Body Rides

  They crossed the road and climbed into the Jeep.

  ‘Look what that fella gave me,’ Sue said, and held the fifty out for Marta to see.

  Marta didn’t seem impressed. ‘You could’ve gotten yourself killed,’ she said.

  ‘Coulda, but didn’t.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s funny. There was no good reason to go running over there like that. You were just showing off.’

  ‘Was not.’

  ‘It turned out okay,’ Neal said. ‘And at least we know that Vince hasn’t been here yet.’

  ‘He might’ve watched the whole episode,’ Marta pointed out. ‘He could be in one of those cars over there . . . anywhere. Just keeping an eye on things. The same goes for Glitt. Anybody with half a brain would show up good and early for this sort of a deal. And if they’re here, they know we’re here.’ She looked at Sue.

  ‘Sorry,’ Sue muttered, and shrugged. ‘Didn’t mean to cause trouble.’

  ‘It’s no big deal,’ Neal said. ‘If they got here this early to keep an eye on the situation, you can bet they probably watched us arrive.’

  Marta was silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘That’s probably true.’

  Sue turned sideways and said to Neal, ‘Why don’t ya try a bracelet trip? Take a run through them parked cars, and . . . Duck!’

  As Neal dropped across the back seat, he heard an engine. The sound came from the rear.

  Just behind them, a car seemed to be making a right turn onto their road from Venice.

  Could be anyone, Neal told himself.

  After all, they’d chosen a place that was directly across from the main entrance to Video City’s parking lot.

  But how many people return tapes at this hour?

  ‘Coast is clear,’ Sue announced.

  Neal lifted himself up. Looking across the road, he saw a Toyota pickup truck. It sped through the lot and veered toward the front of the store.

  Marta and Sue were both sitting up, watching it. Marta held her camcorder just below her chin as if ready for action.

  The pickup braked to a quick, skidding stop.

  The passenger door flew open. A woman jumped out. She wore a red bathrobe. Her hair was up in curlers. Carrying a video tape in each hand, she trotted toward the deposit slot.

  ‘She dressed up for the occasion,’ Marta said.

  ‘Just like us,’ Neal pointed out.

  ‘I’d never go anywhere in curlers.’

  Shaking her head, Sue commented, ‘She don’t look at all like Vince.’

  They watched the woman hurry back to the pickup and climb aboard. As she swung her door shut, the truck backed up. Then it lurched forward and raced for the exit at the far end of the lot.

  ‘Why’re they in such a god-awful rush?’ Sue asked.

  ‘Probably afraid of being bushwhacked by gang-bangers,’ Neal said.

  ‘If they’re scared, they oughta stay home.’

  Marta shook her head and lowered the camera. ‘What’s with all these people, returning their tapes at this hour?’

  ‘They probably stayed up late watching the things,’ Neal suggested. ‘I’ve done it myself.’

  ‘But this is after closing time. Why don’t they just wait till morning?’

  ‘Next one comes by,’ Sue said, ‘y’oughta hop in with the bracelet and find out why.’

  ‘Thanks anyway,’ Marta said. ‘Not me.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Sue volunteered. ‘Then I’ll let ya know what I find out.’ She smiled over her shoulder at Neal. ‘Here, let me have it.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not till this is over. I have to use it on Glitt when he shows up.’

  Sue sighed. ‘Have it yer way. Poop.’

  Neal reached forward and gave her ponytail a quick tug.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘Look over there! It’s him!’

  As Marta raised the camcorder and pointed it across the road, Neal jerked his head to the left. The parking lot still looked empty except for the scattered cars that had been there all along.

  ‘Where?’ he whispered.

  ‘There,’ Sue said. ‘See him?’ She pointed past Marta’s face.

  Neal heard the buzz of the camcorder zooming in.

  And then he saw the man.

  Vince Conrad, all right. Though he was still a good distance away, Neal recognized him immediately. He was striding along the walkway in front of Video City with a quick step. He looked fit and somewhat jaunty. Dressed in a dark warmup suit, he might’ve been someone out for a night of exercise.

  Except for the bag he carried.

  A large brown grocery sack was clutched to his chest.

