Cicero's Dead (14 page)

“I can’t wait to meet this asshole,” growled
Bobby, his jaw flexing angrily.

“What happened at McDonald’s?”

“The very nervous doctor was sitting in back when
I arrived. I ordered coffee and sat down a few tables away and about ten after five,
the messenger arrived. It obviously wasn’t Fishburne or Koncak; I guess they
were busy terrorizing Brad. This guy was about five-three, chubby,
middle-eastern. They made the exchange and the dude booked outta there. I
followed him.”

“What about the doc?”

“I dunno. He just sat there looking worried. I
guess.”

“And the other guy?”

“He was walking toward Alvarado and when he
realized I was following him, he picked up his pace.”

“And then?”

“When he knew I wasn’t going anywhere, he stopped
and waited for me.” Our beers were now dead soldiers. “I need another one.”

Asking him to wait and finish the story was
pointless, so I nodded and he disappeared, returning a moment later with two
new brews. He sat and continued, “I told him I was a PI and needed to ask him
some questions.”

“Was he scared?”

“Yeah, but the forty dollars relaxed him. He told
me his name’s Mamdouh and that he’d been hired to drop off the money by a tall,
red-headed man named Ernie. He’d shown up yesterday and paid him $200 to
deliver the envelope.”

“Did he say what was in it?”

“No, it was sealed, but he said it felt like a
grip’a money.”

“You think he was telling the truth?”

Bobby nodded. “I took $500 out of my wallet and
said it was his if he could lead me to Ernie. He stared longingly at it but
shook his head. I doubled it and still he didn’t bite.”

“Money, still the best lubricant in the world.”

“I gave him another $100 and split.”

It was about 2:00 a.m., our beers were finished
and I was beat. “I’m gonna hit the sack.”

“What are we gonna do with Brad?”

“I dunno, but we’ve got a war on our hands.”

“Have him stay here and keep an eye on Jade.”

“Yes, I guess so.” I stretched and headed for the
door. “Good night.”

“If this goes sideways, I’m gonna kill every one
of those motherfuckas.”

It was late, we were buzzed and the gathering
danger was pressing in on us.

Chapter IV – Body Bags

A sleeping bag on a
kitchen floor’s not the most accommodating of beds. I woke up a few times,
jarred awake by the noise of the refrigerator, but managed to get back to
sleep.
In the morning my friends’
voices eased me back into consciousness.

“Sleeping beauty needs to get his ass up,” teased
Bobby.

“The boss is on strike.”

“He does his best thinking on his back,” offered
Jade, winking at me.

Bobby and Brad looked at her, then at me, then at
each other. She laughed, sounding refreshed compared to yesterday and wiggled
away. I crawled out of the sleeping bag and staggered to the living room couch,
but couldn’t get back to sleep, and after a while someone brought me coffee. I
took a sip and tried to shake out the cobwebs.

“Cassady called, bro,” said Bobby, handing me my
cell.

“Thanks.” I dialed her.

“Bobby said you were asleep.”

“Long night. Are you flying back today?”

“In a couple of hours.”

“When you get here, don’t go to our house. Come
straight here instead.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause we’ve got your gun here.”

“That bad?”

“Worse. They came to our place yesterday
afternoon. Scared Brad half to death.”

“Any damage?”

“Nada.”

“Okay, good.”

“I don’t want anyone following you here. When you
get to Ontario airport, don’t pick up your car, but get a rental instead.
Something dark colored, nondescript.”

“You realize I’ve gotta teach Monday.”

“Sorry, Baby, that’s on hold for a while.”

She sighed. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“See you soon.”

I took my coffee, went out and sat on the back
porch. The air was still brown, but showed signs of clearing, and as the winds
had died down, I figured the worst was over. I phoned Audrey.

“Hey, Boss, I’m trying to get my daughter to eat
breakfast. Can you call back?”

“No. Be very careful. Arnold and his crew are on
to us and out for blood. Don’t go by the office ‘til I give you the all clear.
Understand?”

“What can I do?”

“Work from home and do what you can.”

“Do they know where I live?”

“No way for me to know.”

“Jesus.”

Halladay beeped in, but I let it go to voicemail.

“If you guys wanna split for a hotel, I’ll cover
it. No worries.”

“I’ll talk to Tim.”

“Just in case, if you do, don’t give me the
address.”

“Understood.”

She hung up and I checked my voicemail. Halladay’s
voice was crisp, cool, authoritative.

“Nick, call me immediately.”

I finished my coffee and went inside for another.
Everyone was eating eggs and toast. The blonde women on the Fox morning show
were laughing.

“Get some eggs, boss,” said Bobby.

I went back outside with the food and another cup
of coffee. I ate methodically. The goats discovered I had food, and came
nuzzling up. I threw them bits of egg and let one lick the plate. Sometimes a
criminal’s psychological make-up can lead you to the facts, rather than the
other way around.

