Hollywood Hang Ten

by Eve Goldberg

I closed the door behind me and went out into the night.

  CHAPTER 41

  I drove to the office feeling pretty good about myself: Blackmail photos found and destroyed. (At least the source photos, that is. If Panozzo had made more copies, they were still far from my grasp.) Joey hanging out with his father. And me more certain than ever that the kid had nothing to do with Panozzo’s murder. Of course, I still needed the facts, still needed to get my hands on Panozzo’s ballistics report to see what those facts had to say in the matter.

  But there was nothing more I could do about that tonight, so I figured I’d go through the mail, pay bills, then call it a night.

  Or so I thought.

  Half an hour later, just as I was finishing with the mail, a white Savoy pulled up in front. Detective Terekov got out of the car and strolled into the office. He tossed my .38 Special onto the desk.

  “You called?” he said.

  I put the mail down. “I need a favor.”

  “Don’t we all.”

  “The piece that killed Panozzo, what was it?”

  Terekov raised an eyebrow. “Why do you care?”

  “Come on, Detective. Throw me a bone.”

  “I just might.” He squinted. “So, bone for bone, Ryan, what were you doing over at Panozzo’s place yesterday, with the sister and the nancy boy?”

  “Client business. Confidential. I’d tell you if I could. What about the gun?”

  “Police business. Confidential.”

  I sighed. “Can’t we somehow work together on this, Detective? We both want the same thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Catch the killer. Justice served.”

  “Do I look like an idiot, Ryan? You were nosing around Panozzo before he got got. What’s your interest in all this?”

  I didn’t answer right away. We were at a stalemate. I’d have to give something to get something.

  “It’s a blackmail case,” I said. “Don’t ask me how Panozzo’s murder fits in because I’m not exactly sure. Not yet at least.”

  “Was Panozzo the mark?”

  I held up my hands, as in ‘that’s all I know.’

  Terekov sighed and scratched his head. He pulled a notebook out of his coat pocket and flipped it open. He thumbed through the pages until he found what he was looking for.

  “Panozzo took three .357s to the head and upper torso. One round went through the left eye socket and lodged in his brain. Another severed an artery near his heart. Got a latent from the top of the toilet seat which was a match for Panozzo’s shoe. Only matches around the back window were from Panozzo as well. Perp probably entered and exited through the front door. No witnesses interviewed saw or heard a thing.”

  He flipped the notebook shut. “There’s your bone.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I mean it.”

  And I did mean it. More than Detective Terekov would ever know. A .357. That’s all I had to hear. Joey was off the hook. If an inquisitive, persistent police detective wasn’t standing four feet away, waiting for me to toss him a bone, I would have felt completely happy. Happy and relieved. And a bit embarrassed for having suspected Joey at all. Eleven-year-olds don’t kill grown men, except in a lousy B movie, or if they are totally psycho, or in that Twilight Zone about a little red-headed kid played by Bill Mumy who kills people. But in real life? It was absurd.

  Suddenly, I laughed out loud. I was laughing at the absurdity, and I was laughing at myself. Mostly I was laughing from relief.

  “What’s so funny?” Terekov asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Life, I guess.”

  The detective shrugged. “If you say so.”

  We were silent a minute. The red neon Bail Bonds sign blinked on and off in the dark night.

  “Here’s another bone,” Terekov said. “I’m off the case.”

  “Why?” I was completely surprised. “What happened?”

  “Captain told us to drop it, end of story, don’t ask questions, move on to the next stiff.”

  “They’re letting Panozzo’s killer just walk?”

  “Sure. Why not? To the brass, he’s just another pansy got his lights punched on the early side. They’re calling it a robbery-homicide.”

  “But you don’t think so,” I said.

  “Nope. And neither do you.”

  “So, what do you think it is?”

