Point of Impact

“Maybe Lee loves his job and is willing to do anything to keep it.” He raised an eyebrow.

Well, Mama Howard didn’t raise any stupid children, either. Howard said, “Bit of a stretch, isn’t it?”

“He killed a world-famous movie star in front of a witness who, at the very least, can get him fired and maybe charged with a nasty felony. Maybe if something happened to the witness, he might not be so worried.”

Howard nodded. “I take your point. I’ll make sure my brakes are working before I go for a drive.”

“And make sure nothing is attached to the ignition switch, too, John. I’d hate to have to break in a new military commander.”

“Yes, sir, I’d hate to put you to the trouble.”

They smiled at each other.

But when Howard left, he considered what Michaels had said. Lee did seem to be something of a loose cannon. He didn’t want to be in front of him if he went off.

28

Los Angeles, California

Drayne was not a man to make the same mistake twice, especially on something that, in theory, could cost him his freedom. As soon as he was back on the ground in L.A., still in the car on the way home, he made a call to a real estate agent he’d never met. He got her name out of the phone directory and picked it because he liked the sound of it.

“Silverman Realty,” the woman said, “this is Shawanda speaking.”

Shawanda Silverman. What kind of intermarriage produced such a great name? He loved it.

“Yes, ma’am, my name is Lazlo Mead, and I’m going to be living here in the Los Angeles area for about a year or so for a project I’m just starting to work on.”

“Yes, Mr. Mead?”

“What I want is to lease a three- or four-bedroom furnished house not too far from things, but in a nice area, you know, maybe out a little ways, in one of the canyons?”

“Certainly I can help you with that. What… ah… price range are we talking about?”

“Well, the company is paying for it — I’m in aircraft supply and maintenance — so maybe you could find one where the rent was somewhere around eight to ten thousand dollars a month?”

He could hear the cash register in her voice: “No problem with that,” she said too quickly. “I can make a list of a few places, and we can get together and view them.”

“Well, here’s the thing. I’m kind of in a hurry, but I’m up to my eyeballs in work. Somebody gave me your name as having done this kind of thing for people before, so maybe you could just, you know, pick a place that would work for me and my wife and just go ahead and lease it for us. I’ll e-mail you a transfer, you know, first month, last month, cleaning and security fees, whatever — say forty thousand? — and e-sign any paperwork to get the ball rolling. We can get together later. Sooner I get out of the hotel and into a real place, the happier I’ll be.”

“I understand that, Mr. Mead. I’m sure I can find a house that will work for you. Any preferences as to furniture or schools or such?”

“Well, my wife likes modem stuff, so we want to keep her happy. No early American or like that. No kids, so schools don’t matter.”

“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll e-mail you pictures, if you want.”

“That would be good.” He gave her one of the remailing addresses he used. She probably already had caller- IDed the number of the clean phone he kept for just such transactions, the one made out in the name of Projects, Inc. Now there was a term that could be stretched to fit virtually anything. What did it mean? Nothing. He gave her the number. Soon as she found something, she said, she would call. He got her e-mail address and promised to send a fund transfer first thing in the morning.

After he broke the connection, he felt a lot better. In a day or two, he’d have a hideout, so if he had to leave the Malibu house in a hurry, there would be a place he could run to where he could sort things out. He had a big, fat, five-hundred-pound gun safe bolted to the concrete floor in a U-Store-It place way out Ventura Boulevard; he’d drive over the hill and move most of the cash from the beach house to that tonight, as a matter of fact. Maybe some of the better champagne. The locker, which was eight by ten feet, was air conditioned, he’d made sure of that. With his money safe and a place to hide if it came to that, he would be halfway ready.

Lazlo Mead was about to come into full existence, too. Drayne had a wonderful, illegal software program and card stocks for making phony IDs. A couple of hours and a good color laser printer, a few watermarks and holograms, and presto! Mr. Lazlo Mead would have a driver’s license from, oh, say, Iowa; a social security card, maybe a library card, and a couple of credit cards that looked perfect, even if they weren’t valid. The program would also print out pictures of a mythical wife and parents, if he wanted.

That would take care of the basics. When Tad got home, he could do the other part, the hired muscle. A few armed bodyguards could buy them enough time to haul ass if somebody came calling, especially if Drayne gave them the right story. “Somebody yells ‘Police!’ they are lying, ” he’d tell the shooters. “It’s guys trying to rip us off.” Tad knew people who wouldn’t care if whoever hired them were dope dealers or gunrunners, long as they got paid. Guys who’d shoot it out with cops anyhow, if the pay was rich enough.

Maybe he ought to get a gun, too. He’d never had much use for those, but after the Zee-ster bought it, the thought had popped up. He didn’t have any training, but you didn’t have to be a rocket scientist, now did you? Any fuzz-brained gangbanger in East L.A. could use a gun, how hard could it be? Point it and pull the trigger, it went bang. Wave it, and it was like a magic wand; people sat up and paid attention. Something that looked cool, one of those stainless steel movie guns the action adventure guys used, pearl handles or something.

Of course, all this would tap into his money pretty good, forty grand for the house, probably fifty or sixty more for five bodyguards, just to get started. But it had to be done. He’d been lax before, but not anymore. All this had been a wake-up call, and he didn’t want to be caught by surprise. It had been a big game, really, but when customers started getting cooked by feds, the seriousness factor went way up. He hadn’t really believed he’d ever be caught, not really, and the idea of spending years in a federal prison somewhere fending off some big horny con named Bubba did not appeal at all. So it would cost, big deal. Money was the easiest part. If he put the word out, he could move fifty or sixty hits of the Hammer a week, easy. Couple, three months of doing that every week or two, he’d make expenses and a whole lot more. Clear, say, half a million in the next few months, then take a break?

Cross that bridge when he got to it. It had been a close call, that business with the Zee-ster. He would not get that involved with the customers again. He was smarter than most people, he knew that, and he knew he could see things better, but when you were moving in a hurry, you had to watch your step. All kinds of things out there that could trip you up.

The “office” com number went off. He frowned at it. Saw there was no caller ID sig lit. He knew who it had to be.

“Polymers, Drayne.”

“Robert. This is your father.”

Jesus. Didn’t the old man think he could recognize his fucking voice after all these years? “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”.

“I’m leaving your aunt’s to go back to Arizona tomorrow. I thought we might get together for breakfast before I go.”

Drayne felt a cold finger along his spine. His father wanted to see him? That was very strange. “Sure. I know a couple of places near Edwina’s that are pretty good.”

“Give me the name, and I’ll get directions from Edwina.”

“Sure.”

“We’ll meet at seven A.M.,” his father said. It was not a question.

“Seven sharp,” Drayne said. Which, when speaking to his father, was redundant. He gave him the name of a