White Sister

Chapter 29.

HERE WAS MY predicament: It was five o'clock and the grace period Mike Ramsey had given me was almost over. I had Alexa's computer, but given the content, there was no way I was turning it over. Going to UCLA at seven-thirty would be risky because if Deputy Chief Ramsey made good on his promise, the PSB dicks could be there waiting for me. That meant I should stay away from that hospital at all costs. At least that was my excuse. But I suspected the real reason I didn't go was because, deep down, I wanted to run from this. I couldn't face Alexa, even in a coma. Instead, I decided to fall back on police work and see if I could run a surveillance on the white sister. I tried to convince myself that right now that was more important; but it was just cowardice. At ten to six, I parked a few hundred yards up the road from Stacy Maluga's Malibu estate. I got out of the Acura and walked slowly back to a spot where I could see the hedge-lined, wrought-iron fence that framed the property. I was close enough to the front gate to see the manicured gardens through the big, gold-scripted M, but at the same time was out of range of the driveway cameras. I was pretty sure that KZ and Insane Wayne weren't in the security lounge looking at a wall of video monitors. Those two ace-cool busters were probably drinking Mai-Tais out by the pool with Stacy. But why take a chance? I found a protected place out of the late afternoon sun and sat on the ground. From this vantage point, I could just barely see the driveway. I opened the little package from ESD and removed Stacy's pager and a small hand-held monitor. There was a short memo attached from the ESD technician who had installed the bug. It contained an inventory list and brief instructions, which I read carefully. This two-way listening device is a VXT voice-activated room transmitter and is inside a Motorola pager with the number (800) 765-3333. The device has an output power of 20 MW at 100-120 MHz. Range is 1,000 meters. Batt life is approximately twenty-five hours. Inventory List: 1 Motorola Pager (VXT device installed) 1 VXT Radio Receiver with earplug 1 extra 9 V battery pack FOR QUESTIONS: Call Earl Fellows ESD (310) 555-5770 I turned on the receiver unit and set it to the correct frequency, then clipped it on my belt and put the earplug in my jacket pocket. Since the pager had been stolen off Stacy's home bar, my problem was how to get it back into her purse without causing suspicion. I had a plan for that, which I thought might work. It entailed following her when she left the mansion. But since I had no idea what her social plans for the evening were, all I could do was sit here and wait. I tried to keep my mind off what had just happened with Alexa by concentrating on Stacy and Lou Maluga, looking for a possible motive. I began examining Stacy's relationship with David Slade and her estranged marriage with Lou. That, of course, put me right back on Alexa's relationship with Slade and my own marriage. I finally forced myself to stop thinking about it because in the end, my thoughts all came painfully back to Alexa. At six-fifteen I heard a loud squeaking sound followed by a rattling of metal chain as the huge wrought-iron gate was cranked wide. I ran back to the Acura and put on a baseball cap and some dark glasses I keep in my glove box. Then I started the engine. I needed to time this just right. I didn't know if the gate had been opened from the house or with a remote while the vehicle was heading down the long drive. I didn't know if it was Stacy or just one of the steroid twins leaving the mansion. That meant I had to get a passing look inside the car as it was leaving the estate. I sort of played the timing by ear and after what seemed like the right span, put the Acura in drive, and pulled away from my parking spot. The idea was to pass the gate just as the car was coming out of the drive and the occupants were looking for cross-traffic. If they were concerned about oncoming cars, hopefully they wouldn't recognize me. But I blew the timing. I got there thirty seconds too early. A tan Rolls-Royce Phantom with personalized plates that said wht sugr was parked in the drive with the engine idling. Had to be her. I couldn't see the drive because the low afternoon sun had blown out the windshield with reflected light. I had no choice but to keep driving right on past. About a quarter mile down the road, I spotted a switchback driveway and hung a right, pulling off the road to a spot where I was out of sight of cars passing on Oceanridge Drive. I shifted into park and took my foot off the brake to douse my taillights and waited. If the Rolls was headed to Malibu, it would quickly pass the place where I was waiting. If it was going to L. A. via the Ventura Freeway, it was already headed down the other side of the mountain, away from me. I waited for three minutes. The car didn't pass. I'd guessed wrong. "Damn," I muttered, then backed down the drive onto Oceanridge, right into the path of the oncoming Rolls. Whoever was driving honked the horn angrily, swerved out of my way, and continued on toward Malibu. It was low