An
Incident Halfway to Hell
By Ian De Shils (Ernest
Shilds)
Chapter 7
At eight A.M. sharp, Hoot entered the Birchline offices and the first
words out of the receptionist's mouth were, “Mister Markey want's to see
you,--- ASAP!” Nodding, Hoot moved through the offices to Markey's suite.
The feeling was mutual; he had a few questions of his own.
“Ah,--- there you are,” Markey exclaimed as Hoot walked in. “Vitto said
you went with Melva to that dance Friday night. What the hell happened there?”
“Didn't she tell you?”
“She won't even talk about it. You did see it though?”
“I sure did,--- close up! She went in to hassle Case and got wet down
for her trouble. What I want to know is how come you won't accept his check;
he told me its been returned twice, is that true?”
"I'm afraid that's what happened. I didn't learn about this until Friday
night, but Vitto bought O'Brian's contract from Melva figuring he could
enforce that old 'Stud' release. Anyway, he paid off O'Brian's advances
and returned his checks.” A wry grin spread across Markey face. “However,
if it's any consolation, Vitto really screwed himself. The contract is worthless
and O'Brian isn't obligated in any way to pay him back.”
“Yeah, but, what you're saying is Vitto and Melva cooked this up together.”
“I doubt that,” Paul replied, “Vitto never told her about the checks!
I figure he strung her along, probably cried on her shoulder about O'Brian
not honoring the contract. He says Melva volunteered to help him, but you
can bet he wound her up ahead of time.”
“That Bastard! I'm gonna have a talk with him.”
“Simmer down, Hoot, I've already taken care of it. Vitto went to Hawaii
to shoot some background video, he won't bother O'Brian again. Melva's gone
to New York for a few days and I'm heading east myself. If we just leave
it alone, everything will settle down.”
Hoot shook his head, “No it won't, Paul. You weren't there, I've never
seen Melva that pissed before. When she called him a liar Case got mad,
poured a coke over her head and shoved her hard enough to knock her off
her feet. Do you really think she'll let that pass? Uh-uh! We both
know what happens to people who play rough with Melva,--- they get hurt!”
“Now, wait a minute! That's crazy talk.”
Hoot just stared at the man, “Strange, isn't it,--- every time anyone
messes with Melva, they end up in the hospital.”
“Jesus Christ, Hoot, she's your cousin. How can you even think that about
her.”
“Because I'm neither blind nor stupid! Look, I'm not passing judgment
on her. Maybe those other people deserved to get thumped, but not Case.
He told me for the last month he's been constantly harassed; letters, phone
calls, legal threats, and all of them tagged with Melva's name and then Melva
herself shows up to make a scene. Yeah, he lost his cool, but he didn't start
it.”
For a moment, Markey sat as quiet as stone. “I'm sorry Hoot, I
had no idea it had gone that far. Melva . . .” he paused, choosing his words
carefully. “As an officer of the court, I can state under oath I have
no direct knowledge of Melva's involvement in any such incident. On the other
hand, it might be a good idea if your friend stayed out of sight for awhile.”
“I'm way ahead of you there. Look, you'll be seeing Melva tonight. Help
me straighten this out. Tell her the details and just remind her Case is
my best friend. I won't take it lightly if anything happens to him.”
“I'll do everything I can, Hoot, I promise.”
After Hoot left, Paul leaned back and propped his feet up. His tented
fingers lightly tapped against his lips as he became lost in thought. Odd,
--- Vitto would go to such lengths for a skin flick,--- and to lie so blatantly!
Did he really think Melva would never find out he was using her? No! Either
Melva was in on it from the start,--- which seemed highly unlikely, or Vitto
simply didn't care if she found out. A tendril of suspicion began to
creep across his mind. If it were the latter, then Vitto was up to
something far more important to him than a skin flick, but what? What benefit
would he gain from a confrontation between Melva and O'Brian? The
only result would be lawsuits and court problems. Was that it? Did Vitto
want Melva in trouble,--- deep trouble,--- maybe something big enough for
the court to rescind probation? But why, what would he have to gain? He mulled
it over. Something was going on here that didn't meet the eye. He decided
it was time to do a little checking on Vitto. Since the man's overriding concern
had always been money, an audit of the company books might be a wise first
step, and if that showed nothing, then a thorough check into what Vitto was
doing outside the company. He sat up and touched the intercom,
“Angie, clear my calendar for the rest of the day, and contact John Martin.
