The Rabbit Factory (42 page)

As soon as he spoke I recognized the voice. Amy had been right. It was the same voice I had heard in Dean Lamaar's farewell video. I turned to Kennedy and gave him a card. "And you, sir?"

"Kevin Kennedy." He put the card in his pocket without looking at it.

Barber stood up. "I'm Mitchell Barber. I don't believe we've met."

He was short and squat with a comb-over that had to take ,11 least ten minutes to blow-dry into place. I gave him a puzzled look. Of course we haven't met, but I want to convince your

buddies that we have. "Oh, right," I said. "My mistake. Good Id meet you." But no business card for you, Mitch.

Terry jumped in. "This is sure a coincidence. We've been hoping to talk to you gentlemen, and here you all arc, Together."

"We come here often," Barber said. "It's a short enough drive and it's the only way we get to spend time with Klaus. I It hates to leave the compound."

"This will sure save us a lot of time," I said, winking in Barber's direction. "I see you're watching the news about Lamaar. We've been sent to ask you a few questions. Believe me, it won't take long. Why don't we start with you, Mr, Lebrecht? Is there a place where we can be alone?"

Lebrecht gave me an amused look. "Detective Lomax, these men and I have been partners for more than half a century. Whatever you have to say to one of us, you can say to all of us."

"Fine by me," I said. "It's not exactly by the book, but like I said to the lieutenant, you don't need to be Sherlock Holnus to figure out why somebody would want to put the Lama;ir Company out of business.",:

"We were just wondering that ourselves," Lebrecht said. Ho turned off the three TV sets and gestured for everyone to sit down. "Why would somebody want to put Lamaar out of business?"

"Sir, look at the garbage they're turning out," I said. "I realize that's no reason to be killing people, but it happens all the time. I mean if someone murders an abortion doctor or blows up one of his clinics, how smaijt do I have to be to figure out the motive? Believe me, I don't condone it. It's against the law, and if I find the guy, I'll arrest him. But I know where he's

coming from."

"I agree that my old studio is putting out some offensive films these days," Lebrecht said, "but isn't that what the young audiences want?"

"I don't care what the young audiences want," Terry said. "I've got three little girls. What about what I want? You think I want them seeing movies about incest? And don't think that just because it's rated R, they can't sneak in."

"Have you seen the video games?" I said. "I won't let my boy Hugo play them anymore. If he keeps watching all that random violence, don't you think he's going to be trying to find where I keep my gun? But, hey, I apologize. We're wasting your time. The question is, what do you think is going on? Do you have any ideas who might be behind this and why?"

"We worked with a man named Lars Eeg," Lebrecht said. "His son is suing because he says Deanie cheated his father, but that's patently untrue. He might be angry enough to try to bring the company to its knees."

If I had any doubts that Lebrecht was the off-camera voice from the tape, I didn't now. As soon as he said Deanie, I was positive. "We're aware of him, sir, but so far that's going nowhere. How about you, Mr. Kennedy? You have any ideas on who may be behind this and why?"

Kennedy had been cleaning his eyeglasses to give himself something to do. He looked up. "Beats Jhe piss out of me, officer."

I completely ignored Barber and turned to Terry. "I told the boss this was a waste of time."

"Not for yours truly," he said. "It's not every day I get to meet the people behind some of the best movies and most pop

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ular characters of all time. I'm a big fan. Hey, tell me Mr. Lebrecht, what was Dean Lamaar like in person?"

"Deanie was a prince," Lebrecht said. "So talented, so loving, so caring. It was a joy to work for him and an honor to be his friend. There was still so much more he could have given the world. He passed on far too soon."

"No disrespect, sir," I said, "but maybe it's for the best. Don't you think he'd be pretty miserable to see what they've done to his company?"

I could see Barber's flabby chest rising and falling. He turned to Lebrecht, waiting for him to field the question. "I'm sure Deanie would be less than thrilled, but he did sell the company to a Japanese conglomerate," Lebrecht said. "He knew that the new corporation would no longer reflect his personal sensibilities or his commitment to the traditional values of the American family."

"American family values!" Terry said. "That's what the Lamaar Company was always about. I understand a company has to make money. And me, I'm as open-minded as the nexl guy..."

