by Steve Garcia
“Why? What happened?”
“He looked scared to death. He kept looking out the windows, checking the street.”
“Did he say who it was?”
“No. He said that if the guy knew he was there, Rita’s and my life wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel.”
“Did he say who this guy was?”
“He said his name was Duke.”
“Dwayne Duke?”
Giordano looked at them both with furtive eyes. “I don’t know. Just Duke. Bart said he was going to lie low in a motel for a few days over in Glendale. Figure out what to do. Then Bart said to forget what he had said.”
“Why do you think he said that?” Reyes asked.
“I think he was afraid that the person following him might somehow find him, so he didn’t want anyone to know where he was.”
“So his plans were to hide out in LA. He wasn’t going to head out of town or something?”
“I don’t know. He had some clothes in a bag, but he needed cash. I gave him about four hundred bucks. He said if we needed to reach him, to use the cell. He didn’t want us to know exactly where he was. If anyone showed up, we were supposed to play dumb. Then he took off and we never saw him again.”
“What kind of car was he driving?”
“We lent him my wife’s car. We took his and parked it in our garage.”
“What kind of car did you give him?”
“A two thousand five Jeep Wrangler. Silver.”
“And where is this vehicle now?”
“I have no clue,” said Giordano. “We never saw Bart again.”
“License?”
“California plate, DFW621.”
Wallace scribbled on the paper in front of her. “We’re going to have to check a few of these things out. We’ll need to hold you until we do that.”
“Aw, for the love—”
“We’ll have an officer escort your wife back to your house. We need to tow Pearl’s car to our impound lot. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
“Who gives a shit?”
“We’ll check this information as quickly as we can.”
Giordano threw his hand forward in disgust. Wallace and Reyes left the room and closed the door.
Wallace looked at the notes. “Let me give the description of Mrs. Giordano’s car to a patrol. They can check the motels in that area. Of course, considering the records most motels keep, Pearl could have signed in dressed as Groucho Marx, or said he was driving a pink Studebaker and the desk clerk wouldn’t have batted an eye.”
“He’d have to give a credit card to register.”
Wallace looked at Reyes as though he had suddenly grown a tail. “Pearl bribed city officials, used drugs, shot a cop, and you don’t think he might have a phony ID or credit card?”
“You know what I think?”
“Tell me.”
“I think we should go get a sandwich. That cookie didn’t do it for me.”
17
Kahn had been running with Wagner for over five years, and he knew his partner couldn’t pass a mirror without admiring his own reflection. So it was pleasing to see him now, transfixed in the precinct changing rooms. Camouflage pants. Sandals. A bright yellow, form-fitting T-shirt. Moussed hair.
“All we can hope for,” Mangan said, “is that it gets very dark, very early—and I’m talking inside an elephant’s ass dark—or that the johns are blind and desperate.”
“That’s not really helping,” Wagner said, as he continued to stare in the mirror. “But I’ll be honest. Even I wouldn’t fuck me.”
“You might want to add a few more crunches to your exercise routine,” Mangan said. “Getting a little loose in the abs.”
“Yeah, that’s good. It really makes me want to get out there and strut my stuff.”
“If you shave your chest, we can change that shirt for a net.”
Wagner turned and looked at Mangan. “Whoever writes your material is overpaid, Captain.”
“I never kid,” Mangan said. He grabbed Wagner’s arm. “Jesus, look at the size of that bruise.”
“Ow. Hey, that’s where that kid clobbered me with a flowerpot.”
“Have somebody put some makeup over that. Johns don’t want their tarts all beat up.”
Krajcek wired Wagner up. A GPS unit about the size of a dime was affixed to his belt buckle for electronic tracking. He was given an iPod, which had been modified to work as a walkie-talkie. The earphones allowed Wagner to hear the conversation from the police observers and there was actually a mic housed behind the dial.
“We’re ready,” Krajcek said. “Okay, everybody, let’s get down to the Sepulveda Corridor. We’ll check out a few spots in the light before we pick our fishing hole.”
