Erin ran her palm down the side of his face, maybe reading his mind. He nodded, and then dialed his cell to check in with Charles. He gave Jimmy the latest: Tulip’s murder.
Jimmy felt it like a punch. She was a good kid. Yeah, she was a tough street kid, but in her own way she was a sweet, nice girl. He told Erin and it hit her, too. Anyone who spent more than two minutes with Tulip would have the same reaction. She was a ruby in the muck, so of course, some asshole greases her.
“Who you with?” Charles said.
“Erin.”
“You guys getting anyplace?”
“For once, yeah.”
“Well hurry up. This shit’s bad,” Charles said. “First the mayor’s pal, then, a day later, that hustler kid Saint Paul, and now Tulip. Fuckin’ Wild West time.”
“Wait a second. Paul too?”
“New case. The kid committed suicide.”
“I just heard that name.”
“Well it’s too late to interview him,” Charles said.
“Where’d he off himself?”
“Your favorite spot—the Chateau.”
“And he’s smoked the day after the mayor’s buddy?” Jimmy said.
“I told you—it was a suicide.”
“Fuck me …”
56
It was leaking all over in the morgue. Jimmy thought it was bizarre that a basement could have so many leaks, but walking down the dimly lit corridor, you needed an umbrella. But almost everyone here was dead, so it wasn’t going to bother them. He and Erin squeezed past a long line of parked gurneys, dodged some major puddles, and finally reached Christian’s office. The radio was on and playing opera of all things. Some diva was belting it out; whatever was happening in her life, she sure felt the passion. But Christian was gone and his secretary’s desk was empty too.
“Tough life,” Jimmy said. He looked up at the clock. It was ten-fifteen. “Coffee time. Can’t miss that.”
He dropped into the secretary’s chair and reached for the computer mouse.
“Think it’s okay?” Erin said.
“He won’t mind. We’re buddies.”
You didn’t have to be Bill Gates to figure out the morgue computer. Jimmy was sure it was this simple for a reason—if the best secretary job in LA was sitting outside the office of the president of some movie studio, this one, corpse-adjacent, had to be the worst. They didn’t get the cream of the crop down here. Erin leaned over his shoulder as he scrolled through the records of each day’s new arrivals.
“There,” Erin said. She pointed to the top of the screen, where Paul was listed. Jimmy clicked on his name, and the details came up.
“Woah. Jackpot.”
“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” he heard behind him.
Jimmy turned around and saw Christian, Starbucks cup in hand, rushing towards them.
“I rang the bell for service, but nobody came.”
“You can’t do that, Jimmy.”
Then Christian glanced at Erin. He held the look, a second more than he should, and Jimmy saw his chance. Jimmy introduced them, and Christian gave Erin his best ‘I’m interested’ smile. But he put his interest on hold long enough to stretch past Jimmy and click the screen back to the desktop.
“Can’t go in there, kids.”
“Why not?” Erin said.
“Because they’re our records.”
“I didn’t know they were restricted from the LAPD.”
“They’re not,” Christian said.
“So we can see them?” Erin said.
“You can. But you have to go through channels.” He was getting a lot less interested.
“Christian,” Jimmy said, “those files—they honest?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Straight one. Are they?”
“Yeah, they’re honest.”
“Then let me ask you something. A kid named Paul McCloskey—you remember him?”
“Vaguely.”
“Vaguely?”
“We do a volume business here.”
“Well, he supposedly dies the day after the mayor’s pal,” Jimmy said. “And you know what the particulars were?”
“Tell me.”
“According to the sheet, not only did Paul die the very next night, but it was at the very same hotel. Different room, but same floor. That’s one hell of a coincidence.”
“What are you saying?”
“You tell me—what do you make of all this?” Jimmy said.
“A kid kills himself? Happens as often as you go to Starbucks. We don’t exactly send out press releases for cases like that.”
“So everything’s copasetic on his case?”
“Sure.”
“You know what Paul did for a living?” Erin said.
“No idea.”
“He was a hustler,” she said.
“So?”
“So, Jimmy said, “I think it’s too much of a fucking coincidence. You’d have to be some sort of idiot to believe that kinda coincidence.”
“Tough shit, Jimmy—that’s the way it went down.”
“That’s what the computer says, that’s what you say. I’ll tell you what I think—I think our boy may have died in the same room as the mayor’s buddy. And then someone moved him.”
“Come on.”
“Come on? Hey, once the body is taken in for an autopsy, it doesn’t require a Watergate-sized cover-up. It just requires the coroner to say the kid died twenty-four hours later. Who’s gonna care about a tiny, little, truth-stretch like that? Now everyone who watches the eleven o’clock news doesn’t have to hear how the mayor’s best buddy was whacked by an under-age gay hustler who then goes into the bathroom and kills himself.”
“Finished?” Christian said.
“Yeah, I’m finished.”
