L.A. Bytes

by P. A. Brown

  100 P.A. Brown

  “You’re too much of a bench monkey,” David said. “Come on, you need some fresh air. I’ll buy you coffee at Mattie’s. You can tell me all about this guy on the way.”

  Until David moved in, Chris had never been much of a walker. He was more of a gym rat. But David liked his strolls and his runs and he had managed to convince Chris to join him on a regular basis—at least walking. Chris refused to take up jogging.

  With the dog, they got out more often. As long as there was coffee at the end of it, Chris was amenable.

  The downhill trip never took more than twenty minutes.

  They rarely saw any of their neighbors in the gated community.

  Angelinos weren’t known for walking. But their homes were always a visual treat: Craftsman cottages, Spanish casas with red-tile roofs, space age boathouses crouched behind stone and wrought iron gates affording glimpses of myrtle trees, eucalyptus, native sycamores, sages and gardens of lush poppies, columbine, and heliotrope. Everywhere ubiquitous palm trees fl uttered and rattled in the stiff morning breeze.

  Before they knew it they were seated at their usual table on the patio facing Glendale Boulevard, Chris with his cappuccino and David with an extra-large regular. The waiter, a big fan of Sergeant’s, slid the dog his usual chew treat. Sergeant spent their half hour there chewing contentedly.

  “So what did you fi nd?” David asked. “From what you told me he sounds more than ever like our guy.”

  Chris dipped into his cappuccino, giving himself a foamy mustache. He licked his lips and frowned. “You’d think so, but I have to wonder...”

  “You don’t think he’s involved?”

  “Hellraiser steals credit cards. From everything I’ve been able to fi nd out about the guy, that’s all he’s ever done.”

  “And Laura’s just along for the ride.”

  “She’s got no handle that I can see.”

  “What if the guy decided to branch out, seeing what else he can get away with?”

  L.A. BYTES 101

  “Yeah, it sounds plausible, but you don’t understand crackers.

  This guy steals stuff and posts it online. It’s his trophy—he likes to use the cards, sure, but his big kick is having all his cracker buddies see what a big success he is.”

  “I know the mentality. Trophy seekers.” David swirled his spoon around in his coffee. “Doesn’t he get more accolades if he does something more daring? Doesn’t hacking a hospital beat credit card theft?”

  “It might,” Chris said. “Depending on what he did, but I don’t buy it.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s not bragging, for one. For another, what did he actually do? Screwed up some patient records? Maybe killed one sick guy.

  What’s to be proud of?”

  “Are they really going to care someone died?” David didn’t believe for a minute that this guy gave a damn about what he did.

  Chris was shaking his head.

  “No, but it’s not spectacular enough, either. If Bolton was responsible he’d have been all over the boards, blowing his horn, making sure everyone knew how ripped he was.”

  “Maybe he’s keeping a low profi le because of the trouble he got into last time. He’s an adult now, he’d be facing hard time over this charge.”

  “Point taken.” Chris frowned.

  “Would he have the skill?”

  “Probably. As long as he kept his hand in.”

  “And he has access, right? Probably goes there all the time to pick up Laura so he’s in and out of the hospital. His presence isn’t suspicious to anyone.”

  Chris stared out the window, sliding one manicured fi nger around the rim of his empty mug. He turned around when their server returned.

  102 P.A. Brown

  “Get you boys anything else?” she asked. “We got a special on coconut cream.”

  They shook their heads. She nodded and dropped the bill on the scarred linoleum table.

  David pulled a fi ve and a two out of his wallet. “Ready?”

  he asked, picking up Sergeant’s leash. He brushed his hand over Chris’s spine as they moved toward the sidewalk, briefl y pressing against the small of his back. It was as close as he would let himself get to a public display of affection.

