Stuart Woods - Short Straw

Before leaving the car she took the little.380 Colt from her bag and found the silencer, screwing it into place. She checked to be sure there was a round in the chamber, then she put the weapon back into her handbag and got out of the car, stopping to listen for footsteps before continuing.

The silence was broken only by a chirping insect nearby. She walked lightly down a footpath toward the courtyard where Eagle's favorite suite was, and when she found the gate to the courtyard, she pulled herself up so that she could see over. All the lights were out inside.

She walked around the building to the rear of the suite and found the fence that enclosed the patio off the bedroom. A nearby garbage can would do for a stool she could stand on to survey the inside. The doors from the bedroom to the patio were wide open, and she could see the foot of the bed, by the light of an outdoor lamp over the path behind her.

She set her bag on the ground beside the garbage can and took out the small, silenced pistol, sticking it into the belt of her borrowed dress, then, with one last look around for company, she climbed onto the garbage can, hiked up her skirt and threw a leg over the fence. She dropped lightly to the stone patio. She didn't much care if he came outside to meet her; it would just make things simpler.

She stopped and listened for a moment but heard no noise, no rustling sheets. Satisfied that all was quiet, she tiptoed to the French doors and looked inside. She could see the shapes of two people in bed, Eagle with his dark head and the actress with her yellow hair. She took another step inside.

Neither moved. She raised the pistol and fired two shots into Eagle's head, then, as the woman woke to the small sounds, two more rounds into her.

Done.

She went back to the fence, moved a patio chair, stood on it and looked around. No person, no sound but the chirping insect. She threw a leg over the fence, found the garbage can and let herself down. She replaced the can where she had found it, took a handkerchief from her bag and wiped the can and the top of the fence clean of any fingerprints, then she dropped the pistol into her bag and began making her way toward where she had parked her car.

She was about to step from a short tunnel into the lot when she heard a noise, and headlights flashed, as a car pulled into the lot. She turned and ran lightly out of the tunnel and stood behind a small tree, trying not to breathe audibly.

She heard car doors slam, and a moment later, a couple, holding hands and laughing, came out of the tunnel and turned up a path toward another building.

Barbara paused to hear their door close, then she made her way through the tunnel and back to her car. She waited until she had driven out to Stone Canyon Road and passed the Bel-Air parking lot before turning on her headlights.

She saw no cars before reaching Sunset, and only two or three before she made it back to Camden. She turned up Jimmy's driveway and parked her car as before, making as little noise as possible.

She let herself into the house and undressed at the foot of the stairs, before tiptoeing back to the master bedroom. Quietly, she put away the borrowed clothes, then eased back into bed. Jimmy still slept soundly.

She woke him in the most pleasant possible way, with her lips and tongue on his penis. She wanted him to remember that they had made love in the middle of the night.

As she mounted him she caught sight of the bedside clock. She had been out of the house for a little less than half an hour. Now, using all her charms, she began establishing her alibi in a way he could never forget.

When they were done, he glanced at the bedside clock. "God, it's four-thirty" he said. "And I've got to work tomorrow."

"Hush, baby, and go to sleep," Barbara said, rubbing the back of his neck. Good boy, Jimmy, she said to herself.

VITTORIO WOKE WITH THE CALIFORNIA SUN ON HIS FACE.

The girl beside him, whom he had picked up in the Bel-Air bar after Eagle and his friend had gone to dinner, slept soundly.

He found his watch: half past ten, and he was hungry. He found the remote and snapped on the TV. "Hey," he said, poking the girl, "what do you want for breakfast?"

She stirred. "Tomato juice, half a grapefruit and green tea," she murmured.

Vittorio made a face: so that was what passed for breakfast in L.A. He got on the phone and ordered a western omelet, orange juice and coffee for himself, plus what the girl wanted. Then, as he hung up the phone, he heard the words Hotel Bel-Air from the TV. He turned to see video of two stretchers being loaded into an ambulance, with sheets covering two bodies, one tall, one much shorter.

The newscast went on: "The two murder victims have not yet been identified by authorities, pending notification of families," the woman was saying. "This is the first time in the history of the very private and quiet hotel that anyone can remember a violent crime being committed in the hotel. The bodies were discovered just after nine this morning when a room service waiter arrived to deliver breakfast for two, ordered the night before. We understand from someone who spoke to the waiter that each of the victims received two gunshots to the head, and a police officer, who would not identify himself, said that it looked like a professional job. The other guests were unaware of any problem until the police arrived."

"It was all very odd," a woman was saying. "I looked out my window, and there were suddenly a lot of people here who didn't seem to belong. Then I saw some uniforms, and the ambulance arrived. It was a long time before they brought out the bodies. I guess they were doing that crime scene thing you see on TV all the time."

"We hope to have the names of the victims for the noon news," the woman said, then a soap opera came back on, in mid-hysterics.

Vittorio had a queasy feeling in his stomach. He picked up the phone and called the hotel.

"Hotel Bel-Air," an operator said.

"May I speak to Ed Eagle, please? He's a guest here."

There was a brief pause. "I'm sorry, at the request of the guest, we're not putting any calls through to that room at this time. Who's calling, please?"

Vittorio hung up. This was bad. He headed for the shower. By the time he was dressed and had roused the girl, breakfast had arrived, and his stomach hurt from hunger. He wolfed down the food and hurried the girl to get dressed.

"What's the rush?" she asked, pouting.

"I have an appointment in fifteen minutes," he lied.

Vittorio arrived at the Bel-Air and gave his car to the valet. He crossed the bridge over the little creek, with its pair of swans and lush plantings, and entered the lobby. Then he changed his mind. The front desk was not going to give him Eagle's room number. He decided to take a walk. He left the lobby and walked purposefully up one of the many paths, as if he belonged at the hotel. He met a bellman coming the other way and stopped him. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning, sir."

"Tell me, in what room were those murders last night?"

The man looked around nervously. "We're not supposed to talk about that."

"I'm not from the press," Vittorio said, pressing a fifty into the man's palm, "I'm just curious."

"You go straight ahead," the man said, nodding in the direction, "cross the driveway, turn right, then left. You'll see all the cops."

Vittorio thanked the man and followed the directions. He stopped when he came to a large courtyard with a fountain and saw two uniforms standing guard outside a gate that, apparently, led to a smaller courtyard. He approached them. "Good morning," he said to the cops.

Both nodded and looked him up and down. "Can you tell me the names of the victims of last night's shooting?"