Chapter 18
I slid on a pair of shorts and stepped out the door a few feet to get a take on the weather. It was hot at eight in the morning and getting warmer by the minute. The air was fragrant with the smell of flowers and pine needles; I just sucked it all in like I was slapping on a sweet-smelling after shave. The lodge lit up in a glaring white light courtesy of the desert sun careening off the whitewashed walls of the buildings. I noticed a small pool in the middle of the property. Some guests were already flopping around in it, and I was chomping at the bit to join in. I couldn’t resist squeezing a little desert fun into my excursion.
I got into my swimming trunks and spent half the day in the pool, waiting for something cute in a bikini to walk by; it never materialized. What did come around was overweight with kids or just plain homely. I was confusing Flagstaff with the French Riviera, an honest mistake after leaving Hollywood behind for just a day.
Besides the usual contingent of kids jumping in the pool, I was probably the only single male around, another sure sign I was out of my element. I was feeling like this more often than not lately, and turning forty only hastened my unease. It must be the hardest adjustment of all to settle down and raise a family after living alone for so long. I was going to need a bone doctor to realign my priorities. But I figured this gumshoe career I was cultivating was a first step to get with the family program.
I took a look at my watch and realized it was getting late if I wanted to make Vegas, have a little fun, and perhaps head back to L.A., too. I was in a cautious mood, and I didn’t feel like breaking any laws. Before I left I looked up the address of the Middle school around here; luckily, they’d already started back in session. I figured I’d hand the package to him there instead, and put those Maui dreams away for the time being.
It was a twenty-minute drive away according to the motel clerk. But I had no reason to fear the benign traffic jams in this little burg. I showered again and got into a pair of cotton trousers and a light buttoned-down print shirt, then threw Homer in the car along with my belongings. Visions of roulette wheels and poker tables ran through my head, and I planned on making a beeline for the Luxor hotel as soon as I dropped off that little package for Joey boy.
I carefully pulled out of my parking spot without scratching up the two sport utility wagons that were wedging me in, a talent I was developing with a lot of practice. I turned left on the main road and headed for the school through a maze of streets with an Old West charm.
The houses and stores were built low in a faux ponderosa style with pine facades, wood slat roofs, and what looked like swinging doors. The sky hung all over this place, like a big blue backdrop. You sure felt closer to heaven around here, and I was ready to go if they gave me the word. I just wasn’t sure they’d let me in.
I made it to Joey’s school in less than half an hour, and just in time before they let the cuties out. They gave pretty good directions around here.
The school consisted of a series of ranch-style buildings with brightly painted walls and small bungalows scattered around campus that served as classrooms. A playground and ball field were stuck in the middle of the whole kabob. There was a sense of order and importance about the place that you only find in upscale school districts, which didn’t surprise me at all. You get what you pay for in life.
I could hear high-pitched shouting and horsing around coming from the ball field, the hormonal exuberance of early adolescence. It was a dead giveaway for a junior high.
I parked a block away from the entrance under a big, shady Sycamore tree. I had to keep the car in a cool spot if I didn’t want to come back to a tragedy. Homer needed vigilant attention in the desert. I left him a bowl of water on the floor of the back seat and patted his head with deep affection.
“Just stay nice and cool till I get back, pooch.” He didn’t look too happy.
I headed for the main office and walked up to the secretary’s desk. I waited until she got off the phone then politely caught her attention.
“Hello, my name is Robert Klay. I’m here to leave a package with Joey O’Brien. Can you call him down for me?”
“And what might be the nature of your business?” she inquired affably.
“I’m his uncle. I was just passing through town. I didn’t tell his mom about this, but I wanted to give him a present since I didn’t have the chance to on his birthday.”
“I’m sorry, but school policy doesn’t permit us to let anyone but a parent to see the student during school hours. I can hold the package for him if you’d like.” Her delivery was smooth as silk, but too many years of answering phone calls had left an officious rasp in her voice.
“Well, can’t I just see him for a minute or two? I’d sure like to see his face when he gets this.”
“Not unless you’re a parent. It’s school policy.”
“All right. But can you deliver the package to his classroom?” I pleaded as I handed it over. She took it somewhat cautiously, giving me a good looking-over and probably listening for any ticking.
“I’ll do my best.” She turned her head and deferred to a tall woman in a power suit who was staring suspiciously at me. The lady came right over and took the package from her hand.
“Mr. Klay, I’m Ms. Roberts, the school principal. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Hello. I’m Joey O’Brien’s uncle, nice to meet you, too.” It occurred to me she just might call his dad. I had to work fast. “You know I hate to put you through all this trouble, Ms. Roberts. I just realized it would be so much easier to drop it off at the house. I’ll call his dad and arrange to do that. I should have thought of it first.”
“I would appreciate it if you did just that. It gets complicated with all the rules we have at the school these days.”
“Of course, I understand.”
“I’m glad you feel that way.” She seemed relieved as she handed the package back to me.
“Sorry to inconvenience you,” I apologized, and walked out of there like I’d just dodged a bullet. I had to get the box of goodies to Joey in short order, in case they were still inclined to call his father. This job was getting more complicated than I ever expected.
After getting directions from a gas station attendant, I took off for 2356 South Cherry Avenue, only fifteen minutes away if you’re breaking the speed limit and ignoring every speed bump in sight. Does wonders for your car’s alignment, and helps your local chiropractor pay off his school loans.
I found a place to park a half block down from their ranch-style home. I sat low in the seat for over half an hour, wearing a Dodger cap pressed down tight on my forehead and a pair of dark shades with thick handles that pinched the back of my ears. Homer was lying on the floor. It was hot as hell inside the car, and I was praying they’d soon be happily ensconced at the mother-in-law’s for dinner and apple pie. I waited around till I couldn’t take the heat anymore.
I looked at my watch; it was ten minutes after four. I decided to go in.
When I got up to the house it looked empty, and his dad’s Beemer wasn’t in the driveway, either. I went in through the side like she said and hit the code numbers she’d given me. The door opened and I quietly found my way to a small bedroom, left the package under Joey’s bed, and quickly returned to the car. It seemed too easy to be true, so I got on the cell phone and called her back, giddy with success.
“It’s done Sheila.”
“You went in already?”
“Yeah, but I just left the package under the bed. I didn’t touch the collectibles.”
“Why didn’t you call me before you went in?”
“What the hell’s the difference. It’s done.”
“But you still don’t have the coins, Robert.”
“It’s not in me, Sheila. I’m not a criminal.”
“Just one time, Robert. It only takes one heist and you can kiss all the grief of teaching goodbye.”
“I don’t know, Sheila.”
“Robert, are you going to finish this job or not?”
“You’re putting me on the spot.”
“You know, Robert, you’re really a little baby. Behind all that tough talk there’s just a lot of mush.”
“I don’t have it in me, Sheila. I’m sorry.”
“Look, Robert, I understand. I really do. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I’m sorry.”
“Forget it.”
“It won’t even take five minutes.”
“I’m too scared.”
“It’s okay to be scared. I’m behind you on this, Robert. You can do it.”
This broad was persistent, to say the least. I was just about to hang up on her when I caught a passing glance at my mug in the rear-view mirror. I didn’t like what I saw. It was the fearful puss of a two-bit loser, ready to pack it in for four hundred and fifty bucks and a trip to Vegas. A voice inside me was crying out, begging me to go for it, telling me that my ship had come in.
“All right. You talked me into it. I’m heading in right now.”
“Good going, Robert. Take your time and call me when you’re done.”
I stormed out of the car and marched back to that house with an empty gym bag, determined to scoop up those coins before I could have a change of heart.
I went straight to the master bedroom, which had a more interesting look than the rest of the house. A large antique mahogany dresser and matching night table grabbed my attention, as well as a huge cast-iron bed frame that belonged in a haunted house. There were paintings with Wild West themes covering the walls, and a large beveled mirror hung flat on the ceiling over the bed for some kinky viewing, I thought.