Wagner looked at Kahn. “How did we decide that I should be the gay guy and you get to be the cop in the car?”
In his best Schwarzenegger imitation, Kahn puffed his chest up and said, “Captain Mangan said he wanted a girlie man.”
“Remind me when we get back to beat the shit out of you.”
“Will do.” Kahn laughed. “Tell you what, when we’re done, I’ll buy you a drink.”
“I’m not that kind of guy.”
Krajcek led the way to the underground police parking lot where he picked up the car they called the pimp mobile. It was a beat-up black low-rider with heavily tinted windows. The whole idea was that it blended in and nobody in their right mind would want to steal it. In the corridor, it would fit right in. As they pulled out into another Hollywood evening, Krajcek said, “I know the captain gave you a short briefing on our operations, but seriously, ‘Stand there looking cute until some guy wants to fuck your ass and then arrest him,’ is kind of a simplified description of what we do and how we do it.”
“I thought so,” Kahn said. “You want Wagner to kind of walk the walk and wiggle his ass all over the place, right?”
“Have either of you worked the street before?”
“I can’t speak for what Wagner does after hours, but I’m new to this.”
“Having a good time tonight, are you?” Wagner said.
“So far.”
“I’ll do a slow cruise down Sepulveda,” Krajcek said, “and try to spot an area where there is some early activity but not too much. We’ll avoid the areas where the women are working. We’re looking for different clientele.”
A light drizzle began to fall. Krajcek turned on the wipers. They drove through the neighborhood for thirty minutes, checking likely stretches off the main drag.
“I think we’ll go back a few blocks. The boys who are there are pretty popular. They’ll be gone quickly, but while they’re on display they’ll help draw in the lookers.”
“So, Wagner is sloppy seconds,” Kahn said.
“Jesus criminy,” Wagner said. “I’m glad I’m getting out of the car pretty soon.”
Krajcek pulled into a parking lot down Haynes Street, a block off of Sepulveda. He reminded Wagner of the rest of the process and tested the mic and headphones. “We’ll be right around the corner from you. As soon as the offer is made, Kahn and I will pull up and make the arrest. We have several patrols on notice to help us shuttle the johns in for booking.”
“Okay, let me out.”
“Wait,” Krajcek said. “I’m as serious as a heart attack now. You are not, under any circumstances, to get into a car with one of the punters. If you do find yourself in some kind of trouble, the code word is ‘appetite.’ You have all of that?”
“Sure.”
“I know you think that you’re a cop and can kick the crap out of any of those fairies out there if they try anything. I have to tell you, some of the guys that come around here are pretty damn tough. Some are armed.”
“Yeah, yeah. Tough. Stay out of cars. Appetite.”
“Go ahead,” Krajcek said. “We’ll see you soon.”
Wagner climbed out of the back seat and
headed toward Sepulveda. Krajcek did a U-turn, slowly bringing the pimp mobile back onto Haynes Street and within fifty feet of where Wagner was standing.
“Now we wait,” Krajcek said. But the wait was only seconds long. “What the hell is he doing?”
Wagner was singing.
“Well, she’s all geared up, Walkin’ down the street…”
“Is that Guns N Roses?” said Krajcek. “God, what an awful voice.”
“You see what I have to put up with,” said Kahn.
“Hey, Wagner,” Krajcek muttered into his mic. “Keep it down, will ya? This tape can be admitted as evidence. We don’t want the judge throwing it out for offending his musical taste.”
“You got any requests?” asked Harlen.
“Yeah, shuddup,” Kahn replied.
“Hey, guys, there’s a car coming.”
The sound of an engine came through the radio speaker, then died.
“Hey, you’re new here,” said a man’s voice.
“Yeah. You can be the first.”
Kahn smothered a laugh. “He’s got to be ready to puke.”
“First ever?” the john asked. “Or the first tonight?”
