Unwanted Company - Barbara Seranella by Barbara Seranella Page A
Authors: Barbara Seranella
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asked what was up.
" I showed the picture of our witness to the
concierge at the Beverly Wilshire," Cassiletti said. "I've
got a name to go with the face: Victor Draicu."
" That checks with what I have," Mace said.
"What else you got?"
"Draicu is a Romanian diplomat. He's connected
with the Olympics."
Mace made a note to himself. That connection bore
some looking into. "Any luck with the cabbie who picked him up?"
he asked.
"Yea.h, I tracked the guy down. He remembered
the call. Said he took Draicu to titty bars by the airport and
dropped him off. I asked the hotel personnel when Draicu got in, but
nobody remembers seeing him until this morning, when a limo picked
him up."
" What make and color?" Mace asked.
" Gray Cadillac?" Cassiletti said.
" All right, good work," Mace said, wishing
the big man had half the confidence of Munch's daughter. "I need
you to call Border Patrol. You got a pen and paper?"
"Just a minute."
Mace glanced skyward while he heard Cassiletti fumble
for writing utensils.
" All right," Cassiletti said. "I'm
ready."
Mace read off the license number of Munch's limo.
"Find out if this vehicle has passed the checkpoint today and,
if so, when." If the limo had gone to Mexico, that would be a
break, Mace knew. The American Border Patrol had increased security
because of the upcoming Olympics. All commercial vehicles entering as
well as exiting the country were being noted and entered into the
agency's database.
" You want them to stop the car?" Cassiletti
asked.
"That would be the idea," Mace said, trying
to stifle his impatience.
" What should I tell them?"
" That the vehicle is physical evidence in a
homicide investigation, and that the driver and passengers are needed
for questioning. Tell them to proceed with caution."
"What are you going to do?" Cassiletti
asked.
" I'm going to head back to downtown. I've got a
meeting with Steve Brown."
" OCID?" Cassiletti asked, referring to the
Organized Crime Intelligence Division.
" Yeah, he said he might have some answers for
me." And given Steve's line of work, Mace knew anything he had
worth listening to wouldn't be said over the phone.
CHAPTER 10
He felt restless. The fluids coursing through him
screamed for release. The woman driver who had been tantalizing him
the entire evening drank like a man, he noted with disdain. Who did
she think she was? And she was noisy. The woman was unbearably full
of herself.
The hot liquid of his own juices bubbled within him,
the pressure of it building. He could feel the vessels behind his
eyes dilating, threatening to split his skull apart. It didn't stop
here, this distention of his fluids. The swelling reached even to the
marrow of his bones. He knew his cycles well. The force of it both
awed and—yes, he was man enough to admit it—at times the power
frightened him. What if he did nothing to answer this call? Would the
noodle-shaped pieces of his own precious brain spill out in red,
oozing gobs?
He tapped his fingers on
the rim of his glass, staring in the rippled mirror behind the cash
register, and visualized the pulsing organs of the loud, brash woman
seated at the end of the bar. He knew a lot about anatomy. Even as a
child he'd studied the miracle of the circulatory and digestive
systems. Often he'd been late to school, enthralled by the sight of
dead animals on the roadway, with their insides squished out into the
open, the tread of a tire imprinted on their fur and intestines, the
milky look of their open eyes. His mother thought him lazy. Lazy,
filthy monkey boy. But she had been wrong about him. Very wrong. He
realized he had an erection. He had to do something soon.
* * *
Mace drove to the headquarters of the Organized Crime
Intelligence Division. The OCID made its home in a windowless
three-story building across the street from the Greyhound bus station
on the edge of downtown. Cops in the know referred to the
headquarters as Fort Davis, in homage to the former chief, Ed
" I showed the picture of our witness to the
concierge at the Beverly Wilshire," Cassiletti said. "I've
got a name to go with the face: Victor Draicu."
" That checks with what I have," Mace said.
"What else you got?"
"Draicu is a Romanian diplomat. He's connected
with the Olympics."
Mace made a note to himself. That connection bore
some looking into. "Any luck with the cabbie who picked him up?"
he asked.
"Yea.h, I tracked the guy down. He remembered
the call. Said he took Draicu to titty bars by the airport and
dropped him off. I asked the hotel personnel when Draicu got in, but
nobody remembers seeing him until this morning, when a limo picked
him up."
" What make and color?" Mace asked.
" Gray Cadillac?" Cassiletti said.
" All right, good work," Mace said, wishing
the big man had half the confidence of Munch's daughter. "I need
you to call Border Patrol. You got a pen and paper?"
"Just a minute."
Mace glanced skyward while he heard Cassiletti fumble
for writing utensils.
" All right," Cassiletti said. "I'm
ready."
Mace read off the license number of Munch's limo.
"Find out if this vehicle has passed the checkpoint today and,
if so, when." If the limo had gone to Mexico, that would be a
break, Mace knew. The American Border Patrol had increased security
because of the upcoming Olympics. All commercial vehicles entering as
well as exiting the country were being noted and entered into the
agency's database.
" You want them to stop the car?" Cassiletti
asked.
"That would be the idea," Mace said, trying
to stifle his impatience.
" What should I tell them?"
" That the vehicle is physical evidence in a
homicide investigation, and that the driver and passengers are needed
for questioning. Tell them to proceed with caution."
"What are you going to do?" Cassiletti
asked.
" I'm going to head back to downtown. I've got a
meeting with Steve Brown."
" OCID?" Cassiletti asked, referring to the
Organized Crime Intelligence Division.
" Yeah, he said he might have some answers for
me." And given Steve's line of work, Mace knew anything he had
worth listening to wouldn't be said over the phone.
CHAPTER 10
He felt restless. The fluids coursing through him
screamed for release. The woman driver who had been tantalizing him
the entire evening drank like a man, he noted with disdain. Who did
she think she was? And she was noisy. The woman was unbearably full
of herself.
The hot liquid of his own juices bubbled within him,
the pressure of it building. He could feel the vessels behind his
eyes dilating, threatening to split his skull apart. It didn't stop
here, this distention of his fluids. The swelling reached even to the
marrow of his bones. He knew his cycles well. The force of it both
awed and—yes, he was man enough to admit it—at times the power
frightened him. What if he did nothing to answer this call? Would the
noodle-shaped pieces of his own precious brain spill out in red,
oozing gobs?
He tapped his fingers on
the rim of his glass, staring in the rippled mirror behind the cash
register, and visualized the pulsing organs of the loud, brash woman
seated at the end of the bar. He knew a lot about anatomy. Even as a
child he'd studied the miracle of the circulatory and digestive
systems. Often he'd been late to school, enthralled by the sight of
dead animals on the roadway, with their insides squished out into the
open, the tread of a tire imprinted on their fur and intestines, the
milky look of their open eyes. His mother thought him lazy. Lazy,
filthy monkey boy. But she had been wrong about him. Very wrong. He
realized he had an erection. He had to do something soon.
* * *
Mace drove to the headquarters of the Organized Crime
Intelligence Division. The OCID made its home in a windowless
three-story building across the street from the Greyhound bus station
on the edge of downtown. Cops in the know referred to the
headquarters as Fort Davis, in homage to the former chief, Ed
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