The Rings of Hesaurun Page 16

  Stone eyed Evers with a blank stare. The car was filled with a blue-gray haze. He didn’t care about smoking with the windows rolled up, and oblivious to the fact that the ashtray was already overflowing. He had more important things to think about, such as how Chad Evers knew his full name, which galled him to no end. Once that spark started, it just kept on smoldering under the surface. It was only a matter of time before it ignited into a full-blown firestorm.

  Evers’ address was certain; Stone was sure about that. All he was looking for were patterns in the man’s movements and habits. When he saw the man enter the Otterman Building and disappear behind the big glass doors, Stone nodded and pursed his lips in satisfaction. “Five-nineteen,” he breathed as he stubbed out a spent cigarette in the ashtray. Then he put the car in gear and drove away. For the moment, he had what he needed from Chad Evers, so he headed to his next stop, Mayor Langley’s Alki Beach address in West Seattle.

  Fifteen minutes later, the black Ford sedan pulled off the road, into a turnout, and parked. Half a block away, the Langley home sat on the high bank above Alki Beach. Stone was close enough to observe any vehicles entering or leaving the driveway. The turnout was part of a well-maintained beach access area featuring grass, trees, picnic tables, and a phone booth. Seattle’s picturesque skyline sparkled in the evening mist across Elliot Bay. The city lights reflected off the low-hanging clouds.

  From his vantage point, Stone had an unobstructed view of the house. The place was well-lit; it seemed that every light in the house was on, although he wasn’t close enough to make out any details inside. Familiarizing himself with the mayor’s movements would take time, so he pushed his seat back and made himself comfortable. He hoped to learn when the man came and went, how he dressed, and what his family looked like so Langley could be properly identified. He didn’t want any mistakes.

  Seeing the phone booth gave him an idea. Stone still had the crumpled page in his pocket he had torn from the phonebook with Langley’s address and phone number. Since he had the phone number, it would be simple enough to call the house to see if he was at home. He liked the idea, so he decided to run with it.

  Stone went to the booth, shoved a nickel in the slot, dialed the number, then waited for the call to connect. A woman answered after three rings.

  “Hello,” she said, a statement rather than a question. “Good evening,” Stone said, using the friendliest voice and good manners he could muster. “This is Mr. Gordon with City Hall. Mayor Langley is scheduled to attend a council meeting here at five this evening, but we haven’t seen him. Can you confirm that he is on the way?”

  “Yes, he is here. Would you like me to remind him?” “Yes, please,” Stone said, then added, “for the record, may I ask who I am speaking to?”

  “Of course, this is Mrs. Langley.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Langley.”

  Stone hung up the phone. “Bingo,” he whispered, satisfied the ruse had worked.

  A few minutes later, a yellow late-model Oldsmobile sedan drove down the driveway, rounded the corner, then turned toward downtown Seattle. As it passed by, he noticed the driver wore a tan fedora and matching overcoat, but it wouldn’t matter much; that big yellow car would be hard to miss. The Ford fired up, then followed from a distance before the headlights came on.

  The big Oldsmobile parked in the gated lot behind the City-County Building, home to both city and county governments and the courts. Knowing there was no city council meeting, Stone didn’t expect Langley to stay long, so he slid into a space opposite the parking lot, leaving the motor running with the lights off.

  Sure enough, a few minutes later, Langley’s car approached the gate. The attendant waved Langley through—but rather than turning south toward Alki Beach, the vehicle continued east and then north on Fourth Avenue. Finally, Langley’s car pulled into the drive in front of the Olympic Hotel. Stone idled slowly by as the man in the tan overcoat and matching hat climbed out of the car. He watched as the mayor turned the keys over to the parking attendant and strolled inside. Langley was a regular, so he knew no one would question his presence there on a Friday evening.

  Stone circled the block once then parked his Ford on the street. Once inside, he had a pretty good idea of where to find Langley. By the time he entered the lobby, Langley was just leaving the Garden Room with a good-looking blond on his arm. Thinking quick, Stone plopped into an out-of-the-way chair and watched from a distance as the couple approached the concierge desk rather than the front desk as expected, presumably to avoid attention.