  ‘Where’d he come from?’ Neal whispered.

  ‘Over by Burger Boy?’ Marta suggested, her eye to the camcorder’s viewfinder.

  ‘You getting him?’ Neal asked.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I wonder what he’s got in the bag,’ Sue said.

  Raising her voice slightly, Marta said for the benefit of the tape, ‘What we’re seeing here is Vince Conrad, husband of Elise Waters, on his way to drop off a bag of cash for the man he hired to murder Elise. The killer, Leslie Glitt, also known as the Beast of Belvedere, is supposed to come along at about two o’clock this morning to pick it up.’

  Off in the distance, Vince walked briskly up to the trash container. Without any hesitation at all, he dropped the sack through the hole in the lid, turned around, and walked the other way.

  ‘There he goes,’ Sue whispered.

  Reaching out, Neal clamped a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Hey, hey, take it easy. I ain’t goin nowhere.’

  ‘We sit tight and see what happens.’

  ‘I know. I know.’

  He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, then let go.

  Marta lowered the camera. ‘If nothing else,’ she said, ‘at least we’ve got evidence of Vince’s involvement.’

  ‘We won’t need any evidence,’ Neal said. ‘When Glitt finds out he got stiffed, he’ll probably kill the bastard. And if he doesn’t, I will.’

  ‘What if the bag’s got half a million smackeroos in it?’ Sue asked.

  ‘Vince could not have come up with that much money,’ Marta insisted. She sounded slightly annoyed, as if she might be getting tired of repeating herself on the matter.

  ‘Couldn’t hurt to take a look,’ Sue said.

  Neal clamped her shoulder again. ‘It could hurt plenty. Stay put.’

  For a while, nobody spoke. Neal kept his hand on Sue’s shoulder, and they all studied the parking lot. Then Sue said, ‘If the bag’s full of money, we oughta grab it ’fore Glitt shows up.’

  ‘It’s not full of money,’ Marta insisted.

  ‘Ya never know.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘No, ya don’t. Just let me run on over there for a sec.’

  Neal shook his head. ‘That might be exactly the “sec” when Glitt shows up. If he catches you . . .’

  ‘If he catches me, shoot him. That’s what ya wanta do anyhow, isn’t it?’

  ‘No. What I want . . . I want Glitt to go after Vince. That’s the whole idea. I mean, this is not a guy you want to cheat out of half a million bucks. What he’ll probably do is head straight over to Vince’s place and take him apart. That’s what I want. I want him to work on Vince the way he worked on Elise . . . the way he’d like to work on all of us. And I’d like to be inside him while he’s doing it, so I won’t miss a thing.’

  ‘Well, if that sack’s full of money, ol’ Glitt’ll go off happy.’

  ‘I’ll ride him, anyway. Whatever happens, we need to know where he goes. Once I find out, I’ll come back and we’ll go take care of him.’

  ‘Whatever might be in the bag,’ Marta said, ‘we can take it then.’

  Sue frowned over her shoulder at Neal. ‘Don’t ya want Glitt to take apart Vince?’

  ‘I’d love it. Nobody could ever hurt him the way Glitt could. And it’d be so . . . appropriate. He can’t cough up t
he dough to pay Glitt for butchering Elise, so Glitt butchers him. That’s justice.’

  ‘If he butchers Vince,’ Marta said, ‘he’ll never get the money.’

  ‘He’ll at least torture the bastard.’

  ‘He might not do anything.’

  ‘Oh, I think he’ll do plenty. I have loads of faith in my beast.’

  Sue chuckled softly, then said, ‘Ya want Glitt doin the dirty work, then we’d darn sure better find out what’s in the bag. And take it, if there’s money.’

  ‘I guess you’re right,’ Neal admitted. He pressed down firmly on Sue’s shoulder. ‘You stay here. I’ll take care of it.’

  Fifty-Six

  ‘Hurry,’ Marta urged him as he left the Jeep.

  Neal shook his head, quickened his pace slightly, but didn’t break into a run. If he ran, it might draw attention to him.

  Inside the pocket of his shorts, his right hand clutched his pistol.

  Shouldn’t worry about Glitt, he told himself. It’s way too early.

