to this,' he said. 'Special Agent Kelly is an experienced senior agent who can be counted upon to fulfill his responsibilities. He is an excellent marksman and has a high record of arrests and convictions. At times his outspokenness causes problems with his coworkers. Kelly has a thorough knowledge of the operations manual and keeps his reports up to date.' Kelly folded the paper and stuffed it back in his coat pocket. 'See? A sandwich job. He starts with good points, then the bad, then ends with something good. A shit sandwich. Just enough to keep me from getting promoted, but not enough to get me pissed off…What did he put in yours this time?'
'Same as yours, except for the bad part. Mine said something like 'Carr has a tendency to be too independent. He objects to proper supervision and has on occasion refused to identify his informants when told to do so.''
'Good old No Waves. He wouldn't know an informant if one bit him on the ass. The pipe-smoking, briefcase-carrying, ass-licking, back-stabbing prick. Did I ever tell you about the time he interviewed me on a brutality allegation?'
Carr shook his head no even though he knew the story by heart.
'He sits there behind his desk with two inspectors in the room, tape recorder on. The interview was almost over, and he says, 'Well, you know how it is. We have to follow up on rumors.' I said, 'I hear rumors every day.' He said, 'Like what?' So I said, 'Yesterday somebody told me you were a queer.' The friggin' inspectors almost fell off their chairs!' Kelly laughed furiously, caught his breath, and laughed again.
Leach walked from his front door. He wore European-cut trousers that were too small for his chunky frame, and a waist-length leather jacket that would have looked good on a nineteen-year-old.
'Okay. We've Finally got some movement,' Carr said.
Kelly rubbed his face roughly with both hands and started the engine.
Leach got into the Cadillac. The headlights came on. He backed out of the driveway and pulled into traffic.
Kelly, without headlights, kept at a safe distance behind the Cadillac as it drove along shabby side streets toward Wilshire Boulevard. Carr wished Leach would get onto a larger street so the tandem turns would not be so obvious.
The Cadillac turned west on Wilshire Boulevard.
Carr thought they had lost him for a moment when he made a left turn on Vermont. They caught up to the Cadillac as it entered the freeway. The trip to Marina Del Rey was easy because there were a million cars on the freeway. Carr knew that all headlights would took the same in Leach's rearview mirror; an easy tail.
As Leach pulled into a valet lot at the Captain's Disco he almost ran into a bevy of sun-tanned young women dressed in jeans and tank tops. He got out of his car and handed the keys to the valet. He walked up the steps and in the front door.
'Everybody here is either a pipe smoker or a stewardess,' Kelly said. 'If Leach brought a pipe, he should fit right in.'
'You take the point,' Carr said. 'I'll wait here.'
Kelly took off his Suit coat and gun and threw them on the back seat. He trotted up the steps, paid his cover charge at the door, and went in. Carr could hear the faint echo of rock music.
Waiting, Carr turned on the radio and listened to a late-night talk program. The disc jockey's voice sounded bored, sleepy, as he discussed capital punishment with a shut-in who kept coughing. They used the word
It was 1:30 A.M. when Kelly, came back out. He waved to Carr and headed for a phone booth in the parking lot next door. The phone call was brief.
After Kelly hung up the phone, it was exactly four minutes until a black-and-white police car drove into the parking lot.
Kelly approached it. The uniformed officers inside nodded their heads as Kelly displayed his Treasury badge. After speaking animatedly for a few moments, he pointed toward Leach's Cadillac. After a short discussion, the police car pulled out of the lot and parked down the street.
Kelly trotted back to the car and slid into the driver's seat. He turned off the radio.
'He's ready,' he told Carr. 'I counted at least seven drinks. He's in there trying to pick up teenyboppers, but they've all shined him on.'
Leach walked out the front door and waited for the valet to bring the Cadillac. He looked unsteady on his feet. He seemed to fall into his car as the valet opened the door.
The red lights of the police car went on as soon as the Cadillac passed.
Kelly started the engine. They drove past the flashing red light of the police car and saw Leach, arms outstretched, trying to touch the tip of his index finger to his pimpled nose.
Kelly stepped on the gas.
The black sheriffs deputy shoved Leach roughly into the dark cell.
Carr lay on the top bunk feigning sleep, his face embedded in a pillow that smelled faintly of Clorox. He had decided not to say anything until morning, figuring that Leach would not be too enthusiastic about gabbing with a cellmate at 3:00 A.M. No use rushing it.
Leach walked the four steps to the commode and urinated loudly. He flopped on the lower bunk and dropped his shoes to the floor one at a time. He began snoring within ten minutes.
Carr told himself there was no reason why he shouldn't be able to sleep. He rethought the tack he would use, then dozed fitfully.
An echoing scream woke him. He sat up in the bunk. There was the sound of a scuffle farther down the tier, then a loud moaning. People fighting over a cigarette or perhaps a plastic comb?
Carr rolled over and stared at the flaking ceiling. He thought of bicycling along the beach to Sally's house; he knocked and she wasn't home.
He closed his eyes.
Carr woke up as the tier lights went on. He slid off the bunk, put his shoes on, and washed his face with cold water at the yellowish sink. The cell reminded him of a service-station bathroom: filthy cement.
'How long you been in?' asked Leach, yawning. He stood up from the bunk, stretching. He had no shirt on. His face was a mask of ripe, red infections, his neck a collar of thick purple scar tissue with protruding unshavable whiskers.
'Ten days,' Carr answered. He dried his hands on a gray towel.
'What're you in for?' Leach yawned again without covering his mouth.
'Drunk driving,' Carr said. 'I'm getting out today.' ('Chance meetings require common topics,' said the agents' manual.)
'No shit,' Leach said. 'That's what I'm in for. Had a few drinks at a bar. I'm on my way home and the cops give me the red lights. No shit.' He made his fingers into a comb and raked his sticky hair.
'The goddamn pigs must of needed one more for their quota,' Carr said. Without looking at the other man, he climbed back onto the top bunk, lit a cigarette, and leaned against the wall.
Leach was at the sink now, drinking handfuls from the faucet. He spit water into the sink. 'Sounds like you don't get along with the man.' Leach looked at his wet hands for a moment, turned, and began drying them on a corner of Carr's blanket.
'Get your hands off the blanket,' Carr said matter-of-factly.
Leach stopped drying his hands with the blanket but continued to hold it. He stared amusedly at Carr. 'Sounds like you learned some of the rules during the last ten days.'
'I learned the rules in Leavenworth,' Carr said. 'Now get your goddamn hooks off the blanket.' ('Don't be afraid to poke the lion,' said the T-school instructor.)
Leach dropped the corner of the blanket. 'No shit,' he said.
'How much time did you do in Leavenworth?' He rubbed his hands back and forth on his pants.
'A deuce.'
'What for?'
'Passing funny money,' Carr said.
'Feds lied on me in court. Said they found funny money in my car.' He paused. 'What makes you so interested?'