“Let’s say I’m new in town and leave it at that.”
“Don’t be so damn shy. Come closer. Let me get a look at what you’re selling.”
Wagner must have leaned in, because when the john spoke again his voice was louder, almost like he was sitting in the back seat.
“Get in. We’ll go up the road a bit.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Come on, hop in.”
“Sure,” Wagner said. The sound of the car door slamming was followed by the sound of the engine.
“Shit!” Krajcek said. “I told him not to get in the fucking cars.”
“Come on, move,” Kahn said.
They listened as Wagner continued to entice the john to make an offer for sex, but the old man was cagey. He had obviously played the game before. Finally, the words they were waiting to hear crackled through their radio.
“All right, how much for a blowjob?”
“Twenty bucks.”
“Done and done. How about right up there?”
“Perfect. Is that Pierce Street?”
“Come on,” Kahn said. “That’s a block away.”
Krajcek stomped the pedal and the car screeched away from the sidewalk. He rode the brakes as he whipped the wheel in a U-turn, then lunged forward toward the corner of Haynes and Pierce.
“I don’t see them,” Kahn said. “What happened to the mic?”
“There they are.” Krajcek pointed down the street about a block. He slowed and rolled up behind a dark-red Taurus.
“I should have known,” Kahn said.
Wagner had the john spread-eagled, facedown on the hood.
Krajcek called for a shuttle. Kahn walked over and checked the perpetrator. “You all right there?”
“I want to report an assault,” he said. “This man claims he is a cop. He forced me to drive him down here and—”
“This is Vaughn Green,” Wagner handed the man’s wallet to Kahn. “Vaughn, this is my partner, Detective Kahn. He was kind enough to record everything you said. Now shut the fuck up until your ride gets here.”
“No problems?” Kahn asked.
“Piece of cake,” Wagner said. “Isn’t that right, Vaughn?”
Green groaned. “Can I at least get off the hood? It kind of hurts.”
“You don’t like being bent over?” Wagner took his arm and helped him down. “Let’s sit you down over here in the grass.” He walked Green across the sidewalk to a thin strip of grass and tugged on him hard. Green landed on his ass with a thump.
“Ouch. Damn it, you’re too rough.”
“I’m guessing wrong a lot with you, aren’t I?” Wagner lit a cigarette and joined Kahn and Krajcek by the car.
“Not so bad for the first time,” Krajcek said. “But you were told not to get in the car.”
“I sized him up and figured he wasn’t a threat.”
“Uh-huh,” Krajcek said. “Stay out of the cars. Got it?”
“You’re the boss.”
A prison van rolled up a few minutes later. “The shuttle is here, Mr. Green.” Krajcek walked over to the prisoner. “Time for you to take another ride. Your car will be towed to an impound lot. They’ll explain all of that downtown.” He escorted Green to the patrol car and handed him over to the uniforms. “See you soon, I’m sure.”
He joined Wagner and Kahn. “That’s the way it’s supposed to work, minus the getting in the car part.”
“Well then, so far so good,” Kahn said. “I’m ready.”
“Me, too,” Wagner said. “I didn’t mind the take-down, but I’m going to tell you that it is downright humiliating to be standing on a corner like that.”
“I know,” Krajcek said. “But you only have to do it for a few hours. The real prostitutes are out here every night. It’s an occupation born out of desperation in most cases. Worst of all are the kids that are out here. We try to round them up, get them to a service agency. Most of them are back on the street in a few days.”
Wagner threw his half-finished cigarette to the damp street and crushed it under his shoe. “Yeah, well, maybe we should get back to work.”
Kahn and Krajcek climbed into their car as Wagner took his place back on the sidewalk beneath a streetlamp.
“Hey, buddy,” said Kahn into the mic. “Did you say only twenty bucks for a blowjob?”
“Thirty to you, asshole.”
18
“The patrol found the Jeep at the Pine Tree Motel off West Sunset,” Reyes said. “Want to head over and check it out?”
