G Is For Gumshoe

10

We found a parking spot for the Porsche two doors down from my place and unloaded the trunk. By the time we pushed through the gate and rounded the corner to the rear, Henry had emerged from his back door to welcome me home. He stopped in his tracks, his smile faltering as his eyes shifted from my face to Dietz's. I introduced the two of them and they shook hands. Belatedly, I remembered what my battered visage must look like.

"I was in an accident," I said. "A guy ran me off the road. I had to leave the car in Brawley and Dietz gave me a ride back."

Henry was visibly dismayed, especially as he was in possession of only half the tale. "Well, who was the fellow? I don't understand. Didn't you file a report with the police down there?"

I hesitated, uncertain how much detail to get into at this point. Dietz settled the matter for me. "Let's go inside and we'll fill you in on the rest of it." He was clearly uneasy about standing around in the open air, exposed to view.

I unlocked the door and pushed it open, moving into the apartment with Henry behind me and Dietz at the rear, herding us like a sheepdog.

"I'll just be a second. I want to get things squared away," I said to Henry. And then to Dietz, "Henry designed the place. It was just finished two days ago. I've spent exactly one night here."

I set my duffel down and cranked open a window to let in some fresh air. The apartment still smelled of sawdust and new carpeting. The space felt like a Barbie-doll penthouse in its own carrying case: scaled-down furniture, built-ins, spiral staircase, the loft visible above.

"I brought your mail in," Henry said, his eyes on my guest. He sat down on the couch, perplexed at the liberties Dietz seemed to take. The contrast between the two men was interesting. Henry was tall and lean, the blue eyes in his narrow, tanned face giving him the look of an ascetic; someone otherworldly, aged and wise. Dietz was compact, more muscular, a pit bull of a man with a thick chest and a brazen manner, his face marked by life, as if he'd had lessons hammered into him since birth. Henry had a stillness about him where Dietz was restless and energetic, the air around him charged with a curious tension.

Dietz circled the place without comment, automatically checking security, such as it was. I had latches on the windows, but not much else. He pulled the shutters closed, checked closets, peered into the downstairs bath. He snapped his fingers, idly popping them against his palms in a gesture that suggested some inner agitation. His manner was authoritative and Henry shot a look at me to see how I was taking it. I made one of those faces that said, Your guess is as good as mine, pal. It's not like I enjoyed someone taking over like this, but I wasn't fool enough to protest with my life on the line.

I turned my attention to the mail. Most of it looked like junk, but before I could sort it properly Dietz removed the stack from my hands and set it on the counter.

"Let it be till I can take a look at it," he said. Henry couldn't stand it. "What's going on here? I don't understand what this is about."

"Someone's been hired to kill her," Dietz said unceremoniously. I don't think I would have been so blunt, but Henry didn't fall backward on the couch in a faint so maybe he's not as easily upset as I assume. Dietz filled in the picture, laying out the circumstances by which the Carson City DA's office had first gotten wind of Tyrone Patty's assassination plot. "The police in Carson City are doing what they can to control the situation up there. Obviously, Kinsey's position is a little bit more perilous…"

"Why's she here at all?" Henry burst out. "Why not take her someplace out of town?"

"I was out of town," I said, "and what good did it do? Three people knew where I was going and the guy was right there. Hell, he even managed to get there before I did at the first rest stop on the road." I told him briefly about spotting my assailant at the rest area near Cabazon.

"There has to be someplace," Henry said stubbornly.

"Frankly, I think we're better off right here as long as we take a few elementary precautions," Dietz said. "I've got a portable alarm system with me… receiver, siren, 'panic button' for her in case someone tries to break in and I'm not actually on the premises. If it seems useful, we can wire in pressure mats for selected doorways, both here and at your place. I want us all to keep an eye out for strangers. And that includes the mailman, gas man, delivery people, meter readers… anyone." He turned to look at me. "We'll vary your schedule as much as possible. Take a different route to and from the office every day. I'll be with you for the most part, but I want you to understand the basic strategy. Stay away from public places and public events. By the same token, I don't want you anyplace isolated or remote."

"What about jogging, or going to the gym?"

"Stow that for now. Any guy with a canvas bag could probably walk into the gym."

"Should I have a gun?" Henry asked, moving right into cops-and-robbers mode.

"Henry, you hate guns!"

"It may come to that, but I doubt it," Dietz said to Henry, ignoring me completely. "We're looking at prevention. With luck, we won't have anybody to shoot at."

"Hey. Excuse me. Do you guys mind if I voice an opinion?" Dietz turned to me. I said, "If the guy in the truck wants to kill me, he'll kill me. I'm willing to be careful, but let's don't go nuts here."

Dietz shook his head. "I disagree. He'll do it if you're foolish and give him the chance, but he's not getting paid enough to stick his neck out."

I turned to Henry, filling him in. "He's a cut-rate killer. Fifteen hundred bucks."

