“You know, there’s something else I’m not in the habit of doing,” said Aleena. “And that’s inviting a man to bed on our first date.”
“That’s a good policy,” said Jarsdel.
“Do you think so? I suppose. But I think there should be an exception to every rule.”
Jarsdel swallowed. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” She touched his cheek. “I like you. A lot. What about you? Do you think I’m odd? Too forward?”
“No.”
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Well, not in a bad way.”
Aleena stood, taking Jarsdel’s hand and pulling him to his feet. He let himself go then, surrendering to her as she led him through the strangely empty house. He felt wonderfully dizzy under Aleena’s spell, drunk on the promise of what was to come. When they made it to her bedroom, she turned to him and, with two hands, gave him a playful shove onto the bed.
The bed frame caught Jarsdel behind the knees, and he went down harder than either of them expected. He tried not to grimace but couldn’t help rubbing at his left leg, which had caught the worst of it. Aleena put a hand to her mouth.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s cool. It’s cool.”
“I’m such a doofus.”
“No.”
“I am. It’s what I get for trying to be sexy.” She climbed on top of him. “Forgive me?” Before he could answer, she began unbuckling his belt. “Here. I’ll make it up to you.”
Jarsdel gasped as she went to work on him, first with her hand, then with her mouth. And before he could protest that he didn’t have protection, she lifted her skirt and drew him inside her.
“I’m on the pill,” she panted, “and I’m clean.” She moved her hips in tight circles, grinding herself against him, punctuating her movements with small cries of pleasure.
Aleena’s enthusiasm for sex was something entirely new to Jarsdel, who came early and apologetically. As her breath slowed and she rolled off him, all Jarsdel could do was promise he’d be ready to go again soon. She didn’t answer, just lay there, gaze fixed on the ceiling.
He waited until the silence became too uncomfortable, then tried again. “It’s been a long time. I’m really sorry.” When she still didn’t answer, he asked if everything was okay.
“I don’t know.”
“Did I do something wrong? I know I wasn’t good, but—”
“How badly did I just screw up?” she asked, turning to face him.
“What? Not at all. What do you mean?”
“Now that you’ve been with me, will you have any reason for coming back?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I was just thinking, maybe you feel like you got all you came for. I mean, we haven’t exactly built up a relationship yet, so what’s to make you…I don’t know. I’m not articulating this well. I just really don’t want this to turn into a one-night stand. I hate those.”
“Aleena, no. It’s not all I came for.”
She put a finger on his chest, over his heart. “You promise? I’d rather you were totally straight with me.”
“Absolutely. I want this to be—to be a thing. You know?”
She regarded him closely, looking for a hint of a lie, then nodded. “Me too.” She fell back against the bed and gave a soft sigh.
“In fact,” Jarsdel said, “what are you doing on Halloween?”
Chapter 12
Jarsdel and Morales reached the office of Fantasy Tours just after eleven. The day was blazing hot, the Santa Anas blowing out of the desert and giving the city the feel of a convection oven. As Jarsdel stepped out of the car, something flew into his eye, and he cursed, tearing up and blinking.
“Gotta love the Devil Winds,” said Morales, stuffing his shirt back in his pants and zipping up his fly. “Maybe we’ll get some nice wildfires too. Make those hose jockeys earn their paychecks.”
Fantasy Tours was located on the second floor of a two-story strip mall on Gower, between Lotus Massage and a branch of Eastwood Insurance. Jarsdel caught the scent of seasoned meat and fresh-baked bread from a kebab place on the ground floor. The sign was in both Farsi and English, the latter part reading Taste of Tabriz. Jarsdel saw it was a poor translation; the Arabic letters actually spelled “Jewels of Tabriz,” but the owners had apparently decided an alliterative name would lure in more Western customers.
Jarsdel and Morales exchanged a nod. They’d eat there once they were done upstairs.
They climbed the steps, Morales white-knuckling the railing all the way up. When they reached the top, a man emerged from the massage parlor and gaped at the two detectives. He looked over his shoulder at the door closing behind him, as if considering a retreat, then appeared to slump in defeat. As they passed him on their way to Fantasy Tours, both Jarsdel and Morales greeted the man with a cheery “Good morning.” He watched them go with the relief of someone who’d nearly been hit by a bus.
“We should check in with Vice,” said Morales to Jarsdel. “Make sure this place is on their radar.”
Jarsdel agreed. “Thought that guy was about to rabbit on us. Would’ve been a pain in the ass.”
The blinds were drawn on the glass door of the tour company’s office, but a sign indicated they were open. When Jarsdel pulled on the door, however, he found it locked. He rapped on the glass a few times and waited.
“Don’t take no for an answer,” said Morales, stepping forward. He gave a few robust backhand knocks, and Jarsdel thought he might crack the glass with his wedding band.
A moment later, the blinds parted, and the wide, alarmed eyes of a middle-aged Asian man peered out at them. “What the hell do you want?” His voice was oddly muted coming from the other side of the door.
