“OK, OK. Contingency,” said Ridge, closing his eyes and dropping his head into his hands.
Then Terry’s uncle smiled for the first time and looked back down at the menu. “The food is good here. You’ll like it.”
Ridge drew in a long breath and let it out slowly.
Terry looked between Ridge and Uncle Cho. “It is good.”
“Very good,” said Uncle Cho.
After they ordered, Uncle Cho turned to Terry. “What happened to my old lawyer? Why did he quit on me?”
“He didn’t want to go forward with the case,” Terry said.
“Favorite nephew, I know that. I meant why?”
“We don’t know,” said Terry, “but we’ll look into it.”
“Good,” said Uncle Cho as the waiters brought the food. “Very good. So let’s eat!” After garlic beef, tiger shrimp, and Chef’s Rice, Uncle Cho and Terry seemed happy. Uncle Cho, of course, got his way. As for Terry, he was probably just glad to stay a favorite nephew, thought Ridge. Then as a surprise bonus, after they all put down their chopsticks, Terry’s uncle picked up the bill.
After saying goodbye to Uncle Cho, Ridge and Terry headed west toward the beach cities. Minutes later they hit real rush-hour traffic, the apocalyptic L.A. freeway type. “Here we are,” said Ridge, “in the world’s biggest parking lot with 400 horses under the hood.”
Terry threw up his hands. “It’s L.A., man.”
As they creeped down the freeway, every so often, Ridge watched Terry kick it into second gear, followed always by a shift back to first or a stop. Ridge used the time to call Kate.
“Are you taking it easy, like the doctor told you?” said Kate. “Remember your heart. You just got that stent last year.”
“Easy?” replied Ridge. “We’re stuck in traffic. This is downright boring.”
“Good,” said Kate. “Then let’s talk business.”
An hour later, Kate finished updating Ridge on what had been going on at the office. Finally Ridge said, “OK Kate, we’re approaching the beach cities. Terry will drive me straight home. Then he’ll take off. My plan is to chill out tonight and tomorrow. But Thursday, Terry and I will meet with the family members about that new wrongful death case.”
“It’s on the calendar.”
“OK, but in the morning please email me what you and the crew worked up on it. I’ll forward Terry what he needs. Ciao now. Have a good night.”
“Take it slow and take it easy,” said Kate as she hung up.
Ridge ended the call as Terry glanced again in the rearview mirror. “I could be wrong,” Terry said, “but since we left the restaurant, I keep seeing a black Toyota Supra in the mirror. Might be following. Single guy. Wearing some type of cap, but no beard. No mustache. And no license plate out front.”
“How can you tell he’s following us? Mostly it’s been stop-andgo straight-ahead traffic. No?”
“It’s a gut thing. I’m jumping off at the next exit. We’ll find out.” Soon they were rolling on a black four-lane undivided boulevard headed north, with palm trees on both sides and almost no traffic. “There he is again,” said Terry. “About two blocks back. A white guy in a black baseball cap.”
“Let’s speed up. See if he drops back.”
Terry ran it up to 50 miles per hour. “He’s sticking there. Two or three blocks back. I’m gonna spook him.”
“Roger that. No cars around. Everyone’s on the damn freeway.”
Terry slowed to 40 mph and watched the Supra get a little closer. Then he said, “Hold on.” Terry pulled his foot off the gas. Threw the Vette into neutral, yanked up on the handbrake and whirled the wheel full left. Spinning through ninety degrees of turn, he pushed the handbrake off, slammed the Vette into first gear and hit the accelerator. Ridge’s head, like a shotput, was wound up and hurled backwards. Terry shifted higher and Ridge stared straight ahead as they accelerated head-on at the front of the Toyota.
“Shit,” Ridge breathed out as Terry veered right whisking by the Supra like a gale force wind. A second later, Terry took his foot off the accelerator, pivoted left again through a 180-degree flip turn, and accelerated straight ahead. Ridge’s neck crackled as it flung back. Terry quickly swerved right, aimed dead-on at the rear of the Supra, and pointed at the glove box. Inside, Ridge found Terry’s long-nosed Smith and Wesson Model 67 .38 Special revolver. Quite a weapon. Ridge pulled it out. Held it in his lap facing forward. Terry accelerated again. But as he closed in, the Supra took off with smoking tires like a dragster on a speedway.
“Damn,” said Ridge, as he peered at the rear license plate covered in plastic, “discolored from sun. Can’t read the plate numbers.” Terry floored the accelerator. Ridge, glimpsing a sign whizz by, shouted, “Construction ahead!” Terry hit the brakes. As they decelerated, they watched the Supra smash through orange cones near a group of workmen. Then it disappeared down the road in a dust storm.
“Next time,” said Terry.
“Next time.” Ridge rubbed the back of his neck. “After I get outta traction.”
Terry nodded and turned toward the freeway. “Nice quiet afternoon we’re having.”
“Just what the doctor ordered.”
“So,” Terry glanced at Ridge, “who the hell was that guy?”
“And what the hell did he want?”
CHAPTER 10
On Tuesday afternoon, Hess decided it was way past time to get out of San Diego. Driving north on the 405 toward Santa Barbara. he stopped near Redondo Beach to pick up his assistant. After a few more miles down the road, from out of nowhere, his assistant spoke up.
“So what’s the key to making your missions successful?”
“Blending in,” said Hess without hesitation. “Disappearing into the background. Always critical. Never forget Adolph Eichmann. He operated free in Argentina for years. Not only because he was a genius, but because he looked like any other man as he walked the streets of Buenos Aires.”
“I see. Can I ask another question?”
