One Grave Too Many by Ron Goulart Read Free Book Online Page A

called an operative I use now and then. Put him and a buddy of his to watching your sister’s place in shifts.”
    “Gay? You think …?” He shook his head again. “What do you think?”
    “That Chatto and his spade sidekick may try to lean on your sister next.”
    “Who gets the #2?” asked the returning waitress.
    “Right here.”
    “And here’s your juice, sourpuss.”
    When she was gone Easy said, “Let’s get back to what those guys were after. What’s the paper, a map?”
    “No, not exactly.” He picked up a half slice of buttered toast, then set it down. “They acted like it was, though.” He took the toast up again and took a bite. “It had some numbers on it and some words, in my dad’s writing.”
    “Remember what it said?”
    “I ought to. They’ve been after me to explain it for … how long has it been?”
    “We’re into Thursday morning.”
    “Holy Christ,” said Gary. “Well, the whole damn message was … PD Angelo-S15W4. That was it, PD Angelo-S15W4.”
    “What did Chatto think it was for?”
    “You know about my father?”
    “He stole some money.”
    “He sure did, about six million dollars,” said Gary. He took another bite of toast. “Now a couple million of that dough never showed up again. Well, this Chatto seems to have worked in the prison hospital. My dad didn’t die for a couple of days after he had his stroke. He wasn’t in complete control of himself by then. He told Chatto he’d had some money hidden. And he also told the bastard … you know, confiding in him because he knew he was dying and he wanted me to get this last message from him. Anyway, he told Chatto he’d left a paper for me explaining where the money was.”
    “How much money?”
    “A million at least.”
    Easy said, “Why’d Chatto wait so long?”
    “He just got out of prison himself last month. Since then he’s been watching me, finding out everything he could. Monday he decided to make his move. Are you going to drink that juice?”
    “Nope.” Easy slid the tiny glass across the tabletop. “You really didn’t know about the dough?”
    “Nothing, no,” said Gary. “Not that a lot of people didn’t ask us about it back when dad was first arrested. I figured, you know, he’d spent it. There was some woman out in the Valley … well, no, I didn’t know he had hidden a million bucks someplace.”
    “The paper’s supposed to tell where the money is,” said Easy. “But it doesn’t mean anything to you?”
    “I spent the last two … three or whatever it is days telling Chatto it doesn’t. I wasn’t lying. Believe me, if I knew I’d have told him a long time ago.”
    “Chatto had no idea what the message was supposed to mean,” said Easy, “or whereabouts the dough was hidden?”
    “Dad didn’t tell him everything, only bits and pieces. He knew there was that piece of paper, that it was hidden in one of dad’s books.” Gary lowered his head, put his hand over his eyes. “I … never visited my dad very much when he was there. Maybe he meant to tell me about the money and I …”
    “Where might your father have hidden the money?”
    “Hell, anyplace,” said Gary. “Dad owned a dozen pieces of property or more, before they took it all away from him. He had a spread up near Camarillo, a movie ranch out in the Valley, three orchards down in Orange County. Oh, yeah, we were pretty affluent before they caught on to him. Everything was lost, except the house in Beverly Hills where my sister lives now. Well, that was lost, too, but her husband bought it back for her.” He put his hands on each side of his plate, looked across at Easy. “Chatto will keep looking, won’t he?”
    “Yeah, he will.”
    “Then he may try to hurt Gay or …”
    “Or Danny.”
    “Danny,” repeated Gary. He took a deep breath. “You found me, Easy, which is what Gay hired you for. Can I hire you now? To stop Chatto.”
    “Sure,” said Easy. “And the simplest way to do that is to find