Cold Desert Sky

by Rod Reynolds

  ‘That’s not—’

  ‘Please don’t deny it. I know how it weighs on you.’

  I turned away, feeling my eyes film with tears. The silence an indictment of my guilt, the memories beating their way to the front of my mind. ‘I can’t stop thinking … if I’d just been quicker and asked the right questions sooner …’ I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my hand and then slapped the wall. ‘Goddammit.’

  She put her arms around my neck, and I felt a fool as my tears started. The images wouldn’t leave my mind. I untangled myself from her and moved away, ashamed of my weakness.

  ‘She was my sister. I’ve had all the same thoughts and I still do.’

  ‘Not the same thoughts. Even now I think about killing them – Richard Davis and Harlan Layfield and all their type. I’m angry all the time and it means nothing because when I had the chance I couldn’t bring myself to.’

  ‘That’s the difference between you and them.’

  ‘Inaction.’

  ‘Stop this.’ She lifted my chin to look her in the eye. ‘Charlie, stop this. You’re not to blame and eventually you’ll come to see that. But we’ve got to deal with what’s in front of us.’ She ran her thumb over the tearstain on my cheek and we stood like that without speaking, traffic noise outside and the chatter from some other room’s radio an undercurrent to the quiet.

  After a minute she said, ‘You never told me what happened with Mr Bayless last night.’

  My thoughts were so wrecked it took me a second to place the name. ‘He said he can’t pay. He was in shock, I think. I can’t blame him.’

  ‘That poor man.’

  ‘I told him he should run.’ I said it softly, indicating I recognised the irony.

  ‘Do you think that’s wise?’

  ‘I didn’t know what else to do. I felt like a heel even going there but I had to warn him at least.’

  ‘Of course. Do you think he’ll listen?’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it. He was more worried about where he’d get work if he left. He thinks he can talk his way out of it.’

  ‘How?’

  I told her about his idea of working off the debt. ‘There’s something else as well. There’s a man been asking questions about me. He says he’s a cop but I’m not sure.’

  She closed her eyes in a manner that suggested she couldn’t take much more.

  I told her the rest – about going back to Mrs Snyder’s and Angela Crawford’s story and the call to the LAPD.

  Her face turned quizzical at the last part. ‘I don’t follow. So this man is a real police officer?’

  ‘Not necessarily. Anyone could get a tin badge and be using his name.’

  ‘Why would—Who would have reason to ask after you?’

  ‘I don’t know. My first thought was someone at the studio doesn’t like me asking questions.’

  She shot me a look, uncertain.

  ‘You think movie studios are above hiring private eyes?’ I said.

  ‘You’re suggesting the studio is somehow involved?’

  ‘No, I’m just trying to find a way to make sense of it. Who has means and motive.’

  She stood up and flattened her skirt, then crossed the room and checked the bolt on the door, re-locking it. ‘Charlie, I have to tell you, traipsing around all day brought home the futility of what you’re trying to do. I don’t mean to criticise you or your dedication, but I lost count of how many people I showed that photograph to and I didn’t get a single hint that any of them was interested, let alone could help. This city’s too big.’ She paused, a loaded silence while she composed herself. ‘We need to decide, right now, what we do about Siegel. I can’t see a choice other than to take off again.’

  ‘You said to me, “What happens when we’ve got nowhere left to run to?” Those were your words on Pismo Beach.’

  She pressed her lips together. ‘You needn’t throw them in my face. When I said that it was in the context of just being forced to flee my home for a second time. Now I don’t even have a home.’ She stared at me, not an accusation but letting the words hit their mark. ‘Tell me what you’d suggest instead.’

  I turned around, feeling light-headed. ‘I’m going to talk to Siegel. Plead Bayless’ case. I don’t know, maybe I can work out a deal with him.’

  She moved to stand in front of the door. ‘That’s crazy. My god, you said yourself—’

  ‘It’s worth a shot. If it does no good, we could still leave tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re still trying to buy time, aren’t you? To search for those girls.’

