He was thinking that they could sleep in the car tonight, provided the police weren’t looking for it. Tomorrow they would have to buy clothes and a suitcase or two. He would have to get rid of this car, but the problem of renting or buying a car without the proper papers was a big one.
He pulled into a sendee station and told the attendant to fill her up. The youth was talkative and curious; he wanted to know where they’d been, up in the mountains? He liked hiking, too.
Kickaha made up a story. He and his wife had been bumming around but decided to come down and dig L.A. They didn’t have much money; they were thinking about selling the car and getting a second-hand VW. They wanted to stay the night some place where they didn’t ask questions if the color of your money was right.
The attendant told them of a motel near Tarzana in Van Nuys which fitted all Kickaha’s specifications. He grinned and winked at them, sure they were engaged in something illegal (or rebellious) and wished them luck. Maybe he could get them a good bargain on the Jag.
A half hour later, he and Anana fell into a motel bed and were asleep at once.
He got up at ten. Anana was sleeping soundly. After shaving and showering, he woke her long enough to tell her what he planned. He went across the street to a restaurant, ate a big breakfast, bought a paper, and then returned to the room. Anana was still sleeping. He called the Los Angeles Times ad department and dictated an item for the personal column. He gave as his address the motel and also gave a fictitious name. He had thought about using Ramos’ name in case the Times man checked out the address. But he did not want any tie between the ad and Cambring, if he could help it. He promised to send his check immediately, and then, hanging up, forgot about it.
He checked the personals of the morning’s Times. There were no messages that could be interpreted as being from Wolff.
When Anana woke, he said, “While you’re eating breakfast, I’ll use a public phone booth to call Cambring,” he said. “I’m sure he’s gotten the word to Red Orc.”
Cambring answered at once as if he had been waiting by the phone. Kickaha said, “This is your friend of last night, Cambring. Did you pass on my information about the Black Beller?”
Cambring’s voice sounded as if he were controlling anger.
“Yes, I did.”
“What did he say?”
“He said that he’d like to meet you. Have a conference of war.”
“Where?”
“Wherever you like.”
Good, thought Kickaha. He doesn’t think I’m so dumb that I’d walk into his parlor. But he’s confident that he can set up a trap no matter where I meet him. If, that is, he himself shows up. I doubt that. He’d be far too cagy for that. But he’ll have to send someone to represent him, and that someone might be higher up than Cambring and a step closer to the Lord.
“I’ll tell you where we’ll meet in half an hour,” Kickaha said. “But before I hang up, did your boss have anything else to say I should hear?”
“No.”
Kickaha clicked the phone down. He found Anana in a booth in the restaurant. He sat down and said, “I don’t know whether Orc’s got hold of Wolff or not. I don’t even know for sure whether Cambring repeated my message about Wolff and Chryseis, but Orc knows the gate was activated twice before we came through and that one of the people coming through was a Black Beller. I don’t think he’s got Wolff and Chryseis, because if he did, he’d use them as a way to trap me. He’d know I’d be galloping in to save them.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “But he may feel that he doesn’t have to let you know he has Wolff and Chryseis. He may feel confident that he can catch us without saying anything about them. Or perhaps he’s withholding his knowledge until a more suitable time.”
“You Lords sure figure out the angles,” he said. “As suspicious a lot as the stars have ever looked down on.”