Nightmare in Angel City (10 page)

***

Arm in arm, Frank and Callie entered Stuart Bates's home.

It was filled with hundreds of guests. Waiters in white jackets and gloves moved throughout the crowd, carrying trays of food and champagne. The floors were made of polished marble. Priceless paintings covered the walls.

"That looks like real gold leaf on those frames," Callie said to Frank as they stopped to admire the paintings.

Frank watched an actress go by. "That's — " he began, and then his eye was caught by a passing talk-show host. "And that's — "

Callie nudged him nervously. "Don't gawk. We have to act like we fit in, or our cover will be blown." A man brushed past her, and she turned toward him and gasped. He stood almost seven feet tall, with muscles that strained the seams of his dinner jacket.

"Oh, gosh," she said breathlessly. "That's that famous bodybuilder. What's his name? I've got to get his autograph."

Frank took her by the arm and dragged her into the next room. It was a library, lined floor to ceiling with books. There were fewer people in there, and they spoke quietly among themselves, paying no attention to Frank and Callie. "It's hard to keep from being awed, isn't it?" he asked Callie. "I guess everyone who's anyone in this town is here."

"Bates is a powerful man in the entertainment industry, that's for sure," Callie said. There was a round of applause in the other room, and a tall, ; handsome, smiling man stepped into view. "Uh - oh. There's Bates."

"This way," Frank said, and took her hand. A glass door led from the library onto a terrace at the back of the house, where dance music throbbed. Frank and Callie danced their way through the crowd until they came to another door, and quietly slipped into the kitchen, where chefs and waiters were scrambling to fill trays with appetizers.

Before they were seen, they darted out into the hall. A stairway led up to the second floor, but it had been roped off at the bottom. "Come on," Frank hissed, unfastening the velvet rope. "I want to know why the second floor's off limits." Quickly, Callie followed him up the stairs.

One by one they tried the doors along the main corridor. "Everything's empty," Callie exclaimed. "There's not a stick of furniture in any of these rooms."

"I guess he doesn't use them if he lives here alone," said Frank. "But where's his bedroom?"

As they passed a marble stairway that led downstairs, a security guard unfastened the rope blocking it off and started up.

Frank and Callie ducked into an empty room. Keeping the door open a crack, they watched the guard go by. Then they slid off their shoes and slipped soundlessly out after him.

The guard walked to the end of the hall and up a set of stairs to the third floor. He swung open two brass-handled doors and disappeared into a room. Stepping into the room across the hall, Frank and Callie listened as the guard left the room and closed the door. His footsteps echoed down the hall and then down the stairs. When there was no more sound, Frank peeked into the hall.

"No sign of anyone. Let's check out that room."

After they stole through the brass-handled doors, Callie's jaw dropped.

The room was huge. A king-size bed with oak posts and silk covers was centered on one wall. Around the room she saw a projection television with a videodisc player and several videocassette recorders, a full stereo, a wet bar, and an exercise area complete with bodybuilding equipment. At one end another door led into an extravagant bathroom.

"There's a hot tub in here!" Callie said. "And it's filled with bubbly steaming water." On a shelf at the edge of the tub was a cordless telephone. Callie imagined Bates sitting in the tub, using the phone to make multi-million-dollar deals.

"The man who has everything," Frank said.

He took the photograph they had gotten from Patch out of his pocket. "I need the tape now."

Callie took the videocassette from her purse and handed it to him. He laid the photo and the cassette on top of Bates's pillow.

"That ought to shake him up," Frank said with a chuckle.

"Frank, come here," Callie cried. While he had been baiting the trap, she looked at Bates's closets. As Frank faced her, she pulled out a carefully folded patrolman's outfit from the far corner behind rows of expensive suits.

"Ah - ha," Frank said. "Just what we were looking for."

"There are running shoes in back too." Callie picked them up, then brushed off her hands. "They're covered with sand."

"It wouldn't hold up as evidence in front of a jury," Frank said, "but it convinces me. Bates is our man all right."

Footsteps reverberated on the floor outside. "Someone's coming. Hide!" Callie said, and shut herself in the closet.

"Not in the closet!" Frank whispered urgently. "They might look there."

She came out as the footsteps neared. "Where?"

