#3 Hollywood Crazy: A Holllywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  “You got that right.”

  Robin grabbed the back of my chair. “Ready for the big reveal?” I nodded and he swiveled me around in front of the mirror.

  “Oh my, gosh!” I screamed. “It’s beautiful.”

  Robin smiled. “Can I cook, or what?”

  “I’m going to call you Wolfgang Puck from now on.” I ran a hand through my straight, silky brown hair. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Just be sure that you don’t wash it for three days, otherwise the treatment will come out. I’ve got some hair extensions that match your color on order so we’ll see about them another time.”

  I hugged Robin, tried to pay him, but he refused to take the money.

  “My treat, big sister. Now, go out and find a man.”

  Maybe it was providence or the fates aligning, but my phone rang on the way home. It was Mack.

  “I just want to let you know I’ll be home the day after tomorrow. I was wondering if you and Bernie can come by and we can go to dinner.”

  “We’d love that.” I looked over at my partner. “Bernie’s been asking about his baby-doggy mama.”

  “Thelma’s due any day now, that’s part of the reason I’m coming home.”

  We chatted for a few minutes more before I told him that I’d see him at his house and ended the call.

  I turned to Bernie and said, “What do you want, boys or girls?”

  He licked my hand, whined.

  “Yeah a boy would be great. I guess we’d better start thinking about a name. What do you think about calling him Elrod?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “His name was Ralph Wakefield,” Jessica said, holding her breath. “He was found stabbed to death on the sidewalk down the street.”

  The homeless man stared at the mug shot of our vic and shook his head. “Don’t know him, but I heard it ain't safe on the streets.”

  “You’re better off in a shelter,” Jessica said, exhaling. “They have showers there, too.”

  We walked away as she gulped in air and said to me, “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

  “Yeah, sometimes this job really stinks,” I agreed as Bernie sniffed some flowers along the sidewalk.

  We were on the streets in downtown Hollywood, in an area frequented by the homeless, not too far from where Ralph Wakefield had been murdered. The day was cloudy and cool. A weather front was approaching, promising rain for the next couple of days. Despite the drizzly weather, my hair was holding its own.

  After another hour spent canvassing the area, Jessica stopped and stared at me. “You look different.” After another moment, she said, “It’s your hair. It doesn’t look like a mop anymore. What did you do?”

  “A mop. Thanks.” I continued walking. “My brother’s a hairdresser. It’s something called a keratin treatment. I’m sure it’s impressing all the homeless.”

  We’d been on the streets most of the day without any real leads. Our victim had been stabbed through the heart two days earlier while he slept off a couple of bottles of vodka. He had twenty-three dollars in his pocket when his body was discovered, so we knew the motive wasn’t robbery.

  Ralph Wakefield, age sixty-six, had lived in Seattle before arriving by bus in Hollywood six months earlier. He had no family or friends in the area. A couple of people we talked to said they remembered seeing him on the streets, but knew nothing about him.

  We met up with Pearl on Lexington Street at the end of the day. He looked tired. The semi-retired detective only worked part-time and I imagined it wasn’t easy pounding the streets at his age.

  “I met a guy named, Joaquin Sanchez,” Pearl said. “He says our vic received social security, but blew his check on booze and was always broke by the middle of the month.”

  “Maybe we should try the liquor stores,” I suggested. “A clerk might recognize the mug, give us a lead.”

  Pearl said, “Tomorrow, first thing. Let’s call it a day.” We said our goodbyes and started to walk away when Pearl called me back. Jessica was already at her car and said she’d see us tomorrow.

  “Let’s take a walk to my car before you go,” Pearl said.

  When we got to the parking lot, he opened the trunk of his car. There were two boxes inside—the murder files on my father.

  Pearl turned to me, touched my shoulder. “Kate, are you sure about this? The files will be difficult to see.”

  I nodded. “I’m sure.”

  “I’ll help you carry them to your car.”

