Authors: Joseph Wambaugh
Nigel said, "The joke would be, the butler really did it."
Raleigh's head was still spinning when he drove Nigel in the Brueger Mercedes to his Beverly Hills gallery, where his car was parked. Neither spoke for the first twenty minutes. Then Raleigh said, "If the paintings never surface, things can proceed as originally planned, right? You'll help Mrs. Brueger pack and ship all the art to her storage facility just as you said ?"
After a moment Nigel said, "Yes. Just as I planned. Except that I've spent a few thousand at the photo lab and I've lost a van, at least for now. And I believe that I've lost several years from my life as a result of this disaster. But if that should happen, I would be so happy that I'd throw a party and invite everyone I know. Except you."
Raleigh continued his train of thought and said, "So a long time from now, if the switch is discovered when the art is taken from the storage facility, it'll be blamed on one of the transporters or a storage yard employee, right?"
Nigel sighed and said, "From your lips to God's ear."
"A part of me would feel okay if that happened," Raleigh admitted. "Maybe we dodged a bullet. I could just go back to being what I am and you can go back to being--"
"Bankrupt," Nigel said.
"Whatever," Raleigh said. "At least we won't be in prison if those crooks never get caught."
"Raleigh," Nigel said suddenly, and this time his tone ha
d s
oftened. He sounded almost conciliatory. "If anything untoward should happen ..."
There it was again, Raleigh thought. Untoward.
"Yes?"
If something did go wrong sometime down the road ... that is, if something came back on you, would you really bring me into it? I mean, haven't I suffered enough?"
Raleigh turned to gape at Nigel and almost rear-ended the car in front of him at the stoplight. He said, "Haven't you suffered enough?"
"Raleigh, there'd be nothing to gain by informing on me," Nigel said. "What could you really profit from saying that you had a crime partner? I could take a second mortgage on my condominium and sell my business if I had to do it. I could put half of everything I realize from the sale into a trust account for you. I'd do it, gladly."
"You really are a piece of work, Nigel," Raleigh said. "Please forgive my cliches, but you are a piece of fucking work."
"So you'd bargain with my freedom just to curry favor with a prosecutor and have maybe a year or two lopped from your sentence, is that it?"
Raleigh said, "I'd trade your ass to have two months cut from my sentence. Or two weeks. I'd do it for no sentence reduction at all, just to see how you handle your inferiors in the prison yard, you pompous flouncing popinjay!"
There was no more said until Raleigh parked behind Nigel's gallery, where they unloaded the light stand, floodlight, and toolbox.
Nigel Wickland said, "I don't suppose we shall need to see each other after tonight."
"Not in this life," Raleigh Dibble replied, and headed for the Hollywood Hills.
There was just enough room to park the Volkswagen on Jonas and Megan's street, so Jonas had to double-park the van beside the car of a tenant who seldom went anywhere at night. They were excited when they got the bundles inside and removed the tape and the mover's blankets.
Jonas picked up the largest canvas and placed it on the back of the sofa, leaning it against the wall, and then he stepped back to appraise it.
"It's what you call an Expressionist picture," he finally said to Megan.
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, it's a picture where the expression on the person's face tells you what the artist had in mind."
Megan said, "You can hardly see the woman's expression if that's what you're looking for."
"That's the way Expressionists paint," Jonas said. "You have to look through the fuzzy brushwork and guess what she's thinking."
"Do you think it's really worth five thousand?" she asked doubtfully.
"Just look where it came from. The crib up there in the Hollywood Hills is worth gazillions."
"Where will we sell it?"
"I don't know. Not at a swap meet, that's for sure. We gotta do some research."
"How about the other one?"
"Not as much," Jonas said. "It's smaller, and flowers are overdone these days. All the swap meets have lotsa framed pictures of flowers. But we might get a few Franklins for it."
"Do you think you'd better get rid of the van? The cops probably have a report on it by now."
