Burn (4 page)

“Doren, ” Todd said quickly. “It's me.”

Without looking at Luther, he plugged his ear with a finger and moved away.

A few seconds later, Doren Lomax's unanswered phone finally routed him to the voice mail system. Todd Todman sighed. There were days, he thought, and then there were days.

Still feeling Luther's eyes on his back, Todd strolled to the quietest spot he could find, still pretending to be deep in conversation long after Doren's mailbox beeped and hung up on him.

“HEY
. That thing's not even loaded.”

Andrew looked over a corner of the newspaper to find the snoop studying the gun on the coffee table between them. It seemed he'd finally noticed the hollow space in the base of the grip where a clip was supposed to go.

“You know what they say.” Andrew turned to the next article, which he'd just found in the August 6 edition at the bottom of the woodbin:
FOUL PLAY SUSPECTED IN TAVLIN DEATH.
“Guns don't kill people. It's the bullets.”

“I don't believe this.”

“You'd feel better if I loaded it?”

“I didn't say that.”

Andrew was actually starting to like the guy he'd tied up on Caroline's couch, in spite of their rocky start. Travis Plum, according to the driver's license. So he chose not to add insult to bondage by revealing that
he'd left the clip and the box of extra rounds back at the bank.

Andrew wasn't scared of guns, but he didn't particularly like them either. As far as he was concerned, every gun he'd ever met seemed to have a personality, and not the kind he cared to have around. So he generally avoided their company.

The Glock on the coffee table was the first and only firearm Andrew had ever owned. He'd bought it on his way out of Baltimore from an aging Czech who ran a neighborhood bakery known for its kolaches and un-traceable small arms. It had been a last-minute decision, a reluctant concession to a lingering bit of wisdom an old crewhand had once passed along.
Better to have one and never need it.

Andrew had always planned to toss the gun into the Pacific one day as a symbolic gesture. He kept telling himself he'd get around to it.

“Listen, ” Plum said. “Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?”

Somewhere outside, a car door slammed.

“Hold that thought, ” Andrew said.

After a few empty moments, the intercom crackled. A voice said, “Hello?”

Andrew stood and went to the nearest wall unit. He thumbed the button. “Say your name.”

“Benjamin. Benjy We talked on the phone.”

“Anybody else out there with you, Benjamin?”

“Benjy. Just me.”

“I'm going to take your word on that.”

“You can.”

“Okay, Benjy. Look to your left, you'll see a gate. It's open. Come on up to the deck and follow it around. You can use the sliding door. That's also open.”

“Gate, deck, sliding door.”

“A-plus. We'll be waiting for you.” Andrew released the button, then turned back and pressed it again. “Benjy?”

“Yes.”

“Skip over the top step when you come up the stairs. I need to fix it.”

Andrew buzzed out without waiting for a reply. He went to the tall windows overlooking Pacific Coast Highway and peeked around the edge of the pull shade. Down below, he saw a charcoal Town Car parked askew on the narrow brick-paved strip in front of the garage.

He went back to the chair, sat down again, and nodded at Plum.

“You wanted to ask me something?”

The snoop had wrangled his way into a sitting position, arms still behind his back, bound legs kicked out to one side. As muffled footfalls climbed the stairs and crossed the deck outside, he looked at Andrew's face, seemed to reconsider, and finally said, “Never mind.”

Andrew shrugged as a figure appeared in the open doorframe, backlit by the high morning sun.

“Come on in, ” Andrew said.

The silhouette stepped across the door track and became a sun-bleached, thirty-something guy in business casual attire: dark green polo shirt tucked into pressed khaki trousers, black dress belt to match the tassled shoes. He glanced at the snarl of exposed film on the floor. Then he stopped in place and raised his hands, as if to acknowledge that some sort of gun had been mentioned.

“You can relax, ” Andrew said.

Benjy lowered his hands. “You're the boss.”

“Ironic, considering I seem to be the only guy in the room who doesn't know why we're all here.”

“I can help with that.”

“That's what Trav here tells me.”

The man named Benjy took a moment to regard the man named Plum. “Nice, ” he said.

“Kiss my ass, ” Plum told him. “I didn't sign up for this.”

“Five hundred a day plus expenses, ” Benjy said. “What a joke.”