  Terekov took his time before answering. “I think a corpse is a corpse. I don’t give a damn if it’s a Hollywood fruit or John D. Fuckin’ Rockefeller, a two-bit hooker or Doris Day. They all deserve the same. Panozzo? I think he got the stinkin’ end of a stinkin’ stick.”

  “Who called off the investigation?”

  “Like I said, the Captain just told us to drop it.”

  “Wouldn’t that have to come from higher up?”

  Terekov squinted at me. “What do you care?”

  “I’m just asking.”

  “Like hell you are.”

  I got out my spiral notebook and searched through it until I found the license plate number of the car at Victor Dargin’s McArthur Park meet-up. I copied the plate number onto a blank page, tore out the page, and handed it to Terekov.

  “My bone,” I said. “It might be connected to Panozzo.”

  “I just told you I’m off the case.”

  I shrugged. Terekov shook his head, shot me a wry half-smile, and shoved the paper into his coat pocket.

  I drove home thinking about the cops pulling the plug on the Panozzo investigation. I guess Niles was right: Oscar Panozzo just wasn’t worth the trouble. Or was it something else? What was the real reason the cops pulled the plug? Another piece of the puzzle to log in my brain. Another piece of the puzzle which might or might not be important.

  I parked in the alley and headed up the rickety steps to my apartment.

  I was halfway up the stairs when I saw it.

  It was on the doormat. White. Flat. Coiled in a semi-circle like a snake.

  CHAPTER 42

  I picked up the coiled white object and uncurled a small plastic sleeve. Inside the clear plastic was a strip of paper. Typed onto the paper was LOUIS ZORN, followed by a long number. In small print at the bottom: Vet. Admin., Los Angeles, Cal.

  My muscles tightened. My breathing got shallow. Fear shot through my body. I rushed into my apartment clutching the plastic wristband and dialed the VA.

  “This is Ryan Zorn,” I said to the nurse on Lou’s floor. I tried to slow my breathing and sound calm. “I’m calling about my uncle, Lou Zorn. How is he?”

  “He’s fine,” the nurse said. “Sleeping, the last time I checked.”

  “Could you please go and check on him again?”

  There was a pause and a rustling of paper.

  “I’m looking at Mr. Zorn’s chart” she said. “His vitals have been stable all day. He didn’t eat much, but that’s not unusual for his condition. There’s really no need for concern.”

  “Please. Just go into his room and check. Right now.”

  “This minute?”

  “Yes, m’am.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I hope not. And could you check if he’s wearing his patient ID wristband?”

  “Of course he’s wearing his wristband. We never take it off. Not even for bathing. That’s why it’s plastic.”

  “Please,” I practically begged, “just check.”

  “Alright,” the nurse said. “Hold the line, please.”

  It seemed to take forever until she returned. When she did, her voice had changed.

  “Mr. Zorn?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your uncle is fine, no need to worry. However, I . . . I don’t understand how this could have happened, but his identification bracelet does appear to be missing. Do you know anything about this?”

  “Maybe. I’ll be right over.”

  When I got to Lou’s floor, I noticed a cluster of white-uniformed nurses conferring in whispered voic
es behind the counter, back near the filing cabinets. One of the nurses caught my eye and separated from the huddle.

  “May I help you?”

  She was cute and petite. Her blonde hair was pixie cut and she had large green eyes. The tag pinned to her uniform said Beth.

  “I just called about Lou Zorn. I’m his nephew. Can I go in?”

  “Of course. But please let him rest.”

  Lou was sleeping. The oxygen tank next to his bed was breathing faithfully. A vase filled with a flowers sat on the windowsill. Lou’s face seemed thinner and paler than the last time I visited. Was that only a few days ago? On his left wrist was a new ID band. The door opened behind me. It was nurse Beth. She motioned me into the hallway.

  “What do you know about Mr. Zorn’s wristband?” she asked. She spoke quietly and calmly, but I sensed anxiety in her voice.

  “Are you the nurse I spoke with on the phone?” I asked.

