The centerpiece of the development was a football stadium with two rings of luxury suites. It was perched on the property, a big concrete oval, its escalators
arching away from the perimeter like eight long spider legs. It dwarfed everything. Engraved over the stadium's modern entry was a tiny sign: THE WEB
'The L. A. Spiders. A football team,' Shane said. 'Sandy told me Logan Hunter was trying to bring an NFL franchise to L. A.'
'This is about footballshe said, appalled, sounding exactly like every housewife in America.
'It's really not about football, it's about real estate.' He studied the rest of the development. The thirty or more architectural models placed on the site plan were beautifully made and exquisitely detailed. They dotted the five-hundred-acre site. There was an amusement park with roller coasters and Ferris wheels; five luxury hotels, each one next to the water; shopping malls and restaurants. Little catamarans were stuck in the 'water,' racing along motionlessly up on one pontoon, their tiny sails billowing orange and red against aqua-blue plaster waves.
Shane was trying to put it together. 'Okay,' he said slowly, using her words. 'It's called police work… Connecting the dots… Ray Molar and his den blackmail the Long Beach City Council with hookers at the party house in Arrowhead. A video festival occurs that forces Carl Cummins and the embarrassed city officials of Long Beach to give the naval yard over to L. A. and Mayor Crispin in return for some bogus water rights. The mayor gifts the property to Spivack in return for Spivack's promise to develop it for the city of L. A. as a home base for a new sports franchise. Spivack funds the actual physical development in return for the property. Logan Hunter gets the NFL to award L. A. a new football franchise, and everybody, from top to bottom, gets silent ownership in the deal and walks away multimillionaires.'
'And the H Street Bounty Hunters were just a fun idea that got included for ethnic diversity?' she said.
'Okay, that's a wild piece. I don't have that connection yet, but I like the rest of it.'
'Could be…' She sounded less sure.
'I remember reading once that the real money play on these sports franchise deals is the land, not the team. These guys get billions of dollars' worth of land from L. A. for free in return for financing the project and building this thing. Most of the public doesn't bitch, 'cause they don't care about the land; they want the team and a class A stadium to go with it. Sure, you end up with a roomful of environmentalists and hotheads protesting, but it's on page ten of the Metro section… Nobody gives a damn about them because pro football is coming back to L. A.!'
'They can do that? Just give the land away?'
'Yeah, happens all the time. Years ago the city of Anaheim gave Georgia Frontiere hundreds of acres around Anaheim Stadium to get her to move the Rams there. Then, even when she carpetbagged the team off to St. Louis, the land was still hers. The O'Malleys were given Chavez Ravine for Dodger Stadium the city condemned it, moved out all the Hispanics who lived there, then gave the O'Malleys the property, free and clear, in return for building Dodger Stadium. That way they wouldn't have to try and float a bond issue.'
'Do you mind if we get out of here?' she said. 'This is all quite fascinating, but I'm not as comfortable doing hot prowls as you are.'
'One more thing first,' he said, and moved out of the conference room and over to Spivack's desk. He opened the center drawer and took out Tony Spivack's appointment calendar while Mrs. Spivack and two dark-haired children eyed him suspiciously from behind a silver frame on the corner of the desk.
He opened the leather-covered book and started flipping pages.
'What're you doing?' she asked.
'Wanna see if he's in town. Last time I saw this shitbird, he was flying off in a green and white helicopter.' Shane flipped the calendar to April. 'Here it is; Sunday, April twenty-sixth, Miami Beach, NFL, eight-thirty A. M.'
'Lemme see that,' she said, and he spun the calendar toward her.
'Alexa, he's in Miami Beach right now, meeting with the NFL at eight-thirty tomorrow morning. You likin' my theory any better?'
They moved out of the office, but she stopped at the secretary's desk and looked around at the slips of paper that Spivack's secretary had pasted up neatly on a bulletin board: lots of yellow Post-its, reminders, important numbers and addresses.
'I thought you wanted to leave.'
'If we're gonna do this, let's do it right,' she said, still looking. 'I worked as a secretary once, during a summer vacation in college. You keep the boss's temporary numbers up near the phone if he's traveling.' She reached up and pulled a Post-it down. ' 'Coral Reef Yacht Club.' That sound like Miami to you?' she asked.
'Take it. Let's go,' he said.
Seconds later they were on the roof, then back inside the concrete fire stairs; a few moments later they were in the Crown Vic and gone.
Chapter 44
'Don't worry, I'll get us there.'
It was just after ten P. M. and the last flight to Miami had departed LAX, so Shane drove to the Long Beach Airport. He found the executive jet area and drove along Executive Terminal Row until he found a busy-looking FBO called Million-Air Charters. He pulled into the parking lot next to the mostly glass one-story building, then he and Alexa got out.
'Private jets cost big money,' Alexa said
'I've got a hundred thousand in small bills, but we're gonna look like drug dealers, so get your tin ready.'
He opened the trunk and retrieved the suitcase with Coy Love's cash bribe inside. They walked into Million-Air Charters, and Shane plunked the leather bag down on the counter.
'We'd like to charter a jet to Miami,' he said.
The girl behind the counter was young but no dummy. She took one look at Shane and Alexa's off-the-rack clothes, stole a quick peek at their fourteen-dollar Timex watches, and knew these two were not customers.
Alexa pulled out her LAPD identification and laid it on the desktop. 'If you need to talk to a manager, this is police business. We're with the Drug Enforcement Task Force and we have got to get to Miami before morning.'
Shane snapped open the suitcase and spun it around, revealing the stack of cash.
'Confiscated drug money,' Alexa explained. 'We'll need you to receipt it for us.' All bullshit, but comforting words when a civilian is looking at a suitcase full of used bills.
'Let me talk to Mr. Lathrope,' she said.
Mr. Lathrope wanted to be called Vern; he had hunched shoulders, wireless granny glasses, and hair that had the general shape and texture of a number-nine paintbrush. He looked at the cash and Alexa's badge speculatively, then made a few calls. His weary attitude said he didn't like them, but business was business. 'I can have two pilots here in half an hour, then I'll put you in 868 Charlie Papa,' he said to Shane.
'What's 868 Charlie Papa?' Shane asked, showing total ignorance of jet charters.
'Tail number. It's the white Gulfstream Three with green stripes,' he said, nodding his head toward the window where three or four executive jets were parked.
Shane didn't know a Gulfstream 3 from a palomino pony, but he nodded anyway. ' 'Bout how much is that gonna run?' he asked.
'It's fifteen each way, thirty for the whole trip. We won't charge you for hangar time up to five hours; after that, the ground rate is one-half the hourly.'
'Not giving us much of a break here, are you, Vern?' Shane said.
'Our prices are competitive. Make as many calls as you want check it out. However, if you're interested in an opinion, it is a bit unusual to be getting paid with used bills out of a suitcase.' Stalemate.
