If you're calling in Sergeant Hermann, don't you think you better get the super-large-size pizza? Hollywood Nate said.
When Nate got back to the report room, Dana Vaughn was still writing. He watched her for a moment. When she stopped writing and glanced up at him, he said, When your promotion and transfer goes through, I hope you'll come back here as our midwatch supervisor after you finish your probation.
You gonna miss me that much? Dana said.
Hollywood Nate said, You're not a sixty-nine-year-old guy with too much gut and a crew cut right out of an old black-and-white movie, but by God, there's something about you that reminds me of the Oracle.
Why, honey, said Dana Vaughn, that's just about the nicest thing anyone around here's ever said to me.
After paying the check, Dewey said, Will you two excuse me? Cocktails always excite my bladder.
We don't need the details, Eunice said. Just go.
When Dewey was gone, Eunice said to Malcolm, Can you give me your cell number, Clark? I'll be needing it when we have to set up jobs for you.
Sure, Malcolm said.
Eunice smiled at Malcolm when she punched his number into her own cell phone. He didn't like the way she was smiling at him and wished his boss would hurry back.
The moment he was alone in the restroom, Dewey pulled his cell from his pocket and speed-dialed. After one ring, he heard Tristan say, Yeah.
Call in exactly ten minutes, he said.
Okay, Tristan said and clicked off.
Dewey's bowels suddenly rumbled and he ran inside a toilet stall just in time.
Eight minutes later, after Eunice had visited the restroom, she and Malcolm and Dewey were in the parking lot behind the restaurant, having said their good-byes. Dewey paid for his car and Malcolm's, and just as they were ready to go, Eunice, who'd drunk two cocktails more than usual, said, Clark, don't go home yet. Let's stop and get a nightcap. Have you ever been to the Formosa CafAc? No, of course you haven't. It's another old Hollywood joint on Santa Monica that Bernie likes because Bogie drank there.
She saw the young man's blank expression and said, Humphrey Bogart? Ever heard of him?
No, Malcolm said.
Damn, you're young! Eunice said.
Dewey looked at his watch. Less than two minutes! The kid had to be gone when his cell rang, or the whole gag could fail! Ethel, he said, this young man can't have a nightcap. He's not old enough to drink in bars, so why don't we let him go.
When she turned to face him, Dewey could see she was hammered, and only minutes away from belligerence. If she turned mean, it was all over. As he was trying to decide how to handle her, the kid saved him.
Thanks, but I should go home now, Malcolm said. I had a real nice time, but I still gotta get up early for my job at the warehouse. Then he added, Which I hope I can quit real soon.
Soon, Dewey said. We'll start working in earnest late tomorrow afternoon. Keep your cell on and I'll call around noon.
Good night, Mr. Graham, Malcolm said, walking to his car. Good night, Ethel.
Night, Eunice said and then turned to Dewey and said, You can't let someone have a nice evening out, can you, Mr. Graham?
He didn't need this shit, not now. He looked at his watch and held open the passenger door for her, saying as soothingly as he could without condescension, Eunice, we had a very nice evening. The boy had to go home and f_"
His cell chirped, and she heard it while she was lighting a cigarette and shooting a boozy glare at him.
He opened the cell and said, Bernie Graham speaking.
He heard Tristan say, Okay, I'll jist keep this goin' till you say good-bye.
Then Dewey said for effect, Oh, shit! How did that happen? After a long pause, he said, Oh, Christ, I can't come now, and I don't have anybody else to send! He paused again and said, Okay, okay, how long will he wait? After another pause he said, I'll deal with it somehow.
When he clicked off, Eunice said, Now what the hell's the problem?
That was our runner Creole. He works with Jerzy and they're stuck downtown at the interchange with a flat tire and no spare. I was depending on them to deliver three laptops and two small plasmas to a regular customer of ours named Hatch. You've heard me talk about him.
They'll have to do it tomorrow, Eunice said.
He said Hatch wants the merchandise by ten o'clock tonight or he's walking away from the deal. And he owes us three grand in addition to this delivery.
What, you're giving easy terms to thieves now, Dewey? How the hell is it that he already owes us three grand?
