Friar's Road had, I guessed, been named for the Spanish Franciscans who established the first string of missions up and down the coast of what is now California. About five miles from the hotel is the first one, Mission San Diego de Alcala. I ran down Friar's Road to the mission and back, twice passing the mammoth concrete stadium where the Chargers and the Padres play. I don't know where they got the name Chargers, but I was willing to bet the Padres were also named after those same Catholic missionaries.
Maybe they should change the football team's name to the Priests. Maybe they already thought about it and decided it wouldn't help.
The days of downpour had ended and the sky was blue and vacant, as if no rain ever fell on this corner of the country. It felt good to be out from under the clouds again. My running improved when I didn't have to buck a headwind full of rain.
The Mission Valley Marriott sits back about two hundred yards south of Friar's Road. I jogged into the parking lot beside the hotel and found Ed Thomas leaning against his truck, drinking coffee from a paper cup and letting the early morning sun warm his balding head.
“When you're ready,” he said, “I'll drive you down to pick up your car.”
“Needed to go for a run.”
“I stopped by your room. Mrs. Peters told me to go away.”
“Have some breakfast while I shower.”
“I'll put it on the card.” Thomas turned and tossed the coffee into some bushes near the pavement. His manner was brusque, even rude.
I wondered about Ed's behavior during the ride in the elevator up to my room. I didn't really know him, but he seemed the kind of man that if something bothered him, it would come out.
Claire was still sleeping when I picked up my roll bag. I tiptoed quietly toward the bathroom.
“John?”
“I'm just getting my stuff. Stay in bed.”
“I'm up,” she said, rolling over. She stretched beneath the blankets. “I feel marvelous. No headache.”
“Sleep all right?”
“All night long. I must have drifted off while you did my feet.” She hugged herself, and discovered she was naked. “You covered me.”
I nodded.
“So you've seen it all.”
“Only the back, but what I've seen is lovely.”
“Always the gentleman. Even when the lady practically throws herself at you.”
“Is that what you did?”
“Some guys would have thought so.”
“We don't belong together, Claire. You should know that. I wouldn't be good for you. Especially now.”
“You mean if I were to roll out of the covers and invite you in, you wouldn't?” She lowered the blankets to a dangerous level, about half a millimeter above her nipples.
“No,” I said. “Not now. It would complicate things.”
“I wouldn't want to be a complication,” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm as she dropped the blanket.
“That's not helping, Claire.”
“Who're you? Saint John?”
“Father John, remember? You called me that.”
“I wanted you to know about the situation. I wanted you to know about Paul's infidelities, because it seemed to be the only motive he could have.”
I stared at her. She was beautiful. Some women look wonderful in clothes, but when they lose the outer coverings, they don't live up to the advance billing. Claire was one of the few
who looked better without clothes. “I'm not made of stone, Claire. Cover cup.”
“You're turning me down?”
I nodded.
“Why?”
“We need to focus. Someone tried to take your life last night. It was a serious attempt. Whether you know it or not, you're on the run. You can't go back to your home. Not right now. You can't live the life you were used to living. You're a target. Hatley and Ed are here to protect you. And I'm here to find out who is targeting you and why.” I felt no need to tell her that my emotional life was deadened and that the only way I knew how to keep the pain away was to keep it dulled. It was too soon to. try again.
“And then?”
“And then eliminate the threat.”
She studied my face. “You'd do that.”
“Without hesitation. And as pleasant as the view is, please cover it up.”
“I feel like a fool.”
“Don't, Claire. It isn't personal.”
“God, you are focused.”
“I'll make you a deal. When all this is over, I can take you to Hawaii. I know beaches where you can get an all-over tan, where you wouldn't see another person, where waterfalls spill onto the beach and you can take a freshwater shower after getting out of the surf. If we get your money back. Maybe then. If you're no longer in danger. If the offer still stands.” I was surprised how easily the lie tripped off my tongue.
She considered my suggestion, pulling the covers up to her chin. “I think I might take you up on that. After this is over I'd like you to take me to Hawaii.”
“It's a deal. Right now I'm going to shower. Ed and I will pick up the Range Rover. Then I'm going to get you a place to stay. We can't stay here. Those newspeople will find you and then everyone will know.”
“You think they would try here?”
“If they know where you are, they might. That's why nobody should know but Thomas and Farrell. Nobody else. You are news in this town right now, and reporters are out looking for you. Fortunately, every miracle is only good for three days. By Sunday your story will be stale and they'll find something else to feed on. Until then, you need to stay out of sight to stay alive.”
“Those boys were going to kill me.”
“Everyone in the house. You. Juanita. Everyone. Farrell stopped them the only way they could be stopped.”
“I should be frightened,” she said, “but somehow I've never felt safer in my life.”
“Be a rabbit. Hide in your hole now. Later, when we've got it all together, we'll come out.”
“What happened in Mexico yesterday?”
“First the good news. I annoyed somebody with something to hide. He overreacted.”
“That's the good news?”
“Your story holds up. I don't know why they panicked, but they did. Score one for our side. The next time I go down there, they'll be waiting. Maybe then I can find your husband.”
“What's the bad news?”
