“Yeah,” I said.
“Well, yesterday when I left the office I shot straight to the college where Carmichael taught, talked to a Mr. Grundy. When Robbie killed him, the professor was working on a story for the college TV station. Now, I’m going to follow a lead.”
“Rita, what in the hell are you talking about?”
“Uh-uh, I’m not getting into it now.”
“Rita-”
“Hang in there, Jimmy; I’m with you no matter what. You should’ve known that. Bye.”
She hung up. I sat there and stared at the phone in my hand. I wasn’t exactly sure what she had in mind. I felt a tremendous relief knowing she was on my side, but I wondered what she meant when she said that she was going to follow up on a lead. What kind of lead?
Sol interrupted my thoughts. “Get back inside, Jimmy. Cubby and I have to get going.”
“Hey, Sol, I can’t stay here while all of this is going on. I’ve gotta do something. I’ve got to go with you.”
“Go where? What’s the matter with you? If you’re spotted, no telling what could happen. Didn’t you hear what they said on TV? ‘Armed and dangerous’ means they shoot first.”
“I gotta do something.”
Sol rested his hand on my shoulder. “Look, Jimmy, I’ve clued Herman in. We don’t want him accused of harboring a fugitive, so if anything happens, he doesn’t know you’re here. You broke in, got that?”
“Yeah.”
“Now, you just go back inside and relax until you hear from me.”
“Are you nuts? Relax?”
“Bad choice of words, but listen. I’ve got an angle that I’ve been working on. Bickerton’s the key to this whole affair. That’s why you went to see him. He’s the guy who’s been recruiting the kids, sending them out to Rattlesnake Lake, telling them on his TV show that it’s a drug rehab center. Right?”
“Yeah, but so what? Things have changed. Moran or his thugs killed Robbie. That’s what I’ve got to prove. Who cares about Bickerton now?”
“Goddammit, get out of the car and go back inside. I haven’t got time for this.” He turned to Cubby. “C’mon, let’s hit the road.” Sol yanked my arm.
“Hey, ease up. Okay, I’ll go, but I’m not going to wait forever.” I climbed out of the limo and trudged back to the milk barn.
Rattling around in the suite, I paced the living room floor, moved into the kitchen, and sat at the table for a while. Then I got up and moseyed into the living room again. Before long I walked back to the table and sat some more. At one point I picked up the book I’d brought from my apartment, an old Raymond Chandler mystery, Trouble Is My Business. I stopped at a line that seemed to reflect my mood: “I felt like an amputated leg.”
I put the book down and suddenly realized what Rita was talking about. She said she was onto something. Going to follow a lead. Something about Carmichael being a geology professor. I made a beeline for the phone but stopped short of picking it up. My office phone would be tapped by now. Hammer would’ve gotten a warrant within five minutes of the cops discovering my prints on the gun that killed Robbie.
I had to get to a phone. Mabel would know what Rita was up to. She had to know; she knew everything that went on in the office. But I couldn’t call her from the dairy; the cops would trace the call.
I ran from the suite, then stopped and realized the only car available was the El Camino. Hammer had seen me in it. He didn’t take down the plates, but by now the cops would be on the lookout for anyone driving a blue ’63 El Camino. I stood there and stared at the car. Wait, maybe Hammer didn’t mention the El Camino to the brass hats after all. I’d been a cop and knew how they thought. Everyone would be pointing fingers, and Hammer would be in trouble if he told his superiors that he had me at gunpoint and then let me go.
I didn’t have any choice. I’d have to take the chance. I jumped in the El Camino and peeled out of the dairy onto Artesia. I had to get to a phone.
Slow down, Jimmy. Play it cool. Let’s not wave any red flags. Let’s not get a goddamned speeding ticket on top of everything else.
I drove three miles before I pulled into a Union Oil gas station and stopped next to a phone booth. I dug into my pocket. Damn, I had a few bills but no coins. The attendant was waiting on a car, checking the tires. It would take him forever and I didn’t have the time to wait.
Another block and I saw a bar, a drinker’s bar. The kind bikers loved-a rundown joint with a beat-up pool table in the center of the dingy room and a small-screen TV mounted in the corner. The TV was on, a soap opera, but no one was paying attention. I threw down a dollar bill. The barman gave me a withering look when I asked for change for the phone.
“Gonna buy something, a beer?” he asked.
“Nah, just change.”
A weepy-eyed stiff at the end of the counter, clutching a glass, raised his head.
The bartender tossed the coins down. “Sure you don’t want a beer?”
I made my way around the pool table, brushed by two Asian guys built like sumo wrestlers playing eight-ball, and moved to the old-fashioned wooden phone booth at the rear of the room. As I pulled open the squeaky door and stepped in, I glanced up at the TV. A choker close-up of my face flickered. The announcer was somber: “The manhunt continues, but so far the police are having no luck tracking down attorney James O’Brien, the man suspected of the killings. Anyone with information should immediately contact the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s department.”
Not looking at the bartender or his customers, I quietly closed the phone booth door and covered my mouth with a handkerchief-like I’d seen gangsters do in the movies. After dropping a dime in the slot, I dialed. Mabel picked up on the first ring. “Don’t say anything. Just tell me what you know about Rita’s hunch,” I said.
“I don’t know anything and she’s not here. I don’t know where she went.”
Cold fear gripped my heart. I had a gut feeling Rita would try to confront Moran. She must have figured that the professor was tied in somehow. “Did she say anything about Moran or Professor Carmichael?”
“No, but she called Sol’s secretary, then left in a hurry.”
“I gotta go.” Hanging up, I quickly dialed Sol’s office. I didn’t think the cops were listening in on his phones. A judge would never grant a warrant to tap an innocent civilian’s line.
It took forever for Joyce to come to the phone. I glanced back at the barroom. The heavies at the pool table were pinning me hard, steely-eyed, like they were about to break out the long knives.
Finally, Joyce’s voice: “Oh, Jimmy, we’re all so worried-”
“Joyce, quick, what did Rita talk about when she called this morning?”
“She asked about the information Sol had me dig up on Moran, stuff about him owning those mines and the ore processing plant out there in the Mojave.”
“Damn, what is Rita doing?”
“Said she’s gonna serve them a writ or something, interrogatory, I dunno.”
“My God, a writ?”
“Yeah, she called about ten, fifteen minutes ago. And, Jimmy, she especially asked about Moran’s borax works, the ore refining plant. Why, what’s this all about?”
“Asked about the borax works?”
“Yeah, she wanted to know how to get there.”
CHAPTER 38
I stood there in the sweltering phone booth, trembling, staring at the receiver in my hand. I should’ve leveled with Rita from the beginning, let her know just how dangerous Moran and his band of religious whackos were. She hadn’t gotten the whole story. She wasn’t aware that he was a stone-cold killer. She didn’t know he’d shoot her and watch her die just for the fun of it. I should’ve forced her to give it up, hang back, and let Sol and me work this out. Gonna serve a writ! Oh, Rita! Gonna walk right into a den of deadly vipers and hand them a writ, for chrissakes. I had to stop her. I had to get to the borax works before she did. Maybe I could block the road or something. I slammed the receiver down and elbowed out of the booth.