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Slippery When Wet
Chapter Three
Joe had paced his office most of the night.
He had labored over his report to Lew about last night's incident. This was the part of being a detective he didn't enjoy and probably the reason he never continued on to law school. At least he didn't have to worry about so and so versus so and so and whatever court ruling that applied. He tried to make it "just the facts, ma'am," but something about the whole situation wasn't right.
He had gone home earlier and changed clothes. On the drive back to Intertect he had nothing but questions and no answers. Was Richards killed because he found out something about the leaks in Project Moriarty? If he suspected something, why didn't he tell Lew? And what about Richards' last words—tape and coffee? What kind of tape? Video tape? Cassette tape? Scotch tape? What about coffee? If it wasn't Richards, or Wright or Carol, it has to be somebody outside of Intertect. But who, other than those three, had access to that information?
Lew had mentioned about working with UCLA and UC Santa Barbara. Were the leaks coming from those locations and not Intertect? And what was Richards doing in the break room of the UCLA computer science building? When Joe entered the break room, Richards had been peering at the back of the coffee machine. Was he trying to break in? Get his quarter back?
Joe dashed the Intertect Manual against the wall. He was stumped and he was tired. His head reeled. Too many questions and not enough answers.
It was 7 AM and he was sure Lew was at his desk wondering where his report was. He needed a break. Coffee and he would finish his report and his career at Intertect. Yeah, coffee sounded good about now.
o0O0o
Wickersham watched on his monitor as Mannix struggled with the report just as he struggled with telling Marcia, Brady's wife, that he wasn't coming home. Wickersham had already made an appointment with Intertect legal counsel, Ed Graham, about assuming any debts that Brady still owed to include financial arrangements for the college education of Brady's two sons and the mortgage on his home. No family of an Intertect employee would suffer any financial setbacks while he owned the company. Later, after the funeral, he would talk to Marcia about what type of job she might be interested in doing.
Earlier that morning, he personally cleaned out Brady's desk. He packed away the memories of their friendship in a box. That was all that was left, memories and photographs. By now everyone at Intertect knew of Brady's death. The grapevine still had computers beat when it came to spreading bad news.
"Excuse me, Mr. Wickersham." He recognized one of his junior programmers. Cooper was his name.. "Brady requested a data inquiry. What do you want me to do with it? I mean, Brady's . . ."
"Just put it in the box."
Wickersham had walked on. His mind had been on planning a visit to Marcia to help with the funeral. With the military's permission he hoped to have the casket bearers be a combination of Marines and Intertect employees.
o0O0o
Joe entered the canteen. Over at a vending machine, he saw Greg loading sodas with practiced ease.
Joe dropped the coins in the coffee machine and received his cup. He spied the donuts and danishes on a tray on a nearby counter top. He turned to Greg.
"Hey, are these free?" He waved his hand at the table.
Greg looked up from his task. "Yeah, compliments of Royal Vending Services. Every payday Friday."
"Thanks." Joe grabbed a cheese danish. He could think of worse ways to start a day. He was almost out of the canteen when he heard a slam, a short cry and "sookim sin!" His step faltered; the coffee cup in his hand turned cold. Joe cocked his head, "Are you alright?"
Greg jerked his injured hand back and forth, stopping to suck the fingers. "I'm okay," he said through his digits. "Just got my fingers in the way."
Joe smiled and nodded. He chewed a bit of the danish and continued into the hallway.
Sookim sin. He hadn't heard those words since Teddy Federov called him that when they were boys in Summer Grove. The curse was Russian for son-of-a-bitch. He ditched the coffee and the danish in the first trash can he saw.
o0O0o
Wickersham rose from his desk. "Come with me," he said to Pender. "What is your opinion of Joe Mannix?"
"I don't think Mannix was Intertect material," Pender said as he trailed Wickersham.
"You don't? Explain."
Pender cleared his throat. "I realize he's a friend of yours, but he constantly flaunted the rules. He's wandered off, and he's not disciplined. He just does his own thing, sir."
