Chapter 9
The telephone rang, and Remington reached a long arm over the back of the couch and picked it up. "Steele, here…" he said. "Yes…Yes…Uh-huh. Who am I speaking to? Oh, okay…yes, yes, I know it…right, the pink paper…nine. Okay." He hung up and turned back to an expectant Laura.
"Well, there go The Seven Thieves."
"What?"
"There's a showing of The Seven Thieves on NBC tonight – Edward G. Robinson, Rod Steiger, Twentieth Century Fox, 1960. A caper movie. I've never seen it, and was hoping to catch it. But it looks like I'll miss it now. That man on the phone…he said he had information about ancient manuscripts, and had heard I was interested in them. Wants to meet tonight."
"You mean there's an old movie you've never seen?" Laura asked, incredulously.
"Of all the movies, in all the towns, in all the world…Laura, there are many, many movies I've never seen – although it might not appear so."
"Wow..." Laura shook her head in disbelief. "So, the man who called – did he give his name? What time is the meeting – nine o'clock?"
"Yes, nine. And no, he didn't give his name. He just said, if I was interested, to meet on the west side of the Farmers Market at nine. He said he knew what I looked like, and that I could recognize him because he would be holding a copy of the Financial Times."
"Oh, I see. The Financial Times of London, it's printed on…"
"Pink colored paper, yes. Very distinctive. I think it's the only newspaper in the world that is printed that way. Quite a clever trick to use if you are meeting someone, actually, especially here in LA."
"Well, let's go!" said Laura, starting to rise.
"Just hold your horses, will you? We've got some time. The question is, do you think there's any danger to this rendezvous? After all, this fellow says he knows what I look like, and we're walking into the lion's den, aren't we?"
"I don't think so," replied Laura. "After all, the Farmers Market is a very public place, it's open quite late and there are sure to be a lot of people still around at nine. As long as we stay together with other people, I can't see any danger."
"Do you think we should get the agency gun?" Remington looked at her seriously. "I know you hate it when I say it, but ever since we've been together together, I've become, well, more concerned about you? Erm…I realize you say that you don't need me to protect you…but actually…I'm thinking more about myself. If anything happened to you, Laura – well, it would knock the stuffing out of me, I think. I've come rather to rely on having you about the place."
Laura looked into his blue, blue eyes, seeing sincerity there. She leaned over and kissed his lips. "I know," she said. "I feel the same way. But I really don't think there's any need for a gun this time. I'm sure we'll both be alright…we have each other. Now eat up."
Just over an hour later, Remington turned off of Fairfax Avenue into the vast Farmers Market complex and left the Auburn in the main parking lot on the north side. He and Laura then passed through one of the gates into the maze of buildings in the western part of the market. Although it was Thursday, the place was buzzing with people more like a Friday evening, since the next day was the Fourth of July and a public holiday. It was a few minutes before the nine o'clock assignation time.
"Let's just circulate," said Laura to Remington, "and see if we can spot anyone carrying a pink newspaper."
"Right."
The Farmers Market was essentially a large, outdoor mall which contained restaurants, fresh produce stores and market stalls, all housed in their own individual, sometimes substantial buildings. The buildings were laid out in a haphazard fashion, not in neat lines. People circulated around, shopping, or eating in the many restaurants.
As he and Laura wandered around, Remington saw a flash of pink. He nudged her, indicating a man of average height, who was standing outside Du-Par's restaurant, with an unmistakably pink colored newspaper under his arm. He was young and swarthy – Steele thought he might well be Jewish or Middle Eastern – and dressed in jeans and a casual jacket. They made their way towards him.
The man spotted them, and turned away from them, heading in the other direction. Laura and Remington increased their pace and followed him. Suddenly he ducked down a very narrow passage that ran between two of the buildings, as if deliberately trying to get away from them. Steele, followed by Laura, began to run. By the time they entered the passage, the man had nearly reached the end; when he did, he turned right and disappeared.
Just as he rounded the corner at the end of the passage, Remington saw the swarthy man standing fifteen yards ahead of him with his hand extended in front of him. "Gun, Laura!" shouted Remington, as he jumped back into the cover of the narrow passage, shielding Laura with his body. Two bullets hit the wall close to his head.
Wanting to startle their assailant, Remington let out a roar and kicked over a metal trash can, making as much noise as possible. He craned his neck around the corner; the man had already turned and was heading for the cars parked along the perimeter of the complex. Remington set off after the man, Laura close behind him. Ahead of him, he saw the main jump into a green sedan, pull away from the parking space and head towards the main gate at breakneck speed.
"Damn!" said Remington. He had just reached the place where the man had been parked, and he could see the car exiting through the main gate thirty or forty yards ahead.
Laura came up behind him, saw what had happened, and immediately turned, running for the Auburn in the main parking lot. "Wait, Laura," Remington called after her. "He's too far ahead of us, he will be gone by the time you've got the car."
Laura stopped running, turned around and came back towards him. "Did you get the license plate?" she asked, slightly out of breath.
"No, he was only a few yards away, but he'd removed it. Pretty daring, actually – if he'd been stopped by a cop, he'd have been in trouble. All I can say is that it was a recent model, green Cutlass Supreme with a black vinyl roof."
Laura stooped and carefully picked up the newspaper the swarthy man had been carrying. "Well, we have a good clue here. His newspaper. The wholesale distributors might be able to tell us who sells this paper – it is pretty rare in LA."
"Of course, of course. And there are the bullets." Remington led the way back to the passage they had come out of, returning to the spot where the shooting had occurred. He used the pocket knife Laura kept in her purse to extract one of the bullets from the wall where they were embedded. "We'll take this one with us now, but we'll leave the other one in situ. The police forensic experts might want to see it in place."
"The police? You want to tell the cops about this?" Laura sounded surprised.
"It would be a sucker play not to, sweetheart!" said Steele, affecting a Humphrey Bogart-ish, nasal twang. "That guy just tried to make us sleep the big sleep."
"I was thinking about the client. But you're right, maybe we should tell the police," she conceded.
