SHE DIRECTED THE DRIVER to get off the interstate at Venice Boulevard, then stopped him a block short of the beach. 'Park here and wait for me,' she said. 'I'll be less than an hour.'
She got out of the car and walked to the beach, then strolled along the promenade until she found an instant photo shop. She stood in front of a white background and was photographed by an electronic camera, which spat out a sheet of six passport pictures and six smaller shots, the size of California driver's license photos. She put them into her purse and left the shop, walking south. As she walked, she wrapped her head in a silk scarf and put on her sunglasses.
After a five-minute walk she came to a photographer's shop, with wedding pictures and portraits displayed in the window. She went inside and found a young girl behind the counter.
'May I help you?'
'I'd like to see Dan,' Barbara said.
'Who shall I say?'
'Just tell him an old friend.'
The girl disappeared for a moment, and Barbara looked up into the video camera over the counter and smiled broadly. The girl came back and motioned her through a curtain and into a hallway. 'All the way to the back,' she said.
Barbara found Dan sitting behind his desk in the rear office, looking at a contact sheet through a loupe. 'Are you still using those old-fashioned film cameras, Danny?'
He put down the loupe and peered at her. 'I can't quite place the face,' he said.
'That's the idea,' she replied. 'But we've met before. For purposes of this visit, my name is Barbara Woodfield. I need some paper.'
He said nothing but reached into a desk drawer and came out with a black box the size of a pack of cigarettes and extended an antenna from it, then he got up and went over her body with the antenna. Finally he moved it around her purse. 'Cell phone?' he asked.
Barbara took Cupie's cell phone from her purse and handed it to him. 'I'll make you a gift of it.'
Dan put the phone in his pocket and went over her purse again, then he sat down. 'What kind of paper?'
'U.S. passport, dated before they started putting in the electronic strips, California driver's license, social security card, birth certificate.'
'California birth certificate?' he asked, making notes on a pad.
'Would that be easiest?'
'I can get you the real thing, if you want to be born in Long Beach before nineteen seventy-five. Any name you like.'
'Sounds good. How much?'
'Five thousand each for the passport and driver's license, seven thousand for the birth certificate. The driver's license will be the real thing, on file with the DMV. You won't have to worry about traffic stops. I'll throw in the social security card for free, but don't use it for anything but I.D.'
'Your prices have gone up,' she said.
'You obviously know my work; if you think you can do better somewhere else, feel free.'
'Agreed.'
'Then let's take some photographs,' he said.
She held up a hand to stop him. 'I'll bring you photographs when I come to pick up the paper,' she said, 'and I'll watch you attach them.'
'You're afraid I'll make copies?'
'I'll just be sure you don't.'
'Whatever you say. You'll have to sit around for a couple of hours while I finish up.'
'That's fine. When can you be ready for me?'
'Can you give me a week?'
'A week today,' she said. She counted out ten thousand dollars in hundreds. 'The rest, in cash, on the day.'
'That will be satisfactory,' he said, scooping up the cash. 'You'll owe me seven thousand.'
She nodded.
'There's one more thing you might like. It's expensive, but you'll need it, if you ever want to do any financial transactions involving identity or credit.'
'What's that?'
'I can create a credit history for you and hack it into the mainframes of all three credit-reporting agencies.'
'How much?'
'Ten grand, and you'll be able to access it from any computer with an Internet connection.'
'Done.' She counted out another five thousand.
'All right,' he said, ripping a page off his pad. 'Now we have to create a history for you-date and place of birth, work record, credit cards and charge accounts you've had-the works.'
'Let's make me a Beverly Hills girl,' she said, reeling off shops and stores. They made up past addresses, and she gave him the street address of the Bel-Air hotel as her current address.
'Before you use that address on, say, a credit application, be sure you file a change-of-address card with the post office, forward the mail to where you want it to go,' Dan said.
'Good idea.' She was making notes to herself as they talked. 'Tell me, can you make me a really good LA. concealed carry license?'
'Sure. That's another five grand, but I'll throw in a Florida license, too. That will be good in twenty-seven other states. You'll need to bring driver's-license-size pictures for both of the carry licenses.'
'Done. Anything else you need?'
'Nope. I'll go to work on all this today, and a week from today, when the cash is paid, everything will be activated.'
'Is the passport going to pass muster if I travel overseas?'
'You'll be able to use if for about four years, then it expires. By that time, I hope to have the coded strip thing beaten, and you can come back for another one. Now, let's create a travel history for you, so I can put in the stamps.' They spent ten minutes creating a record of trips to Europe.
'Danny, you're a wonder,' she said when they had finished. 'I'll see you in a week.' She shook his hand and left.
She was back at La Reserve in time for her surgical appointment and in bed in Pine Cottage by six thirty, an ice pack applied to her face, sipping soup through a straw, very carefully, over her still-numb lower lip. The pain medication was working wonderfully well.
Forty-six
CUPIE HAD BEEN BACK HOME IN SANTA MONICA FOR nearly a week when his cell phone bill arrived. He was stunned. There were more than fifty calls he hadn't made, most of them long distance. He called the cell phone company and made a fraud complaint about the calls, but he didn't cancel the number.
After he hung up, it occurred to him that he had lost the phone in Mexico, but none of the calls were to Mexican numbers. His phone was in the United States. Cupie called a friend at the LAPD, the son of his old partner, a young man who was up to date on all the latest technology.
'Bob Harris,' the voice said.
'Bobby, it's Cupie Dalton. How are you?'
'I'm great, Cupie. How about you?'
'Just fine. How's your old man?'
'As grouchy as ever. What's up?'
'Bobby, you can trace cell phone calls these days, can't you? I mean, locate the actual phone?'
'Sure, if it's a late-model phone, with the GPS chip.'
