Short Straw (3 page)

“There’s a kid with an envelope in reception now. Hang on.”

A moment later, Betty came in with the note; Eagle signed it, wincing again at the interest rate, and she stuffed it back in the envelope and returned it to the messenger.

There was a rap on the office door. “Come in!” Eagle yelled.

Wolf Willett opened the door and came in. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here earlier,” Wolf said. “I was held up in a meeting at Centurion Studios.” He looked around. “The place is gorgeous.”

“Thanks, Wolf. Sit down.”

“You look beat. Big crowd?”

“Big crowd, but that’s not why I’m beat.”

“What’s going on?”

“Your former sister-in-law left town this morning after wiring a little more than a million dollars of my money to an offshore bank. She’s in Mexico City, I think.”

“Oh, my God, Ed.”

“Yeah.”

“The good news is, I stopped another four million from being wired from my brokerage account before she got her hands on it.”

“It’s like Julia all over again, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“I feel responsible; you’d never even have met Barbara if…”

“None of that, pal; we’re both victims, that’s all.”

“Ed, I turned in the negative of my new movie this morning and got a big check. If you’re short…”

“The bank will come through with some short-term money, I think. But thanks.”

“If they don’t, or if the terms are unacceptable, I’m good for a million or two.”

Eagle grinned. “With a friend like you, who needs friends?”

“I mean it. I can actually write you a check on my brokerage account right now.” Wolf patted his jacket pocket.

“Thanks anyway, but I’m okay. Can I buy you dinner tonight?”

“No, but I’ll buy
you
dinner. Are Jane and Sara here?”

“No, Jane had some work to do this weekend. They’re staying in L.A.”

“It’s just you and me, then.”

“You and me.”

“Santa Café at eight?”

“Sure, I’ll book. I’ve got one more call to make, now; have a look around, and pardon all the dirty glasses.”

“See you later.” Wolf left, closing the door behind him.

Eagle picked up the phone and called the FBI.

Four

T
HE SPECIAL AGENT IN CHARGE OF THE SANTA FE FIELD
office of the FBI was somebody Eagle had dealt with fairly often and knew well. Carlos Rodriguez was a native Santa Fean who’d been sent to his hometown office because he was good and because he would look good in the community.

“What can I do for you, Ed?” Rodriguez asked.

Eagle explained what had happened.

Rodriguez emitted a long sigh. “Well, Ed, I’m sure you already knew this, and it’s just as bad as you thought. The woman is your legal wife, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“And she was an authorized signator on both accounts?”

“Yes.”

“Then what you’ve got here is a civil matter.”

“You mean she hasn’t committed a crime?”

“Not unless she failed to file the federal form for moving more than ten thousand dollars, but the bank probably did that automatically. Anyway, I don’t know of anybody ever being arrested for failing to file. That charge is usually lumped in with others in these cases. So you’ll have to sue her to get your money back, like in divorce court. You are divorcing her, aren’t you?”

That brought Eagle up short; he hadn’t gotten that far, yet. “I expect so.” That sounded funny to his own ears. Twelve hours before, he had been in love with the woman.

“Then bring it up when the property settlement is discussed. Take it out of her share.”

“Thanks, Carlos,” Eagle said, then hung up.

There was a knock on his door, and Eagle looked up to find Judge Eamon O’Hara standing there, accompanied by two lawyers he knew. He had thought all his guests had left. “Come in, judge,” he said. “Take a chair. Can I get you a drink?”

The judge and the two lawyers went to his sofa and sat down. “Thanks, Ed, we’ve already had one. You know Dan and Enrico, don’t you?”

“Of course. Glad to see you, fellows.” He pulled up a chair. “What’s up?”

“You know James Reardon, don’t you?”

“Sure.” Reardon was a local lawyer.

“Well, Jimmy just blew his brains out in the courthouse men’s room, about four hours ago.”

“I hadn’t heard,” Eagle said. “Has he got a family?”

“Wife and a child. He shot them at home this morning, before he came to the courthouse.”

“The man must have been stark raving.”

“If so, nobody noticed, certainly not me,” the judge said. “Now Jimmy solved his own problem by eating his gun, but he didn’t solve mine.”

“And what’s your problem, judge?”