  After turning off Glendale onto Cove they climbed the hill, passing Mattachine House, the historic site of one of L.A.’s fi rst gay societies. The house Chris inherited from his grandmother was just beyond the crest, overlooking the reservoir. A jogger swung toward them, bronze legs pumping rhythmically down the stairs that separated the Silver Lake side from the Glendale Boulevard side, his white T-shirt molded over perfect abs. Beside him a long-legged Doberman kept pace, toenails clicking on the steps. The jogger glanced at Chris, David, and Sergeant, offering them a knowing smile.

  Chris and David both turned to watch the jogger make his way toward Glendale, admiring his muscular backside. Then their eyes met and they burst out laughing.

  “Gotcha,” Chris said. “If he followed me home, would I be able to keep him?”

  “Sure. I wouldn’t mind getting another nice big dog. I’m sure Sergeant would love it—”

  Chris dug his elbow into David’s side. David grunted.

  “Dog, my ass. Tell me you were looking at the dog.”

  David grinned. “Great looking dog. Did you see the legs on that thing?”

  “Yeah, I thought so.” Chris took David’s arm. “If you’re up to it, I’d like to go back to the hospital tonight.”

  David was silent. He’d half expected something like this. He just hadn’t thought Chris would go for a direct confrontation. He L.A. BYTES 103

  pulled the house keys out as they entered the courtyard. Unlocking the door, he let Chris slip past him to disable the alarm.

  “David—”

  “You really think that’s a good idea?” David asked, knowing it wasn’t, and knowing Chris didn’t care.

  It was Chris’s turn to be silent. Then he sighed. “Yes,” he said.

  “We need to talk to Laura. If she knows you’re a cop, she might let something slip. Maybe there’s nothing there. She didn’t seem like a bad character.”

  “People can surprise you,” David said darkly. He had always tried to keep Chris out of his work. It was a side of his life he didn’t think the man he loved needed to experience. Chris cooperated, in his own way. David fi gured Chris didn’t really want to know all the ways people could hurt each other.

  § § § §

  Chris drove. By the time they pulled into the parking lot it was just before eight.

  “Let’s see if Terry was hedging about Laura.” Chris led the way inside. “He said she didn’t work that much on the third fl oor. I think he’s lying. I think he knows she had access to the computer.”

  “We want to catch her as she’s going off shift.” A phone call had confi rmed she was on till eight.

  At the hospital they took the elevator to the third fl oor. Chris wanted to poke around, but David kept him focused on fi nding Laura.

  Chris still managed to peer into several rooms before they reached the nurse’s station. The square-faced African-American woman behind the counter looked up when they stopped in front of her. She smiled mechanically, displaying a chipped front tooth.

  She wore a child’s rendering of a fl ower on her breast, above a nametag that said: Tricia Keeting.

  David stepped up to the counter. Her gaze followed him and her eyes narrowed. Chris knew she had made David as a cop.

  104 P.A. Brown

  “We’re here to see Laura Fischer,” Chris said.

  “Is she expecting you?”

  David took over. “Doubt it. Where might we fi nd her?”

  The smile gone, she looked right, down a darkened corridor.

  At the far end a shadowy fi gure of a man stooped over a bucket of water and a mop.

  “She’s in room three-ten with a patient—you can’t go in there—” She sounded panicked when
David nodded and moved away from the desk. Chris followed.

  “We’ll wait outside,” David reassured her.

  Chris paused by each open door, but outside of the nurse’s station there were no other computers visible. Terry said the suspect computer had been on this fl oor, but had never actually said where. Had it been out in the open for anyone to use? Or tucked away behind locked doors somewhere? Terry, he realized, had been less than forthcoming.

  Chris mentioned that to David, who shrugged.

  “Pretty typical,” he said. “If you were a cop you’d be used to it. Everyone lies.”

  “I don’t expect friends to lie.”

  “He’s protecting his turf. Face it, you’re not exactly trying to make him look good.”

  Laura emerged from a room down the hall. She looked up at their approach, her broad face holding only mild curiosity.

  “Ms. Fischer, can we talk to you for just a minute?”

