"LaMonica is covering his tracks," Carr said.
"Permanently," Kelly said.
Paul LaMonica, briefcase in hand, knocked loudly on the door of Teddy's Bar for the third time. He looked at his wristwatch. It was almost 10:00 A.M.
Finally, Teddy Mora opened the peephole. "We've got a lot to talk about," Mora said. He closed the peephole. The sound of a dead bolt snapping open. Mora swung open the door.
LaMonica stepped inside and gave a quick glance around. The bar smelled like a mixture of stale beer and marijuana. It was dark except for a shaft of gray light emanating from a window in the corner.
Teddy Mora closed the door and locked it. He was clad only in a pair of too-big boxer shorts.
LaMonica sauntered behind the bar. Having set the briefcase down, he poured a shot of tequila. "Where's the lemon?" he said.
Mora shuffled to the bar. He pointed to a plastic container. "The goddamn feds rousted the shit out of me at that motel. I've been trying to get in touch with you. They jumped on me like hobos on a hot dog, ripped my camper truck apart. I deserve a fuckin' explanation-"
"That's over now," LaMonica interrupted. He lifted the shot glass and swigged his tequila. "You were clean. You had nothing to worry about. The snitch was Sandy's dude boyfriend."
"That filthy-"
"He's dead," LaMonica interrupted again. He chomped on a lemon slice.
Teddy Mora's jaw dropped open. "No lie?" he said.
"No lie."
"Teddy's not even going to ask Paulie the Printer how it went down," Mora said. An exaggerated wink.
LaMonica poured another shot of tequila, picked up a knife, and sliced off another piece of lemon.
"Some feds and the local pigs were here looking for you," Mora said as he crawled onto a barstool. "They shot holes in the roof and slapped a few of the bikers around. It was because of a traveler's-check guy that came in looking for you. We kicked his ass till his nose bled." Mora smiled. "This was a favor from Teddy to Paulie the Printer."
LaMonica drank the tequila and bit into a lemon slice. "How are things with the Barber?"
Mora stared at him for a moment. His eyes lit up. "I just spoke to him yesterday. He's ready to deal."
"I've got my part of the money," LaMonica said.
Mora gulped. "All of it?" he said.
Paul LaMonica unlocked the latches on the briefcase and flipped it open. "All of it," he said.
Mora's mouth dropped open, then stretched into a broad grin. He reached across the bar and slapped the other man on the shoulder. "I knew you'd do it," he said. "There was never one single fucking moment that Teddy doubted you'd be able to come up with the money. With anyone else I would have had some doubts about whether they could produce, but not Paulie the Printer. He's a man of his word. I've always said that and I'll fucking say it again."
LaMonica turned his head to avoid Mora's morning-after breath. "So let's do the deal," he said. "The sooner the better. "
Teddy Mora swept fingers through his sticky hair. "I know where you're coming from; cops nosing around here after you. You're thinking why not get the thing over with? I'm with you one hundred and fifty percent."
"Can we do it today?" LaMonica said.
Mora slapped LaMonica's shoulder again. "There's no reason why not." He ambled behind the bar and grabbed the telephone. He dialed. Words in Spanish…"Bueno, bueno," he said and hung up the receiver. "I've set up a meeting with my local snowman. I'll see what he says. If we can do the deal today, so much the better."
"I'll come along," LaMonica said, "since I'm laying half the action."
Mora shook his head. "We both know that you have the right to negotiate — but I know my man. He'll shy away from doing any quick deal once he meets a new face. You know how dealers are. He'll want to have a drink and get used to you before he'll talk business. But he knows me. I can give him any number of bullshit reasons why I need to do a rapid-fire deal. Coming from me, he'll go for it. The man trusts me. We go way back. What I'm saying is if you want to come along, I'm all for it, but it will complicate what could be an easy wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am coke deal."
LaMonica's hands were perspiring. Deliberately he wiped them on his trousers. "I take it that you are ready to stand behind the deal. You're vouching for the connection? You're telling me that your man has cocaine and not powdered sugar?"
