wore white work gloves, new ones. He could hear the Cadillac, inside now, somewhere below him.
Richard said he didn't need to have a gun, she would be so scared she would let him have the money and not give him any trouble. He had the gun anyway, under his shirt hanging out. He didn't know this woman; what if she had a gun? He knew what he was going to do. Step out, raise his right hand...
Richard said don't say anything because the woman would have a wire on her. Richard, the creature, knew a few things, but not too many.
The car sounded like it was in a hurry, tires squealing in the turns. It reached the third level. Now it was coming, he saw the front end, coming up the ramp. The car got louder. He stepped out, extending his right hand, stopping the car like Superman, the fender coming to touch his hand gently, without a sound. There she was looking at him. He took the brick in his right hand, saw her turn away, bringing up her arm, as he smashed the brick through the passenger-side window, unlocked the door, opened it. Yes, she was a beautiful woman and very calm, her eyes looking at him. Taking the trash bag by the neck he had to say something to her, so he said, 'Thank you very much, lady--' and ran for the exit sign above the door to the stairway.
He would go to the ground level and walk behind the stores to come out on Twenty-sixth Avenue where the new Buick Skylark, stolen this afternoon, waited on the street. Nothing to it. He wished he could take off in the Skylark, go to Georgia right now; but he had to go back to Miami Beach to get his car. Sure, he could buy a new one. But he loved that car too much. He felt good in that car. He said, 'Yeah? Well, how does it feel to be rich?' He said, 'You kidding me?'
She couldn't afford to wait too long--twenty seconds from the time the Exit door closed. She concentrated a moment, worked up a feeling of agitated fear, careful to keep it just short of hysteria, and shouted, 'He's got it! He broke the window!' She paused, opened her door and heard tires squealing, more than one car, and pulled the door closed. 'Will you please hurry? He's getting away!' Without telling them the direction he'd taken. A lapse she would attribute later to fear, anxiety, so much happening at once--wring hands and look helpless. The black Mercedes was coming off the third level, up the ramp now, followed closely by another car, then another. She could hear sirens outside. Torres was in her rearview mirror, running toward her with a radio in his hand.
She'd push the door open, come out with her big brown eyes glistening, pleading, and maybe even throw herself in his arms.
Chapter 24
IT WAS LATE NOW. Joe LaBrava sat alone on the porch of the Cardozo Hotel thinking about a zebra he had seen a few hours before. A zebra run to the ground by wild dogs, a dog with the zebra's upper lip clamped in its jaw, a dog hanging to its tail, dogs frisking, dying to join the dogs tearing open the zebra's loins from underneath, pulling out entrails. The voice of the narrator--an actor who played heavies but had hired on for this film as an animal behaviorist--said the zebra was in a state of deep shock and felt no pain. And LaBrava had thought, Oh, is that right? Look at the zebra's eyes and tell us what it's like to stand there and get your ass eaten out fucking alive.
He couldn't stop thinking about the zebra and the actor who knew so much about zebra anxieties and pain thresholds. What was the zebra thinking through all that? Torres came over from the Della Robbia, sat down at the table in the edge of streetlight and popped open one of the six cans of beer the waiter had left saying goodnight. Torres placed a tape recorder on the table, said, 'This is at Hillsboro,' and turned it on.
LaBrava listened to Jean Shaw's voice over the pictures he saw of her. He could see her very clearly, most of the pictures, new to him, composed in his mind in black and white.
'This is at her apartment.'
LaBrava listened, seeing pictures of the zebra again among pictures of the movie actress, wondering what they were both thinking.
'This is the West Palm R.A., McCormick.'
LaBrava listened.
'This is at Galleria Mall.'
LaBrava listened, and when it ended he sat in silence looking at palm-tree silhouettes beyond the streetlights, stars over the ocean, the zebra gone. He picked up the recorder, pressed buttons and listened again to the last part, waiting for:
'Will you please hurry? He's getting away!'
Rewound, stopped and played it again.
'Will you please hurry? He's getting away!'
He could see her. Except that she wasn't in a white Cadillac in a parking structure. He saw an old picture of her in a black car, some kind of expensive long black car, at night. She looked scared as she called out, 'He's getting away!' Then sat back and didn't look scared.
He rewound to the middle part, searched, found what he wanted and heard her say, 'Isn't someone supposed to be here?... I'm going to pick up my mail.' There was a pause. He heard her say, 'I'm entering the elevator--' and shut it off. McCormick was coming up on the porch. McCormick said, 'One of those have my name on it? Christ, I hope so.' Sturdy, compact, in Brooks Brothers khakis, blue button-down shirt, beige necktie, the West Palm R.A.
'That is a very attractive, very intelligent lady,' McCormick said. 'I found out in about five minutes I wasn't gonna learn shit I didn't know or suspect going in, but I talked to her an hour and a half anyway. She is a sharp lady.'
Torres said, 'You're the first Bureau guy--you actually admit you didn't learn anything?'
'For two reasons,' McCormick said. 'One, it isn't my case, you poor bastard. Two, I'm gonna retire the end of the month and become a stockbroker, so either way I don't give a shit. It's all yours, man, and it's getting away from you by the minute. You've got nothing firm. No positive I.D. of the guy who grabbed the bag or the guy who waved to her to come in the garage. Never seen them before. I showed her the pictures of the two guys you like, Mutt and Jeff; wasn't either of them. I asked her why she went in there. She says she thought the guy who waved at her was a police officer, but even if he wasn't we were supposed to be right behind her. Where in the hell were we?... Outside of that there's only one part that bothers me.' McCormick paused and then said to Torres, 'You know what it is?'
Torres thought about it, looking off at the ocean.
McCormick poured a beer, began to drink.
LaBrava said, 'Why did she stop to pick up her mail?' If he didn't say it, McCormick would. Or he wanted to hear himself admit what he was beginning to feel.
McCormick put his glass down. 'You want a job? Uncle Sam can use you.'
'He already did,' LaBrava said. 'You ask her?'
'She said habit. She comes in, she always checks the mail. I said even when you're carrying six hundred grand in a garbage bag?'
Torres said, 'Wait a minute--'
'It probably doesn't mean shit,' McCormick said. 'It's like a reflex, she comes in, she checks the mail. Okay, she goes up to her apartment, she's in there a few minutes before I come from down the hall. She says to me, 'You think he'll call?' and starts looking through the mail. But what if she hadn't picked it up? The whole schmear falls apart. The other thing is the few minutes she's in there alone...'
Torres said, 'You're making her a suspect. She's the victim, for Christ sake.'
McCormick said, 'At this point everybody's a suspect, I don't give a shit. I don't know for sure where she got the six hundred gees, do you? She said she cashed some bonds. Maybe she did. On the other hand maybe she borrowed it and she's gonna stiff the guy. I don't know this broad, but I'll tell you what you better do, to be safe. Tomorrow morning--in fact I'll do it for you, it's out of your jurisdiction. I'll go up to her apartment and take a casual look around for different items, trash bags, a typewriter... It happens all the time, you don't know shit till you open some drawers, feel under the undies, you can find things you didn't even know you were looking for.' He glanced at LaBrava. 'Am I right? I forgot there for a minute you used to be with Treasury.'
'Cover your ass at all times,' LaBrava said.
