Cruel

by Jacob Stone

  The man’s eyes glazed over. “Suit yourself,” he said.

  Morris smiled thinly at what was most likely an unintentional choice of words to use in a men’s clothing store. As Parker trotted past them, he let out a grunt to show he didn’t much care for the pun, intentional or not.

  Big Joe Penza earned his nickname. Standing six feet four and weighing close to three hundred pounds, he appeared big rather than fat. A mountain of a man. Morris found him at the end of the hallway standing in front of a three-panel dressing mirror and scowling harshly at all of his reflections. The reason for his scowl might’ve been because the suit he had on was meant for someone thirty years younger than himself. He was trying to shed years off his age, and not just by buying hip new clothing. While no tattoos or piercings yet, he had the type of tan a man only got from religiously using a tanning booth. Hair plugs filled in the large bald spot Morris had noticed from a photograph taken of Penza years earlier, and what was now a full head of hair had been dyed yellow. The hair, dye job, and tan didn’t change the fact that he had the heavily lined face of a sixty-year-old man showing all of its scars.

  “Stylish,” Morris said.

  Penza turned his scowl toward Morris. “Is that supposed to be funny?” he demanded.

  “Not at all.”

  Penza eyed him carefully, then glanced downward at Parker before giving Morris another critical look. “Because if I thought you were cracking wise I’d have my boys toss you out of here on your ass. And your mutt also. What do you want?”

  Morris didn’t bother to correct him about Parker being a purebred bull terrier. He dug the two police sketches out of his briefcase and handed the 1984 drawing over to Penza. Penza gave it a cursory look before handing it back.

  “Why should that mean anything to me?”

  “That was how a witness described the Nightmare Man back in 1984.”

  Penza’s eyes dimmed as if he were remembering back to that year. “Again, so what?” he asked.

  “My old man was the lead detective on that case. He believed the killer was a professional. If anyone back then knew all of the hired guns working in Los Angeles, it would be you.”

  “Yeah? That’s news to me.”

  Morris made a waving away gesture with his hand. “This is off the record,” he said. “I don’t care about what you did back then or what you’re doing now. All I care about is finding out who this guy was.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. 1984 was a long time ago. Why bother with this now?”

  Morris handed him the other drawing. “This is what he could’ve looked like seventeen years later in 2001.”

  Penza gave the police sketch a quick look. “Again, so?”

  “Tomorrow will be seventeen years from when he last started killing again.”

  “You think there’s a pattern?”

  “I know there is.”

  Penza’s expression weakened. He used one of his sausage-sized thumbs to absently rub his jaw. “I heard awful things were done to those young women,” he said.

  “Worse than awful.”

  While Penza continued to rub his jaw, his gaze shifted past Morris as if he were staring at something far off in the distance. Morris could almost see the calculations running through the mob boss’s head as he tried to make up his mind about something. He stopped rubbing his jaw, and when he looked back at Morris, his eyes were half-lidded and held as much warmth as ice.

  “It’s too bad I can’t tell you who he is,” Penza said. “Those two drawing could be dozens of different guys I’ve seen over the years. Hell, I used to have a barber who looked like those drawings. And to think, three times a week I let him put a razor to my throat.”

  Morris gave the crime boss a hard look. “This cute act doesn’t suit you. The guy I’m looking for was in the game, and you should damn well know who he was.”

  “I got no idea what game you’re talking about.”

  “Why’d you bother seeing me if you were only going to stonewall me?”

  A smirk cracked Penza’s lips. “Because I know your reputation. I know you’re supposed to be like your dog over there. A bulldog when you take on work—”

  “He’s a bull terrier.”

  Penza glared at Morris. “Don’t be smart with me. I’m not a dog person. Okay? You’re making another assumption that just because I don’t know anything about hitmen don’t mean I can’t help you. Back in 1984 I heard something through the grapevine that might help you figure out who that guy is.”

  “What do you want in return?”