  ‘For them. For Bayless. For all of us.’

  She shook her head and looked away and I saw her glance at our bags, still packed.

  ‘Will you be here when I come back?’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to go. I could follow—’

  ‘I won’t leave this city without you. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand by and let you get yourself killed because you’re too stubborn for anything else.’ She walked over and picked up one of the bags, then unlocked the door. ‘I’ll wait in the car while you speak to him. If it goes wrong, we leave straightaway.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Two miniature spotlights strafed the facade of Ciglio’s, sweeping across the gold lettering of the restaurant’s name. I cruised by it and parked the car on a side street a block away. I left the key in the ignition and climbed out. ‘If I’m not back in an hour—’

  ‘Just see that you do come back.’ Lizzie blew me a kiss and slid behind the wheel.

  I tracked back along Hollywood Boulevard, awash with cars, lights and the early evening dinner crowd. The Boulevard had been dressed for Christmas – bells, stars and candy canes strung on wires across the roadway, fake Christmas trees topping the streetlights. I couldn’t remember if it was like that before, or if I just hadn’t noticed.

  I went into the restaurant and straightaway the maitre d’ was on me, asking for my reservation. A face that didn’t fit.

  ‘I’m not here to eat. I’m looking for Mr Siegel.’

  His expression ran to impassive at the name. ‘Mr Siegel isn’t joining us tonight.’

  Stock answer. I drew close. ‘What about the back room?’

  ‘Sir, you’ll have to come back when you have a reservation.’ He gestured to the door, feigning disinterest, but I’d caught him glance at a heavy sitting at a table near the back.

  ‘What do you say I go take a look myself.’ I moved past him and started towards the kitchen.

  He came after me and the man near the back stood up as I approached. He stepped in front of my path. ‘We have a problem here?’

  ‘No problem. Tell Siegel Charlie Yates wants to see him.’ Eyes were on us now, the diners at the surrounding tables turning to look. I went to barge past the man, but he corralled me with his arms. I tried to brush him off. I heard a fork drop somewhere, clanking against a china plate.

  He started to muscle me back towards the door, pinning my arms to my sides, me struggling against him. ‘Get off me—’

  ‘Keep your voice down.’

  ‘SIEGEL – GET OUT HERE.’

  There were two of them on me now, suited, wrestling me towards the street but trying not to make a scene, so I kept resisting, knowing if they got me outside all bets were off. ‘SIEGEL.’

  I heard a new voice and suddenly everything stopped. They let me go; I gulped a breath and saw Moe Rosenberg standing behind them. Hand by his side, he pointed with one finger. ‘Walk.’

  He turned and went the way he’d pointed, towards the kitchen. I stepped between the two hoods and trailed after him, every head in the place following me. The pianist started playing again.

  Rosenberg pushed through a swing door into a white tiled kitchen with a half-dozen chefs at work. He went through another door to the side and then we were back in the room they’d beaten me in. It was empty apart from us.

  ‘What the hell do you
think you’re doing?’ he said.

  ‘I need to talk to Siegel.’

  ‘If he’d seen what you just pulled you’d be dead already.’

  ‘Enough with the threats—’

  ‘I’m telling you straight. He’d have dragged you out the back and done you himself. You got no clue how bad he hates you.’

  I stabbed a finger in his chest. ‘Then it’s a goddamn shame he needs me so much, isn’t it?’

  He took a step back, glanced at his shoes, looked up with dead eyes. ‘He needs you like he needs crabs. It’s only me talked him down this long.’

  ‘Am I supposed to be grateful?’

  ‘Why are you here, Yates?’

  ‘I’ll talk to the organ grinder, not the monkey.’

  He spat in my face.

  The shock made me recoil. I put my hand to my cheek, wiped the saliva away, trembling, scared worse than a punch.

  He scratched the corner of his eye with his forefinger. ‘Every time you open your mouth you make me regret keeping you alive. What do you want?’

