Ultimate Thriller Box Set (104 page)

I looked her over real good. She may have been the most beautiful woman with the most perfect body I’d ever seen. And then there were those eyes, like the tractor beams Captain Kirk was always using to capture objects in space. Once you were locked in a tractor beam, good luck escaping without a fight.

I moved the magnifying glass slowly down her slender neck, almost like a caress, to professionally scrutinize the rest of her perfect body.

And then I noticed it, and I went back quickly over all the pictures to make sure.

I sat back and smiled at myself in the rearview mirror. I had just accomplished my first piece of true detecting based on instinct, investigation, and deduction.

In my mind, at that moment, I became a detective.

***

I was drying off from my shower and getting ready for bed around seven p.m. when there was a knock at my door. I could tell from the knock it was Carol, so I just yelled for her to come in.

It’s not that we had a secret knock or anything like that, she just knocks a certain way. Maybe there’s a rhythm to it or something.

I put on my terrycloth robe and walked into the living room, which means I also walked into the kitchen, den, and library at the same time.

“How’s it going, Magnum?” Carol smiled. She was still in her Anne Klein suit, the one she bought on sale and was so proud of, so I knew she’d just come from work without even stopping by her apartment first.

Actually, I didn’t know she did that. I deduced it. I wondered if maybe I’d been a detective longer than I’d thought.

“You weren’t home last night,” she said. “Did you get lucky?”

“I was on the case.”

“Uh-huh,” She went to the fridge and helped herself to a Coke. “What happened to your car?”

“What do you mean?” I asked quickly. For a minute, I was afraid that somehow she’d found out about the accident.

“There’s a new car parked in your spot.” She sat down on the couch and put her feet up on the coffee table.

“It’s just something I rented so I wouldn’t be noticed,” I said, trying to sound casual. “But I am thinking, when this is over, of getting rid of my junker.”

I added that last part to cover the inevitable purchase of a new ride.

“What happened to your forehead?” she asked.

I reached up and felt a little lump on my brow, probably a bruise from the accident.

“Nothing. It’s just what happens when I think too hard,” I said. I really was in a hurry to get to the parts of my story that would impress her, not the stuff that made me look like an oaf. “So, do you want to hear about the case or not?”

“If it wouldn’t be breaching any rules about client confidentiality.”

She was teasing me, but I didn’t mind. I was eager to have someone to share my brilliance with. I wanted her to know I’d become a detective, to be my corroborating witness. I grabbed the packet of photos off the kitchen counter, plopped myself down on the couch next to her, and spread the pictures out on the table.

“I’ve laid these out in chronological order,” I said. “Take a look and tell me what you see.”

She took her feet off the table and leaned forward. “Is there something to see?”

“If you know where to look.”

She examined the pictures, then gave me a disapproving look. “You’re not talking about her nipples, are you?”

“I’m only interested in what’s pertinent to the case,” I said, trying to sound offended and superior at the same time. “Try and focus.”

“You’re serious about this.”

I handed her the magnifying glass. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Carol took the magnifying glass and leaned over the photos again. “Because you’ve never been serious about anything else before.”

I didn’t think that was true, and I wasn’t quite sure how to take the comment.

“She’s obviously got money,” Carol said, still scrutinizing the pictures. “Aside from the car, the clothes, and the jewelry, she’s had a lot of work done.”

“What work?” I asked like I already knew.

“Her nose, her eyes, her chin,” Carol replied.

No wonder Lauren looked sculpted to me. I’d have to learn to listen to myself. I was more observant than I thought.

“Maybe even her breasts, too,” she added, “mainly because I hate to think anyone was born that way.”

“That’s the obvious stuff,” I said. “The real story is more subtle.”

I was enjoying the hell out of this and feeling very smart. Because if Carol hadn’t spotted it yet, and I considered her a lot more intelligent than me, then my deduction must really have been clever.

She smiled at me.

I’d never seen a smile like that on Carol before. It was as if she was intrigued and amused and surprised all at once.

“You’re sure pleased with yourself. That’s a first, too,” she said. “Why don’t you just tell me, and save me the hard work and suspense.”