  “For you to bring someone to me. You ever hear of an actor named Benjamin Chandler? I want to talk to him, but the problem is I’m having a tough time finding him.”

  Even if Morris hadn’t caught the glimmer of anger that flared in Penza’s eyes when he mentioned Chandler’s name, the way the muscles bunched around the mob boss’s mouth would’ve been a dead giveaway by itself.

  “I’m not going to find a guy for you so you can rough him up or worse.”

  “That’s not what this is. I only want to talk to him. Face-to-face.”

  “What about?”

  Another flare of anger, but it died out quickly. “It’s personal,” he said.

  After drinks with Bogle, Morris had researched Penza on the internet and knew the mob boss had married a girl last year young enough to be his granddaughter. He’d found pictures of her. A gorgeous blonde who showed this funny Cheshire cat smile in each of the photos. Morris understood why Penza had gotten the hair plugs and dye job, and why he was now trying on a young man’s suit.

  “It’s about your wife,” he said.

  Penza seemed surprised by what Morris had said. Scared also in a way. “Did you hear something?” he asked.

  “Not a word. But I’ve been a detective almost as long as you’ve been a criminal. I may not have been a math major in college, but I can figure things out, especially what one and one adds up to. I can’t be a party to you hurting Chandler.”

  Penza deflated right then. Not a lot, but enough to make his face craggier, so that he looked every bit his sixty years. If anything, his full head of yellow hair only made him look older.

  “I’ll level with you,” he said. “When I first heard about that scumbag and Melanie, I wanted to disfigure him so no woman would ever again look at him as pretty.” Penza’s eyes wavered, and something close to fear showed in them. “But now I just want to talk to him. I swear that’s all. It can even be someplace public. I don’t care.”

  Morris understood him. A frightened, aging man who desperately wanted to hold on to his much younger wife, even if it meant debasing himself. He said, “If I find him, you’ll have to agree to safeguards so that no one gets hurt.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Penza jutted out his chin as he regained some of his bluster. He pointed a thick, heavy index finger at Morris. “But Brick, if I find him before you do, the deal’s off and the information I got stays bottled up for good. So you better do your bulldog trick and be fast about it.”

  Parker let out an annoyed grunt as if he’d just been insulted.

  Morris asked, “How do I get in touch with you?”

  “Hand over your phone.”

  Morris did as asked, and Penza keyed a phone number into Morris’s contacts.

  “That’s for a burner, so don’t be cute and give the number to organized crime. It won’t do them any good.”

  Morris took the phone back. “How come you’re so hard to find?” he asked. “I had my computer guy try to get a home address or phone number for you, and he came up empty. He never came up empty before.”

  Penza smiled. “A secret,” he said. “Maybe I’ll tell you if you bring me that actor.”

  For a reason he couldn’t explain, that annoyed Morris. “Want my advice about the suit?” he asked.

  Penza gave him
a quick look up and down. “Fashion advice from someone dressed like you? I don’t think so.”

  He turned back to the three-panel mirror. As far as he was concerned, they were done. That was just fine for Morris also. Given the way Parker grunted, it was just fine with him too.

  Chapter 16

  In Bobby Gallo’s opinion, the redheaded chick who answered the door could’ve used a few pounds on her. That was the problem with Los Angeles: all these skinny-assed broads who preferred to look like sticks instead of real women. She had a pretty face, though. He had to give her credit for that, especially with how scared she was looking. He couldn’t blame her for that even though he hadn’t done anything yet to frighten her. A minnow should be scared when a shark approaches. Before she could say a word, Gallo had a hand covering her mouth and was walking her back into the Venice townhouse. Tommy Stanton closed the door as he followed them inside.

  Gallo whispered into the woman’s ear, “Unless you want me to break your neck, you don’t make a sound, understand?”

  She understood. Tears welled up in her eyes. It was quite a trick the way she seemed nearly weightless, putting up no resistance as he walked her into the living room and sat her down on an expensive-looking mauve-colored satin sofa. She was proving herself smarter than some of them, at least so far. This was the seventh place he had gone looking for Chandler, and while he hadn’t killed any of the others he had to get violent with three of them to shut them up.

