Hollywood Moon hs-3

by Joseph Wambaugh

“If Clark phones you again, I want you to call me immediately,” Dana said. “I’m not sure yet, but he may be involved in some very serious crimes against women.”

  “Now I’m really scared,” Naomi said.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Dana said. “I’m taking your information straight to my station and phoning detectives with it. I think Clark will be behind bars very soon. Would you like us to drop you at your house now?”

  “I think you better,” Naomi said. “I don’t wanna walk alone. But I’d like to tell my mom about it myself. She might phone you later.”

  “That’s fine,” Dana said. “I’ll be available.”

  After they dropped off Naomi at her house on Ogden Drive, Dana said to Hollywood Nate, who as yet knew nothing about Naomi’s information, “Well, if the Oracle was right about doing good police work, we’re about to have ourselves lots of fun, honey.”

  When Malcolm finished his steak, he said it was the tastiest he’d ever had. Eunice smiled tenderly and said, “Would you like another soda?”

  “I don’t think so. Thanks, anyways.”

  “Did you save room for dessert?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Malcolm said with his high-wattage smile.

  “That smile of yours could light up the Vegas Strip,” Eunice said, making Malcolm drop his eyes in discomfort.

  Dewey, who hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of his swordfish, signaled to a waiter for a recitation of the desserts. The waiter nodded but continued with other customers. It didn’t faze Dewey, who especially liked the waiters at Musso amp; Frank, most of whom were aging brusque Mexicans dressed formally in black tie. They knew their stuff and didn’t waste time or words stroking customers, unless the customers were Hollywood relics, those faded stars and almost-stars who still came to the old places for the fantasy of retaining continuity with a Hollywood that was no more.

  “Do you like this place, Clark?” Eunice asked, tapping on the table with one of her newly lacquered nails, and Dewey knew she was dying to run outside for a smoke.

  “Yeah, it’s really nice,” Malcolm said.

  Eunice looked around, trying to see the place as the boy saw it. Musso amp; Frank was one of the old restaurants that didn’t so much resist changes in style and decor. They simply ignored them.

  “Have you ever been to a nice restaurant before?” she asked.

  “No, not really,” he said. “But like I was telling you, my dad was a French chef. He told me about the restaurants he worked at in New York and Paris, France, and London, England. He’s dead now.”

  “A French chef?” Eunice said. “How about that. Is your mom still alive?”

  “No, she passed away too. She was a Persian who was a distant relative of the royal family over there. I was raised by my dad’s cousin, who was married to a man in East L.A. I didn’t belong there, but there was nothing I could do about it. Now I live alone in Hollywood in an apartment. It’s pretty expensive. That’s why I’m so anxious to go to work for you and make some real money.”

  Dewey glanced at Eunice and knew that she didn’t believe this kid’s bullshit any more than he did, but by the way she smiled at the boy-and it wasn’t maternally-he knew she didn’t give a damn what he said. Eunice was utterly taken. Thank God for midlife crises, Dewey Gleason thought, and he looked at his watch.

  Jerzy Szarpowicz, sweating in the oppressive darkness of the metal-and-concrete storage room, turned on his flashlight and also looked at his watch.

  “It don’t make the time pass no faster by lookin’ at your watch every two minutes,” Tristan said. They were sitting on top of cardboard crates containing large plasma TV sets that they fully intended to take away and sell when this was over.

  “I’m burnin’ up in here!” Jerzy said. “I wish I had a quarter of Go Fast. I even wish I had a dime bag of smoke.”

  “Get on the floor,” Tristan said. “Heat rises.”

  “It’s jist as hot down there,” Jerzy grumbled. “This gag ain’t gonna work. That motherfucker’s gamin’ us like he games everybody else.”

  “It might work, it might not work,” Tristan said. “If they don’t show up, we’ll load all his merchandise in the van and take it outta here and sell it. Then we’ll have more negotiations to conduct with Mr. Bernie Graham.”

  “If he ain’t already outta Dodge,” Jerzy said.

  “He ain’t,” Tristan said. “He’s locked into this gag. You can see it all in the man’s eyes.”

  “See what?”

  “Greed,” Tristan said. “Like I see in your eyes.”

