He put the Fairlane in gear and rolled out after Paul Nichols.
Paul took Sunset west to the 405 Freeway, drove south to the Santa Monica
Freeway, headed out to the Coast Highway, then took the PCH north to Malibu.
Just after sunset he arrived back at Malibu Beach and parked half a block down
from Barbra Streisand's house.
Then Professor Doofus actually took out a pair of binoculars and
started scoping the front of Barbra's, looking a lot like Kurt Jurgens in
The
Enemy Below.
Jack parked a block up the street and
tried to figure out what to do. The guy he was staking out was staking out the
guy who hired him to stake out the guy he was staking out. A perfect circle.
Jack got out of the Fairlane and dashed across the street to the
large mansion next door. He paused, recited the Big Dog Prayer, then jumped the
gate, trotted down the sidewalk between two huge houses to the beach, and
trudged up the sand until he stood opposite the guest house. He looked through
the window and saw Herman and Susan working at a table in the main room. He
walked through the low gate, crossed the patio, and knocked on the glass door.
Susan saw him and opened the slider, looking at him skeptically
before asking: "Why didn't you just ring the buzzer and use the front
door?"
"Since you're such a stickler for protocol, why don't you
cover your damned checks?"
"Huh?"
"You heard me, both of the checks you wrote yesterday came
straight from Goodyear rubber."
"Dad, did you remember to make the deposit on . . ."
"Cut the b.s., lady. I'm at least ten percent smarter than I
look." He pushed past her, entering the house.
Herman was on his feet, but with one hand still on the game table
for support. "Aren't you supposed to be following Professor Nichols?"
"I am following him. I'm on my break."
"I don't see how you can be here and following him at the
same time," Herman wondered aloud.
"It's complicated, but I'm gifted." Jack walked over,
picked an apple out of a fruit bowl, then took a big bite. He needed to get
some nourishment into his system, some natural sugar, because his brain was
stalling out on him.
"How can you be following him and be here at the same
time?" Susan demanded.
"Because he's parked on the street outside scoping out this
house with binoculars. I followed him over here. My cell battery is fried, so I
couldn't call and announce myself—which, let me hasten to add, is my normal business
practice." Pissy now, dripping sarcasm. "But, before we go any
further, I must warn you that the Wirta Agency Business Affairs Office is
instructing me to withhold further service until the matter of your two NSF
checks can be dealt with. Failing that, my Legal Affairs Department is
suggesting court remedies."
"Mr. Wirta, I'm sorry, but at this particular moment we don't
have the money to pay you," Herman said. "I thought I would have it
when we hired you, but conditions have changed, due to a courtroom setback. A
very steep fine. I may still be able to get your money, but right now we are a
little strapped."
"I see." Jack thought,
It shouldn't be this hard for
a P.I.. to make a living. Maybe I should open a dating and escort service. Take
Miro 's overflow. Call it Deflections.
"Please, Jack," Susan said earnestly. "We really
need your help. Dad told me about the secret lab—those kids
are working for
the government. I changed my mind. If Professor Nichols came out here that
means something is definitely wrong. You've got to help us."
Jack could feel himself falling for it but he said, "I'm
gonna need more than that."
"Here." She took off some rings and her watch.
"Honey, that's your graduation watch," Herman said sadly.
Jack thought,
This can't be happening.
"I don't take
used jewelry," he said, retreating deeper into the guest house.
"Will you help us? Please? We'll figure something out about
the money," Susan said.
"Do you have a cell phone?"
She nodded and
handed him one. "But I don't think it's worth much."
"No—not for payment. For communication. Look, I'm gonna go
back outside. Herm, I need you to go with me. We'll be back in about an hour.
Take your cell phone, get in Barbra's car and pull out.
"Why?" he asked.
"I want you to lead Paul Nichols up into the hills. There's a
road off Malibu Canyon I know about. We did a crystal drug bust up there when I
was a cop. Buncha bikers. It's nice and empty. There's a clearing with a baseball
diamond. I'll give you directions, talk you in using the cell. You drive up
there. Paul follows you, I follow Paul."
"What am I supposed to do?" Susan said.
"Call downtown and get us a parade permit."
"Funny," she snapped.
"What's your plan?" Herm persisted.
"Once we get him up there I'm gonna pull his scrawny ass out
of that blue Chevelle and beat some answers outta him. Like Susan said,
something is definitely wrong here."
J
ack slid back into his Fairlane, then
used Susan's phone to call Herman inside the house. "Okay, I'm set. He's
still parked out here. Get in the Mercedes and head up to Malibu Canyon
Road."
"Okay," Herman replied. "But Susan just decided she
wants to go."
"You tell Susan if I see her in that car I'm turning around
and going home."
He heard a muffled conversation as Herman and Susan argued about
it, then Susan was in his ear, buzzing like an angry hornet: "I'm not
going to be left behind like somebody's little sister."