Arnold, a psychotic and sadistic killer, was
certainly the artist who drew the picture of Ron’s corpse. He’s wouldn’t be
concerned about Richie and Jade’s fortune. No. His motivation would be to feed
his ego, control his victims, and have an audience to marvel at his exploits.

The fake Fishburne and Koncak were just garden
variety scum, but dangerous. Their pleasure in meting out death was not the
almost rarified joy Arnold would experience, not the product of some inexplicable
aberration, but was simply mundane. Theirs was the banal pleasure of sub-humans
with a basic inability to cope with life’s everyday frustrations, striking out
randomly. And now they were getting paid for it.

The problem was Halladay. Why was I so reluctant
to tie him to the cover-up? He was the enigma. Jade had been quick to doubt him
and she had known him for years. Was it merely coincidence that I had seen him
in his running togs right in front of Arnold’s old house?

I went back over my conversation with Halladay at
his office. He’d worked hard to make himself seem worldly, yet jaded, but for
what purpose? And why had he been so insistent on my loyalty? I took a sip of
coffee and stirred what was left with my index finger.

Maybe he’d invested in Cicero’s drug deals. It was
certainly possible. Maybe they’d had a falling out and Cicero was now a
liability. Maybe Halladay was broke. Maybe he’d been struggling for years to
keep up the charade. Maybe he’d lost his fortune in the tech crash in 2000. A
handful of maybes were all I had right now. Anything was possible.

To top it off, he’d slept with his best friend’s
wife. It’s obviously not unknown for a client’s wife to have a love affair with
the attorney, but in her house in the middle of the afternoon? That was notably
reckless, not the pattern of a prudent man. But the key point, the one I had
rationalized away, was that Halladay was so insistent no one be made aware of
the cover-up. Even if he was innocent, he was taking a huge risk. Concealing a
capital crime is a very serious offense, and all the more if it turned out that
you were involved in it. Which, viewed in a certain light, was a damned good
reason to keep it on the down-low.

Halladay answered on the fourth ring. “Took your
time.”

“Busy.”

I could hear him chewing his teeth as he fought
for control. “How’re things going?”

“Jade’s doing as well as can be expected, and
we’re zeroing in on Richard.”

“Is that right?”

“Have you ever run across Arnold Clipper?”

I waited in the burgeoning silence. He cleared his
throat. “I don’t think so, Nick, though the name sounds slightly familiar.
Why?” His voice, smooth as a pickpocket lifting your wallet.

“Clipper’s connected with the two clowns
impersonating the cops. They murdered a young actor, either late Wednesday, or
early Thursday morning, dumping the body near Skid Row.”

“Yeah, it was on the news. Anyway, why would I
know Clipper?”

“You both live on Beachwood.”

“You investigating me, to know where I live?”

“Star Maps. Everybody knows where the celebrities
live.”

“Didn’t know I was listed there.”

I managed not to laugh as I thought about
Halladay, his ego leading the way as he purchased a Star Map from one of the
many street corner hustlers.

“Wait a minute. I have heard that name and, in
fact, if memory serves, I met him at one of the neighborhood watch meetings.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, yes it is.”

“This isn’t good, Mr. Halladay. He knows what you
look like.”

“But why would he want to hurt me?”

“Connect the dots. Cicero’s millions, Richie, Jade
and you.”

“Oh my.”

“He tried to get Ron Cera to set up a meet with
Jade. He wouldn’t and now he’s dead. We need to reconsider not going to the
cops.”

“Good Lord.”

“They even delivered a hand drawn image of the
decedent to my house, the bastards.”

“They’ve contacted you?” Halladay sounded
genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing my wife and daughter
weren’t there.”

I could hear Halladay breathing hard as he
considered this new information. The long silence only served to agitate my
growing unease.

“We maybe should go to the police, but before we
do, I want to meet and explain my reasons for the secrecy.”

“Okay. Your office?”

“No, too public. Where do you live?”

“Whittier.”

“Text me your address and I’ll see you in an hour.
Does that work?”

“Sure.”

“It’ll be nice to meet your wife and daughter.”

“They left for Mallorca, Friday afternoon.”

“I love Mallorca. It’s my second favorite place
after Ibiza. Shouldn’t your daughter be in school, though?”

“We home school her. My wife insists on exercising
considerable control over her education.”

“Very smart. Anyway, I better get moving. Later,
Nick.”

“See you in a bit.”

As I called Tony I was laughing. Home school
Maleah? Fat chance. Tony didn’t answer. Bobby and I left in the Yukon. I was
carrying my Colt and my Walther. Bobby had his nine, but also brought his fully
auto M14, made all the nastier by the black silencer. I pulled up on my
driveway, let him into the house and parked on the next street over, hotfooting
it back to the house. Bobby was down in the den, attaching the bayonet to the
M14. The intimidation factor was off the charts. Bobby handled it with
practiced ease.