“I resent that.”

“A metal detector and Bermuda shorts?” Benjy looked at the stripped apparatus on the floor and snorted. “Where'd you learn surveillance,
Simon and Simon
reruns?”

“Okay, people, ” Andrew said. “This is getting us nowhere.”

Benjy dismissed Plum and turned back to Andrew. “I owe you an apology. And an explanation, obviously.”

“You can just skip to the explanation.”

Benjy nodded as though that suited him fine. “Can I assume by the fact that you haven't picked up that gun yet that we're starting on friendly terms?”

“It isn't even loaded, ” Plum said from the couch.

Benjy shot him a look.

“Well, it isn't.”

“Then that makes you even sadder, doesn't it?”

“You and I can start right where we are, ” Andrew said. “We'll see how it goes.”

“Fair enough.” Benjy closed the distance between them, extending a hand. “The last name's Corbin.”

“Andrew. But I'm guessing you know that already.”

“I didn't. Hello.”

Andrew noticed a few things as he shook the hand. Faint scars on the knuckles. A workingman's forearms covered by thick brambles of wheat-colored hair. The
polo shirt had what looked like some kind of corporate logo embroidered on the sleeve.

“Nice Lincoln outside, ” Andrew said. “Do you lease or own?”

“I just drive it.”

Andrew nodded. “I thought that outfit of yours looked mandatory. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I'm listening.”

Benjy said, “I'm going to reach around my back and take something out of my pocket. We're still friendly?”

“Sure.”

Benjy made his reach and brought back a fat envelope. He handed the envelope to Andrew.

“What's this?”

“That's the apology, ” Corbin said.

Andrew could smell the ink even before he slipped the rubber band from around the envelope. He ran his thumb along the edge of the bundle inside and estimated somewhere in the neighborhood of five grand in crisp new bills.

“I think you'd better get back to the explanation.”

“The first thing I need to let you know is that Ace over there wasn't spying on you, ” Corbin said. “At least not you in particular. We had him following a cop who seemed to be interested in this address. We wondered why. That's as far as it goes.”

“He was here again this morning, ” Plum said. “They shook hands, talked on the deck for about fifteen minutes.”

“You're fired, ” Benjy said, “so you can shut up anytime.”

Andrew said, “Who's we?”

“I retained Mr. Plum as a favor to my employer's daughter, ” Benjy said. “Heather Lomax.”

Andrew filed away the name. “And this?”

“Miss Lomax has asked me to offer that in exchange for any information you might be able to supply regarding the whereabouts of her brother, David.”

Andrew extended his arm, offering back the cash.

“You can tell Miss Lomax to keep her money, ” he said. “I don't know her brother. Or his whereabouts. I told the cop the same thing when he asked me this morning. And he wasn't paying.”

“The money's still yours.”

Andrew tossed the package. It slid across the bare floor and stopped against the sole of Benjy's shoe. Corbin looked at it. He didn't bend to retrieve it.

“If you don't mind me saying so, I get the feeling you've got more on the ball than this, Benjamin.”

“Sorry?”

“Come on, ” Andrew said. “Say I really did know this guy everybody seems to think I know. Coming around here asking seems like a good idea to you?”

“I'm only here on behalf of Miss Lomax, ” Benjy said.

“Part of your job description?”

“A favor.” Benjy finally offered a tight grin. “Do I think this is a good idea? No. Have I told Heather that? A couple of times. But she's worried about her brother. And she's a friend.”

“So you go around behind the cops offering cash to strangers?”

“So I find a guy who came recommended.” He flicked his gaze toward the couch. “You get the rest of what he had coming to him. Consider it a token of our regret.”

“Oh, that's fair, ” Plum said.

Andrew just looked at Corbin.

“If you want, ” Benjy said, “I'll put you in touch with my boss right now. His name is Doren. You can get me fired and put Heather in the doghouse with daddy for a few days.” He shrugged. “Or you can keep the money for your trouble, and I'll deliver your message. I'll leave you a number, just in case you decide you want to use it at some point after this. But you won't be bothered again.”

“You can leave any number you want, ” Andrew told him. “I still don't know anything about your boy.”

