Ground Zero

10

Jack sat through the end of High Noon and revisited Fort Zinderneuf and the Geste brothers in Beau Geste. He was too restless to enjoy them, but felt he had to stay. Any suspicions Goren had about him would be confirmed if he’d walked out after their conversation. So he hung on.

But he sat in a back row where he could get up every so often and squint through the crack between the doors for a peek at the manager’s office. Goren had opened the door again and Jack could see a bit of the desk. He was banking on him not trusting the teenagers to close up and staying to do that himself.

As the closing credits began to roll after Beau Geste’s bittersweet final scene, Jack took his time exiting with the thirty or so other patrons. As he passed the manager’s office he tapped on the door and stuck his head in. Both Goren and his daughter jumped at the sight of him.

Why were they so spooked?

“Great to see those on a big screen,” he said. “Change your mind about the Bronson tour?”

Goren swallowed as he shook his head. “No.” His voice sounded hoarse and tight.

Jack could only describe Alice’s expression as a frightened glare.

“Well, you have my number if you do. And I’ll up the price to two hundred bucks.”

Baffled by their frightened reaction, he gave a friendly wave and headed out, wondering where he’d gone wrong. Had Alice remembered him from the flight, or were they wary of any stranger who seemed overly friendly? Jack didn’t think he’d been overly anything but geeky. Had he let too much of his i

Well, since Godot would probably call before Goren, Jack would have to follow them home. But first to check for possible escape routes.

On his way in he’d spotted an alley along the building’s left flank. He checked that out now and was relieved to find it blind. Exit doors, litter, a Dumpster, a beat-up motorcycle chained to a standpipe, and high walls all around.

Two ways out—the front or the alley—both onto Melrose. Excellent.

He slipped behind the wheel of his car down the street to watch and wait. He got his first inkling that things might go sour when the two teens left the theater and walked away. He’d assumed one of them owned the motorcycle.

Then the entrance went dark, followed quickly by the marquee. A few minutes later the motorcycle with two helmeted riders—the passenger obviously female—roared out of the alley headed east on Melrose. Jack hung a U and followed.

For a guy living off the books and trying to limit expenses, a motorcycle made a lot of sense. Even more sense if the legendary L.A. traffic jams lived up to their hype. The junker at the airport probably belonged to the driver. No room for luggage on a bike. Must have dragooned a friend into picking up his daughter.

He followed them along Melrose for a few miles, then onto the 101 South ramp. Jack didn’t get much farther than the ramp. Traffic was stopped. Umpteen lanes going nowhere.

Welcome to L.A.

But worse, the motorcycle was unaffected. It kept moving, leaving him behind as it wove between the stagnant lanes. Jack sat and watched helplessly as it disappeared from view.

He banged on the steering wheel a few times—just to make himself feel better—then began pla

11

Jack’s Tracfone rang at 11:10 as he was surfing his movie choices on the pay-per-view cha

“Hello?” said a voice he thought he recognized. “Is this John Tyleski?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Ernie, the manager from the Vintage Theatre. You still up for that Bronson tour?”

“Sure am.”

“The two-hundred offer still good?”

“Waiting right here in my pocket.”

“Then how does seven o’clock tomorrow morning sound?”

“Kind of early.”

“Sunrise is at six. You won’t miss anything. Told you I had to work. This way I get in just a little late. For two hundred, I can afford to miss an hour or two. I’ll meet you up there. Need directions?”

“Can’t you pick me up?”

“Nah. I’ll be biking it.”

“I’ll pick you up then.”

“No-no,” he said quickly. “That won’t work. It’s easy to get to. I’ll give you directions.”

Jack used the room’s pen and pad to write them down, then hung up.

He stood at the window and watched the thi

Earlier tonight Goren had looked at him like he was Sergeant Markoff, or maybe Frank Miller. Now he was up for guiding Jack on a tour.

Why the change of heart? Two hundred bucks? Maybe. But Jack had his doubts.

He’d have to be careful.

FRIDAY

1

Despite hitting the rack around midnight, Jack found himself wide awake at 3:30 A.M. This time-zone change wasn’t working for him. His internal clock thought it was 6:30.

He killed time showering and wandering the West Hollywood streets in a fruitless search for caffeine. The Andaz’s coffee shop was closed until seven and the Starbucks down the street didn’t open till six. This was not what he’d expected in a major city. Unlike New York, Los Angeles slept.

Finally he broke down and asked the Andaz’s night man where he could get coffee. The guy pointed him across the street to the Sunset Plaza Hotel where the coffee shop stayed open twenty-four hours.

Maybe he should have stayed there.

The coffee wasn’t the greatest but it was coffee. He killed half an hour reading USA Today cover to cover and was first on line at the Starbucks when it opened its doors as the sun rose. He found things about the chain a

Back at the room he pulled the Glock from under the mattress, chambered a round, and slipped it into his right front pocket.

2

The directions led him back to Hollywood Boulevard and then uphill from there along Canyon Drive through a residential district. The houses abruptly vanished as he passed between two stone columns. A sign a

The park road—Jack recognized it from dozens of films—snaked into the hills through acres of mostly scrub brush that looked sere and seared, past a picnic area and a caged kiddie playground. It ended at a small parking lot with an odd sign: CAMP HOLLYWOOD LAND, whatever that meant. His was the only car about. He got out and checked his reflection in the window glass: His T-shirt hung long and loose, leaving no hint of the pistol in his pocket.

He heard an engine roar down the road and soon a motorcycle cruised into the lot. Goren was the only rider this time. Jack watched him as he secured his bike. He wore a tight T, tucked in. It showed off his muscles but also left no place to hide a weapon. Jack saw the square of his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans, but no other bulges where there shouldn’t be. He wore sneakers—no place to hide a weapon there. Jack allowed himself to relax . . . but just a little.

Goren stepped up to him but didn’t offer to shake hands.

“I’ll need to get paid in advance.”

“Sure thing.” Jack pulled out his wallet and extracted a pair of hundreds. “Here you go.”

Goren stuffed them into a pocket and said, “We walk from here.”

Jack gestured to the empty parking lot. “Why so deserted?”

“It’s an unstaffed park, but tourists will be straggling in soon. Too bad a film isn’t in production. Then the joint would be jumping.”