Tell him it's important we meet before I leave for New York tonight. Also,
call Graham in bookkeeping and let him know I'm coming down.”
* * * * * * *
The phone rang twice. There was a pause, then it rang again. Manny picked
it up.
“Yeah?” he said.
“It's Angelo. A guy went into the bungalow maybe fifteen minutes ago.”
“Our pigeon?”
“Uh-uh. This man's got a beard. It looks like he's just taking care of
the place. He was out back watering the plants a few minutes ago.
Oh, oh,--- here he comes now and he's carrying a suitcase.”
“Follow him!”
“You want Turk to stay here?”
“Don't bother,--- our boy isn't coming home for awhile. We'll find him
wherever that suitcase ends up.”
Forty minutes later the man called back. “He didn't go far. Woodland Hills,
just off Topanga Canyon. He dropped off the suitcase and left; only, there
ain't nobody here either. We're parked on a pull out above the house where
we can see the whole set up. There ain't a soul down there.”
"What's the address?” The man reeled off the number. “Hang around and
see if our boy shows up. I'll try to find out who lives there.”
That, as it turned out, wasn't a problem at all. The Woodland Hills city
directory gave him the name. On the other hand, the name was one that could
be a problem; H.T. Anders,--- Melva's cousin. He tried calling Melva. The
housekeeper assured him she was out of town and wouldn't be back until
Friday at the earliest.
“I'm sorry, Sir,” she said, in the prime, firm voice of a person used
to discouraging nosy callers, “I can't give out that number. If it concerns
business, please call the office manager at Birchline, or if you'd like,
I can take a message. “
Manny hung up. If he couldn't reach Melva, then he would just have to
wing it. He thought about it for awhile but couldn't see it was any skin
off his nose one way or the other. If Hoot was involved that was between
him and Melva, besides he had more important things to think about,--- like
nailing the pigeon. You don't get the kind of loot he was being paid by
sitting on your hands. It was near six P.M. when Angelo called again, “The
guy came back alone and he don't act like he's expecting anyone. Right now
he's outside barbecuing a hamburger,--- just one. Do we need to hang around
here any longer? Turk is getting pissed and I'm getting hungry.”
“No, wrap it up for the day. I'll take the morning shift.”
* * * * * * *
At four P.M. Tuesday, Hoot called from Vegas and left a message on his
answering machine “Scotty; I'm not gonna make it home tonight. The
guy from the cable network got delayed, so everything's off until morning.
I hate to keep imposing, but do you suppose you could go see Case tomorrow?
Tell him not to come back yet. Nothing is settled with Melva, but
at least he's off the hook as far as the contract is concerned. Vitto bought
it, and according to Paul, it's not transferable without Casey's consent.
Oh, yeah,--- there's a cell phone on my desk sitting in a charger. Take
the whole thing and leave it with him, I'll call him tomorrow. I'm staying
at the Egyptian; 706-555-5421, room 757. I'm off to play the slots
right now, but if you're not busy tonight, give me a call. I'll be in early.”
At eight-thirty A.M. Wednesday morning, Scott turned off Topanga Canyon
Road and onto the side street leading to Hoot's house. He didn't notice the
car parked in the pull out at the top of the hill, in fact he wasn't paying
attention to much of anything, except how good he felt. Smiling to himself,
he unlocked the house and walked through the kitchen. The blinking red light
on the answering machine didn't register and Scott continued on to the bathroom.
As he showered, he kept finding hickeys, some in the most unexpected places.
No beach today, he decided as he soaped the ones on his belly and chest.
Damn what a night, and so weird. He wasn't even looking for anything. It
started with a little conversation in a restaurant, and the next thing he
knew he was screwing his brains out. Smiling over the adventure, he decided
he liked California,--- a lot!
It was close to ten when the blinking light finally penetrated his consciousness,
but when he tried calling Hoot, the phone rang to an empty room.
“Sorry, sir. Mister Anders seems to be out.”
“Can I leave him a message?”
“Yes, Sir, go ahead,--- I'll make sure he gets it.”
“Okay, just write,--- “The cell phone is on its way. Sorry I didn't return
your call, I was busy all night.”
“And your name sir?”
“Oh, yeah,” An impish grin spread across Scott's face, “Just sign it “Lucky.”“
An hour later Scott began carrying items out to his car for the run to
the desert and from the overlook, Manny noted with interest a tan suitcase
was part of the load.
