't mind talking with us for a few minutes. It's about LaMonica."
The black man rubbed his eyes. "I don't know nothin' about the muthafucka 'cept he's a paper man and he escaped from the federal joint. He's got a crib down here, but nobody knows exactly where it is. Say, how come Tom isn't asking me these muthafuckin' questions his own self? He knows I don't like to be meetin' a lot of muthafuckin' people."
"What kind of paper is LaMonica into right now?" Carr said. He sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Fuck if I know. I didn't even know what kind of muthafuckin' paper was supposed to be delivered at the Sandstone tonight. I just knew the thing was supposed to go down there. I worked my way in through this bitch ya see. She's LaMonica's ex-girl friend. She's using me as insurance cuz she don't trust the muthafucka." The black man's eyes were on Kelly. The Irishman stood at the dresser staring at a flipped-open wallet. "Luegner told me he wasn't going to give my identity to anyone else. He told me I didn't have to meet no other cops." The man's eyes darted back and forth between the T-men. "I don't think I'd better say anything else until I talk with him."
Carr smiled. "Tom Luegner is my brother-in-law. I helped him get hired at the Bureau. We do favors for one another. Is that too hard to understand?"
"How do I know that?"
"We were at the Sandstone tonight." Carr smiled amusedly.
"Then why didn't Tom introduce me to you?"
"We were on a surveillance post up on a hill," Kelly said.
The black man shook his head. "Somehow that muthafuckin' LaMonica smelled a muthafuckin' rat," he said. "The package was close by. The whole million in checks had to be close by. I told Tom that. I would have bet my muthafuckin' ass on it."
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