“I’ve earned it,” she said.
Surreptitiously inspecting the wad of cash I had lifted from the unconscious lab technician back at the studio, I was gratified to see that I could afford anything on the menu.
The Temple must pay their drug cookers well. I had even stopped worrying about getting in trouble over the theft, having realized that the victims’ statements to the police would be, Yes, officer, I was minding my own business at the meth lab like usual when these three broke in…
After our drinks and Palmer Hanley’s pie arrived Louie took a long swig of her beer and said, “I have to hand it to you, Dave, we’re out. So what’s next?”
“I’d say we get word to someone to come and get us. We need to get hold of a phone, since ours are still back in the studio-prison, along with our ID.”
“Who would you call?”
“Detective Dane Colfax in robbery-homicide.”
“Why him?”
“Because I trust him.”
Sure, Colfax tended to play things a bit aloof, to the point where it was hard to imagine him in any kind of personal relationship, but I did trust him.
“I’m not as trusting when it comes to the police,” Louie said, looking behind us. “But I think I’ve solved the phone problem.”
Sliding out from the booth and taking off her lab coat, which she deposited on the seat, she straightened the shirt of the Temple uniform and headed straight for a young Chicano busboy.
Walking to him she started talking in Spanish, which I did not understand, but there was no mistaking her body language. It read, I’m in trouble and I need your help, please oh please oh please oh pleeeease!
Now grinning broadly, the busboy pulled his cell phone from his pocket and handed it over to her. Louie smiled back, making me suddenly wonder what the Spanish word for “dimples” was, and kissed him on his cheek, which made the kid blush.
Then she ran back to our booth.
“You’re shameless,” I told her.
“Hey, you do what you have to do to get the story,” she said, punching a number into the phone.
After a second, she said, “I need to talk to Z, it’s Louie Sandoval.”
It appeared to take no time at all for Zareh Zarian to come on the line.
“Z! Yeah, it’s me. I’m fine. Safe. Dave Beauchamp is here with me and you’re not going to believe who else. I’m not going to tell you until I’m guaranteed a cover.”
I could hear yelling coming from the other end of the line, and saw Louie smile triumphantly.
“I’ve got the story of the decade,” she went on, “maybe the quarter-century. But right now we have to get to you, and we have no means of doing so. You have to come get us. We’re in a diner on Santa Monica Boulevard. No, I don’t know the address.”
Holding the phone away, she asked: “What’s the address here?”
Getting up and trotting to the front window, I peered out and took note of the cross-street. Coming back, I said, “Corner of Santa Monica and Ogden Drive.”
She repeated that into the phone, then repeated: “Yes, we’re fine. I told you.”
“Can I talk to him?” I asked, and Louie handed the cell phone over.
“Hi, Zarian? This is Beauchamp. Everything Louie told you is true. This really is the story of the quarter-century. But we’re kind of in trouble, too, so if you could call Detective Dane Colfax at the LAPD, he’s in the robbery-homicide division, and a good guy. Just let him know that I need to talk to him as soon as I can. No, I don’t have his number, but his office is downtown at Parker Center. Yeah. Okay, thanks.”
I held the phone out to Louie but Palmer Hanley said, “Wait, if he’s rescuing us, I want to talk to him, too.”
After exchanging glances and shrugs with Louie, I gave him the phone. “Hurry up, I don’t have unlimited time!” the old man said, and then handed the phone over.
“Who was that? It’s a long story,” Louie told her editor. “See you soon.”
She cut off the call slid out of the booth again, returning it to her new friend.
When she came back, I asked: “How long will it take for Zarian to get here?”
“It’s in his best interest to get here as soon as possible,” she replied.
“As long as we’re stuck here waiting,” Hanley said, “how about ordering me another slice of pie?”
I wouldn’t have believed it, but the former actor turned phony religious guru was on his third piece of strawberry pie when Zareh Zarian walked into the diner.
Making a bee-line for our table, he lifted Louie out of her seat and bear-hugged her. “Goddamn, girl, you don’t know how worried I was about you!” he said.
“Z, how many times do I have to tell you that I can take care of myself.”
I helped a little, don’t you think? a voice said inside my head, and it was my voice, but I decided to leave it where it was.
“Hi, Beauchamp,” Zarian said when he was through groping Louie. “What the hell happened to your face?”
“Like Louie said, she can take care of herself.”
“Christ, you hit him? What’d he do to you?”
“We had to stage a little pretense for our captors, and it had to look convincing,” she replied.
“It’s going to keep looking convincing for about a week. Does it hurt, Beauchamp?”
“Oh, only when I breathe,” I said.
“But look who else we brought with us,” Louie went on, ignoring my battered nose and instead turning Zarian’s attention to the other person seated in the booth.
The editor’s face betrayed confusion for a few seconds, then the fog lifted.
“Holy shit, Sandoval,” he said, “are you telling me this is—”
“Palmer Hanley,” the old man said, spraying pie crust crumbs across the table.
“I don’t believe it.”