  He kept her company on the sofa while Stanton searched the townhouse. She refused to look at him and sat stiffly tugging at her fingers like she was trying to pull them off. Her face had crumpled badly, and her lips were quivering up a storm. She didn’t make a sound, though. Smart girl. She had a nice set of pearly-white teeth, and it would be a shame if he had to slap them out of her mouth. He looked her over more carefully and appreciated better why she was one of Chandler’s fuck buddies. She might’ve been skinny, but she also had nice, long legs that looked like they could wrap tightly around a man. Pert breasts also. He thought briefly about taking off her clothes and giving her a try to see if she deserved the comments Chandler had written about her in his little black book, but he quickly shot down that idea. He didn’t have time for fun and games. He needed to find the pretty boy actor before Big Joe did. What a mess this was becoming. But to be fair, it could’ve been so much worse.

  He was lucky Vinnie Scalise made such a bonehead play. After he used Scalise’s own knife on him, he and Stanton took Scalise to a private location where he had all the necessary tools to make Scalise talk. It took some work, but in the end he was able to make Scalise spill his guts, both figuratively and literally. He found out about that sneaky prick Rothman taking pictures of him and Melanie outside the Santa Monica bungalow. He had no idea anyone had followed them there. The thought of Rothman selling those photos to Big Joe still made him shiver, but fortunately that lowlife scumbag had other plans for them—plans he never got to put into motion. He also found out about Scalise killing Rothman and Frank Colgan and burying their bodies, and he gave a version of that story to Big Joe so he could justify killing Scalise to him. The version he gave Big Joe was that Scalise killed Rothman and Colgan so he could steal twenty grand he got off of Rothman. Big Joe was skeptical since the story made little sense—in order to believe it you’d have to believe Scalise was a complete idiot, but Gallo was able to tell him where the bodies were buried and hand over to Big Joe the twenty grand he had gotten from a hidden cache Scalise had told him about while his guts were spilling out and he was begging to be put out of his misery.

  It helped that he didn’t just tell Big Joe his story about Scalise but also showed him a photo with Chandler expertly photoshopped into it so that it looked as if Melanie was heading into the bungalow with the actor. Melanie was furious when he warned her about his plans, but she quieted down once he got her to listen to reason. They’d been sneaking around together for six months, and she’d been anxious for the last few weeks about Big Joe suspecting something. So why not give him Chandler? Penza had become a lovesick fool willing to humiliate himself to keep from losing a dish like Melanie. He wasn’t going to hurt her. All he really wanted was to be convinced that the cheating was over. If Gallo was wrong and Big Joe hurt Melanie, or worse, well that would be a shame. She might not have had as much meat on her as he usually liked, but she was a hot piece of ass and a lot of fun in the sack. He might have even developed feelings for her. But he wanted more than just her. He wanted everything Big Joe had, and piece by piece he was putting his plans in place so he could take it all.

  Stanton came into the room shaking his head. The actor wasn’t hiding out there. Gallo took hold of the redhead’s delicate chin and turned it so she had to look at him.

  “I’m going to ask you questions, and don’t lie to me, because if you do I’ll know it and it won’t be good for you. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes.”

  Gallo smiled thinly, seeing a spark of defiance in her eyes. She was tougher than she looked.

  “When did you last see Ben Chandler?”

  The question surprised her. “Over a week ago,” she said, her voice halting.

  “How about texts or phone calls from him?”

  Her eyes went distant as if she were giving the question intense thought. “The same,” she said.

  Gallo snapped his fingers. “Your phone.”

  “It’s on the countertop in the kitchen.”

  Without Gallo having to ask, Stanton retrieved it while the woman stayed under Gallo’s watchful eye. After she unlocked the phone, Gallo scanned through the text messages and phone log. She had told him the truth. The last texts from the actor came nine days ago—a flurry of naked selfies that were sent between them. Once again, there was that glint of defiance in her eyes as he studied the text messages and photos. When he was done, he handed her back her phone.

