“Why hasn't Vice shut this place down?”
“They make patrols,” Wright explained as they made their way down to the exit by the screen. “There's not much they can do. Between drugs and porn they've got their hands full. They still don't know how they are going to enforce the condom law the city passed. No one is filing film permits anymore so they spend all their time chasing down tips from disgruntled performers and rival directors. It's been chaos ever since it went into effect.”
“So you mean to tell me the city has the money and resources to bust up porn shoots for a guy not wearing a rubber, but they can't spare anyone to stop the spread of disease in the gay community by shutting down this hellhole?”
“Porn companies have money to pay fines,” the officer replied. “Why do you think that law was passed in the first place? It's not like anyone gives a shit about those people.”
“Tell that to Joshua Ramirez,” Gary fired back.
A star linebacker in the NFL, Joshua was on trial for murdering the world's most famous porn star, Kitty Dior. The press had a field day with her name, making up every kind of bad pun headline imaginable. The case even garnered the attention of the international media. In a town built on gossip and yearning for fame and celebrity it was the biggest story in years. A verdict was expected later in the day. The courthouse had been swarmed every day as fans and weirdoes came out of the woodwork, hoping to catch a glimpse of the defendant. Several of the jurors had already lined up book agents to cash in on their fifteen minutes of fame before the clock ran out.
“I guess the DA never got the memo.”
Gary thought back to a suicide he'd investigated a year earlier. Porn star living in the heart of the new downtown Los Angeles had taken a bottle of pills and jumped from her balcony into traffic. They'd had to visit her agent-slash-boyfriend in order to rule out homicide. He'd never met a more callous, cold-hearted pimp in his whole career. He still thought about the casual manner the agent had dismissed her death, calling her 'disturbed' in his English accent, and explaining that she still owed him money.
“You ever been on an adult set?”
“No,” Gary quickly replied, hoping to put an end to the conversation and turn their focus back to the crime scene at hand.
“We raided one about a month ago,” Wright said, missing his cue. “It wasn't at all what I thought it would be like. Most of the girls were sitting around in one room waiting to fuck and get paid so they could go home and get high. It was depressing as hell. Did you know there's no such thing as a fluffer?”
“What's a fluffer?”
“It's a girl they hire to get all the talent sexually aroused and take care of the crew. Turns out they're like unicorns. They're just an urban legend. I also found out that all those leaked sex tapes are bogus, too. The whole thing really bummed me out, man. I haven't been on the Internet since, except to check baseball scores. I was excited when they told me we were going to bust up a porn shoot. I wish I'd never gone now.”
“You know what they say? If you enjoy sausage you should never go to the factory and see it being made.”
“That's exactly right,” he said, reaching up and holding back the curtain for Gary. The body was laying part way out of the emergency exit door. A forensics team lead by Neil Hammond was already on site taking pictures.
“So give me the deets, Ham.”
“Detective Wendell? Long time no see.”
“I missed you too, Neil. What do we have?”
“Victim’s name is Leonard Goldman. Killer left the wallet, but took his credit cards and cash. Call came in from the manager around 3 a.m.,” the officer said. “He wasn't sure when it happened, but he thinks things died down around 2 a.m., so that might be the best window. No witnesses. No one screamed. No one saw anything. A lot of these guys wear hooded sweatshirts to conceal their identity. It's possible the victim never saw the un-sub's face at all, at least not until he was attacked.”
“He was sucking a guy off he never even saw,” Gary chuckled. “Brave new world. Have one of your guys canvass the area for a bloody hoodie. Odds are pretty good that our guy got sprayed with arterial discharge during the killing. He bolted out the back, but he'd never make it down Santa Monica Boulevard covered in bright red blood. My guess is one of the nearby trashcans probably has that hoodie, which might give us more DNA on him. There will be a good trail pointing in the direction he fled. Let's hope he didn't double back to throw us off.”
Gary walked around the body to take it all in.
“I'll get someone on it.”
“He was on his knees when it happened,” Gary said, leaning over the body and pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. “Probably in the act of servicing his killer consensually, or just finishing up.”
“How can you tell that?”
“The angle of the wounds,” Gary said.
“He's right,” Hammond responded. “Judging from the liver temperature the time of death is consistent with 2 a.m.”
“We're going to need to pull samples from the mouth for starters,” Gary replied. “There should be trace amounts of semen or pubic hair if this is what we think it is.”
“Already ahead of you on that,” Hammond assured him.
Just then Wong came in through the back door, stepping over the body as she entered. All three men looked up at her with a shocked glare of disapproval at the unnecessarily disrespectful gesture toward a dead man. She was holding two cups of Starbucks, one with Gary's name on it. She'd been trying to kiss his ass since she started, but still didn't seem to understand that he wasn't into sugary coffee drinks yet.
“Looks like he crawled to the exit trying to escape, or maybe seek help,” she interjected.
“Very good, Detective Wong,” Gary said sourly. “I see all the hard work you put into training to be a detective has once again paid off. Next time maybe try not stepping over the victim and possibly contaminating my crime scene.”
She stared at him and smiled, not backing off an inch.
