Hollywood Moon (2009)

by Wambaugh, Joseph - Hollywood Station 03

  Goody! Clark cried.

  That made her giggle. You're so silly, she said.

  After Naomi came back on the line with the address, Malcolm said, I'll see you in twenty-five minutes.

  He clicked off and drove to a check-cashing service near the home improvement center to cash his paycheck. He wasn't worried about money anymore. He'd soon have plenty of it, now that he was in tight with Bernie Graham and his secretary, Ethel. He wouldn't really mind if his boss at the warehouse fired him.

  Thinking of his warehouse job made him think of the box cutter in the pocket of his jeans. These days he was carrying it with him at all times. He took it out, opened the glove box, and tossed it inside.

  Late that afternoon, Dewey Gleason as Bernie Graham rented the tiny upstairs apartment in Frogtown after receiving the call from Jerzy Szarpowicz. Within an hour of closing the deal and signing the checkf_"using one of the small-business accounts that was nearly depletedf_"Dewey met with his co-conspirators at the property.

  It's a dump, Tristan said when he and Jerzy walked inside.

  You need fuckin' luxury to do a kidnap? Jerzy said.

  It's got two rooms and a bathroom, and that's enough, Dewey said. And it's not close to a residence. Good job, Jerzy.

  Jerzy smiled slightly, at last feeling appreciated.

  Use duct tape and tape those blinds to the wall, Dewey said. We don't want her seeing daylight, and we damn sure don't want her knowing where she is. This gag's gotta last two days.

  Dewey assumed that after two days, when they wouldn't be able to reach him and figured out that he was gone for good, they'd simply release Eunice and go back to being the street scum they'd always been. What could Eunice do about any of it? Complain that her criminal employees had kidnapped her? Complain that her husband had stolen the money that she'd stolen from hundreds of people, much of it even before she'd met her husband?

  He wondered if it was his imagination or if there was something suspicious in the way that Creole glanced around the apartment and said casually, Yeah, this gag's gotta last two days. That's how long it'll take your banker pal to release funds, huh? That's a long time from our end.

  It can't be helped, Dewey said. It's gotta be that way if this is gonna work.

  It's gonna work, Bernie, Jerzy said. You got my guarantee that she'll give it up.

  Those sinister words made Dewey Gleason feel more than a little uneasy. The big talk was over. Now it was going to happen and the Polack meant business.

  I don't think you'll have to get rough with her, Dewey said.

  We'll do what we gotta do, Jerzy said.

  This time it was Tristan feeling it. I told you two I ain't torturin' no woman, he said to Jerzy.

  Jerzy pulled up the T-shirt hanging over his gut and showed them the two-inch Colt revolver. You two are gonna do whatever has to be done to get that fuckin' money. Once this thing starts, it goes all the way and we ain't turnin' back.

  Tristan glanced at Dewey, who averted his eyes. Jerzy's own eyes were glassy and slightly dilated. Tristan figured he'd been smoking ice for courage, and he didn't like that. The Polack was trouble enough when he wasn't high.

  One thing sure, Tristan said, looking at Jerzy. We gotta stay clean and sober for this job or it ain't gonna work. We gotta main-tain at all times. I hope we agree about that.

  Jerzy gave one of his scoffing snorts that Tristan had come to hate and said, You two do your jobs. I'm sure as fuck gonna do mine.

  I'd suggest you rent the van at the same place under the same name, Dewey said to Tristan, eager to get the conversation away from Jerzy and the menace in his close-set little eyes.

  We'll need five Franklins to hold us till this goes down, Tristan said. Then we might need more. Sleepin' bags for Jerzy and me. A metal bed that we can chain her to. Food for two days, and lots of little stuff, like toilet paper, bottled water, whatever.

  And room deodorizer, Jerzy said. She's gonna smell like a cesspool when we put the fear on her.

  Dewey opened his wallet and took out $600 and handed it to Tristan, saying, This is to get started. Jerzy reached over and snatched three of the $100 bills from Tristan's hand.

  We'll need all of that and maybe more, wood, Tristan said to his partner.

  Why should you hold it all? Jerzy retorted.

  Okay, you wanna rent the van? Here, Tristan said, and he handed the remaining bills to Jerzy. You wanna buy the bed and other shit?

