Paul LaMonica picked up his drink and walked slowly to the door. He peeked out the curtain. Teddy Mora stood at a sidewalk pay phone across the street fumbling for change.
Chapter 27
The phone rang. Rodriguez picked up the receiver. "Policia de Ensenada," he said. "Yes, he's here. Hold the line." He made a thumbs-up gesture and handed the phone to Carr. Kelly deftly picked up an extension line and cupped his hand over the speaker.
"LaMonica is going to be in the border parking lot, on the U.S. side, at about four P.M. today," Mora said, speaking in low tones. "You should look for a green Chevrolet with California license plate TRS714. That's T-R-S-7-1-4. It'll be parked in the northwest corner of the lot. You may see me with him. When you arrest him, all I ask is that you make it look like I escaped; you could have someone act like he's chasing me. I'll run back across the border into Mexico. This is to protect my identity as the informer. I mean, like you owe me at least that much for setting him up for you. Agreed?
"One more thing," Mora said. "After you arrest him, I'd appreciate it if you could drop a story on him about how you found a load of cocaine in the trunk of the green Chevy; like a couple of hundred grand's worth. You could tell him you turned it over to the federal narcs or some such shit. The story would help to keep me cool."
"I'll take care of it," Carr said.
"Any questions?" Mora said.
"Is he carrying?"
"A.38 in his belt usually," Mora said. He coughed. "He lets his shirt hang out."
"When you hear me holler 'Freeze,' " Carr said, "get away from LaMonica fast. If you are in a car, jump out. If you are standing near him, run like hell."
"Got it," Mora said. "Say, tell me the truth, did you think I'd really call up and hand over Paulie the Printer?"
"Not really," Carr said, looking at Kelly. "It's a real nice surprise.
Kelly jabbed an extended middle finger at the mouthpiece of the receiver in his hand.
After a few minutes, Mora returned to his seat at the bar. The two men sat awhile in silence. The B-girls whispered to one another and climbed off their bar stools. As they approached the end of the bar, Mora waved them back rudely. "We're not interested," he said.
The bartender frowned at Mora. Mora threw up his hands. "Go ahead," he said. "Buy 'em a drink on me. Business is business, right, amigo?" He pulled money out of his pocket and tossed it on the bar. The bartender smiled and poured drinks for the women.
During the next hour Mora made lively talk about other big scores, movie stars who he knew bought jewelry and furs from burglars, and his plans for buying a Hollywood discotheque. LaMonica half listened.
Finally the telephone rang.
As Mora spun his bar stool, Paul LaMonica grabbed his arm, "I'll take it," he said. Mora stared at him as if he wanted to protest, but said nothing.
LaMonica stood and picked up the receiver.
"George is home," the bank manager said. The phone clicked. LaMonica repeated the phrase.
Teddy Mora jumped off his bar stool. He clapped his hands together. "I told you everything would be a go. A one-hundred-percent go. We're heading for Hollywood."
LaMonica followed him out the front door.
Kelly steered into the parking lot and cruised slowly. American tourists milled in and out of the enormous lot toting border-town souvenirs: cheap pottery, straw baskets, stuffed iguanas. At one end of the lot was a gate leading to a pedestrian walkway across the international boundary into Tijuana.
The green Chevrolet was parked at the end of a row of vehicles next to a high fence that spanned the perimeter of the parking lot. "There it is," Carr said.
Kelly wheeled the G-car into an open stall a few rows behind the Chevrolet. He turned off the engine. "How do you think we should work it?"
Carr rubbed his chin for a moment. "I say we let him get right up to the Chevy. That'll put him in the corner of the lot with nowhere else to go. You take the right, I'll take the left. Teddy will be able to run either way." He looked at his watch.
Kelly pulled out his revolver and spun the cylinder. He snapped it closed. "I'd feel a lot better if there weren't so many people in and out of this parking lot."
"Me too," Carr said.
Nothing much had been said during the brief trip from Ensenada to Tijuana. Teddy Mora pulled up to a stoplight on the outskirts of town.