It wasn't me. Creole did it last Thursday without my approval when he made another delivery to Hatch. I knew you'd get mad, so I didn't tell you. Anyway, Hatch is waiting in north Hollywood in Von's parking lot with almost five thousand dollars for us. That's if we make tonight's delivery by ten o'clock.
As drunk as she was, it made her stop and think, as Dewey had hoped it would. He knew he could always depend on her avarice.
She said, And I suppose the goods are in the storage room in Reseda.
Of course, he said, and there's just barely enough time to pick up the stuff and deliver it to Hatch. I'm just saying, that's how it is.
She smoked and thought about it and said, Okay, let's go. I mighta known I could never get a nice evening out without some major shit going down all wrong.
It wasn't my fault, Eunice, Dewey said.
Just drive to Reseda, for chrissake, Eunice said, taking a big drag from the cigarette and blowing it at the windshield. And hurry it up, Dewey, or we'll lose it all and that'll make everything perfect. A perfectly fucked-up evening.
Chapter NINETEEN
THE STORAGE FACILITY was almost without customers by the time Dewey and Eunice arrived at 8:45 P. M. The light was on in the office, and the employee on duty at that time of night was an elderly ex-employee of a local alarm company who'd been pensioned off and was now supplementing his income. Dewey had met him on a few occasions but couldn't remember his name. When Dewey stopped at the gate and punched in his code, the man looked out and buzzed open the car gate. Dewey drove in and stopped at the office, leaving Eunice in the car while he went inside to check in.
The night man had more hair than Dewey did, but it was chalk-white. His face was splotchy with liver spots, and the skin on his hands was translucent. He had a small TV on the desk and was watching Dodgers baseball.
Dewey read the name on the shirt tag and said, Evening, Sam. I'm Bernie Graham. Met you a couple of evenings last year, but so far this year I've only been coming in the daytime.
Oh, sure, hi, Bernie, Sam said, but Dewey was sure the old guy didn't remember him at all.
My employees left a van here today, did you see it?
Naw, Sam said, eyes darting back to the ballgame. I been too busy to make the rounds.
I'll be driving it out in a little while. Might be leaving my car here till tomorrow.
No problem, Bernie, Sam said. I'll open the gate when I see you leaving.
When Dewey got back to the car, Eunice was dozing, but she sat up, looking disoriented when he opened the door.
You're at the storage room, Dewey said, in case you're wondering.
Oh, shit, Eunice said. I was hoping this was only a nightmare.
I'll need some help carrying the plasmas, Dewey said. My ribs're still aching bad.
What else? Eunice said. I may as well get a back sprain while I'm at it.
Dewey's hands were shaking when he pulled open the hasp and pretended to be unlocking the padlock hanging on the door staple. He dropped the key twice before he could complete the charade, causing Eunice to say, Do you want me to do it? Next time drink Virgin Marys.
When he opened the door, he said, I never come here at night. Let's see, where's the light switch? Can you strike a match over here?
Grumbling, she walked inside, and then a meaty hand was clamped over her mouth and she was pulled to the floor onto her belly with a huge weight on top of her while d
uct tape was wrapped around her ankles.
She heard Dewey cry out, Owwww! You're breaking my wrist! Put the gun away, Creole! Why're you doing this?
A man whose breath smelled like rank onions and beer said in her ear, If you make one fuckin' sound, I'll bury my knife in your belly and gut you like a pig. Now lay real still.
Then, while she whimpered, her wrists were duct-taped behind her back, and a cloth blindfold was wrapped around her face and duct-taped in place with barely enough of her nostrils exposed for breathing.
Eunice heard Dewey say, Okay, I can't move! You don't need the gun, Creole! Take the merchandise! Take our money! You can have the goddamn car too!
Then she heard a smacking sound, like fist striking flesh, and Dewey cried out in pain. And she heard a thud against the metal wall of the storage room and then a low moan from Dewey.
His voice was guttural and choked when he said, Go ahead and hit me if it makes you feel better, Jerzy. But for God's sake, don't hurt my wife!