  After warmly welcoming the couple, the prim attendant, a small man in a black uniform, went to the front desk and retrieved a room key. The concierge handed the key to Langley with a nod, and Langley slipped him a tip. As the couple ascended the stairs to the balcony where the elevators were located, Stone concluded the concierge was in cahoots with Langley. He considered that a good thing because he intended to strong-arm the twerp for information and knew right where to find him.

  Stone moved the Ford to the hotel employees’ parking lot then waited by the door smoking while watching for the concierge to get off work. A few minutes after 9 PM, the concierge came out of the door wearing casual clothes with a garment bag over his shoulder. Stone stuck his foot out as he passed, tripped him, which sent the man sprawling face-down on the concrete walkway.

  Stone pounced on the little man like an angry grizzly. In one swift motion, he slammed a knee into his spine and twisted an arm behind his back. A big hand covered his mouth to muffle the cries of pain. As he pushed his weight into the man’s spine and twisted his arm, the muffled screams were barely audible through Stone’s thick hand.

  “Quiet now,” Stone breathed in the man’s ear as he let the pressure off the distorted arm. Presently, the concierge became silent, other than the sound of heaving breaths and gurgling taken through his bleeding nose.

  “That’s a good boy,” Stone soothed. “I am going to move my hand from your mouth, and when I do, you are going to tell me the name of the woman who was with Langley tonight. If you yell or don’t get the right answer from you, I’m going to pull your arm off and shove it down your throat with my foot. Understood?”

  The concierge whimpered, then nodded eagerly. Stone cautiously loosened his grip from over the concierge’s mouth, then out came the right answer.

  “Sylvia Moretti, Sylvia Moretti!” repeated the panicked concierge.

  “And what else?”

  “Attorney. For the city, I think.”

  “You better be right because you don’t want me to make another visit—do you?” Stone hissed.

  “No!” the man mumbled, shaking his head vigorously.

  “Now, you haven’t seen me, have you? And you want to keep it that way— right?”

  “Yes!” the concierge cried, nodding enthusiastically.

  “You are catching on. That’s good,” Stone commended. “I’m going to leave now, but if I get the slightest idea you moved a muscle before I am long gone, I’m going to come back, and you aren’t going to like it if I do. Got it?”

  Stone drove away in the Ford without looking back at the concierge lying face-down at the back of the big hotel. He didn’t need confirmation that he had frightened the little man enough that he would stay that way long after he was gone.

  As Stone headed toward the Vista Hotel, he began planning for tomorrow, seeing no reason to tell Evers anything he learned that day, other than that he had tailed the mayor and learned nothing. The next day promised to be an interesting one.

  ________________________

  The day began for Stone like most any other, with breakfast at the Market Diner. Although he now had a car, he chose to walk rather than drive the short distance and then have to fight to find a parking place near Pike Market on a busy Saturday morning. Stone left the Vista Hotel at precisely 8 AM, walking briskly. With a clear sky, the temperature was just above freezing. The crisp salt air had the faint smell of fresh fish drifting in from the market.
Checking his watch as he arrived at the diner, Stone saw he was two minutes ahead of schedule. He liked that and commended himself for making good time.

  After breakfast, a second visit to the library yielded him the information he was looking for on Sylvia Moretti. According to public records, she earned her law degree at USC. Sylvia Elena Moretti began her career in the LA County Planning Department. In 1937, she was by the City of Seattle Legal Department. She was single, thirty-one years old, and lived in a downtown apartment. Sylvia’s address and phone numbers were published in the phone book.

  Stone decided to have a gander at Moretti’s apartment building on First Hill, a ten-minute drive from the library. After circling the block a few times to familiarize himself with the area, he parked and watched the building for an hour. The recently-built two-story brownstone was in a good neighborhood with various shops and restaurants lining the street. He judged the place to be a sensible choice for a single female professional. At 11:10 AM, Sylvia could be anywhere, so he decided to move. He couldn’t wait all day. He didn’t see her as being a key player anyway.

