by Chris Carter
‘What? Really?’
‘That’s what I’ve heard.’
‘Decapitated?’
‘I’m not sure, I just heard the body had no face. It could’ve been blown off by a shotgun. It’s not unheard of,’ Chris said shaking his head.
Mark Culhane took a moment to think about the situation he’d been presented with. In his mind, the odds of the only body in the sealed-off area being of Jenny Farnborough were quite skinny. He saw no point in pursuing it.
‘Thanks, Chris. Do me a favor will you? Keep an eye out for any bodies matching the description I gave you, if anything comes in, give me a shout, it’s important.’ Culhane handed Chris one of his cards.
Chris regarded the card for a moment. ‘Sure, anything for the LAPD.’
‘I’d better get going. Do you mind if I get out through the same door we came in?’
‘That’s fine by me. I’ll have to walk down with you, there’s a code to the door.’
They left the cold-storage room and walked back in silence. As they reached the door, Culhane handed the overall back to Chris who punched the code into the metal keypad. Culhane was glad to see the outside world again.
Sitting inside his car, Culhane lit a cigarette. There were another two Coroner offices in Los Angeles, one in Santa Clarita and one in West Lancaster, but he wasn’t sure if it was worth the trip. He finished his cigarette and decided he’d done all he could do to find this Jenny Farnborough girl; she was only another hooker anyway. In the morning he’d call Jerome and let him know. For now, he had more important things to do.
Eighteen
West Sunset Boulevard is one of the most famous streets in Los Angeles, but its best-known portion is the mile and a half stretch between Hollywood and Beverly Hills that has been dubbed ‘The Sunset Strip.’ The Strip embraces a premier collection of rock clubs, restaurants, boutiques, and Hollywood nightspots. It’s been known as ‘the place to be seen in LA’ since the early seventies. Every evening, the Strip becomes a vibrant slash of gaudy neon, with traffic almost coming to a standstill as huge numbers of cars cruise down a people-packed boulevard. From celebrities to celebrity wannabes, from tourists and people-watchers to sleazy sex dealers, the Sunset Strip is definitely the place to be if you’re looking for action in the City of Angels.
‘Remind me again who’re we here to see at this time?’ Garcia asked as Hunter parked his car on Hilldale Avenue, just around the corner from the Strip.
‘A scumbag called JJ,’ Hunter replied getting out of the car and grabbing his jacket from the back seat.
Juan Jimenez, better known as JJ, was a low-life, small-time pimp who liked to conduct his business around Sunset Boulevard. He exploited his girls, all five of them. His trick was to keep them hooked on some sort of ‘class A’ drug. JJ was a violent man, and every now and then one of his girls would turn up in hospital with cuts and bruises, sometimes even broken bones. ‘I tripped and fell’ was always the lame explanation.
JJ had been arrested several times, but none of his girls had ever had the guts to press charges. His most powerful weapon – fear. ‘Cross me and I’ll cut you open.’
‘And he can help us?’ Garcia asked.
‘He knows these streets and the girls that work them better than anyone. If our victim was a pro, he should be able to tell us. We might need to use a little “persuasion” though.’
They walked up Sunset Strip through the never-ending bustle of people trying to get into the already packed bars and clubs.
‘So where’re we going?’ Garcia asked, looking around like a kid in a playground.
‘There it is,’ Hunter pointed to the colorful sign that hung above number 9015 West Sunset Boulevard.
The Rainbow Bar and Grill has been a hangout for rock musicians since the seventies and not much has changed. Gold records, guitars, photos and autographs from a variety of bands and solo artists adorned the walls. Rock music blasted through its speakers while a mixture of long-haired guys and peroxide blonds wearing next to nothing surrounded the bar and occupied the tables inside and outside.
‘Is this JJ character into Rock?’ Garcia asked.
‘You better believe it.’
‘I thought he was from Cuba or something like that.’
‘Puerto Rico.’
‘Aren’t they all into salsa or meringue or something?’
‘Not JJ.’
Garcia looked around the place and although they stood out from the crowd no one had taken any notice of them. ‘Can you see him?’
