“Thank you,” she said with a smile.
“Oh, did I say that aloud? Sorry.” I grinned sheepishly.
“Don’t be, it’s nice to be appreciated once in a while.”
“But, at work –”
“I told you, I don’t like my looks to interfere with my work.”
“But you –” I started.
“I want to be taken seriously.”
“Without sounding corny, you could be a model.”
“I was. I did model between auditioning for roles – it paid the bills.” She flopped onto the couch next to me. “It did more than pay the bills, but I wanted to be taken seriously as an actress, not just a dumb, pretty face,” she said simply.
I could smell her perfume and found it intoxicating and my mind started to wander. “What are ya doing here?”
“I was climbing a rock wall down at the center – you should try it, it’s a great workout. Plus you have to use your wits and give your brain a workout, too, it clears your thoughts – empties your mind and sometimes something that you just can’t remember will pop into your head – like just now.”
“About the case?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah, big time.”
“Tell me.”
“You have something to drink?”
“I’ve got beer.”
“Anything stronger?”
“Vodka?” I offered.
“I like vodka.”
“I used to drink tequila, but it does things to me.”
“Such as?”
I hesitated.
“Go on,” she urged.
“One time down in Tijuana, well, let’s just say I blacked out, this was a long time ago, in my wild youth, ya understand, but it appears I invented pole dancing.”
She snorted.
“It’s true. I didn’t believe it either, well, I didn’t wanna, but they had video evidence, that song from The Breakfast Club, ‘Don’t You Forget About Me.’”
“By Simple Minds, I know it,” she said.
“Started with a slow strip, then up on this pole, around and around and upside down. Apparently, they had quite a time getting me down, took several bouncers in the end.”
She laughed and it made me feel good.
“And that doesn’t happen on vodka?” she asked.
“Nope, vodka seems to be okay.”
“Shame,” What’s this? Surely, she’s not attracted to me. She’s teasing me, right, she must be.
“You’re being watched, by the way,” she said.
“How’d ya mean?”
“There’s a green Impala, parked on the corner. Two guys on a stake-out. They couldn’t be more obvious if they tried.”
“That’ll be I.A.,” I told her with a shrug.
“Internal Affairs? What have you been up to?”
“They didn’t like my last high-profile bust.”
“That the one where you shot the suspect seventeen times?”
“Why’s everyone hung up on the number of bullets? He’d killed a cop, tried to throw a kid off the building then went to shoot me in the back,” I said and stretched my arms wide in an act of innocence that I thought was convincing.
Evidently not. “You removed a sicko from the streets, I’m on your side, but even I don’t believe that.”
She moved to my balcony doors and tried to get a glimpse of the ocean by craning her neck. She turned to me to speak when she spotted the joint on my table. “Hey!” she said in surprise, pointing at it.
Damnit, I cursed to myself.
“You’re a dark horse, Detective Jackson.”
“It was a gift from the stoners upstairs.”
“They don’t know you’re a cop?”
“Not yet, I thought I’d save that for a special occasion. Ya know when they’re good and stoned, just drop it casually into the conversation and really freak ’em out.”
She laughed again and I liked it, then she said, “Fire it up.”
“Seriously?”
“Sure, why not, let’s live dangerously.”
“Now who’s a dark horse?”
“You must have smoked dope?”
“Yah, sure, in my misspent youth,” I admitted.
“Come on, live a little.”
Elvis said, “Do it, man, this chick wants you.”
Even Sheldon agreed and said, “Well, it’s legal now, what the heck.” I shrugged, strolled to the kitchen area, rummaged in a drawer, and found a lighter and lit the baby up, took a hit and passed it to her.
* * *
An hour later, I slumped on top of a naked Mia, spent. “Wow!” I said.
“Wow, yourself,” she replied.
We suddenly got a round of applause and accompanying whistles from the apartment above and we laughed. I realize that I left the French doors open and our noisy antics must’ve traveled and I also remember someone screaming. I’d like to say it was Mia but I think it was me. Somewhere near the end, she bit into my chest so hard that it drew blood. I stared at the ceiling and replayed the previous thirty minutes. It had been incredible, as we smoked the joint, our eyes kept meeting. I wanted to make a move on her, but couldn’t. I didn’t want to jeopardize everything. I liked her as a partner, she was smart and funny, great to be around and she was professional. I knew she could be one of the greats. She was definitely holding something back; I knew she could go far. On the other hand, I didn’t want her near me, especially as all my partners died sooner or later. I mean, coincidence is one thing but they had a one hundred percent fatality rate and I had heard a whisper that the guys at work were running a book on how long she had left to live.