  I stared at him, wanting to turn tail, his show of power having its effect. I wiped again with my sleeve, trying to still my tremors. ‘I saw Trent Bayless. He’s not worth your trouble, lay off him.’

  He was shaking his head even before I finished. ‘No.’

  ‘He’s a kid. You said the money’s what you care about, he can’t raise it. Shake down someone else, there are easier targets to knock off.’

  ‘As easy as that? The kid’s a fruit with a line to some deep pockets. He made his bed.’

  ‘What will ruining him achieve? It leaves you back at square one. There must be a hundred bigwigs you can squeeze who’ll cough up the green.’

  ‘You’re smarter than that. You concentrate on your part and we’ll take care of the rest.’ He unfolded a white napkin from a table and tossed it to me. ‘I told you not to swoon for any sob stories.’

  ‘You son of a bitch.’

  ‘He pays by Wednesday.’

  He stepped to the door leading to the rear exit and slid the bolt. ‘Don’t come back here again without an invite. I won’t blab about you showing up, but word will get back to Ben anyway.’

  *

  I hit the street feeling like a piece of dirt under another man’s sole. I steadied myself against a streetlight, wondering if I’d expected any other outcome.

  A dirty adrenaline propelled me. I crossed the street and ran back to the Boulevard and found a payphone. I dialled the operator and asked to be connected to Bayless’ line. He answered, slurring his words.

  ‘It’s Charlie Yates.’

  ‘Mr Messenger. I’d say it’s a pleasure to hear from you, but …’

  ‘I just talked with Siegel’s men. They won’t budge.’

  ‘You did what? I never asked for you to do me any favours.’

  ‘I’m trying to help. But what I said the other night – it’s over. Now’s the time to take off.’

  ‘Goddamn you. And what happens then? You move on to your next poor chump and I’m left looking over my shoulder.’

  I thought about Lizzie, wanted to tell him I was leaving too, right then. But I couldn’t make it ring true in my head. ‘I won’t write the story. I don’t know what they’ll do then but it won’t be safe for either of us.’

  He snorted. ‘They’ll kill us both is what.’

  I had no retort.

  He said nothing for a moment and it sounded like he took a drink. Then, ‘You’re spineless. Tell yourself what you will, but you’ll bend whichever way they want in the end. I’ll take care of myself. Don’t try to contact me again.’ He hung up.

  I let the receiver hang by my side, feeling as though I’d been cut loose from the city around me.

  I moved off slowly, working out what to say to Lizzie, angling for another twenty-four hours, a last-ditch effort to find Hill and Desjardins. I passed a movie theatre, a line of teenagers out front, and remembered the tip about a girl resembling Desjardins working a joint on Fairfax – one last straw to grasp at. I made it to the end of the block and turned onto the side street where I’d left the car.

  I stopped and looked, double-checking the street sign. Lizzie and the car were gone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I ran the length of the block. It let out on Franklin and I stood at the intersection looking up and down it, a stream of red and white lights moving in opposite directions, no sign of Lizzie. Never feeling so alone in all my life.

  I retraced my steps to where we’d parked and stood in the middle of the road, wanting to scream.

  I remembered the way she’d looked at the bags in the motel and I bit down on the notion that she’d changed her mind and decided to run without me. Then another thought overtook it: that they’d found her.

  I started to walk back towards the Boulevard, picking up speed, heading towards Ciglio’s, anger burying my fear. When I made the turn, I could see the gold letters again, shining as the spotlight moved over them, a party of smiling and laughing diners making their way inside. I broke into a run.

  A car horn sounded, then again. I heard someone shout my name.

  I turned to see Lizzie cutting across two lanes of traffic, the manoeuvre drawing honks from angry motorists. She pulled up alongside me. ‘Charlie—’

  She threw open the passenger door and waved me inside. I jumped in and she pulled away again.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘There was a man watching you.’ She was breathless. ‘When you went into the restaurant. I tried to follow but I lost him and—’

  ‘Wait, start over.’

