T. Parker - Cold Pursuit

"I liked the way Pete Braga Ford got the leases and sales for Port Commission vehicles," said Hector.

"Me too," said Case. "But he never overcharged- not that I know of. In fact, Pete always made them a very good deal. That's what makes the commission go 'round, gentlemen. That's what makes Western capitalist democracies go 'round, in case you haven't noticed."

"Nice little gravy train," said McMichael.

"Isn't little," said Case. He rose, tossed some more logs into the chimineas , then knelt and petted Gidget. "Pete was a good man. Last week we talked about the terminal, tomorrow I'm going to his funeral. That's life, I guess. But what's it got to do with murder?"

"You answer the questions," said Hector.

"Or we'll go downtown and do this," said Case. "Come on, guys. I've never broken a law in my life. I've never had a speeding ticket. I donated one hundred thousand dollars to the Police Fund last year and I'll do it again this year. I'm trying to help you out because Pete was my friend and I think killers should get death."

The fires in the chimineas roared and threw fresh orange heat onto the patio. Gidget groaned and stretched in the warmth. Case smiled at the dog, his face a jack-o'-lantern of light and shadow.

Allen arrived with two beers and a dramatically large martini with a twist. McMichael could smell the gin from across the table.

"She'll be right out," said Allen.

"Is she making dinner?"

Allen nodded and Case rolled his eyes. "Give her a hand, please ."

The secretary walked back into the house with an air of helplessness. A distant pack of coyotes suddenly burst into a yipping chorus and McMichael saw Case look in the direction of the sound.

"What were you and Pete doing to sway two more commissioners your way?" asked McMichael.

"Nothing," said Case. "We already had them. We just hadn't voted yet, made it official."

"How?" asked Hector. "Cut them in on Pacific Transfer?"

"That and more. In fact, you two might consider an investment. It's going to be big, and we'll lock up similar contracts with the Port of Ensenada by June. And better profit down there, because of the labor pool."

Case raised his glass by the stem and sipped. "Wow," he said. "I got the recipe from a bartender in the Clift up in San Francisco. First one of his I ever drank just about knocked me off my stool. There's almost five shots of gin in here."

"How did you bring the other votes your way?" asked McMichael.

"With Pete's railroad idea." Case smiled, sipped again. "Don't know about it? That's okay, nobody really does. It's the other condition of having a cargo terminal instead of an airport. It completes the value. Maybe you didn't know that we have a San Diego inland railroad already in place. Come on, admit you didn't."

"I didn't," said McMichael.

Hector stared into the darkness.

Case smiled proudly. "That's right, gentlemen- one hundred and forty-six beautiful miles of track from the city all the way to the rich cropland of the Imperial Valley. It was built by Adolph Spreckels in nineteen nineteen. And guess what? Nobody uses it. Why? Because it dips down into Mexico – another huge plus from my point of view- and the chickenshit Feds were afraid the cartels would go wild with it. So the tracks sit, gorgeous and gleaming and empty. Actually, they need a little work. But Pete found a way to get it done."

Case sipped again, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "The local politicians' best friend," he said. " Redistricting . It's where political parties trade pieces of property, like in a Monopoly game. The railroad used to be in one congressional district, overseen by a man of low vision and high gutlessness. The demographics were changing in a way that did not favor his party. We couldn't move the railroad, so we all got together and moved the district. The new representative is all-systems-go to get the railroad up and running. That's thousands of tons of cotton and other crops coming into port from the east, thousands of tons of cars and raw materials and electronics unloaded in our new cargo terminal, bound by rail for points east. Perfect, or what?"

McMichael heard a door slide shut, saw Case look toward the sprawling home. "Talk about perfect, here's Christine."

She was a petite blonde, very pretty, her hair all bouncy cornsilk curls. She wore black velvet trousers and a matching waistcoat buttoned halfway up. A black lacy blouse. She set down a tray of appetizers. Up closer, McMichael saw that her mouth and nose were small and graceful, her eyes blue and large.

He stood and shook her hand, as did Hector. Her eyes went to the Band-Aids on his fingers but she said nothing. Case made the introductions, then turned the appetizer plate his way. "What we got here, honey?"

"Mushrooms stuffed with crab, inside some wontons," she said, smiling. Her voice was sweet. "Brushed a little olive oil and garlic on them. Enjoy, gentlemen."

She popped one into her mouth with a wink at her husband, then walked back inside.

"Not the best cook in the world," said Case absently, hoisting a wonton and examining it. "You ever see her?"

"Chrissy Barns," said Hector. "One time we got a tip that her production company was shooting out in El Cajon without a business permit. Turned out to be some other smut outfit."

"Good for you, Sergeant Paz," said Case. "A lot of guys, they've seen everything she ever made and they act like they never heard of her. She was actually raised on a farm- so they went with Barns for a screen name. She had that almost wholesome look that married couples went for. The directors liked to do her up barefoot with cutoff jeans and blouses tied across her tummy. Not that they stayed on very long. Anyway, she shot in Woodland Hills and Van Nuys, the usual Valley stuff. Did three B science fictions and a horror, but you can't go from that to straight pictures. No way."

"Pretty woman," said McMichael. He also thought the mushroom wonton was good.

"Once I got her off the dope, she was perfect. Except for the cooking, which she insists on doing. So I suffer, but I do it valiantly."

"You're real impressive," said Hector.

Case smiled and shrugged. "Okay, so I'm a thankless, smartmouth, near-billionaire punk married to a former adult-content actress. Doesn't mean I don't want to help you with Pete."

McMichael heard the coyotes yapping in the near distance, out beyond the helipad. Case cocked his head in that direction and listened intently. Gidget growled softly but didn't move.

"How did the proposed railroad sway the port commissioners to endorse the new airport?" asked McMichael.

"Not proposed," said Case. " Actual . They realized they'd have total control over a cargo port and a railway. Fewer Fed regulations than Lindbergh and a lot less visibility. Visibility - don't want that. Then, you know, some individually tailored incentives- food and beverage concessions to Ray's brother's company, permitting and fee schedules per Charlie's aggressive desires, Longshoreman for Ed because he's on their pension board- things like that. Those names are fictitious, by the way, but names aren't the point here."

"The usual side deals and insider trading," said McMichael.

"Call it what you want," said Case. "But all of it- as I explained earlier- is one hundred percent legal. And expected."

"You commission guys think you're pretty smart, don't you?" asked Hector.

Case thought about this. "Smart, no. But we're not afraid to think for ourselves. Pete did. I do. That's why we're appointed. To get things done . With all respect, gentlemen, you police aren't in that position. You can't be, or the law would mean nothing. You're the guardians. You enforce. You're given guns and taught to kill. That's why you went into your line of work, isn't it, the power you get? Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to have you on my side."