by Billy Kring
At first, I thought it was red paint, but then the smell kicked in and I recognized it as blood. Blood everywhere: splattered on the wall, the bed, the floor, and smeared across the sliding mirrored doors of the closet. Whoever was bleeding had struggled in a fight that ranged around the room. There were prints on the floor showing what looked like four shoes of different sizes, and there were prints of one person’s bare feet.
“You bring your cell with you?” Hondo asked.
“Yeah, but I don’t think we want to call the police on it. Probably should make an anonymous call from a pay phone so we don’t get asked how we got inside.” I looked around and said, “Besides, they don’t have to hurry. Whoever lost this much blood doesn’t need an ambulance, they need a hearse.”
A muffled squeal came from behind the mirrored closet doors. We looked at each other and Hondo went to the closet with his Glock in his hand, being careful not to step in any of the drying blood. He slid open the door.
A small, crying figure wearing a black turtleneck sweater and black stretch pants, black tennis shoes and a black watch cap came scooting out of the dark. The watch cap hung on a clothes hanger and jerked off the figure’s head, revealing blond, spikey hair that must have been styled with a rake.
Mickey ran to me and buried her face in my chest before I could remove my windbreaker. She cried and sobbed and sniffled for five minutes before raising her head and smiling through clown makeup. “I’m so glad to see you two. I was sooo scared.”
I glanced at my Patagonia and figured I might have to burn it this time. I said, “What are you doing here?”
She sniffled and we moved her from the bedroom to the living room. I watched Hondo check her shoes as she walked and he shook his head to tell me there wasn’t any blood on them. We sat at a glass table with tubular brass chairs around it and Mickey told us what she’d seen.
**
“I was sleuthing the area last night, wanting to eyeball what Valdar was working on, see if he had any dames or bimbos casing the joint, when I saw him slip the house and go for a walk down the beach. I didn’t have a roscoe, so I was being careful. When he was far enough away I used my bins and scoped the pad for perps, then sleuthed in through the door and began detecting.”
I said, “Mickey, please use regular words. I only got a D in Private Eye Talk one-oh-one.”
“Oh all right. But you should have studied more.” She took a breath and continued, “I looked at his paintings and things, then saw the photo attached to the canvas on the easel. It was the place we were yesterday, above where the Mexican women had been sitting by the fire.
“Well, that got me interested and I sleuthed, uh, looked around some more and was in his bedroom when I heard Valdar in the living room. I didn’t know what to do so I got in the closet and closed the doors. I hid behind the clothes and listened for what seemed like hours. It had been quiet for a while and I thought that maybe he was gone, so I stepped out. I was almost to the door when I heard the patio door slide open and Valdar said, ‘What are you doing here?’” Mickey wiped her hands on her thighs as she recalled the events. “I hopped back into the closet and could hear muffled voices, several of them, and they all sounded angry, even Valdar’s. Then I heard a yell and some running and everyone was in the bedroom and there was the sound of hitting and fighting and a couple of times I heard a voice yell out in pain.”
She began to tear up and I told her, “It’s over now. You’re just being a good detective and giving us the facts.”
She nodded, “It went on for a while and finally there was a thump and some gasps and then quiet. Someone out there said something in a language I didn’t know, then I heard some grunts and steps leaving, and I heard them take the computer because they banged it against the wall when they moved it. But they all didn’t go. A couple of them stayed in the house. I could hear them turning on the television and doing things in the kitchen, and one of them came in here and lay on the bed. He went to sleep because I could hear him snoring.”
“So you were here all night.”
“Yes.”
“What time did they leave this morning?”
“I don’t know the time, but it was maybe three hours before you two got here.” She shook her head, “I wasn’t going to leave that closet for anything. Some people came back about two hours later and they all talked in the living room, then moved in the bedroom and talked some more before they left. They haven’t been gone more than fifteen minutes or so.”
Hondo said, “Did it sound like they were looking for something? Could you hear anything like that?”
“Yes, like I said, the first ones banged everything around and took the computer. The men in the second group that came this morning were different. They opened drawers and things, but were very careful. I could hear them close things back, put stuff back in place.”
“They didn’t check the closet?”
“Oh yes. I was behind some long Armani jackets and held my breath when they opened the door. I just knew they would find me, but they only moved a few clothes and looked on the top shelf, where they took a box of some kind, and closed the door.”
“Do you know what type of box?”
“I think it was a shoe box, but I’m not sure. The clothes moved when the guy took it down and I caught a glimpse of his hand and part of the box.”
“Did the hand have any tattoos, any rings?”
“No, it was brown looking, like maybe a medium skinned Hispanic or somebody from the Mediterranean, that kind of brown. There weren’t any rings or tattoos that I remember.”
“Could you guess how tall he was?”
“Over six feet, I know that, because he blocked out a lot of the closet light.”
Hondo said, “Why don’t we leave, stop at a payphone and make the call to the police. I think whoever did this got what they wanted.”
Mickey squirmed, “Okay, but first I have to pee. I’ve been holding it all night.” She hurried into the bathroom, holding herself all the way. While she was gone, I went to the easel, took the photo of Landman, and put it inside my shirt.