"Yeah," Jonas said. "I'm gonna dump it over on Normandie after I wipe off all my fingerprints. Gimme a dish towel, will ya?" When they got out to the street, Jonas was barely seated in th
e v
an when 6-X-32 pulled up behind him with red and blue lights on and gave a short toot on the horn. Megan, who was about to get into the VW bug, saw them and headed back to the apartment, having to force herself to walk slowly.
Hollywood Nate approached on the driver's side of the van and Flotsam on the passenger side, shining his streamlight in on Jonas's hands. Nate said, "License and registration, please."
"Sure, Officer," Jonas said, his chin quivering. "What did I do wrong?"
"Do I have to tell you it's illegal to double-park like this?" Nate said.
Jonas was so relieved, he felt like crying, and said, "I'm sorry, Officer. I had to make a delivery for my boss. I been working all day and this is the last stop. I'm sorry. Please don't write me a ticket."
Jonas tried hard to keep his hand from trembling when he offered the driver's license to Hollywood Nate, hoping that the registration was in the glove box. Nate didn't even bother to take the license from him. He looked at the side of the van and said "Wickland Gallery. This doesn't look like a gallery neighborhood."
"We sell good art and crappy art, Officer," Jonas said. "Real affordable stuff. You and the missus should stop by sometime if you're thinking about --"
"Crappy art," Nate said. "I'll keep that in mind if I ever have another missus and need anything crappier than I've got now."
With that, Nate turned and walked back to the radio car. When they were cruising again, Flotsam said, "Why didn't you write that one? Double-parker, dude. One for the recap."
Nate said, "This recession's been tough on working stiffs like that kid. Besides, all my bones hurt. I just wanna sit in our shop tonight and think of ways I can burn the fucking Goth House to the ground."
"That reminds me," Flotsam said, taking out his cell phone to check on Jetsam for the second time.
When the black-and-white pulled away, Megan ran to the Volkswagen and headed toward Normandie Avenue. She drove south for a few blocks until she saw the Wickland Gallery van just past Melrose in front of a liquor store. Jonas was already out and walking northbound when she picked him up.
"I was so scared, Jonas!" she said. "I thought they had a report on the van and you were busted."
"I'm starting to think I can talk my way outta anything," he said. "He didn't even look at my license, so I can't be connected to the van even if they pick it up. Two cops in one day have tried to hack me and I'm still here. This might be, like, kiss-met."
"What?"
"It means that destiny is calling. Something big is in my future. You're lucky you hooked your wagon to a star!"
"I only hope I didn't hook my wagon to a wagon," Megan said. "A beat-up old Volkswagen that might end up driving us both straight to jail."
Chapter
Nineteen.
RALEIGH MANAGED TOget to sleep as the rising sun was providing the citizens of Hollywood, California, with new hope on the cusp of autumn. Just as he was beginning to dream, the phone rang. He sat up when he heard Rudy Ressler say, "Raleigh, it's Mr. Ressler. How's Marty?"
During all the turmoil at the Brueger estate, Raleigh had hardly thought about the old man, and hadn't even phoned Cedars-Sinai since Marty Brueger was admitted.
"He's fine, Mr. Ressler," Raleigh said. "You and Mrs. Brueger have nothing to worry about. I'll let you know if there's any bad news at all."
"You won't have to," Ressler said. "I've booked a flight. We're coming home."
This time the blast of fear sent blood surging through Raleigh's skull. He jumped out of bed and stood naked and tense. "But Mr. Ressler," he said. "You have several weeks left on your vacation rental. Mr. Brueger is fine. Stay and enjoy yourself."
"To tell you the truth, it's not all that enjoyable," Ressler said. "The villa isn't what it was cracked up to be. The toilets work half the time and the water's never hot enough. This guy Silva who's supposed to be our translator is a greedy little wop who's always i
n o
ur pockets for something or other. I'm not enjoying it at all and neither is Mrs. Brueger. We're leaving here."