“They were so desperate to get my research information,” she went on, “but look what I took from them. This is better than any reporter’s notes.”
“But you still have the notes, right?” Zarian asked.
“Safely hidden.”
“As we need to be,” I broke in. “When we were guests of the Temple they emptied our pockets. Wallets, IDs, cell phones, keys, everything was taken from us. Even if I can get back to my apartment or office, I have no way of getting in, not that it matters, most likely, since I’m sure both are being watched by members of the Temple. The same probably goes for Louie’s place.”
Across the table, Louie suddenly tensed. “They’re here, too,” she said, nodding toward the front of the diner. “They’ve found us.”
Cheating a look back, I saw two strapping men in the quasi-military uniforms of the Temple guard standing in the doorway and looking around. “I don’t think they’ve spotted us yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”
“Is there a back way out of here?” Zarian asked quietly.
“There must be,” Louie said.
“Then you three go find it and get out. I’ll pay the bill and meet you outside, somewhere. I’ll cover your exit. Go.”
It’ll never work, a voice said in my head, and I didn’t even care who it was. That line had been spoken in so many movies by so many actors and actresses that it hardly mattered. What mattered was that I fully agreed with the speaker, this plan was doomed to failure.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a better idea at present. As Zareh Zarian stood up, keeping his back to the door of the restaurant, Louie and I slid out from the table, pulling Palmer Hanley with us, and crouched our way to the restrooms.
“I wasn’t finished,” the old man protested, but we ignored him. If we didn’t get out of here, we’d all be finished.
“There,” Louie said, pointing to the emergency exit at the end hallway in which the bathrooms were located. “Let’s hope it’
s not alarmed.”
“Even if it is, that’s too bad,” I said, rushing to the door and pushing it open. No sirens or bells when off, so we ran outside into the parking lot.
“What do we do now?” Louie asked.
“Wait for Zarian, I guess, and hope nobody from the Temple shows up.”
“Bastards,” Hanley muttered. “All of ’em.”
For some reason that made me laugh, a reaction I attempted unsuccessfully to stifle.
“Don’t get hysterical on me, Dave,” Louie cautioned.
“I’m not hysterical, it’s just that. All of a sudden this seems kind of funny.”
I was still chuckling when I saw Louie tense again.
“Uniform coming up behind you,” she whispered.
Then I heard a voice at my back say: “Okay, let’s go.”
I stopped laughing then, and concentrated my efforts on trying not to wet myself.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Slowly I turned around, and when I saw the short Hispanic man in the parking attendant’s uniform, which in Louie’s defense did resemble a Temple of Theotologic’s guard uniform fairly closely, my legs nearly buckled.
“Come on, buddy, let’s go, I’ve got other customers waiting,” he said. “Give me your ticket and I’ll give you your keys.”
“I don’t have a ticket,” I exhaled. “We’re not parked here.”
“Just here for the scenery, huh?”
“No, my…uh…father suddenly felt ill, so we came out here for some air.”
“Who’s father?” Palmer Hanley said.
I silently mouthed senile to the attendant, whose demeanor suddenly changed to one of concern. “Is he okay? You need me to call an ambulance?”
“No, but if there’s somewhere to sit down…”
“Yeah, sure, come to the booth.”
As I half-dragged the still-oblivious Palmer Hanley to the guard booth, which had two chairs inside, another customer came up waiving his ticket at the guard.
“Hold on,” the guy said, “this is an emergency.” Ushering us in, he said, “He can sit there. I’ll be back.”
After the guard had gone to deal with his impatient customer, Hanley asked, “What’s going on, anyway?”
“We’re hiding,” I told him.
He looked around at the well-lighted, windowed guard booth.
“Not too well, we’re not.”
He had me there.
Then I heard a car horn and through the window of the booth spotted a beat-up looking minivan on the street, with Louie Sandoval hanging out of the window, beckoning us.
Grabbing the old man up again, I dashed toward the vehicle as the guard called out behind us. I ignored him. Practically throwing Hanley inside the minivan, I jumped in after him and Zareh Zarian peeled away from the curb and onto the street.
“You know, Dave Beauchamp,” Hanley said, “being chucked around like a sack of potatoes is getting a little old. How come I couldn’t keep that wheelchair? I kinda liked traveling that way.”
“I’ll try to get you another one,” I said, then asked Zarian where we were going.
“To a safe house,” he called back, running a red light.
The Los Angeles Independent Journal utilized a safe house? Who knew?
I had barely finished wondering how safe it was when the voice of Dustin Hoffman entered my brain saying, It’s so safe you wouldn’t believe it.
Thirty-five minutes later, we pulled into the Ali Baba Motor Hotel located in one of the more scurrilous sections of southern Hollywood.
Bette Davis’s voice provided the commentary: What a dump!
At first glance it was hard to tell if the place was even open for business or not.
“This is a safe house?” I asked, getting out of Zarian’s van. “It doesn’t look safe enough to spend the night in.”
“That’s the entire point,” Zarian replied. “Would you look for somebody important here?”
