Santa Fe Dead

52

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Cupie called a man he knew in L.A., a con man and sometime actor named Ron Gillette, who was fiftyish, handsome, beautifully dressed and too charming for his own good.

“Hey, Cupie, how’s it going?”

“Extremely well, Ronnie. Could you use a few days’ work at two grand a day and expenses?”

“What does it involve?”

“Being yourself, seducing a woman, a day or two in the sun.”

“Does anybody get hurt?”

“Of course not,” Cupie lied.

“When and where?”

“Be in San Diego by five o’clock today.” Cupie gave him the address of his motel. “I’ll have a room for you.”

“Clothes?”

“Blue blazer, white trousers, business suit, dinner jacket and your passport. You’ll be using your own name.”

“Done.”

“I want you to make a stop in Marina del Ray and have your picture taken. Wear your blazer.” Cupie gave him a name and a number. “Bring some postcard-size prints with you.”

“Okay.”

“One more thing: Do you know any beautiful women in San Diego?”

“Will La Jolla do?”

“Sure. Make a dinner date for tomorrow night, and pick her up at seven thirty.”

“In that case, I won’t need the hotel room.”

“Good. See you at five.” Cupie hung up.

Vittorio was on his own phone, speaking Spanish, making arrangements. He hung up. “We’re good to go,” he said. “I’ll make one more call when it’s time.”

Cupie nodded and called Ed Eagle.

“Hello, Cupie. Is everything happening?”

“Yep. Expenses are going to run to fifteen, twenty grand, plus our daily fees.”

“It’s worth it. Where are you?”

“Do you really want to know, Ed? Don’t you like surprises?”

Eagle sighed. “All right, Cupie, I’ll trust you.”

“Always the best thing. Why don’t you go back to Santa Fe, Ed? It’s better to be as far away as possible from the scene. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Eagle said.

Cupie hung up and made some more arrangements.

ALEX REESE HUNG around his hotel room, waiting for a call, but none came. He called Santa Fe and got Captain Ferraro on the phone.

“It’s Alex Reese, Captain. Have they picked up Jack Cato?”

“I haven’t heard a word, Alex,” the captain replied.

“I don’t understand it; they should have had him by this time.”

“Got a pencil? I’ll give you a contact number at the California Highway Patrol.”

Reese wrote down the name and number, then hung up and re-dialed. “Colonel Tom Pace,” he said to the operator.

“This is Tom Pace.”

“Colonel, I’m Detective Alex Reese, Santa Fe P.D. Captain Ferraro gave me your number.”

“Oh, yes. No joy on that APB, I’m afraid.”

“I think he must be out of L.A. by this time. My best guess is, he’ll cross the border at Tijuana.”

“We had a word with the border patrol; they’ve got his photo and his license number. He won’t get across.”

“Will you call me when you hear something?”

“Of course. I believe I have your cell number.”

Reese thanked him and hung up. He went out, looking for breakfast.

JACK CATO STARTED the day early at a barbershop, with a much shorter haircut and a shave. By nine thirty, he was approaching the Mexico border, and he had his ID ready when the agent approached. “Good morning,” he said with a smile. “Beautiful day.”

“Yes, it is,” the man said, studying his ID. “How long are you staying in Mexico?”

“I’m house hunting down there,” he said. “My stuff is in the back. You want to see it?”

“Not today,” the man said, returning his ID to him. “Move on, please.”

That had been easier than he had anticipated, Cato thought, but now he looked ahead to the Mexican side of the border and saw something he didn’t like: A police officer had a mirror on a pole, and he was examining the underside of vehicles as they approached the border. He had not anticipated this. He had a lockbox welded under his truck with his money in it, and he tried to remember if he had driven through any mud since he last had the truck washed. He hoped to God he had; he needed the camouflage.

A policeman waved him forward to a barrier and asked him for his ID and vehicle registration. Cato complied, and as he did, he heard a scrape from under the truck. The man was there with his mirror.

“What is the purpose of your visit to Mexico?” the policeman asked him.

“Pleasure.”

“What is in the back of the truck?”

“My personal belongings. I’m planning to look for a holiday casa to buy.”

“Please step out of the truck and come with me,” the cop said. He led the way to the rear of the truck. “Please remove the cover.”

Cato unhooked the tarp over his goods and rolled it back.

“Open this box,” the cop said, pointing.

Cato opened it to reveal some of his clothes. He was instructed to open two other boxes, while another cop put a Labrador retriever into the back of the truck, who went happily to work with his nose. The other boxes contained pots and pans and some lamps.

“You can secure the cover again,” the cop said. The dog jumped down and went on to the next vehicle with his handler. The policeman handed him back his ID. “Thank you, Mr. Timmons. You may enter Mexico.”

Cato got into the truck and drove across the border. He parked his truck in a garage near the crossing, grabbed an overnight bag and took a cab to the airport. An hour later he was boarding his flight to Acapulco. It departed on time.

Vittorio was having a very nice lunch on the beach at La Jolla with Birgit, his friend, the masseuse, at La Reserve. She was a good six feet tall, blonde, and beautiful in a sweet way.

“So, Vittorio, you’ve come to visit me at last.”

“Yes, and I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“How long can you stay?”

“A day or two. I’ll do the best I can.”

“Is your visit connected with your work this time?”

“Yes. In fact, it’s connected with the same work I was doing last time.”

Birgit laughed. “Yes, she checked in last night. I should have known you would not be far behind.”

“Do you know what name she’s using?”

“Keeler,” she said. “I gave her a massage this morning, and the staff has been talking about her. Apparently, her rich husband recently died.”

“Yes, that’s true. Do you know what her plans for the day are?”

“I believe she’s staying close to her cottage. She made a dinner reservation in the dining room while I was there. Eight thirty this evening.”

“That’s good to know,” Vittorio said, then he set about seducing Birgit, an action she received with alacrity.