Hunter quickly scanned the bar and tables. ‘Not yet, but this is his favorite hangout, he’ll be here. Let’s grab a drink and wait.’ Hunter ordered an orange juice and Garcia a Diet Coke.
‘They actually cook a great steak in here if you’re ever hungry,’ Hunter said, lifting his glass as if proposing a toast.
‘Been here much?’ Garcia asked with a contemptuous expression.
‘A few times.’
‘Wow, the Hideout Bar in Santa Monica, the Rainbow in Sunset Strip. You’re a bit of a party animal, aren’t you?’
Hunter didn’t reply and concentrated his attention on the bar entrance. He hadn’t seen JJ for the best part of five years, but the tall, very slim, dark-skinned Puerto Rican was an easily recognizable figure, with black pearl eyes, appallingly large ears and crooked teeth.
A tall, blond woman wearing overly tight leather trousers and a cropped top with the words ‘Rock Bitch’ across the front approached the bar and positioned herself to Hunter’s right. She ordered a ‘Slow Comfortable Screw up Against the Wall’ and gave Hunter a sensual smile. Hunter smiled back and for a split second his eyes fell on her cleavage.
‘Do you like them?’ she asked with a sweet voice.
‘Uh . . . like what?’ Hunter tried to play dumb.
She looked down at her breasts which seemed about to explode out of her top. ‘My tits silly . . . I saw you looking at them.’
‘Busted,’ Garcia said with an animated laugh.
No point being embarrassed now, Hunter thought. ‘They look . . . very nice.’
‘They’re brand new,’ she said proudly.
The barman came back with her cocktail and without breaking eye contact with Hunter she wrapped her red lips around the double straw and slowly sipped her drink.
‘Is that nice?’ Hunter asked.
‘A slow screw is always nice,’ she said having a second sip before moving closer. ‘Maybe I could show you sometime,’ she whispered into his ear while she ran her hand over his right bicep.
It all happened too fast. JJ had barely stepped into the Rainbow when his eyes met Hunter’s and all of a sudden he was back outside; his legs moving like a quarterback’s going for the touchdown that could win them the Super Bowl. Hunter sprung into action. He had no time to alert his partner whose undivided attention was on the tall blond’s new pair of breasts. In a split second he was outside chasing JJ down Sunset Strip.
Hunter was fast despite his heavier, muscular frame, but JJ was skinnier, lighter and moved with the agility of a rat. Hunter decided to try the friendly approach first.
‘JJ, I just wanna talk to you, slow down goddammit.’
JJ paid no attention to Hunter’s call and in a semi-suicidal move crossed the Boulevard, disregarding traffic and heading towards Frankie and Johnnie’s NY Pizza place.
Hunter followed him, but his run was slowed down by the street crowd and the constant people swerving. Twice he had to perform a quick and awkward left-right-left dance to avoid bumping into street punters.
Two blocks past the Rainbow and moving even faster, JJ swung left in front of the famous Whisky A Go Go bright-red building. Hunter was breathing down his neck, but again he had to zigzag around clubgoers and an uneven piece of sidewalk caused him to take a false step. He felt his left foot twist at the ankle. A sharp pain shot from it quickly consuming his entire leg. His run faded into an awkward hop.
‘Shit!’ he yelled as he watched JJ disappear in
the distance.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Hunter saw a figure come past him with incredible speed. Garcia was moving like an Olympic champion. With just a few steps he had left Hunter behind and was fast gaining ground on JJ who had turned right into a small alleyway next to a large warehouse. Hunter limped his way after them.
Up ahead, it didn’t take long for Garcia to be within an arm’s length of the tall Puerto Rican. He reached out and grabbed him by his jacket’s collar.
‘OK, OK I give up,’ JJ said slowing down and putting both of his hands up but it was all too late. Garcia spun him around and threw him against the wall, twisting his right arm behind his back. JJ screamed in pain.
‘Running away from armed police officers, have you always been this stupid or is it a new affliction?’ Garcia asked, catching his breath.
‘Let me go ese, I haven’t done nothing.’
It took Hunter thirty seconds to reach them.
‘Are you OK?’ Garcia asked still holding JJ’s arm.
‘I’m fine. Twisted my ankle back there.’