  Neal felt awfully vulnerable, though, as he walked along in front of Video City. It was so brightly lighted. He was out in the open, in plain sight, nothing between him and the traffic on Venice Boulevard. People in passing cars could see him. He felt as if people everywhere could see him.

  It didn’t help, being half-naked.

  Nobody would know, by looking, that he wore nothing under his shorts. But he knew. He could feel the air in there, the pleasant sensation of swinging free. It felt good, but it made him feel exposed.

  Mostly, he wished he was wearing a shirt.

  Guys were allowed to go shirtless in public, but you didn’t see it very often. Not unless you were at the beach, or maybe a construction sight.

  Who’s gonna care? he asked himself. Who’ll even notice? It’s the middle of the night. It was a really hot day . . .

  I didn’t have my shirt on the night I came here with Elise.

  He’d given it to her because she had no clothes of her own.

  He remembered how she’d looked in it, her legs long and bare.

  Then he pictured her dead in the tub.

  Think about something else!

  Think about the money. What if there’s another half a million?

  Fat chance.

  He walked past the front doors of Video City, past the night deposit slot, and stopped at the garbage barrel. Leaning forward, he peered into the lid’s opening. The grocery bag was a dim shape in the shadows, about halfway down.

  He considered taking a quick look around.

  Don’t, he warned himself. Just grab it and go.

  He left the pistol in his pocket, twisted sideways a bit, reached down through the hole and clutched the crumpled paper top.

  He lifted the bag.

  It felt nice and heavy.

  My God, what if there IS money in here?

  He wanted to take a look, but fought against the impulse.

  Just get out of here. Get back to the gals.

  No. No. I’d better check. What if it’s something dangerous? Maybe Vince put a bomb inside. Or rattlesnakes.

  Neal suddenly wasn’t so sure that he wanted to open it.

  Taking a step backward away from the garbage barrel, he jostled the bag. It seemed to have about the same feel as the bag of money he’d taken from Vince’s house.

  He set it at his feet, crouched down, and unrolled the crumpled top. He leaned away so his face wouldn’t be directly above the opening. Then, with both hands, he spread the edges.

  Nothing sprang out.

  Easing forward, he gazed inside.

  Slam the Big Door.

  By John D. MacDonald.

  The Killer Inside Me.

  By Jim Thompson.

  My Gun is Quick.

  Mickey Spillane.

  He reached into the bag and pushed some of the top books aside to see more.

  His Name was Death

  Fredric Brown.

  The Long Goodbye.

  Raymond Chandler.

  And more. Many, many more old paperbacks. Rummaging through the bag, Neal figured that twenty or thirty of them had been thrown in.

  To give it the proper heft. To trick Glitt. And maybe to give Vince a smirk by paying Glitt off with tales of treachery and murder.

  Must’ve been Elise’s books, Neal thought.

  Whoever had put together such a collection in the first place was not a person who would use the books this way.

  I never knew she was into this stuff.

  Hell, I never knew much of anything about her.

  And now the bastard’s ripping off her library . . .

  A car honked. Not a loud, urgent blast, just a beep – like a stealthy warning. Neal knew that it must’ve come from the Jeep. He looked back, but couldn’t see it. A car was on the road, in the way, blocking the Jeep from his view.

  It looked like it might be a white Subaru.

  Can’t be Glitt, Neal thought.

  Why not?

  The car turned onto the parking lot and came forward.

  Just somebody bringing back a video or two. Has to be. Because it CAN’T be Glitt showing up now while I’m right here squatting over his bag. CAN’T BE! Not even CLOSE to two o’clock yet. He wouldn’t come this early. He CAN’T be showing up while I’m right here. No way!

  But a different part of Neal’s mind was certain that this was Glitt, indeed, showing up not only early but at almost the worst of all possible times. Blowing everything.

  It figures, he thought.

  Then he told himself that nothing was blown. Not yet.

  As Neal stood up and turned to face the car, its headlights swung toward him.

  They stayed on him, white and glaring, while the car rolled closer.

  It stopped at an angle, several yards away, its lights still fixed on Neal.

  The driver’s door opened and Glitt stepped out.