  Five minutes later, with the files and Bernie secured in Olive, Pearl said. “You’ve got twenty-four hours before the files go back to John Duncan.”

  I hugged him. “Thanks, Pearl. You’re the best.”

  ***

  When I got home, I took the murder files to my room. I was about to open the boxes when there was a knock on my door. I opened it and found Natalie and Mo standing there.

  “You ready?” Natalie asked after they both took a moment and complimented me on my hair.

  “For what?”

  “The FA meeting,” Mo said. “It starts in half an hour.”

  I’d forgotten all about the Fetishes Anonymous meeting. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got work...”

  “There won’t be another meetin’ for a week, Kate,” Natalie said. “Besides, aren’t you curious to hear the stories?”

  “Actually, no. I’ve heard enough stories to last me a lifetime.”

  “Come on, Kate,” Mo said. “After we hear from the perverts, we get dessert. Maybe they got chocolate pie. I’ve been having chocolate withdrawals lately.”

  Our discussion went on for a couple of minutes, with me making excuses, and Natalie and Mo telling me I had to come with them. I finally relented. Maybe they wore me down, or maybe I was just putting off what I knew would be a heart-wrenching task—reviewing the murder files on my father.

  After a discussion with myself about the proper attire for a Fetishes Anonymous meeting, I settled on a pair of jeans and a sweater. I then met up with Natalie and Mo in the living room. Tex came over, offering to keep an eye on Bernie.

  As we were preparing to leave, Tex said, “Let me know if you hear anything about pony play. Natalie and I have been thinking about giving it a try.”

  “I don’t want to hear about it,” I said.

  “It’s just a little horsin’ around,” Natalie said, laughing. “Lighten up, Kate.”

  Tex gave me the unwanted details. “It’s a form of animal role play involving the imaginary transformation of one’s human status into that of a pony or some other animal. The most common form of the bondage involves a pony and a rider. The pony person is outfitted with a saddle, straps, and a bit, whereas the rider utilizes a riding crop to giddy-up.”

  “Sounds like a baloney pony ride to me,” Mo said.

  “Actually, any form of imaginary animal bondage can be utilized in the practice, even cats and dogs are fair game.”

  I looked at Bernie. “If he gets any ideas about saddling up, you have my permission to bite the baloney.”

  ***

  Half an hour later we had gathered with about two dozen people in a vacant office building in North Hollywood. I soon realized that pony play was pretty mild stuff considering the stories we heard.

  A middle-aged woman with long gray hair ran the meeting. She began by telling us that everything we heard was confidential and to show respect for others. She then told us about her own problem. “My name is Gloria and I have a fetish.”

  In unison, the crowd said, “Hello Gloria.”

  Gloria responded by saying, “I’m addicted to dogging.”

  I was sitting between Natalie and Mo, and whispered to them, “Maybe Bernie isn’t safe?”

  Gloria continued, “As you probably know, dogging is the practice of having sex in public places. I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve had sex in public restrooms, theaters, and grocery stores.”

  “I ain’t ever buying bananas again,” Mo said under her breath.
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  Gloria finished introducing herself by telling us about her latest escapade. “Last September when the 405 freeway was closed I had sex in the fast lane.”

  I knew that I’d never be able to take the freeway again without thinking about Gloria being spread eagle in the middle of the road.

  We went on to hear stories about everything from men who liked to engage in body buffets by eating sashimi on their partner’s private parts, to a woman who engaged in silent sex. Apparently, the idea was to be completely mute during the sexual experience.

  I leaned over toward Natalie and whispered, “Maybe you and Tex should give it a try.”

  After a few more stories, I started to get nervous. The people in the audience were beginning to turn in our direction. Then Gloria looked at us and said, “Please don’t be shy. Everyone is expected to contribute, even first-timers.”

  Apparently that was Natalie’s cue. She stood and said, “My name is Natalie and I once had sex with a raccoon.” My friend went on to tell everyone about her exploits with a pet she called, Randy.

