Chapter 56

“Something bothering you, Archer?”

He and Dash were walking to the car.

“No, it’s fine.”

“It’s obviously not fine, so let’s hear it.”

“Okay, I called Liberty and it didn’t go well.”

“Why, what did you tell her?”

“About meeting Samantha Lourdes.” Archer went on to tell him the details of the call.

Dash listened and said, “You just hobnobbed with one of the most famous skirts in Hollywood and you told Liberty how swell Lourdes was. And how grateful she’ll be to you if you get her out of this crap with Paley.”

“So you’re saying Liberty’s jealous?”

“I’m saying she’s human.”

The sky was rapidly growing cloudy as a storm system headed in. Archer observed this and said, “You think they’ll chance bringing a boat in tonight with this bad weather rolling in?”

“Dope smugglers can’t necessarily wait for fair winds and following seas, Archer. And even if the boat doesn’t come, they might be moving the dope from Bonham’s to the Jade via truck.”

“So they probably don’t take it directly to the Jade as soon as it comes in on the beach?”

“I don’t think the timing works for that. They need to check the stuff. Make sure it’s all square. That takes time. And since Bonham might have other customers he’s servicing besides Paley, my thinking is he’s stashing it somewhere and then taking it to the Jade and the other places later.”

“Makes sense.”

“You got your camera?”

“Yeah.”

They climbed into the Buick and headed off with Archer driving.

They made it to Malibu, drove up Las Flores, and parked around a curve from the Bonhams’ place and behind a massive Chrysler station wagon. Archer settled back in his seat and took a drink from his flask. He passed it over to Dash, who declined.

Dash looked around and said, “Nice neighborhood.”

“Yeah, except for all the dope smuggling and dead bodies,” quipped Archer.

The rain started to fall about a half hour later. Archer drew his dark slicker around him as the cold crept into the car. He felt his eyes growing heavy several times, but he would yawn and stretch to keep himself awake. Every time he looked over at Dash, the man was fully alert and staring out the window.

At close to midnight they both looked behind them as the pair of headlights came into view. Both men slunk down in their seats. The truck passed by them, rounded the bend, and disappeared from view.

“Give it another minute, Archer,” said Dash.

Sixty seconds passed and the men got out of the car and hustled down the street, rounded the curve, and then squatted down as they saw the truck parked in the Bonhams’ drive.

They watched as several men climbed out of the truck and disappeared into the back grounds.

“Okay, Archer, hit it.”

Archer ran forward, reached the truck, and squatted down. Then he used the light to locate the rear axle, took from his pocket what he had brought with him, and affixed it to the metal axle.

He rounded the far side of the house and joined Dash, who had taken up a surveillance position there.

The group of men from the truck had gathered around the site of the bomb shelter, while a tall man in the middle, clothed in a long black trench coat, bent down and unlocked the entrance. He lifted up the metal hatch and motioned the men inside. They headed down what seemed to be a set of steps. A few minutes later they reappeared with wooden crates. And something else.

People wearing white hoods and whose hands were bound behind them. They swayed and stumbled along as though drunk or drugged.

Archer heard Dash say, “Son of a bitch.”

Archer shot multiple pictures with his Kodak, capturing clear images of Peter Bonham — who was the tall man in the trench coat — the crates, and the hooded prisoners. It was a montage of malevolence, with mood lighting provided by nature and preservation of evidence by Kodak, hopefully for future felony prosecution.

Bonham shut the entrance and replaced the padlock.

Dash whispered, “Let’s get back to the car.”

Five minutes later the truck appeared on the street and passed them heading down Las Flores.

Archer waited until the truck was out of sight, then he started the Buick and followed.

When the truck came back into view, Dash smiled.

“Bingo.”

The thing Archer had put on the rear axle was a reflective strip that fluoresced in the dark. They could see it.

“Stay back. Dollars to donuts they’re going to the Jade.”

Archer nodded and sat back as he lowered the car’s speed. “The crates I figured. The people in hoods I didn’t.”

“Looks like the scum are into selling dope and human beings.”

“You figure they’re coming up from Mexico?”

“The dope, yeah. The people, maybe from China, considering where they’re probably going.”

“What will they use them for?”

“The usual crap. Domestics, hard labor, farming, prostitution. Same old same old.” Dash gave him the eye. “This and bringing dope in over the border gets us to federal crime territory, Archer. Now, wake me when we get to Chinatown.”

Only the truck didn’t end up going to Chinatown.

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