I also found myself nervous around her; I felt like a fumbling freshman. I really didn’t want to make a fool of myself, plus what if I was misreading those signs? She lunged at me and kissed me passionately, which cleared that question up. Her tongue was in my mouth and we tore at each other’s clothes. She had my tee off and her leotard was gone in a flash, no underwear. She attacked the buttons of my Levi’s 501s and kissed down my stomach and I was gone in a frenzy. We made out on the sofa, fell onto the floor via the coffee table, up the stairs to the bedroom, kissing, licking and even biting, as we fumbled to the bedroom. It was utterly incredible and frenzied and I couldn’t believe my luck; we dropped onto the king-sized bed and wrestled for dominance, both wanting to be on top and I was surprised at her strength, but finally I won, although I can’t help thinking she relented and let me. I finally entered her, my God, it was amazing and she was so athletic, it was beyond anything I previously encountered, it was wild, spontaneous, she was biting me, yet it was good when she said, “Hit me.”
Even through my dope-raddled mind, I was like, “Huh?”
“Hit me, slap my face.”
I didn’t want to, but I did not want this moment to end.
Ever.
I slapped her face.
“Not like that, hit me!”
I slapped her harder and she rocked and bucked beneath me. “Harder, slap me harder!”
I slapped furiously each side of her face as we climaxed, but lying here now, afterward I had to wonder, what was that all about? I had no idea how to approach that subject and chose a question about work instead. “You were saying ya had a lightning bolt moment?” I reminded her.
She looked blank then, “Oh, yeah, on the climbing wall. It came to me in a flash. When I first went to Bruce Matherson’s, I remembered that there was a locked room, it was rumored to be a rape room.”
“Real or simulated?”
“Positively not simulated.”
“We never got reports of that from the girls?”
“Maybe they weren’t able to tell anyone.”
“Ya mean they were dead?”
“Sure, why not? I’ve told you Bruce Matherson is untouchable.”
“If what you’re saying is true then this has been going on for years.”
“I’m certain it has.”
“How come no one has ever come for
ward?”
“The girls would be too frightened.”
“Or dead,” I suggested.
“Or dead, right. Who would believe them anyhow? He’s Hollywood royalty, Mister USA, who does so much for charity. Or if they were suspicious, the money he could bring in from attending a charity event was too great. Besides, what’s one dumb girl’s story, feeling used and abused? The cops wouldn’t believe her, they’d think she was making up stories to get attention.”
“Where would he get a continual stream of victims that no one misses?”
“The star-struck runaways I mentioned. Who wouldn’t want to be invited to Bruce Matherson’s as soon as they step off the bus? You know that sexual predators and pedophiles prowl the bus depot, waiting for the next fresh, green teenager to arrive from Hicksville, ask a few questions and if they were orphans or weren’t going to be missed, well, that was a perfect mark. I was lucky, I had folks or at least told my groomer that I did, and I received a phone call while I was at the party giving the impression of folks who’d miss me.”
We heard a yell and saw one of the dudes sail past my window. Mia sat up alarmed. “Shouldn’t you. . .” She pointed at the window.
“Nah, he’ll be fine.”
“But . . .?”
“Seriously, they’re always doing things like that.”
She settled back down in the bed.
“Ya said, ‘groomer’?” I reminded her.
“Affirmative, the guys that befriend the really young and naïve. They slowly groom them; put them up in a fabulous hotel, brag of connections and the glittering career ahead of the girl. And when they finally trust the groomer, he’d tell them how to act, how to behave, how to dress, convincing them that young and innocent is what the producers wanted, then invite them to a top Hollywood party, who could say no to that?”
“What happened to you?”
“Like I said, I got lucky, I looked thin and young, but they could tell I knew my way around. Years on the modeling circuit had opened my eyes to the sick and predatory; I had some nasty scrapes, but nothing I couldn’t handle. They somehow knew, as if they could detect it, or see it in my eyes, that I was somehow broken.”
“I can’t believe we never even got a sniff of this.”
“Well, Bruce has powerful friends, y’know, in the department.”
“Ya reckon cops are involved?”
“I know cops are involved.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know their names, but they were high-ups that could make this sort of thing go away.”
“You’re saying Bruce Matherson and his gang of pedos would give ’em Rohypnol, or some such narcotic, then rape them. Man, that’s so sick.”
“Roger that. If they’re virgins they’d be an auction, the young girl’s virginity going to the highest bidder.”
I paced my bedroom unable to take it all in. I’d seen low lives and creeps and the lowest of the low, it comes with the territory, I’d met the scum, the unredeemable evil, but they don’t even come close to these monsters. “Ya can almost admire the simplicity of the scheme. Take a runaway, I mean, who’s gonna miss ’em?”
“What about the disposal . . .?” Then it came to her. She smiled, knowing I’d made the same connection. “The bodies up in the canyon.”
I let this thought rattle around my brain, while I tried to pick holes in the theory, but have to admit it’d pretty solid. “What do we do about it?”
“Why don’t we kill him?”
“Ya can’t talk like that,” I said quietly. I was worried where this conversation was heading.
“I mean it,” she said adamantly. “I don’t care who knows it.”
“Well, don’t tell anyone else,” I said harshly.
After a long pause, “Are you going to tell the captain?”
“No chance, we’re partners.”
She went quiet again, then said, “I’ve heard Bruce Matherson’s having a party tonight.” She could see that I was reluctant. “He’s going to do it to other innocent girls, possibly tonight.”