  “Yes. We’re quite concerned about this situation. We can’t understand what happened.”

  “Somebody cut it off.”

  I took the curled plastic strip out of my pocket. “I found this on my doormat.”

  “Doormat?”

  “At my apartment. Were you on duty all day?”

  “No. I’m on swing. Two to ten.”

  “Did anyone visit my uncle today?”

  “I checked the log after you called. Your mother came this morning, but that was before my shift. Since then, only the man who delivered the flowers you ordered.”

  “Flowers I ordered?”

  “Yes, they’re lovely. I know your uncle will appreciate them when he wakes up. He’s been sleeping most of the evening.”

  “I didn’t order any flowers.”

  “But the delivery man . . . and the note . . . ”

  I rocketed back into Lou’s room and bee-lined for the flowers, nurse Beth following. I hadn’t paid attention to the flowers before. Now I saw the card, half hidden in the greenery. It was a small card, the kind that comes from a florist shop, with pale purple flowers imprinted in one corner. Handwritten on the card, in neat, simple script, were the words Thinking of you, Ryan.

  I pocketed the card. Beth followed me back out to the hall.

  “Beth, do you know which florist delivered the flowers?”

  “No.”

  “What about the delivery man? Did he wear a uniform?”

  “I . . . I don’t think so.”

  “You saw him, right?”

  “Only briefly. We were very busy this evening. I gave him your uncle’s room number and he took the bouquet in himself.”

  “If you could think for a moment about the uniform. It would be really helpful if you could remember which florist.”

  “I truly didn’t . . . Wait. May I see the card, please?”

  I handed it to her. She examined it and nodded.

  “Heaven Scent. I’ve seen these cards on other deliveries. Sometimes patients ask us to read them aloud.”

  “That’s great, Beth. Heaven Scent. Thanks.”

  “I don’t understand what these flowers have to do with your uncle’s wristband.”

  “You said Heaven Scent has delivered here before.”

  “That’s right. They’re just down the street.”

  “Do they have a regular delivery guy? Someone you might recognize?

  “Well . . . ” she thought for a few seconds, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know,” she apologized.

  “That’s alright. What about the delivery man today? Do you remember what he looked like? Maybe what he wore. Just think about it for a minute, try to picture him.”

  She closed her eyes and crunched up her face. “He was carrying the flowers . . . a large bouquet . . . that’s funny.” She opened her eyes and looked at me.

  “What?”

  “He was dressed in a suit.”

  I nodded. “Okay. What else do you remember? Was he tall, short . . .?”

  “I’m five-two,” Beth said with a smile. “Everyone’s tall to me.”

  “Right. Bad question. What about his hair? Light, dark . . .?”

  “Honestly, I don’t remember. I think he had dark hair. Brown or black. But I’m not sure.”

  “Thanks. You’ve been really helpful, Beth.”

  “I hope so. We’re extremely concerned about this.”

  “Me too.”

  I thought for a moment, considering what to do next.

  “Listen Beth, I have to go. I’ll be back, but I’m not sure when. Can someone keep an eye on my uncle’s room until I get back? I mean, basically, guard it. I want to be sure no visitor, no delivery person, nobody gets into his room. Except me or my mother. Is that possible? Does the hospital have some kind of security?”

  “We don’t have anything like that. At least not that I know of. I suppose I could talk with my floor supervisor about it, though, given the situation.”

  “Never mind. Look, would you do me a big favor and stay right here and watch the room for a few minutes? I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  She glanced at her watch. “I’ve still got patient rounds before my shift ends.”

  “Five minutes. Tops. I promise.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

  I jogged down the stairs to the ground floor, found a pay phone in the lobby, and dialed Reno at home. My fingers were crossed that he wasn’t out on a date. He picked up on the second ring.

  “Hey, Reno, it’s me. Can you get over to the Westwood VA? I need you pronto, man. Paying job.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “It’s Lou. Kind of an emergency.