The detectives pointed to the badges clipped to their belts. After considering for a few seconds, the man opened up but still didn’t invite them inside. Instead, he stood with his arms crossed, scowling as he faced the detectives. He seemed well suited to it, with a bulldog’s heavy jaw and jutting bottom lip.
“So what are you guys doing? Trying to break my door?”
“Sign says you’re open,” said Morales.
The man glanced at the Open sign and ripped it down. “There. Now you wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“Can we come inside?”
“What’s it about, huh? Why you guys bothering me?”
“What’s your name please, sir?” asked Jarsdel.
“I don’t have to talk to you.”
“That’s true, but I think you’ll want to hear what we have to say. It could affect your business.”
“Affect my business how?”
“It’s about one of your employees. Can we talk inside?”
The man made a guttural sound of disgust but stepped out of the way. As soon as the detectives were in, he closed and locked the door behind them.
“Please don’t do that, sir,” said Morales. “We’d like the door to remain unlocked.”
The man scowled but undid the dead bolt. “Now say what you need to say.”
Jarsdel took in the space. The office was small, dark, and hot. Two desks lined a wall, but both phones were unplugged, their cords tangled on the pilling carpet. Boxes of promotional materials and multilingual brochures lay scattered around the room. Jarsdel couldn’t tell if they were being unloaded or packed away. “Are you the owner of Fantasy Tours?” he asked finally.
“Yeah. So?”
“And can you tell us your name?”
The man sighed again. “Tony Punyawong.”
“Is that a Thai name?” asked Jarsdel.
“Yeah. That a problem?”
“You have any ID?” asked Morales.
Tony jammed a hand into his back pocket and came out with his wallet. He flipped it open, showing his dr
iver’s license tucked behind an acrylic screen.
Morales smiled. “Can you take it out for me, please?” Wordlessly, Tony did as he was asked, handing the ID over to Morales, who barely glanced at it before handing it back. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have an accent,” said Jarsdel.
Tony gave Jarsdel a withering look. “I’m from Diamond Bar. You ever gonna tell me what’s going on?”
“You have an employee named Grant Wolin.”
“I got lots of employees.”
“This one walked the boulevard for you, handing out flyers.” He took Wolin’s picture out of his shirt pocket and held it out for Tony, who didn’t take it.
“I don’t know this guy. If he got into something bad, that’s his problem.”
“He’s dead.”
Tony hardly blinked. “Okay. That’s got nothing to do with me. Anything else?”
“Sir, you need to chill out,” said Morales. “We’re just here trying to do our job—”
“Yeah, after breaking my door down—”
“Trying to do our job.” Morales raised his voice only a little above Tony’s, but it was enough. The man took a step back.
“Okay. I been under a lot of stress, and when you knocked—”
“I get it. It was loud. Now can we focus on this here? Your employee ends up dead right over there in Thailand Plaza. See it on the news?”
Tony hesitated, then nodded.
“Okay, did it occur to you it might be your guy?”
“No. Why would it?”
“Didn’t you notice your employee was missing? Did you call him? Did you call us?”
“There’s something you need to understand about this business.”
“Enlighten me,” said Morales.
“People come and go. I’m lucky if I have someone working for me more than two weeks sometimes. I don’t know everyone who hands out the flyers. There’s no regular payroll or anything.”
“What do you mean you don’t know them? How do they get work from you?”
“I find ’em on Craigslist. They come down to the office and get a color-coded stack of ten-percent-off coupons. The guy you’re talking about was yellow. Every voucher he handed out had a little yellow sticker on it, so when the tourists turned them in, that’s how he got paid.”
“How much?”
“Two dollars for every coupon turned in to make a sale. It’s a good deal. Ask anyone.”
“And I guess he just had to trust you, right? I mean, he had no way of checking you were being up front about how many coupons you were getting back.”
“I don’t rip off my guys.”
Jarsdel spoke up. “How’s business?”
“What?”
“Looks like you might be moving.”
Tony seemed uncertain how to answer him. He crossed the room and folded down the flaps on a box of flyers. “I’m looking at other ventures at this time.”
“No more tours?”
“Market saturation.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Morales.
“It means there’s too many people in this business for me to make a profit.” Tony bent down and began winding up a length of telephone cord that stretched across the room and disappeared into a pile of electronics. Soon, a black desk phone emerged like a hooked fish and whispered across the carpet toward him.
“Funny timing,” said Jarsdel. “I mean, closing up so soon after one of your guys gets killed.”
“I didn’t even know him.”
“We heard he was a pretty good worker. Even learned some Mandarin so he could get you more customers.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” The phone finally arrived at Tony’s side. He secured the cord with a rubber band, picked up the phone, and set it in an old Amazon Prime box. He looked around for something else to do and set his sights on a LaserJet.
“When’s the last tour you gave?” asked Morales.
Tony shrugged, removing the paper from the printer and laying it in a neat stack nearby. “Few weeks.”
