Heat (13 page)

J
esse stood at the kitchen counter opening the wine while Jenny put dinner on the table. He poured a little wine into a glass and tasted it.

“Where'd you learn to do that?” she asked.

“Oh, I've been to a good restaurant or two, you know.”

“You have? Where?”

“Atlanta, mostly, and, of course, New York.”

Her eyes widened. “You've been to New York?”

“I've been around.”

“Why in the world would you have gone to New York?”

Jesse thought fast. “I went to a builder's show at the Coliseum, once. Spent nearly a week up there.”

“What's it like?”

“Why don't you find out for yourself?”

She put her arms around his waist and hugged him. “I'd love to.”

“You mean it?”

“I do.”

“Shall we take Carey?”

“No, not if it means missing school.”

“It would, I'm afraid.” He wasn't afraid at all; he looked forward to having her all to himself in the big city.

“The school frowns on kids missing a day for
any
reason.”

“Can she stay with a friend?”

“I'm sure she can. Come on, let's eat.” She called Carey to dinner and sat down. She had cooked steaks, his favorite.

Jesse tore into his dinner.

“Can I have some wine?” Carey asked.

Jenny looked shocked. “Certainly not, young lady. Not until you're twenty-one!”

“Aw…”

“Carey, would you like to stay with Harriet Twomy for a few days next week? I'll call her mother.”

“Sure, but why?”

“Jesse and I are going to New York City for a short vacation.”

“Why can't I go?” the child wailed.

“You know very well you can't miss school.”

“And who gave you permission to go?” Carey demanded.

Jenny reddened. “I don't need anyone's permission.”

“You'll get in trouble,” Carey said.

“That's enough, young lady; eat your dinner.”

 

Jesse drove to Coeur d'Alene the following morning and bought a 35mm camera. As his purchase was being wrapped he spotted a Polaroid instant camera, and he bought that, too. On the way back to St. Clair he pulled over at a rest stop and retrieved his cellular phone from his lunchbox.

“This is Fuller.”

“It's Jesse.”

“How's it going, buddy?”

“More and more interesting. Pat Casey gave me a polygraph examination last night.”

“Oh, holy shit!”

“Looks like I passed.”

“How could you beat a polygraph?”

“A combination of a little yoga breathing, and, I suspect, Casey is either a green operator or a piss-poor one.”

“Are you sure you're in the clear?”

“I'm still alive. The acid test will come next week, when I go to New York.”

“New York? What are you talking about?”

“My employer is sending me to make a pitch to an architectural firm. If Coldwater lets me get out of town, then I figure he trusts me.”

“How long will you be there?”

“Going Thursday, coming back Monday.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I haven't figured that out yet.”

“You're staying at the Roosevelt, at Madison and Forty-seventh Street.”

“Why?”

“I think it would be good for you and I to meet and have a talk.”

“Okay, sure.”

“Call the hotel direct and make the reservation. I'll take care of the rest.”

“How will I contact you?”

“I'll contact you.”

Jesse put the phone away and drove back to St. Clair. He had one errand to run for Jenny; he parked in front of the courthouse and went to the county registrar's office.

“Can I help you?” a woman asked.

“Yes, Mrs. Jenny Weatherby would like a copy of her daughter's birth certificate,” he said. “It's for
school; apparently the principal's office says her records are incomplete. Her name is Carey Weatherby.”

“It'll just be a minute,” the woman said.

He watched as she went to a long row of filing cabinets and looked for the certificate. She plucked it from the file, went to a copying machine and made the copy, then returned the original to the file cabinet. Then she took a rubber stamp from a desk drawer, stamped the certificate and signed it. “There you are,” she said, handing him the paper. “All certified. That'll be two dollars.”

He paid her and left. As he was folding the certificate he glanced at it and saw something that mystified him. In the block for the mother's name, Jenny's name appeared, but in the block for the father's name there was only a blank space. He put the certificate in his pocket and thought no more about it. He did, however, think about what he had just seen in the courthouse, and he remembered it.

J
esse spent an entire day photographing the Wood Products plant, machinery and employees for his presentation and working on the text, and when the factory closed for the day he stayed on, explaining to Herman Muller that he wanted shots of the machinery bays with no people in them.

When he was sure that he was alone in the factory, he walked down to the machine shop and turned on the lights. He went to the storeroom and found a package of replacement hacksaw blades and moved to a small electric grinder. He took a pair of heavy shears, cut a blade into several smaller pieces, then donned safety glasses, switched on the grinder and began work on the thin ribbons of steel. First, he ground off the sawteeth, then he began grinding each strip of metal into a particular shape. An hour later he had what he wanted. He closed up and went home.

