“Unless Spence is right,” I said, “and he’s on loan from the LA Chamber of Commerce.”
“Can I change the subject for a minute?” she said.
“Sure.”
“How do you feel about opera?”
“Sounds like one of those trick shrink questions,” I said. “If Zach is a cop, and he likes opera, then he’s got as much chance of cracking this case as he has of finding a vegetarian pit bull.”
You keep working at it, you get the million-dollar smile. I got it.
“A friend of mine had to go out of town and she gave me two tickets to see La Traviata,” she said.
“And let me guess—you love opera, but none of your friends do.”
“Actually, I hate opera…I take that back. I only went once, twelve years ago, and I walked out after three hours, and I think they still had another seventeen and a half hours to go. But I’ve got these tickets, and I’m trying to broaden my cultural horizons. Kind of a post-Fred renaissance.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I have to be honest with you. I’ve never been. I know all the clichés like ‘it ain’t over till the fat lady sings,’ but I’m a virgin.”
“Perfect,” she said. “I couldn’t possibly ask someone who loves it. I’d be stuck there. But if you go, we can make a deal. If one of us hates it, we’ll stay—at least for a while. If both of us hate it, we bail out, and go bowling, or find a tractor pull somewhere.”
“In my case, a tractor pull would actually broaden my cultural horizons. When?”
“Saturday night.”
“If I’m not still chasing maniacs, it’s a date.”
We sat and talked for another half hour. By the time I had to leave, I was sure of one thing—Cheryl Robinson was ready for her post-Fred renaissance. I just wasn’t sure I was ready to be part of it.
Chapter 37
GABE WAS NERVOUS. The director always refers to a big important scene as the money shot. But this one really was the money shot. He couldn’t afford to get it wrong—the ending of the movie was hanging on it.
The good news was that the production trailer was on a relatively quiet street, and it was only 6:00 in the morning, a solid hour before the foot traffic picked up.
The bad news was that he was right smack between Columbus Circle and Lincoln Center, an obvious target for terrorists. That meant there would be eyes—both human and electronic—all over the place. Add to that the fact that his getaway car was the D train, and his accomplice was a rank amateur, and he came to the conclusion that a guy would have to be crazy to pull a stunt like this.
Fortunately for me, he reminded himself, I am crazy.
There was no time for an elaborate disguise, so they decided to go commando. Ski masks.
The train stopped at Columbus Circle and they went upstairs and headed uptown on Broadway. When they got to 62nd, they walked west. They crossed Columbus Avenue, and there were the trailers—three of them—parked in a No Parking zone, blue film commission permits taped to their doors.
“Keep walking,” Gabe said.
Jimmy’s bike wasn’t there yet.
They walked to the corner of Amsterdam and waited.
They didn’t have to wait long. Jimmy Fitzhugh’s Suzuki came up Amsterdam, turned right on 62nd, and stopped at the first trailer half a block away.
“Walk fast,” Gabe said.
Jimmy chained his bike to the trailer hitch and headed for the steps.
“Masks,” Gabe said.
The masks went on and they got to the trailer just as Fitzhugh was unlocking the door.
Gabe followed him up the three steps and shoved him inside. Lexi followed and slammed the door behind them.
They were in. He couldn’t believe it, but they were in.
Gabe pointed the gun in Jimmy’s face, and, as expected, there was zero resistance.
“I got about five hundred bucks in my pocket,” Jimmy said. “It’s all yours. No problem.”
Silence.
Gabe kept the gun pointed at Jimmy, then reached around with his other hand and poked Lexi.
Even with her mask on, she appeared to be petrified. Frozen. This was her big scene, and she forgot to say her lines.
Chapter 38
FOR TEN SECONDS the three of them just stood there. A silent tableau. Gabe waiting for Lexi to say something. Lexi forgetting that she had something to say. And Jimmy Fitzhugh trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Finally, he made a stab at it.
“Yo tengo dinero,” Jimmy said. “Cinco. Cinco hundred dollars. No habla español, but I got five hundred bucks.”
Gabe pointed his gun at Fitzhugh, then at a desk chair.
“You want me to sit down?” Fitzhugh said.
Gabe nodded, and Fitzhugh sat.