street after you apprehended my client was the same briefcase you saw him leave the apartment with?'
'I guess someone could have switched briefcases by the time we returned,' Carr said. 'I once saw a Charlie Chan movie where it happened.' He smiled.
'Please move on, Mr. Green,' the judge said. 'I'm getting tired of this line of questioning.'
'If it please the court, Your Honor, the defense rests,' said Green.
'Mr. Carr, you may step down,' the judge said, shuffling some papers. 'The defense motion to suppress evidence in this case is based on the defense's contention that the prosecution has failed to show evidence of specific intent on the part of the defendant. Possession of counterfeit Federal Reserve notes, which is a violation of United States Code Title Eighteen Section four-seven-two, and the offense charged in this case, requires that specific intent on the part of the defendant be shown. The statute requires that the government prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant possessed the counterfeit money with the intent to defraud. The court finds that a reasonable doubt exists as to whether the defendant then and there well knew that he was in possession of counterfeit money as opposed to any other type of contraband at the time of his arrest. This case is dismissed and the defendant's bond is exonerated.'
The defendant smirked at Carr as Attorney Green congratulated him.
Later, the courtroom was clear except for Carr and Sally Malone. She arranged her notes in a briefcase. 'All Green's clients have the same story. They all say they thought it was narcotics rather than counterfeit money in the package or box or briefcase. Malcolm always falls for it every time. It makes me sick.'
'How about lunch?'
'I know you're angry. You're angry about losing the case, but as usual, you won't express your feelings.'
'If I was really angry I would have lied and said I saw him fill the briefcase with the money when he was inside the apartment. That would have convicted him.'
Her jaw fell open. She gave him a slap on the hand. 'Charlie,' she said in mock disapproval.
'And if judge Malcolm would have found him guilty, he would have sentenced him to straight probation anyway. The whole system is perverted and Mushhead Malcolm is one of the chief perverts. Just the sight of that ex-ambulance-chasing shyster sitting on the bench makes me think of retirement.'
'See, you are angry,' Sally said.
Charles Carr parked his sedan in a pay lot behind the Olympic Auditorium. The rear of the three-story cement structure bore an enormous faded mural of boxers facing each other with dukes up. A security guard in a blue uniform stood beside a graffiti-covered door.
Carr showed his gold Treasury badge. The officer unlocked the door and let him in. Inside the ancient arena, which had the odor of dank cement, cigar smoke and hot dogs cooking in oil, most of the seats were filled. The crowd noise was deafening. In the middle of a regulation-sized ring was a shiny, circus-style steel cage. From each of its four corners, steel cable stretched to a hook extending from the ceiling.
An anxious crowd filtered between seats and refreshment stands. It was mainly made up of shabbily dressed people of retirement age, Mexicans wearing cowboy hats and shirts, black teenagers with funny hats, fat women and men casually dressed in old T-shirts and Levi's. At ringside was a group of raucous college-age men and women wearing USC sweat shirts. A paper plane constructed from newspaper floated down from the balcony and landed on the cage, which drew a murmur of appreciation.
Carr made his way through the crowd and along a corridor to a locker room. He showed his badge to another security guard. The guard nodded and opened the door. Carr wound around banks of rusty lockers. He found Prince Nikola of Serbia standing in front of an open locker in the corner, pulling a referee's shirt over his head. 'That sunnabitch Bones is tending bar at place in Beverly Hills. It's called the Blue Peach,' Nick said on spotting Carr, '…a private club for movie people. Costs lots of money for membership. You know, one of those clubs all the big-shot phonies join because all the other big-shot phonies belong. Next year same sunnabitch that owns it closes up and opens under different name. Everybody pays new membership fee.' Nick looked at his wristwatch. 'I have only coupla minutes before first match.' He tucked in his shirt.
'Does Bones have anything going on the side?'
'They tell me he still has the crap game.' Nick sat down on a bench and pulled black wrestling shoes from a locker. He tugged one on. 'But he keeps it away from where he works. He does conventions, bank openings, yacht parties… wherever the big shots go.' He yanked on the other shoe and laced it up. 'He's supposed to have a game at a bank opening this week. Some savings and loan in Beverly Hills … grand opening. If you go there you catch him easy.'
'I appreciate the help, Nick,' Carr said. He pointed his thumb in the direction of the ring. 'Why the cage in the ring?'
'Tonight is grudge match,' Nick said. 'GI Joe against the Masked Phantom … no holds barred.' He chuckled. 'The cage was GI Joe's idea: a fight to the death … wonderful idea. The auditorium is complete sellout. You should stay and see the match. GI Joe is a nice Hungarian boy from Pittsburgh. I teach him everything, including Boston Crab.'
A muscle-bound young man wearing olive drab wrestling trunks and an army fatigue jacket with corporal stripes lumbered over from behind a locker. Nick introduced him to Carr.
'I gotta ask ya something,' GI Joe said to Nick in a discreet tone. He glanced suspiciously at Carr.
'Charlie is my friend,' Nick said to the young man.
GI Joe nodded.
'Could you go over it once more for me,' he said. He had a worried look.
'Which part?'
'The ending.'
Nick stood up, put an arm around the wrestler's shoulder and spoke fervently in his ear. 'Cage is lowered back into ring. I unlock door. You and Phantom wrestle out of door. I pull you apart from Phantom and walk you towards a corner. Phantom sneaks up and gives you judo chop. Go to your knees and do slow burn. Then you get mad and chase him around the cage. On the third circle around, you grab him by the mask. He goes down and you pin him with the Boston Crab. I give the one, two, three, and you are the winner. Got it,'
GI Joe rubbed his chin. 'I hope so.'
'Not to worry.'
An intercom on the wall came alive.
'Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the grudge match of the century,' said a ring announcer with a tenor voice.
GI Joe headed out the locker room door, followed by a beefy wrestler wearing an executioner-style mask.
Nick shook hands with Carr and trotted out after the wrestlers.
Carr followed the wrestlers along the corridor to the arena. The crowd roared as they climbed into the ring. GI Joe tossed tiny American-flag lapel buttons at the crowd while the bull-like Masked Phantom stretched on the rope and growled. After introductions and referee instructions, the wrestlers climbed into the cage. Slowly the cage was hoisted above ring level. As the wrestlers made contact, the cage tipped from side to side. The crowd booed and cheered.
Carr left through the back door.
On the way to his apartment, he stopped at a supermarket to purchase the ingredients for chili and beans, one of the four or five simple meals he knew how to prepare. As he roamed the aisles in the market, his mind was on what Jack Kelly facetiously called strategy. Should he attempt to interview Bones the bartender? … Or was it too soon? He mused over the details of the shooting incident for the thousandth time. At the checkout counter, he shook himself out of his trance, paid for the groceries and drove to his apartment.
In his kitchen, Carr sautéed onions, then unwrapped a pound of hamburger meat and tossed it in the pan. As the meat sizzled, he wondered how much Amanda Kennedy really knew. By the time he added salt, tomatoes and flour, he decided that she probably knew a hell of a lot.
Having forgotten to get the chili, he searched frantically through the cupboards. 'Damn,' he said out loud. He was out of chili. He stirred the colorless mixture until it was cooked, said the hell with it and scooped it onto a plate. Having doused the mess with catsup, he took a bite. It tasted awful. He tossed the concoction into the sink. To allay hunger, he drank two glasses of water before he went to bed.