a few wadded-up pieces of Kleenex with red stains. She looked up at Carr.
'You a Fed?'
Carr showed his gold badge.
Carol looked at the badge, picked up a Kleenex ball, dabbed it under her upper lip, and looked at it. Her white blouse was filthy.
'What's the matter?' Carr said.
'That cop choked me out and stuck his hand in my mouth. My gums are bleeding. First of all, before I say anything I want to know what you can do for me.' She dabbed again.
'I can't make you any promises.'
'I know you can't promise me that I'll get off or anything. I'm on parole. They got the check. I know I'm going back.' Her lower lip trembled. She stared at the ashtray. 'If I could have gotten rid of the check, they wouldn't have anything on me.' The Kleenex ball touched each eye, then the nose. She cleared her throat. 'What I want is a letter to the parole board saying I cooperated with the Feds. I want the letter to be in my parole file.'
Carr sat down and laid his hands flat on the table. 'That can be arranged,' he said, 'depending on what you can turn.'
'How about a sawed-off shotgun?' she said, 'That's a federal beef, isn't it?'
'Sure is. Where is the shotgun?'
Carol rubbed the back of her neck. 'In a locker at the downtown bus depot. That's where he keeps it. This guy I know. Ronnie Boyce. He just got out of Terminal Island.'
'What does Ronnie use it for?' Carr said. He drummed his fingers on the table.
Carol looked at Carr's shoulder as she spoke. 'I have no idea. I don't know anything about what he does with it, and I don't want to know. I just know he has it.' She crushed the Kleenex.
'Have you seen it?'
'Uh, no.
'Then how do you know he has it?'
'I mean, I've seen it, but what he does with it is his own business.'
Carr picked up the brimming ashtray, walked to the wastebasket, and emptied it.
'How do you know it's in the locker?' he said, before turning around.
'He's told me that's where he keeps it, and besides, I've seen the locker key in the motel room.'
Carr sat down again.
'What's the number on the locker key?'
'I don't remember.' Carol picked at her face. 'I don't want him to know I handed him up. He's goofy.'
Carr folded his hands. 'If you want to do yourself any good, Carol, you'll have to tell me where he is.'
'I hope you aren't going to rush over there, break down the door, and tell him I snitched him off.' Carol's front teeth were bloody pink.
Carr closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.
Carol rested her ears on her fists. 'The Sea Horse Motel in Santa Monica. It's on Lincoln Boulevard. Room eleven.' Her eyes searched Carr. 'Now that I've told you, are you still going to write the letter? Or were you just bullshitting?'
'I'll take the letter to your parole agent myself.' He took out a notebook. 'What's his name?' He wrote it down and put the notebook and pencil away.
'Is there any way you could get me into a federal prison so I could do my time there? They have a lot more vocational rehab stuff.'
'I don't think so,' he said.
'The only reason I got caught was because of my skirt. I should of changed it,' Carol said. She put her head back down. He left the police station in a hurry, headed for Santa Monica.
Carr drove past the Sea Horse Motel to get a look. Circling the block, he put the radio microphone in the glove compartment and glanced around the interior of the car to make sure there were no signs that it was a government vehicle. He drove into the motel parking lot and parked near room eleven. In the manager's office, he rang a bell at the counter. A brown cat with a missing ear jumped off the cluttered desk. Television sounds floated from a room shielded by a grimy plastic curtain.
Carr guessed the woman who made a grand entry from behind the curtain to be over three hundred pounds. With her pink curlers and skin-tight sweater and slacks, she looked like an overinflated pool toy.
She took a register card from a drawer and handed it to him along with a pen. 'You want the room for a whole night or just a short while? Reason I ask is because a short while is cheaper.'
'I might be here a few days.'
Her curlers moved as she furrowed her brow.
'You'll have to pay the rent each day. That'll be twelve dollars for tonight.'
'Here you are. I'd like to have a room near the ice machine. That's where I parked my car.' Carr pointed behind him.
'All the same to me. Here's the key to room twelve. Make sure to pay each day before noon.' She pulled her sweater down to reach the horizon of her pants. The sweater popped back up an inch. She disappeared behind the plastic curtain.
Carr walked into room twelve, carrying a Handie-Talkie in a brown paper sack, and sat down at the tiny dressing table with a phone on it. He removed the Handie-Talkie and turned the volume on low.
He held it close to his mouth and pressed the transmit button.
'Nine bravo four seven, this is three tango three one.' He turned up the volume slightly.
'This is nine bravo four seven, go ahead.'
'Two two this number'-he pulled the telephone closer-'787-9517.'
'Wilco. Four seven out.'
He turned off the Handie-Talkie and waited, looking at the double bed with white chenille bedspread and the circus-clown prints on each wall. A heater protruded from the wall adjoining room eleven. Above it was a vent.
The phone rang.
'Hello, Alex?'
'Where are you?'
'Sea Horse Motel on Lincoln in Santa Monica. Room twelve. Ronnie's staying in eleven. His girlfriend copped. Says he has a sawed-off. I haven't seen him yet.'
'Red is still in his apartment. I'll go back to the office. Jack will stay here on Diamond. At this point, the fewer people we have involv…' Delgado cleared his throat. 'Let me know if you need anything.'
Carr hung up the phone and switched off the light. In semi-darkness he moved the chair next to the wall heater. He stood on it and, being as quiet as possible, used a flat key to remove the screws from the vent. He took it off the wall and tossed it on the bed.
Through the wire vent cover on the wall of the next room he saw a mirror. In the mirror was a reflection of the man who killed Rico lying on the bed smoking a cigarette.
****
TWENTY-THREE
Kelly peered through the binoculars at Red Diamond's front door. He said out loud, 'Come on out and go somewhere, you dirty son of a bitch.' He could hardly believe it when a moment later Diamond appeared. He started the engine.
Diamond backed his red Chevrolet out of the carport. Kelly ducked down on the seat as the car went past. Once Diamond had turned onto Hollywood Boulevard, Kelly made a tire-squealing U turn and picked up speed. He had to make the same stoplight as Diamond.
Diamond turned north on Gower, passing a group of teenagers in transparent blouses. He sloped down between green landscaping to the Hollywood Freeway.
Kelly smiled. Diamond didn't know he was being followed. Kelly stayed way back, shielded himself behind other cars.
Diamond continued to the Harbor Freeway, then veered where the high green sign said SANTA MONICA