“Jimmy had three cases scheduled for trial in my court over the next six weeks: one fellow with half a dozen charges of burglary against him, another for repeated domestic abuse, and a triple murder. All were court-assigned. My guess is they’ll all eventually plead out, but we haven’t gotten around to that yet, and the public defender’s office is overwhelmed at the moment, so I’m going to appoint you three hombres to the cases, and I’m not in the mood to take no for an answer. Everybody got that?”

Nobody said anything. This was an annoyance that came up from time to time, and since all three lawyers regularly tried cases in O’Hara’s court, they weren’t inclined to annoy him by begging off.

The judge reached into his pocket and came up with three toothpicks. He broke one in half, an end off another and left the third whole. Behind his back he rearranged them, then held them up so the ends were visible. “Pick a straw, each of you.”

The two lawyers on the sofa each took one, concealing them, then Eagle took the remaining one. Then they held them up.

“Enrico,” the judge said, “you got the long straw, so you get the domestic abuse, so to speak; Dan, the medium straw and the burglar is yours; and Ed, you got the short straw. Boys, the burglar and the wife beater are in the city jail; Ed, your triple murderer is in the local hoosegow.” He handed each of them a file. “There are their particulars. I’ll expect to hear from you early next week on whether you want to go to trial.”

Shit, Eagle thought. He didn’t want to think about this right now. “Thank you so much, judge,” he said.

The judge got to his feet. “And let’s keep the hours down, boys; I don’t want you busting my budget.”

Eagle shook the hands of all three men, and they left.

Betty came in. “What did the judge want?”

“He’s dragged me into a triple homicide,” Eagle replied.

“Oh, was one of them Barbara?”

“Nope.”

“Too bad.”

Five

E
AGLE ARRIVED AT SANTA CAFÉ ON TIME AND FOUND
Wolf Willett already at the bar, sipping bourbon. Eagle ordered a Laphroaig, his favorite single-malt Scotch.

“I don’t know why you drink that stuff,” Wolf said, nodding at the amber liquid in Eagle’s hand.

“Nectar of the gods,” Eagle replied, “unlike that Kentucky horse piss you drink.”

“It’s the patriotic thing to do,” Wolf replied, raising his glass. “Unlike that foreign camel sweat you imbibe. How’d the party go today?”

“The way it was supposed to, I guess,” Eagle said.

“You don’t sound too happy about it. Or is it the thing with Barbara that’s got you down.”

“Jesus, Wolf, I was in love with the woman, really I was.”

“I was in love with Julia, too, right up to the moment when she tried to kill me and take my money. At least, Barbara didn’t try to kill you.”

“Maybe she did. She put Ambien in my wine last night; I found the bottle in her bathroom, empty. Maybe she didn’t use enough; maybe she forgot to refill the prescription.”

“You didn’t see this coming, then?”

“I guess that’s what really pisses me off. I pride myself on being able to read people, but man, I didn’t read her.”

The head waitress came to the bar. “Your table is ready, Mr. Willett, Mr. Eagle.”

They got up and followed her into the next room, where she seated them by the fireplace. The aromas of piñon smoke and good food filled the space. They ordered dinner and a bottle of wine.

“Are you going to put the cops on her?” Wolf asked.

Eagle shook his head. “She hasn’t broken the law, just me.”

“She steals what, a million two? And that doesn’t break the law?”

“She was authorized to sign on both accounts. The brokerage accounts, too, but I got to the broker five minutes before he wired her another four million.”

“Good timing. What are you going to do?”

“Well, forgiving her and inviting her back isn’t going to work, since she obviously wants to be somewhere else.”

“With somebody else?”

“I have no idea.”

“So, what are your options?”

“As far as I can figure, two: let her keep the money and divorce her, or find her and kill her.”

“I hope you’re not considering the second option.”

“No, I’m not mad enough at her—not yet, anyway—just disappointed.”

“Well, if you can get a divorce without giving her any more money, that wouldn’t be such a bad deal.”

“I guess not.”

“Does she have any other money?”

“Her first husband was a jeweler in New York; he gave her a lot of diamonds, but I’ve no idea what they’re worth.” He recalled that he had met Barbara in prison, after she had let her boyfriend through the security to rob her husband’s business, and the boyfriend had shot the husband. She had turned state’s evidence and gotten a short sentence, then had been paroled in a general release of nonviolent prisoners due to prison overcrowding.