“As long as that's settled, ” Plum said from the couch, “could somebody go ahead and untie me now?”

While Benjy stood by, Andrew picked up the Glock from the coffee table and stuck it back in his waistband. He went to the kitchen and rummaged through drawers. He found a pair of pizza shears and brought the giant scissors back with him.

Without turning his back on Benjy, Andrew did Plum's ankles first. He said, “Hop up.”

Plum dragged his feet beneath him and rose. As he steadied himself, Andrew snipped the knot where the headphones dangled from Plum's wrists. Then he rounded up the severed cords and handed them over.

“More for the ‘plus expenses’ column, ” he said.

“Gee. Thanks.”

Andrew looked at Benjy again. “I may end up regretting this, but I'm going to choose to believe this is all what you say it is. Because frankly, if it wasn't, it would have to make a hell of a lot more sense than it does.”

“I guess I follow that.”

“Then I guess I'm willing to pretend this never happened, ” Andrew said. “You can return your little payoff
when you deliver the message. Tell your friend Heather I hope she finds her brother. But don't ever send anybody around here again.”

Benjy looked at Andrew for a long moment. Then he picked up the envelope from the floor and looked at Plum. “What are
you
waiting for? A ride to your car?”

“There's going to be a contingency fee on this, ” Plum said. He stooped, snatched his fallen visor, picked up the disabled metal detector by the shaft, and headed for the open doorway to the deck.

Benjy mouthed something to himself as he watched Plum go. Then he turned back to Andrew one last time.

“No hard feelings, I hope.”

Before Andrew could respond, the driver pivoted on a heel. Andrew watched him follow Plum out the door.

Corbin stopped only long enough to produce a pen from somewhere on his person. He used it to scribble something on the envelope.

Then he walked out the way he'd walked in, leaving the bundle sitting on the edge of the breakfast bar like a brick on a ledge, waiting to fall.

“TEAM
one finished rerunning the financials.”

Timms glanced across the table at his partner as he squirted more ketchup on his fries. When it came to lunch, they had a standing agreement not to talk about anything case-related until they were finished eating their food. Timms believed the downtime promoted digestion. Drea Munoz always finished eating first.

“Any idea how much these movie stars pay to get buff?” She washed down the last of her pastrami on rye. “I'm thinking about switching careers. Get myself one of those gigs as a consultant for the movies. You know? Show J.Lo what kind of backup piece goes with slacks.”

“I didn't know you followed fashion.”

“Never wear a .45 after Labor Day is my rule. And by the way screw you, cowboy. This is a Donna Karan suit. DA. couldn't keep his eyes off me in court this morning.”

Timms smirked and munched a fry. “Anything we didn't know on the money end?”

“Nothing new. Guy's tight on paper. Took a nice income bump with the private gigs, but we knew that already.”

“Greener pastures.” According to Todd Todman, the official talking head for Lomax Enterprises, Gregor Tavlin had bought out his own contract with the company last year due to late-blooming irreconcilable differences with executive management. He'd spent the interim freelancing as a personal trainer to several Hollywood A-listers.

“So what happened with our mystery man?”

“He was having himself a little snooze outside when I showed up, ” Timms said. “Claims he's never heard of David Lomax.”

“No kidding, ” Drea said. She mimed a yawn. “How'd you make him?”

“Haven't figured that out yet, ” Timms said. “But I'll bet you a paycheck he's got a jacket somewhere.”

“Yeah?”

“Knew I was on the job before I even flashed the tin. He just didn't know what. Like it could have been anything. Lets me act like I think he's the homeowner until he knows why I'm there, then he cops to the fact he's only a houseguest. Offers me coffee and his landlord's phone number.” Timms polished off his fries and wiped his hands on a napkin. “Says he's been in town a couple months, I'd say that looks about right. Somebody did a number on his face about that long ago, by the look. Same paycheck says he needed a place to hole up and lick a few wounds.”

Drea nodded along. The vague smile on her face suggested she had a story of her own.

Timms sipped his coffee, which had gone cold. “You get a read on the homeowner?”

“Borland? I didn't have to read him. He was an audio book. Couldn't shut him up. Kindler's his wife's cousin, he says.”

“Kindler gave me that, ” Timms said. “I make him from back East somewhere.”