by Alan Russell
“Dino’s,” I said. The lounge had been one of the “old” Las Vegas haunts recommended to me by Ellis Haines.
“It’s sort of a dive,” said Andrea. “In fact, its motto is ‘Getting Vegas drunk since nineteen sixty-two.’”
“Catchy,” I said.
“Anyway, today I caught up with Dee Dee. She’s been a cocktail waitress at Dino’s for the last thirty years. Dee Dee was acquainted with Carol Shipley, one of the victims we identified as fitting our criteria. She said Carol was a karaoke regular and would come in about once a week. In fact, when Dee Dee heard about Carol’s homicide, she claims the first thing that came to her mind was Carol’s Creep. She wondered if he might have been involved in her murder.”
“And you think Carol’s Creep is Haines?”
“Dee Dee picked him out of a six-pack,” Andrea said. “And she referred me to some old karaoke regulars who she’s sure will be able to do the same.”
“Did she remember his name, or the name he went by?”
“No,” Andrea said, “all she could remember was her own nickname for him: Carol’s Creep. After Carol’s homicide, Dee Dee said she never saw him in the lounge again.”
“Why did Dee Dee think this guy was a creep?”
“‘Insincere’ and ‘oily’ is how she described him, but her nickname for him came from his song selection. Every time he came in, the song ‘Creep’ was part of his karaoke repertoire.”
“The song by Radiohead,” I said.
“You got it. Dee Dee said he always nailed the song in a perfectly eerie way. She said the lyrics sounded all too natural coming out of his mouth.”
I am a creep, I thought, I’m a weirdo.
“Dee Dee said there’s a falsetto part to the song, and the way he’d sing those notes would send shivers down her back. To her, it sounded like he was voicing equal parts menace and desperation. She was convinced that there was something dangerous about him.”
“But she never made the association between Carol’s Creep and Ellis Haines?”
“She did not and has not. And I made sure Haines’s name never came up in our conversation.”
“What else did she have to say about Carol’s Creep?”
“Dee Dee said she often associates karaoke customers with their favorite songs. Haines also regularly sang ‘Space Oddity’ by David Bowie and ‘Africa’ by Toto.”
I considered my visits with Haines and tried to recollect if I’d ever heard him singing either of those songs.
“‘Ground Control to Major Tom,’” I said.
“He is a spaceman of sorts,” she said.
“No argument here. I imagine a lot of Bowie songs are in his wheelhouse. The man does love to sing. It sort of surprises me to think he’d be singing something from Toto, though. They’re too easy-listening for him.”
“I just listened to the song ‘Africa,’” she said. “It’s possible he sang it for the one line.”
“Which is?”
“I won’t sing it, to spare your eardrums, but it’s something to the effect of how the singer’s seeking a cure because he’s frightened of this thing he’s become.”
I remembered the line. It was a note of darkness, and maybe desperation, amidst a song of remembering and longing.
“What’s your next step?” I asked.
“I’ll be making rounds of places that Haines mentioned to you, like Hugo’s Cellar, Bootlegger Bistro, Batista’s Hole in the Wall, and Bob Taylor’s Ranch House. I’ll also circle back to Dino’s and see if some of the old regulars can identify Haines as Carol’s Creep through a six-pack.”
“I wonder if Carol introduced him to others as Ellis. Or maybe he never offered up his real name to her.”
“As I mentioned,” she said, “I’ve kept Ellis Haines’s name out of any questioning. But two people who looked at the six-pack commented that Haines’s face appeared familiar to them. And a third individual asked if the man in the picture wasn’t the Weatherman.”
“I guess there’s no avoiding that,” I said, “but do your best to keep the genie in the bottle as long as possible.”
Chapter Thirty-One
A Late-Night Picnic
I spent the evening going through the All-In Killer files and making notes. What I found didn’t make me feel any better, but it was still progress of sorts.