  “You don’t want to go to the cops or tell anyone about this visit,” he said. “If you do, I’ll find out about it and it won’t go well for you. You understand that, right?”

  She bit her lip to keep from crying. Gallo wasn’t sure whether it was out of anger, fear, or relief. He touched her cheek and let his hand linger, enjoying the coolness of her skin and watching her struggle to keep from bolting away from him. A real shame. If he had time, he could have fun with her.

  He signaled Stanton with a tilt of his head. Without another word the two men left the townhouse. Once they were back in Gallo’s Audi, he picked up Chandler’s little black book from where he’d left it on the center console, and after marking an X next to the redhead’s name he chose the next entry in the book for them to visit. This was a guy in West Hollywood who sold the actor coke. Maybe they’d find Chandler this way, or maybe he’d hear about the actor surfacing somewhere, and he’d get him then—even if he had to fly halfway around the world. He couldn’t afford for Chandler to live long enough to find his way to Big Joe.

  Gallo gritted his teeth remembering how Big Joe had acted when he told him about Melanie and the pretty boy actor. He’d been sure that Big Joe would want the actor chopped up into fish bait and dumped into the Pacific. Instead, Big Joe wanted the actor found so he could talk with him. Gallo was embarrassed for the mob boss. If nothing else, it showed just how soft Penza had become, and how badly he needed to be replaced by someone with some balls on him.

  But that was for later. For now Gallo had to make sure Penza never talked with that actor. Benjamin Chandler had to disappear from the planet. Gallo’s own life depended on it.

  Chapter 17

  Morris left a message when he tried calling Charlie Bogle. He did the same right afterward with Dennis Polk. When his phone jangled it turned out to be Bogle calling him back first.

  Morris said, “I had a talk with Big Joe Penza today.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yep. He even intimated that he’ll give me the n
ame of the Nightmare Man if I give him something in return.”

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s what he intimated.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “I don’t know,” Morris admitted.

  “What does he want?”

  “A face-to-face with an actor named Benjamin Chandler.”

  Bogle’s voice tightened as he asked why.

  “Big Joe thinks his wife had an affair with Chandler. He wants closure, at least that’s what he’s intimating.”

  “A lot of intimating going on over there. Again, do you believe him?”

  “Hell if I know. But if I bring him Chandler, I’ll make sure it’s safe. Charlie, you must know why I’m calling. Adam did his thing and discovered this actor Chandler is starring in a Starlight Pictures production that was supposed to start filming today.”

  “Yeah, I know. I got a call earlier that he didn’t show up for the shoot and he’s not answering his cell phone. I was about to head over to his Beverly Hills home. You want to join me? It will be like old times.”

  “Two heads are better than one,” Morris said.

  “Three if you count Parker. Assuming you bring him.”

  “Yep, I’ve got the little guy today. Give me Chandler’s address and I’ll meet you there.”

  “Better yet, I’ll swing over to MBI and pick you up. Parker also.” Without missing a beat, he added, “While you’re waiting, why don’t you call Annie Walsh or one of your other contacts in the LAPD and get a trace going on Chandler’s credit cards.”

  Morris chuckled. “So the truth comes out. You just want me tagging along so you can get that trace.”

  There was a sniffing sound from Bogle’s end, as if his feelings had been hurt. “Morris, don’t be so paranoid. It will be fun, you and me hunting down a wayward actor together. Besides, you want him found as badly as the studio does, and a credit card trace might be the fastest way.”

  Bogle didn’t mention the obvious. That finding Benjamin Chandler through a credit card would only work if he were still alive to be using one. It had occurred to Morris when he was talking with Penza that the mob boss was only playing him, and that the actor could already be dead and buried in a landfill. Penza could be using him to set up an alibi in the event that Chandler’s body later surfaced and word got out about his wife’s affair with the actor.