Steve Keller climbed out of the back seat of the Yellow Cab, dragging his flight bag behind him, and slammed the door. He stuffed the receipt into his jacket pocket as he squinted behind his dark glasses in the blazing sunlight. As the cab pulled away, he dropped the bag onto the sidewalk, shrugged out of his sportscoat and rolled up his sleeves.
It was just after ten o'clock in the morning, and already Pacific Avenue was bustling with locals and tourists, most of them dressed for the beach. Two comely young women, wearing brightly coloured sarongs over their bikini bottoms, eyed him coyly as they floated past. He returned the interested stare with a smile that dripped charm, delighted to hear their throaty laughter and see their backward glances.
Chuckling to himself, he picked up the flight bag, trying to decide which way to turn. He had figured out what he wanted to do and where he needed to go. But his first priority was to find a place to leave his bag for the day; he had plans, or so he hoped, for the night.
He spotted a small diner on the other side of the street and jaywalked across the busy avenue. There was one customer sitting at the counter when he dropped his bag onto an empty seat and sat across from it in a small booth near the large front windows. Almost immediately a middle-aged waitress, a coffee pot in one hand and a menu in the other, was at his elbow, filling the large white mug that was already on the table.
Surprised, he flinched slightly as he looked up and she grinned at him. "Sorry, honey, I didn't mean to startle you. You just looked like you could use a good strong cup a joe. Am I right?"
He chuckled and nodded. "I think you're absolutely right. Thank you." He took his dark glasses off and stuffed them in his shirt pocket.
She finished filling the mug, nodding towards his bag as she straightened up. "You just get to town?"
He nodded.
"Business or pleasure?" She asked as she placed the menu on the table in front of him. She had such a warm and inviting demeanor that he felt instantly comfortable in her presence.
He cocked his head and smiled ruefully. "Business, I'm afraid," he admitted, his eyes scanning the breakfast menu.
"Anything I can tempt you with?"
"How's your bagel and lox?" he asked, looking up at her with a cheeky grin.
"Like we imported it from New York," she said with a sassy laugh as she picked up the menu and began to turn away.
"With a schmeer?" he chuckled as she walked back towards the counter.
"Is there any other way?!" she called over her shoulder, her infectious laughter filling the small restaurant.
Laughing, Steve looked out the window, watching the steady stream of people passing by, most of them, from the looks of it, heading towards the world famous beach. His smile disappeared. He looked down at the table and picked up the coffee cup. As he took a sip, his eyes traveled around the diner again. This was the kind of place Mike would patronize for breakfast, he thought.
He put the cup down and reached into his right pants pocket for his wallet. By the time the waitress returned with his bagel, lox, cream cheese, capers and onion, he had a small colour photo in his hand. "Thanks," he said with a smile as she put the plate on the table in front of him. "Ah, can you tell me if you've seen this man in here for breakfast in the past couple of days?"
With a slight frown, the waitress took the photo and brought it closer to her face, slipping her reading glasses down from the top of her head and peering through them. She grimaced and shook her head. "No, sorry, honey, I haven't," she said almost sadly as she handed the small photo of he and Mike back. "He a friend of yours?"
Steve nodded as he put the picture back in his wallet. "Yeah."
"You looking for him?"
"Yeah… yeah, he came down here a couple of days ago… unexpectedly. I just want to find him and make sure he's okay."
"Well, good luck." She smiled warmly. "Enjoy your breakfast."
The bagel was as good as she'd said and he had just put his used napkin on the empty plate when she reappeared with the bill, setting it face down on the table near his elbow. He looked up and smiled. "Say, ah, I'd like to find someplace to leave my bag for the day while I look for my friend. Is there someplace around here that has lockers for rent?"
"Oh, sure. The bus station. It's just a couple of blocks that way." She pointed to the right. "You can't miss it."
"Thanks," he said, getting to his feet, taking out his wallet and leaving some bills on the table as he grabbed his bag and headed for the door.
She picked up the bills, immediately noticing the very generous tip. "Hey, ah," she called after him and he stopped, his hand on the door handle. "Thanks. And good luck finding your friend."
He grinned and nodded. "Thanks."
She watched as he stepped out into the heat and the sunshine and disappeared from view.