"Ha!" I said, turning to the old men. "He's not. He's a real throwback. Come on, Terry, we've bothered these gentlemen enough." I stood up. "Nice to meet you all. If you think of any thing, give me a call."

Lebrecht stood as well. "I can assure you we will. Thank you for driving all the way up here. Freddy will show you out."

Apparently, the humorless, bald, Nazi manservant was named Freddy. He showed us out.

A white van was blocking our car. Irwin's Market was making a delivery. "Move the fucking van now," Freddy dictated, in a very un-butlery manner.

The driver, who obviously knew better than to argue with the Gestapo, shrugged his shoulders, put the carton of groceries clown, and backed the van out of our way, as the hulking Freddy glared at him.

"What's your take on Larry, Curly, and Moe?" Terry asked, is we pulled out of the driveway.

"They're all guilty of something, which is probably why they were glued to the tube catching the latest Lamaar disaster news. nd don't tell me it's big news, and the whole world is glued o the tube. These guys had three tubes."

"You really nailed Barber," he said. "First you give him the lig nice-to-see-you-again hand pump, then you pretend you lon't know him, then you totally ignore him, so now the others ire sure you've been talking to him."

"Ike Rose told me Barber was a great plot writer. At first I liought he might say, Cut the crap, I wrote that cop scam into

a movie back in the fifties."

"He didn't say anything, because he's scared," Terry said. "Did you feel how clammy his hand was? Guilt sweat."

"Sweaty palms don't hold up in court. We need smoking guns. Do you think they bought the whole 'Lamaar-has-tumed to-shit' routine?"

"You were fantastic," he said. "That business about the abortion clinic. And then the bit about your son Hugo. That was great."

"You didn't answer the question," I said. "Do you think they bought it?"

"It's always a crapshoot when you try to gain some scumbag's confidence by telling him you believe in the same things he believes in. I hate it when I've got a rapist in the box, and I'm trashing the victim, saying, 'I know her type. I bet she was asking for it.' I got three daughters. It makes me feel dirty."

"You still didn't answer the question. This whole True Believer theory was your idea. You said the only way we're going to pry anything out of these guys is to enter their world. Make them think we believe what they believe in. So we tried it. At the risk of repeating myself, do you think they bought it?" j

"Lebrecht is the leader. He's a real True Believer. Did you hear his little tribute to Lamaar? I think he felt comfortable saying those things in front of us. We made more of a connection than if we tried to strong-arm him."

It sounded like the answer to my question was a definite maybe. I figured that was as much as he'd commit. "What about the other two guys?" I said./

"I think Kennedy does whatever Lebrecht tells him. And Barber, he got tangled up in all of this and wishes he hadn't."

"In that case, he and I have a genuine connection. I feel the same way. This case sucks."

I "It's been sucking for a while now," Terry said. "Turn on KFWB. They probably know more than we do."

They did. They reported on a fire in a movie theatre in New York, where a Lamaar film was playing. "Several people were taken to St. Luke's Roosevelt Hospital where they were treated for smoke inhalation," the reporter said. "Fortunately, there were very few patrons inside the theatre." Then he dropped his voice for dramatic effect. "But twenty-four hours later and it would have been packed with kids for a Saturday matinee.

"In related news a bomb went off earlier this morning at a New York City radio station owned by Lamaar. And in a third incident, also in the New York area, a woman in Macy's department store found a dead rabbit in a pile of Lamaar character sweatshirts. Having seen the Lamaar threats on TV, she immediately made the connection and reported it to the police. The store has been evacuated while bomb-sniffing dogs do a thorough search."

Terry turned off the radio. "Dead fucking rabbits," he said. "What's next?"

-- 491 --

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I

Declan Brady killed his first person when he was fifteen years old. He put a rusty ice pick against Bobby Bodine's temple and whacked it in with the palm of his jnd. The dumb fuck never woke up from his drunken stupor. Declan didn't even know the man he murdered. All he knew was that Bobby was Megan Bodine's uncle, and the bastard had been raping her since she was eleven. Megan didn't have any money to pay Declan, but he assured her that the most beautiful redheaded girl in all of Ireland could find other ways to reward him for his services.