Mora folded his broomstick arms across his chest. He looked LaMonica in the eye. "I am," he said.
LaMonica's smile was sardonic. "To me that means if the thing goes sour, you are accepting total responsibility."
"I guess you could look at it like that," Mora said. "I'm putting up fifty grand just like you are, but I'm not worried. Sitting here looking you right in the eye, I can truthfully and honestly tell you that I am not in the least bit fucking worried." He wiped an ash off the bar and folded his arms again.
LaMonica's hands touched the tequila bottle. "Just so there are no misunderstandings…" he said. "What I am saying is that if anything does go wrong, I personally will send you to the funeral parlor."
Mora spoke without hesitation. "Like I said, I'm not worried." He looked at his wristwatch. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down for a moment before he spoke. "While I'm meeting the man and putting things together, you'd better stay right here. Stay inside and don't go out. The cops have already been here. They will figure I've tipped you and told you to stay away from the joint. They would never think to come back."
Teddy Mora dressed quickly in the liquor storeroom where LaMonica knew he slept on a cot. Mora walked back out into the bar area with a glass bottle of cologne shaped like a boot. He dabbed it on his neck immoderately. "Leave it to Teddy," he said on his way out the door.
Paul LaMonica drank another tequila. He felt an alcohol twinge in his stomach. He wished he had eaten breakfast.
Chapter 26
The Ensenada police station was quiet. Rodriguez mumbled into the telephone. Carr sat next to Rodriguez's desk. Fatigued, he tapped a pencil on his knee and stared at a calendar on the wall in front of him. He bit his lip as he remembered that he was supposed to have taken Sally to dinner the night before. She'd told him she had tickets to a play…or was it a jazz recital? Should he call her and apologize?
Kelly sat at a small desk in the corner. He sorted through the items taken from Sandra Hartzbecker's hotel room. "Now what the hell do we do?" he said without looking up.
Rodriguez set the receiver down. He rolled his chair against the wall behind him. He stretched, and loosened his necktie. "My men have checked every motel in town. Every one of my informants has been shown LaMonica's mug shot. No bites. Which in this small town means that someone is either hiding LaMonica or he's gone back across the border. If he can make his own phony I.D., he can slide across any time he wants."
"I figure him for being down here," Carr said. "But I'm not sure what else we can do to find him. Teddy Mora is LaMonica's only connection that we know of. We've hit him and it didn't do any good."
"We can hit him again," Rodriguez said, "but Teddy knows I don't have the pull to put him out of business. A Mexican businessman here in town fronted for his bar license because it's illegal for Americans to own property down here. Teddy is insulated."
The telephone on Rodriguez's desk rang. He answered it. "Hold the line," he said. He handed the receiver to Carr.
"Is this Agent Carr?" Mora's tone was impassive. "Teddy Mora here. I need to talk with you alone."
"What do you want to talk about?" Carr said.
"Paul LaMonica."
"I'm listening."
"I don't like to talk on the telephone. Can we meet somewhere?"
"You name it."
"How about the abandoned campgrounds at the south end of town."
"I like public places," Carr said.
"I understand," Mora replied. "How about the International Sports Book Office. Say in half an hour?"
"See you there." Carr set the receiver down and lit a cigarette. "Teddy wants t
o meet," he said.
Charles Carr parked his sedan in a small parking lot situated between the riverbed and a prefabricated building the size of a gymnasium. He locked the car and headed in the front door. Inside, the structure looked like a warehouse except for a wall of betting windows with signs in both English and Spanish. Racing forms and newspapers littered the cement floor. Above the cashier's windows a man on an elevated walkway scratched Caliente race results on a green chalkboard extending the entire width of the building. Preoccupied Mexican and American men, only a few of whom were in groups, sat at the tables that covered the expanse of the floor. There was little discussion in the place.
Teddy Mora, dressed in a tan bush jacket and wearing wraparound sunglasses, sat alone at a table. Carr approached him and sat down. He smelled cologne.