  The next stop would be Evers’ apartment, but since it was a weekend, Stone didn’t expect to learn much there either. But he wanted to cover his bases and didn’t want to miss anything. Just as he finished parking, Stone was stunned to see Chad Evers and Sylvia Moretti leaving the Otterman Building walking arm-in-arm. “Bingo!” he exclaimed at the sight of them strolling together.

  Stone laughed hard, pounding on the steering wheel as the two love birds walked in lock-step as if strolling down the aisle to the tune of the wedding march. He had gotten lucky with this sweet little tidbit. A few moments later, and he would have missed it entirely. The telling scene had answered a lot of questions, including who was trying to blackmail the mayor and why. This was going to be a good day; Stone could feel it.

  Stone’s suspicion that Evers was a devious political climber had just been proven beyond all doubt. Didn’t that make him the perfect candidate for any public office? Stone laughed at his little joke, but he also believed it. Chad Evers had a gift for politics; the man could go far.

  Yet Stone was stumped. So many questions were answered by this one swing of the bat that he didn’t know what to do next. He didn’t want to derail the Chad Evers money train, either. It was just too lucrative. Not yet, anyway. He had the answers he needed, so he saw no point in following Evers around town anymore. Maybe it was time to take a more direct approach.

  Chad and Sylvia returned carrying grocery bags, which surprised Stone. As they disappeared inside the Otterman Building, he wondered what it meant—if anything. Were they simply shopping together, or were they cohabitating?

  Thirty-three minutes later, Sylvia answered that question when she exited the building alone, flagged down a cab, and left in it. Stone liked to keep track of how much time people spent on things. For instance, time said a lot about what people were doing when they were out of sight. Thirty-three minutes was enough time to ride an elevator, put away groceries, chat with a lover, and be back on the curb. But thirty-three minutes was not enough time to engage in a proper tryst. No self-respecting woman of Sylvia Moretti’s caliber would respect that.

  At 3 PM, Stone decided he had enough of sitting in the car, so he walked to a nearby newsstand, bought a newspaper and a coke, then sat on a bench with one eye on the paper, the other on the front door of the Otterman Building.

  ________________________ Chad Evers’ seven-room view apartment on the Otterman Building’s top floor was in a prime location, within walking distance of almost anything anyone could possibly want or need. Restaurants, shops, and businesses of almost every type and ethnicity catered to the residents and sightseers of Pioneer Square. All one had to do was walk out the front door, walk half a block, and everything was right there for the picking.

  The suite featured hardwood floors covered in thick throw rugs, complementing the sumptuous leather sofa, matching chairs, tables, and lamps. Coordinated wallpaper, all planned, purchased, delivered and installed by an interior design firm.

  The large picture window provided an excellent view of Elliot Bay, the islands in the background, with the Olympic Mountains as the backdrop. The late afternoon sun showed through the shades, producing a labyrinth of lines throughout the room like the lines on a legal pad. A jazz quartet played on the radio.

  Chad Evers opened the hall closet and hung his coat on a hangar. Then he knelt, pulled a large black metal lunchbox and a softball-sized rock from the closet floor, then set them on the wooden coffee table with a thud. Chad took a moment to prepare himself, but this was something he had done countless times. He knew what to do. When he was ready, he held out his right hand and spread his fingers, exposing a copper-colored ring. Chad gathered his thoughts, then uttered the word, “Gold.”

  The air quivered about him, much like a desert mirage. Suddenly the rock was transformed into solid gold, shining in the afternoon light. Chad grinned a lopsided grin of approval, then wrapped the now-huge golden nugget in a newspaper and placed it in the lunchbox. After stuffing the box with wadded-up newspapers to keep the big chunk of gold from rolling around, he carefully buckled down the lid. Once done, Chad dialed a well-used phone number from memory.

  “Ace Loan & Pawn,” a raspy voice proclaimed. “Good afternoon, Chad Evers here,” he announced politely,” I have another nugget to sell. Are you available today, sir?”

  “I’ll be here ‘til six.”

  “Very good, sir. I’ll see you in fifteen minutes then. Goodbye.”

  ________________________

  Stone spotted Evers the moment he left the Otterman Building, his eyes drawn immediately to the big black lunchbox cradled under one arm. The sight of it immediately caught his attention. In his mind, there was no universe in which Chad Evers, the effeminate politician, and the steel lunchbox went together. Something was afoot and he knew it. It was a good day indeed!