My eyes finally fell on the safe. It sat in the corner next to a lovely antique oak swivel chair. I pulled out the combination Sheila had given me and proceeded to work the lock, following the turns precisely as written. But it wouldn’t open. I did it a few more times with no results until I realized she was playing me for a fool. I grabbed the package from Joey’s room and marched right out of there and back to my car. If I wasn’t getting the big payoff like she promised then little Joe wasn’t getting his cute little sweater, either.
I dialed Sheila, hardly able to contain myself. She wasn’t answering, and I was about to put my fist through the windshield when my attention was suddenly drawn to a black sedan and a sport utility wagon pulling onto the street in quick succession. The sedan drove right up on Joey’s lawn. Two burly crew cut types got out with their hands on their holsters. One of them drew his gun.
The wagon rolled up just behind the car on the lawn. Four more SWAT types piled out with their guns held behind them, barrels pointed down. Just then two police cars with lights flashing but no sirens showed up, stopping in the middle of the street to block off traffic. My thoughts melted in dread and confusion as I tried to get hold of the situation. Did someone see me walk into the house? Did I say something to tip off the principal? Why was there a SWAT team coming after me? What the hell was going on?
I slunk low in the seat and kept a hand on Homer’s head to keep him from jumping up. I looked down at the package and started tearing the wrapping paper off. I removed the box cover and found six tightly packed cellophane bags about ten inches long and a half-inch thick bundled up inside. I picked one up to get a better look, and a fine white powder spilled out over the passenger seat. I tossed the bag back in the box, closed it, and tucked it under my legs. A minute later, I opened the door very slowly while checking around for snooping neighbors; then I bent down and reached out as far as I could, placing the box just behind the front tire.
The SWAT guys were out of sight by now, and the cops in the patrol cars were locked into the business at hand, talking on their radios with their backs toward me. I turned the ignition on; I was sure they wouldn’t hear me with all the racket their radios were making. I put the car in reverse and rolled back a scratch. I heard a crunching sound and squeezed out of the spot while making a U-turn with all the stealth I could muster, but one of the cops caught sight of me and made for his car.
I turned the first corner and stepped on the gas. I was doing fifty in a twenty mile per hour zone till I hit a roundabout and had to slow down. I found another route and started flying through those suburban streets, my heart pounding and adrenalin fraying every last nerve and fiber to keep that car from going off the road.
I finally found a thoroughfare that took me out to the main drag and led toward the interstate. I had two choices: I could make for the highway and chance getting caught - it wouldn’t be too hard spotting an ‘83 lime green Honda with an orange-colored dog in the back seat - or I could hide out in some out-of-the-way place and leave town when it got dark. It was a pretty clear choice, so I drove around as discreetly as I could with my cap pulled down and my shades on till I discovered an alleyway and turned into it. I figured it would be safe to wait there till nightfall.
I drove in slowly, looking every which way to make sure I wasn’t being followed. I could hear sirens in the background, but they weren’t getting any closer. The cops could have figured me for an innocent neighbor and let it go at that. Or I might have just outrun them. I was going to find out one way or the other.
There was no room to park in the alley, so I drove out the other side and found a spot on the street. I pulled out my bag and stuffed it with everything I could lay my hands on, including my revolver. I didn’t want to leave anything in the car that could incriminate me. It also seemed wise to keep that piece of metal close by, considering the recent turn of events.
I got Homer out and put him on a leash. He looked tired, but I got him moving fast. I went back into the alley pretending I was a local walking a dog. I spied a cluster of plastic green garbage bins that were grouped around a short concrete barrier. It looked like a safe, clean place to lay low until it got dark. I moved a few of the bins around to form a makeshift shelter and sat down with Homer behind them. I had to pinch myself to see if it all wasn’t a damned nightmare.
It was five o’clock and I was already agonizing about the few hours of daylight left before I could make a break for L.A. Vegas was just a dream now, but Santa Monica and Sheila Farelly were right in my sights.