We left after checking to see that it was clear. We drove Mickey to her car, dropped her off and told her to go home and stay there, then we drove until we found a payphone and I called the police. I used a Spanish accent and told them I wouldn’t give my name because I was an illegal.
We returned to the office and Hondo ground the last of the Jamaican Blue Mountain and made coffee. We poured our cups and sat at the desks, sipping and thinking. I debated telling Bond about the blood, but decided if I wasn’t going to tell the police, I wouldn’t tell her.
Hondo had the photo I’d taken and was studying it. “We need to take this, get it blown up.”
“You see something?”
“I’m not sure, but I think we might make out the shoe type on this phantom leg, and it looks like there’s something else beside the foot, but it’s in shadow and I can’t make it out.”
I sipped some coffee and said, “Wish we’d had time to go through the computer or found a camera.”
“Yeah, but that would be the easy way. We don’t want it easy, that’s no fun.”
“For you, maybe. Me, I like easy.”
The phone rang and I punched the conference button so Hondo and I could both hear. Sergeant Best was on the line. “You make a call to the police this morning, telling about a room full of blood at Bob Landman’s beach house?”
“Well good morning to you too, Vick.”
“Funny thing, the detective I talked to said it was an illegal alien made the call. Me, I don’t believe in coincidence and what with you and I recently discussing Landman’s disappearance becoming a law enforcement matter, I thought I’d check with you, make sure you know it’s against the law to break and enter, to disturb evidence at a crime scene, among other things.”
“I realize that Sergeant Best, sir. You can be assured my partner and I know those things are against the law.”
We cou
ld hear Vick tapping a pencil on his desk. He said, “That’s what I figured, smartass. Stay out of the way on this Ronny. You or Hondo screw up and I’ll haul your asses to jail for interfering in an investigation.”
“That’s clear enough.”
“I gotta go, the Governor created a frigging thirty man task force with someone from every department in greater LA on it, supposed to look into Landman’s disappearance and we’ve got a press conference in ten minutes.”
“Are you heading it up?”
“Yes, dammit.”
“Well congrats there, Sergeant Best.”
“Screw you, and get me my chips or I’m gonna be pissed.”
I punched the phone button off and said, “You think he needs the Julio’s for a tranquilizer, or is it just comfort food?”
“He’s been a little high strung ever since you shot him last year.”
“Hey, that’s not fair, he moved.”
The corner of Hondo’s mouth went up the tiniest bit and we sat in silence finishing our coffee.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hondo was looking at the pen and the words list he had lifted from Bob Landman’s purple fanny pack when he said, “Want to get out of here, go check a few things?”
“Like what?”
He held up the cheap pen, “This motel’s in East LA”
“Sure, what car?”
“I think Shamu’ll work best.”
We drove through the barrios and looked at the gang graffiti marking territorial boundaries. The Maravilla and White Fence gangs were in the area, and the Camino Real was located on their borderline. I parked near the front of the hotel and followed Hondo into the lobby where a tall, thin redheaded man with severely crossed pale eyes stood behind the counter and watched us enter — at least I think he watched us enter, but his gaze was somewhere between Hondo and me.
Hondo leaned on the counter and said, “Get many Hollywood stars in here?”
He said, “You mean like Elvis?”
I looked at him.
Hondo said, “More like living ones.”
The redhead moved both hands to his head and massaged his temples while his eyes squinted shut. After ten seconds, he opened them and said, “Had Lassie in here once. She had a good time, too.”
I said, “How about Bruce Willis, Tom Cruise, Bob Landman, those guys.”
“Oh sure, Landman was in here last week. Been in three, four times this month. I didn’t know you meant actors, I thought you said stars.”
How do you argue with that? I said, “Did Landman come in alone?”
He rubbed his head again for several seconds, then said, “No sir.”
“Do you remember who was with him?”
“Don’t know their names.”
I said, “How about what they looked like, can you describe them?”
“Uh-huh.”
Silence.
“Would you describe them?”
“Sure.”
Silence.
I said, “Right now. Would you describe them right now?” Dentists didn’t have this much trouble pulling a wisdom tooth.
He appeared testy, “Why didn’t you say so, instead of beating around the bush?” He fiddled with a pen on the counter and sulked for a bit, then said, “There were two of them with him last week, a man and a woman.” He suddenly got a suspicious look on his face and said, “You aren’t with the newspaper are you?”
“No.”
“Okay then. Good, because the papers are full of trash, except for the Enquirer. They know Elvis is still alive and the saucers bring him back to earth regular so he can visit. Now that’s real news if you ask me. Sayy, if you’re with the Enquirer—”
I looked around like I was making sure we were alone. “We are, and you’re pretty darn sharp to catch on like that. In fact, I wrote that Elvis article, met the King himself.”
He grinned and said, “I knew it!”
“It’s between us, okay?” He nodded and I said, “Now, can you describe the man and woman?”
“Sure, the man was tall, kinda scary looking, had long hair. The woman now, she was a looker, I tell you. That one is somebody’s trophy wife or girlfriend.”
“Did the tall man have any tattoos?”
“He had on a coat, and I didn’t see any.”
