Hollywood Moon (2009)

by Wambaugh, Joseph - Hollywood Station 03

  The R-R-R-Roosevelt Hotel, Stanley managed to say, with a pronounced slur and a stutter like Porky Pig's. If_U c-c-c-can do it! Honest!

  Jetsam looked at his partner and said, I dunno either, partner. Turning to the drunk, he said, Where you from, Stanley?

  The man looked at them like he couldn't remember, but he said, Indif_U Indif_U Indianf_U aw, fuck itf_U apolis. Then he got the hiccups.

  Well, your hometown makes a difference, Flotsam said. Most surfers have heard about the USS Indianapolis. It got torpedoed in the Big War. A lotta brave sailors got taken by the men in gray suits.

  What? said Stanley, utterly perplexed.

  Sharks, Jetsam said. Surfers don't like the men in gray suits. We know all the stories about them.

  Oh, Stanley said without the slightest idea what the hell they were talking about.

  I say we give him a chance, Flotsam said. In memory of the Indianapolis. You down, partner?

  I'm on it, bro, Jetsam said. Then he looked at the drunk and said, It's a balloon test. Pass it and we'll let you go. You good with that?

  Stanley said, L-L-L-Lemme blow in the b-b-b-balloon. I ain't thatf_U thatf_U And he lurched to starboard, but Jetsam grabbed his arm before he crashed to the pavement, and said, I think drunk is the word you're searching for, Stanley.

  Flotsam said, Anyways, you ain't the one that has to blow, Stanley. With that, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a yellow balloon.

  He put it to his lips and blew it to the size of a cantaloupe, after which he pinched off the neck, held it in front of the drunk's face, and said, Game on, Stanley. If you can catch it, you're a free man.

  Then he let it go. The balloon soared and dove and smacked the pavement while Stanley pawed the air in a futile attempt to grab it, with Jetsam holding his collar so he didn't kiss the concrete.

  Best two out of three, dude? Flotsam said to Stanley, who nodded eagerly and said, Let her r-r-r-rip!

  Jetsam picked up the balloon, readying for another test, when Sergeant Hermann startled both cops by walking up behind them, saying, What in the hell are you surfer goons up to this time?

  Both cops spun around, and Flotsam said, Oh, hi, Sarge. We're just, uh, trying to, uh, figure out how drunk this man is.

  Stanley said, Come on, let's d-d-d-do it!

  Let's not, Sergeant Hermann said. Then to her cops, she said, You can't book him now, not that you ever intended to. You might have a bit of a problem explaining your balloon test to a judge.

  Well, Sargef_U , Jetsam said, trying to come up with something plausible.

  Where do you live? Sergeant Hermann asked Stanley.

  The R-R-R-Roosevelt Hotel, he said, swaying precariously, for a f-f-f-few days. Then I'm going home to Indif_U Indif_U Indif_U aw, fuck it.

  Take this man to the Roosevelt Hotel, Sergeant Hermann said. And don't ever let me catch you two playing with balloons again.

  Without a word, both surfer cops got Stanley by the arms and marched him to the backseat of their shop.

  When they got him inside the lobby of the Roosevelt Hotel, Stanley said, Don't leave. Let's have a n-n-n-nightcap in honor of the Indif_U Indif_U Indif_U

  Aw, fuck it, Flotsam said, finishing it for him.

  Chapter SEVENTEEN

  MALCOLM WAS GOING to treat himself to his second burger of the day, this time at Hamburger Hamlet, and he was also thinking about going to a movie. When his cell phone chimed, he felt sure it was Naomi Teller and didn't bother to look, so he eagerly said, Hi!

  Clark, it's Bernie Graham, Dewey said.

  Oh, yeah, how you feeling, Mr. Graham?

  I'm a lot better than yesterday, Dewey said. In fact, my secretary, Ethel, asked me to call. We'd like to take you to dinner as a sort of reward for what you did.

  It's okay, Mr. Graham, Malcolm said. You don't have to do that. I only hope we can start working together soon.

  We will, Dewey said. I need to mend a bit longer, but in the meantime, we'd like to take you someplace for a bite to eat after you get off work tomorrow. Do you know Musso's on Hollywood Boulevard east of Highland?

  No, Malcolm said, but I'll find it.