comedy. I couldn't have screwed it up worse if I'd been wearing clown makeup and a rubber nose. My car had been spotted, but I was out of time and options, so I hung a U and followed. One of the good things about running a tail in a silver Acura is that the car looks like half the iron on the road. It blends in. A Rolls-Royce Phantom, on the other hand, is so wide and tall, it's hard to lose. You can tail one of those parade floats from three or four cars back and still keep visual contact. The big, elegant car hummed out of Malibu down the Coast Highway. It turned left on Sunset Boulevard, and twenty minutes later I was six car-lengths back, negotiating the twisting turns near Mandeville Canyon. We continued on Sunset past UCLA, into Westwood. Expensive real estate slipped by on both sides of my windows; long rolling lawns fronted big Colonial and French Regency houses. Everybody had a nice gold initial on their wrought-iron gate. The Rolls turned right off Sunset at Doheny and went down the hill to Santa Monica Boulevard where it pulled into a valet stand in front of a famous L. A. nightclub and old-time music biz watering hole called The Troubadour. The front of the club was painted completely black. It had been a trendy spot for new bands to perform in the eighties but recently the place had gone retro. However, over the last two decades a lot of music acts had been broken on that stage. I pulled up half a block back and watched Stacy Maluga get out of the Rolls. She was dressed to stop traffic in a sequined dress that ended just below her ass and was cut so low in front it almost exposed her navel. She was wearing four-inch hooker heels and crossed the sidewalk using long stripper strides, the short hem of her dress flipping seductively around shapely legs. She handed her keys to the appreciative valet and disappeared into the nightclub. The first problem I encountered was the valet decided to leave the expensive Rolls right out front to show everybody who drove by on Santa Monica what a classy joint The Troubadour still was. I parked the Acura a block away and moved up the street on foot. Even though it looked busy, The Troubadour was not a place you went for dinner. I also figured this early in the evening, Stacy wasn't here scouting music acts because the marquee said the first show didn't start until eight. She was probably meeting someone for drinks. I had made such a memorable first splash at her house, I figured even in my baseball cap and glasses, I couldn't chance going in for a look around. I decided to stick to my original plan and not get greedy. I waited until the valet stand in front of the nightclub was overloaded. Guys in red jackets were jumping into waiting cars and wheeling them around the corner up the hill on Doheny to the nightclub's parking lot, then running back and jumping into the next idling car. Once I got the rhythm of it, I figured I would have maybe thirty seconds if I was lucky. When all three valets were away from the stand, I made my move. I speed-walked to the passenger side of the Rolls-Royce, opened the door, leaned in, and jammed Stacy's pager down into the crack between the front seats, pushing it far enough in so it would look like it had fallen from her purse and become accidentally squashed down and hidden. As I was doing this, I heard the slap of tennis shoes on pavement as one of the red-jacketed track stars came running back down the side street. I almost got my head out of the Rolls before he appeared at the corner and saw me still half inside the glitzy tan car. "Hey, whatta you doing?" he shouted at me. "Man, would you look at this thing?" I gushed. "Look at that leather, like butter." "Leave the car alone," he ordered, approaching me angrily. I needed to give him something else to think about so I said, "Boy, Cadillac really knows how to build 'em, huh?" "It's a Rolls-Royce, dipshit." "This is a Rolls?" I said incredulously. "You sure?" "It says right on the steering wheel. RR that's Rolls-Royce. Whatta you, some kinda moron?" We were now talking about how stupid I was and not about what my head was doing inside somebody else's car. "Get away from it," he commanded, so I turned and walked away. I got in my Acura and found a new parking spot heading the same direction as the Rolls. Then I scooted down in my seat and waited. At seven o'clock Stacy came out of the club. It had been a short meeting. I watched as she tipped the smiling valet, got into the Phantom and sped away from the curb. I followed. Halfway down Santa Monica Boulevard, I pulled up directly behind the Rolls at a red light. I could see her clearly through the back window, so I dialed her pager with my cell phone and waited. The light changed, but the pager must have been ringing because Stacy didn't move. The Rolls was still parked at the green light while she began digging around in the seat cushion with her head down looking for it. When she finally raised her head, she held the pager up triumphantly in her right hand. She'd found it. Then she dropped my bug in her purse, right where I wanted it and powered away, taking a right, heading north back up the hill toward Sunset.