  She waited, staring from David to Chris as they drew near. “I know you, don’t I?” Her eyebrows lifted. She pinned Chris with a look. “Terry told me you were working for him.”

  “Do you have a few minutes? We just have a couple of questions.”

  Now thoroughly puzzled, Laura glanced down the hall towards the nurse’s station. Then she checked her watch.

  L.A. BYTES 105

  “We know you’re off in a few minutes, but this won’t take long.”

  “Sure, I guess. Let me check in with Trish...” She spoke to the African-American nurse briefl y then returned. “Can we take this outside? I could use a cigarette.”

  She eschewed the elevator for a set of stairs that led to an exit tucked around the side of the hospital. It was shielded from the street and the worst of the elements by an overhang and a thicket of dense Japanese boxwood. Cigarette butts littered the exposed earth, despite the presence of a sand-fi lled container set beside a stone bench. She used the over-sized ashtray to prop the door open.

  Without a word Laura lit a cigarette and slid down onto the bench. She pulled her skirt down to cover her knees and peered at Chris through a haze of mentholated smoke.

  “Terry know you’re here?”

  Before he could come up with an answer that might satisfy her obvious suspicions, David cut in, “I’m Detective David Eric Laine. We only have a few questions, Ms. Fischer. Then we’ll be out of your hair.”

  She took a drag on her cigarette. “Detective, huh? What kind of questions?”

  “First of all I’d like to understand what you do here,” David said. “What is your role?”

  “I’m a registered nurse practitioner.” She raised one blond eyebrow.

  “Been doing that long?” he asked.

  “Four years,” she said.

  “Must be tough sometimes. Being around the sick and dying all day.”

  Laura’s head turned sideways and her glittering eyes studied David. Wondering if he was playing her? Whatever it was she saw satisfi ed her; she nodded. “It can be. It can also be very rewarding, knowing I make a difference.”

  106 P.A. Brown

  David nodded. “How long have you lived with Herb Bolton?”

  “Herb? What’s he got to do with any of this?”

  “We’re just following up on some details—”

  “Wait a minute,” Laura said. “This is about that thing that happened last week, isn’t it? That computer break-in.” She turned fl ashing eyes on Chris. “You’re not a cop.”

  “I never said I was—”

  “What are you trying to do, blame that shit on Herb? He doesn’t have anything to do with that sort of thing anymore.

  He didn’t hack the hospital, and he sure as hell wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Then you won’t mind answering our questions, will you, Ms.

  Fischer,” David said.

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you.” She threw her half-fi nished cigarette onto the ground and pulled the ashtray away from the door. She glared at David. “I’ll bet you’re not even a real cop.

  Leave me alone. Leave us both alone.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Monday 7:40 pm, Ste. Anne’s Medical Center, Rowena Avenue, Silver Lake

  Back in the car Chris slipped the key into the ignition but didn’t turn it.

  “Did that suck or did that just plain suck?”

  David shrugged. “Interesting reaction.”

  “Bit of an overreaction.”

  “She’s very protective. Of course, given his history, she’s bound to know that sooner or later someone’s going to wonder if Herb’s involved.”

  “You think she’ll call the station on it?” Chris asked. “If she reports you were here...”

  “Too late to worry about that now.”

  Chris could tell David was worried, and he mentally kicked himself.

  “Let’s hope nothing comes of it,” David said. “I’ll call Bryan and give him a heads up. Come on, let’s go home. I don’t want to miss the game.”

  Ten minutes later Chris let them back in the house. David grabbed a beer and headed for the media room. Chris puttered around the kitchen for a few minutes but there was nothing to clean up. He didn’t feel like watching TV, and the idea of working didn’t agree with his frazzled nerves. He knew he’d never be able to concentrate.

  He realized what he needed was a physical outlet. He grabbed the car keys and popped his head into the media room. David looked up. The dog was lying at his side, his head on David’s slippered feet.

  108 P.A. Brown

  “I’m going down to the gym for a bit. Don’t wait up.” He paused. “Unless you want to come.”

