The Man Who Cheated Death

Chapter 5 L.A.

Barstow was barely large enough to be called a town. But the local hospital also served the nearby Indian reservation, and the facilities were first rate. While his daughter was being X-rayed, Hardare called Caesar’s management, then the Homicide Division of the LAPD. An hour later, Wondero and a second detective, a short man with a paintbrush moustache, walked into the waiting room. Hardare tossed down a year old People and stood up.

“Your psychopath attacked us on the highway. He killed a motorcyclist while trying to run us off the road and then fire-bombed our car. He was watching my hotel last night; he saw us together and thought I was helping you.”

Wondero said, “You spoke to him?”

“We shouted at each other, then he threw a women’s head at me. That’s when I lost it.”

Without missing a beat, Wondero said, “Can you describe what he looked like?”

“Stone evil,” Hardare said.

“I mean physically.”

His partner interrupted him. “I’m Detective Rittenbaugh. Are your wife and daughter going to be all right?”

“My wife’s fine, my daughter banged her nose. The doctor wants her to take it easy for a few days.” As he spoke, Wondero nervously bit his fingernails. Finally Hardare could not stand it and said, “My height, broad shoulders, really muscular. He was dressed in leather and wore shades and a hat. I never saw his face.”

“We need to search the crime scene right away,” Wondero said excitedly to his partner. “Maybe he left some clues.”

“Right, Harry. Mr. Hardare, you still look shaken up. Like some coffee or a soft drink?”

“A cup of coffee would be good,” Hardare said.

“How do you take it?”

“Black.”

“I’ll be right back.” Rittenbaugh walked down a freshly mopped hallway past a semi-conscious man lying on a stretcher, and found a bank of concession machines by the pay phones. He bought three coffees and took them back to the waiting room. Wondero and Hardare were gone.

“Harry, you crummy bastard,” Rittenbaugh said, the cups burning his fingers.

“You should be angry,” Wondero said, walking with Hardare past the parking lot to a children’s nursery with metal swings and a large curving slide. “Most people who are victimized feel an immediate desire for revenge. It’s only human.”

“We were supposed to be working Vegas another week,” Hardare said, “but Caesar’s let us out of our contract. We have a big engagement in Los Angeles coming up, and I called you because—”

Wondero held up his hand like he was directing traffic. “Understood. Twenty-four hours a day. You, your wife, your girl. We’ll guard you like the crown jewels. But at the same time, I want you to consider something.”

The blurry image of a car racing across the desert a few miles away stopped Hardare dead in his tracks. When it was out of sight, he said, “What’s that?”

“Help us.”

“How?”

“I want to set a trap for Death.”

“And what do we do? Act as bait? No thanks.”

“My partner and I think Death saw the Tonight Show, and like me, believed your prediction trick was the real thing. We think he’s frightened that you’ll expose him.”

Hardare played back their confrontation. “He called me a fake. He was pumping me for information to see how much I knew about him.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I knew about the murders in San Francisco. That paralyzed him for a few seconds.”

Wondero grabbed his arm excitedly. “Look at the risk he took coming out here, trying to kill you. He thinks you’re on to him.”

“No more than you.”

“That’s not the point. You drew him out with the magic.”

“So?”

“You can do it again. Keep making predictions about Death. We’ll tell the newspapers you’re working on the case. Do your tricks on TV, the radio, wherever you want, and during the tricks reveal certain things about him.”

“What things?” he said, holding Wondero’s gaze as the midday sun beat on his stooped shoulders.

“There are pieces of information that Homicide hasn’t revealed to the press. It’s not much, but it will scare him.”

“Does your partner like this scheme too?”

“He’s not against it,” Wondero said defensively.

“You’re lying to me.”

Wondero did not let the accusation slow him down. “If you don’t help us, chances are we won’t catch him. And we can’t protect you and your family forever. This guy moves around. You’re a public person.”

“Are you trying to threaten me?”

“No! I’m on my knees begging for your help.”

“Well I’m sorry, but your timing sucks. What do you think happened out there?”

“I think you outsmarted him,” Wondero said.

“No, I got lucky. He came that close to killing all three of us. Ever see someone you love die before your eyes?”

The question startled the detective. “No. Have you?”

“My first wife. I watched her burn to death in a car crash.”

Embarrassed, Wondero stared at the ground. “Really.”

“Now you can understand why I don’t want any part of your wild scheme. If Death does contact me again, you’ll be the first to know.”

Wondero stuck out his hand and Hardare reluctantly shook it. “I know this has been a rough day for you. Please reconsider what I said. Maybe next time we’ll nab him.”

Hardare angrily backed away. “No!”

“This is my card,” the detective said, shoving it into Hardare’s hand. “My direct line is on the bottom. Call anytime.”

Hardare crushed the card into a tiny ball and slowly opened his fingers. The card was gone. Wondero gaped at his empty palm.

“Goodbye, detective.”

Hardare went inside the hospital to check on his wife and daughter.

For a hundred bucks he found an old Indian willing to drive his family back to L.A. in a beat-up mini van. They rode in silence, Crystal lying with her head on Jan’s lap. Hardare sat up front, staring aimlessly at the landscape. He felt strange returning to the city with nothing but the clothes on his back, a wallet filled with credit cards and a few hundred in cash. He and his first wife had started off this way, working the joints and small hotels across the country while living out of a suitcase. It had been tough, often discouraging work, and after Barbara had died, he had found it hard to look back at those times and think of them as the good old days.

