Crown's Law (14 page)

Sam saw Pearl at her desk swivel around and
point to him. He picked up his phone and pushed the blinking
button.

“Carl! How are you?”

“Hey, Sam! Long time no see! How’s the
gumshoe business?”

“Beats retirement. This is your nickel, Carl.
Shoot,” said Sam, feet on his desk.

“I need to get with you ASAP. I can’t discuss
this on the phone. Can you drop by this morning?” asked
Fenster.

“Hmm. I don’t trust your office, Carl. Maybe
you should dash over here. I might be able to fit you in,” laughed
Sam.

“You’re the friggin’ Bugmaster! I’d have to
spray your place with Raid!” chuckled Carl. “Let’s compromise. How
about lunch?”

“That would work. How about
Sparky’s
?” replied Sam, baiting
Carl.

“That’s not neutral turf! Shit, you’re
the only cop who has ever been safe in there! How about
The
Revere House
over on First Street?” countered Carl.

“Yeah, that’s OK. They have good Bloody Marys
there.”

***

Carl Fenster was 51 years old, 5' 11”,
paunchy, with thinning blonde/gray hair. He had a thin, Clark Gable
mustache. He had been in the Bureau for 26 years and had been
“buried” in the Santa Ana office for ten of those. Sam never found
out what happened to cause that. He must have pissed off someone
high up very badly. At least his family had had a stable home life
for ten years—no moving around.

Sam joined Carl in a booth in the bar area.
The booth provided them some privacy. They shook hands and Sam sat
down. He ordered a Bloody Mary when the waitress came over.

“Bad night, eh?” laughed Carl.

“Not in the way you think!” chuckled Sam. “So
what rock have I turned over by accident?”

“As usual, I can’t give you any details. In
fact, I don’t have any. I’m just a messenger boy for the heat in
D.C.”

He pulled a folded paper out of his inside
jacket pocket and slid it over to Sam.

“This is a fax I was instructed to deliver to
you. The original will arrive at your L.A. headquarters by FedEx
tomorrow. Somebody is so freaked out that they wanted me to give
you a heads up. In essence, it’s a court order demanding that you
turn over to me the source of those fingerprints that you ran
through the system. And to keep your mouth shut about the entire
thing. You never had any fingerprints. Got it?”

Sam wasn’t going to roll over easily. “The
FBI can’t order me to do shit like that, Carl!”

“They know that. That’s a Federal judge
ordering it. He can do it.”

“The property in question doesn’t belong to
me, but to a confidential client of mine. She has said property.
Tell the judge sayonara.”

“What you’re screwing with here is the JTFE.
That’s not smart. You could end up in the slammer on contempt of
court,” warned Carl.

“What the hell is the JTFE?” growled Sam.

“Joint Task Force Espionage. It’s kinda like
a super FBI internal affairs outfit charged with plugging all the
leaks that have sprung up over the last few years. They’re mole
hunters with very broad powers. They have FBI, CIA, ATF, and DEA
representation. Probably the Coast Guard and some military brass as
well. The President has given them a very broad charter.”

“Well, shit!” exclaimed Sam, knowing for sure
now that either Carole Winston, or William Winston, or both, were
involved somehow with espionage. He knew that in the end, the
government would have its way, so he decided to throw in the
towel.

“OK, Carl. I have no interest in jail time.
All I had was an envelope given to me by a client. Her brother went
missing and she hired me to find him. The envelope was handled by
him and I thought it might have his prints on it. I essentially
struck out. Or, so I thought. You being here with this bullshit gag
order makes me wonder.”

“Well, I’m not privy to what’s going on. You
can either wait until the original, certified order is served, or I
can pick up that envelope after lunch,” said Carl with a shrug.

“Hell, I don’t give a shit! I don’t have it!
Have the judge change that order for me to give up the name of my
client and I’ll think about it. I’ll tell the client what’s going
on. Now, I’m gonna have another Bloody and a Monte Cristo. I
recommend them. Lunch is on you, by the way,” said Sam.

***

Later, at the office, Pearl handed Sam two
pink message slips.

“Ms. Winston has called twice. Something
about a reprise of last night,” smiled Pearl.