“What can I say, partner? I learned from the best. So what are you seeing? Crime of passion? Scorned lover? Or was this just about opportunity? The killer came looking for the right type of victim and got lucky.”
Wong was always quick to insert her own theory, however unwanted it was.
“I doubt it,” Gary replied, looking at the body and not at Wong. “We won't know until we take a good look at his life, but I'm guessing this was someone Leo knew. The killer wanted us to think it was random, but this looks personal.”
“The stab marks are erratic, like he was unsure of himself,” Wong argued. “Could be a first-time killer working up to something bigger.”
“There are too many wounds for this to be random,” Gary countered. “A novice killer would have done this as quickly as possible, not taking their time punching extra air holes in his neck. He enjoyed killing him. He took his time to make this guy suffer. This was deeply personal. It's also why he took the money but left his ID. He wanted us to know who the victim was, maybe subconsciously wanted us to understand that the guy stole from him and got what he deserved. I need you to go over his financials and call in the credit cards. There’s a good chance our killer is already using them.”
“Okay, so he knew the guy. Why now? Why here?”
“This is a place where people don't want to be seen,” Gary explained. “A place where he could move in silence, undetected. A place with no witnesses willing to come forward. Something tells me that a place like this isn't just about gay cruising. There are a hundred bars to do that up and down the block. No; this establishment thrives on secrets, on straight men looking to secretly fulfill the kinds of illicit desires they wouldn't want their wives or families to know about.”
“You may be right, Detective, but I can give you another reason ” Hammond dourly added, “we're going to have a heck of a time getting DNA from this crime scene. The whole place is covered in body fluids. Your suspect list is going to be a mile long.”
“That may
be true, but he's going to fit a certain type,” Gary said. “Single. Straight. No priors. Young thirties. His life intersected with our victim’s life at some point. That oughta narrow it down some.”
“Straight is a stretch,” Officer Wright laughed. “You said yourself that he had his dick in the victim’s mouth right up until the moment of the stabbing, and in a gay theater no less.”
“This wasn't about sex,” Gary insisted, turning to look him in the eye. “This was about power. He wanted to humiliate his victim, to make him pay for something, most likely for stealing from him or not paying him back on time. Plus, our killer knew the only way he could get close enough to strike was to play along.”
“How do you even know it was a guy?”
All the men turned and stared at detective Wong.
“Women don't come to these types of places,” Gary laughed. “If our killer was a woman she would stand out walking into a gay porn theater. That's not what our killer wanted. He needed to blend in. Plus, defensive wounds confirm the victim was on his knees at the time of the attack.”
“Something tells me this guy didn't come here to munch box,” Wright added with a sleazy chuckle. Gary gave him a look that silenced him.
“I, uh, am gonna get on the search for that hoodie then.”
“Good,” Gary said. Wright began to walk off, but Gary called out to him.
“Officer?”
He turned, looking embarrassed and a little annoyed.
“Yeah, Detective?”
“Good work here. Thanks for your help.”
The annoyed look gave way to a slight blush.
“You got it.”
Gary knew that a guy like Wright was looking to work his way into Homicide one day. He wasn't fulfilled just being run around like an errand boy. A little appreciation and a kind word went a long way with cops like that. It didn't hurt Gary in any way, but it could come back to help him if he needed a favor later. It was one of the few things he'd picked up toward the end of his career: treating the young ones coming up with some class and rewarding those who did a good job. He wondered how something so simple could go overlooked by virtually everyone else he worked with. Wright turned and walked back up the aisle to the front of the building with a noticeable spring in his step.
He's a good cop. He'll probably make a great detective one day, if they ever give him the chance – which is more than I can say about my current partner.
“We're gonna know a lot more about what happened once we get him to the lab and start working on him,” Hammond informed Gary. “You got what we need? Can we move him now?”
“Sure thing Ham and Eggs.”
Gary went outside to get some air and run the license. He also had the credit card company set up a notification on when and where the card was used, and gave them his cell number. He'd gotten an address for Leonard up on Mulholland and a 310 area code.
“Shit! Oh my fucking God.” Wong began to laugh as he read the info for her to take down.
“What? What is it? What am I missing?”
“You know who that is? I just realized. That's Leo Gold, the famous screenwriter.”
“Should I know who that is?”
“Um, yeah? His last movie grossed like a billion dollars. He's the guy who comes up with all the big summer action flicks. When this gets out we’re going to have TMZ and everyone else all over us. This is gonna be big fucking news. They might even make a movie out of it some day. Man, I hope they get Lucy Liu to play me. I mean, people always tell me there is a slight resemblance between us.”
She looked embarrassed, as if she hadn't meant to tell him that. He fought the urge to give her a hard time about it.
She does kinda look like Lucy Liu, he thought. I wonder why I never noticed that before? Guess it's hard to look past how annoying and needy she is.
“Who do you think would play you?”
“I don't know,” he said, feeling frustrated to be having the conversation in the first place. This was a murder investigation, but more and more he felt like he was babysitting her. It tried his nerves, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. “Anyone but Gary Busey, I guess.”
