Don Winslow - While Drowning in the Desert

By Fax

Craig,

You bet.

Pam

Of course I didn’t have the benefit of seeing this epistolary yuppie romance until it was too late. Ditto the tapes that the testosteronally challenged-by Pam Holmstrum-Craig Schaeffer went out and got from Heinz Muller’s telephone:

10 August. From a tape made by Attorney Craig D. Schaeffer of a conversation between Heinz Muller (HM) and Amin Abdullah (AA).

AA: Hello, Heinz?

HM: This is my home telephone.

AA: I know, this is why I called you here, okay?

(Seventeen seconds of silence.)

AA: Hello? Hello?

HM: Did you take care of it?

AA: Take care of what?

HM: The old Jew.

AA: Sure, okay. I took care of it, okay?

HM: Ja, good. It’s about time you did some AA: Don’t worry, okay? I scared him off.

(Twenty-three seconds of silence.)

HM: You did what?

AA: I scared him away, okay? I called him up, told him maybe fire could happen at his house, you never know, okay? I told him HM: You are an idiot.

AA: No, I didn’t call him an idiot, but I HM: No, I’m calling you AA: No, I’m calling you, remember, okay? Anyway, I don’t think the old Jew ever is coming back.

HM: Idiot! Moron!

AA: Heinz, what’s the matter, okay?

HM: You were not supposed to scare him off, you were supposed to take care of him.

AA: I thought we didn’t like him.

HM: No, idiot. Take care of him.

(Thirty seconds of silence.)

AA: You mean kill him?

HM: I suppose I was trying to not actually say it.

AA: Heinz, you think the phone is bugged?

HM: No, the stupid Jew lawyer belongs to the ACLU.

AA: Heinz, when do we get the money, okay? The insurance company stopped sending me my checks and I’m getting low on cash, okay? And I lose bundle in casino just now, okay? Damn Vegas, I HM: You get the cash when you finish the job.

AA: Heinz, the house is burned to the ground, okay?

(Twelve seconds of silence.)

HM: The old Jew.

AA: You want me to burn his house to the ground?

(Fifteen seconds of silence.)

AA: Hello? Hello?

HM: The old Jew saw you leave the house when you set the fire, ja?

AA: I saw him looking out his window, okay?

HM: So he is a witness, ja?

AA: I guess so. It was dark, okay.

HM: If there is a witness to setting the fire, you won’t get any money.

AA: Okay, okay.

HM: So you must take care of him.

AA: But Heinz, I scared him off, okay? I don’t know where he is.

HM: I suppose this is my point, Sami.

AA: Ah.

HM: Sami.

AA: Yes, Heinz.

HM: Find the old Jew. Find Silverstein!

(Call terminated.)

Then there’s this one, made on the same day I was cruising I-15 looking for Nathan myself: 14 August. From a tape made by Attorney Craig D. Schaeffer, of a conversation between Heinz Muller (HM) and Amin Abdullah (AA), and an unidentified voice (UV).

HM: Ja, hello.

AA: Heinz, hello.

HM: Ja?

AA: I’m driving on my way back from Vegas.

HM: Ja, good.

AA: Allah is good, Heinz, okay?

HM: If you say so, Sami.

AA: I see a car off the side of the road. I see an old man standing beside the car. I picked him up.

HM: This is fascinating, Sami.

AA: An old man, Heinz, okay? An old man.

(Ten seconds of silence.)

HM: An old man.

AA: An old man, okay?

HM: An old man.

AA: An old man. He’s sitting here now.

HM: What old man?

(An unidentified voice in background of calling party.)

UV: Ask me who’s on first?

AA: Not now, please. I’m talking on the phone.

UV: Ask me who’s on first?!

AA: Who’s on first, okay?

UV: Right.

AA: Right’s on first.

UV: No, who’s on first.

AA: That’s what I ask you, okay? Who’s on first?

HM: Hello? Hello? Sami?

AA: What?

UV: What’s on second.

HM: Second? What? Who?

UV: No, who’s on first.

AA: I don’t know!

UV: Third base.

HM: What?!

UV: What’s on second.

AA: It’s the old man talking!

HM: Who?!

UV: Who’s on first.

HM: What?

UV: What’s on second.

AA: I don’t know.

UV: Third base.

The tape goes on for quite some time but I think you get the idea. Judging by the timing of the tapes, it was about an hour later when Sami pulled off the road to let Nathan use the men’s room. Then:

HM: Ja,, hello?

AA: Heinz, it’s me.

HM: Where is the old man? Did you take care of him?

AA: Yes, he’s in the men’s room, okay?

HM: You left the body in the men’s room?!

AA: No, he went by himself. Listen, Heinz, good news! The old man didn’t recognize me so we don’t have to kill him!

(Fifteen seconds of silence.)

HM: He’s smarter than I thought. He is pretending not to recognize you.

AA: Why would he do that?

HM: So you don’t kill him. They’re clever, these old Jews.

AA: Not clever, Heinz-crazy. He keeps talking about sandwiches and naked ladies with birds and some guy named Mincemeat who knew Dali.

HM: Who?

AA: Please don’t start that again, okay?

HM: You know what you have to do, Sami.

AA: I don’t think it’s necessary, Heinz.

HM: When did you start thinking, Sami? Do what you’re told.

AA: Heinz, I have to hang up, okay? He’s talking to someone.

(Call terminated.)

Guess who nathan was talking to.

Bingo.

Of course, I didn’t know about any of this when I rolled up and saw Nathan coming out of the men’s room. I stopped the car, jumped out, ran over and…

Okay, I hugged him. It wasn’t out of affection, mind you, it was from sheer relief.

After I finished hugging him, I held him at arm’s length and yelled, “Where have you been?! I’ve been worried sick about you! I called the police, the hospital, the mor-”

“Did I tell you…”

“No jokes now, Nathan,” I said. “Why did you take the car? Where have you been?”

Nathan started to answer when a voice behind me said, “He’s been with me, okay? He’s okay, okay?”

He was a little guy, late thirties, curly black hair and big brown eyes. I couldn’t quite place the accent, but it was Middle Eastern of some sort. He was wearing a ridiculous Hawaiian print shirt with a lot of flowers, white chinos and Gucci loafers with no socks.

“I picked him up,” the guy continued, “and I’m giving him a ride home.”

“I really appreciate that,” I answered. “But I can take him from here.”

The guy said, “I’m going his way, okay? No trouble. I live in Palm Desert.”

“I’m going his way, too.”

“Who are you?” the guy asked.

“Who am I?” I asked. “Who are you?”

You can take the boy out of New York… et cetera.

“Who are you?” the guy asked. “Mr. Silverstein, do you know this guy?”

“He knows me,” I said. “I sort of work for him. Come on, Nathan, let’s go.”

“Neal, you-”

“He doesn’t have to go with you, okay?” the guy said. “He’s going with me.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“I do,” he said.

Now this was a little guy. I figured even I could take him if I had to, and I’m no fighter. I have virtually none of the attributes of a good fighter: size, strength, speed, coordination, or courage. And even I could have handled this guy.

Except for the gun.

A sleek little automatic that suddenly poked out of the ridiculous Hawaiian shirt and pressed into my stomach.

Did I mention I’m not especially courageous?

Now if you’ve seen a lot of private-eye movies or television shows, you’ll know that this is the point where the hero gets a glinty cold look in his eye, then brings a lightning-quick karate chop down on the villain’s wrist, knocking the gun to the ground. Then they struggle until the hero aims a punch to the villain’s jaw and knocks him cold.