lake. Too bad you couldn't come up one day. You probably busy.
'Yes. Uh, I…'
She saw Kelly coming back to the table.
'You come over tonight maybe?' She looked around to see if anyone was listening.
'Yeah. Okay,' Carr said.
She shuffled back to the bar.
The bar phone rang and Ling picked it up.
'Charlie, for you.' He held up the receiver.
Carr walked to the end of the bar and squeezed in between two bearded federal narcotics agents.
'Carr here.'
'Higgins, LAPD Homicide. I got something for ya. Better roll down to the airport. Parking lot D-3.'
'What is it?'
'Last week, in Chinatown, you asked me to let you know about any capers with sawed-offs. Somebody just got blown away down here. Looks like a rip-off.'
On the way to the airport Kelly remarked that they had forgotten to pay for their drinks.
Carr nodded at a uniformed policeman and ducked under the rope barrier.
A police portable light illuminated a good portion of the parking lot as well as the heavy body, face down on a blanket of dried blood, Flashbulbs snapped. People stood around wearing uniforms of one kind or another.
Higgins, in baggy pants and a short-sleeved white shirt, which concealed the shoulders of a well digger, appeared formidable in the bright light. He stood next to the body making notes on a clipboard. His belt was an array of holsters and pouches.
He nodded at the Treasury men, tucked the clipboard under his arm, and knelt by the body. He pointed with a pencil.
'See the exit wounds? Definitely a shotgun. There's no way to know for sure whether it was a sawed-off, but that's my bet. Japanese tourist lady on the other side of the lot says she saw the man shoot a…'-he glanced at the clipboard-''long fat pistol.' From what she says, he shot once, cranked another round, and finished him off, got in his car, and split. She can't give any description. Says it was too dark…Looky here.' He pointed to the small of the back. 'Fresh knife cut right here. Doesn't make sense unless maybe he was wearing his buy money.'
'A money belt?' Carr asked.
Higgins stood up. 'That's a roger. The wound could be from getting a money belt cut off.'
'Who is he?' Carr furrowed his brow.
'His wallet says his name is Michael Sawtelle and he works as a private dick for an attorney named Max Waxman. I called Intelligence just now. They have Sawtelle listed as 'Fat Mike,' a transaction man. His M.O. is to show up at a dope deal as a front man. He has his buy money tied around his waist. He shows his.45 for security, then deals right on the spot. I guess he wasn't short on balls. The deals are supposedly set up by Waxman. He's listed in the files as a money man.'
'Wheels?' Kelly asked.
Higgins pointed with the clipboard. 'The black Olds over there. It's clean. Registered to a car-leasing outfit in Studio City that doesn't give out info on who leases their cars. It's a caper car, for sure. Fat Mike had the car keys in his pocket.'
Carr shook his head. 'Doesn't look like you have too much to go on,' he said.
'You're right there. I'll interview Waxman in the morning and he'll tell me he didn't know what Fat Mike was up to. I'll leave the case open for a couple of months to see if anybody will drop a dime. If nothing happens, I'll close it unsolved. Sorry, there's nothing much here to help you guys. Although it definitely could be the same guy who did Rico.' He raised his voice as a plane flew over.
'It is the same guy,' Carr said. He watched a policeman slide thin boards under the body. 'The word is that Waxman finances counterfeit-money deals all the time. We've never been able to prove it.'
A young detective in a hound's-tooth coat and styled hair motioned to Higgins from behind the rope barrier. Higgins went over to him. Four policemen grunted, hoisting the body onto a wheeled cart.
'Let's go,' Carr said to Kelly. They walked to the rope and ducked under.
Higgins stopped talking to the young detective and turned toward them. 'Here's one! The Japanese lady is catching the next flight back to Japan. Says she's seen enough of this country in two hours. Can you beat that?'
'See ya,' Carr said.
Being careful not to make unnecessary noise, Carr unlocked the back door of Rose's tract house and sneaked down the dark hallway. He passed the door to her sons' room. It was closed.
He tiptoed into a dark, air-conditioned bedroom and sat down on the edge of her bed. He took off his clothes.
'I was waiting for you,' Rose whispered. She crawled across the bed and began massaging his neck with miniature hands. Her nipples brushed softly against his back.
Before they made love, Rose stuffed a pillow between the headboard and the wall, as she always did to avoid waking up the children.
It was light. He groped out for his watch. Six.
Rose's head rested on his shoulder. She was awake.
'I've got to get going,' he said, trying to bring himself into full consciousness. He eased her head off his shoulder and got out of bed.
Dressing in front of a wall mirror, he noticed the middle-aged flesh around his waist. The children in the other room could have been his if he had married…
Rose lay on her back, her eyes open, arms flat at her sides. 'Ling says you maybe get a transfer,' she said as he buttoned his shirt.
He turned to the dresser and picked up his holster. He clipped it on his belt and put the revolver in. 'Maybe,' he said, throwing on his coat.
He walked to the door.
'You come to Ling's tonight?' she said, still staring at the ceiling. Her voice was barely audible, childlike.
'Probably.'
'I see you there,' she said.
Carr headed down the hallway and out the back door.
SIXTEEN
It was 7:00 A.M.
The underground parking lot was cool and drafty. Carr told Kelly to pull in next to a parked delivery van. He did, and turned off the motor. Carr focused the rearview mirror on a sign, RESERVED-MAX WAXMAN, on the wall at the other end of the parking lot.
'Why don't we just talk to him in his office?' Kelly said.
Carr shook his head no. 'His office is probably wired for sound. I've never seen an attorney that wasn't big on tape recording.'
'I hadn't thought about that,' Kelly said.
A half hour went by before they spoke again. The car radio buzzed with a freeway surveillance.
'You know why people become counterfeiters?' Kelly said. He was slumped down in the driver's seat, his eyes closed.
'Why?'
'Because they think it's a crime that really isn't a crime. They figure if they can make a counterfeit twenty that's good enough, they can pass it and it will go all the way to the bank. No one's the wiser. What's a few bucks to Uncle Sam? Nobody gets hurt. That's what they figure.'
Carr nodded sleepily.
Kelly continued. 'Sort of like doctors who give unnecessary operations.'