  “And how ’bout you? You ain’t greedy?”

  “Oh, yeah, dawg,” Tristan said. “But somehow I don’t think I’m desperate greedy like you and Bernie. I got my limits.”

  “You think too much,” Jerzy said.

  Tristan looked at his partner and said, “Wood, it jist occurred to me that I ain’t never seen you in anything but a black T-shirt, jeans, and boots. Don’t you have no other threads?”

  “I got duplicates of these,” Jerzy said testily.

  “Your bitch must find you very easy to buy for,” Tristan observed.

  All pout, Jerzy looked at his wristwatch again.

  Six-X-Seventy-six was back in the officers’ report room at Hollywood Station. Dana had called to leave information for the sex crimes detectives, a job that had recently been taken away from Hollywood Detectives and given to West Bureau. She made a request that when the detectives got the warrant the next day, she be kept in the loop as to their arrest plans.

  And while she was doing that, Hollywood Nate was apprising the acting watch commander, Sergeant Murillo, on what they’d learned from Naomi Teller. His supervisor was not just interested but very impressed.

  When Nate was finished, Sergeant Murillo said, “Damn, I think you’ve nailed it. Clark Jones, or whatever he’s called, has gotta be the rapist too.”

  “Dana nailed it,” Hollywood Nate said. “A lotta coppers woulda just taken the original report for the busted window and turned it in and been done with it. Not her. She’s gonna be one hell of a sergeant.”

  “No doubt about that,” Sergeant Murillo said. “And though we’re one day early for our full moon over Hollywood, this piece of police work deserves a large pizza with the works for you two.”

  “Which you’ll help us eat,” Nate said.

  “Of course,” said Sergeant Murillo. “And I think I’ll call Miriam in to join us at the feast.”

  “If you’re calling in Sergeant Hermann, don’t you think you better get the super-large-size pizza?” Hollywood Nate said.

  When Nate got back to the report room, Dana Vaughn was still writing. He watched her for a moment. When she stopped writing and glanced up at him, he said, “When your promotion and transfer goes through, I hope you’ll come back here as our midwatch supervisor after you finish your probation.”

  “You gonna miss me that much?” Dana said.

  Hollywood Nate said, “You’re not a sixty-nine-year-old guy with too much gut and a crew cut right out of an old black-and-white movie, but by God, there’s something about you that reminds me of the Oracle.”

  “Why, honey,” said Dana Vaughn, “that’s just about the nicest thing anyone around here’s ever said to me.”

  After paying the check, Dewey said, “Will you two excuse me? Cocktails always excite my bladder.”

  “We don’t need the details,” Eunice said. “Just go.”

  When Dewey was gone, Eunice said to Malcolm, “Can you give me your cell number, Clark? I’ll be needing it when we have to set up jobs for you.”

  “Sure,” Malcolm said.

  Eunice smiled at Malcolm when she punched his number into her own cell phone. He didn’t like the way she was smiling at him and wished his boss would hurry back.

  The moment he was alone in the restroom, Dewey pulled his cell from his pocket and speed-dialed. After one ring, he heard Tristan say, “Yeah.”

  “Call in exactly ten minutes,” he said. />
  “Okay,” Tristan said and clicked off.

  Dewey’s bowels suddenly rumbled and he ran inside a toilet stall just in time.

  Eight minutes later, after Eunice had visited the restroom, she and Malcolm and Dewey were in the parking lot behind the restaurant, having said their good-byes. Dewey paid for his car and Malcolm’s, and just as they were ready to go, Eunice, who’d drunk two cocktails more than usual, said, “Clark, don’t go home yet. Let’s stop and get a nightcap. Have you ever been to the Formosa Café? No, of course you haven’t. It’s another old Hollywood joint on Santa Monica that Bernie likes because Bogie drank there.”

  She saw the young man’s blank expression and said, “Humphrey Bogart? Ever heard of him?”

  “No,” Malcolm said.

  “Damn, you’re young!” Eunice said.

  Dewey looked at his watch. Less than two minutes! The kid had to be gone when his cell rang, or the whole gag could fail! “Ethel,” he said, “this young man can’t have a nightcap. He’s not old enough to drink in bars, so why don’t we let him go.”

