Whistler's Angel (64 page)

He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “That’s not the truth.”

“It isn’t? You saw it. What’s not true?”

“You went in with that truck no more than two seconds after I heard that shot from my side. You never heard a shot while you were still down the street.”

“That’s right. I didn’t. But Claudia did. She heard a shot and a squeal and a man’s voice yelling ‘Fuck.’ That’s either ESP or a good pair of ears. I wasn’t going to argue with an angel.”

He asked Claudia, “Is that right? Did it happen that way?”

She said, “That’s exactly what happened.”

“And you…do have a good pair of ears. Yes, I know that.”

“So? I’m waiting,” said Carla.

“For what?”

“An apology.”

He said, “Carla…you do push your luck.”

Whistler picked up his cell phone. He hit redial. Molly answered on the first ring. He said, “It’s Adam.”

She asked, “Adam, are you staying away from that house?”

“Um…yes. In fact, we’re leaving. Listen, Crow got away. I don’t see how he can get very far, but Carla thinks he might try for Ragland again. If he does, he might try it with a bomb this time. He seems to have a supply.”

She asked, “That’s one of Crow’s bombs on your boat?”

“If there is one. We don’t know that.”

“Yes, we do. John Waldo found it. It was under your bed.”

“Aft cabin?”

“Uh-huh. Let me guess. You sleep forward?”

“We do, but what kind of a bomb?”

“Poorly made, mostly thermite, more heat than bang. But it was over the fuel tank; you would have been toast. Adam, have you seen Billy McHugh?”

Whistler glanced at Carla. “No, we missed him.”

“He hasn’t checked in. He was not at that house?”

“If he was, we didn’t see him. We’ll keep an eye open. Listen, Molly…you should keep yours open as well. We’ll look around for Crow on this end.”

She said, “No, don’t. That’s why we have police.”

“Very well. We’ll try to stay out of trouble.”

“Check in with me again when you get back to your boat. I need you to do more than try.”

Whistler promised that he would. He broke the connection. As he did, they all heard a distant explosion. Like Crow’s bomb, it made a “whoomp” but a much larger “whoomp.” It was probably the tank truck, but it couldn’t have been full. From the sound, the tank had either already ruptured, or it had been nearly empty to begin with. They looked back and they saw a fresh billow of black smoke, but nothing resembling a fireball. Small favors, thought Whistler. It meant that, with luck, no neighboring house had gone with it. With luck no police and no bystanders had been hurt. But Aubrey…and Briggs…and Poole’s assistant must have cooked. He wondered which wallets Carla kept.

Carla leaned forward. She touched Claudia’s shoulder. She said, “You don’t rattle, do you.”

“Don’t be fooled. I was frightened. It’s just hitting me now.”

“You don’t show it now and you didn’t back there. I’d go in with you any time.”

Whistler said, “Carla…for now and forever…don’t even let that thought cross your mind.” He reached to touch Claudia. He asked “How are you feeling?”

“I’d feel better if we could find Leslie.”

Well, right now I’m taking you back to the boat. The minute we learn anything, we’ll call.”

“Where will you be?”

“Carla and I…have to get somewhere quickly. There is still some unfinished business.”

“It’s not Crow. You would have said so. Is it Lockwood?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Do you know where he’ll be?”

“Yes, I might. If I hurry.”

Carla told her, “He’ll be at the airport. You coming?”

“Damn it, Carla…” said Whistler.

“Yes, I’m coming,” said Claudia.

He said, “Claudia, you won’t be protecting me this time. This is killing. This is not what you do. You’re not coming.”

Carla nudged Claudia. She said, “Maybe he’s right.

“I’m supposed to be with Adam. I’m coming.”

For Arnold Kaplan, however, it was time to go solo. The last thing he wanted was a traveling companion. He had pleaded with Leslie to go her own way. He said, “Goodbye and God bless. You don’t owe me.”

“Owe you? For what? For not leaving me there? You dragged me to that house in the first place.”

“Like I said, now we’re square. No hard feelings? Goo
d
bye.”

As he said this to her, he was pushing a bike. She was pushing a bike alongside him. The front wheel of Leslie’s was bent. It wobbled badly. They were two streets away from the ocean.

She was limping as well. She had banged up her knee. It had happened when he threw her out of the window. There was no time to try to be gallant.

Kaplan had pulled her back out of the closet as soon as he heard all the bullshit going on by people who should have known better. You want to talk, talk, but when you go to shoot, shoot. You don’t have a goddamned town meeting about it. By the time the shooting started and Lockwood still wasn’t down, and everyone was shouting, all at the same time, the window began to look good.