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” I said with a lazy smile.
“What’s your idea?”
“We’ll do it properly, get evidence. Ya still got contacts?”
“I could get an invite easily; I can still make myself look young and I’m attractive – I’m not sure how you’ll get in.”
Thanks a bunch! “I’ll just have to crash it.”
CHAPTER 14
Mia skipped off into the bathroom, taking her rucksack with her: apparently, she had a costume with her to change into. That would mean she knew I’d agree to crash Bruce’s party and that I’d be a willing accomplice to her plan. All she had to do was seduce me and dangle a promise of more to come. Was I really that easy to read?
“Yup,” said Elvis.
“Yep,” agreed Sheldon.
Okay, maybe I was.
She came out from the bathroom sometime later dressed as a schoolgirl complete with pigtails. “You like?”
I tried to speak but couldn’t. I think it was the reaction she wanted. “I, er, um. . .” I stammered.
“What are we going to do about you? What have you got to wear?” She rummaged in my closet. I was presuming that she would be hard pushed to find anything appropriate for a swingers’ party, but she came back out with my leather jacket and leather pants, which she went to work on with a pair of scissors. She also found an old dog color as she rummaged in a closet looking for the scissors. The collar belonged to my dog that I’d owned some years ago, that I had forgotten to throw away.
“What do you think, hon?” she asked when she’d finished dressing me.
I looked at myself in the mirror, self-consciously, thinking that I looked like the Terminator – well, maybe his little brother, if he’d had the butt cut out of his pants and wore a dog collar around his neck. “I can’t walk down the street like this.”
“You’ll be fine – this is Venice Beach, after all.”
“I could still be arrested for indecent exposure.”
“Don’t be such a girl, come on.”
“I’ve got my ass hanging out.”
“You’ll blend right in, honestly.” Christ, I didn’t want to blend in.
“Let’s go get the bad guys.”
She walked towards the balcony.
“Hey, let’s use the door.” I cocked a thumb at the door and she rolled her eyes and I could imagine her thinking, ‘what a girl’.
As I locked the street door, I heard a voice I vaguely recognized. “Hey, Spooky.” I turned to see one of the surfer dudes, the one who looked like Bingo, hanging upside down some six feet from the ground tangled up in the rope ladder.
I looked at Mia, who stared at him lost for words. He pointed at Mia. “Kudos, Spooky, she is one righteous babe.” He tried to high-five but failed.
“Hey, man, do ya need any help?” I asked.
“No, I kinda like it. Heeey, love the collar, Spooky, where’d you get it?”
“From my dog.”
“Cool.”
“Ya sure I can’t help get you down?”
“No way, I’m getting this awesome rush of blood to my head.”
Venice Beach, huh?
We strolled past Snyder from Internal Affairs sitting in the green Impala watching my place without a glimmer of recognition.
Some detective!
The Tara Mansion, Mapleton Drive, Beverly Hills, CA 90024 – 22:05.
We cruised in my Camaro up the Pacific Coast Highway towards the Hills and could see the full moon reflecting off the ocean, with Catalina Island silhouetted on the horizon. Full moon, I thought with a sigh, that always brought out the crazies. I wondered what a cop would think if he pulled me over, a Terminator wannabe and as far as he would be concerned an underage schoolgirl. I slowed down and kept to the speed limit, as that was one conversation I did not want to have. “Are ya sure I’m gonna get in?” I asked.
“I’ve told you, you’ll bl
end in.” She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a pair of sunglasses, “Put these on,” she said, handing me a pair of Ray-Ban Wayfarers. I slipped them on and immediately felt better about the whole situation. “There,” she said. “No one would recognize you.”
I must admit I’d always laughed at poseurs wearing sunglasses at night, but maybe they were just trying to hide. I certainly was glad of the extra aid in disguising myself and felt slightly less ridiculous.
“You look great, really cool. You should wear your leathers more.”
We drove up Club View Drive for the second time that week. I glanced in the rear-view mirror and shuddered, “I look like one of the Village People.” That made her laugh. “I always wanted to be the cowboy,” I told her.
“That’s you through and through, the sheriff wanting to clean up the town.”
I glanced at Mia and could still see the imprint of my palm on her cheek and felt wretched. “Mia. . .” I said, pointing at her face.
She looked in the vanity mirror and saw the mark. “Don’t worry about it.” She dabbed more foundation upon her cheek and smiled.
“Mia. . .” I started to say, but I didn’t know how to ask about what had happened earlier. I had enjoyed it, too, in the heat of the moment, trying something new, which confused me, it went against everything I thought about women. I certainly did not want to hurt her, even with her consent, and what concerned me greatly was why did she get off on it?
“Okay, we’ll talk about it once,” she said. “And that’s it, do we have a deal?”
“Sure.”
“What do you want to know?”
“How many times have you –?”
“Hardly ever. I must know the person well, some flatly refused.” She smiled at me as if I’d passed some sort of test. I never realized it was an option. I’d been far too carried away. Plus, for some reason it made the sex better, more animalistic, more brutal.
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