  Rasputin.

  Even with the top of his head wrapped in a white bandage, he looked like the mad monk. His eyes glared at Neal from the caverns of their sockets. His face was dead white, but little of it showed. Most was hidden under his wild growth of beard.

  He wore his usual outfit: long-sleeved black shirt, black leather trousers and black boots. At his left hip was a large, stag-handled knife in a black leather sheath.

  His gloves were missing. His hands were empty.

  He showed his teeth through a hole in his beard.

  ‘Where’d you get the bag?’ he asked.

  ‘In the trash. Somebody threw it away.’

  ‘It’s mine.’

  ‘Finders keepers,’ Neal told him. And slipped his right hand casually into the pocket of his shorts. And wrapped his fingers around the grips of his .380 pistol.

  Glitt shook his head. ‘It was left here for me.’

  ‘What makes you think so?’

  ‘I watched the man deliver it. He’s an associate of mine.’

  Neal stomped on the bag, crushing down its top against the books piled inside. He kept his foot on it. ‘Tell me what’s inside.’

  ‘You know what.’

  ‘But do you? Identify your property, and I’ll let you have it.’

  ‘Sure you will.’

  ‘What are you expecting?’

  ‘Money,’ Glitt whispered. ‘Lots of money.’

  ‘Wrong. It’s full of books.’

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘Good ones, too.’ Neal tried to grin. ‘If you were expecting money, mister, you got cheated.’

  Glitt lurched forward, stiff and grimacing.

  ‘See for yourself,’ Neal said, backing off.

  Glitt dropped to his knees and tore open the bag. The brown paper split and gaped, exposing the paperbacks. Some of them spilled out. Glitt gazed down at them.

  ‘FUCK!’ he bellowed.

  ‘If you don’t want them, I’ll take them.’

  As if he couldn’t believe the money wasn’t there, Glitt shoved the books with both hands, dug through them,
spread them until he’d exposed the bottom of the bag.

  Then he tilted back his head as if to howl at the full moon, and cried out, ‘THAT FUCKING COCKSUCKER, I’LL KILLLL HIM!’

  ‘That sounds a bit drastic,’ Neal said.

  Incredible, he thought. It’s gonna work.

  Groaning, Glitt struggled to stand up.

  ‘Can I have the books?’ Neal asked.

  ‘Fuck you,’ Glitt said.

  And started to turn around.

  Neal noticed the distant boom boom buh-boom boom of a loud car radio off in the distance, over on Venice Boulevard, probably . . . and suddenly a quick bam-bam-bam-bam-bam that sounded a lot like rapid gunfire.

  Glitt dived to the pavement.

  He thinks someone’s firing at us?

  Neal looked out across the parking lot and saw, sure enough, a car rolling by on Venice Boulevard with the front and back windows down with guys leaning out. Guys with dark guns going bam-bam-bam, muzzles flashing.

  What the hell they got there, Uzis? AK-47s?

  Looks like a pack of fucking gang-bangers.

  Looks like a bad movie.

  He supposed that Vince must’ve sent them to gun down Glitt. Not a bad idea. Smart man.

  I’m here, too! They’re shooting at ME!

  Neal wished he’d been as quick as Glitt to dive for cover.

  Something zipped past his face.

  Shit!

  He jerked the Sig out of his pocket. Sidestepping, he pointed at the car and started to pull his trigger. The pistol bucked, blasting out fire and slugs.

  Screw this, he thought. I oughta hit the deck . . . dive behind the trash can . . .

  Bullets whacked him in the chest, pounded across him, knocked him backward. He tried to stay on his feet. Then he was falling into the store through an avalanche of shattered glass.

  Marta And Sue

  1.

  They watched from the Jeep.

  When the slugs smacked a line of dots across Neal’s bare chest, he looked as if he’d been struck by a burst of wind. His hair blew. His cheeks shook. He flung out his arms, threw his pistol away, and stumbled backward. Behind him, the plate-glass window was breaking apart and falling even before he stumbled through it.

  Sue shrieked, ‘NO!’

  She flung open her door, but Marta grabbed her hard by the upper arm. ‘Don’t!’