Swimming to Catalina

Stone said, smiling.
    “And where did you spendyour evening?” Rick asked.
    “I went out, had a few drinks and some dinner.”
    “Where?”
    “I don’t remember exactly; I’m a stranger in town, remember? The geography of this city confuses me.”
    “Yeah, it can be confusing,” Rick said, sticking a flashing light on the roof of the car. They were on the freeway now, driving fast, weaving in and out of the mid-morning traffic. Occasionally he used the siren.
    “Where we going?”
    “Long Beach.”
    “For what?”
    “I’m superstitious about predictions; indulge me.”
    Half an hour later they parked next to an ambulance, got out of the car, and walked down a long dock between fishing boats. At the end of the dock a clutch of uniformed and plainclothes cops loitered around a trawler that was moored stern to.
    “Hey, Rick,” a detective said, shaking his hand. “I didn’t know you left headquarters anymore.”
    “I like a little sea air,” Rick replied. “What have you got?”
    The detective pointed into the boat, where a tarpaulin covered something.
    Rick beckoned Stone to follow him, then jumped down into the boat and pulled back the canvas. “Confirm my guess,” he said. “The other one is Manny.”
    Stone looked at the two bodies. Vincent Mancuso and Manny were wet, dead, and chained together with a hefty anchor. “Good guess,” he said.
    “When the call came in I had a feeling.” Rick turned to a man in a suit, who was writing in a notebook. “Did they drown?”
    The man shook his head. “They each took two rounds behind the right ear. Small caliber, very neat job. It was the wildest kind of luck that they ever turned up; the trawler brought them up with the catch between here and Catalina.”
    “Thanks,” Rick said. He turned to Stone. “I think we’ve seen enough.”
    Stone followed him up the ladder and back to the car.

    “Who says there’s no justice?” Rick said.
    “Poetic, isn’st it?” Stone agreed.
    “Now there’s nothing to tie your little swim to Ippolito.”
    “Except me.”
    “Yeah. You carrying that piece I got you?”
    “I started this morning.”
    “Good idea. If things keep happening to Ippolito, like his boat sinking and his house catching fire…”
    “Yeah, I might need it.”
    “You think he has any idea you’re alive?”
    “Not unless Vance Calder told him, and I honestly don’t think he would.”
    “You spoke to Calder, then?”
    “Yeah; I called him yesterday and then saw him at his house. I think he was ready to talk to me, but when I got there, David Sturmack was just leaving.”
    “Did Sturmack see you?”
    Stone shook his head. “He was driving away, looking preoccupied.”
    “What did Calder have to say?”
    “Zip. I had to practically force my way into the house. They’ve got his wife, and he’s terrified they’ll hurt her.”
    “And terrified of the tabloids?”
    “Still. He thinks that if he does what they want him to he’ll get Arrington back and everything will be all right again.”
    “He’s a fool.”
    “You and I know that, but he doesn’t.”
    “What do they want from him? It can’t be money.”
    “I don’t know; what could America’s biggest movie star do for Ippolito and Sturmack that they couldn’t do for themselves?”

    “You think Regenstein’s involved?”
    “He was at Vance’s house the night before last, arguing with him.”
    “The night before last? How would you know that?”
    “I returned Arrington’s car to the house; I was there when they arrived. I got a look through a window.”
    “You said ‘they’ arrived?”
    “Regenstein and another man, around forty, red-haired, Irish-looking.”
    “Sounds like Billy O’Hara—ex-cop, head of security for Centurion Studios.” Rick frowned.
    “Maybe Regenstein isn’t involved, and they’re using O’Hara to get Arrington back.”
    “Sounds like what a studio would do.”
    “What kind of guy is O’Hara?”
    “He was a decent cop, very ambitious, had a flair for publicity. He got pissed off when some other guys made lieutenant and he didn’t; I guess that’s when he went to work for Centurion. Must be five, six years ago. If he’d stuck with the department he might have gone places.”
    “Is he the sort of guy who would abet a kidnapping?”
    Rick shook his head. “My guess is no, but it’s only a guess; I didn’t know him all that well. He came along after me.”
    “We’re not getting anywhere much, are we?”
    “Oh, I