"You're quiet," he said, glancing at LaMonica. "I get the same way when I'm right in the middle of something. It's probably just concentration."
The light changed. Mora turned onto a road which paralleled the high chain-link fence that marked the U.S. border. Steering with his forearms for a moment, he lit a cigarette and puffed. "A suggestion," he said. "I could let you out a block or so away from the border crossing. You could walk straight across into the parking lot and pick up the load. I could meet you up the street across from the tourist information center. That way we could avoid driving through the crossing point, making a U-turn, and driving back into the lot. You have to admit, if some border pig just happened to notice that kind of an act he might get a little suspicious."
LaMonica leaned back in the seat. "Good idea," he said. "But why don't you walk over and pick up the package? I'd rather drive."
Teddy Mora sucked deeply on his cigarette. He spoke with a mouthful of smoke. "Uh this car isn't registered to you. It might cause a problem at the crossing point."
"Maybe you're right." LaMonica rolled his window down to clear out some of Mora's smoke. "We'll both walk to the lot to make the pickup."
Mora fidgeted. "Is there anything wrong? You haven't said shit since we left Ensenada. I mean if you think there's a better way to do this, just say the word."
LaMonica turned to the other man. His expression was blank. "As long as things go right, there's nothing to talk about."
They passed through the border checkpoint with no problem. Mora drove less than a mile north, pulled over into the middle lane, and made a U-turn. They headed back toward the border.
LaMonica grabbed the steering wheel and tugged. The vehicle veered to the right shoulder of the road. Mora slammed on the brakes. "I'll drive," LaMonica said. He got out of the car and walked around to the driver's side. They exchanged seats. LaMonica put the car in gear and headed toward the parking lot. He stopped a few feet away from the entrance and got out of the car. At the fence he grasped the chain link and stared into the lot for what seemed like a long time. He climbed back in the driver's seat and put the car in gear.
Mora was pale. "It pays to be careful," he said. "Paulie the Printer takes things one step at a time."
LaMonica steered into the parking lot. Though he noticed the green Chevrolet almost immediately, he drove by it, continuing among the rows of vehicles.
Mora pointed. "That was it. You just passed it," he said.
Carr and Kelly ducked below window level of the sedan. They almost bumped heads. "That sneaky sonofabitch is casing the lot," Kelly whispered.
Carr peeked above the dashboard. He pulled his revolver out of its shoulder bolster. "He's turning around … heading toward the Chevy. This is it."
Kelly's gun was out.
LaMonica pulled up behind the green Chevrolet. A young woman was loading straw baskets into the trunk of a sports car parked next to the vehicle. He slid the revolver out of his waistband. "Get out and get the package," he said.
Mora stared at the weapon. "Everything is cool," he muttered on his way out the door. He ambled to the rear of the vehicle. Keeping his eyes on LaMonica, he reached into the right rear wheel well and fished around.
LaMonica climbed out of the car, holding the gun under his shirt. "Is it there?" he said.
Mora pulled out a key and held it up. He winked.
Charles Carr kept low, moving between automobiles. Kelly flanked on his right two cars away. Finally, only one car separated him from the Chevrolet. Holding his revolver with both hands, Carr sprung from behind it. He aimed at LaMonica. "Freeze! Federal officers!" he said. M
ora ran.
With what seemed like an almost practiced motion, LaMonica grabbed the young woman standing at the sports car by her hair. She screamed as he pulled her in front of him. He pressed a pistol to her temple.
Mora darted between cars. LaMonica swung the revolver in his direction and fired once. Mora dropped. He bellowed in pain.
LaMonica pulled the screaming woman closer to him.
Carr drew a bead on LaMonica's forehead. Carefully he pulled back on the trigger. The woman's head bobbed in the way. He released tension.
"I'll kill her!" LaMonica shouted. "Get back or I'll splatter her brains all over this lot!" Using the woman as a shield, he backed toward his car.
Carr ducked down. He motioned to Kelly. The Irishman vaulted across the hood of a car and grabbed LaMonica's gun hand. They struggled with the weapon. The woman fell down. The gun fired in the air.
Carr aimed. He pulled the trigger.
