by Crumb, Kit
Chapter Twenty-Five
The parking lot at Pier 39 was one of the few along the tourist wharf in San Francisco that wasn‘t closed off or chained at night. And because the Alcatraz cruise boats moored somewhere else, at night the wharf was empty. There was nothing to vandalize. What was left of an active pier was directly in line with the entrance. To the left of the entrance stretched a wide walkway cordoned off with cement-filled poles three feet high. The wall of the next pier was to the right. There was only one way out of Pier 39—the same way you came in.
A huge SUV rumbled into the lot, made a U-turn, which put the passenger side of the vehicle next to the line of cement filled poles, and turned off its lights. Moments later, at exactly midnight, a black and silver BMW pulled into the lot facing the opposite direction of the SUV, so that the driver’s sides faced each other but were several car lengths apart.
The driver’s side door of the SUV opened and a massive figure stepped out, not so much tall as broad of shoulder and narrow of hip. He stood with a briefcase in his left hand, his right behind his back, fingers wrapped around the handle of a snub nose .38.
The interior dome light of the BMW came on, the door opened and a pair of long, sinuous legs poured out of the car and on to the pavement. The woman who owned them stood nearly six feet tall. In her right hand, she held a set of car keys. Her sultry voice was calm and even.
“Its in the trunk,” Rosie Rehnquist said. She hated making good on Simms’s promises; Hubble had come up with a liver just in time.
“That’s fine, let’s get it together,” the massive figure said.
As he approached, Rosie nearly lost her composure; his presence was palpable. About two feet away he stopped and extended a beefy hand.
“Name’s Bill Rocklin. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Yeah, sure. Let’s make the trade, I’ve got to be on the road,” Rosie said, not taking his hand.
At the shortness of her response, Rocklin dropped his right hand back to the holstered pistol. He walked with Rosie to the back of the BMW. When she placed the key in the trunk lock, he stepped slightly behind her, his hand tightening on the handle of the .38.
Rosie turned her back to the open trunk, blocking the opening to prevent Rocklin from getting to its contents. She always did transactions person to person, and was used to dealing in dark parking lots at midnight. But the recipient was usually someone she’d set up. The fact that Simms had arranged this worried her. Who was this guy? The people who took possession of the organs were rarely the ones who needed them, and were in general unaccustomed to the odd locations and late hours necessary when dealing with the black market. This guy, Rocklin, was too relaxed. Rosie was used to people asking her stupid inane questions they’d adapted from bad television shows.
Bill Rocklin acted as though he’d done plenty of transactions like this.
He placed the metal briefcase on the rear fender of the BMW, popped the latches and tilted the open case at an angle so Rosie could see the money inside. She reached over and took the briefcase, snapping it shut, stepping out of the way so Rocklin could reach the box.
Without lifting the cardboard box out of the trunk, he opened the flaps, reached in and fumbled with the clasps of the ice chest.
“This the liver?” Rocklin said.
Rosie turned, looking into the trunk where Rocklin was attempting to open the lid. “Don’t open that you fool,” Rosie shrieked, then catching herself. “Sorry, it’s just that if you open the chest you’ll expose the organ and it’ll be contaminated. Your doctor will want to make sure that it’s only opened in a sterile environment.”
Rocklin grew more suspicious by the minute. He couldn’t understand why she was so insistent that he not open the chest, it wasn’t like he was going to take it out and hold it. He just wanted to look at it. How could looking contaminate?
“How do I get hold of you if there’s a problem?” Rocklin asked.
Rosie stood facing him, holding the money filled briefcase at her side, under her arm.
“Maybe you don’t understand, Mr. Rocklin. This is a black market product,” Rosie said. “We’re here in a deserted parking lot at midnight because some people consider the selling of a body part to the highest bidder not only unethical, but illegal. I thought you understood that.”
Rocklin didn’t respond, but simply turned away to lift the box out of the trunk, picking it up as though it was weightless. Turning, he stepped around Rosie and strode back to the SUV without looking back. He didn’t like her much; didn’t really care for harsh people, especially harsh women.
Rosie wasted no time. The sudden silence from this thug had totally unnerved her. With a last glance at the SUV, she threw the briefcase onto the passenger’s seat of the BMW, climbed behind the wheel, slammed the door and hung a tight U-turn out of the parking lot.
As Rocklin approached the SUV, the driver slowly lowered his window.
“Everything go OK, Rock? I heard some yelling,” the driver said.
“Guess so. Just one real up-tight bitch, that’s all.” Rocklin opened the rear passenger door, leaned in and placed the ice chest in a child carrier seat, strapping it in. “Let’s get straight home, Vince. I wanna get this to the doc as soon as possible.”
He shut the door, walked around to the front passenger side and climbed in next to the driver.
“Man, Vince, I sure hope this liver does the trick. I hate to see the old man suffer.”
Rosie was across the Golden Gate and on the freeway headed north before she finally relaxed and stopped looking in her rearview mirror. Reaching across to the briefcase, she released the two latches, lifted the lid, looked inside, and sighed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rye left the car rental desk at lax with the keys to a Ford Taurus and a memory of a time during college when he and a group of friends had driven to Los Angeles seeking the baser side of tinsel town, and found it.