  It's a very old place with good, wholesome food like your mother used to make.

  My mother. Yeah, Malcolm said.

  What about meeting us at Musso and Frank at five thirty? Pull around to the back and park in their lot. Come in and look for Ethel and me at one of the tables near the bar.

  Malcolm thought it over and said, Okay, Mr. Graham, but I sure hope we can get started on my job real soon. I need the money.

  We will, Clark, we will, Dewey said and clicked off.

  After Eunice returned from her banking excursion, one of many that seemed to last an unusual amount of time, Dewey said matter-of-factly, Eunice, I made an early dinner reservation for tomorrow at Musso's. I thought we could use a little R & R.

  As expected, she was dismissive. Knock yourself out, Dewey. I'll stay here and earn a living for both of us. Bring me two Whoppers after you're through.

  Then he said, I was hoping you'd come this time. I invited the kid, like we discussed.

  Kid?

  Yeah, the new boy, Clark. It's the least I can do for the way he rescued me after I got beat up by that meth-crazed runner. I think he'll turn out to be a good little moneymaker.

  Did the kid say he'd come? Eunice said, her voice rising in anticipation.

  Yeah, he's coming, Dewey said. It'll be fun to see the lad in a nice restaurant. A real treat for him. I wish you'd come along too. We haven't had a night out together in a long time.

  She paused for only a few seconds before saying, Well, it has been a while. I guess I can use an evening off. But why do you have to eat at the old places? Christ, drive down Melrose and pick one of the hot ones: Lucques or Bastide or All' Angelo. You think you can recapture your youth by dining at Musso and Frank or the Formosa CafAc? Get real, Dewey. Old Hollywood is gone with the wind.

  He stared at her. There was nobody else on the planet who could come close to turning an invitation into an insult the way Eunice could. There was so much he would've liked to say, but all he said was, The kid'll feel more relaxed in one of the old places that serve comfort food. Let's think of him.

  Okay, have it your way, Eunice said and lit another cigarette.

  Good, Dewey said. I made an early reservation because the boy works at his job all day and he'll be starved.

  I guess we really should do this, she said. He did you a big favor, all right.

  Dewey went to his bedroom and left the door slightly ajar and turned on the shower in the bathroom. Then he crept to the open door and listened.

  He heard Eunice dial a number, and when it was answered, she said, Hello, Henri, this is Eunice Gleason. You gotta take me tomorrow for a cut and dye. And I'll need one of the girls for a manicure and pedicure as well.

  Dewey listened while she got her response, and then she said, No, Henri. It has to be tomorrow. It's important to me. I'll give you a tip that'll make you very happy.

  There was another silence and she said, Eleven o'clock, and noon for the nail work. Terrific! Thanks, sweetie!

  When she hung up, Dewey heard her actually start humming a tune. He had to close the door when she came toward the hallway, so he couldn't make out the song. With a grim smile he wondered if it was one from her childhood, like Puppy Love.

  Malcolm finished his hamburger and paid the bill, and when he was in the parking lot, he started thinking of Naomi. He was surprised how disappointed he'd been when it had been Bernie Graham on the phone instead of his girl. He'd been thinking about what it would be like to kiss Naomi and have her kiss him back. He intended to find out next time.

  The only girls he'd ever kissed were those sluts he went to school with in Boyle Heights. Those cholas with their eyebrows plucked bare, wearing eye shadow and mascara that made them look like those old punk rockers with painted faces. The making-out part and the gropes he got from them had never excited him much
, not even on the few occasions when one of them would strip naked in his bedroom when his mother was at work. They'd certainly never excited him enough that he could keep an erection long enough to get the thing done, and after one of them taunted him and asked if he was a homo, he never even tried again. That was just before Malcolm and his mother moved to Hollywood, and it was one of the reasons the move had secretly been such a relief to him. Those little bitches were spreading lies about his failed performances, he was sure of it.

  There would be no such problems with Naomi Teller. He got hard just imagining how she'd look naked. Thinking of those developing little breasts and her narrow hips was thrilling. At her age, she was built more like a boy. And her nipples would be pink, not brown like the ones on those little east-side bitches who'd mocked him. But he would not rush things sexually. He only wanted to kiss Naomi romantically, and tell her she was his girl, and hear her say that he was her guy and that she would never forget him.