  Let's not start off squabbling! Dewey said as Jerzy stared down at his smaller partner, whose eyes were directed at Foo Fighters in red across the chest of Jerzy's black T-shirt. How about letting Creole handle the money, Jerzy? He's the one that's already set up with ID to rent the van.

  Jerzy grunted and handed the money back to Tristan without further comment.

  Okay, then, Dewey said. Unless you got a better plan, I say this goes down at the storage locker in Reseda.

  Like how? Tristan said.

  You two are in there when I arrive with Ethel. You'll ambush us.

  How do you plan to get your old lady to the storage room? Jerzy asked.

  Dewey said, I think I have a way. It's possible that we could be ready as soon as tomorrow night. Are you two good to go?

  Holy shit! Tristan said. Then he thought about it and said, Why not? But how do we get in the storage room to ambush you?

  If I'm able to set it up for tomorrow night, I'll meet you at our office in the afternoon at about two o'clock. We'll drive to the storage facility, where you will enter behind me just like you did last time. We'll park the van at the next row of storage buildings so there's no vehicle parked by our storage room when I arrive with my wife. You'll be hiding behind the merchandise boxes, and when we arrive, you'll jump us, tape her up, blindfold her, and one of you will run and get the van from the neighboring parking area.

  Jerzy said, How the fuck do we drag this taped-up woman from the storage room to the van without somebody seein' us? As I remember, there were other people comin' and goin' around there.

  There won't be at eight thirty at night, Dewey said. There's twenty-four-hour self-storage access for customers, but I've seldom seen anybody there after dark, except for the security guard in the front office. After you get us in the van, you lock up the storeroom, take my keys, and leave my car where it's parked. I've seen customers' cars left there for two or three days after they took away their stored belongings in a rental truck. Just wave to the guard when you drive out. It'll be a minimum-wage employee who'll probably be too busy watching TV to even wave back.

  You're sayin' we gotta sit in that hot storage room for more than five hours? Jerzy said.

  Yes, Dewey said. I need time to get back to Hollywood and set up the gag for her to go with me to the storage room. I'm gonna get a phone call and say that our runners Creole and Jerzy called and need four laptops and a plasma from there to deliver for a very good price, and that I gotta do the pickup ASAP. It's not gonna be comfortable for you in that room, but you're gonna get a hell of an hourly wage for those five hours and for the following two days after it's all over.

  Tristan, who was listening intently, said, Okay, as long as you seem to be writer and director of this here show, have you worked out how the woman thinks we got in that room to pull off the ambush without you bein' involved?

  Yes, Dewey said. I've worked out the dialogue. She'll know that you're Creole and Jerzy, our runners. She's heard of you. She'll also know that you, Creole, were the guy from Water and Power, so she'll know you staked us out for this kidnap. When you throw us in this apartment, I'll tell her that you musta made a duplicate key when we transferred the merchandise from Los Feliz to the storage facility, and that I also shared the gate code with you on that job. She's never been to the facility before. She'll buy it.

  And did you write the dialogue for when we get your hysterical old lady up here? Jerzy asked.

  It took several seconds for Dewey to say, That part will be mostly improv.

  An
d what the fuck's that mean? said Jerzy.

  I want this to go down without her getting hurt, Dewey said.

  Yeah, well, I wanna fuck every waitress at Hooters, Jerzy said. But I might jist end up in jail, fuckin' a package of lunch meat if this don't get done right.

  She talks tough, but she's not a brave woman, Dewey said. Maybe if you let her know about that very impressive knife of yours, she'll fold. But first you'll have to beat me up.

  I'm gonna love that part! Jerzy said.

  No, not really beat me up, Dewey said quickly. But she's gonna have to believe that you did it. Remember, she'll be blindfolded and think I am too. You'll have to punch your fist into your palm several times, and I'll have to yell out and beg you to stop. I'll throw myself on the floor. That kind of thing.

  I'd rather make it more real with you, Jerzy said with that worrisome grin of his.

  Get your mind in the game, dawg, Tristan said.