  When she turned to face him, Dewey could see she was hammered, and only minutes away from belligerence. If she turned mean, it was all over. As he was trying to decide how to handle her, the kid saved him.

  “Thanks, but I should go home now,” Malcolm said. “I had a real nice time, but I still gotta get up early for my job at the warehouse.” Then he added, “Which I hope I can quit real soon.”

  “Soon,” Dewey said. “We’ll start working in earnest late tomorrow afternoon. Keep your cell on and I’ll call around noon.”

  “Good night, Mr. Graham,” Malcolm said, walking to his car. “Good night, Ethel.”

  “Night,” Eunice said and then turned to Dewey and said, “You can’t let someone have a nice evening out, can you, Mr. Graham?”

  He didn’t need this shit, not now. He looked at his watch and held open the passenger door for her, saying as soothingly as he could without condescension, “Eunice, we had a very nice evening. The boy had to go home and — ”

  His cell chirped, and she heard it while she was lighting a cigarette and shooting a boozy glare at him.

  He opened the cell and said, “Bernie Graham speaking.”

  He heard Tristan say, “Okay, I’ll jist keep this goin’ till you say good-bye.”

  Then Dewey said for effect, “Oh, shit! How did that happen?” After a long pause, he said, “Oh, Christ, I can’t come now, and I don’t have anybody else to send!” He paused again and said, “Okay, okay, how long will he wait?” After another pause he said, “I’ll deal with it somehow.”

  When he clicked off, Eunice said, “Now what the hell’s the problem?”

  “That was our runner Creole. He works with Jerzy and they’re stuck downtown at the interchange with a flat tire and no spare. I was depending on them to deliver three laptops and two small plasmas to a regular customer of ours named Hatch. You’ve heard me talk about him.”

  “They’ll have to do it tomorrow,” Eunice said.

  “He said Hatch wants the merchandise by ten o’clock tonight or he’s walking away from the deal. And he owes us three grand in addition to this delivery.”

  “What, you’re giving easy terms to thieves now, Dewey? How the hell is it that he already owes us three grand?”

  “It wasn’t me. Creole did it last Thursday without my approval when he made another delivery to Hatch. I knew you’d get mad, so I didn’t tell you. Anyway, Hatch is waiting in north Hollywood in Von’s parking lot with almost five thousand dollars for us. That’s if we make tonight’s delivery by ten o’clock.”

  As drunk as she was, it made her stop and think, as Dewey had hoped it would. He knew he could always depend on her avarice.

  She said, “And I suppose the goods are in the storage room in Reseda.”

  “Of course,” he said, “and there’s just barely enough time to pick up the stuff and deliver it to Hatch. I’m just saying, that’s how it is.”

  She smoked and thought about it and said, “Okay, let’s go. I mighta known I could never get a nice evening out without some major shit going down all wrong.”

  “It wasn’t my fault, Eunice,” Dewey said.

  “Just drive to Reseda, for chrissake,” Eunice said, taking a big drag from the cigarette and blowing it at the windshield. “And hurry it up, Dewey, or we’ll lose it all and that’ll make everything perfect. A perfectly fucked-up evening.”

  NINETEEN

  The storage facility was almost without customers by the time Dewey and Eunice arrived at 8:45 P.M. The light was on in the office, and the employee on duty at that time of night was an elderly ex-employee of a local alarm company who’d been pensioned off and was now supplementing his income. Dewey had met him on a few occasions but couldn’t remember his name. When Dewey stopped at the gate and punched in his code, the man looked out and buzzed open the car gate. Dewey drove in and stopped at the office, leaving Eunice in the car while he went inside to check in.

  The night man had more hair than Dewey did, but it was chalk-white. His face was splotchy with liver spots, and the skin on his hands was translucent. He had a small TV on the desk and was watching Dodgers baseball.

  Dewey read the name on the shirt tag and said, “Evening, Sam. I’m Bernie Graham. Met you a couple of evenings last year, but so far this year I’ve only been coming in the daytime.”

  “Oh, sure, hi, Bernie,” Sam said, but Dewey was sure the old guy didn’t remember him at all.

  “My employees left a van here today, did you see it?”

