Forget to Remember

certain it was fewer than forty-five minutes since she’d spoken to Beard, but without a watch she didn’t know what time it was.
    She walked the few feet to the parking lot and scanned the handful of cars there. No sign of Jake Beard. Ha. She’d beaten him. At least he couldn’t say she wasn’t prompt. Rush hour traffic was heavy. She waited near the entrance to the bank, guessing what kind of car he’d be driving.
    Five minutes later the longest Cadillac she was sure she’d ever seen pulled into the parking lot, complete with tail fins—a dinosaur from a bygone age. The engine rumbled like Beard’s voice and sounded as if it weren’t sure it could go on. Beard was behind the wheel. The car stopped in front of Carol.
    She pulled open the heavy front door and scanned the inside. Beard was the only person in the car. That was probably for the good.
    “Hurry up; we’re late.”
    Carol hesitated another couple of seconds and then jumped into the car. The car radio played softly, something she didn’t recognize. When she had trouble pulling the door shut, he reached in front of her and closed it with a bang. His arm brushed against her breasts, but he didn’t seem to notice. He gave her a quick scan, not including her legs.
    “You look okay.”
    Just okay? She assembled the evidence. Yeah, he was probably gay.
    He pulled out onto Hawthorne Boulevard and headed north in the stop-and-go traffic. The car had bench seats that had been reupholstered at some point but still showed wear. At least it had seatbelts. Carol buckled up.
    Beard’s graying hair was short, and there was an old scar on his right cheek. Add that to the broken nose and large arms and legs. He looked like a football player. He was wearing a turquoise shirt, that clashed with Carol’s sweater, and tight jeans. He drove the car carefully. It was obviously his baby.
    It wouldn’t hurt to try to get on his good side. “Nice car.”
    “Yeah, thanks.”
    Carol thought about the questions she wanted to ask. “Where are we going?”
    “Hollywood Hills. Unfortunately, we can’t get there from here. Especially at this time of day. We’ll just have to tough it out.”
    “What about a freeway?”
    “Freeways are plugged up like a constipated whore. We’ll head north on Hawthorne for a while, see what happens. It becomes La Brea at Century. Maybe we’ll cruise over to La Cienega after a bit.”
    “What’s the name of the man we’re going to see?”
    “Sebastian Ault.”
    “Never heard of him.”
    “You can’t know every billionaire in the world. He made his money in real estate. Owns a few hundred rundown apartment buildings in L.A. He’s a sports nut. That’s how I know him. Used to go to every Rams game before they skipped town. He fraternized with the players.”
    “You said he likes to gamble?”
    “He had a suite reserved for him in Vegas when he was younger. They gave him the royal treatment reserved for big spenders.”
    One question had been nagging at Carol. “Why do you need me?”
    Beard shot a look at her as they waited for a red light. “He won’t play with me anymore. I guess I took too much money off him. He’ll play with you, though. Just smile at him. He’s a sucker for a pretty face.”
    “How do we do this?”
    “I’ll do the talking. All you have to do is win.”
    “One more question. What kind of money are we talking about?”
    “I need twenty Gs to settle some debts. We’ll take forty and split fifty-fifty. We don’t want to get too greedy.” Beard gave a deep-throated laugh. “He might put you on his list, too.”
    “Forty thousand dollars?” Carol wanted to make sure she’d heard correctly.
    “Yep. Don’t worry. That’s just walking around money for him. Or wheeling around.” He laughed again.
    Carol knew she was in over her head. Whoever she was before had never done anything like this. She was sure of it. She wanted to opt out, tell Beard to take her back, but she knew he wouldn’t go for it. Maybe she could stall.
    “I’m hungry.”
    “Ault will feed us. He’s got a good cook.”
    She didn’t like Beard or his attitude. She shrank against the door and tried to disappear. A cell phone materialized in Beard’s hand. He made a call to Ault’s house and gave whoever answered an estimated time of arrival.
    “What kind of music do you like?”
    She couldn’t remember. “Anything.”
    He turned up the radio. Some guy was singing—or rather shouting or rapping—very fast. It was