“How long did it take you to find this little bit of heaven on earth?”
“My cousin owns it.”
“Swell.”
“Oh, stop grumbling, Beauchamp and get your ass inside.”
Zarian led us into the lobby, where a bored-looking woman sat behind the counter.
“Is Antran here?” he asked.
The woman looked up at Zarian and rolled her eyes.
“He’s in the back,” she offered, before turning to the room behind her and shouting, “Antranig, your cousin!”
Moments later Antranig came out.
“Zari!” he cried, embracing his cousin. “Who are we hiding this time?” Then looking at me, he added: “And what the hell happened to you?”
“Picked a bar fight with a midget,” I told him. “Never do that. They’re short, but they’re mean.”
“Okay.”
“I worked with Billy Barty once,” Hanley said. “He was nice as all get out—”
“I believe you, sir,” I said, cutting him off.
“Antran, you’re not going to believe it,” Zarian broke in, “but this is Palmer Hanley. You know, the Temple of Theotologics Palmer Hanley?”
The manager looked the old man up and down. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“He’s right, he’s not,” Hanley added.
“Why is he here?”
“They’re looking for him.”
“Who’s looking for him?”
“The entire Temple,” I interjected.
“So who are you, midget-puncher?”
“My name’s Dave Beauchamp, I’m a private investigator.”
“Like Magnum with a purple nose?”
“Yeah, just like. Except I don’t have a stunt double like Tom Selleck does.”
“You should think about getting one. I am Antranig Bedekian. I don’t have a stunt double either.”
He laughed heartily.
“Look,” Zarian said, “I need two, maybe three rooms. Do you have them?”
“Well, I don’t know, we’re pretty booked…” Antranig said.
Sure. The empty parking lot told how booked up the place was.
“The usual safe house rate.”
“For family, I always have room.”
“Two should be sufficient,” I offered. “Louie and I can stay in one room.”
The proprietor looked at us. “Are you married?”
I was about to lie to him and say yes when I heard Louie say instead: “I’ll stay in one room and the boys can stay in the other.”
“Fine, two rooms,” the proprietor said. “Ten and twelve, next to each other.”
“That will be fine,” Zarian said.
“How long will they be here?”
“That I can’t answer. Tonight, obviously, maybe another night.”
Well, if I had to be stuck in a room in a fleabag hotel somewhere on the bad side of town, at least I’d be with someone to whom I could talk about the old days of Hollywood, if Palmer Hanley was up for it.
Then another thought struck me. “Did you ever get in touch with Detective Colfax?” I asked Zarian.
“Just got his machine and left a message. I’ll try again when I get back to the office.”
“If we can get him involved, I’m sure we can get out of here and back to our own places.”
“I don’t have a place anymore,” Hanley said.
“Don’t worry,” Louie chimed in, “when my story breaks, you’ll be able to stay anywhere you want.”
Bedekian now handed us the keys to our respective rooms. “If you need anything, call the desk,” he said.
“I don’t suppose you have breakfast, do you?” I asked.
The proprietor laughed. “Anything you can catch, you can eat.”
I hoped
he was kidding.
As the four of us stepped out of the office, Louie said to Zarian: “I need to go back to the Temple complex, you know. I have to get absolute proof regarding that meth lab.”
“But it has to be done the right way,” the editor argued.
“Z, if we wait too long, they’ll dismantle the lab and hide all the evidence!”
“And if we fly off the handle and don’t do things exactly by the book, whatever you do find will be tossed out of court. You don’t want that, do you?”
“What I want is to lie down,” Palmer Hanley said. “Think we could go to the room?”
“Sure, come on,” I said, “but you two come with us.”
We walked to Room Ten and opened it, and at least bats didn’t fly out. The place was actually relatively clean, though there was only one bed. It was probably technically big enough to hold us both, but I wasn’t particularly looking forward to finding out.
Sometimes ya gotta do what ya…gotta do, John Wayne helpfully intoned inside my head.
Sure, Duke, like you ever bundled with Walter Brennan.
While Louie and Zarian continued to argue about the best way to storm the movie studio that was the Temple of Theotologics’ fortress, Palmer Hanley crawled onto the bed and in less than a minute began to snore, and I doubted he could be awakened even by the rising volume of Louie’s voice.
“Guys, can we have a truce here?” I asked, and the two stopped arguing. “I really think I can make everything a lot easier by involving Detective Colfax. Zarian, you must have a cell phone. Let me try calling him again.”
“All right,” he said, pulling a smart phone from his pocket and handing it over. Since I didn’t have Colfax’s number memorized, and I didn’t have my wallet, which probably wouldn’t have mattered, since I don’t think I put his card in it, I dialed 4-1-1…and then handed the phone back.
“This is out of juice,” I said. “I thought I was the only one who forgot to charge his phone.”
“That’s not like you, Z,” Louie added.
“It blipped earlier to tell me it was hungry, and then you guys called, and I forgot all about it,” he protested.
Eats to Die For! Page 20