 

After dinner, Jesse produced his new Polaroid camera and insisted on photographing both Jenny and
Carey repeatedly, then asked Jenny to photograph him. He wanted the pictures for his wallet, he told them.

 

Some time after 2
A.M.
Jesse woke and gingerly got out of bed. Jenny always slept deeply, and she never stirred. He dressed in his dark dress trousers and a dark blue shirt; downstairs he slipped into a coat and went to the garage. There was a bit of a slope, and he allowed the truck to coast down to the street before starting it. He drove into town and parked the truck in an alley near the courthouse, then walked the rest of the way.

He skirted the square stone building until he saw what he was looking for—a door on the side of the building that housed the county registrar's office. After looking carefully around the street to be sure it was still deserted, he went to the door and took out his wallet. He knelt and, using a small flashlight, examined the lock. It was an ordinary Yale deadbolt and, from the strips of steel he had machined earlier in the day, he selected two picks. He was rusty, but he still had the door open in under two minutes. He closed it softly behind him and found himself in a narrow rear hallway. He listened carefully. The building was made of stone and marble and any sound would echo through the halls. Hearing nothing, he slipped off his shoes and padded around the building, making sure there was no night watchman.

When he was sure he was alone in the building, he went to the registrar's office and began work on the lock. This one was unfamiliar and very frustrating. He tried three sets of picks before he got the hang of it. Finally, the door swung open, and he had the place to himself. His eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, and he could see quite well without resorting to the flashlight. There, on the opposite wall, was a lucky break. He walked across the large room and examined the steel cabinet closely; the lock was nothing more
than a common desk lock, and he had it open in seconds. Arrayed before him on hooks, clearly labeled, were the keys to every filing cabinet, desk and cupboard in the office.

He started with the filing cabinets. Switching on his little flashlight, he opened drawers until he had found both Jenny's and Carey's birth certificates. He took them to the desk of the clerk who had helped him the day before, then worked on the desk lock. Soon he had the certification stamp she had used on the copy of Carey's certificate.

Now he needed something else, and rifling the clerk's desk didn't produce it. He began a systematic search and finally found what he was looking for in a bank of pigeonholes that held office stationery. He went back to the desk and switched on the electric typewriter that sat on a wing.

He needed names, names that were new, but close enough to their real ones. He rolled the first form into the machine and, under the space for a name, typed Jeffrey Warren. He invented names for parents close to those of his own, chose a birth date a year later and shortly he had a brand new birth certificate.

Then, working from the original forms, he created new certificates for Jenny and Carey. He carefully forged the necessary signatures of the doctor and recording clerk, then went to the copying machine and made two copies of each certificate. He then applied the certification stamp and forged the illegible signature of the clerk. All that remained was to file the new certificates in the proper place in the filing drawers, and it was as if these three brand new people had always existed.

He was about to leave, when he had another thought. He located the files for marriage certificates, found the proper form, made copies and filed the new certificate in the proper place. No one would ever suspect.

He put everything back in its place, locked the key cabinet, the desk and the door and he was about to
leave the building when he had an inspiration. Directly across the hall was a door painted with the legend, “Idaho State Police, Licensing Division.”

He got the door open and entered the room. There were benches lined up for the waiting public and there, on the high desktop separating the public from the workers, was the machine, the one that photographed, laminated and recorded driver's licenses.

He sat on the stool behind the machine and tried to figure it out. There weren't a lot of controls, but none of them made sense. This was too good an opportunity to pass up, though, and he began a search. Shortly he had found the instructions for the machine, nicely printed on a single sheet of paper and laminated. After that, it was simple. He typed out the license application, stood himself before the machine, took his own picture, flinching at the flash, then waited while the thing hummed and worked and produced a laminated Idaho driver's license in the name of Jeffrey Warren. He put everything back in its place, and, as a final touch, added his completed application to a stack waiting to be entered into the state's computer network. Tomorrow some clerk would do his job, and Jeffrey Warren would exist with the state, as well as with the county.

He had just let himself out and locked the door behind him, when there was the loud bang of a door closing.

Jesse grabbed his shoes and ran soundlessly down the hallway. At the end he stopped and saw the beam of a flashlight from around the corner. He took refuge behind the nearest door—the ladies' room, as luck had it. He ran the length of the room and ducked into the last stall, stood on the toilet seat, crouched and waited, breathing deeply to get his pulse and respiration down. He could hear the footsteps of the searcher, hear each door as it opened and closed. When the ladies' room door opened, Jesse stopped breathing.