But, luckily, he looked out of it first. And who does he see? Who’s out there? It’s Whistler. He sees Whistler sneaking up to the fence. Right then there’s a second shot fired by Briggs. So here’s two shots, close range, but Lockwood’s still standing. Crow is not exactly standing; what he’s doing is dangling and he’s bleeding all over Lockwood’s crotch. This can’t get much worse, but it does.

Shit hitting the fan doesn’t start to describe the events of the next thirty seconds. Someone drives this big truck through the living room wall. A damned gasoline truck, no less. Whistler’s over the fence and he runs around the front. This was a gift that Kaplan couldn’t pass up. He was going out through that side window.

He hadn’t intended to take Leslie along, but the least he could do was cut her loose. He cut off the towel that he’d wrapped around her eyes and he cut the duct tape from her wrists. He got it all off except for one piece that she couldn’t pull out of her hair. So of course she not only gets her first good look at him, but she insists on bailing out with him.

He should have just freed her hands and left her to do her head while he was already out the window. He also should have told her that Whistler was there. If he had, she might have stayed put. On the other hand, she might have got herself shot by running out of that bedroom. As it was, she took too damned long climbing out. One leg at a time, hold my hand, help me down. That was when he lost patience and threw her.

Kaplan had even less time to waste once he was out the window himself. He would obviously go the opposite way from where Whistler and the truck came in the house. He would sneak around the back and find someplace to hide. The nearest place he could think of was on the far side. Over there was this jungle of solid bamboo that was thick enough to get lost in. So, okay, that’s the plan. He takes off at a run. And what does Leslie do? She takes off along with him. She thinks he must know what he’s doing.

They reached the bamboo and they both hunkered down. By this time, someone’s blasting with an automatic weapon and the demolition derby is continuing. While the gasoline truck is still plowing through the house, the two cars in the garage are plowing out. First the van rips loose and soon the Pontiac follows, both leaving parts all over the street. Next comes a flash, not much noise, just a flash, and it figured to be one of Crow’s amateur bombs. Kaplan’s exit had been very timely.

He could see, although not well, some activity in the kitchen, aside from the kitchen caving in on itself. He could see a small man, it could only have been Aubrey, and he seemed to be maybe in shock. Kaplan watched as this figure came to the door. It was Aubrey, no question, and no question, he was out of it. He sits down on the edge of a patio planter with both his hands covering his face.

Then, out of the house comes this other little figure. Red hair, black face, like a Dennis Rodman dwarf. From her build, though, this dwarf is a female. She’s talking to Aubrey; she’s nose to nose with him. This redhead has a Star Wars gun in one hand and a scary looking knife in the other.

Just then, there’s a screech of brakes from the street. It’s Whistler out there with his Taurus. With him is his woman, the one who took out Crow’s partner. She didn’t look the type then; she doesn’t look the type now, but here she is right in the middle of this and she’s holding a shotgun in her hands.

Whistler’s yelling, it looks like, for the redhead to come. Kaplan looks back and the redhead is coming but she isn’t in any big hurry. And there’s Aubrey, slumped over like he’s taking a nap. Kaplan doubted that Aubrey was sleeping.

He asked Leslie, “What just happened? Did that little guy get whacked?”

She said, “Hey, that’s Adam and Claudia.”

“Did I tell you? They’re fine. But I’m asking what just happened back here on the patio.”

She gave Aubrey a glance. “I wasn’t watching,” she said. While she’s saying it, she starts to climb out of the jungle. She wants to run after Whistler’s Taurus. By now, there are so many sirens in the air that it could have been a bagpipe parade. He grabbed Leslie’s arm. “Would you mind? Get back down.”

“I have to tell them I’m all right. Let me go.”

“Yeah, but
I’m
not all right. I would like to live through this. Stay down or I’ll smack you. I mean it.”

The issue is moot because by now it’s too late. The redhead gets to the car, she hops in and Whistler goes. He’s gone, but other citizens are just showing up and a few of them are on bikes. Bikes, he thought. Good idea. That could work. The bikes off that van should still be there.

He said to Leslie, “It’s been fun, but I’m outta here. You stay.” He stepped out of the bamboo and walked toward the street, past the house that was now making some serious smoke. He made himself walk at a halting pace that matched those of the other concerned neighbors. Of course, none of them were dressed quite like him, but he’d remedy that very shortly. He got to the garage. There was one bike in good shape. He knew that him helping himself to a bike might look a little funny to the neighbors. So, okay, he’s a looter. They should live with it. He took the bike, climbed on, and started pedaling. There was only one direction the cops wouldn’t be coming from and that was the beach, maybe four blocks away.

He hears Leslie say, “Wait up. My wheel’s bent.”

He says, “Shit. This cannot be happening.”

Kaplan knew that women do ridiculous things, but for this there could be no excuse. He asked, “Is there something that I didn’t make clear? Try this. You’re a citizen. You like the police. Me, being a felon, I avoid them.”