‘Let go of my arm.’
‘Shut the hell up.’ Garcia slammed JJ’s body against the wall once again.
Hunter turned to face JJ. ‘What the hell were you doing? What’s with all this running crap?’
‘Force of habit, homie. What’s this all about? Let me go man!’ He twisted his body trying to escape Garcia’s tight grip.
Hunter gave Garcia a nod who let go of JJ’s arm.
‘You can’t do that man, I’m a legal citizen now,’ JJ said, massaging his right wrist with his left hand and stepping away from the wall.
‘Do we look like immigration to you? Damn, you’re as dumb as you look,’ Garcia snapped.
‘Legal citizen? You’re a pimp JJ, last time I checked prostitution was still illegal in the state of California, we can take your ass straight into prison right now,’ Hunter said pushing JJ back to the wall.
‘Enough with the wall slamming, homie,’ he protested.
‘If my ankle swells, so will your face,’ Hunter threatened.
‘Ain’t my fault, homie.’
‘Of course it’s your fault HOMIE. If I didn’t have to chase you like a fucking rabbit I wouldn’t have twisted my foot.’
‘Why you chasing me man? I didn’t do nothing.’
‘Exactly. We just wanna ask you a few questions.’
‘Why didn’t you say so in the first place?’
Hunter gave him an evil look before pulling the computer portrait out of his pocket. ‘We need to find out who this woman is, if she is a pro or not.’
JJ stared at the picture for a few seconds.
‘Yeah, I have her at home in a video game,’ he said with a smirk.
The slap to the back of the head came from Garcia, throwing JJ’s head forward with a loud thud. ‘You wanna be a smart ass? I’m really starting to dislike you.’
‘Hey, man, this is police brutality. I can press charges you know?’
This time the slap to the back of the head came from Hunter. ‘Does this look like play time to you? Look at the picture – do you know who she is?’ Hunter’s voice was more menacing now.
JJ looked at the picture once again concentrating harder this time. ‘Maybe . . . I can’t be sure,’ he said after a few seconds.
‘Try.’
‘Is she supposed to be a hooker?’
‘That’s a possibility, JJ. We wouldn’t be asking you if she was a lawyer, would we?’
‘Oh, you’re funny.’ JJ took the picture from Hunter’s hands. ‘She looks too pretty to be a street girl, not that my girls aren’t beautiful.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Hunter tapped his index finger on the picture three times forcing JJ’s attention back to it.
‘If she’s a pro, she plays for the big boys – first class.’
‘And how can we find that out?’ Garcia asked.
‘A girl this pretty would only work for one guy around here – D-King.’
‘Elvis came back from the dead to become a pimp?’ Garcia asked narrowing his eyes.
‘Not the King, D-King, homie.’
‘D-King? What kinda name is that?’ Garcia frowned.
‘The kinda name you don’t wanna fuck with.’
‘Big-time pimp and drug dealer,’ Hunter cut in. ‘Rumor has it that he also deals in guns, but he runs a very tight operation. Everything very much underground. That’s why you wouldn’t have heard of him. He controls everything from afar, except his girls, where he prefers a hands-on approach.’
‘And where can we find him?’ Garcia asked.
‘You won’t find him on the streets, his business is high class.’ JJ scratched the small scar over his left eye. ‘What’s in it for me?’
‘You get to keep all your ugly teeth and not bleed all over your cheap suit. Sounds like a good deal to me,’ Garcia said pushing JJ against the wall one more time.
‘Who the hell’s this guy?’ JJ asked Hunter taking a step away from Garcia.
‘I’m the guy you don’t wanna fuck with,’ Garcia said, stepping closer once again.
‘He’s my new partner JJ and I don’t think he likes you very much. Last guy he took a dislike to still can’t eat anything more solid than yogurt.’
‘Can’t you keep him on a leash?’
‘Sure I can. The leash is in the car. I’ll go get it. You guys will be OK by yourselves for ten minutes or so, right?’
‘Wait, wait. OK, man. No need to leave me alone with monster-cop here. Friday and Saturday nights D-King likes to go to the Vanguard Club in Hollywood. You’ll find him in the VIP area.’