“Now we're getting somewhere.” he muttered. Starting his nondescript
Chevy sedan, he turned around and edged back toward Topanga Canyon road
to another pull out where he waited for the bearded man to pass. Flipping
open a cell phone he called Angelo,
“We're on the move. I don't know where yet, but keep a phone handy.”
An hour later, he called again, “It looks like he's heading towards Palmdale.
You guys follow along, we're on the Antelope Valley freeway right now.
You might even be able to catch us,--- he's just putting along at fifty-five.”
Angelo, tangled in Valley traffic failed catch up, and at Palmdale,
the guy turned east. Manny passed the word, but he was a good thirty miles
out in the middle of nowhere before his rear view mirror picked up Angelo's
car. The bearded man was nearly a mile ahead, still tooling along at the
same steady fifty-five. Where the hell is he going, Manny wondered? He found
out soon enough. The brake lights came on and the car made a left turn into
a driveway. Manny slowed. Angelo quickly caught up and the two cars cruised
slowly past “Halfway to Hell” or at least that's what the sign by the gate
said.
When Scotty pulled in, Casey was in the yard practicing lunges and thrusts
with the old dueling sword from above the fireplace. His 'opponent' was
a collection of rags tied together and dangling from the low hanging limb
of a Chinese elm. The desert breeze caused his adversary to dance and sway
and as a result it made for a more interesting workout than just going through
the thrust and parry moves.
“Jesus,” Scotty said as he got out of the car, “You must be bored stiff.
I've had some slow times in my life, but I never took up stabbing rags as
a hobby.”
“You don't know what you're missing.” Casey joked, laying the sword on
the nearby bench. “Where's Hoot?”
“He's hung up in Vegas; won't be back until tomorrow. Now there's luck
for ya,--- I get stuck in an ice storm in Chicago,--- he gets stuck in Glitter
City. Say, do you need groceries or anything?”
“Yeah, I'm out of milk and I'm getting sick of Hoot's diet Cola . . .”
“Okay, let's go. I'll fill you in on the way.” Manny turned around
and was coming back for another look at the place when the bearded man pulled
out of the drive. With him, was the guy they were looking for, Casey O'Brian.
“Now, where the fuck are they going” he wondered aloud. Pulling off on the
shoulder, he waited for Angelo,
“Follow them and keep me posted. I want to see who lives here.”
Manny parked in the drive, looked around for a moment and then walked
boldly up to the front door and knocked. After a few tries with no response,
he scouted the yard, peering toward the sheds beyond the windbreak. No
movement, no sounds at all except the whisper of the wind in the trees.
Behind the house a chain link fence surrounded a patio that sported a smallish
covered pool and a canopied barbecue pit. A clump of black stemmed bamboo
grew luxuriously by the rear door where an outside faucet dripped. It was
the only bit of lushness behind the fence other than for a few native weeds
eking out life between the flagstones.
The patio has 'seldom used' written all over it, he thought as he
lifted the latch on the fence and entered. To his surprise the rear door was
unlocked. Manny snooped, checking out the bedroom, the bath, and even the
dresser drawers. There was a lot of 'stuff' in the house, but nothing of
real value; no coins, guns, or paintings. This was just a weekend retreat
by the look of it. Of course a robber wouldn't know that, he thought idly.
It was obvious only one person was staying here; one dish in the strainer;
one cup; one set of silverware.
O'Brian was staying there alone. Again the thought surfaced this was a
perfect setup for a random robbery; isolated, not even a telephone,--- yes,
perfect,--- and perfectly plausible. There had been a rash of burglaries
around Lake Arrowhead recently and that was what,--- maybe an hour away?
As he scanned the main room he could visualized the whole thing. Burglars,
surprised by O'Brian, take him out, steal his wallet and ransack the house.
He wandered about looking for valuables; something light and portable, only
there wasn't much. Okay, then the T.V. and V.C.R.,--- chump shit,--- but
enough to make it look like a robbery. Yes, he thought, if the guy with
the beard doesn't hang around, then this is the ideal spot, and the cops
can write it off as another bit of random violence.
He wandered back to the car. It was time to make the call. He punched
in the numbers and waited until the long distance lines connected. It rang
twice, “Manny, here. We found him, and the set up is good. You still want
to go through with it?” Manny didn't really relish this new twist, but
the money was right. “Okay,--- tomorrow you can read all about in the papers.”