  Malcolm sat in his car and impulsively phoned her. It rang four times, and just before he clicked off, she said, Hello?

  It's me, he said, smiling.

  I know, she said.

  I was wondering if you were thinking of me, Malcolm said. I was thinking of you.

  In a way I was, Clark, she said, and her tone was not happy.

  What were you thinking?

  I was thinking that I'm too young to be seeing you. My parents would be very upset, so I think you shouldn't call me anymore.

  The silence on the line lasted ten seconds before she heard him say, Tell me the truth. Did your parents put you up to this?

  They don't even know about you, Clark. It's the way I feel. I'm sorry. It was a mistake. I know you'll find a girl your age and f_"

  You little bitch! he cried, his face reddening and his voice quaking. I thought you were different!

  Stunned, Naomi Teller said, Clark! I'm hanging up now! Please don't ever call me again!

  You're just like f_" But she clicked off before he could finish. He was in a rage. He tossed the cell phone onto the seat beside him and opened the glove box, taking out the box cutter. He snapped out the cutting blade. This was the same fury he'd last felt when he'd beaten that bitch with his fists. He withdrew the blade into the grip, put the box cutter in the pocket of his jeans, and sped from the parking lot of Hamburger Hamlet, heading west.

  The code 2 call on Ogden Drive was given to 6-X-76, Dana Vaughn and Hollywood Nate. It came out as See the woman, prowler there now. Backing up 6-X-76 were Mindy Ling and R. T. Dibney, who'd just cleared from code 7.

  The responding car pulled up to the curb with lights out in case the prowler was still at the scene, but Dana and Nate saw the exterior house lights were on. A man and woman Dana's age were standing on the front porch. As the backup unit parked behind their car, Dana and Nate got out and Nate said, What happened?

  Martha Teller was small-boned and fair, like her daughter. Her husband was taller, prematurely bald, with rounded shoulders and the beginning of a paunch. He said, I heard what sounded like footsteps on the front walkway. Then I heard someone yell, You bitch!' I looked out but I didn't see anybody. Then a minute later, this came flying through an upstairs window.

  He held out his hand, and the cops saw a baseball-size rock similar to the decorative stones in the Tellers' front flower garden.

  How long ago did it happen?

  Less than five minutes ago, Mrs. Teller said. You got here fast.

  Who lives here with you? Dana asked.

  We have two daughters, Mrs. Teller said.

  Nate said, Do they have any idea who it might've been?

  Our ten-year-old daughter, Shelly, is on a sleepover with my parents, Mrs. Teller said. That's her bedroom window. Naomi's fourteen, and she said she hasn't any idea who could've done such a thing.

  With that, Dana turned toward Mindy and R. T. Dibney, who were out of their car, and held up four fingers, indicating code 4, no further assistance needed.

  Mindy nodded and said, We'll cruise the neighborhood, Dana.

  I'd like to talk to Naomi privately, if you don't mind, Dana said to the Tellers, and the cops followed the couple into the house.

  She's very upset, Mrs. Teller said.

  I understand, Dana said. I have a daughter who's eighteen. Believe me, I'm sensitive to teenage issues.

  Ogden Drive was a pleasant residential street with lots of trees on both sides. Shop 6-X-46 wasn't cruising for more than three minutes when R. T. Dibney craned his neck sharply to the right, and Mindy uttered the line so often said by one partner to another when on patrol: What'd you see?

  Nothing, R. T. Dibney said, turning forward again, but when Mindy looked over her shoulder, she observed a shapely woman in a T-shirt and shorts walking from her car to a lighted portico.

  For God's sake! Mindy said. Can't you at least get your inner creep under control when we're actually looking for a suspect?

  The kid's long gone, he said. Just some brat pissed off at his girlfriend. Dana'll get the girl to give up his name, and they'll call his parents. It might make them reduce the little bastard's weekly allowance from fifty bucks to forty.

  What's this? Mindy said, seeing the silhouette of a car coming south in their direction with lights out. Then the headlights flashed on and she saw it was another police unit, searching slowly. Both cars stopped, facing opposite directions, and Mindy was looking at Sheila Montez.

  A rock thrower, Mindy explained. Busted out an upstairs window and GOA. By which she meant gone on arrival.