At a little before eight, my cell phone started ringing. The display said, Private Name, Private Number, but I answered anyway.
“Gideon,” I said.
“Yeah,” said a male voice. “You the cop?”
“Who’s calling?” I asked.
The caller had a thick Mexican accent. “I call about the money.”
At the bottom of all the posters I’d dropped off at businesses in Boyle Heights was the number for Crime Stoppers. I had also decided to write my cell phone number with a Sharpie in case someone wanted to talk to me. This was my first bite.
“The reward?” I said.
“Yeah. You pay cash?”
“I’m sure that can be arranged. Do you know something about those dogs dumped in Boyle Heights?”
“Yeah. El Gallo Negro no like losers.”
“Are you saying Humberto Rivera killed those dogs?”
The line was silent for a few seconds. “Hello?” I said.
“I’m not saying nothing,” the man said. “You talk, you die.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“The poster ask for information about dogfights. If I tell you when next dogfight is, I get the money?”
“If you provide the location of when and where the fight is taking place, and we make arrests resulting from your information, you would be entitled to the reward, yes.”
“And you no tell El Gallo who tell you?”
“That’s right. Your anonymity is assured.”
“You arrest all the peoples at dogfight?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s illegal to even watch.”
“So you arrest me, and El Gallo sees, and he never know I not arrested for real?”
“I can arrange that,” I said. “I will make sure all the charges against you get dropped.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay?” I asked.
“I think about it.”
I spoke quickly, afraid he was about to hang up. “If you want the money, you’ll need to act before anyone else does.”
He didn’t respond, so I pushed a little harder. “You don’t want someone else to get that reward money, do you? If you hesitate, that might very well happen.”
“I no know,” he said.
“What are you unsure about? Five thousand bucks is a lot of money.”
“Ay yi yi,” he said under his breath. Then he apparently came to his decision. “Next time.”
“What do you mean next time?”
“I call before next fight.”
Next fight, I thought. Now his questions and worries made sense.
“A dogfight is taking place tonight, isn’t it?” I said.
“Yes.”
“Then talk to me now,” I said. “If you wait until next time, someone else might get the money. We still have time to make arrangements. What time does the fight start?”
“We no know yet.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“We wait to hear from El Gallo. He not send out last text.”
“So he already texted everyone to say there would be a fight tonight, but you don’t know when and where it’s taking place?”
“It be somewhere near Sunland-Tujunga,” he said.
I thought about what the man was saying. Tito’s caution made perfect sense. He had provided enough information for those involved in his dogfighting ring to begin driving toward Sunland-Tujunga. Before too long, they’d be texted with the final details. The information was being parceled out on a timely need-to-know basis. By operating in secrecy and limiting the timeframe, Rivera was minimizing his risk.
I began to put everything in context. Earlie
r in the day I had seen the loaded trucks in the recycling yard and noticed the absence of dogs. Pop-up restaurants are popular in LA. Having a pop-up dogfighting ring allowed Rivera a mobility that would make it extremely difficult to ever nail him.
“Let’s meet up somewhere in Sunland-Tujunga in forty-five minutes,” I said. “You can pick the spot to make sure no one sees us. By that time I’m sure El Gallo will have sent out the text saying where and when the dogfight will be taking place.”
“You give me my money tonight?”
“I can give you a hundred dollars tonight. You’ll get the rest of the five thousand after we make the bust. Okay?”
I listened as he took a deep, uncertain breath and considered my proposal. I didn’t like the sound of his wavering.
“Listen,” I said, “we need to meet face-to-face anyway. That way I can get your name and information so that the arrest charges get thrown out. Do you understand what I’m saying? Tonight everyone will see you being arrested along with them, but I’ll make sure you get released later, with all of those charges dropped.”
He let out some air, and once more he said, “Ay yi yi.”
I joined him in taking a lungful of air. Not breathing, I waited on his decision. Finally, he said, “Okay.” Then he told me where to go for our meet-up.