To Tristan Hawkins, the man looked like some fucking radio actor in one of those old movies about people performing to a microphone. He was cooking way too much ham here, so Tristan decided to take control.
Shut the fuck up, Tristan said. I'm sick of hearin' you.
Unable to surrender the stage, Dewey moaned again and said in a stage whisper, Okay, I'll be quiet, but please, please, don't hurt her! That's all I ask!
Then Eunice heard footsteps and knew that one of them had gone out and closed the door behind him. She started crying and had trouble stifling her sobs even when Tristan said, Lady, you better turn off the faucet, or I'll tape your mouth shut.
The next sound Eunice heard was the van pulling up to the storage room. Then the door creaked open and footsteps came near her and she was lifted by the man with the big hands and dragged along the floor. She heard the van door slide open, and the man grunted as he lifted her onto the floor of the van and rolled her to the back of the cargo space.
Then Dewey moaned aloud and said, Ohhh, my ribs. They hurt! as he pounded the floor of the van and made sounds that he thought indicated he was also being manhandled.
Tristan was getting really concerned now. He was sure that Bernie's performance was way over the top, so he jumped into the passenger seat of the van, reached behind him, and grabbed Dewey's shoulder, saying into the man's face, I wantf_U youf_U tof_U shutf_U thef_U fuckf_U up. And, dawg, this ain't a woof, it's a warnin'. You feel me?
Dewey seemed to get the message and was silent after the van door was shut. Jerzy got in, dropped it into gear, and drove to the exit gate. Sam didn't even look out but hit a button and the car gate swung open.
Tristan saw the Polack turn around and grin, his meth-stained donkey teeth glinting in the bluish glow from the security lights. Then they were out onto the street and heading to Frogtown.
*AyAyAy*AyAyAy*
The sex crimes detective at West Bureau called from home to Hollywood Station at the same time that Dana Vaughn and Hollywood Nate were enjoying their celebratory pizza with Sergeant Murillo and Sergeant Hermann in the lunchroom.
Dana took her call in the watch commander's office and was talking to D2 Flo Johnson, whom she knew from her days working narcotics.
That's terrific work, Dana, the detective said. I'll run it by my D-three. I think this might be worth some Saturday overtime for my team. I can write a brief search warrant, and after I get a judge to sign it, I'll fax it to Clark Jones's cell provider. Then we'll be in business.
You don't wanna get on it now? Dana said, disappointed. It's kind of personal. In addition to attacking the women, he dumped one of our Hollywood coppers into a swimming pool. You know about that?
I did hear something about that, Flo Johnson said, but we should wait till tomorrow, when we're more prepared. If we can't reach the guy at his billing address, we'll need to use Major Crimes Division to triangulate from the cell towers. I can't get all this going tonight.
What if he figures the girl may have dimed him and he dumps his cell?
Let's hope he's home at his billing address on a Saturday. That'd make it easy.
We'd like to be there, Dana said. If you don't already have him by tomorrow night, will you call us? We're Six-X-Seventy-six.
Tell you what, the detective said. We'll be on this tomorrow, and if we don't have the guy in custody byf_U What time do you clear from roll call?
Eighteen hundred.
If we've got nothing by eighteen hundred, you can come with us to where we'll be setting up on the billing address. That's assuming he's a local boy.
I think he is, Dana said.
Deal, said Flo Johnson. I'll be in touch with you tomorrow.
Roger that, Dana said. And thanks for keeping us in the loop.
I'm the one who owes you the thanks, the detective said.
Dana reentered the lunchroom with a smile, until she saw only Sergeant Murillo and Hollywood Nate picking at the remains of the crust.
Damn, you guys ate all the pizza! Dana said.
Hollywood Nate pointed toward the empty chair and to the doorway, indicating that the departed Sergeant Hermann was to blame.
Don't look at me, Dana. I ordered the super-large, Sergeant Murillo said apologetically. You can be sure I'll be writing you that glowing attagirl as soon as the guy gets popped. In the meantime, can I buy you a burrito?