Five years later he killed again. This time it was for money. Two thousand pounds. After that the jobs started to come in pretty regular, and his price worked its way up. The pay was ood and the hours were even better. It gave Declan the time lie wanted to practice his guitar, box at the gym, and hang with I he guys. He was pushing thirty now. He had thick, dark hair and a sharp, lean face like Sean Penn, only without the scowl. He had met the three old men over a year ago. That slimy little ferret-faced cab driver Liam Flaherty had brought them to

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the back booth of The Pig and Whistle and introduced them as businessmen from America. No names were exchanged. The three of them squeezed into the booth, and Liam brought a chair over for himself.

"If this works out," Declan said to Liam before he could even sit down, "you'll get your cut. If you put your scurvy Mick arse in that chair, your widow will get it."

"The boy's got a wicked sense of humor," Liam said to the old men. "I'll be waiting in the taxi."

Declan sipped from his pint as Liam backed out the door. He sized up the three men in front of him. "You sound like a Yank," he said to Kennedy, "but you got Erin Go Bragh all over yer mug. Where you from?"

Kennedy looked at him with a straight face. "Lithuania."

"The Pope's plums, you are," Declan said, laughing. "If you won't tell me, then it's probably out of shame. I'm guessing Cork. It's pretty, but there's fucking goats everywhere. Goats and bad pubs. Last beer I had in Cork, I swear to Christ the barman pissed in the jar and gave it to me."

"And you being from Belfast, I'll bet you drank it," Kennedy said. "My mother came from Tralee. County Kerry. Much nicer than Cork." .

"It's still in the fucking South. And where you from?" he said to Barber.

"Texas."

"You vote for that crazy Texan George W. Bush?"

"Every smart American voted for Bush," Barber said.

"And you, sir?" Declan said to Lebrecht.

"I'm one of those dumb Americans who voted for John Kerry," Lebrecht said. "But I'm originally from Chicago, so I

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oted for him six times."

They drank, talked, and danced the dance. The three men followed Declan's lead. His rule was that he had to get to know someone before he went into business with them. About forty minutes into the harmless banter, Declan popped the question. "And what business are you three gents in?"

Chicago did the talking. "We're looking for someone who will do anything for money."

"Define money," Declan said.

"One million dollars, American."

Declan felt the blood rush to his head. He hoped it didn't show on his face. "Look no further," he said.

The man smiled. "Would you like me to define what I mean by anything?'

"Not necessary," Declan said. "I'll do it." Shit, for a million American he'd kill his mother and fuck her dead body up the ass.

Declan didn't hear from the old men again till two months ago. And now he was in Dallas ready to earn the biggest payday of his bloody young career.

He'd been to America twice before. Both times to visit family in Brooklyn. This was his first time in Texas. He'd been here six days, staying in a different motel every night.

It seemed like an easy enough job. Except he didn't relish killing innocent people. He'd rather kill scumbags like Bobby Bodine, but the payoff was too big to let this one slip through his fingers.

He was driving south on 1-45 when he saw the Burger King ahead. He signaled, slowed down, and pulled the silver Ford Taurus into the parking lot. He'd been here three times before. Kasy in, easy out, right on the highway.

f.-- 495 --

It was 11 a.m. The breakfast crowd was long gone and ihr lunch business hadn't picked up yet. There were about a dozen vehicles in the lot, half of them pickups. He passed up the spaces in front and parked behind the building. He got out <>l the Taurus, left the doors unlocked and strapped on the back' pack. He pulled the peak of his Texas Rangers baseball cap down over his sunglasses.

He walked over to the side window and looked in. Mostly men. No kids. That's why he had decided to do it now. The kids would all be in school.

He stepped around to the front. There was a large coloi poster on the window. Win a Free Trip to Familyland.

He opened the glass door and went inside. There were two guys in cowboy hats, a couple of Mexicans in paint-spattered overalls, a fat man in a cheap suit arguing with someone on hi.s cell phone, two women in their sixties wearing tennis whites, and a smattering of others who were either looking up at the menus on the wall or looking down at their food.