  “Naw,” Sam said, eyes darting back to the ballgame. “I been too busy to make the rounds.”

  “I’ll be driving it out in a little while. Might be leaving my car here till tomorrow.”

  “No problem, Bernie,” Sam said. “I’ll open the gate when I see you leaving.”

  When Dewey got back to the car, Eunice was dozing, but she sat up, looking disoriented when he opened the door.

  “You’re at the storage room,” Dewey said, “in case you’re wondering.”

  “Oh, shit,” Eunice said. “I was hoping this was only a nightmare.”

  “I’ll need some help carrying the plasmas,” Dewey said. “My ribs’re still aching bad.”

  “What else?” Eunice said. “I may as well get a back sprain while I’m at it.”

  Dewey’s hands were shaking when he pulled open the hasp and pretended to be unlocking the padlock hanging on the door staple. He dropped the key twice before he could complete the charade, causing Eunice to say, “Do you want me to do it? Next time drink Virgin Marys.”

  When he opened the door, he said, “I never come here at night. Let’s see, where’s the light switch? Can you strike a match over here?”

  Grumbling, she walked inside, and then a meaty hand was clamped over her mouth and she was pulled to the floor onto her belly with a huge weight on top of her while duct tape was wrapped around her ankles.

  She heard Dewey cry out, “Owwww! You’re breaking my wrist! Put the gun away, Creole! Why’re you doing this?”

  A man whose breath smelled like rank onions and beer said in her ear, “If you make one fuckin’ sound, I’ll bury my knife in your belly and gut you like a pig. Now lay real still.”

  Then, while she whimpered, her wrists were duct-taped behind her back, and a cloth blindfold was wrapped around her face and duct-taped in place with barely enough of her nostrils exposed for breathing.

  Eunice heard Dewey say, “Okay, I can’t move! You don’t need the gun, Creole! Take the merchandise! Take our money! You can have the goddamn car too!”

  Then she heard a smacking sound, like fist striking flesh, and Dewey cried out in pain. And she heard a thud against the metal wall of the storage room and then a low moan from Dewey.

  His voice was guttural and choked when he said, “Go ahead and hit me if it makes you feel better, Jerzy. But for God’s sake, don’t hurt my wife!”

  To Tristan Hawkins, the man loo
ked like some fucking radio actor in one of those old movies about people performing to a microphone. He was cooking way too much ham here, so Tristan decided to take control.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Tristan said. “I’m sick of hearin’ you.”

  Unable to surrender the stage, Dewey moaned again and said in a stage whisper, “Okay, I’ll be quiet, but please, please, don’t hurt her! That’s all I ask!”

  Then Eunice heard footsteps and knew that one of them had gone out and closed the door behind him. She started crying and had trouble stifling her sobs even when Tristan said, “Lady, you better turn off the faucet, or I’ll tape your mouth shut.”

  The next sound Eunice heard was the van pulling up to the storage room. Then the door creaked open and footsteps came near her and she was lifted by the man with the big hands and dragged along the floor. She heard the van door slide open, and the man grunted as he lifted her onto the floor of the van and rolled her to the back of the cargo space.

  Then Dewey moaned aloud and said, “Ohhh, my ribs. They hurt!” as he pounded the floor of the van and made sounds that he thought indicated he was also being manhandled.

  Tristan was getting really concerned now. He was sure that Bernie’s performance was way over the top, so he jumped into the passenger seat of the van, reached behind him, and grabbed Dewey’s shoulder, saying into the man’s face, “I want… you… to… shut… the… fuck… up. And, dawg, this ain’t a woof, it’s a warnin’. You feel me?”

  Dewey seemed to get the message and was silent after the van door was shut. Jerzy got in, dropped it into gear, and drove to the exit gate. Sam didn’t even look out but hit a button and the car gate swung open.

  Tristan saw the Polack turn around and grin, his meth-stained donkey teeth glinting in the bluish glow from the security lights. Then they were out onto the street and heading to Frogtown.

  * * *

  The sex crimes detective at West Bureau called from home to Hollywood Station at the same time that Dana Vaughn and Hollywood Nate were enjoying their celebratory pizza with Sergeant Murillo and Sergeant Hermann in the lunchroom.