  We didn't see any peds roaming around, Sheila said. Maybe it was a neighbor kid.

  I think I'll just cruise for another few minutes, Mindy said, to which R. T. Dibney grumbled something unintelligible.

  We may as well check around for a while too, Sheila said to Aaron. Even the alleys around here are nice. No mattresses or fish heads.

  And people wave at you with all five fingers, Aaron said.

  There were several cars parked in front of residences on Ogden Drive during the early evening hours, and 6-X-66 drove past one of them. An old red Mustang was parked all the way north, almost at the corner of Sunset Boulevard. Sheila Montez and Aaron Sloane were heading south and were parallel with a house two doors from the Teller home, when Sheila saw a silhouette move across a lawn, heading away from the Tellers'.

  I saw something! she said, hitting the brakes.

  What is it? Aaron said, head on a swivel.

  Sheila pulled into a driveway, backed out, and turned north, saying, On your side. Turn the spot on the yards. I think I saw somebody moving through the trees.

  Aaron turned on the spotlight as she slowed, and he said, I see him! A rabbit!

  Sheila saw him too, a slender male figure darting into the darkness beside a property on the east side of the street.

  I'm bailing! he said, and when Sheila stopped for an instant, he was out of the car, flashlight in one hand, baton in the other, running east through a residential property into the darkness.

  Meanwhile, R. T. Dibney, in 6-X-46, was complaining to Mindy Ling, saying, What's the use of trying to look for prowlers anyways with these politically correct little mini-lights?

  Mindy didn't answer. She was too busy counting the days left in this deployment period, after which she was definitely going to ask for a partner reassignment. She thought she might even take a few special days off in order to shorten what had come to seem like a jail sentence.

  But then she heard the RTO's radio voice say, All units in the vicinity of Ogden Drive between De Longpre and Sunset, officer in foot pursuit of prowler, eastbound through residential property, toward Genesee. Six-X-Forty-six, handle, code three.

  Hollywood Nate, unaware of the prowler sighting, was writing a crime report and having a cup of coffee in the living room of the Teller home with Naomi's father, who he learned was a cardiologist at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. Naomi's mother was up in the bedroom, cleaning up broken glass and patching the window with cardboard.
Dana and Naomi were alone in Dr. Teller's study, where Dana had closed the door for privacy.

  Naomi had continued to adamantly deny knowing who had yelled and thrown a rock through the upstairs window. Nor had Naomi told Dana Vaughn how guilty she felt because her bedroom was in the rear of the residence, and the bedroom that was attacked belonged to her younger sister. Something had made her lie defensively when Clark had asked if that was her bedroom facing the street, and now she felt cowardly and remorseful for having done it.

  Naomi thought that the police officer was a very attractive woman with eyes that were alert, yet calm and patient. Even though she was fairly certain this officer would understand, Naomi just couldn't bring herself to look at her while they chatted.

  Finally, Dana said, Naomi, I think you might have some idea who threw the rock. Someone could've been hurt. Certainly your family is frightened. Why don't you tell me who you think it might've been. We won't go charging over to the person's house, but we'll take some steps to see that it doesn't happen again.

  Naomi looked straight into Dana Vaughn's eyes and started to speak. But she stopped, looked away again, and said, I just don't know who he was. Maybe some crazy boy from middle school that just doesn't like me. I really don't know.

  Dana said, Naomi, I'm sure you have a cell phone, don't you?

  Yes.

  I'm going to give you my card with my personal cell number on it. I'd like you to give me your cell number. If you think very hard about it and decide you might have an idea who the rock thrower is, please give me a call. You don't have to tell your parents about it if you don't want to. We'll keep this between the two of us until we're sure we can quietly determine who actually did it. Is that a deal?

  Okay, Naomi said in a voice barely audible.

  We'll help you, honey, Dana said to Naomi Teller.

  R. T. Dibney had been dropped off on Sunset Boulevard. He was out with his mini-flashlight, searching in an alley east of Ogden Drive, not just for the prowler, but for Aaron Sloane, who hadn't been heard from since he'd leaped from the car and started running. There was plenty of chatter on the tac frequency that he was picking up on his rover but nothing from Aaron. He'd heard Sheila Montez talking to Mindy Ling twice, and Sheila's voice was growing desperate.