‘How about tonight, right now, where can we find him?’
‘How the hell should I know, homie? I’m doing you a favor here, man, the Vanguard Club Friday and Saturday nights, that’s all I know.’
‘You better not be messing with us, JJ.’ Garcia’s tone was threatening.
‘Why the fuck would I do that? If I never see you two again, that’d be too soon.’
Hunter placed his hand on JJ’s left shoulder squeezing it. The pressure made JJ contort in pain once again. ‘I really hope you’re not sending us on a bogus chase, HOMIE.’
JJ tried in vain to escape Hunter’s grip. ‘I’m telling you the truth man. For real ese.’
Hunter let go of JJ who started dusting his jacket with both hands. ‘Look at what you’ve done to my suit man, these things don’t come cheap you know.’
Garcia checked his pocket change. ‘Here.’ He extended his hand towards JJ. ‘A dollar ninety-five. Go buy another one.’
‘He needs to see somebody, like an anger management person or something. Don’t you guys have shrinks in the police?’
‘No one good enough to cure him,’ Hunter laughed.
JJ muttered something in Spanish as he walked away from both detectives. Garcia returned his change to his pocket and waited until JJ was far enough. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you’re pretty good in the bad, angry cop role. What a transformation! Even I believed it.’
‘Last guy I disliked still can’t eat anything more solid than yogurt?’ Garcia asked, arching his eyebrows.
‘Well, I wanted to make it convincing,’ Hunter smiled.
‘So what’s next?’
‘I guess we’re going clubbing this Friday,’ Hunter said reaching for his car keys.
Nineteen
Hunter pumped the gas pedal four times, placed his key in the ignition and turned it. The engine made a coughing noise followed by a rattling sound, the dashboard lights flickered but the car didn’t start. Hunter returned the key to its original position, pumped the gas a couple more times and tried it again. This time he kept the key turned for about twelve seconds pressing the gas pedal gently. The engine coughed again and made the dreaded locomotive sound.
‘You ain’t serious,’ Garcia said, staring at the dim flicker of the dashboard lights.
‘Chill out, it’s OK. This engine is just t
emperamental,’ Hunter replied, avoiding Garcia’s stare.
‘By temperamental you mean old, right? Anyway, the problem isn’t your engine. It sounds like a dead battery to me.’
‘Trust me, I know this car, it’ll be OK.’ Hunter tried once again and this time the engine made no sound. The dashboard lights flickered only once and then . . .
‘Umm! I guess you better call your road rescue service.’
‘I don’t have one.’
‘What? Please tell me you’re joking,’ Garcia said, leaning against the passenger door.
‘No I’m not.’
‘Are you crazy? You have a car that’s . . . How old is this car?’
Hunter screwed up his face trying to remember the exact year of fabrication. ‘About fourteen years old.’
‘You have a fourteen-year-old car and no road rescue plan? You’re either very optimistic or a mechanic, and I don’t see any grease on your hands.’
‘I’m telling you, I know this car. We just gotta give it some time and it’ll start, it always does. So coffee or beer?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Well, we’ve gotta kill some time . . . twenty or so minutes. We could just sit in here and shoot the breeze, but since we’re on Sunset Strip, we might as well grab a drink while we wait, so do you prefer coffee or beer?’
Garcia looked at Hunter in disbelief. ‘I don’t see how waiting any amount of time will recharge your battery, but coffee will do for me.’
‘Beer it is then,’ Hunter said, opening his door and slipping out of the car.
‘Shall we go back to the Rainbow? Maybe you can continue your very interesting conversation with the “Rock Bitch” blond babe,’ Garcia taunted.
‘It’s OK, I got her phone number,’ Hunter teased back.
They found a small, quiet bar on Hammond Street. It was just past one in the morning and most punters were getting ready to go home. Hunter ordered two beers and a bag with ice for his ankle before taking a table towards the rear of the bar.
‘How’s the foot?’ Garcia asked as they sat down.
‘Fine. It’s just a simple twist,’ he said after a quick examination. ‘The ice will keep it from swelling up.’ He placed the bag of ice over his foot and rested it on an empty chair to his left. ‘I won’t be able to run for a couple of days but that’s all.’