  Dewey ignored Jerzy and said, After you pretend to beat me up, you'll take me outta the apartment for about twenty minutes. Then you'll take me back in, and since she'll have a blindfold on, I'll be able to convince her that I'm hurting, and I'll tell her that you asked for half a million to let us live. The important thing is that you never remove her blindfold. In fact, duct-tape it to her face.

  This is all good, Tristan said, but I still don't see how you get the money outta her bank account and into your hands.

  I've already laid the groundwork, Dewey said. If you can scare her enough and then leave us alone, it'll be a done deal.

  Like, how do you actually do it, Bernie? Tristan said. Tell me the steps involved.

  You don't have to worry about that, Dewey said. It's a wire transfer.

  Suddenly Jerzy stepped close to Dewey and said, There ain't no secrets between us here, Bernie. You ain't Mr. Kessler no more. Now tell my little partner what he wants to know.

  Dewey looked up at Jerzy Szarpowicz, then at Tristan, and said, She'll give me the password and the account number and routing number if I need it. And whatever else she used to identify herself, like her mother's maiden name of the name of her first doggy, or whatever the fuck I need to order her bank to wire the funds to my bank. Satisfied?

  Back off, Bernie, Tristan said. We got a right to know all the details. Like, why is she gonna be content to be the one who stays with us, while you leave her for two days to do the deal?

  Because you're gonna tell her that one of us stays and the other goes and gets the money, and I'm your pick to go.

  Don't tell me, Tristan said. Lemme guess. You're gonna offer to stay, because no manly man would leave his wife to die with a couple of insane kidnappers, but we're gonna say, no, Momma stays. And you're gonna go and bring the money back to save her life.

  That's what we have to sell, Dewey said.

  I keep goin' back to the possibility that she won't buy it, Tristan said. What if she's braver and smarter than you think? What if she's layin' there blindfolded and starts to think this might all be a gag that her rat-fucker husband arranged?

  Dewey turned then and walked to the window, looking at the blinds. Finally, he said, Be sure to tape these to the wall.

  Yeah, yeah, Jerzy said. We'll do the details. Now answer Creole's question.

  I'm a good actor, Dewey said. I'll sell it.

  Yeah, but what if you ain't quite as good as you think you are, and she just smells somethin' that ain't right? Tristan said, pressing the man.

  Dewey paused for an even longer time. Then he said, There's one thing that'll keep her from even considering the possibility that this is all a charade. It's something that'll keep her mind totally focused on her own survival.

  What's that? Tristan asked.

  Pain, Dewey said, turning around and looking at Jerzy. But it's a last resort. And I mean last.

  Okay, Bernie, Jerzy said with that grin again that gave Tristan chills. I do believe we are finally arrivin' at the same page on this here script of yours.

  I don't like this, Tristan said. I don't fuckin' like this. I said from the git that I don't do violence to no woman.

  Nobody's askin' you to do it, Jerzy said.

  I don't fuckin' like this! Tristan repeated.

  You'll like the money when it comes, Jerzy said. And you'll forget the rest of it.

  It won't have to come to violence, Dewey said. I'm sure of it.

  Malcolm and Naomi were seated at the counter at Mel's Drive-In, and he was very happy with how impressed she seemed.

  It's too cool for school! she said. A burger on the Sunset Strip!

  Malcolm said, Want some ice cream for dessert?

  I'm stuffed, she said, pushing the plate away.

  I like chocolate, Malcolm said.

  Me too, she said. Especially frozen yogurt.

  Yeah? Malcolm said. I like frozen yogurt better than ice cream too. You and me, Naomi, we got lots in common.

  Naomi smiled and said, I'm real glad you called today, Clark. I was starting to think maybe it wouldn't happen.

  When I make up my mind, I stick to it, Malcolm said. I'm gonna be getting a new job soon. Then I'll have more time and more money to do things I wanna do.

  What do you wanna do? Naomi asked, and Malcolm loved the way she tossed her head to get her shoulder-length blonde hair off the side of her face.

  Oh, maybe get a newer car. I like Mustangs, but mine's pretty old. And I wanna buy you some things. Expensive things.

  Me? Naomi said.

  Sure, he said. You're my girl now. I feel like I know you better than anybody else in my life, Malcolm said. Then he repeated, You're my girl.

  Naomi was startled and confused, and she said, Clark, I like you. I really do. But my mother'd have a litter of kittens if she knew you called me that or if she even knew I was here with a guy your age. Especially a guy she never met.