“Oh, crap no! If she calls again, tell her I
had to follow a clue to Ensenada! I’m going to the beach and take a
nap on the deck. In fact, I won’t be back here till Monday or
Tuesday. I have a Hollywood Bowl personal security gig on Sunday.
Try not to call me unless the world is coming to an end,” ranted
Sam. He couldn’t face another go around with the nympho client
quite yet! And he didn’t want to tell her about the FBI swooping
in. Not until he knew more. He wasn’t even sure which prints caused
the alarm, William’s or Carole’s? Or both?

***

On Tuesday, May 8th, Sam breezed into the
Mickey Malone office at 9:30 A.M. Before he could say a word, Pearl
nodded toward his office and mouthed, “She’s in there!” while
moving her cupped hands about 3 inches from her breasts.

“Miss Big Boobs,” she mouthed again.

Sam nodded, rolled his eyes, and went to get
a mug of coffee. Then he entered his office, wondering what he was
going to tell her. When the door opened, and Carole saw it was Sam,
she stood up from the client’s chair and faced him. She was dressed
in a purple tube top, tight purple pants, matching low-heeled
sandals, and, of course, matching lipstick, eye shadow,
fingernails, and toenails. She looked like a grape popsicle. He had
an instant urge to lick her. He closed his office door. Pearl
jumped up from her desk and put her ear to the door to see what she
could hear. Sam counted to five silently, then rapped the door
sharply at ear level. Pearl went back to her desk with her ears
ringing.

“Hi, Sam,” said the grape popsicle, her eyes
lowered. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Not really, Carole. I’ve been very busy. I
worked through the weekend,” he lied. He had worked Sunday, but
he’d taken Friday, Saturday, and Monday off. “You look lovely
today.”

He had to bite his tongue to keep from
saying, “You look good enough to eat!” He didn’t want to set her
off here in the office. She just might want to do it on his desk.
Pearl would kill him!

“Thank you. I wore this especially for you,”
she smiled.

“Wear” was a misnomer. It was painted on. He
could see the small lump of the mole on her left hip. He hadn’t had
sex since she had drained him last week, and he was feeling the
urge again. She delivered great sex, but he couldn’t get her to
stop once she started.

Probably worth the
gamble
, he thought.
I’ve got
to peel those clothes off her and see if she’s wearing grape
panties!

“Have you made any progress on my brother?”
she asked as she sat back down.

Sam moved to his chair and eased into it,
putting his mug on the coaster on his desk. He noticed that Pearl
had given Carole a mug of coffee.

“Need that heated up?” he asked, pointing to
her coffee and dodging her question.

“No. I need to know two things: Where do you
stand on my brother, and why you’ve been avoiding me. Usually, when
I give a man sex like I gave you, they come back for more!” she
said softly, her hazel eyes boring into his.

“All right. Second question first. I’ll be
frank with you. I usually have sex several times a week. I haven’t
had any since you. You screwed my brains out! Sometimes you have to
know when to quit!” replied Sam.

She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam! I
hadn’t had sex in quite awhile, and once I got started—you were so
good—I just wanted more and more! I’ll do better next time. If
you’ll see me again.”

“Aww, Carole! I could jump your bones right
now, but not here! Tell you what. I’ll pick you up around 6 o’clock
and take you to dinner. Then we’ll go back to your place and have a
nice, slow session,” said Sam.

“Can I still talk dirty if I don’t get so . .
. energetic?” she asked shyly.

“Sure. Whatever turns you on. Now the first
question. Your brother. Those fingerprints from the envelope have
caused the Feds to swoop down on me. I’ve been ordered off this
case. Even though I didn’t tell them who my client was, you can
expect a visit from them. They know whose prints are on the
letter,” he explained.

“Oh, my!” she exclaimed, a hand going to her
breast. “What do they want of me?”

“I don’t know. I’m just warning you.”

Sam continued, “Well, with the sudden FBI
involvement, it’s looking more and more like your brother is into
something devious. I’d suggest you go to the FBI, but after my
meeting with them, I’d guess you’d be wasting your time. They’ll
stonewall you. In any case, they’ll probably come to you with a
court order. Any more secrets you’ve been keeping from me?”

“No. Are you still gonna pick me up
tonight?”

Sam didn’t believe her.

“Yes. I want to see if you’re wearing grape
panties!”