“And you’re just closing up now?”
“Takes time. Fantasy Tours isn’t the only thing I run out of here. Got a real estate broker’s license and also operate as a travel agent. Help lots of people in the Thai community.” He flicked open a hatch and checked his toner levels.
“I’m confused,” said Jarsdel. “If the tour business isn’t going well, fine, but why shut down everything?”
“What do you guys care?”
“I thought you were gonna chill out,” said Morales. “And do you mind giving us your full attention?”
“It just seems like a big coincidence,” said Jarsdel. “You say you hardly knew our victim, but you’re packing up now he’s dead.”
Tony returned to where the detectives stood, glowering. “Again, nothing to do with it. I’m moving out of state.”
“Where to?”
Tony shook his head. “I feel like you guys are hassling me. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Where to?” Jarsdel repeated.
“Bangkok.”
“Thailand?”
“No, man. Bangkok, Minnesota. What do you think?”
“Got another question for you,” said Morales, “long as you’re in such a helpful mood. What does a red quarter mean to you?”
“A red quarter?”
“Yeah. If we were to tell you we recovered a red quarter in the course of our investigation, would that mean anything to you?”
Something in Tony’s attitude changed. “Where’d you find it?”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Morales. “Mean something?”
Tony straightened up. “No. No, it doesn’t.”
“Really?” asked Jarsdel.
“No. I mean, it’s just a weird question. Red quarter.”
Morales stepped closer to him. “Mr.—what was it?”
“Punyawong,” said Tony.
“Mr. Punyawong. My best advice for you right now is to tell us everything you know. Because if we find out later you were holding something back on us, that’s what’s called obstruction of justice.”
“But I don’t know anything!” said Tony, his voice rising. “You’re asking me about a quarter and making threats. I’m sorry if I’m not handling it perfectly, but I’ve never been in a situation like this before. I’m not used to police guys asking me lots of questions. I was just going along with my day, and now you want to make trouble for me. It’s crazy. It’s—” He seemed to realize he was rambling and stopped himself.
Morales nodded slowly. “Okay. Remember what I said, though, about obstruction of justice.”
The detectives each gave Tony their cards. “Do us a favor,” said Jarsdel. “Let us know when you plan on leaving the country. We might want to talk to you again.”
As soon as the detectives made it outside, Punyawong locked the door after them.
“Skittish,” said Morales.
“What do you make of it?” asked Jarsdel.
“He’s scared.”
“Of us?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Me neither. Delgadillo, maybe?”
“Makes sense to me,” said Morales.
“What should we do? Another trip down to Twin Towers, take our own crack at him?”
Morales shook his head. “He’s lawyered up. Forget it.”
“Can at least try.”
“You want to spin your wheels down there, go ahead.”
“I still don’t get it,” said Jarsdel. “What’s the connection between Delgadillo and Wolin? And now this guy? It doesn’t hang together.”
“Look for the simplest explanation,” said Morales. “How about this? Wolin saw Delgadillo blow those guys away in Boyle Heights and picked up one of the shell casings. The
cartel tracks him down, kidnaps him, kills him. Maybe his boss Punyawong in there witnesses the abduction somehow, which is why he’s so scared.”
Jarsdel was baffled. “That’s the simplest explanation?”
“I didn’t say it was perfect,” said Morales. “We’re still missing one or two pieces.”
“Yeah. One or two.”
They began down the stairs, the smell from the kebab place beckoning.
Chapter 13
Jarsdel pulled up in front of Aleena’s just after six and texted her that he’d arrived. She was out a moment later, wearing a short, flower-print dress, belted across the middle, and knee-high, brown leather boots.
“You look amazing,” said Jarsdel as she got in the car.
She leaned over and kissed him. “Thanks. So what exactly are we doing tonight?”
“I’m serious,” he said. “Amazing.”
She put a hand on his knee and slowly brushed her fingers up his leg, causing him to hit the gas too hard as they drove away from the curb.
“Okay,” he said. “That’s probably good. Thanks.”
Aleena laughed, giving his thigh a final squeeze.
“Ever been to the Egyptian?” asked Jarsdel.
“Not since I was a kid. Didn’t even know it was still open.”
“Yeah, kind of fell apart for a while. But then in the mid-’90s the city sold it to a group of film historians for only a dollar. Gave it a major renovation. Heard it’s really something.”
“But what are we seeing? I don’t like scary movies.”
“Don’t worry,” said Jarsdel. “It’s old. From the ’20s. Besides, we don’t have to stay long. Just thought it would be a fun night out.”
The Hollywood Hills made poor roving grounds for trick-or-treaters. Many of the homes were tucked away beyond security gates and steep driveways. The few that were accessible and advertised their participation in the holiday were far enough apart to encourage most kids to migrate to the flatlands below Los Feliz Boulevard. Still, Jarsdel and Aleena passed a minuscule Iron Man being led down Bonvue by his father, and a little farther on, a Harry Potter and Hermione.
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