  When she came back to her seat, Natalie whispered to us, “Made the whole load of cack up on the spot. Kinda fun. Give it a go.”

  I shook my head as Mo stood and explained to the crowd that she liked her sex partners to be epicureans. “It’s my guy and pie at the Y—strawberry, apple, pumpkin, it don’t make no difference to me as long as the dessert lasts all night.”

  When the chuckles died down everyone seemed to look in my direction at the same time. I felt like I was in high school again, only this time I not only didn’t know the answer to the question being asked, I was expected to talk about my sexual fetishes.

  I stood, wringing my hands, desperate for something to say.

  “Go ahead, dear,” Gloria said. “Whatever it is, we’ll understand. Don’t be shy.”

  “I like my p...partners...fully clothed,” I stammered. “I prefer that they dress up...like a cartoon character or a stuffed animal. I especially like it when my man dresses up as a...a rabbit. Harvey the Humper...he makes his baby girl real happy.”

  I sat down, hung my head. What the hell did I just say? I must have lost my mind.

  “Cartoon characters?” Mo said. “Really?”

  I raised my head slightly and whispered, “No. I was making stuff up, like Natalie.”

  “Uh-huh, sure you was. Harvey the Humper? That’s some weird kinda shit, Kate.”

  “Oh, and like having a pie fest, sex marathon is normal?”

  “You forget I’m an ex-pimp. I know about this stuff. It’s called sploshing if you wanna look it up. Sploshing is recognized in one of them shrink manuals as a genuine fetish, but stuffed animal sex? They don’t got a name for your disorder. I’ll bet Chucky Cheese ain’t safe around you. You ever chase that little rat around the pizza parlor, maybe pork him when he was cornered?”

  “No,” I said, hanging my head in humiliation again.

  When the meeting mercifully ended and the crowd headed for the cookies and punch, I went over and introduced myself to Gloria, using the name, Angelina.

  “I don’t think I’ve heard of a stuffed animal fetish like yours, Angelina,” Gloria said. “That was quite remarkable.”

  “Yeah, well so is having sex on the 405,” I said, for some reason feeling the need to defend my alter ego.

  “To each his own.”

  After a little more chitchat, I asked Gloria about Michael Clinton.

  “It’s a shame,” she said. “I read about the murders. Michael had his share of problems, but no one deserves what happened to him.”

  “That’s for sure. Did he come to the meetings often?”

  “Oh, no. Just for a few weeks several months ago. I think his fiancé made him attend. He told us she was pretty upset by his cheating and some of his fetishes.”

  “What kind of fetishes?”

  “It ran the gamut. Lots of bondage, three-ways, some sadomasochism. Pretty standard stuff.”

  “And his cheating? Did he say anything about that?”

  Gloria folded her arms. “Why are you so interested?”

  “Oh, it’s just that the news of his death has been in the press. Just asking.”

  She lowered her voice. “I guess since he’s dead there’s no need to keep this confidential.” Gloria’s hushed tone became a whisper. “Just between you and me, Michael was one the biggest sexual addicts I’ve ever seen. He even tried to hit on me once.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course I told him it was inappropriate.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet you did him on the 405, Gloria.” Okay, I didn’t say it. I did say, “Was he upset?”

  “Not really,” she said, her voice coming up a notch. “He said he understood. He told me that his urges were so strong he couldn’t help himself.” Gloria then whispered again. “He even told me once that he had sex with his fiancé’s sister.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, it apparently went on for some time.”

  “Did Ch...I mean, did his fiancé find out about it?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’m sure that if she knew, Michael would have been dead a lot sooner.”

  ***

  It was pushing eleven by the time we got back home. I now knew that, in addition to Mags Warner’s role as a madam for Discrete’s exclusive customers, she and Michael Clinton had been involved in a sexual relationship. I wasn’t sure what it meant to our case, which of course, was no longer an official investigation, but I was determined to find a way to talk to Mags and see what she knew.