“What? You're nothing like him. You look more like a rugged Josh Brolin.”
“Great. When you're done fantasizing about who might play us in the made-for-TV movie of the week, you think you can get the manager of this shithole started with his statement?”
“Yes sir,” she said, the light falling from her features as she stormed off.
Why do I have to be stuck with this little kid? What did I ever do to deserve this?
Gary had found himself working hard lately to fight off a sense of self-pity he'd never known before in his life. He suspected that it had to do with the feeling of being powerless combined with the growing realization that he was coming to the end of his career. It made him tired to think about it, but he still let it creep in. It was always at the edge of his field of vision now, lurking just out of sight. All these years and what did he have left to show for it? No matter how many murders he solved there was always a fresh pile of bodies a week later.
That was just how Los Angeles was, how it always had been, how it always would be. People came here from all over the world dreaming of a better life, of making it, of building something that would last. Some stuck it out, but only a few actually hit the big time. Most moved away as a new wave moved in, stars in their eyes. And a shocking number of these naive dreamers would end up pouring their blood onto these dirty streets, before being shipped off to the morgue.
Gary called the contact number he'd located for Leo, and the screenwriter's assistant Miriam answered. She was evasive at first, asking two questions back for every one he posed, until she figured out what kind of cop Gary was.
“Oh my God…he's dead isn't he?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because you wouldn't be calling asking questions about his family if he wasn't. You’re searching for his next of kin, but you won't find any.”
“And why is that?”
“Leo hated his family. He left when he was just a teenager and never went back. He even legally changed his name. I was about as close to him as anyone, and that's all I could ever get out of him. I don't even know where he was born.”
“We need to come up there and take a look around, if you don't mind. I'd like to ask you a few more questions about Leo.”
“1969.”
“What's that?”
“The gate code. I'll be here waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Miriam. We won't leave you waiting too long.”
“Take all the time you need.”
Gary hung up and walked back into the stinky theater to find Sandra sitting with the manager in the lobby, waiting for him. They spent the next fifteen minutes interviewing the small Cuban man in his upstairs office. It was a cramped space that smelled like Thai food. Gary fired off a short list of yes or no questions and the balding man shook his head at each, causing thin flakes of dandruff to fall off his scalp and dust his faded azure Guayabera. It became clear the man knew less about what happened in his theater than Gary had hoped for. As manager, he'd spent most of his shift locked in his office watching reruns of telenovelas on Telemundo. Gary took down his info and told him a bilingual officer would contact him for the rest of his statement. When they were done, they made their way back out front to Gary's car.
“You eat?”
“I had a protein bar on the drive over,” Wong replied. “I'm not feeling all that hungry after leaving that crime scene. I think it's the smell of that place. All that man-stink. I may not be able to eat for a week.”
“And here I thought you'd be used to it,” Gary said sarcastically. “Anyway, I'm starving. I was hoping to grab a bite before we headed up the hill. You got a preference?”
“Some place I can get something half-way healthy would be nice,” Wong said reproachfully. Despite his best efforts to introduce her palette to a who
le new level of street food, she'd resisted his culinary advice from day one.
“That takes out Pinks then,” Gary grumbled. “And Astro Burger.”
“It's pretty early for either of those anyway.”
“What about Norms over on La Cienega?”
“At your age, aren't you worried about your cholesterol?”
“What are you talking about? I'm in great shape.”
“I know. I'm shocked. How about we go to Erewhon over on Beverly? They have a juice bar that will blow your mind. We can get you some fresh coconut water or a Reishi Cappuccino.”
“Pass,” he said. “But now that you mention Beverly I know the perfect place to go. Follow me.”
She reluctantly walked back to get her car off the meter-only street parking. There wasn't an inch of the city that didn't make you pay for the privilege of leaving your car there. If you wanted to visit this sacred stretch of land, you had to shell out some dough, plain and simple.
He drove over to La Cienega while Wong followed in her BMW. Another perk of being a politician’s daughter. Gary passed Norms on purpose, looking longingly at the front windows of the crowded restaurant, and promising himself he'd eat there again soon. He turned left on Beverly and drove past another favorite eatery of his in the city, El Coyote. It was too early for Mexican food and the place wasn't open anyway. He passed Erewhon and parked up a few blocks ahead on the curb across from Swingers. He fed the meter and walked inside without waiting for her. She was on his heels in less than a minute, before he could even get seated. Inside the place was jumping, full of hipsters and Hollywood wannabe's. They took a seat at the counter and a waitress in a tight shirt with her cleavage spilling out handed them two menus.
“What can I get you to drink?”
“Two coffees, black,” Gary answered before Wong could.
“Coming right up,” the waitress replied. She turned and headed to fill the two mugs. She had on a short Catholic schoolgirl skirt that showed off her pretty figure, and ripped fishnet stockings with faded blue, low top Converse shoes. All the waitresses were dressed like her, with way too much makeup and a whole lotta skin showing. Gary waited to see Wong react. It was the whole reason he had brought her to Swingers in the first place – to make her feel uncomfortable. Judging by her sudden silence, it was working like a charm.
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