  I'll go straight to your house now and meet your mother, Malcolm said. And I'll tell her how I feel about you.

  He didn't like the look on Naomi's face then. And he didn't like it when she lowered her gaze and said, Clark, don't talk crazy. I think maybe you should take me home now.

  She managed an insincere smile but remained silent for a moment when he said, Okay, but I hope I can come in for a few minutes and see how you live.

  See how I live? Naomi finally said as Malcolm examined the bill and put money on the counter. Whadda you mean?

  I wanna see how a real American family lives. I didn't have that kind of family. My mother was a Persian, and my father was a French chef in New York before we moved to L. A., when I was a baby.

  A moment passed and Naomi said, How did you get the scrapes on your knuckles, Clark? And that little bruise on your face?

  I got in a fight at work, Malcolm said. Two big guys in the warehouse were picking on a little guy, and I stepped in and took care of business. I can't stand bullies, and I clocked both of them. They ended up in the ER.

  Naomi did not comment further and was more than apprehensive during their ride and only spoke when she had to direct him to her house on Ogden Drive. He, on the other hand, chattered nonstop about music, often referring to the latest songs he'd heard on KROQ. When they were a few blocks from her house, he turned up the volume and began singing along with Love Me Dead.

  He knew the entire lyric, and he turned his brilliant smile on her when he sang about the mark of the beast. And again when he sang, You're born of a jackal. He smiled even bigger when he said, That song's about me!

  Naomi Teller had begun trembling by then and felt enormous relief when he pulled up in front of her house, a well-tended home in an area where homes were upper-middle class, but to Malcolm Rojas they looked like mansions.

  She got out of the Mustang quickly, closed the door, peered through the open window, and said, Clark, I really can't invite you in now. I need time to tell my mom and dad how nice you are, even though you're an older guy. I just needf_U well, like, time.

  That's a beautiful house, he said. Which room is
yours? Upstairs in front, I bet, so you can see the street.

  Yes, you're a good guesser, Clark, she said. Well, bye-bye.

  Next time I wanna meet your family and see how you live, Malcolm said. Promise me, Naomi.

  Naomi said, Okay, Clark.

  Don't forget me, Naomi, Malcolm said. Don't ever forget me.

  I won't, Naomi said. That's for sure.

  When she was feeling the security of her front door just a few yards away, she paused, turned again, and, looking back at the handsome young man in the Mustang, said, Jones isn't a French name. You said your dad was a French chef.

  Malcolm said, You're right, Naomi. He changed it when he came to America because his name was too hard to pronounce.

  I took French in middle school, Naomi said, feeling bold enough now to challenge him. I bet I could pronounce it. What is it?

  I don't like to talk about my family, he said. They both died in a car crash.

  Oh, that's sad, Naomi said. Who raised you?

  I was raised by jackals, Malcolm said, and he began laughing.

  The laughter grew in intensity until he had tears in his eyes. Naomi Teller imagined she could still hear that laugh when she ran inside her house and turned the dead bolt.

  Night fell with a thud, thanks to the summer smog. It got very dark very fast. Sergeant Miriam Hermann in 6-L-20, the senior sergeant's designated car, was cruising Hollywood Boulevard when she spotted the shop belonging to 6-X-32 parked on Las Palmas Avenue, just north of the boulevard. She saw that the surfer cops were talking to a white male pedestrian, so she pulled over to the red zone on the boulevard, showed herself on the radio as being code 6, and left her car to observe unseen.

  Flotsam and Jetsam were both facing north and didn't notice their supervisor standing thirty yards behind them in the darkness of a doorway. Sergeant Hermann could see that the guy facing the two cops was hammered to the point of oblivion. She doubted that they'd gotten him out of a car, because he looked too smashed to walk, let alone drive.

  Flotsam looked at the fiftyish fat guy, whose souvenir Universal Studios cap, walking shorts, and tennis shoes with dark socks said tourist. He was doing his best to stand without staggering to one side or the other, and Sergeant Hermann heard the tall cop say, Well, Stanley, even though you're more bombed than Baghdad, we'd like to give you a break and let you walk home. But I don't know if you can manage it. Where's home?