The label on the video tape read Los Angeles, California, but it hadn’t given an address. Once Rye left the airport, he headed for downtown Hollywood, attempting to take the same route he and his friends had taken nearly thirty years earlier in their search for sin and debauchery. The only thing that seemed familiar was Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. He knew he was in the right area, however, when the buildings were made of brick instead of glass and stucco, the streets narrowed and the women on the sidewalk weren’t wearing as much. As a matter of fact, they weren’t wearing much of anything. He kept his windows up, doors locked. On the passenger seat, he had a clipboard with a blank sheet of paper, a street map and a page torn from the yellow pages listing adult bookstores in the area.
When he pulled into the parking lot in front of “Adult Books and More,” he began to wish he’d gotten his car from “Rent-a-Wreck.” With a pencil, he scratched off the listing on the yellow page.
The front door was metal with a steel cage bolted over it. He had to reach through a hole in the cage to get to the doorknob. Once inside, Rye tried not to look around; at age fifty-three there was nothing in the store that he hadn’t seen, heard of, or read about. It was just that it was all so openly displayed. Just to the right as he entered was a counter with the cash register, manned by a muscular black man who looked like he could have had a night job as a bouncer.
Rye turned to face the desk.
“Hi.”
He waited until the clerk looked up. There was no verbal response, just intense eye contact.
“You ever hear of a company called Lewd and Lascivious?”
“Yeah, we got all their tapes along the back wall,” he said, pointing as though he wasn’t sure that Rye could find the back wall.
“Actually, I’m interested in the company.”
The clerk didn’t let Rye finish. “Can’t help you.”
Rye was out the door
and relieved to be back in the Taurus with the doors locked. It wasn’t that there was anything dangerous in the store, even the guy behind the counter with the tight shirt and bulging muscles didn’t seem all that menacing. He put the feeling behind him, started the engine, backed out of the parking lot and headed down the street. He scanned the storefronts looking for a store called the “Doll House,” already wondering if Paul was right, that a lot of girls get in over their heads in the pornography business and there was nothing he or anyone else could do. What if this girl was already dead, or wasn’t even working for Lewd and Lascivious any more and had gone home—wherever that was.
He spotted the “Doll House” sign before he reached the parking lot. How could anyone miss it? It had an inflatable sex doll nailed on it.
Garbage lay strewn about the parking lot, mainly fast food containers with a couple of empty condom packages here and there. Even the asphalt was stained. When Rye pulled into the lot, the tires crunched over something; he parked at the far end so he wouldn’t have to step in whatever it was when he got out.
The front of the building housing the store looked like an extension of the parking lot. The brick was a patchwork of graffiti. What appeared to have been the only window had two plywood sheets covering the space with the word “pussy” spray-painted in giant letters. Even the little window in the door was blacked out. The place looked closed.
He hadn’t turned the engine off and was ready to move on, when the door opened and a young couple walked out. The “manboy” was massaging the woman’s barley covered breasts in total seriousness while she never stopped laughing. Rye sat and watched them walk down the street. Then he remembered something Paul had said. When you’re in a bad part of town, get in your car, get out, but never just sit there. He’d never asked why, but it seemed to make sense now.
The front door was solid wood but felt like it was about to fall of its hinges. This time the cash register and its guardian were against the back wall. He was greeted by the top of a shaved head slumped in a captain’s chair, nose buried in a novel.
He left out the greeting this time and got right to the point. “You ever hear of the company Lewd and Lascivious?” He stepped back at what he saw next.
“What, you never seen a woman with a shaved head?”
It wasn’t just the shaved head, but the deep facial pockmarks and breasts that could have rested on the counter as she spoke that took him by surprise. Rye was chagrined that his reaction was so obvious. As an EMT he had to keep a stone face, especially when telling an accident victim the extent of an injury.
He swallowed once. “Ever hear the name Lewd and Lascivious,” he repeated?
“Heard of them, yeah. Rumor is that only girls squeaky clean are hired, then never seen again.”
Suddenly Rye had the impression that he was being visually undressed, but shook off the feeling.
“You ever know any of the girls trying to get hired?”
The woman seemed to be fiddling with the buttons running down the middle of her blouse; Rye tried not to look at what she was doing and kept his eyes on her forehead.
“Lots, but they weren’t squeaky clean and they never got hired. They said all they asked in the interview was about smoking, drinking and drugs.”
Rye couldn’t pinpoint it, but she was making serious eye contact and something about her presence had softened.
“Hey if you’re looking for work, I got a camera in the back.”
Before Rye could respond, the woman pulled her blouse open at the middle, her two breasts cascaded like twin avalanches onto the counter. “How’d you like to run it between these babies?”
His jaw must have dropped because she began to laugh.
He couldn’t help but look. “Ah, no thanks.” He didn’t run to the door, but he didn’t walk either. He must have looked like a total fool.