Malcolm Rojas had gone to bed very early and was watching TV, as was his mother in the living room, a wine bottle beside her chair. He'd been reliving in his mind this very exciting day, especially the dinner at a real Hollywood restaurant. His rage at Naomi Teller had faded to an annoyance. She wasn't worthy of his anger. When he made a lot of money with Bernie Graham and bought a new car, he might drive by her house sometime and toot the horn. Then she'd see what she'd missed by being a little bitch.
He was dropping off to sleep when something occurred to him. Naomi had his cell number! Suddenly he was wide awake. He wanted to call her right now. Maybe he could say he was sorry for getting angry on the phone. And maybe she would tell him about the broken window, and of course he would deny knowing anything about it. Or knowing anything about a cop being pushed into a neighbor's swimming pool.
Then he calmed himself by trying to use logic. What if she did mention him to the cops as possibly being the rock thrower? They couldn't prove anything. And they sure couldn't prove that he shoved the cop into the pool. And even if they could, how serious a crime was that for someone who'd never been arrested in his whole life? A broken window? Back in Boyle Heights, people broke other people's windows every day.
And cops had a lot worse things happen to them back there than getting pushed into a swimming pool. Even now he had to laugh whenever he relived that amazing moment. Thinking of how he'd been brave enough to do it, as noiseless as a spider, and elude all of them and escape unseen like a ghost. It was incredibly thrilling. He masturbated again and then went to sleep.
Jerzy parked the van beside the steps leading to the upstairs apartment. This part of Frogtown was quiet, although it was widely known that gunshots fired by gang members could often be heard on quiet evenings in this part of Los Angeles. There was an unusual hum of cicadas in the air, making one wonder where they were coming from. There was sparse vegetation around the old commercial buildings, and the nearest house was a block away, but the hum was surprisingly strong.
Tristan got out and, using his flashlight, ran up the outside staircase and unlocked the door. He came back down and walked out to the street, looked both ways, and then slid open the side door of the van. He pointed at Dewey to begin emoting.
If Dewey hadn't been so nervous, so downright scared, he would've objected to Tristan's assuming the role of director. But now Dewey began striking and kicking the wall of the van before he hopped out, moaning as though his body were being roughly dragged. For good measure he cried out when his feet hit the pavement, as though a vulnerable part of his body had made contact with the ground.
Turn it down! Tristan whispered. The man was over the top again.
Eunice had stopped crying halfway to Frogtown, and she hadn't uttered a sound since, except for her very heavy breathing. Jerzy dragged her out onto the sidewalk, and with Tristan lifting her legs, they carried her up the staircase, both men straining and puffing before reaching the open door.
When they got her inside, Tristan switched on the overhead ceiling bulb and they hoisted her onto the bed, dropping her on her side.
Woman, you better call NutriSystem, Jerzy muttered. My fuckin' back is broke.
Jerzy made considerable noise descending the stairs while Tristan stayed watching Eunice. Jerzy and Dewey clumped back up the steps, Jerzy panting as loud as he could, and Dewey moaning as though in agony. Dewey flopped down on the floor beside the bed, Eunice's back to him, and continued groaning while the two kidnappers walked to the door.
Jerzy said, We'll be right back, and if either of you moves, you'll suffer for it, believe me.
Then they went out, closed the door, and stood right outside on the porch.
Eunice's breathing was so loud, it sounded like snoring, and Dewey said, Eunice! Can you hear me?
She didn't answer, and he sat up from his reclining position and said, Eunice! Are you conscious?
Yes, she said in a feeble voice, but I can hardly breathe.
What is it? he said. Why can't you breathe?
I think it's an asthma attack, she said.
You don't have asthma, he said.
Or emphysema, she said. I been havingf_U having lotsa trouble with my lungs lately.
Oh, God! Dewey cried. Her breathing sounded like a hacksaw cutting through steelf_"like the steel bars of a jail cell! What if she stopped breathing? What if she had to be rushed to an ER? All this for nothing? Everything screwed because she had to smoke eighty fucking cigarettes a day for the past thirty years? He said, We gotta get you outta here!
Her sawlike breathing was a little less raspy now, and she said, Howf_U how do you plan to do it, Dewey? I can't move. Can you?
No, he said, but we gotta think of something.
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