"And you think that invalidated his worth to Intertect?"
"Yes, sir."
"Maybe a little chaos is a good thing."
"Sir?"
They reached Hayden's cubbyhole. The smell of solder and burning wires filled the small space.
"Hayden."
"Mr. Wickersham!" the engineer jumped from his stool.
"Where did Vehicle 71 wander off to?"
Hayden leaped to the rolling map display. The blip winked. He fiddled with the knobs.
"Well, yes, after triangulating between here, our antenna at the Thompson building and—"
"I understand triangulation. Where is it right now?"
"Uh, right now, uh, you realize I haven't gotten all the, uh, bugs—"
"Hayden!"
"Downtown, somewhere around the Hall of Records," he said quickly.
"Thank you, Hayden."
"Yes, sir." Hayden escaped back to his workbench.
"You can track his vehicle?" Pender asked. "So that's why you had me dispense with the driving test."
"Yes, one of Hayden's pet projects. I thought Mannix would be a good test."
"That's an understatement."
"Pender, don't interfere with what he's doing. In fact, help him if he asks for it."
"Sir? You're not going to fire him?."
"No. I'll explain later." Wickersham removed his glasses from his pocket and put them on. "Oh, and Pender don't tell Mannix about the tracker."
"Sir, I know Intertect is your company—"
"You would do well to remember that."
o0O0o
Joe stepped from the Los Angeles County Hall of Records with notes in hand. After following Greg to a one-story concrete building on Terminal Island, Joe decided his latest suspect might stay put for a while, so he started investigating the Royal Vending Services Company. As of yet he wasn't convinced that there wasn't some insider helping the Russians. So instead of filling out the proper forms and asking for a data run from Intertect's Data Operations, the class he was supposed to be in yesterday, he was doing it the old fashioned way—one government office at a time. If Royal Vending and Greg were involved, and after hearing that Russian curse he was convinced that Greg had to be, he didn't want to alert anyone at Intertect that he might be on to them.
Looking in the Yellow Pages he found the Royal Vending Services phone number. He dialed, but it just rang and rang. The address listed with the phone number was not the Terminal Island address he followed Greg to. He'd drive by that address later.
Standing in line dealing with the civil service mentality made him hungry. But before heading to Clifton's, he had a call to make. He dialed the private number Lew gave him from the car phone. He had forgotten how handy these things were. He really had to get one of these.
"Wickersham."
"Am I still fired?" Joe asked.
"Not until you turn in your report, my badge, and my car."
"So I'm still on the payroll?"
"Apparently you're on to something. I'd be a fool to fire you now."
"You'll be relieved that I don't think it's anyone from Intertect."
"Who are you watching? Better still why are you watching? Who is it? What have you found out? Mannix, so help me—"
"Later, Lew, I'm still confirming suspicions." He cut the connection.
"Mannix!" Wickersham let the phone receiver dangle. At least ten minutes of his day was becoming devoted to cursing his decision to hire Joe Mannix.
o0O0o
Joe almost forgot Art Malcolm was on loan to Hollywood Division. He had been surprised when he had arrived at Shakespeare Bridge as the on-call homicide detective.
Joe hadn't been in this precinct for a while. Unlike some of the other divisions, the homicide detectives worked out of an open area with desks instead of offices. Joe found Art at one of those desks assembling a blue binder, the Richards' murder book.
"This isn't a social call, is it? I'm up to my neck in Richards' murder and about a half dozen other cases. And I've got a promotion board next week," Art said.
"What's up with the autopsy? Anything I should know about?
"Not yet. You were there. Is there anything I should know about? What did you not tell me?"
"What makes you say that?" Joe often thought that if he had taken Art's advice years ago to join the LAPD he might be working with his friend instead of using him as an information source.
"I know you."
Joe propped a hip on the desk. "Okay, are you ready for this? I think Richards tripped over a Russian spy ring."
Art sat straighter in his chair. "At Intertect?"
"Yeah, Lew brought me in to help him find the leak. You know the story. Lew called in his marker."
"Isn't that FBI territory? Hanson must be steaming."
"The top secret project Intertect's working on is for them. If I don't find out who's leaking information, Lew loses a quarter of a million."
"Pocket change to him. What's in it for you?"
"I get my license back."
If Art had been a fish out of water, he would have been gasping. "Who the hell does he know? Claman will never let that happen."
"If Lew says he can do it, I believe him."
"If he can do that, tell him to put in a good word for me at my promotion board next week."
"Going up for lieutenant?"
"Yeah, third time. It's now or never. Look, until the autopsy gets done, you probably know more than I do. SID's going over Richards' car now. I'll be canvassing the neighborhood for witnesses later. Maybe get a little more information on the car that almost ran you over."
"So, no other suspects?"
"You got anybody in mind?"
"I may have someone for you later."
"I'd rather know now than later. Your later usually arrives with dead bodies and more paperwork."
o0O0o
Saturday's warm sun hit the right side of his face. Joe awakened. He was supposed to be on surveillance. He quickly assessed the area around the warehouse. Only thing different was the sun instead of the stars. He stretched. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Greg had nothing to do with leaking information. How did he get it anyway? Was he working with someone in Intertect? Was it Brady? Is that why Brady was killed? Everything looked so different when daylight shone on it.
He rubbed his chin. He needed a shave, a shower, a smoke and some food and not in that order, but first since no one was home, he wanted to take a look around Royal Vending Services offices.
The cinder block building was a single floor. He tried the windows and doors nearest the street, locked. On the backside of the building away from people and traffic, he found a door with a six-paned window in it. He broke the pane nearest the door knob. He reached in and unlocked the door.
It was a typical office except for the refrigerated glass cases. Cellophane wrapped sandwiches were lined up on its shelves. Cases of sodas stood in a corner, boxes of coffee and creamer next to them.
Everything about the office was neat and tidy. A few pieces of paper dotted the the two desks. The ingle filing cabinet wasn't locked. Except for the top drawer, there was nothing in it. The papers on the desks were bills of lading and sales receipts. As he rummaged through the office he thought, if he was a spy he wouldn't leave evidence around that could convict him either. No, this might be their office of record but this wasn't where they did their business. Time to bring Intertect into this and for breakfast. He'd leave a message for Lew to meet him at the Sixth Avenue Bridge tomorrow morning. He might have something by then.
o0O0o
"May I see your badge, sir?" the guard asked.
It was late Saturday morning at the Intertect Building. Joe fished in his jacket pocket and brought out his ID. He hoped this guard wasn't the one he'd slugged the other night.
The guard's eyes narrowed when he checked the badge. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be on duty with me this morning?"
Joe had forgotten about his training schedule. "Oh, didn't you get the schedule change? Mallory should be here instead of me."
The guard made a face. "I don't think so. Let me check with the watch commander."
"You don't have to do that."
"I insist." The guard picked up the phone.
Joe could do nothing but wait. Lew would get upset if he punched out another guard.
The guard placed his hand over the handset. "Pender says he'd like to see you upstairs. Now."
Joe nodded; he was going to go up there later anyway. He walked over to the bank of elevators and pressed the up button. When he turned back to look at the guard, he had come from behind the desk with the phone still in his hand. He was reporting to Pender Joe's every move.
An elevator arrived and Joe entered. He saw the guard return to his post as the elevator doors closed. Joe punched the eleven button and then hit the two. He guessed that Pender would be waiting on him when the doors opened at eleven. He didn't have much time before he came looking for him.
Joe barreled down the two flights of stairs. He slipped into the security office and into the little alcove with the video recording equipment. Pender said they kept up to a month of tapes mainly for training the new operatives and guards on how to use the equipment. Time to see if he had paid enough attention during class.
Pender had likened the controls to using a visual reel-to-reel tape deck. Same controls but with pictures, a date stamp and a time-code in the lower right corner of the screen. The tapes were numbered for the days of the month; he searched for tape 28. He shoved the tape into the second deck and watched as the second video screen came to life.
He fast-forwarded through the day. He was interested in only what was going on after hours. He wanted to see if anybody stopped by on Thursday night. The tape switched between the four camera views every few seconds. Right before 6 PM, the person he saw enter the building stunned him—Greg, the canteen services guy.
"You couldn't follow instructions if your life depended on it."
Joe turned to see Pender standing behind him. His TO's jaw was clamped tighter than shark on dinner.
"I'm already toast here so whether I show up for guard duty or not makes no difference," Joe said.
"I know."
"Did Lew tell you why I'm here?"
"Despite what you think about me and Intertect, I am a detective. I can still put two and two together without the aid of a computer. Project Moriarty."
"Yeah. Lew asked for my help and I'm trying, despite your best efforts at indoctrinating me in the Intertect way." Joe pointed at the video screen. "Does he look familiar?" Joe had rewound the tape and paused it. The time code read 1750 hours.
"What's Greg doing in here this late in the day?" Pender asked.
"I'd bet if I fast forward the tape, Brady Richards'll show up." He did so and three minutes later Brady did. No sound on the tape but it looked like Richards was questioning the night guard before he moved out of camera range. Joe fast-forwarded and saw Greg then Richards leave.
"You think Richards is involved?"
"Maybe, maybe not. The guard look familiar?"
"Yeah, that's Ben. Let's go ask him."
Joe and Pender returned to the lobby.
"You got him straightened out, Marty?" the guard asked.
"He's okay, Ben. Tell me about Greg, the guy from Royal Vending Services. He came in Thursday night."
"Yeah, he came in just after I took over the desk."
"Did he say why he was here?"
"Yeah, he said he lost his wallet and wanted to take a quick look upstairs in the canteen for it. Everybody knows Greg. He came right back down."
"What about Brady Richards? Did he say something to you when he came in?" Joe asked.
"In fact he asked about Greg."
"What did he ask?"
"Just if I had seen him." The guard looked from Pender to Joe and back again. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothing to worry about, Ben," Pender said, but the guard didn't look relieved.
Joe and Pender took the elevator up. "So you think Greg and Richards are involved?" Pender asked.
"Maybe. Too many coincidences."
"Come with me."
Joe followed Pender into Wickersham's office. Pender pushed an on switch and the video console on the right side of Lew's desk came on.
"Does Lew know you know about this?"
"Probably." Pender manipulated the video tape deck under the console. "When Mr. Wickersham isn't looking at anything specific the deck records from cameras on the eleventh floor. Some of the cameras only he has access to. Maybe there's enough tape to go back to Thursday night."
The video deck stopped whirring. "Damn, maybe not." Pender pushed the play button. A camera caught Greg getting into the elevator to leave. As soon as the doors closed, Richards came into view. He caught the next elevator. Pender fast-forwarded through the rest of the tape. Nothing else was of consequence.
"Shouldn't we tell Mr. Wickersham?" Pender asked.
"All we know for sure is that Richards might have been following Greg."
Pender turned off the deck, closed the console and Joe followed him out of Wickersham's office.
"What can we do about this?"
"Run a data inquiry on Greg—"
"Saunders." Pender finished. "That was on the name patch on his uniform."
" And put a call out to all Intertect operatives and guards on duty to report any sightings of that purple and white cargo van he drives. A Dodge A100 Tradesman van. I saw it parked at the loading dock the other day."
"Was that where you were instead of class?"
"Look, my working here is a one-time deal with Lew. I'm no good with a lot of rules and regulations and he knows it. After this is solved, I'm gone."
Pender led Joe to an office off the computer room, the watch commander's office. There was a radio console located on one wall and a desk with a labeled cubby holes filled with forms. A cot was against the back wall. Joe remembered on weekends the watch commander had twenty-four hour duty. Pender pulled out a form and filled it out. He walked into the computer room. All Joe heard was the word, "Rush." Before Pender could take two steps the programmer called him back. They talked a minute and Pender returned to the office.
"That's funny. Brady did an inquiry on Greg Saunders too. Mike's recalling the data now."
"When?"
"He asked for it on Wednesday."
"And?"
Mike stepped into the office and handed Pender a computer readout. He scanned it.
"Greg Saunders didn't exist before six months ago," Pender said.
"Doesn't Intertect run background checks on the companies and people doing business with it?"
"Technically Tishman Plaza Business Office does the contracts for building services including vending. When we moved into this building, Royal was already contracted. Since the company only had access to the canteen, there was no reason to check them out."
"So much for security. Is there a home address in there?"
"1401 Grand Street."
"Phony. I checked it out yesterday. It's a hobby shop." Joe turned to leave.
"Where're you going? Are you forgetting you still work for Intertect? You're supposed to be on duty with me."
"You're kidding, right?"
Pender grinned. "Yeah, I am."
"Now that Intertect's on the job I'm going home to get some sleep in my bed for a change. Call me if anyone catches sight of the van. And don't worry about informing Lew. I'll be seeing him tomorrow morning. I'll let him know what we've found out."
o0O0o
Joe scolded himself as he raced across the Heim Bridge from Terminal Island into Wilmington. He was already late for his meeting with Lew and he had nothing to offer him but speculation. He thought about using the car phone to let Lew know he was on the way but he preferred not to be cussed out over the phone. That could wait. The drive would give him time to think, time to put the pieces of this puzzle together.
While he was asleep, comfy in his bed, Royal Vending Services had moved out. Looked like in a hurry too by the mess in the formerly neat office. Probably found the broken glass he'd left. He slapped his steering wheel. He might have just missed them.
Joe was positive Greg and Royal Vending Services were behind the leaks and Richards' death. Maybe Richards had discovered what they were up to. Maybes, all he had were maybes.
"What the hell?" As he came off the bridge onto the Terminal Island Freeway, his mind registered the purple Royal Vending Services van in the shipping container lot to his right. He glimpsed a silver car next to it. He mashed the gas pedal. Next exit coming up.
o0O0o
Wickersham drove with his left hand and dialed his car phone with his right. Mannix hadn't bothered to show up for their final morning meeting nor had he answered the phone in Vehicle 71. He had been positive Mannix was onto something. That was the only reason he didn't have Pender drag him back to Intertect to finish his report and cash him out.
"Watch commander. Pender speaking."
Wickersham glanced at his Bulova. 6:25 AM. "Pender, this is Wickersham. Where the hell is Mannix?"
"Right away, Mr. Wickersham."
He heard the phone click into hold mode. Already on his way to Intertect, he was about to cross onto Wilshire when Pender returned.
"Mr. Wickersham, looks like he's somewhere around Wilmington near the Heim Bridge. Possibly Terminal Island."
"Can't you pin it down any closer?"
"No, sir, but if he's on Terminal Island I'd bet he's at the Royal Vending Services offices."
"What makes you think that?"
"Mannix had me run an inquiry on Greg Saunders. He works for Royal Vending."
Greg Saunders, that name again. Wickersham flashed back to looking at the data inquiry the programmer had put in the box of Brady's personal possession. Wickersham had to ask Chris who Greg Saunders was. Royal Vending Services? What had Mannix said Brady's last words were—coffee, tape? The words had been circling his head since he heard them. Coffee, tape. Brady had asked for a data inquiry on Greg Saunders. Mannix did the same. Why? Coffee? Tape? Coffee, Greg—vending machines, tape—machine, tape recorder!
"Pender, open the vending machines in the canteen and check them for tape recorders, microphones, or anything that could send a radio signal."
"Sir? Yes, sir!"
Wickersham heard Pender giving orders to the roaming guard. He pushed a button and replaced the handset. "I'm putting you on speakerphone. Keep this line open."
"What's going on?"
"I'm not sure yet. It may be nothing." His fingers chilled and he felt that dread in the center of his chest. Mannix was about to blow up in his face—again.
o0O0o
Joe parked as close as he dared. He estimated he was about four rows away. He loosened his tie. He didn't know why he had dressed up to get fired by Lew. Working at Intertect had really gotten into his head.
He used the twin towers of the bridge as a landmark to snake his way through the container lot. Every few containers he stopped and listened hoping not to hear the sound of a car engine starting. The only sounds so far were diesel engines straining to get their ships out to sea the low rumble of a freight train, and cars whooshing by as they came off the bridge.
Searching the narrow corridors between the shipping containers, he located the Royal Vending Services van. He crept up the right side of a rusty red container. Its open door hid him from view. He eased around the door to look in the passenger window of the van. Keys in the ignition.
Voices echoed inside the shipping container. He heard voices speaking in Russian. Unfortunately "sookim sin" were the only Russian words he remembered.
Footsteps and he dodged behind the door. Someone slammed something closed. Footsteps tramped back into the container.
He peeked inside the van window again stretching to scan the interior. Wooden cases of empty Coca Cola soda bottles and a few boxes of Snickers and Baby Ruth bars were stacked to hide from casual view the metal shelves bolted to the van wall. On the shelf were several small tape recorders, in fact, miniature. The recorder he hung outside Wright's window was huge by comparison.
Familiar voices in English spoke from within the container. Carol and Wright from the canteen the other day. He remembered the conversation. Richards voice broke in and said they shouldn't be discussing the project in the canteen.
Coffee? Tape? That's it! Richards was looking for evidence that there were tape recorders hidden in the vending machines! No wonder Greg came in three times a week. He was changing out the tape recorders like Joe had changed the cassette tape every couple of days at Wright's place.
Joe was torn. Rush back to the car and call Lew? But the evidence was right in front of him and the people who did it were right here too. Judging by the mess at the offices, Greg and company might disappear by the time he made it back to the car and phoned for help.
He cursed himself for running out of the apartment without his gun. He had to get his hands on one of the tape recorders. He hesitated. Wait a minute, why take a tape recorder when he could take the whole damn van? Yeah, why not? The keys were in the ignition.
He stooped and felt his way to the front of the van. He popped up to scan the area. No one in sight. Cautiously he opened the driver's door. Ever so slowly he swiveled around the door to get in the driver's seat. He pushed the door a bit more. The door groaned; Joe froze.
Voices inside the container stopped and started again in Russian. Joe returned to breathing and reached for the ignition key. Once he turned the key it would be only a matter of seconds before—the hair on the back of his neck came to attention.
"Get out!"
Joe shifted his eyes to his left. A pistol was aimed at his head. That glance told him the man holding the gun wasn't Greg Saunders.
"Get out now!" The man signaled with his gun.
"Okay, you got me." Joe raised his hands and moved slowly. The man pulled back on the door to let him out. Joe shoved the door into the man knocking him to the ground. He slammed the door shut and started the van. Speeding away from the commotion behind him, he zig-zagged down the aisle. A bullet cracked the driver side mirror. He ducked and jerked the wheel to the right skidding around the corner.
One aisle, two aisles flew by. No idea of where he was going. An engine whined behind him. The front windshield shattered on the passenger side. Cracks spider-webbed the windshield partially blocking his view. Third aisle. The steering wheel yanked from his hands. Someone had butted the van. Its rear end moved to his right. He grabbed the wheel back and almost swerved into a truck trailer.
To his left, a road beyond the chain link fence. He wrenched the steering in that direction and jammed the accelerator pedal. The metal fence screeched and rattled against the van as he drove over it.
Clang, clang, clang. Red lights flashed at the railroad crossing directly before him. Blam! The silver car rammed into the van's right side. Joe steered to the left and the van jumped over the concrete median. He bounced in his seat; his skull almost punched through the headliner. He detected asphalt and aimed for it.
o0O0o
"How did you know there were a tape recorders in the vending machines?" Pender's voice asked over the speakerphone.
"Pender, computers can't do—what the—" Wickersham gasped.
A purple van careened onto the bridge in front of him narrowly missing a traffic sign; a silver Dodge sedan in pursuit.
Crack! A gunshot echoed among the bridge framing.
"Pender, call the police."
"What?"
"Call the police! Heim Bridge!"
Wickersham joined the chase. He clearly saw a man leaning out of the passenger window of the pursuing vehicle firing a pistol. A pop and a whoosh. The van shifted and crashed into a bridge support. The sedan braked and then accelerated. Up ahead he saw Mannix running down the center of the road deck pursued by the sedan.
Mannix reversed direction as the sedan almost caught up to him. He jumped to the pedestrian walkway. The sedan braked and cut off his exit. Wickersham sped up aiming for the sedan. Two more shots. He saw Mannix stagger.
Wickersham rammed the rear of the sedan. The impact jarred the steering wheel out of his hands. He bailed out of his car, pulled his revolver and dashed to the sedan.
"Hands up! Out!" He jerked open the door and aimed his weapon at the driver and the passenger. "Drop your gun!" Wickersham jerked the driver out and threw him to the ground. "You too!" He motioned for the passenger to continue out of the vehicle. Wickersham rounded the front of the sedan keeping his revolver trained on the men.
"Mannix!" Nothing. "Joe?" He looked at the last spot he'd seen Mannix standing. He wasn't there, nowhere on the sidewalk. He glanced under the car. "Joe!"
The California Highway Patrol cruiser skidded to a stop. "Arrest them!" Wickersham yelled at the Chippies.
He listened for a human voice among the howling sirens of the police vehicles.
"Here! Help! Help! Hurry!"
Wickersham holstered his weapon and rushed to the railing. He saw fingers slipping. He leaned over the railing barely catching Mannix's arm as he lost his grip. Wickersham strained to haul him back onto the walkway. He had Mannix lie against the railing. Blood seeped through the hole in the left shoulder of his jacket. Wickersham peeled opened it and used his handkerchief to cover the wound.
"Lew, how the hell did you find me?"
"At Intertect, we have our ways."
"No, really."
Wickersham averted his eyes. "There's a tracking device on your Intertect car. It relays your approximate location. Still in the testing stages."
"You were tracking me the whole time?"
"I know how you like to wander. That's why I told Pender to dispense with the driving test."
"Oh, man." Mannix winced at the pain. "You'll find all the evidence you need in that van. And in a shipping container by the bridge."
"Yes, we figured it out. Greg Saunders was hiding voice-activated tape recorders in the vending machines. I'll have Pender alert the other sites they serviced to check their machines too."
Wickersham helped Mannix to his feet. "Let's get you to the hospital." He walked him to an ambulance waiting beyond the police vehicles. Mannix climbed in.
"Hey, what about my license?" Mannix asked.
"Worry about that later."
"You said you could get it reinstated."
"I can." Wickersham paused. "There may be conditions."
"Wait a minute, you didn't say anything about conditions. What conditions?"
"Oh, I didn't, did I? Sorry about that, Joe. I'll see you at the hospital after I get this mess cleared up."
"Lew, what conditions?"
"You're not going to like it."
"What?"
"You get you license back if you work for Intertect for two years and that I personally supervise you."
"What!"
"We'll discuss this later. You're working for Intertect now." Wickersham slammed the door and the ambulance rolled away.
He watched the CHP cruisers leave carrying whom Wickersham assumed was Greg Saunders and his accomplice. Pender had done a good job of explaining to them what was going on when he summoned them.
He surveyed the mass of CHP, LAPD and Harbor Police vehicles, tangled up traffic and his crashed Lincoln. He was going to need a tow and a new radiator. A little chaos was an understatement.
He squinted at the yellow and black caution sign above his head—"Slippery When Wet." Two years with Mannix. What the hell was he thinking?
The End