  “Lou? Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll tell you about it when you get here. VA hospital, second floor.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Next, I called Victor Dargin and told him I was on my way over. I hung up before he could reply. I raced back upstairs, thanked nurse Beth for helping me out, and waited outside Lou’s room until Reno arrived.

  CHAPTER 43

  The porch light was on. As I raised my fist to knock, the door opened and Victor Dargin stepped out. He was impeccably attired in his smoking jacket and a maroon silk pocket scarf, but a five o’clock shadow roughed up his jaw.

  “Hey, motherfucker,” I hissed. “Stop fucking with my family.”

  Dargin cracked the one-sided smile of a man who enjoys a fight.

  “Away from the house,” he said. “Don’t want to disturb the wife.”

  I followed Dargin across the front yard to the open garage. The light of the moon glinted off the silver Rolls.

  “So buddy boy, I see you got my message.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Ah! You are as dumb as you look,” he smirked.

  “What do you want?” I repeated.

  “You stole my property. I want it back.”

  “Something’s stolen, report it to the cops.”

  “Let’s cut the crap. I’m not going to the cops because this is a private matter and I want to keep it that way. You’re not going because you’re a thief. So, moving on: I’m a reasonable man. I have no beef with you. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t even exist. I simply want my property back.”

  “What do I get in return?”

  “My word.”

  “Of what?”

  “That we never met. I don’t know you or your family. And that pansy Sutton gets a free pass. I never gave a shit about him in the first place. He was just . . . there.”

  Dargin plucked a cigar from his jacket pocket. He clicked on a butane lighter and slowly rotated the foot of the cigar around the flame.

  “How did you know where my uncle is?” I said.

  “Connections.”

  “What connections?”

  “None of your fucking business. When you’ve been around this town like I’ve been, you have them. Which reminds me, you can call off your man. He’s a lousy tail anyway.”

  “What?”

&
nbsp; “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “You’re nuts, man..”

  “Fuck you, buddy boy. You giving me back my property or not? I made you an offer, now take it or leave it.”

  I decided to let Dargin wait a while before I answered. He had me pegged as a fool. That gave me an advantage — so long as I actually wasn’t one. If he thought I was dumb enough to make a deal based on the word of a blackmailer, good for him.

  Dargin turned the lit end of the cigar towards his mouth and gently blew on it. The fat orange ember glowed brighter. He was working really hard at effecting the pose of a guy who was relaxed, in control, not a care in the world except enjoying the aroma of his cigar in the middle of the night.

  “Okay,” I said, “I’ll take it.”

  “Smart move. Now let’s you and I go retrieve my property.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “The hell you don’t.”

  “No, seriously. It’s stashed somewhere. I’ll get it for you tomorrow.”

  “No deal. My offer runs out tonight. Let’s be smart and put this behind us.”

  I almost smiled. This was getting better and better. The more Dargin condescended to me, the bigger advantage I had.

  I looked at my watch.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot by the Lick Pier at 2:00 AM. That’s the soonest I can get there.”

  “Lick Pier?”

  “In Venice. At the ocean end of Rose, just south of P-O-P. It’ll be empty and private. And it won’t disturb your wife.”

  “I’m not going to the goddamn beach in the middle of the night.”

  “You want your stuff, be there.”

  CHAPTER 44

  I drove to the office and dialed the LAPD Hollywood station.

  “You’re in luck,” Detective Terekov said when he came on the line. “I’m pulling a double tonight. What’s your excuse for working this late?”

  “I was wondering if you had a chance to run that plate yet.”

  “You only gave it to me a couple of hours ago.”

  Something in his tone told me to pursue it anyway. “Did you run it?”

  There was a long silence before he answered. “Ryan, some advice. You won’t take it, but I’ve got to give it: Drop the Panozzo case. Whatever your angle is, I guarantee it isn’t worth it.”