Wallace was standing with her back to him at the fax machine, leafing through a set of sheets, while Albanese sucked on a bottle of water. “Just a minute, Sal. This looks interesting.”
Reyes grabbed his Coke, walked up beside his partner. “Whatcha got?”
“Hackett’s come good, Sal. These are Simons’s medical records.”
Reyes couldn’t help but notice that the top sheet said Confined to FID personnel.
“Should we be looking at these?”
“The doc must have dialed the last digit wrong on the number.” she said. “FID are using the fax in the old squad room.”
“I’ve never known Hackett to get shit like that wrong,” said Albanese. “The guy’s slow as hell, but he’s as precise as they come.”
Wallace smiled and arched an eyebrow. “I think we can both thank him for this ‘professional oversight.’”
“Good old Hackett,” said Reyes. “At least not everyone’s bending over for FID. Anything interesting?”
“He’s been receiving psychiatric treatment since nineteen ninety-two, paid for by the military. Depression brought on by post-traumatic stress syndrome.”
“That fits with the suicide angle.”
“Combine depression with the booze and pills we found, it makes sense.”
“This is interesting. It says Simons probably died between six and eight in the morning.”
“That’s earlier than we thought,” said Reyes. “What are they basing that on?”
“Body temp and lividity,” said Wallace. “Simons died from a nine-by-eighteen Makarov bullet to the right temple, same gun as used in the killing of Bartholomew Pearl. I owe you twenty bucks, but under the circumstances I don’t give a shit. Everything’s there. Simons knew that Pearl had probably squealed to get released. Murder for revenge—suicide exacerbated by mental health problems.”
“Hell, for twenty bucks, I’ll even volunteer to type this one up,” said Reyes. “Leave the dirty-cop witch hunt to FID.”
“You think it’s Cresner?” said Albanese.
“If he’s involved, he’s not the cop Pearl was afraid of,” said Wallace. “The guy can hardly walk let alone chase down a guy like Pearl.”
> “Well, it sure as hell ain’t Brooks,” said Reyes. “Ray couldn’t scare a five-year-old child.”
Wallace glared at him. They hadn’t mentioned the intel from the jail, and Reyes knew that Wallace wanted to keep it under wraps for now.
Albanese coughed, and Wallace was looking at him strangely. Shit.
He turned round to see Brooks standing behind him. “Hey, Sergeant.”
“It’s good to know I inspire such confidence in the squad.”
“I didn’t mean it like that—”
“Save it. I know what you meant, Detective Reyes. Your Jeep’s been located, hasn’t it?’
“It has,” he replied. “We were just heading out.”
“Better go then, hadn’t you?”
Reyes struggled to find the right words, and Wallace came to his rescue.
“We sure had. Come on, Sal.”
She half pushed him out of the doors.
Reyes didn’t speak again until they were driving near to their destination. “I was trying to stick up for the guy. I don’t think he’s got anything to do with it.”
“Ray’ll get over it—he’s just a little sensitive at the moment.”
A green neon sign in the shape of a pine tree signaled they’d reached the Pine Tree Motel. Another in pink said there were vacancies. Wallace steered off the road. Off to the left side of the parking lot sat a squad car, with two uniforms in the front seat. The silver Jeep Wrangler was alongside, and she pulled up behind it.
Reyes walked over to the open window of the squad car, leaving Phil to call in their location. Tina Lantz was sitting in the driver’s seat with her legs out of the door and Tibor Martin was leaning his rangy frame up on the bonnet. “How’s it going?”
“All right. We thought maybe you had forgotten about us.”
“Have you spoken with the motel manager?”
“I’ve told him we’re out here,” Lantz said.
“Let’s open this baby up,” said Reyes.
“I’ve got my kit on the hood,” Martin said. They walked over to the front of the Jeep and Martin inserted a slim jim down the side of the driver’s door window. He wriggled with it for a few seconds.