"Do you bet the ponies?" Mora said without looking up from a racing form he was studying.
"Sometimes," Carr said. "When I get a tip."
Mora dug a pen out of a flap pocket and circled the name of a horse. "I like your style, Carr. You remind Teddy of the old days in L.A. The rounders in town knew that if you fucked with the feds you were likely to end up taking the bus to Terminal Island. The feds would do anything to sink you. Years ago I saw a couple of you fellas kick the crap out of one of Mickey Cohen's bodyguards in broad daylight right in front of a bar on Sunset Boulevard. After they worked him over, they arrested him for assault on a federal officer. The way you people came right across the border looking for LaMonica reminded me of the old days. I know it's against your rules for you people to come down here, but you did it anyway. Just like the good old days, I said to myself."
"Where is Paul LaMonica?" Carr said.
"When Teddy called he didn't say he was going to turn him in," Mora said. "He just invited you to come down and talk."
"Here I am," Carr said.
Mora filled some numbers in on a betting slip. He shoved the slip into his pocket. "I didn't call you down here to waste your time. I can offer you LaMonica on a silver platter if things can be worked out to my satisfaction."
"What will satisfy you?" Carr said sarcastically.
"Three things. I want a ten-thousand-dollar reward for telling you where to find LaMonica. I want my possession case in L.A. dismissed. I want the heat taken off my bar and my customers that were arrested, released. Without your promise on all three items, I can tell you right now that you will never find Paul LaMonica. I guess you know he has access to all the phony identification he wants. I guess you know that."
"Where can you deliver him?" Carr said.
"Right here in Ensenada."
"I want him in the U.S.," Carr said.
Mora removed his sunglasses. There were red marks on the bridge of his nose. He massaged them and replaced the glasses. "I might be able to work something out along those lines if everything else sounds right. And you'll dismiss my counterfeit case?"
"The U.S. attorney should go along with that in exchange for LaMonica."
"And the ten-grand reward?"
"Ten grand is out of the question," Carr said. "But I can probably get you a grand. Money's been tight this year."
"I need ten grand to pay my lawyer on the possession case.
"No you don't," Carr said. "You told the U.S. magistrate you were unemployed and he appointed the public defender for you."
Teddy Mora rubbed the bridge of his nose again. "You really do remind me of the old days, Carr."
"Then we have a deal?"
"Snitching off LaMonica is not worth the risk unless you can guarantee that Rodriguez will take the heat off my bar."
"I can ask him," Carr said. "He'll probably go along with the program."
"Can you guarantee that?"
"I can't guarantee anything."
"I'm not sure it's worth the risk. I'll think about it and let you know."
Carr stood up and left.
Paul LaMonica lay on the storeroom cot where he had been since Teddy left, his feet resting on the black briefcase. His eyes were closed, and he could hear the murmur of the ocean. The hunger he had felt had gone away, as had the ringing in his ears he'd suffered from firing out of the car. The cot was firm and he was not uncomfortable.
A key slipped into the front-door lock.
LaMonica vaulted from the cot. He grabbed the briefcase and drew his revolver, aiming it at the door as he approached cautiously.
"It's me," Teddy Mora said. "Everything is okay." Mora entered the room carefully, hands over his head. LaMonica stepped outside the door and looked around for a moment. He returned inside and stuffed the revolver back in his belt.
Teddy Mora grabbed some bar napkins off a table and wiped his brow. "Relax," he said. "Teddy has this thing almost put together." He looked at the napkins and wadded them in his hand. "The man agreed to do a quick deal as a personal favor to me." He turned and headed toward the bar. Having poured a shot glass of tequila and tossed it back, he coughed a string of saliva. "Went down the wrong pipe," Mora muttered as he pounded his chest. Taking a few deep breaths, he made his way to a cocktail table and sat down. He waved LaMonica to a chair.
LaMonica ignored the gesture. "Let's hear it," he said.