“All right, you son of a bitch,” a male voice said. “You come out of here right now, because if I have to look in those stalls I'm going to shoot whatever I see.”

Jesse squatted on the toilet seat, put his hands on the walls to either side and got ready to spring. He'd have to overpower the guy and hope he didn't get shot while doing it.

“Last chance,” the man said, and took a step, his shoe leather ringing on the marble floor.

Then the floor under Jesse was illuminated as a strong flashlight searched for feet in the stalls.

“Shit,” the man said. There were more steps, and the door closed behind him.

Jesse tried to make himself comfortable; he was not going to move until his muscles forced him to, and he figured he could last a while. He waited and listened as the cop radioed in; the voice was faint from the hall, but he could make out the words.

“It's Prentice,” the cop said. “Call somebody who has the keys to the courthouse and get him over here. I found a side door unlocked.”

There was a rasp and an unintelligible squawk as the reply came.

“I thought I saw a flash of light from inside the building, so I investigated,” the cop said back. “But everything seems okay, except the open door. I'll stick around until somebody comes and locks it. Ten-four.”

His footsteps echoed down the hallway, and Jesse heard the side door open and close. Painfully, he straightened up, then sat down on the toilet seat to wait. Half an hour passed before somebody showed up with the keys and locked the door. Jesse waited another fifteen minutes before letting himself out of the building and heading for the truck.

The first light of dawn was in the sky before he crept back into bed with Jenny.

A
s Jesse was loading Jenny's car for the trip to the Spokane airport, Kurt Ruger drove up and got out, carrying a briefcase.

“You're up early, Kurt,” Jesse said. It was not daylight yet.

“Jack Gene sent me, Jesse,” Ruger said. “He'd appreciate it if you'd do him a favor while you're in New York.”

Jesse wasn't sure how Coldwater could know that he was going to New York, but he smiled. “Sure, glad to.”

Ruger handed him the briefcase. “He'd like you to deliver this to an address in midtown Manhattan at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning.” He handed Jesse a card with the address typed on it. 666 Fifth Avenue, suite 7019, and a name, Mr. Enzberg.

“I can do that; my appointment isn't until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Jesse, the contents are very important; you're not to let the case out of your sight, not even to put it in the overhead luggage rack on the airplane. Keep your
hands on it at all times. When you arrive in New York tonight, put it in the hotel safe and get a receipt.”

“All right, I'll do as you say.”

Ruger nodded, got into his car and drove away. Jesse looked at the briefcase. It was black aluminum, the sort of thing that might usually hold cameras, and there were two combination locks, one for each clasp. He hefted the case; heavy, something solid inside.

 

The airplane set down at La Guardia in a light rain, and by the time it had taxied to the ramp Jesse was practically having to hold Jenny in her seat.

“I'm sorry,” she said, trying to be patient, “but I've never been this excited before.”

“La Guardia is the least exciting part of this trip, believe me,” Jesse said, laughing.

They got their luggage and a cab, and as they approached the Midtown Tunnel, the lights of the skyscrapers swam out of the fog.

“I've never seen anything so beautiful,” Jenny sighed.

“Not even the mountains of Idaho?”

“I never want to go back. I want to live in one of those buildings.”

They were at the hotel by six and, as they approached registration, Jesse saw Kip Fuller. He was behind the front desk, pretending to use a computer.

“My name is Barron; I have a reservation,” he said to Kip.

“Yes, Mr. Barron; just a moment.” Kip tapped a few computer keys. “Here we are; a room with a view. How did you wish to pay?”

Jesse handed him his credit card, and Kip produced two room keys. “Bellman!” he snapped, and a uniformed man appeared at Jesse's elbow. “Please take Mr. and Mrs. Barron up to their room.” He handed the keys to the man.

“Oh, by the way,” Jesse said, “I'd like to put this case in your safe.” He waited for the receipt.

As they made their way to the elevator Jenny tugged at Jesse's sleeve. “They must know you here, the way they're treating you,” she said.

Jesse laughed all the way up.

The room was large and sported views of both the Chrysler and Empire State buildings. Jesse tipped the bellman generously and began unpacking, while Jenny inspected everything in the room and read all the information in the hotel's information packet.

“You can have dinner in your room!” she exclaimed.

“We're not going to do that,” he said. “I'm taking you someplace fancy.”

“Where, where?”

“A place called Café des Artistes.” He had booked the table a week before. The phone rang, and Jesse picked it up.

“Out your door and to the left,” Kip said. “First door; it'll be ajar.” He hung up.

“I'll be right down,” Jesse said into the dead telephone.

“Where are you going?”