So I did. I showed her that Lauren wore a gold necklace, tiny earrings, and her wedding ring during her day at the beach. She was also wearing them when she went to Beverly Hills Collateral Lenders—but she was only wearing her wedding ring when she came out.

“Lauren hocked her jewelry,” I concluded. “The question now is why? Debts? Drugs? Blackmail?”

“Collagen? Botox? Lipo?”

Carol smiled. I gave her a chastising look, or at least my best shot at one.

“You’re not helping,” I said. “I’m trying to work here.”

She looked at me, as if she’d just noticed a giant mole on my cheek or something. “You are, aren’t you? I mean, you really do want to find out what is going on.”

“Of course I do. It’s my job.”

“You know something, Harvey? You may have stumbled into your true calling.”

“You think so?” I wanted to believe she was right.

Instead of answering me, she did something totally unexpected.

She kissed me hard on the lips and thrust her hand inside my bathrobe. I forgot all about my calling and answered a new one.

Chapter Seven

I guess something I learned from “Mannix” was true. Being a private eye really is an aphrodisiac to women. Carol had never attacked me like that before.

I’m afraid the surprise and excitement were too much, because I came in about three minutes. But I don’t think Carol minded; it calmed me down and allowed me to concentrate real hard on getting her off. And believe me, it took my complete attention. Pleasing a woman, especially Carol, isn’t easy and with me, at least, there’s a lot of potential for embarrassment and humiliation.

She rewarded me for all my hard work with a nice, squealing, writhing orgasm that nearly broke my nose on her pubic bone, but I didn’t mind. I even jumped in, literally, to enjoy the last few squeals of it with her.

It was so dark, and things happened so fast, she never saw my cuts and bruises, so she mistook my occasional groans of pain for pleasure.

Carol fell right to sleep afterwards.

Between the sex, the pain, and the things on my mind, I didn’t get as much sleep as I would have liked. But I get laid so rarely, I’m willing to sacrifice just about anything for it, especially sleep, when I usually dream about having sex anyway.

Around eleven, I slipped out of bed, took four Advils, smeared a lot of Arrid Extra Dry under my arms to hide the smell of sex on me, and got into my clean uniform. I grabbed some fresh clothes, gathered up the photos, and left as quickly as I could.

To be honest, I was eager to get out of there. I was confused and more than a little bit ashamed and thought that leaving the apartment would change things.

It didn’t.

I just couldn’t understand why it had happened. Not the sex with Carol, that was great. It was what happened during the sex, and it was all I could think about afterward.

What was troubling me was this: when I was making love to Carol, it was Lauren that I saw.

***

The first thing I did when I got in the shack was check the surveillance tapes to reassure myself that Lauren Parkus didn’t leave between the time I abandoned my post and her husband came home.

She hadn’t.

The rest of the night I just watched TV, stared into the darkness, and guzzled Cokes to stay awake. I tried not to think about Lauren Parkus, or why I saw her while making love to Carol, or why I felt so guilty about it. So, naturally, that was all I thought about.

I figured there weren’t many men who could look at Lauren Parkus and not fantasize a little bit about her, especially while having sex. But that didn’t make me feel any better.

In fact, by seven forty-five a.m. when Cyril Parkus came down, I was so wired on caffeine and so afraid he’d guess I was horny for his wife that my hands were shaking.

He rolled down the window of his Jag and looked up at me. “Anything new, Harvey?”

“I’m afraid there is, Mr. Parkus,” I handed him the packet of photos, my handwritten report, and receipts for the film developing, parking, and overpriced muffin. I’d left out certain photos, I’m pretty sure you can guess which ones.

“Your wife hocked her jewelry in Beverly Hills,” I said as he flipped through the photos.

Parkus stopped at the picture of her going into the Collateral Lender and shook his head in disagreement. “She’ll go anywhere for a bargain. How do you know she didn’t just go in there to shop?”

I was hoping he’d ask, so I could show off. “You’ll notice she’s wearing her jewelry when she goes in and not when she comes out. Ergo, she hocked it.”

He looked at those two pictures again, then back at me. His eyes were cold.