My mind was racing as I dressed. I chose dark clothing and work boots. As a precaution, I put on a Kevlar vest and wore a shoulder holster with my Glock. Going into this alone was stupid, I knew, but my informant was already skittish enough. As it was, I couldn’t be sure he’d show up. And if I came with backup, he might very well be scared off. Not that I planned to be solo any longer than necessary. If the info was good, I’d call in LAPD’s Foothill division to assist me.
My informant had told me we’d be meeting up in Sunland-Tujunga, an area about twenty-five miles north of where I lived. I’d been told to park at a pullout along Big Tujunga Canyon Road, and then proceed on foot to the exit for the Wildwood Picnic Site in the Angeles National Forest. Although the area was closed to cars, my informant said I would be able to walk down the road, although he didn’t recall its name. Before leaving, I took a hurried two minutes to study the area on Google Street View. I followed Big Tujunga Canyon Road, found the pullout where he wanted me to park, and using the street view, I continued up the road a few hundred feet, finding the sign for the Wildwood Picnic site. The name of the road my caller couldn’t remember was Doske. On my computer screen, I followed Doske Road down to the picnic area. That’s where my informant said he’d be waiting.
Both Sirius and Emily were watching all my movements with interest. I think they were hoping for a walk, but instead I asked them, “Do you want to go for a drive?” Judging by their enthusiastic response, they very much did.
“Let’s go,” I said.
The merged towns of Sunland and Tujunga have a mixed reputation. Although the town is only half a dozen miles north of downtown Glendale, in many ways it’s another world. The area is up in the hills, with its northern border the San Gabriel Mountains. For a time, Sunland-Tujunga was the hub for biker gangs in LA County. Perhaps hand in hand with that, it also had the dubious distinction of being LA’s meth capital. Proponents of Sunland-Tujunga like to tout the area’s open space, rural atmosphere, ranches, and horse country. Its detractors claim it has a disproportionate amount of crime-related activities.
From Sherman Oaks, you ascend into the hills. Twenty years ago, when LA’s air pollution was at its worst, some residents relocated to Sunland-Tujunga as a respite from the bad air. Located in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains, its area includes Mount Lukens, which tops out at more than 5000 feet in elevation—the highest point in Los Angeles.
I had only been to Sunland-Tujunga a few times. From memory, I knew Foothill Boulevard was the only major road in the city. The route ran east to west, but depending on where the dogfight was to take place, Sunland-Tujunga could also be reached using Interstate 210.
During the drive, I began to choreograph in my mind the best way to go about meeting with my informant. The street view that I’d studied electronically had allowed me some limited insights into the lay of the land, but I wished I had a better idea of what I was walking into. I had been so intent on making sure my informant wouldn’t back out that I’d neglected to ask basic questions. I’d agreed to meet at a spot of his choosing, allowing him to dictate terms.
My qualms grew as I closed in on the town. I could turn around, I told myself. No one would be the wiser if I backed out. But just because I hadn’t dictated the conditions of this meet-up didn’t mean it wouldn’t ultimately be worth it. If all went right, I could shut down a dogfighting ring and arrest Tito.
On my steering wheel I punched a button. One day, I’m sure, some car company will adapt Barbara Eden’s voice from I Dream of Jeannie into its audio system. I responded to the prompt of a mechanical voice and said, “Call Shaman.”
When he answered, Seth anticipated that I was calling about having a drink. “I’m afraid I have company tonight, Michael,” he said. “How about tomorrow evening?”
“Tomorrow evening sounds good,” I said, “but I’m actually calling about something else.”
“Everything okay?” Seth asked.
My friend already sounded alarmed. I tried to strike a calm, nothing-is-out-of-the-ordinary tone. “I’m going to be meeting with an informant in a few minutes,” I said, “and since the spot is a little bit off the beaten path, I thought it only made sense to give you the address.”