“Well I got news for you—the kid hustler, maybe he was there. I don’t pick up the bodies, they just come in and I do them. As for the time and date of death—that’s a guessing game.
“Bullshit it is.”
“It can be.”
“You’re the hotshot,” Jimmy said, “You can goddamn well figure out the time. It’s only a guess when someone wants it to be.”
“Kids, listen to me—Lodge was killed by a B-pos’ southpaw. Paul’s a righty. And his blood is O. Yeah, he might have been in the same room—not that I told you that—but take my word for it, Paul didn’t do the kill.”
57
The wipers slapped back and forth. The windshield became obscured in a wave of rain, and with the passing of the wipers Olympic Boulevard, gray and covered in a river of water, appeared again.
“Moving bodies, that’s pretty wild,” Erin said.
“How many more times can we strike out?” Jimmy said.
“Lodge’s body stays, but Paul’s moved?” She rested her head on her palm and looked out into the heavy rain.
“And what was Lodge doing with him?” Jimmy said. “He liked girls—at least that’s what Tara said—that’s what we thought.”
“Except for Cat’s book. That was full of boys, and he was plenty interested.”
Erin lifted her head. “Jimmy—what if it wasn’t the boys in the book he was interested in. But just having his own book?”
Another wave of water hit, and the city disappeared.
58
Casey
Half-jogging, half-walking, Casey and Dragon hurried down Santa Monica Boulevard. Water rushed down the sidewalk; drains were backed up, creating small lakes at every corner. They were soaked through, and half the cars that passed shot back waves of water drenching them further. At the same time, they saw it—Circus-Circus Books at the end of the block.
There were more magazines in here than anyplace. By the door was a high cashier counter where a young gayboy, wearing a leather vest and a white t-shirt, watched over the store. He was incredibly interested in the boys who went into the gay porn section but could care less about what happened in the rest of the store. As fa
r as he was concerned, you could hang out and read all day.
Casey slowly walked past the racks. Elle, Vogue, Marie-Claire—the girls with the perfect faces—perfect bodies section. She was never going to look like that, never going to have that life. She found the travel mags. On the cover of Travel and Leisure was a kayaker on a lake in British Columbia. It wasn’t Montana, but it looked pretty close to what she thought Montana would look like. As Casey flipped though the pages, she felt herself salivate. She couldn’t believe it. How stupid can you get? Salivate over a guy or something. But over a field of wildflowers? Casey looked behind her and saw Dragon leafing through People. On the cover was The 50 Most Beautiful People. But she wasn’t looking at the pages. She was staring at Casey.
“Find Dog-Face’s picture in there?” Casey said.
“Oh, yeah. There’s a shot of him relaxing with a Corona at the Fountain.”
“He can be an asshole sometimes,” Casey said. “Don’t worry about it.”
Dragon gave her a ‘I know’ shrug.
Casey liked her. She wasn’t like the rest. Smarter, more together. And not stupid enough to do what she did. Dragon would’ve run right past Lodge—straight out the door. Not her. She had to go at it with him … She heard Lodge’s groan as the knife went in. The feel of the blade sinking deep into his flesh. It was haunting her … She tried to shake it—but her hand still held the knife, wet with blood.
The rain was gone, or at least they thought it was gone. After hours in Circus-Circus, Casey and Dragon had just reached the Fountain’s rusted fence when it started pouring again. They squeezed under the fence and made a run for it, splashing across the yard which the rain had turned into a shallow pond.
Casey pulled back the boards on the crumbling porch, dropped down into the basement—and landed in a sea of mud. It covered her shoes, past her ankles. Before she could call back a warning, Dragon had dropped down beside her. Dragon instantly lost her balance, rocked backward, and just managed to grab one of the wood pillars and catch herself from falling into the muck. Water, cold and miserable, was streaming in all around, and Casey couldn’t wait to get inside.
She pulled herself up through the living room floor and Dragon followed. Everyone was there—Jumper, June Bug, Dream, and Dog-Face. They were sitting on the sleeping bags and talking rat-a-tat-tat, like she and Dragon showed up in the middle of a fight. But as soon as they came through the hole, the talking stopped. All at once. Casey looked around. Everyone had strange looks. Something bad happened.
“Hey,” she said.
“We were worried about you,” Jumper said.
“I was with Dragon. Doggie didn’t tell you?”
“You know, everything’s crazy now,” Jumper said. “Saint Paul’s gone. Tulip gets it, and there’s like a thousand cops still trying to figure out who taxed the mayor’s buddy.”
“That’s the truth,” Dream said. “The Boulevard’s gonna be all fucked up till they get that guy.”
“Something was wrong, Casey thought. Definitely.
“They didn’t bust the squat?” Casey said.
“They didn’t have to,” Dog-Face said.
Casey looked around. Everyone was staring at them. Did they know?