# # # # #
He found the bus station without any problem and located the bank of small lockers. There were several with keys still in the locks and, wanting to make sure he had one when he returned, stuck the required number of quarters in the slot, locked the door and took the key.
He found the men's room and entered a stall, carefully setting the flight bag on the toilet. He took off his jacket and shirt, hanging them up on the back of the door, and opened the bag.
When he emerged a few minutes later, he was wearing a rather loud sky blue, green and white short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt, an LA Dodgers baseball cap and Adidas sneakers. He returned to the locker and stuffed the flight bag inside then, stepping back out into the bright Southern California sunshine, took his dark glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on. Then, turning to his left, he started down the increasingly crowded sidewalk.
He knew where he was going and he knew what he wanted to do. He was going hunting.
# # # # #
Hiraro's was a funky little bar just off the main strip; from the outside, it looked like the kind of place that welcomed tourists as well as locals. A small sandwich board on the sidewalk near the front door boasted the best burgers and coldest beer in town.
Loitering on the sidewalk a half block away on the other side of the street, Steve glanced at his watch. 2:15. It was too early for the regular evening crowd to start arriving, and well before the six to six-fifteen timeframe that Renneker had clocked when the man he thought was Jeffrey Lonsdale had appeared.
Once more his eyes raked the street, looking for Mike's dark blue sedan. He had already strolled casually past several of the small hotels and motels in the area, checking out the cars in the parking lots, with no luck. He still had several more to go.
With a sigh, he started off in the opposite direction he had come, vowing to be back at Hiraro's well before six so he could observe everyone coming and going. The giggling of a small pack of lovely young women on their way to the beach caught his attention and he turned to see several of them looking at him over their shoulders. He paused, lifting his dark glasses and flashing a smile, and they giggled again, glancing at each other and grinning.
Shaking his head, he dropped his glasses back onto his nose as he turned and continued down the street, chuckling. As serious as his reason for being here was, Venice definitely had its fringe benefits.
# # # # #
Still batting zero, Steve slowly made his way back towards Hiraro's shortly after 4. He slowed his already somewhat languid pace about two blocks away from the popular little pub, his eyes continuing to scan the street.
He knew how his partner's mind worked. He knew Mike would take his time, reconnoiter the area for as long as it took to locate his quarry, learn his routine as best he could, and make sure all his ducks were in a row before making his move. It had only been a couple of days; chances were Mike had yet to strike. But with each passing minute, Steve realized it was becoming increasingly important that Mike be found before he did.
Almost subconsciously, his right hand went to his back pants pockets and he touched the mug photo of Jeffrey Lonsdale through the denim of his jeans. It was rapidly becoming a talisman for him, he thought with a dry chuckle.
Exhaling loudly, he looked up and down the street again. There were precious few empty parking spaces on the busy street. He tried to figure out where Mike would position himself to give him the best view of Hiraro's front door. The bar was in the middle of a short block, and could be seen from the corners of both sidestreets as well as for several hundred yards up and down the street it was on.
With an almost frustrated sigh, he turned around, deciding to circle the block he was already on and approach the bar from the other direction.
# # # # #
Tanned, good-looking young men, most of them blond and all of them carrying surfboards, crowded the narrow sidewalks of the sidestreet as Steve made his way around the block. He had never been to Venice before and the vibe he was getting from the small Los Angeles suburb was, he found, very appealing. After all this was over, he thought, he might have to make another trip down here for a vacation.
He had rounded the corner and was on his way back towards Hiraro's when he spotted it. A very familiar dark blue sedan was parked at the curb on the far side of the street. He could tell right away that it was in the perfect location to see the bar entrance without being obvious about it, and he smiled to himself.
He took a deep steadying breath, exhaling loudly, mostly in relief, then started across the street. He knew Mike's attention would be on the bar, and if he could manage to avoid being noticed in the passenger side mirror, he hoped he could approach the car unnoticed.
There were fewer people on the other side of the street and he cursed his luck. He tried to work out just how much of the sidewalk would be reflected in the side mirror, debating whether he should hug the buildings or the curb. He opted for the buildings, which also gave him the option of pretending to window shop and keeping his face partially hidden until he was close enough to the car to cross to the passenger side door.
His heart started to pound a little harder as he reached for the handle, hoping the door was unlocked. There was resistance as his thumb pressed the button and he heard the latch disengage. He yanked the door open.