He had the driver drop them at L’ermitage in Beverly Hills. In ten minutes they were checked into a suite on the fifth floor. Their bellmen, having no bags, made a great show of pulling back the blinds and showing them where the mini-bar was. Hardare tipped him with a bill that had not completely dried. The bellman snapped it once, examining it suspiciously. Hardare showed him to the door, and locked it behind him.

“God, I wish this day never happened,” Crystal said, falling into a couch. The motion made her head spin, and she closed her eyes. “When’s our stuff arriving from Vegas? I’ve got to get out of these clothes.”

“Not for a while,” her father replied. “You and Jan have so many clothes, I had to rent a truck.”

“Very funny.”

Reaching into his shirt pocket, Hardare retrieved the crumbled business card he had invisibly tossed there in front of Wondero’s disbelieving eyes, and opened his cell phone. Wondero had made him a promise, and he planned to hold him to it.

An hour later two plainclothes detectives appeared at his door. One was tall and thin, the other short and fat. Hardare inspected their photo I.D.s before letting them in.

“My daughter is asleep, my wife’s lying down,” he said, leading them into the living room. “I had the hotel stock the refrigerator with sodas and plenty of fresh fruit. There’s cable TV and also a DVD. They rent movies at the front desk.”

“This is better than home,” the tall detective said. He draped his jacket over a chair, his automatic resting inches from his heart in a leather holster. When Hardare went to the door both men turned. “You going out?” the wider one asked.

“Yes. I need to clear my head.”

“I’d suggest going somewhere where there are lots of people. Like a bar or a restaurant. No long walks by yourself.”

“And no movie theatres,” the other detective cautioned.

He was starting to feel like a hostage. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Have the front desk ring the room when you return.”

“I’ll do that. See you in a few hours.”

Outside the hotel Hardare waved down a valet and began to describe his car when he remembered it was growing rust on the bottom of a murky reservoir. He had the boy hail him a cab.

“I thought you were coming to bed,” he heard Jan say.

She had appeared in jeans and a sweater, her hair still tousled from her nap. “I decided to go for a ride instead. If I hadn’t thought you were asleep, I’d have asked you along.”

A yellow cab pulled up. They got in, and by the time the driver had hit the meter and driven twenty feet down the street, they became hopelessly entwined in late-afternoon traffic.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“I’m not sure,” Hardare replied.

“Don’t worry,” the driver said. “I can’t get you there anyway. Not in this mess.”

“Where did the two detectives come from?” his wife asked.

“You met Husky and Starch.”

“They were hard to miss.”

“I called Wondero, and he sent them over.”

The traffic light at the end of the block turned green. The cab moved an entire car length, and braked as the light changed.

“Let’s hike it,” Hardare suggested.

He gave the driver three dollars for the hundred foot trip and they set out on foot in the direction of Rodeo Drive.

“Will you call Wondero again?” Jan said, keeping a brisk pace beside him.

“Not if I can avoid it,” At the next corner he said, “Do you think I should?”

“If you want my opinion, yes.”

“I always want your opinion.”

“I think you should agree to help him. I know it means putting our lives at risk, but the police need you. Has it occurred to you that they may never capture this crazy bastard? Even if they do, it might take years to find him.”

“You’re absolutely right,” he said, stopping at the corner. “But my responsibilities lie with my family. We can’t spend the rest of our lives needing bodyguards, can we?”

“You’re pretty good at protecting yourself,” Jan said.

“What about you and Crys?”

“I can protect myself, and I can also protect Crys. For God’s sake Vince, it’s what I did for a living, remember? Protecting foreign dignitaries was something I did all the time. You think this killer is crazy? I had to deal with Libyan terrorists once. Nothing compares to them.”

Her heart was behind her words. Given half a chance, she would have tried to track down Death herself. Jan was a soft, beautiful woman until she became threatened. Then she changed.

At the next corner Hardare looked at the street sign. They had walked in a circle, and were heading back to L’ermitage. Finally he said, “Do you plan on getting a gun?”

She hesitated, knowing how he detested firearms. “I thought it would be a good idea while we’re in L.A.”

They walked the remaining block in silence. At the hotel’s entrance he said, “Let me think about it.”

Jan kissed him. “Do what you think is best.” She went inside, and he had the valet hail him another cab. He hopped in, and the cab pulled away.

“Anyplace special?” the Hispanic cabby asked.

“Why? Do you normally just drift?”

“Believe it or not, yeah. People get in my cab, they think it’s a cloud. We just float around, looking at the new billboards on Sunset Boulevard. One guy, he gets in, hands me a brand new C note, says `Let me out when I run out of money. I’ll walk from there.’ So I did. People around here are goofy.”

They pulled into traffic. Hardare stared out his window at the darkening skies. He needed to go someplace private to think, and figure out what he wanted to do.

“7001 Franklin Avenue,” Hardare said, realizing it was his only refuge.

“You mean the Magic Castle?” the cabby said. “Sure thing.”

Tires squealing, the driver viciously punched his horn and cut off a stretch Mercedes limousine, then swerved into the other, faster moving lane, making it feel like a real cab.