“So, she should be pretty comfortable.”

“Not as comfortable as she was here,” Eagle said, “but I guess she could live well enough in Mexico on what she’s got. Of course, she was counting on another four million.”

Eagle’s cell phone vibrated on his belt. “Hello?”

“Ed, it’s Cupie.”

“Where are you, Cupie?”

“In Mexico City.”

“Jesus, that was fast.”

“I connected with a good flight.”

“Any luck?”

“I got a list of expensive hotels here off the Internet before I left, and I started calling them on the airplane phone. She’s registered at an elegant little inn called El Parador, very swish. I’m standing across the street now. What are your instructions?”

“If I told you to shoot her, would you?”

There was a brief silence. “I wouldn’t want to discuss that on the phone,” Cupie replied.

“Only joking, Cupie. What I’d like you to do is to follow her when she leaves the hotel, and when she sits down somewhere, call me, then give her the phone.”

“Okay, I can do that. I’ll go into the hotel, in case she’s having dinner there.”

“Before I talk to her, I’d like to know if she’s alone or with somebody.”

“Okay, I’ll see what kind of information a fifty will get me.”

“Talk to you later.” Eagle hung up and turned to Wolf. “I sent a P.I. down there, and he’s found her.”

“That’s some P.I.,” Wolf said.

“He’s a smart guy; he’s been useful in the past—on your case, as it happens. He found out that Julia and her boyfriend had gotten false passports.”

Their dinner arrived. Eagle hadn’t felt hungry, but the news that Barbara had been found had improved his appetite. “So,” he said, “Centurion Studios bought your final cut on the movie?” Wolf had made many movies with a partner, and he’d made one from his partner’s script after his death, but Eagle knew this was his first film made from his own script.

“They did, and without an argument.”

“Are you happy with it?”

“I certainly am. If it does good business, I’ll be back where I was with the studio when Jack was alive.”

“Congratulations, Wolf; it’s a milestone.”

“It’s a great relief,” Wolf said. “I’m already working on another script. My plan is to do a film a year, either from my own script or somebody else’s.”

Eagle’s cell phone vibrated again. “Hello?”

“Would you like to speak to Mrs. Eagle?” Cupie asked.

Six

E
AGLE COULDN’T BELIEVE HIS LUCK. “YOU BET YOUR ASS,
I’d like to speak to her.”

Cupie’s voice became a little fainter; apparently he was holding out the phone to Barbara. “Excuse me, Mrs. Eagle,” he was saying. “Yeah, you, sweetheart. Your husband would like to speak to you.” Then Cupie sounded alarmed. “Hey, wait a minute, lady! You don’t wanna…” Then there was a single, very loud noise.

Eagle took the phone away from his ear. “Jesus!” he said. “She shot him!”

“Are you sure?” Wolf asked.

“That was either a gunshot or a stick of dynamite,” Eagle replied. “It was plenty loud.” He put the phone back to his ear and listened. “Nothing,” he said. “The connection was broken.” He redialed Cupie’s cell phone, but he was sent straight to voice mail. “It’s Eagle; call me.” He hung up. “What the hell do I do now?” he asked.

L
ATER, BACK AT HOME,
Eagle put the phone down. He had been trying to get hold of the Mexico City police for more than an hour, and finally he had gotten hold of a Colonel Ricardo. “The police can’t find Cupie,” he said to Wolf, who was sitting on the opposite sofa. “They searched the area near the hotel, and they couldn’t find anybody matching his description, shot or not shot. They found some blood in an alley next to the hotel, but they’re not even sure it’s human.”

“What else can you do?” Wolf asked.

“I’ve left a message for another guy I could send down there to look for him, but he hasn’t returned my call. I talked with the local FBI guy, too, but he says they don’t investigate shootings in Mexico, unless they involve U.S. officials, and Cupie isn’t that. He’s trying to get me a name in the federal police down there.”

“I hope you’re not thinking of going down there yourself,” Wolf said.

“No. My experience with Mexico is limited to a single visit to Acapulco fifteen years ago, for Easter weekend, and I don’t have the language. I’d be helpless.”

“It’s good that you know that. I’d go with you, but I’d be helpless, too.”

Eagle’s cell phone vibrated on his belt. He picked it up. “Hello?”