He grinned at me. “Haven’t touched this baby in a
while.” He was chewing the inside of his mouth, a holdover from his drug days.
The TV was on mute, and he looked completely at home and completely relaxed.

“I assume he’ll be alone, but just in case, be
ready.”

“I’m ready. Feel like shit, I always do when I
drink, but I’m ready.” He leaned his rifle up against an end table and
stretched out on the bed. I had the feeling he’d be asleep in about 60 seconds
but wasn’t too concerned. Any double-cross from Halladay would almost certainly
be by proxy.

I went back upstairs and turned on the coffee pot.
Then I waited. By the time Halladay arrived, I had a pot of Colombian dark
roast waiting on the coffee table, plus two mugs and cream and sugar.

“Come in, Mr. Halladay.”

He was in his workout outfit and smiled warmly as
we shook hands. “Thanks.”

“Please, have a seat.”

We entered the living room, sitting opposite each
other. “Coffee?”

“Black.”

I poured him a cup and handed it to him. He took a
sip and seemed friendly enough, but my instinct was telling me to be careful.
“We appear to be sitting on at least two murders, Cicero’s and that goddamned
actor’s.”

“Actually, that’s not quite accurate.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because it’s you that’s sitting on two murders.”

He looked at me curiously as his friendly vibe
began to evaporate.

“Our constabulary, as you call them, jacked me up
Thursday afternoon. They were laboring under the misapprehension that I had
killed that goddamned actor.”

“Really?”

“I was home here in bed with my wife when he was
beheaded and dumped. I gave them my theory, which they were very interested
in.”

All ears, he gripped the mug so tightly, I thought
it might explode. “Which is what, exactly?”

“Cicero’s death was a cover-up, and he was
probably whacked by the two assholes that’re impersonating cops, per Arnold
Clipper’s orders. They also talked to Jade and now, in their own peculiar way,
LAPD has a real fucking hard-on.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” said Halladay quietly.

I was surprised. His normal dominant personality
was momentarily blunted, which made me all the more suspicious. “Not the sort
of thing I like to talk about on the phone.”

“You didn’t even contact me.” His eyes, suddenly
glistening and hard, bored into me.

“You wanted me to take care of this on the D.L, so
you could distance yourself as much as possible. Am I wrong?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think you paid me 100 G’s to call you
every five minutes.”

Halladay nodded as he mulled this over. “What
should we do?”

“I’m no lawyer but if I were you, I’d inform the
police you had your paralegal run a Vital Records check and to your surprise,
it turns out Cicero wasn’t killed in a hit-and-run after all. All you risk is
embarrassment.”

“Sounds messy.”

“Yeah but you clear yourself on any possible
misprision of felony charges.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He put down his coffee cup
and rubbed his hands together to get the circulation back that he’d squeezed
out. He looked at me and sighed. “Me and Cicero were making so much money, it
was ridiculous. I mean cash was flowing in like Scarface. Then the idiot
stopped selling Persian Brown and switched to blow. Cut our profit margin in
half because we didn’t have the same fantastic connections as we did with the
brown. And then Cicero got bored and quit. One day, out of the blue, he phones
me up and tells me we’re out of business. I suppose I should have been relieved
but I’d gotten very used to the money. You know how that goes?”

I nodded and deliberated. “You shouldn’t really be
telling me this.”

Halladay shook his head. “Without even asking me.
I could never understand why.”

As I listened to his confession, I felt like I was
having an out of body experience. “Mr. Halladay, I--”

“--Have you ever seen, I mean physically, how big
of a stack 300 million dollars is?”

“No.”

“It’s the most amazing sight. You feel like you
own the world and it gives you the biggest hard-on of your life.”

He fell silent and we looked at each other. I was
fascinated but acutely aware that he wouldn’t be telling me this unless he had
ulterior motives. I had an opening and took it.

“Why were you sleeping with his wife?”

The blood drained out of his face. He opened his
mouth to say something, but changed his mind and sat there in the telling
silence.

“You know it was bound to come out sooner or
later.”

He sucked in his top lip and sighed out of his
nose. “Prison changes a man.”

“He came out Cindy instead of Cicero? Is that what
you’re saying?”

“Dominique had a voracious appetite that he no
longer wanted to satisfy.”

“So you served her?”

“Yes, but with his complete knowledge and
permission.”

“Did Jade know?”

He shook his head. I wanted to twist it right off
his pompous neck. “We were discreet.”

“Not discreet enough.”

“I’m sorry?”

My coffee had gone cold, but I drank it down
anyway. “You remember the day Richard came home unexpectedly and caught you
two?”