"Now all we do is head for the bank where I have my money on deposit. The manager is wired. He'll be expecting us. You make your deposit and then we wait at a pay phone for a call. The dope will be stashed in a car parked in the pay lot on the American side of the border. We won't even have to sweat getting the load across. One of their mules will have already taken care of that for us. It's their risk, not ours. This is the goddamn beauty of it. We take delivery on the U.S. side. We drive over, pick it up, and head for Hollywood. The Barber will be waiting. By ten o'clock tonight we'll be counting our shekels. The deal will be done. "
"Do you mean to tell me you've agreed to front the money on this side of the border?" LaMonica said. "I don't like it. What if they just take our hundred grand and say thanks?"
"You know as well as I do that all deals down here involve front money," Mora said. "These Mexicans won't deal any other way."
"I don't like it," LaMonica said. He realized he was holding his briefcase and felt foolish. He tossed it on a chair.
"I'm already committed to the deal," Mora said. "My fifty G's are going up front. If you want to back out, I'll try to get credit somewhere for the other fifty. But give me an answer right away because I'm going to have to reach out quickly for the rest of the buy money. I'm committed to the deal and it's got to go."
LaMonica stared at the briefcase for a moment. He looked Mora in the eye. "And you are personally standing behind the deal?"
Mora stood up. He unzipped his trousers and adjusted his shorts. "Yes, I am. I am that confident."
Teddy Mora parked his camper truck in front of the bank, a brown brick building with a bay window.
LaMonica looked around carefully. He climbed out of the vehicle and waited for Mora to lock the car doors. Next door to the bank was a bluish neon sign balanced over a curtained entrance. The word Rene's flashed on and off. And on either side of the door were black-and-white photographs of women wearing sequined G-strings and pasties.
Though it was at least ninety degrees, LaMonica felt cold, as if a block of ice had been fastened to the small of his back. Icy headache. Frozen vertebrae. In prison he had lost full nights of sleep because of that sensation. He touched the butt of the revolver in his waistband. He followed Mora into the bank.
Mora spoke briefly in Spanish with a well-dressed young man sitting at a desk. Mora pointed to LaMonica's briefcase. More businesslike discussion. Mora nodded. LaMonica handed over the briefcase. The manager took it behind a teller's cage. After a while, he returned carrying a receipt and the emptied briefcase. He handed both items to Mora. The two shook hands and exchanged more words in Spanish. LaMonica followed Mora out of the bank. Mora handed the receipt to LaMonica. On it was written "TRS714." LaMonica questioned the notation.
"That's the license number of the c
ar that the coke will be stashed in," Mora said. "He told me the car is a green Chevy and will be parked in the northwest corner of the border parking lot. Now all we do is have a drink and wait for final delivery instructions."
LaMonica looked at his wristwatch. The cold feeling had not gone away. Teddy Mora led the way into Rene's, a dark place with a runway protruding from a tiny stage. Two old, overweight women wearing frayed chiffon cocktail dresses sat at the bar.
Mora shuffled to the end of the bar and took a seat near a pay telephone. LaMonica followed and sat down next to him. The bartender, a bloated man with thick, ebony hair that looked wet, set bar napkins in front of them. They ordered drinks. Mora pointed a thumb at the wall phone. "Our call will be coming in on that phone," he said. "If they say 'George is home,' we head for the border. That's the okay signal. If they say anything else it means that the deal has been queered. We walk back into the bank and pick up our money. This is the beauty of the deal. The bank man looks out for everybody's interest. He's part of their operation, but he's a legit businessman. He's not going to do anything to piss anyone off and then sit there every day at his desk waiting for somebody to throw a bomb through his front window. Right?"
"If you say so."
The bartender served drinks. Teddy Mora tossed the man a five-dollar bill and told him to keep the change. He sipped, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Damn! I forgot to call one of the boys to have them open up the bar while you and I are in Hollywood." He stood up and lifted the phone receiver off the wall hook. He dropped in a peso and dialed. Shaking his head, he hung up and removed the peso. "I'd better use another phone," he said. "If they call in and this one is busy it could screw things up." Mora headed for the door. "Be back in a sec," he said as he flapped through the curtain door.
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