Raleigh caught his breath, swallowed hard, and said, "I see. Do you know when you'll be arriving at LAX?"
"Not yet," the director said. "I'll let you know. We'll expect you to pick us up."
"Of course," Raleigh said. "I'll be in the big Mercedes."
After he hung up, Raleigh Dibble experienced the terror of being utterly out of control. The boiling heat in his head topped a roiling stomach that sent him to the bathroom again.
He phoned Nigel Wickland's cell phone ten minutes later and was not surprised to find his partner awake.
"It's me," Raleigh said.
Nigel said. "Please don't tell me there's something wrong with the replicas."
"No," Raleigh said. "The Bruegers are leaving Italy and coming home."
Silence on the line and then, "My work will be tested a lot sooner than we thought. All right, what of it? Just don't lose your head. The replicas look perfect. Just behave as you always do and it will be fine."
"You haven't heard anything about your van yet, have you ?" "Of course not."
"If you do hear anything ... let me know ASAP."
"Why?" Nigel said. "Are you going to reimburse me if the thieves strip it?"
"I'll feel a lot better when you get the van back, that's all," Raleigh said. "So just let me know if it gets impounded for any reason." Nigel clicked off without responding.
Raleigh wondered if Nigel Wickland was serious when he talked about shooting himself if the thieves got caught. If that happened, suicide didn't seem to Raleigh like such a bad idea.
Jonas Claymore and Megan Burke had decided to spend every last dollar she'd wheedled from her mother and buy enough ox to chase the dragon all weekend. This because they would have a windfall as soon as they figured out the best way to approach art dealers with the paintings. It was when he felt euphoric that Jonas got his latest idea.
He tried to roust Megan out of her stupor and was only half successful. He said, "Baby, I got it."
"Got what?" she mumbled.
"It's too fucking risky to be messing with art dealers or auction houses. What I think we should do is make them pay us ransom!" "Ransom?" she said drowsily.
"Yeah," he said. "We call the Wickland Gallery on Monday morning and we talk to the boss there and we say we know how they fucked up the other night and got their paintings swiped, but we'd like to help get them back. Shit, I could even tell him where to pick up his van as an act of good faith. You on this?"
"Uh-huh," she muttered.
"Then get your head in it. All we gotta do is negotiate the price and tell them if they go to the police, we slash the paintings to pieces. Then we set up a money drop. I seen this done a million times in the movies, so I know all the tricks."
"Tricks?" she said.
"What's the use?" he said. "You're all spun out. I could get more companionship from a hamster."
Jetsam's neck spasm was not responding to muscle-relaxing drugs and he was advised by his doctor to take a few days off and rest at home. When he phoned Flotsam and told him about it, his partner said, "Do what the croakers tell you, dude. There's some good surfing coming down and you don't wanna miss it. So take it easy and rest up."
When Jetsam found out that Flotsam was partnered with Nate, he said, "Bro, I'm glad you got teamed with Hollywood Nate. He is like, so hormonally ingenious and cinematically dialed-in, he might put you onto some scintillating starlets from his movie ventures."
"He ain't done it yet, dude," Flotsam said. "But if he does, I'll save them for when my li'l pard comes back. I won't use them all up without you."
Hollywood Nate was glad that Snufffy Salcedo was still recuperating, because roll call that night would have driven him mad. The watch commander was conducting it instead of Sergeant Murillo, and he was droning on about the chief's pet program, the thing he brought with him to the LAPD from the East Coast.
The lieutenant said, "You should pay particular attention to reporting districts six-forty-three and six-forty-four. CompStat indicates unusual four-five-nine activity there. I'd like some explanations as to why these crimes are happening."
Everyone glanced at one another and eyes rolled, and Sergeant Murillo arrived in the nick of time, entering the room and saying, "Lieutenant O'Reilly, call for you from the captain. About the inspection next week."