No Immunity

Hernandez was no longer a nameless corpse with a distorted face. She was not so dispensable no one missed her. In her job sudden business trips would be the norm. No one would worry for another week or mo.
    Just as no one would worry’ about a private investigator gone from La Jolla.
    “So, O’Shaughnessy, how do I get those boys?”
    Over my dead body. “We’ve got a problem. Fox and the navy are looking for them. Fox let me escape. He’s watching me. When we get to Ninety-three, he’ll be there, or he’ll have someone keeping an eye on us.”
    “It’s not like we coulda turned off,” the Weasel said.
    Without bothering to brake, Adcock hung a U. Kiernan’s shoulder hit the door. Her feet didn’t reach all the way under the dash. To keep from being battered, she had to brace one foot awkwardly against the side panel and try to ram the other against the floor hard enough to get a purchase. Even the Weasel had stiffened his legs. Adcock’s hands were tight on the wheel, his eyes were straight ahead.
    “Adcock, that maneuver sums you up completely,” she said, giving the Weasel a shove.
    “Huh?”
    “Where are you going?”
    “There’s a parallel road back this way. I took it to the cafe.” He stepped on the gas. The old truck coughed and clattered.
    Kiernan shifted her weight but kept her legs braced. “What does Louisa Larson look like? Like me?”
    It was the Weasel who laughed. “Lady, she’s twice your size and blond. The only thing you two got in common is your sex.”
    “You were thinking of her as a decoy, O’Shaughnessy?”
    “I was. That won’t work. You’ll have to be the decoy.”
    “Hey, I’m the one paying you. I’m going with you to those boys.”
    “You know where they are?” the Weasel asked as Adcock struggled to keep the truck from stalling.
    “If I knew that, we’d all be back in Vegas. I have some leads, but I can’t do anything till I shake off Fox. For that I’m going to need Louisa Larson. You have any idea where we can find her?”
    She’d directed the question to Adcock, but it was the Weasel who nodded. “Gattozzi. That’s where she was headed.”

CHAPTER 49

    The first thing Kiernan spotted in Gattozzi was the sheriff’s car in front of the station. “Empty,” she said to Adcock and the Weasel, “but it didn’t get here by itself. Get down out of sight, Weasel.”
    “It’s McGuire, if you don’t mind,” he said as he slid down between the others on the old Chevy’s bench. “Hey, my back’s going into spasm. How long do you expect me to stay down here like a sack of groceries?”
    Ignoring him, Adcock demanded, “How’s this getting us to those boys, O’Shaughnessy?”
    The one commercial block in town was more crowded than at any other time she had seen it. At nine A.M. Sunday morning cars were lined up in front of the whimsically-named 47th Street Deli between Jeff Tremaine’s office and the mortuary. Gattozzians sat around the red-checked tablecloths, some solo behind a protective shield or newspaper, most clumped in animated discussion. Kiernan checked for Connie, Jeff, Fox, Milo—any familiar face. None.
    The road to Connie’s mine was so isolated, any vehicle would stand out. The only vehicular advantage would be a good engine and four-wheel drive. It would be ideal to be making the trip at dusk in Tchernak’s big new top-of-the-line Jeep. But there was no way she could stay out of sight till then. And Tchernak’s Jeep was miles away at the motel.
    “Hey, I’m dyin’ down here.”
    “There! That blue BMW. Is that Louisa Larson’s?”
    “Weasel?” Adcock elbowed him, and McGuire poked his head up, nodded, and sank back down.
    “She’s the blonde at the window table.”
    The question in Kiernan’s mind was—how to lure Louisa Larson out of the cafe and to a rendezvous.
    But Larson seemed to be solving that problem. Her jaw dropped when she spotted Adcock’s truck. She made for the door so abruptly, her napkin went flying. She had her keys out before she reached the car.
    “What’s with you guys and Louisa Larson?”
    “The Weasel worked her over a bit,” Adcock said matter-of-factly.
    “Worked her over? How?” When the Weasel didn’t answer, Kiernan rammed her elbow into his shoulder.
    “Hey, whatcha doin’? Jeez, it’s bad enough I’m ridin’ on the floorboards—”
    “What did you do to her?”
    “Just a nick, just to draw’ a little blood. Nothin’ a tea bag next to the eye wouldn’t take care