Paul LaMonica's head snapped backward violently. A spray of blood stained the hood of the car. Kelly grabbed the woman and pulled her away as LaMonica slumped to the ground. She screamed gibberish and thrashed about hysterically. Kelly grabbed her arms and pulled her away. People yelled and ran about frantically. Carr took a few steps forward. He picked up LaMonica's gun and stuck it in his belt. He bent down. His fingers touched the wounded man's neck. There was no carotid pulse.
Carr found Teddy Mora on the pavement lying between two cars. He was doubled up in a ball, his features ashen, lips blue. He was bleeding.
A police car with red lights flashing zoomed into the parking lot and sped up to Carr. The T-man held his badge over his head. "Ambulance!" he said. The officer grabbed the microphone off the dashboard.
By the time the ambulance arrived, Mora had stopped breathing. The ambulance attendant complained to Carr about having been called out on a dry run. With an angry squeal of brakes, he departed.
Chapter 28
For Carr and Kelly, the rest of the day was taken up with interviews conducted by the San Diego sheriff's detectives, signing statements and forms and making telephone calls.
It was midnight by the time the agents arrived back in Los Angeles. At Kelly's insistence, Carr steered off the freeway at Vermont and headed for Calhoun's hot-dog stand. He parked in a no-parking zone in front of the place.
Calhoun loaded the counter in front of them with hot dogs and steaming cups of coffee. Kelly unwrapped a frankfurter and, holding it with three fingers, inserted fully half of it into his mouth. He chomped and tore the hot dog in half.
"What do you hear from your son?" Carr asked Calhoun.
"Tyrone called me from basic training this morning. The drill sergeant picked him as a squad leader. He sounded like he was real proud of himself."
"They always pick the tallest guys," Kelly said with his mouth full.
"I can't wait for the basic training graduation," Calhoun said. "I'm going to drive up to Fort Ord to see it. My boy will be marching and standing tall, and I'll be right there in the stands watching." He slapped together a second round of hot dogs and set them on the counter. Neither man made the usual protestations.
"You both look like you could use some sleep," Calhoun said.
The next morning Carr sat at his desk and turned the pages of the operations manual marked "Shooting Policy." There was an atmosphere of military decorum in the office-a remarkable quiet; none of the usual horseplay or swearing. Most of the special agents had found something to do in the field. The secretaries and clerks were dutifully at their desks rather than gossiping in the coffee room. Someone had covered the counterfeiting squad room's Supreme Court photograph (monkeys in dresses sitting around a table) with a map.
It was the usual atmosphere that prevailed in the office whenever the inspectors came to town.
Carr turned a page. He read:
In the event a Special Agent has reason to believe he is in fear of his life, or the lives of others, he is authorized to fire his issued Treasury revolver (Ref. Manual Sect. 387.90) for the purpose of stopping the suspect from committing whatever act he may be engaged in, keeping paramount in his mind the safety of others…
Kelly sauntered into the squad room. He took off his suit jacket and tossed it on a rack.
Carr looked at his wristwatch. "My, my," he said, "two full hours."
"I figured while I was in there, I might as well come clean. I copped out on every time we'd violated the manual regulations," Kelly said with a wry smile.
"If you'd done that it would have taken you a lot longer than two hours." Carr flipped the manual shut.
Kelly peeked out into the hallway. "It's Heckel and Jeckel. They tried to get me to say that there was some other alternative other than shooting … the usual second-guessing bullshit. No Waves chimes in with meaningless questions every few minutes. God, I hate that asshole."
"Heckel and Jeckel?" Carr said.
"The two jerks that were out here the time Howard Dumbrowski beat up his next-door neighbor."
Carr nodded.
Special Agent in Charge Norbert T. Waeves, pipe jutting from jaw, slipped into the room. He made his usual entrance, sort of a quick slide around the doorjamb hoping to catch a few words of conversation. He puffed smoke and took the pipe out of his mouth, said, "We're ready for you now, Carr," and made an about-face. He marched back to his office.