Dietz amplified. "For that kind of money, he's not going to hang around for long. If he's quick about it, it may be worth it to him. Otherwise forget it. It's not cost-effective."

"Yeah," I said. "We don't want him to get chewed out by his accountant."

Dietz said, "Listen. The guy's trying to make a buck. Every day he's in Santa Teresa, it's costing him something. Food, lodging, gasoline. If he has a kid with him, the expenses mount up." He was rattling his car keys. "I'm going over to the police station and have a chat with the cops. You have any plans for tonight?"

I started to answer when I realized he was talking to Henry. I raised my hand like a schoolkid. "I don't mean to be argumentative, but could I have a vote?" I hated being so obnoxious, but this was driving me nuts. These guys were riding right over me.

Dietz smiled at me briefly. "Sorry. You're right. I have a tendency to overorganize."

I murmured something, backing down of course. The truth was I didn't have any idea what to do. I just didn't want to be pushed around.

Dietz put his keys in his pocket. "What about groceries? Let me know what we need and I can stop by a supermarket on my way back."

I didn't even have to look. The refrigerator was empty and my cupboards were bare.

"Any requests?"

"Whatever you want. I don't really cook."

"Me neither. We'll have to fake it. I want us eating in whenever possible. While I'm gone, please stay here and keep the door locked. We'll set up the alarm in the morning first thing. I don't want you going out. And no answering the telephone. You have a machine on it?"

I nodded.

"Let the machine pick up."

"I can stay with her if you think it's wise," Henry said.

Dietz looked at me to check my reaction. The guy was a quick study. I'd have to give him that.

"I'd like to have some time by myself," I said. Who knew when I'd ever get to be alone again?

Dietz was apparently willing to honor the request. Henry offered to cook for us, but I really didn't feel up to it. I was tired. I was sore. I was irritable. I just wanted to grab a quick supper and go to bed. My culinary repertoire was limited to peanut-butter-and-pickle sandwiches and hot sliced hardboiled egg with lots of mayonnaise and salt. I'd have to quiz Dietz later on his specialties. Surely, he could do something.

I showered while Dietz was gone, remembering numerous items I wished I'd asked him to pick up. Wine for one. I gave my hair a quick shampooing, feeling antsy and distracted. The sound of running water masked other sounds in the apartment. Someone could be breaking one of my windows out and I wouldn't hear it. I should have had Henry baby-sit. I cut the shower short, wrapped myself in a towel, and peered over the loft railing. Everything looked just as it had before-no broken window, no bloodied hand reaching through to turn the latch.

I put on jeans and a fresh shirt, found clean sheets in the linen closet and made up the sofa bed. It was odd to have a houseguest even in the guise of a bodyguard. I wasn't used to living in the place by myself, let alone with a guy I'd only met that day.

I unpacked the duffel and tidied up the living room. Dietz had told me not to answer the telephone, but he hadn't said anything about phoning out. It was only 6:15. I needed the comfort of business as usual.

I put a call through to Mrs. Gersh. "Irene? This is Kinsey Millhone. I just wanted to touch base and check on your mother. Is she up here yet?"

"How nice of you. Yes, she is. Mother arrived about three this afternoon," she said. "We had an ambulance meet her at the airport and take her right to the nursing home. I just got back from seeing her, as a matter of fact, and she seems fine. Tired, of course."

"The trip must have been hard on her."

Irene's voice dropped slightly. "They must have sedated her, though nobody said as much. I expected her to be raising Cain, but she was very subdued. At any rate, I can't tell you how grateful I am you were able to locate her, and so quickly, too. Even Clyde seems relieved."

"Good. I'm glad. I hope everything works out."

"What about you, dear? I heard about your accident. Are you all right?"

I squinted at the phone with puzzlement. "You heard about that?"

"Well, yes. From your associate. He called here this afternoon, wondering when you'd be home."

All of my internal processes came to a dead halt. "What associate?"

"I don't know, Kinsey. I thought you'd know that.

He said he was a partner in your agency. I really didn't catch the name." A note of doubt had crept into her voice, probably in response to the chilly note in mine.

"What time was this?"

"About an hour ago. I told him I hadn't heard from you, but I was certain you'd be driving back this afternoon. That's when he mentioned that you'd had an accident. Is something wrong?"

"Irene… I don't have a partner. What I have is some guy hired to kill my ass…"

I could practically hear her blink. "I don't understand, dear. What does that mean?"

"Just what it sounds like. A hit man. Someone hoping to murder me for money."

There was a pause, as if she were having to translate from a foreign tongue. "You're joking."

"I wish I were."

"Well, he seemed to know all about you and he sounded very nice. I never would have said a word if he hadn't seemed so familiar."

"I hope you didn't give him my home address or phone number," I said.

"Of course not. If he'd asked me that, I'd have known something was amiss. This is awful. I feel terrible."

"Don't worry about it. It's not your fault. If you hear from the guy again, or from anyone else, please let me know."

