credit card before he even talks to me. He knows that just showing me his face might not work. Maybe he’s even smart enough to know it can’t work, that I can’t let it be noised around that I’m looking for him, and then let him go. And within minutes of leaving this house, he’s already taking steps to get back at me.”
“Steps? He seems to be attacking from every direction at once.”
“Yeah. I’m getting to the point where I don’t want to answer the phone. But now I’m starting to get the feel of this guy. I don’t think he’s just trying to rob me. I think I pissed him off. I think when he came here, part of what he was doing was warning me. I think now he’s trying to ruin me, maybe even kill me.”
“Maybe the Gaffneys will pick up something from the girls who accused him in the first place.”
“If they do, I want you to be the one who gets it first. In the meantime, I’d like you to see what you can find out.”
“When do you want me to start?”
“Now.”
“All right.” Spence turned and walked back to the rear of the house to the maid’s room off the pantry. He kept extra clothes and a few other belongings there, and sometimes slept there.
Kapak watched him go and felt a bit better. He had come upon Spence a few years ago as a customer in Siren. He would come in a couple of nights a week, sit by himself, do some very slow drinking, and watch the dancers.
It went on for at least three weeks before one of the managers pointed him out to Kapak. He had assigned a waitress to keep an eye on him while she worked, and try to figure out whether he was from the liquor license board or the FBI or the local police. Kapak had to protect his clubs. Nearly every day there were couriers coming in with cash that needed to be deposited in bank accounts and then returned in the form of checks from the Kapak Enterprises Corporation. If there was a man coming in alone night after night who seemed to be intelligent and who never seemed to drink too much or let his eyes linger too long on the dancers, he had to be identified and cleared.
The waitress reported to the manager that the man said his name was Richard Cane. One of the other waitresses served him during the daylight lull and reported that he had a mild Southern accent. Kapak’s English was nearly perfect after thirty years in the country, but he wasn’t capable of placing regional accents unless they were extreme. And he doubted that the waitress could have heard Spence so clearly, even during the day, unless the music was turned off.
He kept coming, spoke politely, bought enough drinks to keep the waitresses happy, and drank few enough of them to keep the bouncers happy. The problem was that to the manager and to Kapak, he seemed to be the ideal cop.
A moment of clarity finally came, as Kapak had assumed it would. A man walked in the door while Spence was at his table. The way Ray the manager described it, Spence was like a hunting dog in point. He didn’t make a move, just became abnormally still and looked at the man.
Once the new man stepped inside, his attention inevitably shifted away from the crowd around him to the girl working the brass pole on the nearest stage. He was drawn inward, walking closer to her until it happened. Spence came for him. One moment Spence was at his table, and the next he was about eight feet from the man and moving toward him. The man caught motion in the corner of his eye, looked, and saw him.
The new man was tall, and he was wearing a pair of cowboy boots that made him look taller. But the second his eyes focused on Spence’s face, he began to shrink down to a crouch and back up. Neither man made any attempt to speak. There was no threat or explanation, just motion, as though the two had both known exactly what they would do if they ever met. Spence advanced, and the new man did his best to get out and away.
The man got out ahead of Spence and sprinted for a car parked at the far end of the lot. Ray made it outside with the two doormen, thinking he was about to see a fight. Instead he saw Spence step out, watch the man leap into his car and drive off, then get into his own car and drive after him.
There was nothing in the newspapers the next day that might be a mention of what had happened. There wasn’t anything all week. It took about two weeks before the report appeared. A man’s body had been found in a parked car in the hills above Tujunga. It had been driven about a hundred yards up a narrow, winding dirt road that led onto a parcel of undeveloped land rarely visited by a real estate agent working for the company that owned it. The agent who found the car could see that the victim had been shot once through the forehead.
Spence had not returned to Siren. But now Manco Kapak’s curiosity had been stimulated. He and the manager studied the security tapes from the cameras mounted outside the building. Eventually he found a tape of Spence getting out of his car in the parking lot, brought it up to full magnification, and read the license number. Kapak went to the mini-mall where one of his minor businesses, Money Today, had its office. The company granted short-term loans that came due on the borrower’s next payday. He asked his clerk to run a skip-trace based on the license number. After a half hour, he had the name Richard Spence and an address.
Kapak took both Gaffney brothers with him to Spence’s apartment. He knocked on the door, and when Spence opened it, he asked if he could come in and talk. He made sure Spence saw the others before he and Spence went inside and closed the door. He told Spence that he knew he had killed the man in the abandoned car.
Spence didn’t argue with him or seem concerned. He said simply, “I can put you down and get out of here before your men know what happened.” He paused. “I also know that you’ve got bagmen coming into your clubs every day with money that you mix in with your receipts.”
Kapak said, “You’re smart and observant. I hope you’re not going to leave town.”
“I haven’t decided.”
“You want a job?”
“Not if it’s killing people for you.”
“No,” Kapak said. “I’ve never wanted anybody killed and don’t now. But if you work with me, you’re my friend and brother. If an enemy comes for one of us, we do what’s necessary.”
That was the beginning of an understanding between them that had held for six years. Kapak had kept Spence close to him whenever he went to the clubs or other businesses. Spence was not a bodyguard, but a brother-in-arms, and sometimes a surrogate. Kapak trusted in Spence’s strength and courage because he had killed at least one enemy. Half of their unspoken understanding was that Spence would be able to kill if the need arose. The other half was that Kapak would never ask him to do anything but choose Kapak’s life over an enemy’s when the time came.
Kapak sat in his living room and looked out the French doors into the tranquil, fern-shaded garden outside. Was this the time and the enemy? Having an understanding with Spence was like carrying a hand grenade. He had to be sure, because he wasn’t going to get to use it twice.
15
JIMMY GAFFNEY HAD TO DRIVE in the morning traffic, because his brother, Jerry, still had not gone to pick up his car from the police impound lot. Jerry was anticipating a time-consuming and irritating interview before the police let him have his car.
Jerry stared out the window at the steep slopes to the right and left above the road. The thick foliage seemed to grow in the shadowy, cool canyon wherever it wasn’t lopped off. It would have overrun the road in two weeks if it weren’t for the twenty-four-hour traffic. Everything in southern California seemed to grow instantly when there was water and to turn brown in a day when there wasn’t.
Jimmy steered the curves on Laurel Canyon like an unskilled race car driver. “This is bear country,” he said.
“This?” said Jerry. “You’re crazy.”
“I’m not. It was in the paper that one of the very best places in the whole country to hunt grizzlies was Laurel Canyon.”
“Could you be more full of shit? There isn’t one grizzly bear in the whole state at this moment.”
“I said ‘was.’ I don’t mean now, you idiot. They said this was around 1860 or so. This canyon, right where we are, was full of bears. You can sort of feel where they must have been—right on those shady spots along the sides of the hills. Right up where you cross Mulholland there’s a place where water just seeps out of the hillside and trickles across the road. That would probably be the spring that fed the stream in dry weather.”