Carr followed. Heckel and Jeckel sat on a sofa on either side of a tape recorder. Both men appeared to be in their middle thirties, wore dark suits with striped neckties, and were overweight. Strangely, they looked almost like brothers. Neither acknowledged his presence.
Waeves scooted behind his oversized desk. He pointed Carr to a chair. "I guess you know who these gentlemen are?" he said.
Carr stared at the pair. The tape recorder wasn't running. "Jehovah's witnesses?" he asked.
The trio of inquisitors exchanged somber glances. Heckel turned on the recorder. Jeckel said, "Interview with Special Agent Charles Carr, tape number two, Shooting Incident Analysis." He cleared his throat. "Agent Carr, the operations manual section 302.2 requires that you answer each and every question put to you by an inspector fully and completely. Failure to do so would subject you to administrative action which could result in loss of pay or termination from government service. We take it you are familiar with that section?" He looked at his notes.
Carr nodded.
"Respond verbally, please," Jeckel said.
"Yes," Carr said.
Heckel looked at Jeckel. He nodded. Jeckel looked at his notes for a moment. "When you fired your service revolver," he said, "what was the thought that was foremost in your mind? I mean, right at that very moment."
Carr made a thoughtful expression. He leaned forward in his chair. His elbows rested on his thighs. He rubbed his chin for a while. "Things happened fast," he said finally, "but I remember clearly what was going through my mind." A chin rub.
The inspectors made notes.
"I was sort of talking to myself," he continued. "I said, 'Carr, right now you have reason to fear for your life and the lives of others. You are now authorized to fire your Treasury revolver for the purpose of stopping the suspect from committing the act he is engaged in.'" He sat up straight.
Both men frowned. They looked at one another.
"Why did you fire at the suspect's head?" Heckel said.
"It was the only portion of his body that was exposed," Carr said. "The hostage was in front of him."
"Did you consider that you might have missed LaMonica and hit the hostage?" Jeckel threw the question out like a challenge.
"No," Carr said.
"In other words, that possibility didn't even enter your mind. Is that what you're saying?" Heckel said.
"Yes."
"Why not?" Jeckel said.
"Because I've qualified 'expert' at the pistol range every month for over twenty years," Carr said without inflection.
Waeves emitted a burst of pipe smoke. The inspectors wrote things in the margins o
f their notes. There was a long silence before the next question.
Carr returned to the squad room after the interview. He plopped down at his desk.
Kelly was having an animated telephone conversation. "Thanks a lot for calling," he said. He hung up the receiver. "That was Rodriguez," he said. "He says Teddy Mora's ex-brother-in-law just put a fifty-grand down payment on a motel in Ensenada. He's the manager of the local bank."
"At least somebody came out all right on the deal," Carr said. He gave a little laugh.
Charles Carr strolled with Sally along the cement walkway running parallel to the snack shops and apartment houses that faced Santa Monica Beach. It was the first time they had been together since Carr's return from Mexico. They were lost in a parade of roller skaters and joggers of both sexes, all cocoa-tanned and costumed in skimpy swim clothes. A lithe couple on wheels a few feet in front of them did a ritual of figure eights around one another as they gabbed about the best way to mix margaritas.
Sally had been walking with her head down most of the way. Carr felt like telling her to get whatever it was off her chest, but didn't.
The roller skaters finished their discussion and zoomed away holding hands.
"Why didn't you mention to me that you were going to Mexico?" Sally said. "We were together just hours before you left and you didn't so much as mention it."
"I guess I just didn't think of it," Carr said.
"Did you have a good time?"
Carr didn't answer.
"You don't have to answer that," she said condescendingly. "Rose Kelly said you and Jack had a fabulous lobster dinner down there."
"It was real nice."
Sally stopped in her tracks. She locked her arms across her chest. "There is no reason in the world why you can't share little things like that with me," she said angrily. "We just don't share things like other…uh…friends do. And I think I know why. You're afraid of things becoming too serious. You think that I'm going to put restraints on you. Well, there needn't be chains and boundaries on our relationship. I've proved that. So please stop treating me like some dizzy schoolgirl."
The Quality of the Informant cc-3 Page 19