"I will. I'm so sorry. I had no idea…"

"I understand. There was no way you could know. Just get in touch with me if you hear from him again."

After I hung up, I went into the downstairs bathroom and stood in the tub, looking out the window at the street. It was not quite dark, that hazy twilight hour when light and shadow begin to merge. Lights in the neighborhood were beginning to come on. A car passed slowly along the street and I found myself pulling back. I didn't actually whimper, but that's how I felt. It was amazing to me how quickly I was losing my nerve. I consider myself a capable person (ballsy is the word that comes to mind), but I didn't like the idea of this guy breathing down my neck. I returned to the living room, where I circled restlessly in a space scarcely bigger than a nine-by-twelve rug.

At 6:45 there was a tap at the door. My heart volunteered an extra beat just to speed the adrenaline along. I peered through the porthole. Dietz was standing on the doorstep, his arms loaded with groceries. I unlocked the door and let him in. I took one bag of groceries while he put the other on the kitchen counter. I'm not sure what expression I had on my face, but he picked up on it. "What's wrong?"

My voice sounded abnormal, even to my own ears. "Some guy called the woman I was working for and asked about me. He told her about the accident and asked if I was back in town yet."

Dietz's hand moved toward the pocket where he'd kept his cigarettes. He flashed a look of annoyance, apparently meant for himself. "How'd he know about her?"

"I have no idea."

"Shit!"

"What'd the cops have to say?"

"Not much. At least they know now what's going on. They'll have the beat car cruise by at intervals."

"Whoopee-do."

"Cut the sarcasm," he said irritably.

"Sorry. I didn't know it would come out like that."

He turned back to one of the grocery bags, pulling out a garment that looked like the blue vests we'd worn in high school sports to distinguish one team from another. "Lieutenant Dolan suggested you wear this. It's a bulletproof vest, a man's, but it should do the job. Some rookie left it behind when he quit the force."

I took the thing, holding it up by one Velcro strap. It was heavier than it looked and it had all the sex appeal of an ace bandage. "What about you? Don't you need one of these?"

Dietz was taking his jacket off. "I've got one in the car. I'm going to clean up. We'll talk about supper in a bit."

I put groceries away while he showered in the downstairs bathroom. Judging from the items he'd bought, he must have snagged two each from every department he passed. I hadn't been in the apartment long enough to decide where anything should go, so I amused myself with paper goods and staples, cans, condiments, spices, and household cleaners. Fortunately, he'd had the presence of mind to buy a bottle of Jack Daniel's, two bottles of white wine, and a six-pack of beer. I'm ashamed to say how cheered I was by the sight. Given my current level of anxiety, I wasn't above a nip of alcohol. I put the beer away and got out the corkscrew.

The bathroom door opened and Dietz came out, dressed in jeans and a dress shirt, his feet bare, the scent of after-shave wafting toward me in a cloud. He was toweling his hair dry and it stood out around his head like straw. The gray in his eyes was as clean as ice. He spotted the radio on the kitchen counter and turned it on, tuning in a country-western song with lots of major chords and a rocking-horse rhythm that would probably drive me mad. My problem with country music is that I try to avoid the very situations the lyrics lament. However, having objected to his cigarettes, I didn't feel comfortable protesting his taste in music as well. He probably wasn't any happier with the proximity than I was.

I poured wine in a glass. "Want some?"

"Of course!"

I handed him the glass of wine and poured a second for myself. I felt like we should drink a toast to something, but I couldn't think what. "Are you hungry? I notice you picked up some bacon and eggs. We could have that if you like."

"Fine. I wasn't sure what else to get. I hope you're not a vegetarian. I should have asked."

"I eat anything… well, except tripe," I said. I set the wineglass on the counter so I could get out the eggs. "Scrambled all right? I'm terrible at fried."

"I can cook "em."

"I don't mind."

"It shouldn't be your responsibility. I'm not here as a guest."

I hate bickering about who's going to be nicer. I got out the skillet and tried a new subject. "We never talked about money. Lee didn't mention your hourly rate."

"Let's not worry about that. We'll work something out."

"I'd feel better if we came to some agreement."

"What for?"

I shrugged. "I don't know," I said. "It's just more businesslike."

"I don't want to charge you. I'm doing this for fun."

I turned and stared at him. "You think this is fun?"

"You know what I mean. I've chucked the business anyway so this one's on me."

"I don't like that," I said. "I know you mean well, and believe me, I appreciate the help, but I don't like to feel indebted."

"There's no debt implied."

"I'm going to pay you," I said, testily.

"Great. You do that. My rates just went up. Five hundred bucks an hour."

I stared at him and he stared back. "That's bullshit."

"That's my point. It's bullshit. We'll work something out. Right now I'm hungry so let's quit arguing."

I turned back to the skillet with a shake of my head. The joy of being single is you always get to have your own way.

I went up to bed at nine, exhausted. I slept fitfully, aware that Dietz was up and prowling restlessly well into the night.