“Was the woman dark, light, blond, brunette?”
“She was built like a brick shithouse,” he held his hands cupped in front of his chest, “I mean like big firm melons. I didn’t pay much attention to her hair, but I think it was kinda red, maybe.”
“How long did they stay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could you look?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” He punched numbers on the computer and said, “Huh, that’s funny. His name’s not on here.”
Hondo said, “Maybe he used an assumed name, or one of the others checked in for him.”
“No, I remember exactly, because he didn’t use Bob, he used Robert.” He punched keys again and frowned at the screen. “I don’t understand.”
I said, “Did he sign something?”
“Yeah, he did. I’ll have to go dig through the hard copies from last week, but he did sign. Signed Robert Landman, I remember it.”
His nametag read Loomis. I said, “Loomis, we’ll come around tomorrow and check with you. Here’s something for your trouble, and we’ll match it tomorrow if you find us anything good.” I handed him a hundred dollar bill.
He took it, looked around and put it in his pocket. “You fellows come here after one. I’ll be by myself then.”
We nodded and as Hondo pushed the door to go out, we heard Loomis hissing, “Tell Elvis hello for me!”
When we got outside, I could see three Hispanics leaning on the driver’s side door of my pickup. They appeared to be in their early twenties and were dressed in baggy khakis, white undershirts, and were drinking forties of malt liquor, holding them at their sides by putting a finger in the mouth of the bottle.
We stopped at the truck and they didn’t move. “Excuse me guys, this is my truck.”
The one wearing the hairnet said, “Truck? I thought it was a fish.” They all ha-ha’d and still didn’t move.
Hondo took his sunglasses off and hooked them on his belt, pulling his jacket out and away from his underarm to make room. He said, “I tell him all the time it looks like Shamu.”
Hairnet said, “Yeah, that’s the one. Man, when you gonna get a real paint job on this bruto? This is a big, bad-ass truck, gringo.”
I could see the butts of handguns sticking out of the pants of the closest two, so I had to guess all three were armed. I gave an aw-shucks smile and eased a half-step at a forty-five degree angle to settle into an open Bi-Jong stance they wouldn’t recognize as anything. It left no soft areas exposed and opened my jacket an inch away from my side. The magnum’s weight against my ribs was telling my hand right where to go.
Hairnet grinned at us and pulled out a switchblade, flicking the button. As he started to rake the point across the side of the truck, Hondo shook his head and said, “Uh-uh.”
At that same moment, I felt the hair on my neck prickle and I turned to look behind us at the street. A lowrider was coming by with two cholos hanging out of the windows, holding Mac-10s in each hand. I yelled and the others glanced at the street. I was already moving and Hondo was a heartbeat behind as we tackled the three boys and shoved them to the pavement while the four Macs bratted nine-millimeter bullets into the side of Shamu at a rate of twenty-five rounds per second. It sounded like being under a metal shed during a bad hailstorm for two seconds, then their magazines were empty and it was silent.
When we heard the car speed away, Hondo and I got off the three gangbangers, who were much slower getting up. Hairnet was holding his arm where Hondo had hit him to knock him down.
“Man, es-say, you almost broke it.”
“I thought about holding you in front of the truck to save the paint job.”
Shamu had l
ots of holes in the sides and a wavy string of spiderwebs in the front window. The angled glass had caused the nine millimeters to ricochet off rather than penetrate.
Hairnet talked to the other two in Spanish, then said, “I’m not complaining man, it’s just that I never been hit like that. My neck hurts and my teeth clicked together so hard I got tiny chips in my mouth.” He looked at me, “How you know they was coming?”
“I felt it. Nothing else I can tell you.”
“Like a psychic thing, uh? That’s cool, man. What’s your names?”
“I’m Ronny Baca, He’s Hondo Wells.”
“Both of you got Spanish in your names, that’s good.”
I could hear sirens in the distance. On a hunch I said, “You three get out of here, we’ll take care of the cops.”
Hairnet looked at us for a second, then said, “You saved the lives of three Maravillas, and it’s not something we forget. If you need anything, you ask for one of us. My name is Pretty Boy, this is Chato and he’s Cuarenta.”
“Forty?” Hondo said.
Pretty Boy said, “Yeah, he likes his beer.” That was it. They trotted off and disappeared around the corner. Two minutes later a police vehicle pulled up and the officers got out. We told them our story of innocence, of walking to our vehicle and this car drove by and we saw the guns just in time. They had us go over it three times before they were satisfied.
As they were leaving Hondo asked them, “Is he going to get stopped for driving his truck like this?”
The older officer said, “No, but he’ll get a lot of looks.”
The officer was right.
**
I dropped Hondo at his car and had him follow me to the local garage. The body man wiped his hands on a red rag and said, “You take a left through a firing range?”
Everybody’s a comedian. I said, “Can you fix it up?”
“I can if the store’s got enough Bond-O, that’s a lot of holes. The windows are no problem and nothing hit the engine, so you’re okay there. You want me to paint over that white so it doesn’t look like a fish?”
“It’s not a fish, it’s a mammal.”
“You want me to paint it all black or not?”