  I nuzzled Bernie for a moment as Natalie and Mo gave Tex a summary of the stories they’d heard.

  “Kate has an unnatural attraction to men dressed up as large furry animals,” Mo said, as I was heading down the hall to my bedroom with Bernie.

  I turned, back to her. “For the last time. I was making it up.”

  I heard laughter from the family room as Bernie settled on his blanket and I closed the door. I placed the murder files on the bed and took a moment to compose myself. I knew that the reports and photographs of my father’s murder would be heart wrenching, but I also knew this would be the only opportunity I’d have to review the files.

  After opening the boxes, I decided that I’d go over the reports in detail after I read the summary findings of the homicide detectives who had worked the case. I read through some preliminary information before getting to the heart of the summary.

  The coroner’s office has determined that the victim in this matter was killed by a single 9 mm bullet fired at close range to the back of his head while he was walking in the park with his daughter. The bullet casing was not recovered. There were no witnesses to the homicide, except for the four-year-old child, who could not provide any details.

  The victim was an off-duty officer with the Los Angeles Police Department who had recently been working undercover, investigating Discrete Escort Services operated by Sal Madden. Madden is recently deceased, the victim of a drowning in a backyard swimming pool. It has not been established at this time if his death was accidental and the investigation is ongoing. There is no information that the victim’s investigation of Discrete was linked to his homicide, however, this file will remain on Open Unsolved Status pending further information.

  While nothing I’d read provided any new information, it was confirmation that my father’s undercover duties did involve the investigation of Discrete and Sal Madden. There was no mention of the Marcello brothers in the report and I wondered if the investigators were aware of Madden’s connections to the crime family.

  I took a deep breath and held it as I opened the manila envelope marked, Crime Scene Photographs.

  Even though the Polaroid images I sifted through were faded, they were graphic. There were several photos of my father’s dead body, lying in the grass that was stained with blood. Then I came across some close-up, gut-wrenching images of the bullet wound to his head.

  I realized my stomach was twisti
ng, bile rising in my throat, as I reviewed the grisly photos. Then I came to a final photograph before I had to rush into the bathroom. It was me as a little girl. I was sitting on the ground next to my father’s dead body.

  I was covered in blood.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  I got a late start the next morning, thanks to being up most of the night reading my father’s murder files, trying on half a dozen outfits for tonight’s date with Mack, and a drive through rain-clogged streets.

  As Olive sputtered down the hill from my neighborhood, Bernie lapped up the scent of the wet city from the backseat. After a fifteen-minute search, I found a parking space near Lexington Street and, juggling an umbrella and Bernie’s leash, met up with Pearl and Jessica at a coffee shop.

  “Sorry about being late,” I said. “Up late reading.”

  “Anything interesting?” Pearl asked.

  I sipped my latte, set the cup down. “An old murder mystery. We’ll see how it ends.”

  “You don’t get enough murder on the job, you’ve got to read about it, too?” Jessica said.

  “There are some stories you just can’t walk away from.”

  “Mayor Caine is supposed to have a press conference this morning,” Pearl said, changing the subject. “Rumor has it he’s going to resign.”

  “Good riddance,” I said.

  “I like the mayor,” Jessica said. “I think he’s cute.”

  “I think he’s an idiot.”

  Pearl headed off the confrontation by pulling out a list of liquor stores in the area. “Let’s divide these up and talk to the clerks. See if they saw our vic, or anyone who might have been with him.” His phone rang. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  We waited until Pearl finished the call. I could tell it was bad news before he put away his phone.

  “We’ve got another body over on Romaine, not too far from the middle school.” He stood up. “Let’s go.”

  We found our victim under a storefront awning where it looked like he’d spent the night trying to stay out of the rain. He was dry, except for the blood that soaked the front of his shirt beneath his coat.