  Shaking his head at the sight, Stone marveled at the unique talent Evers had for irritating him. Whatever the occasion he always seemed to be overdressed, over-sincere, and too-well mannered. His tan slacks, blue wool coat, matching fedora, and polished leather shoes, combined with the lunchbox, was living proof. The man was dressed as if he might be on his way for tea with the Queen, Stone chuckled to himself, but with a big black workman’s metal lunchbox in hand! Who did Evers think he was fooling?

  Evers walked at a brisk pace, headed south toward Pioneer Square. Stone checked his watch, jumped out of the Ford, then hurried to get on Evers’ tail. Keeping his distance and enough people between them prevented him from being recognized should Evers look back.

  But Stone noticed something odd. The lunchbox looked heavy, and something about the way Evers carried it bothered him. Rather than using the handle, Evers cradled it like a football, a very heavy football, and kept changing from one arm to the other for relief. Whatever he had in the box had to be very heavy. But what, a cannonball?

  After four blocks, Evers turned right on Jackson Street then entered a pawn shop. Stone crossed the street to be in a good position to follow without being seen when Evers left the shop. Ten minutes later, Evers exited, again with the lunchbox. However, now he held it by the handle. There was no question the lunchbox was now empty, and whatever was inside it had been sold to the pawnbroker.

  Blasted Evers did it again! Stone’s mind rumbled. Infuriating me in his own special way! Stone thought he had seen everything until this. What in the world would make a neat-nick politician decide to carry something heavy in a metal lunchbox, then sell whatever it was to a pawnbroker? He could think of nothing, but he was certain of one thing—the lunchbox was Evers’ not-so-clever attempt to fit in among the work-a-day pedestrians.

  No doubt about it decided Stone. Evers had hauled something valuable in that lunchbox and wanted to draw as little attention as possible. What could be more natural than a man carrying his lunchbox? But what he was too dim to realize was that he stuck out like a sore thumb
dressed like a Hollywood elite and lugging a lunchbox like a football. Any mugger worth his salt that saw that would have thumped his melon and lifted it in a New York minute!

  While Chad Evers headed toward home, Stone followed, wondering if what he had just witnessed was the Chad Evers money train in action. What else could it be? Evers seemed to be made of money, but other than his job with the city, he didn’t appear to have anything else going. It was obvious he had just sold something, but what? Lead sandwiches?

  Not knowing what was in the box burned Stone. Clenching his teeth in rage, he balled his fists and stopped where he stood, glowering. Anger overtook him searching for an outlet. Instant satisfaction might come from strangling Evers, but he couldn’t do that, not yet, not without getting some answers first. No, that could wait—until later.

  Steaming like a boiler about to burst, Stone set his jaw, turned heel, and stomped back down the hill toward the Ace Loan & Pawn. Perhaps a little persuasion would loosen some lips or a few teeth, he thought.

  Before entering the pawnshop, the big man peeked in the front window to see if the store was occupied. It wasn’t. The place was empty other than a small bald man seated behind the counter—the owner, he guessed. Stone took a cleansing breath before pulling the door open and tried his best to look like a shopper. Once inside, he made a scene of searching the shelves for something interesting.

  “Do you have any watches?” he called to the bald man as he approached the counter.

  “Yes, sir, we have watches—right here in this case. I’m Steve,” the little man added, “let me show you.”

  The moment Stone came within arm’s reach, he wrapped one of his big hands around Steve’s skinny neck and pulled him across the counter until their eyes met. Steves’ eyes were wide as saucers, but Stone’s were the eyes of an enraged bull. Then without forethought or warning, Stone slammed the little man’s face into the hardwood countertop with a sickening crunch as wood splintered and bones shattered.

  “The man with the lunchbox. What did he sell you?” Stone roared, but the bloody mess that was Steve’s face offered no response. Furious now, he shook the limp body. The head flopped freely from side-to-side spraying blood and splattering gore over all the countertop and in Stone’s face. Disgusted, he dropped the body, leaving it hanging over the display case, and wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve.