Karch glanced to his left and noticed that the postal boxes were the kind with little windows through which holders could just glance in to see if they had mail. He walked into the box alcove and quickly found number 520 . He had to bend down to look into it. He could see one envelope lying flat at the bottom of it. He glanced back to the right. There was a mirror positioned in the upper corner over the door that allowed the counterman to see into the mailbox alcove but he was still down behind the counter working on something.
Karch pulled a small penlight from his shirt pocket and turned it on. It lit up the interior of box 520 and he could read the writing on the front of the envelope. It was addressed to Leo Renfro. There was no return address on the upper left corner but there was a set of initials. He leaned closer to the glass to try to read them and realized they were numbers: 773 .
Because there was already a piece of mail in the box, Karch thought for a moment about whether he needed to proceed with his plan. He decided to go ahead. His plan, if it worked, would still have the aspect of confusing the target, knocking him for a bit of a loop.
Karch walked around the corner to the counter. Behind it there was a man in his early twenties who was dumping little Styrofoam balls into a large box on the floor behind the counter. He spoke without looking up from his work.
"What can I do for you?"
This sort of impersonal service always annoyed Karch. He saw it all the time in Las Vegas but this time he was pleased because he didn't want the clerk to pay much attention to him.
"I need an envelope."
"What size?"
"Doesn't matter. Normal size."
"Number ten?"
The clerk left the box he was filling and walked to the wall at the rear of the service counter area. There were several boxes and envelopes of varying sizes mounted on the wall. Below them was the inventory arranged on shelves according to size. Karch scanned the envelopes and saw the number 10 size.
"Yeah, ten is fine."
"Padded, unpadded?"
"Uh, padded."
The clerk grabbed one off the shelf and came to the counter announcing in a high, whiny voice that Karch owed fifty-two cents including tax. Karch paid with exact change.
"Nice hat," the clerk said.
"Thanks."
Karch took the envelope to the counter by the door. It occurred to him that the clerk might actually have been making fun of his hat, but he let it go.
With his back shielding the clerk from viewing what he was doing, Karch reached into the pocket of his suit coat and took out the envelope containing the ace of hearts playing card he had found on the floor while searching room 2015 at the Cleo. He took the card out and slid it into the envelope he had just bought, then stapled it closed.
Using the thickest Magic Marker he could find in the plastic cups, he addressed the envelope to Leo Renfro and put down the postal box address and number. In large letters he then wrote DO NOT DELAY! and URGENT! on both sides. On the lines provided for a return address he wrote 773 and on the back he wrote Leo Renfro's cell phone number.
He went back to the service counter and saw the clerk was now taping shut the box on the floor. Again he did not look up. This time he didn't even ask what was wanted. Karch could see the name tag pinned to his shirt said STEPHEN.
"Excuse me, Steve, do you mind putting this into the proper box for me?"
The young man sullenly put down the tape and walked over to the counter. He took the proffered envelope and looked at it as though there was some question as to whether he could accomplish the request.
"I need it to go in there now because this guy always checks his box first thing in the morning."
The kid finally decided he could handle the assignment and headed behind a partition that apparently led to the mail room.
"And it's Stephen," he called back out to Karch.
Karch stepped away from the counter and went around the corner and down to box 520 . He watched through the little glass window as the envelope he had just given the clerk was shoved into the box on top of the other piece of mail waiting for Leo Renfro.
Karch had left the shop before the clerk made his return to the counter. As he walked to his car, he said out loud, "That'll be fifty-two cents . . . and it's Stephen."
Once inside the Lincoln he said it again and again, working on the pitch and getting an approximation of the right sullen tone and whine into it. When he had it down close enough he started the car and pulled away from the curb.
To make the call he couldn't use an open pay phone with background traffic noise. He drove around Burbank for ten minutes looking for the proper venue. He finally spotted a restaurant called Bob's Big Boy and parked in the rear lot, backing into a slot next to a Dumpster.
Inside the restaurant he found a pay phone in the alcove leading to the rest rooms. He dropped in coins and called Leo Renfro's cell number. He realized the chance he was taking. Renfro's mailbox was a blind drop. Though it obviously was in his name, there was no way for Karch to know whether the operators of the shop would have Renfro's cell phone number. But his plan had a built-in contingency for that.
The phone at the other end of the line was picked up after two rings but no one said anything.
"Hello?" Karch finally said, his voice the best approximation of a high whine.
"Who's this?"
"Mr. Renfro? This is Stephen at Warner Post and Pack It."
"How'd you get this number?"
"It's on the envelope."
"What envelope?"
Karch concentrated on his voice.
"That's what I am calling about. You got an envelope today. It's marked urgent and says do not delay. Your phone number is on it. I don't know, I thought I'd call you. We're closing up and since you didn't come in, I thought I should call you in case, you know, you were expecting some - "
"Is there a return address?"
"Yeah - I mean, no. All it says there is seven-seven-three."
"Okay. Thank you. But do me a favor, don't ever call here again."
Renfro abruptly hung up. Karch kept the phone to his ear as if giving Renfro the chance to get back on and ask more questions. Finally, he hung up. He thought it had worked. He felt confident. His impression of Renfro from the conversation was that he was a cagey guy. That meant it could be a long night ahead.
Back in the restaurant he went to the counter and ordered two hamburgers well done with ketchup on the side and two black coffees to go. While the order was being prepared he walked out to the parking lot. He got the stolen license plates out of his car and replaced the rear tag of his car with one. The Dumpster provided cover while he worked. He then got in the car, pulled out of the parking slot and pulled right back in forward.
He changed the front plate. Cassie Black's drill made the job a breeze. He decided he was going to keep the drill when the job was finished. The drill and a few other things.
28
ONE more dread added to an already dreadful day. Cassie sat in the Boxster, the engine idling, at the curb across the street from the house on Lookout Mountain Road. The family had left the curtain behind the big picture window open. She could see in through the living room to the lighted kitchen where the three of them sat at the table eating. She couldn't see it from this angle but Cassie remembered from the open house that the chair where the girl now sat had a phone book on it. She probably thought of herself as too old for a booster chair, yet she needed the extra inches.
She looked away from the window to the sign. A short strip of painted wood had been hooked to the bottom of the realty sign below the name of the Realtor.
IN ESCROW
Cassie had never bought a house before but knew that the new sign meant an offer had been accepted. The place was being sold and the family would move soon. She gripped the wheel tightly. It made her elbow and shoulder throb. She thought about Leo's plan to give the money back. She knew there might not be time for another job - and no job would have the kind of mon
ey that had been in that briefcase. She found herself hoping Leo would fail in his efforts. She couldn't help it. She wanted the money now. She wanted to run.
Her cell phone rang. She dug it out of her backpack and answered. It was Leo but he didn't say his name. The connection was horrible. She was surprised he had gotten through to her in the hills at all.
"How you feeling?" he asked.
"The same."
"Well, you know those . . . you were waiting on? I just got a call. It looks like . . . and I'll pick them up tonight."
She heard enough to be able to fill in the blanks.
"Good. But they won't do me any good if I don't have the money."
". . . ill working on that. I'm reaching . . . Maybe tomorrow I'll know something. One way or anoth - "
"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
"I didn't get that."
"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?" she asked loudly, as if the force of her voice could improve the fragile connection.
"We talked about this, Cass. You go to wor . . . your thing. Everything normal until we get this figured . . ."
"Whatever. This connection sucks. I want to go."
She sounded sullen and she didn't care.
"Look, sweetheart, we're almost there. I'm just waiting on - "
"I don't want to give it back, Leo. We're making a mistake. You are making a mistake. I have a really bad feeling about this. We need to go. Just go. Now!"
Leo was silent for a long time. He didn't even bother reminding her not to say his name. She was thinking that she had lost the connection when he finally spoke.
"Cassie, look," he said in an overly calm voice. "I'm getting . . . ibes, too. More than I usually get. But we have to . . . and cover all the bases. It's the only way to be . . ."
Cassie shook her head and glanced over at the realty sign once more.
"Sure, Leo. Whatever you say. Just be sure to call me and let me know when you figure out what to do with my life."
She flipped the phone closed and turned it off in case Leo tried to call back. As she did it she had a sudden idea of creeping into Leo's house while he slept and getting to the money. She would take only her share, leaving the rest for Leo to do whatever he wanted with. As angry as she was with Leo, the idea filled her with guilt. She pushed the thought aside and looked back at the house.
She saw the husband standing up at the table and looking through the length of the house and out to the street. At her. She saw him put his napkin down and start coming around the table. He was going to come out to her, to see what she was doing in front of his house. She quickly dropped the Boxster into gear and drove off.
29
"SUMMER Wind" was the song. It always got to Karch. Every time it came up on the Sinatra's Greatest Hits CD he had to hit replay and hear it again. They were all good but none could touch "Summer Wind." It was the class of the class. Just like Sinatra.
Karch was on the fourth run-through of the CD, watching the front of Warner Post & Pack It from the crowded parking lot of a bar called Presnick's a half block away. It was exactly eleven o'clock when he noticed the brake lights flare on a car going by the shop. It was a black Jeep Cherokee about five years old. It was the second time it had gone slowly by the store. Karch turned the CD down and got ready. He was already wearing his black jumpsuit, though for a different reason this time. The sleeves were decorated with varying lengths of heavy-duty duct tape that he had cut in preparation. He reached into his open briefcase and removed the remote global positioning system receiver along with the cellular link box and antenna as well as the GPS antenna from the foam cushioning. He got the tools he would need ready and got out of the Lincoln after popping the trunk. From the trunk he took the Rollerboy Mechanics Helper - a cushioned creeper board on one-inch wheels - then locked the car and walked quickly across Warner Boulevard.
Warner Post & Pack It was a one-story stand-alone building in a long line of stand-alone buildings, all of which were built to the property line, leaving anywhere from one to three feet of space between buildings. Karch slipped into the opening one storefront down from the mailbox business. It was about twenty inches wide and had primarily been used over time as a trash disposal point by pedestrians. Karch found himself almost knee high in debris - mostly bottles and crumpled bags of fast food. There was also the overpowering smell of urine in the cramped space. His entry into this dark crevice caused some unseen creature to loudly scramble through the debris and go back farther into the darkness.
Karch hung back about three feet from the opening, out of the direct light from the street, and waited. He was sure the Cherokee would come back and that it would be Leo Renfro driving. What Karch had to do next he had done many times before on other cases. But never as fast as he would have to do it this time. He figured he would have less than a minute to complete the installation. There could be no delays or mistakes.
The sound of an approaching car filtered into the hideaway. Karch crouched down and held the Rollerboy up as a shield. Even if Renfro was looking between the buildings, it was unlikely that he would notice Karch unless he completely stopped and shined a light into the darkness.
The car went by slowly and then Karch heard it stop in front of the mail drop business. He slowly moved toward the edge of the building he was leaning against. He glanced around the corner and saw it was indeed the Cherokee, sitting at the curb, still running and with its lights on. Karch pulled himself back into the crevice and waited. He knew he could step out and take Renfro right at that moment. But it was too risky to undertake out in the open and, more important, Renfro wasn't the goal. The money was the priority. To achieve that he needed to follow Renfro to his home, to the place he felt safest. It was there that Karch knew he would find either the money or a line to Cassidy Black.
The Cherokee's engine cut off. Karch braced himself against the wall, ready to move. He felt the hard points of the stucco digging into his back. He bent forward to listen and heard the car's door open and then close. He heard steps moving quickly on the asphalt. He moved forward and looked once more around the corner. He saw a man in his mid-forties and of trim build working a key into the front door of Warner Post & Pack It.
Once he had the door open the man looked up the street to the left and then back to the right. Karch ducked behind the corner. When he heard the door close he stepped out and crossed the sidewalk to the Cherokee. Crouching behind the car, he watched through the front window of the business as the man approached the wall of postal boxes. When he bent down in the area where box 520 was located, Karch knew he had his man. It was Leo Renfro.
Karch turned his penlight on and put it in his mouth. He then put the Rollerboy down and lay down on it face up. He grabbed the underside of the bumper and pulled himself completely under the car. He had done an installation on a Cherokee once before and was not anticipating a problem. It was tight quarters and hot; his chest rubbed the greasy undercarriage at several points and he had to keep his face turned to the side to avoid scraping it or even getting it burned on the hot pipes of the exhaust system.
He reached to his legs and removed the satellite receiver and CelluLink transmitter from the right cargo pocket of his jumpsuit. Both were small, square devices that had been lashed together with tape. A small stub antenna for the cellular connection was part of the bundle. The base of the receiver was a heavy-duty magnet. He reached up and attached the devices to the car's undercarriage frame directly below the driver's seat. Though the magnet appeared to hold firm, it was always Karch's practice to supplement to be sure. From his right arm he unwrapped two long pieces of duct tape and used them to lash the devices to the framework, further securing them to the underside of the car.
Using Cassie Black's silent drill he quickly attached the ground wire to the car's carriage pan, using a self-tapping screw. He then rolled to the curb and tried to look up and through the front window of the mail box business. But the angle was bad and he could not see Renfro or
gauge how much more time he had.
He quickly pushed back to the middle and pulled down the electrical conduit that ran down the center of the carriage pan. Using an X-acto knife he slit open the plastic casing and quickly pulled out a bundle of wires. He combed through them until he found a red wire, the color indicating it was a full-time carrier of current from the battery to the rear of the car - most likely to a trunk light. The end of the power wire from the GPS receiver had a cut-in connector that he clipped to the red wire and then squeezed down on until he felt it cut through the rubber coating and into the live wire. He looked over at the receiver and saw the faint glow of the red power light beneath the duct tape.
He didn't have time to push the wires back into place. Instead he moved immediately to the last piece of the installation, the GPS antenna. He removed the small disk from his left cargo pocket and started unspooling the wire it was wrapped in. Just as he connected the wire to the receiver he heard the door to the shop open. He quickly turned the penlight around so that the lighted end was inside his mouth. He waited.