"I know you have an extensive background in law enforcement,
Ms. Strockmire, but let me stress this, and I'll say it slowly, so even you can
understand . . ."
Why
was he being such an asshole? Was it because he couldn't
control her? Was this why he had had such a string of uninspiring
relationships?
"Ms. Strockmire," he continued with exaggerated
politeness. "It is always a bad idea to have all your assets stacked up in
one place. You're rear guard—a position usually assigned to the most dangerous
motherfucker in the outfit, which, without a doubt, is you."
"Now you're really going over the top."
"Do I have your word on this? Otherwise, I'm going
home."
"Dad's coming out," she hissed. "But Wirta. . . if
anything happens to him, I'm coming after you."
"Your challenge. So, I get to pick time and choice of
weapons. How 'bout midnight, with thongs and nipple clips."
"What an asshole!" she said, but he heard her laugh as
she hung up.
Ten minutes later Herman lumbered out, climbed into the silver
Mercedes, and backed out of the driveway. Jack watched in amazement as Paul
Nichols actually turned on his headlights, hung a U-turn and followed.
Jack dialed Herman's cell phone. When he picked up: "Herm, he's
behind you."
"How could I miss him?" Herman wheezed sarcastically.
"He's got his high beams on."
"Okay, listen: Take Malibu Canyon Road up about two miles.
Just before the tunnel there's a dirt road on the left with a wooden gate. It's
always unlocked. You don't have to get out, you can butt it with your bumper
and it'll swing open. Drive up the road and take the first fork. You getting
this?"
"Yeah, take the first fork. Then what?"
"Keep going until you get to a meadow. It's up on top of the
hill. There's a sports field up there. A little baseball diamond, a track, some
volleyball nets. Pull across and park by the dugout, then wait."
"Okay."
Jack hung up and dialed Shane Scully, his ex-partner.
"Hello," the dark-haired cop answered.
"Shane, it's me."
"Me? Would that be L.A.'s newest gumshoe? How's the office?
You set up yet?"
"We've already had our first robbery, our first client, and
I'm on our first stakeout. . . just like Magnum, only without the
Ferrari."
"Whatta you need?" Shane asked.
"Can you find out who owns the residence at 2352 North Canon
Drive in Beverly Hills? A guy named Paul Nichols lives there, but I want to
know if he owns the place, is a guest, or what?"
"Any reason to think he doesn't own it?"
"It's big, maybe worth four or five mil, but Paul drives a
cheesebox with wheels so I have my doubts. Run the address through county
records for me. There's a cold beer in it for you."
"Done."
Herman turned left off Malibu Canyon
Road and followed a small dirt drive to the wood fence. He nudged the gate open
with his bumper as Jack had instructed. It swung wide. He saw the blue Chevelle
pulling in behind him.
Herman was feeling very alive. His heart rate was steady, and when
he checked his pulse it was up around 92—not arrhythmia—excitement. It made him
feel more energized than he had in weeks. But he was glad he had Jack Wirta
back there for protection.
The baseball diamond came up on the right. He pulled across the
outfield, then parked near the batting cage and turned off the headlights. In
his rearview mirror he watched the blue Chevelle pull up onto the field and
stop thirty or forty yards behind him with the headlights off. His cell phone rang
again and he picked it up. "Yeah?"
"He up there?" Wirta asked.
"Yep. Parked in the outfield."
"Okay. Get out and walk slowly toward him."
"Do what?"
"Don't worry, I just need you for a diversion. I'm twenty
yards down the road. I'm gonna move in on foot. I'll take him before you get to
him."
"Okay."
Herman hoped his heart didn't spin out on him. He took his pulse
again: 98—still in the high-normal range. He got out of the car and began to
walk slowly toward the blue Chevelle. It was strange how exhilarated he felt.
He was actually enjoying this.
When he was about fifty feet from the car, he heard somebody yell:
"Hey! Hey, whatta you doing? Stop it!" And he knew Jack had made his
move.
Herman lumbered up as fast as he could without running, and when
he arrived at the Chevelle he found that Jack Wirta had Professor Nichols face
down on the ground, handcuffing him.
"You'd better unhook these if you know what's good for
you," Nichols demanded.
"If I knew what was good for me I wouldn't be driving a
Fairlane and working these hours. Why don't you tell me why you're following
Herman Strockmire?" Jack pulled him into a sitting position.
"None of your fucking business!" Nichols's forehead was
wet and he had a little damp grass stuck to his bullshit Vandyke.
Then all hell broke loose.
It started with a whispering sound that brought a wind with it,
bending the long grass around the baseball diamond. Herman looked up and saw a
huge helicopter, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. It had a sort of
stealth configuration and was extremely quiet as it hovered over them. He
glimpsed the underbelly and part of the nose for only a second before a huge
xenon light snapped on, blinding him.
"Stand where you are! Put your
hands in the air!" a bullhorn blared down at them.