She giggled, “How did you know? You are a
good detective!”

***

When he picked her up for dinner, she was
dressed in a short, yellow sheath dress with a V-neck with matching
everything.

That’s
not ‘yellow’!
he thought.
That must be ‘pineapple’! I can’t wait to get under that
dress and pull off those pineapple panties! It seems as if
everything she wears reminds me of something edible!

On the way home from dinner, Carole asked,
“So, are you off my brother’s case now?”

“Essentially. I’ll keep my eyes open. I’ll
have Pearl send you a small bill to cover the work she did on the
prints. It won’t cost you much,” he replied as he put his right
hand on her knee and pushed her dress up. He was getting horny.

“Then, I want to hire you for another job. Do
you do bodyguard work, too?” she asked as she pushed his hand up
against the crotch of her already damp pineapple panties.

“One of my specialties. Who needs a
bodyguard?”

“I do. Mrs. Gotrocks—Wellington—is having her
semiannual Diamond Gala on Sunday the 20th. On Lido Isle at her
mansion. We’ve been planning it for some time. I handle all the
details. Except one. She’s insisting on handling the hiring of the
security people herself. I find that strange, don’t you? And
annoying. The gala was robbed at gunpoint last year. Millions in
jewelry were taken. She wants me to wear one of her diamond
necklaces and I feel skittish about it. It’s worth three-quarters
of a million. I’d feel better with you at my side. You could be my
escort. You do carry a big, dangerous gun don’t you?”

“Always. The streets are mean and dangerous.
I’ll escort you for free. Pretty woman, fancy party. Why not?” said
Sam. “Call me with the details later. I’ll pencil you in.”

Her panties were pineapple, but he couldn’t
restrain her, even though she had promised to be less energetic.
She wore him out again!

Thursday, May 10, 2001

Riverside, CA

Sam and his Camaro were cruising west on the
91 in Riverside when his cell phone chirped. It was 3:10 P.M. and
the work traffic was already starting to take form, on its way to
turning the freeway into a creeping slug. It was even worse going
east. The smog was heavy in Riverside, so he had the top up and the
air conditioner blowing on high.

He flipped his phone open and said, “Crown
here.”

“Rogers here.”

“Hey, Beck! What’s up?” replied Sam, happy to
hear from her. He hadn’t seen her all week.

“Oh, nothin’ important. Where are you?”

“Headin’ back to the Santa Ana office. I’m
just passing through Riverside.”

“What’s your schedule
mañana
?” asked Becky.

“Meeting in L.A.”

“Oh.”

Sam heard the disappointment in her
voice.

“OK, Beckster. What’s going on? You need me
for something?”

“Well, it’s not important. Besides, you’ve
got your meeting.”

“Hey, Beck! We’re a team, right? You wouldn’t
be calling if it wasn’t important. I can always cancel a meeting.
Lay it on me, kiddo!”

“Well, I was hoping you’d be coming to the
beach house early tomorrow. Tomorrow’s a Friday, you know. I’m here
at UCI and my prof just told me that he wants me to handle his
physics class tomorrow at two o’clock. I’m the TA—Teaching
Assistant—for the class, you know,” Becky informed him.

“Well . . . isn’t that good?”

“Oh, yes! But . . . it’s the first time I’ve
faced a whole class full of people! I’m usually tutoring
one-on-one—or maybe as many as three—but never a whole class!”

Sam could hear the concern in her voice. She
was really nervous.

“So, what do you want from me?” he asked.

“I kinda thought you could sit in—give me
moral support.”

“Me? In a physics class? I wouldn’t
understand a word you said!” laughed Sam. He slowed down to 40 as
the traffic thickened.

“Well . . .”

“Oh, I get it! You’re afraid you’ll get
heckled for being a kid, or the guys will hit on you?”

Becky laughed. “There’ll be some heckling,
maybe. I can handle that . . . I think. The guys in the class are
pretty smart. I hope they’re smart enough to realize that I’m jail
bait!”

“Becky! Where’d you learn that phrase?”

“When I was eleven. I was a street kid,
remember?”

“So you want me to be there to crack some
heads in case they get out of line?”

“Well, shit, Sam! This is a big deal to me!
Teaching my first college class! I just wanted to share it with
you!” exclaimed Becky, nearly in tears.