“There isn't any. Now let me take a shower. You can go into your own room while I'm in there. Okay?”
I didn't wait for her answer. And when I closed the door to the bathroom, I locked it.
Â
The remainder of that Friday was so busy it blurred. Thomas first took me to Petersoft. I telephoned Adrian and he told me he'd found the material I'd asked for. He also instructed me to hurry. He had put Petersoft, Ltd., on a four-day work week due to the current economic situation, and he wanted to go home.
After Petersoft, Thomas drove me down to the Intercontinental Marina, where I checked out of my room. The manager
came out of his office when I identified myself to the desk clerk. He solicitously inquired about my well-being. My bill, he said, had been comped as a result of what he called “that unfortunate situation” of the other evening.
Never having looked a gift horse in the mouth, I thanked him and picked up the remainder of my clothes. Thomas and I were out of there in ten minutes. We left my bags in Thomas's pickup and walked over to the harbor side of the hotel, where Ashton, the banker, and Jack Kinsman waited for me to close the deal on
Olympia
.
Kinsman had the papers ready and the three of us met the banker in the sales manager's private office. The fat man seemed to swell when I opened the briefcase and counted out the money. The presence of the pistol didn't seem to faze him. He was so focused on the hundred-dollar bills piling up on the desk he was oblivious of the gun.
I caught Thomas's eye once during the meeting. He saw the money and the .45, and waggled a finger at me, as if I were a naughty boy.
The transaction took nearly half an hour. Even with a cash deal, the federal government and the state of California and several other bureaucracies had some form to sign or other ways and means of letting us know they had a claim on some portion of either the boat or the money. By the time we were done, my writing hand was sore. The banker immediately excused himself and left, leaving Ed and me and Jack Kinsman sitting in the main cabin of the yacht-turned-sales-office.
“Congratulations, Mr. Caine,” said Kinsman, lighting a cigarette, his first since the transaction started. “You are now the sole owner of a classic sailing vessel. I hope you enjoy it.”
“And I hope you enjoy this,” I said, slipping a thick wad of folded notes into his palm. “You did a good job. You must have done this before.”
Kinsman chuckled, examined the bills, and chuckled again before putting them away. “Always like doing business with a gentleman,” he said. “Can I get the documentation
done for you? It'll take about a month. All part of the service.”
“Please. Make the home port Pearl Harbor.”
“That's not a city. How about Honolulu?”
“Just make it Pearl Harbor. That's her home port. The Rainbow Marina, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.”
“Want to change the name?”
“No It's bad luck, changing the name. And I like her the way she is.” Ashton had agreed that the name went with the yacht, and it had become a part of the deal.
“I know, but I had to ask. Here's her keys. Here's your guest pass for the yacht club.” Kinsman slipped them to me over the desk. “Ashton arranged for you to open a tab there. You've got credit. His guest. Stay as long as you wish. His family still owns the slip, but he says they've no plans to fill it at the present time.”
“That's fine. Thank you.”
“You need anything else, you let me know.”
I thanked him again and Thomas and I next went to the Southwest Division police station to pick up the Range Rover. Then we split up.
“I'll get Juanita and Claire. You run by the house and pick up the stuff we talked about. I'll meet you in two hours back at the boat.”
“I haven't seen that much cash money in years,” said Thomas. “Not since I busted a cocaine dealer in Rancho Santa Fe.”
“That's honest money. Compensation for the loss of my old boat.”
“That's your safe house?”
“It is not a public place. People who work at the yacht club are relatively closemouthed about what they see and hear. They have to be if they want to keep their jobs. There's four of us. There are four staterooms. It's big enough so we won't get on each other's nerves. And if we feel threatened, we can sail away. Go to another port or just stay out of sight of land for a while.”
Thomas looked at his list. “You really think we're going to need these long guns?”
“I don't know. Bring them anyway. And as much ammunition as you can carry. It's just a precaution, but nobody ever died from being too prepared.”
He nodded. He liked that. “Did you tell Mrs. Peters that her lawyer fired us?”
“Not yet,” I said. “We haven't really talked.”
“I understand.”
I didn't like the way he said that. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“She spent the night in your room?”
“And I slept in hers. Where's this going?”
“Your business, Caine, but sometimes it's difficult to remain objective when you're fucking the client.” He looked away from me, watching the distant line of cars streaming toward Mexico. “If you're hired to protect her, it's even worse. Clouds your judgment. Slows your hand.”
I started to open my mouth to protest, then closed it again. It could have gone that way. I was sure that was Claire's intent. But it hadn't.
“You are right,” I said. “It is none of your business. So why bring it up?”
“I'm not like you, Caine. I don't have a quarter million in cash to carry around in a briefcase. I work for a living. This and my pension is all I've got.”
“You'll get paid, Ed. Even if I have to pay you myself.”
“Talk to the lady. I'll put you on my payroll this time.”
“What is your problem?”
“I got to thinking about this whole thing after the shooting. Here I am involved in a little gang war, people getting shot right and left, and I don't have a contract with anybody. And the only person who has any money here is the target. It doesn't make good business sense. I mean, I guess you can afford to work for free if the client dies, but I can't. Now do you understand?”