“They didn't get a proper imprint of my credit card, so I have to go back to the front desk for a minute. Why don't you get into a tub? Dinner's at eight.”

Jenny began removing clothes from her luggage.

Jesse left the room and went next door. He pushed open the door and closed it behind him. Kip Fuller stood up, smiling, and offered Jesse his hand.

“Jesus, it's good to see you,” he exclaimed, clapping Jesse on the back.

Jesse smiled back. “You too, Kip.”

Kip turned and indicated another man. “This is Ted Manners, from our office. Ted, this is Jesse Barron.”

Jesse noted that Kip had used his cover name.

“Ted, will you excuse us?” Kip said.

Manners nodded and left the room.

“I wanted him to get a good look at you,” Kip said. “He's going to be following you while you're here.”

“Following me?”

“Or maybe I should say, following the man who's following you.”

Jesse blinked. “Somebody followed me here?”

“About thirty-five, five-nine, a hundred and sixty pounds, dark hair, gray suit and a gray felt hat. He was on your flight.”

“I guess they're not taking any chances,” Jesse said.

“What's in the briefcase you checked downstairs?”

“I don't know, but I suspect that's why I'm being followed. I guess they want to see if I'll do as I'm told.”

“It was pretty heavy,” Kip said. “Felt like a lot of money, to me.”

“Why would they send me to New York with a lot of money?”

“Where are you supposed to take it?”

Jesse produced the card, and Kip made a note of the address. “We'll check it out. Listen, I want you to make time for a serious debriefing while you're here. When's good?”

Jesse shook his head. “Not if I'm being followed. I'm not taking any chances on getting busted, not at this stage of the game. Anyway, you know everything that's happened so far.”

“I didn't know about the woman,” Kip said. “She's lovely.”

“My landlady. Well, that's how it started out, anyway. Things developed.”

“I see. What will you be doing while you're here?”

“I've got an appointment at an architect's office at Fifty-Seventh and Fifth tomorrow at two. There's a chance I could have to see them again on Monday. I'm to drop off the briefcase at eleven tomorrow morning.”

Kip nodded. “What will you do with the rest of your time?”

“Show Jenny the town, I guess, maybe do some Christmas shopping.”

“Your tail will probably drop off after you've delivered the briefcase. If that happens, I'll pull Manners off, too.”

“Thanks, I'd appreciate that. I don't want to spend the weekend looking over my shoulder.”

“We'll have a look at the briefcase overnight.”

“Be very careful, Kip; I don't want any marks or scratches on the thing. It might even be alarmed or have a dye bomb inside.”

“We'll X-ray it; don't worry, I'll handle it with kid gloves.”

Jesse glanced at his watch. “I've got to get back; anything else?”

Kip shook his head. “Nothing. If you need to reach me, there'll always be somebody in this room. Just ask the operator to ring extension two-zero-four-six.”

Jesse looked at Kip narrowly. “Is my room bugged?”

“Behind the mirror over the chest of drawers.”

“Is there a two-way mirror?”

“Nope. We'll respect your privacy.”

“Thanks.” He started for the door.

“Let me take a look first.” Kip opened the door and looked up and down the hall. “Okay, go.”

Jesse slipped out of the room and let himself in next door. He could hear the bath water running.

“Jesse?” she called.

“It's me.”

“I'm going to smell great tonight,” she said. “There's wonderful bath oil here.”

“You always smell great. We have to leave here in an hour.”

“I'll be ready.”

Jesse stretched out on the bed and looked at the ceiling. With two men following him it was going to be a lot harder to accomplish what he had planned for New York City.

 

They had barely sat down at the restaurant when Jenny looked around and said, “There are naked ladies on the wall here.”

“I know. They were done by a famous illustrator of the thirties named Howard Chandler Christy.”

“How do you know that? How do you know this place come to that?”

“On my trip to the convention, a supplier brought me here and told me all about it. Do the naked ladies make you uncomfortable?”

She looked around the room. “They have different faces, but they all seem to have the same body.”

“He must have had a favorite model,” Jesse said, laughing.

“They don't make me uncomfortable, exactly,” she said. “They make me want to see you naked.”

“Order some dinner,” he said, “and I'll see what I can do.”

 

They swept back into the hotel room, full of good food and wine, stripping off clothes as they went.

“Just a minute,” she said, “I've got to go to the bathroom.”

Jesse made sure she was gone before he lifted the corner of the mirror, located the hidden microphone and held it to his lips. “Fuck you, Kip,” he said, “and the horse you rode in on.”

He found a pair of nail scissors, snipped off the microphone and dropped it behind the chest of drawers.

Jenny came running to him.