Bill Pronzini - Boobytrap

DeFalco said, “I can’t do it.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. Short notice.”

“It’s not that. Christ knows I can use a few days off from the rat race and normally I could swing it, but I’m jammed on this series we’re running on city politics — dissension in the mayor’s and D. A.‘s offices, squabbles among the Board of Supervisors, all that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t sound so skeptical. All kinds of crap going on in this city, which you’d know about if you read the papers once in a while.”

“My head’s stuffed with enough crap as it is,” I said. “Besides, I read one of your so-called exposes ten years ago and that’s enough yellow journalism to last me a lifetime.”

“Ha ha,” he said. Then he said, “No kidding, I really would like to go along, but the way things are… Hey, wait a minute. I just remembered something.”

“Good for you.”

“You know Pat Dixon? One of the assistant D.A.s?”

“Talked to him a few times. Real fireball.”

“Yeah, but a nice guy. He’d make a hell of a D.A., except he’ll never go after the job as long as Al Ybarra has it. One of Ybarra’s protégés and solidly in Al’s corner, unlike some of his disgruntled co-workers.”

“What’s your point, Joe?”

“The point,” DeFalco said, “is that Pat owns a cabin on Deep Mountain Lake in the Sierras. Know where that is, Deep Mountain Lake?”

“Not offhand.”

“Near Quincy and Buck’s Lake.”

“Pretty country.”

“That it is. Pat and his family go up there every summer, stay three or four weeks. They were supposed to leave this Saturday, but he’s had to delay a few days on account of a subpoena to testify in a felony trial. He was bitching about it to me just yesterday.”

“So?”

“So he’s got this friend, lawyer in Sacramento, owns the cabin next to his. And the friend won’t be using it at all this summer because he’s involved in a complicated tax evasion case.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Cabin’s just sitting there empty. Maybe the lawyer’d be willing to rent it out to the right party. Or even to a seedy private eye like you.”

“For a price this seedy private eye can’t afford, no doubt.”

“Not necessarily. How about if I call Pat, see if maybe something can be worked out?”

“Hell, Joe, I don’t know. If I can’t find somebody else, I’d have to go all that way alone…”

“You couldn’t stand your own company for a few days?”

“Longer than I could stand yours, probably.”

“Streams loaded with trout up there,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Big fat rainbows and cutthroats.”

“Yeah.”

“Pan-fried in butter on a crisp mountain morning—”

“Okay, okay. Shut up and call Pat Dixon.”

Pat Dixon said, “I think I can set it up for you.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, Pat.”

“No trouble at all. In fact, I’m pretty sure Tom Zaleski will be pleased at the prospect.”

“How much you figure he’ll ask for a week’s rental?”

“Don’t worry about that. When were you thinking of leaving?”

“Well, any time after Friday noon.”

“Saturday morning? Early?”

“Sure. Why?”

“You could do me a big favor, in that case. And in exchange I think I can make arrangements with Tom to let you stay at his place for a week free of charge.”

“…You said free of charge?”

“Except for utilities and your food and incidentals.”

“Heck of a deal. What’s the favor?”

“Take a couple of passengers along with you.”

“Passengers?”

“My wife and son,” Dixon said. “My vacation was supposed to start on Saturday, but I’ve got a court appearance next Monday that’s likely to carry over one or two more days.”

“DeFalco mentioned that.”

“So Tuesday’s the earliest I’ll be able to get away. And my son Chuck is especially eager to get to our cabin. If you’d take Marian and the boy with you, it’ll give them an extra four or five days at the lake.”

“Your wife doesn’t drive?”

“Not long distances or in the mountains, if she can help it. Makes her nervous. Would you mind?”

“Not a bit. Even without the free rental.”

“Sure?”

“Long drives are monotonous. I’ll be glad for the company.”

“You’ll like Marian. Smarter than I am, teaches at Dunhill Academy, and a hell of a lot better looking. She won’t talk your ear off, either. And Chuck — he’s twelve, well behaved, a good kid—”

“I’m already sold, Pat.”

“Sorry. I get carried away on the subject of my family.”

“Don’t apologize. I think my wife is pretty special, too.”

“Makes us both lucky men. All right, good. Let me talk to Tom, see what he says. Might take me a while to reach him if he’s in court today. You be in your office until close of business?”

“I should be. If not, just leave a message with my assistant, Tamara Corbin.”

Tamara said, “You better do it.”

“Think so, do you?”

“Free rent on a mountain cabin, no business hassles, nothing to do all day except murder a bunch of innocent fish… Hey, I wish somebody’d offer me a deal like that.”

“It’s a deal, no question. But I’d still rather be going to Baja with Kerry.”

“Sure, I hear you. But you can do it another time, right? Drive down to Baja.”

“Fly down. Cabo San Lucas, all the way at the tip.”

“Tourist trap, so I hear.”

“Would you care if you were going there with Horace?”

“Horace could take me to Milpitas and I be smiling the whole way.”

“My point exactly,” I said. “It’s not the surroundings, it’s the company.”

“So you be leaving first thing Saturday.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Pat Dixon hasn’t called back yet.”

“He will. He better.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

“Bet I am. Man ever needed a vacation, I’m looking at him.”

“No argument. I saw the same guy in the mirror this morning.”

“And don’t you go sweating about things here. I’ll take care of business.”

“Just don’t take on any million-dollar industrial espionage jobs without consulting with me first.”

“Hah. Job like that ever walked in here, we’d both pee in our pants and slip and slide on the wet spots.”

“Do me a favor, Ms. Corbin. Try to restrain yourself from using such colorful language to clients while I’m away.”

“Be butter, not crap, comin’ out my mouth.”

“I’m so relieved. Can you work Friday morning? I’d like to drive Kerry to the airport.”

“No problem. Friday afternoon, too, you want to take the whole day off.”

“Can you afford to miss all your Friday classes?”

“Hey, I could blow off a month’s worth and still finish the semester with a top-five-percent GPA.”

“GPA. Grade Point Average?”

“Right. No more A, B, C, D, and F like when you went to school.”

“Back around the dawn of time.”

“You didn’t go to college, right? How come?”

“Not enough funds. Not enough smarts, either.”

“Bull,” Tamara said. “Big old brain of yours got more stuffed into it than my Pop’s basement.”

“If that’s a compliment—”

“There goes the phone. Mr. Dixon calling you up to say it’s all arranged, what do you bet?”

I said, “So it’s all arranged. I’m leaving Saturday morning.”

“Perfect,” Kerry said. “This is going to work out for the best after all.”

“Except for one thing. For the next week or so I’ll be alone in a cabin in the Sierras and you’ll be two thousand miles away in Houston.”