  The answer wasn’t long in coming; it was the same one he always got. “No, that’s okay. You go ahead.”

  Tuesday 8:10 am, Cove Avenue, Silver Lake, Los Angeles The next morning David called Bryan. There had been no phone calls from Laura or Herb Bolton that Bryan had heard about. He wasn’t happy with David.

  “I told you to keep your nose clean.”

  “Consider it clean,” David muttered. “Any word on my case?”

  “I think they may be starting to see things our way,” Bryan said. “Which means they’re not fi nding what they wanted to. I fi gure it’s only a matter of time before they drop the whole thing and pretend it never happened.”

  “How about clearing me? Declaring me innocent?”

  “You have a rich fantasy life, don’t you? Be happy they’re not trying harder to pin something on you.”

  Chris wandered into the kitchen looking half-asleep. He wore nothing but a pair of track pants that rode low, exposing most of his stomach. Bleary-eyed, he poured a mug of coffee, dosed it liberally with cream and sugar, and sank into the chair opposite David. His mug clinked on the Santa Fe table.

  David hung up the phone and topped up his coffee. “You overdo it last night?”

  “Does it show?” Chris massaged his left shoulder. “Remind me never to get into competition with an eighteen-year-old on the rowing machines.”

  “Would you listen if I did?”

  Chris grunted.

  L.A. BYTES 109

  David told him about his call to Bryan.

  “So he thinks it will be dropped soon? That is good news.

  Any idea when?”

  “None. The PSB won’t rush things, could be a while.”

  “Assholes,” Chris muttered. “Don’t they have better things to do?”

  Chris fi nished his coffee and limped back upstairs. The shower came on. Twenty minutes later Chris returned, dressed to go out and looking slightly less miserable.

  “I’ll be done around four,” he said. “Once I get back we can start getting ready.”

  “Ready?”

  Chris impatiently tapped his foot. “You forgot already?

  Halloween. West Hollywood. Meeting Des. Any of this ringing a bell?”

  The Halloween parade. David groaned.

  “You promised,” Chris said.

  He couldn’t remember
why. Probably because it seemed so far off and it pleased Chris so much. “We don’t have to stay late, do we?”

  “Why?” Chris asked. “It’s not like either of us is working early tomorrow.” He brightened. “Come on, it’ll be fun. You gotta learn to loosen up, David. It’ll do you a world of good.”

  David had already lost this argument during the very fi rst round weeks ago. With a sigh, he leaned forward and kissed Chris soundly on his open mouth. “What do you want for supper? I could pick up a couple of steaks from the butcher. Some potato salad while I’m at it?”

  “Works for me.” Chris smiled slyly. “You know, you’re going to look so hot tonight, I’ll be fi ghting them off.”

  David rolled his eyes. “Not in the shape you’re in, you won’t.”

  § § § §

  110 P.A. Brown

  Chris wanted to go all out for the parade. But knowing David’s reluctance in going at all, he had toned down his usual off-the-wall indulgence. Leaving David to be the star of their show, he had chosen a sidekick costume.

  David looked him up and down before they left the house.

  “Tonto?” he said. “Isn’t that a little... un-pc?”

  “Hey, my grandfather was one quarter Cree.” Chris smoothed a hand over his skintight buckskin. “Besides, you know what kemo-sabe really means?”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  Chris smiled. He adjusted his beaded headband and hugged David’s bare arm to his chest. “Come on, husband, let’s go wow them.”

  It was barely sunset when they parked David’s Chevy at the Pacifi c Design Center and walked to Santa Monica Boulevard.

  The usually teeming boulevard had been closed for the annual festivities and now thronged with a different crowd. Rainbow-hued pennants and fl ags stirred restlessly in the fading light.

  David saw one California state fl ag that had been altered to depict a bear in leather, sporting shades and a peaked leather cap. Music pulsed from speakers set up outside clubs and bars; techno, hip-hop and salsa vied for attention above the roar of the thousands who fi lled the street.