When he got back to the Taurus, he didn’t lay rubber but was sure that his tires kicked up some of the fast food trash as he peeled out. He crept along the road, looking down at the page torn out of the phone book, groaning at the site of twelve more listings to go. At least he’d gotten confirmation that Lewd and Lascivious was in the area. Somehow he just couldn’t go back and ask for details.
He noted that the storefronts and general neighborhood seemed a little cleaner as the addresses grew larger. The pawnshop and antique store he passed both looked well kept. It was a warm day, they both had their doors open and there was fully clothed foot traffic along the sidewalk. He almost turned into a used bookstore by mistake, and made a mental note to swing back later if he had the time.
There it was, next to a boarded-up storefront. He was relieved to see that the sign was a modest black and white, simply reading “Adult Books,” and that the parking lot looked clean.
He took a deep breath. When he walked through the polished steel and glass door, he thought he might have entered the wrong store. The door swung smoothly, closing with a quiet swoosh behind him. He was startled when greeted by a detached voice.
“Hello, can I help you find anything?”
Rye did a quick scan and from some noises, determined the voice was coming from the far right corner, but decided to wait for the source of the voice to reveal itself.
“Sorry, I was stocking some new tapes. What can I help you with?”
He was relieved to be greeted by a pleasantly plump, slightly balding, fifty-something man wearing creased slacks and a bright red polo shirt.
“Hi, yeah, well actually I need some information.”
Rye braced himself for the man’s reaction, but for the second time was pleasantly surprised.
“Sure, I’ve been in this location for thirty years. Had to move the store from downtown LA about the same time the city started getting too big for its own good. So, I’m here. Lost some foot traffic, but you can’t beat the rent. Sorry, sorry, I go on forever if I’m not careful. What can I tell you?”
“Have you ever heard of a film company called Lewd and Lascivious?”
“Yep. What do you want to know?”
“Location, maybe some names.”
“Uh oh, sounds like a daughter gone astray. That’s how I found out about them. Not my daughter, course. My goddaughter, actually. Best friend’s daughter. He came to me cuz he knew I was in the biz.”
A bell rang interrupting his monologue.
“Scuse me, delivery at the back door. Take just a minute.”
Rye knew there was no way to get off easy; one way or another he was going to have to pay for any information.
It turned out the owner of “Adult Books” knew quite a bit, and was willing to tell it for free. He said that Lewd and Lascivious was six blocks down, but it was only the business office. Rumor was the film set was somewhere in Oregon. He heard through the grapevine that it was financed by a doctor and was operated by some kind of nymphomaniac who demanded sex from all the male actors as part of their interviews.
That was enough for Rye, who only really wanted the address. Abruptly he looked at his watch. “Oh, I’ve got to run, but thanks for the information.”
Six blocks later, the street looked like it was on a different planet. Trees lined the sidewalks and there were no deserted cars stripped and left to rust. He almost drove past his destination because the sign was so high, mounted two stories up. He had to get out of the car to read it. He was disappointed that there was no phone number on the sign, but maybe that would have made things too easy.
He walked slowly up to the door, taking a minute to rehearse his lines, but never got the chance. He found out the door was metal by the ring it made when his head was slammed against it.
Without hesitation, Rye executed a rear heel scoop kick and was rewarded with a grunt, when he spun around he was looking down the barrel of a very large caliber gun and an angry set of eyes. The gunman
kept changing weight from one leg to the other, like a little kid that had to go to the bathroom. Reaching with his empty hand, the gunman wadded up Rye’s shirt and placed the barrel of the gun firmly against his forehead.
“Now, moving your eyes, not your head, look to your left and you’ll see a black SUV. That’s your goal. You want to reach your goal without me blowing your fucking head off, got it? Don’t nod.”
“I…I understand.”
“Good, then let’s go, and don’t forget your goal.”
The two men walked sideways toward the car, the gunman cross stepping, Rye crabbing along as best he could. He observed his captor’s appearance: coal black hair tied up in a ponytail, bull neck and a muscular build bulging out of an open sport coat. Maybe a former pro athlete, Rye thought. When they got within a couple feet of the rear of the SUV, the double back doors flew open. A man reached out, grabbed Rye by his shoulders and dragged him in the back. The gunman slammed the doors closed.
Rye landed on his back facing the rear doors and raised himself up on his elbows.
“Turn around nice and slow.”
Rye pulled his knees up under him as he turned so that he was sitting upright and on his heels. The windows in the back of the SUV were blacked out, the passenger seats were folded down and the entire inside looked so clean it could have come right out of the showroom.
When he turned to look at his second captor, he was once again looking into the barrel of a gun. Moments later the passenger side door opened and the first gunman got in, sitting braced against the back of the passenger seat.
“What’s your name?”
“Rye.”
“Well Mr. Rye, how long you been working for Lewd and Lascivious?”
Before he could answer the closest gunman turned to look at the other, they seemed to be agreeing on something and Rye knew that he’d given himself away. Claire had always said that he couldn’t keep a secret because it was always written all over his face.