“Ergo, Harvey?”

I met his gaze, just to prove I had some balls, and wouldn’t always take his shit.

“Ergo, Mr. Parkus.”

He must have seen something in my eyes besides my lack of sleep, and if he did see something, I wished he’d held up a mirror so I could’ve seen it, too.

Parkus blinked and turned back to the pictures. “Lauren doesn’t need to hock anything, Harvey. She has plenty of money.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want you to know what she’s spending it on.” I pressed my advantage. “How much was the jewelry worth?”

“About thirty thousand, give or take.” He stuffed the pictures back into their envelope.

“Any idea what she’d need that kind of money for?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t need you, would I?” He tossed the envelope back to me and drove off without waiting for my reply.

It’s nice to be needed, especially at one hundred fifty dollars a day plus expenses.

***

I almost slept through the most important day in the investigation.

If Lauren Parkus hadn’t been in such a hurry coming out of the gate at ten a.m., and if she hadn’t cut off a Lincoln, and if the old geezer driving it hadn’t honked at her long and loud to show how angry he was, I wouldn’t have woken up. I’d have still been sitting there waiting for her to come out when she came home later that afternoon.

But the guy did honk, I woke up, and I was able to follow her. We headed south again on the Ventura Freeway, getting off in Calabasas and taking Malibu Canyon towards the sea.

It’s a real nice drive through the Santa Monica Mountains, with lots of charred trees and blackened earth from the annual wildfires to look at. You also pass some dramatic gouges and gashes in the hillside from the seasonal mudslides. It’s not the place I’d pick to build my secluded mansion, but I’m not a rich movie star or studio executive.

When we hit the Pacific Coast Highway, she turned left towards Santa Monica, traveling south along the beaches.

It’s amazing how beautiful the ocean is, especially when you consider it’s just a giant toilet that’s been used by millions of people and never been flushed. There’s only a few months out of the year when stepping in it is actually hazardous to your health. The rest of the time, you’ll just get a rash that we let the tourists think is sunburn. But despite its variable toxicity, the sea along the Southern California coastline is always nice to look at and that’s got to count for something.

Lauren took the off-ramp up to Ocean Avenue, but instead of going into Santa Monica, she surprised me by making a hard left onto the Pier.

I was surprised for a lot of reasons, but mainly because it was such a cliché. Once again, “Mannix” got it right, or maybe we just can’t help but imitate it. Maybe the clichés and conventions are so ingrained, they’ve become instinctive behavior.

In old TV cop shows, people are always having their clandestine meetings in decrepit warehouses and abandoned amusement parks. I guess since most of the decrepit warehouses in LA were converted to soundstages, and the last abandoned amusement park was paved over decades ago, the Santa Monica Pier was the perfect compromise.

Beyond the landmark carousel, the Pier has all the allure of one of those traveling carnivals that set up for a weekend or two in a vacant field or shopping center parking lot. The big attractions are a Ferris wheel, a rinky-dink roller coaster, and a noisy pinball arcade where old Pac Man machines go to die.

I didn’t know much about Lauren Parkus, but I was willing to bet she hadn’t picked this spot, which already told me a lot about the person she was going to meet. Whoever he was, he wasn’t in her class.

He was in mine.

Lauren paid the ten bucks and parked behind the arcade and near the ticket booth for the rides. I parked two rows over, across from her, so I could see her face. She sat in her car for a moment, looking at the line of weary Hispanic nannies waiting for tickets, pushing elaborate strollers full of plump, white kids dribbling drool and snot onto their Izod polo shirts and Guess overalls.

I wondered what she was thinking and snapped a few pictures on the chance I might see the answer on her face later, under a magnifying glass.

After a few moments, Lauren put on a pair of sunglasses and got out, carrying a large purse. She’d dressed down for this, wearing jeans and a big, untucked blouse loosely buttoned over a blue t-shirt.

She walked slowly and deliberately towards the rides and I followed a few yards behind, trying to look inconspicuous, which wasn’t easy without a kid, a stroller, or a date. I pretended to take pictures, like I was a tourist who loved seedy amusement parks.