Part 34 (1/2)
”Now get out-”
Again, Caleb complied. Hale kept him covered as he stepped closer to the car. He glanced at the interior before getting in. ”What the h.e.l.l-?” He pointed to the gears.h.i.+ft lever with the gun. ”That a manual?”
”Yes.”
”I'll be d.a.m.ned.”
Very likely.
”You're gonna be my chauffeur,” Hale continued. ”I never drove one of these. Get in and unlock the other door.” He kept the gun on Caleb while he walked around and got in the pa.s.senger's seat.
Caleb sat very still. If Thinnes was right, Hale was already a killer. Caleb was struck by how much the young man resembled the late singer at the rock star's zenith. What a total waste.
Hale kept the gun pointed at him, but below the level of the windows. Caleb could only hope they'd pa.s.s an observant truck driver, who'd notice and call the police. At Hale's urging, he started the engine. Then the phone rang.
Hale jumped. ”What the h.e.l.l's that?”
”My phone.”
”Don't answer it.”
After several more rings it occurred to Caleb to say, ”That's probably a friend I'm supposed to meet for dinner. If I don't answer and don't show up, he'll call the police.”
”They won't find you, will they?”
”They might. I have one of those homing devices in the car-to locate it if it's stolen.”
”Where?”
”How would I know?” When Hale looked as if he were getting angry, Caleb added, ”Do I look like someone who works on his own car?”
Moot question. The ringing stopped. Hale stared at the phone thoughtfully. When it rang again he said, ”Answer it.”
Caleb picked it up and said, ”h.e.l.lo.”
”What's up?” Thinnes's voice.
”I can't make dinner tonight, after all. Something's come up.”
”That so?” Thinnes said. There was caution in his voice as he played along. ”Why's that?”
”An old friend just showed up. Remember the guy who gave Rob the dog?”
”You're kinda breaking up. You using a speakerphone?”
”No.”
”Elvis Hale?”
”That's correct.”
”You got one of those ant.i.theft locators in the car?”
”Yes.”
”That's enough,” Hale said. ”Hang up.”
Thinnes must have heard. ”Say ciao when I get to the brand.” He rattled off the major car-security suppliers. When he got to the right one, Caleb said, ”Ciao.”
”Okay,” Hale said, ”Let's get outta here.”
”Where?”
”Just...head for the Drive.”
It took some calling around to find someone who knew the unpublished number, but eventually Caleb got through to Wingate. Hale took the phone and told him, ”We need to talk.”
Wingate's anger must have caused him to elevate his voice; Caleb could hear him say, ”What do you want?”
”Money. I need to get outta town. It'll cost me plenty to start someplace else.”
Wingate lowered his voice, and Caleb could only hear Hale's side of the conversation. ”How 'bout your job site? Call your watchdog and tell him to get lost. Bring lots. And don't call the cops, cause I'll cut a deal with 'em, if I have to. I'm lookin' at murder one here.”
Wingate got there ahead of them. The gate was open and a car was there, though Wingate wasn't in sight. Caleb drove in. The site was lit only by the glow of the city's lights reflected from a sullen sky, the head- and taillights of the Jaguar, and the glow from a window of the construction trailer barely visible in the gloom. Other large, dark shapes were indistinguishable. In the rearview reflection, Caleb could just see the gate swing shut and make out a dark-clad form fiddling with the lock. The figure moved along the pa.s.senger side of the car and leaned over against the roof.
Hale jumped.
Harrison Wingate opened Hale's door and said, ”Let's go inside where it's warmer.” He indicated the trailer.
Hale pointed at Caleb with the gun. ”What about him?”
”Bring your friend, by all means.” Wingate seemed arrogant or amused, even bored, but not the least worried.
”Shut off the motor,” Hale told Caleb, then, ”Gimme the keys.” He took them and said, ”If you try anything funny, I'll kill you. What's one more?”
Caleb felt light-headed from a rush of adrenaline. Then he realized Hale was speaking to Wingate, who didn't seem to take the threat seriously.
”Who's your accomplice?” Wingate asked.
Hale laughed. ”A dead man.”
Wingate didn't respond. Caleb wondered if he were inured to murder, or if this was a demented game they played. And where were the police?
Hale told Wingate and Caleb to precede him into trailer, then closed the door behind them. He looked around. Caleb looked, too. It was a former house trailer, perhaps eight by thirty feet, with a desk and metal folding chairs, tools of various sorts, hard hats, boots and gloves, gas cans, rope and chains, and numerous things he didn't recognize. There were papers, building plans, a computer, and a.s.sorted office supplies on the desk. The floor was gritty with tracked-in dirt.
Hale lifted a coil of rope from its hook on a wall and tossed it to Wingate. He pointed the gun at the developer, then jerked his head toward Caleb. ”Tie him up. Tie his hands behind his back.”
Wingate caught the rope. He didn't seem any more frightened, but he looked apologetically at Caleb as Hale asked him, ”You got any Indian blood in you, Mr. Rich b.a.s.t.a.r.d?”
”Not to my knowledge.”