Cary Grant probably could have made what I said sound like something reasonable. Judging by Seth’s response, I was no Cary Grant.
“Why are you meeting an informant in a remote spot without backup?” he said.
“A short time ago I got a call saying that a dogfight is taking place tonight. I’m meeting with the informant to give him a down payment on the reward and get its location.”
“You’re taking an unnecessary risk.”
“Today I saw two large trucks at Best Scrap that were filled to the gills. And even though those trucks were covered with tarps, I could see what looked to be a generator, as well as tables and chairs and benches. At the time I didn’t put two and two together. Now it makes sense. This is my chance to nail a mobile dogfighting ring.”
“What’s the name of this informant?”
“He didn’t give it to me. He spoke in broken English with a Latino accent.”
“Where are you meeting this guy?”
“In Sunland-Tujunga,” I said. “There’s a spot off Big Tujunga Canyon Road called the Wildwood Picnic Site. It’s part of the Angeles National Forest.”
“And the purpose of your call was to tell me that?”
“It only makes sense to have someone know my whereabouts.”
“It only makes sense to not go through with this meeting. I think that’s the real reason why you’re calling me. You wanted me to point out the obvious.”
“Thanks for your concern, Seth.”
“I can leave now and join you in about half an hour.”
“I appreciate your offer, but if you’d heard how shaky my caller was, you’d know I have to do this alone. He’ll no-show if he spots anyone else.”
“If I were trying to set you up,” said Seth, “I’d probably think up something just like this.”
“I’m armed,” I said, “and I’m also wearing a Kevlar vest that must weigh about ten pounds and provides no ventilation. And as soon as I learn the whereabouts of tonight’s dogfight, I’ll be calling for backup.”
“At least you haven’t taken complete leave of your senses.”
“Thanks much.”
“Call me after your meeting so I know you’re all right,” he said.
It was dark, the kind of dark someone who lives in a city doesn’t experience. I was less than twenty-five miles from downtown Los Angeles, but it felt as if I had landed in a foreign country. There were few cars traveling along the two lanes of Big Tujunga
Canyon Road. It was a winding road that discouraged speed. Looming over me, and accentuating the darkness, was the inhospitable stone that lined much of the roadway.
On this section of Big Tujunga, which was mostly uninhabited canyon country, there were no lights from houses or businesses. If I were to continue on the road, it would end up running into the Angeles Forest Highway. I wasn’t traveling that far, though. If the GPS was right, I’d be pulling over in about a mile.
There was little in the way of signage. Here and there were warnings about curving roads, with speed limits not to exceed thirty MPH. Most road signs usually overstate the danger of what’s ahead; these seemed to understate the hazard potential, especially at night.
My nervousness didn’t go unnoticed by the dogs. Sirius made a sound that I call his questioning whine. He wanted to be reassured.
“It’s all right,” I said, trying to fool my partner.
The truth is I was having second thoughts about the arrangements that I’d agreed to. But it would all be worth it, I told myself, after I got the information that would take down Tito.
The pullout suddenly appeared, and I pulled over and turned off my lights. It had been more than five minutes since I’d seen another car. There was no second car in the pullout, and I wondered if my informant had decided not to show up. I took a deep breath, not sure what I thought about that. My heart was already pounding, and I was still in the car.
Both Sirius and Emily were standing up and looking at me expectantly. I considered taking Sirius with me, but then decided against it. It would be better to leave him with Emily. Besides, if the terrain allowed for it, I wanted to avoid the direct approach of walking down Doske Road. If an ambush had been planned, I didn’t want to walk into it. Sirius knew the command for silence—usually he made no sounds after I called out “ruhig”—but a dog’s natural inclination is to bark at the unknown, or any potential threat. My best chance for silence was to go in solo.
“You both need to stay here,” I said.
Sirius gave a sharp, high-pitched single bark. That was his come on, you’ve got to be kidding bark.
“I’ll be back soon,” I said.