Frank looked around frantically. There was nowhere to hide. "Under the bed," he ordered. She dropped to the floor and disappeared.

The door began to open.

Quickly, Frank dived across the room, sliding into the bathroom. He closed the door just as Bates and a guard came into the bedroom.

Through the door Frank heard Bates and the guard talk animatedly. He made out words about time and a phone call. Suddenly they stopped.

After an electrified silence Bates said, "Someone's been here. Search the place."

The voices were headed for the bathroom. Frank had scant seconds before he'd be caught. There was only one thing to do.

The guard opened the bathroom door and looked around. "No one here," he said, and left, shutting the door.

Frank rose up out of the hot tub, dripping wet. He took a towel from a nearby rack and began to quietly dry himself. The water ran silently down his back and legs and onto the marble floor. He'd have to mop up.

The phone rang.

Cautiously, Frank moved closer to the bathroom door and listened until the ringing stopped and Bates's voice was heard again. Then Frank gently lifted the cordless phone from its cradle and put it to his ear.

A gruff-voiced man was on the line, arguing with Bates. "No more excuses, Stuart," the voice was saying. "You double-crossed me once. You're not going to trick me with the bank, again."

Frank held his breath, glued to the phone. The gruff-voiced caller must be Patch!

Fascinated, Frank listened while the two argued over who had betrayed whom. The entire picture of the robbery unfolded for Frank.

Apparently, Bates and Moran — Patch—had thought that the highway patrol had identified Moran as he fled. Bates talked Moran into helping him knock off a buddy with a firebomb and switching dental records so the body would be identified as Moran. They placed a few carefully charred bills from the robbery on the vagrant's body to fool the police into thinking they'd found one of the thieves. Moran, believed dead, was free. But before Moran realized what was happening, Bates had vanished, taking all the money.

"Too bad I ran across your picture in the paper," Patch said angrily. "Too bad for you."

"All right. What now?" Bates asked brusquely.

"We meet again. In a crowded place. Tomorrow. And this time I take the whole two million." Patch paused for emphasis. "I have a videotape now. I'll send it to the police."

As Frank listened, his nose began to itch. He rubbed it, but the itching wouldn't stop.

Suddenly Frank sneezed.

All talking on the phone stopped. The bathroom door flew open. The guard stood there, gun in hand, and waved Frank into the bedroom.

"You!" Bates said, his face mottled red with fury. All trace of the urbane executive was gone from him now. "Take him out back," he told the guard. "Way back. And do what you have to."

As the guard yanked Frank's arms tighter behind him, making him cry out in pain, Callie continued to lie silently under the bed. She didn't dare move, aware that all she could do now was listen.

"No, there's no problem," Bates snapped into the phone. "Everything's under control. Where do we meet, and when?" Callie tried to make out the answer, but she knew it was hopeless. The voice on the other end of the line was inaudible to her. "Fine. I'll be there," Bates said. There was the click of the phone being hung up.

"Well?" she heard Bates ask the guard. "What are you waiting for? Get him out of here."

She twisted for a better view, propping up the edge of the bedspread so she could see out from under it. Three sets of feet were in view, one set tapping impatiently. Someone came around the bed in wet stocking feet. Frank, she realized. Like her, he had never put his shoes back on. She gripped her high heels and waited for the next pair of feet to pass.

When a shoe came into view, she stuck out one of her high heels, catching the guard's ankle and tripping him. He cried out in surprise as he fell.

Frank spun abruptly at the cry. Arm straight, he smashed the back of his hand into the guard's neck. The impact knocked the guard off his feet, but his finger tightened around the trigger of his gun. Frank smashed his elbow into the guard's chest.

The gun went off as the guard jerked from the impact of the blow. The bullet slammed into a bedpost. The guard lay silent, unconscious. Startled, Bates ducked into his closet.

"Get out from under there," Frank said, giving Callie a helping hand.

"What happened to Bates?" she whispered as she stood up.

Frank pointed to the closet for reply. They walked over to it and pulled open the doors. Bates waited there, hunched over, his back turned toward them. "Come on, Bates. It's over."

"It is," Bates agreed. Then he turned around and stood, hatred and victory in his eyes. In one hand he held the holster he had worn with the patrolman's uniform. In his other hand he held the gun. "It's over for you."