Mora spoke briefly in Spanish with a well-dressed young man sitting at a desk. Mora pointed to LaMonica's briefcase. More businesslike discussion. Mora nodded. LaMonica handed over the briefcase. The manager took it behind a teller's cage. After a while, he returned carrying a receipt and the emptied briefcase. He handed both items to Mora. The two shook hands and exchanged more words in Spanish. LaMonica followed Mora out of the bank. Mora handed the receipt to LaMonica. On it was written "TRS714." LaMonica questioned the notation.
"That's the license number of the car that the coke will be stashed in," Mora said. "He told me the car is a green Chevy and will be parked in the northwest corner of the border parking lot. Now all we do is have a drink and wait for final delivery instructions."
LaMonica looked at his wristwatch. The cold feeling had not gone away. Teddy Mora led the way into Rene's, a dark place with a runway protruding from a tiny stage. Two old, overweight women wearing frayed chiffon cocktail dresses sat at the bar.
Mora shuffled to the end of the bar and took a seat near a pay telephone. LaMonica followed and sat down next to him. The bartender, a bloated man with thick, ebony hair that looked wet, set bar napkins in front of them. They ordered drinks. Mora pointed a thumb at the wall phone. "Our call will be coming in on that phone," he said. "If they say 'George is home,' we head for the border. That's the okay signal. If they say anything else it means that the deal has been queered. We walk back into the bank and pick up our money. This is the beauty of the deal. The bank man looks out for everybody's interest. He's part of their operation, but he's a legit businessman. He's not going to do anything to piss anyone off and then sit there every day at his desk waiting for somebody to throw a bomb through his front window. Right?"
"If you say so."
The bartender served drinks. Teddy Mora tossed the man a five-dollar bill and told him to keep the change. He sipped, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Damn! I forgot to call one of the boys to have them open up the bar while you and I are in Hollywood." He stood up and lifted the phone receiver off the wall hook. He dropped in a peso and dialed. Shaking his head, he hung up and removed the peso. "I'd better use another phone," he said. "If they call in and this one is busy it could screw things up." Mora headed for the door. "Be back in a sec," he said as he flapped through the curtain door.
Paul LaMonica picked up his drink and walked slowly to the door. He peeked out the curtain. Teddy Mora stood at a sidewalk pay phone across the street fumbling for change.
Chapter 27
The phone rang. Rodriguez picked up the receiver. "Policia de Ensenada," he said. "Yes, he's here. Hold the line." He made a thumbs-up gesture and handed the phone to Carr. Kelly deftly picked up an extension line and cupped his hand over the speaker.
"LaMonica is going to be in the border parking lot, on the U.S. side, at about four P.M. today," Mora said, speaking in low tones. "You should look for a green Chevrolet with California license plate TRS714. That's T-R-S-7-1-4. It'll be parked in the northwest corner of the lot. You may see me with him. When you arrest him, all I ask is that you make it look like I escaped; you could have someone act like he's chasing me. I'll run back across the border into Mexico. This is to protect my identity as the informer. I mean, like you owe me at least that much for setting him up for you. Agreed?
"One more thing," Mora said. "After you arrest him, I'd appreciate it if you could drop a story on him about how you found a load of cocaine in the trunk of the green Chevy; like a couple of hundred grand's worth. You could tell him you turned it over to the federal narcs or some such shit. The story would help to keep me cool."
"I'll take care of it," Carr said.
"Any questions?" Mora said.
"Is he carrying?"
"A.38 in his belt usually," Mora said. He coughed. "He lets his shirt hang out."
"When you hear me holler 'Freeze,' " Carr said, "get away from LaMonica fast. If you are in a car, jump out. If you are standing near him, run like hell."
"Got it," Mora said. "Say, tell me the truth, did you think I'd really call up and hand over Paulie the Printer?"
"Not really," Carr said, looking at Kelly. "It's a real nice surprise.
Kelly jabbed an extended middle finger at the mouthpiece of the receiver in his hand.
After a few minutes, Mora returned to his seat at the bar. The two men sat awhile in silence. The B-girls whispered to one another and climbed off their bar stools. As they approached the end of the bar, Mora waved them back rudely. "We're not interested," he said.
The bartender frowned at Mora. Mora threw up his hands. "Go ahead," he said. "Buy 'em a drink on me. Business is business, right, amigo?" He pulled money out of his pocket and tossed it on the bar. The bartender smiled and poured drinks for the women.
During the next hour Mora made lively talk about other big scores, movie stars who he knew bought jewelry and furs from burglars, and his plans for buying a Hollywood discotheque. LaMonica half listened.
Finally the telephone rang.
As Mora spun his bar stool, Paul LaMonica grabbed his arm, "I'll take it," he said. Mora stared at him as if he wanted to protest, but said nothing.
LaMonica stood and picked up the receiver.
"George is home," the bank manager said. The phone clicked. LaMonica repeated the phrase.
Teddy Mora jumped off his bar stool. He clapped his hands together. "I told you everything would be a go. A one-hundred-percent go. We're heading for Hollywood."
LaMonica followed him out the front door.
Kelly steered into the parking lot and cruised slowly. American tourists milled in and out of the enormous lot toting border-town souvenirs: cheap pottery, straw baskets, stuffed iguanas. At one end of the lot was a gate leading to a pedestrian walkway across the international boundary into Tijuana.
The green Chevrolet was parked at the end of a row of vehicles next to a high fence that spanned the perimeter of the parking lot. "There it is," Carr said.
Kelly wheeled the G-car into an open stall a few rows behind the Chevrolet. He turned off the engine. "How do you think we should work it?"
Carr rubbed his chin for a moment. "I say we let him get right up to the Chevy. That'll put him in the corner of the lot with nowhere else to go. You take the right, I'll take the left. Teddy will be able to run either way." He looked at his watch.
Kelly pulled out his revolver and spun the cylinder. He snapped it closed. "I'd feel a lot better if there weren't so many people in and out of this parking lot."
"Me too," Carr said.
Nothing much had been said during the brief trip from Ensenada to Tijuana. Teddy Mora pulled up to a stoplight on the outskirts of town.
"You're quiet," he said, glancing at LaMonica. "I get the same way when I'm right in the middle of something. It's probably just concentration."
The light changed. Mora turned onto a road which paralleled the high chain-link fence that marked the U.S. border. Steering with his forearms for a moment, he lit a cigarette and puffed. "A suggestion," he said. "I could let you out a block or so away from the border crossing. You could walk straight across into the parking lot and pick up the load. I could meet you up the street across from the tourist information center. That way we could avoid driving through the crossing point, making a U-turn, and driving back into the lot. You have to admit, if some border pig just happened to notice that kind of an act he might get a little suspicious."
LaMonica leaned back in the seat. "Good idea," he said. "But why don't you walk over and pick up the package? I'd rather drive."
Teddy Mora sucked deeply on his cigarette. He spoke with a mouthful of smoke. "Uh this car isn't registered to you. It might cause a problem at the crossing point."