  ‘I turned the car around when you left and brought it to the corner, to be closer.’ She flushed. ‘I thought … in case we needed to get away. When you walked up to the restaurant I saw a man across the street get out and watch you go. He was leaning on the roof of his car. I wasn’t certain at first, but his eyes were locked on you. When you went inside, he looked around and, I don’t know how, but he noticed me looking. I got out and started over to him, to ask him who he was, but he climbed back into his car and drove off. He went that way.’ She pointed west, the same way we were travelling. ‘He slipped around a tow truck and I lost him at the light.’

  I stared at her, wondering at the change in my wife in the time I’d known her. Then thinking that only the stakes had changed, not the woman. ‘I can’t believe you’d take a risk like that. Are you all right?’

  She nodded her head too violently, fired up. ‘Yes. I’m cross that I lost him.’

  ‘Did you get the plate?’

  ‘I didn’t get a chance. It was a Dodge, grey or blue I think. I’m not sure what else.’

  ‘You did good.’ I peered through the traffic ahead. ‘What did he look like?’

  She creased her eyes. ‘He was gaunt. It happened so fast, I barely saw, but that stood out. I think he had fair hair, but with the lights …’ She shook her head, frustrated.

  I kept watching the road ahead, Hollywood Boulevard teeming with cars, plenty of them Dodges but nothing to distinguish one from the rest. ‘The girl said Belfour was skinny with sandy hair.’

  ‘What does he want with you, Charlie?’

  I shook my head, no answer to give.

  We slowed to a standstill, Lizzie’s face lit red by the tail lights in front. A band was playing in one of the joints outside, an up-tempo number, the drums and the trumpet discordant above the traffic noise.

  ‘What happened with Siegel?’

  I had to drag my thoughts away from this new unknown. ‘He wasn’t there.’

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘I want to know why we’re being followed.’

  ‘What about your private detective theory?’ There was impatience in her tone. ‘I thought you had your explanation?’

  ‘If that’s the case, the only reason for the studios to have eyes on me is that there’s something they don’t want me to know about those girls.’

  She held her tongue a beat too long,
obvious she didn’t buy it. ‘How do you know it’s not one of Siegel’s men?’

  ‘I don’t.’ I chewed on that, thinking it would make sense for him to have someone watchdogging me. ‘But why follow me to the boarding house?’

  We started moving again. ‘To know what you’re up to.’

  ‘Would one of Siegel’s men take off when you approached him? That was right on their own turf.’

  She blew out a breath, out of answers.

  We crossed another intersection and I looked at the street sign, picturing LA’s sprawl in my mind. ‘Make the next left. Let’s settle this one way or the other.’

  *

  We pulled up outside the LAPD South Bureau, a mile or so east of Leimert Park and Mrs Snyder’s boarding house. Lizzie didn’t want to wait in the car, so we went inside together. She walked in at a march, as if we were late for the last train out of town.

  A young sergeant was manning the desk, his hair trimmed in a fresh crew cut. He was hunched over some papers, pen in hand, but he looked up when we drew close. He strained to keep his eyes off Lizzie. ‘Help you, sir?’

  ‘I’m looking for Detective Belfour.’

  He stole another look at Lizzie. ‘What do you want him for?’

  ‘He called me about my case a few days back. He’ll know me.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  I thought about giving an alias, figured it made no difference. ‘Charlie Yates.’

  He looked down at something in front of him, then picked up a telephone. He waited, then said, ‘Can you get a hold of Marty Belfour? Civilian here for him.’

  He waited again, eyes on the file cards in front of him, glancing at Lizzie through his eyebrows. Then he nodded, said, ‘Thanks.’ He looked up. ‘Detective Belfour isn’t on shift right now. I can’t say when he’ll be back.’

  ‘When is he expected?’

  ‘What I said, I don’t know. All the other detectives are busy, so why don’t you leave me your bona fides and I’ll have him look you up.’

  ‘You happen to know what he looks like?’

  He folded his arms, his shirt cuff snagging on his badge. ‘What’s it to you?’