“What are you talking about?” she said.
“We got a cop right here. Remember. I told you that before,” Dog-Face said.
“On the street?”
“No. Here. Right here”
“Right.”
“He is right,” Jumper said, “For once in his fucking life, Doggie is right.”
“What?” Casey said.
“Know how you and Dragon were hanging at Starbucks before I came in?” Dog-Face said. “And remember how you guys looked at me like I had fucking AIDS when you saw me?”
“What are you taking about?” Casey said.
“I’m talking about two bitches all happy together, and then I come, and they take the fuck off. But when I showed up, what was Dragon doin’? …”
Casey didn’t answer.
“Come on, tell me—”
“What’s it matter?” she said.
“I’ll tell you what she was doin’—she was on the phone. I ask who she’s calling. She says the hospital where Mary’s at. So after Dragon gets all pissed and blows, and you follow her, I go up and ask if I can make a call, too. Guy’s okay. He says, yeah. I hit the re-dial button, and guess what? No hospital. I get a tone for a pager. She didn’t call the hospital. She was checking in. She’s a fucking cop!”
“You saying I’m a cop?” Dragon said.
Casey looked at Dragon. She was a kid. Just like them.
“Come on, Dog,” Casey said, “you’re unbelievable.”
“I’m unbelievable? Hey, we’ve been fucked by her!” he yelled. “I’ve been fucked by her!”
“Dog, man, I’m not a cop!” Dragon shot back.
Casey didn’t know what to think. Dog-Face was an asshole. Most of what he said was complete bullshit. But then, Casey became scared. She knew it wasn’t true—but what if it was?
“We’re all fucked,” Dog-Face said. “I didn’t trust her from the first day she came here.”
He stood up and started towards Dragon.
“I’m not a cop—you’re crazy!” Dragon yelled. She was shaking.
“She is,” Jumper said, “in here spying on us.”
“Guys—she’s not!” Casey screamed, and turned to Dragon.
She couldn’t be. No way …
But then it hit her—Dragon did make that call when she was sleeping. Calling the hospital? No street kid would ever call a hospital—they’d just go. And when did Dragon show up on the Boulevard—right after she killed the jerk …
At that moment, Casey knew that Dragon was a cop.
She was fucked. She had told her everything. Everything.
“Jumper, I’m not.” Dragon said, her voice lower, trying to calm things down.
“Fuck you’re not!” Dog-Face yelled.
He pulled his knife from his boot.
“You’re crazy, Dog!” Dragon yelled back, staring at the knife.
“Cops don’t have real enough shit to do?” Jumper said. “You gotta come here and fuck up our lives?”
“I’m not, man! I’m not!”
“I think you are.”
“Dog—I’m not!”
“Gotta spy on a bunch of kids? Admit it—you’re a cop!” Dog-Face yelled.
Casey looked at his face—the knife—Dragon. The knife shot up from Dog-Face’s side and, yelling, “Don’t fuck with me!” he lunged at Dragon.
Dragon jumped out of the way, but Dog-Face still sliced her right arm with it, slashing a gash from her shoulder straight down to her elbow.
Dragon screamed in pain. Her shirt instantly ran red.
Dragon staggered backwards, holding her bleeding arm—when running up behind her was Jumper. He grabbed Dragon around her waist, so the next time Doggie stabbed, he wouldn’t just get her arm.
Dragon screamed, “Don’t do this! Don’t do this. Please!”
Casey knew they were going to be her last words.
Doggie was going for her—all rage. This time he’d ram that knife in Dragon’s throat, her stomach, her heart.
Paul. Tulip. And now Dragon?
“Doggie!” Casey yelled with everything she had, “Stop it, man!” She ran at him—and threw her whole body into his chest, dropping him to the ground. And in that instant, Dragon sank her teeth into Jumper’s arm.
“Fuck!” he screamed, and let Dragon go.
Dragon spun around and kneed Jumper hard into his balls. He popped over in pain. Dragon scrambled across the room and jumped through the hole in the floor. As she dropped down, she threw a look back at Casey—and then Casey ran as fast as she could, past Dog-Face, past Jumper, past them all, and went through the hole after Dragon.
Dragon was a few feet ahead of her, pushing through the mud. She could see Dragon struggling to get traction, ducking under low beams, and grab
bing the wood pillars to pull herself forward. Casey could hear somebody—it had to be Dog-Face—jumping down through the floor just behind her. Out of breath, Casey struggled through the mud. Dragon glanced back over her shoulder, and looked surprised to see Casey. But she waved her hand for Casey to catch up. Casey knew they were after her too.
Casey tried to run faster—but her feet were slipping. Dog-Face was just behind her. Fuck the mud! Fuck it all! She quickly looked back. Dog-Face was getting closer. She had never seen him this crazy. Her lungs were throbbing. Her legs were running out of juice. She was freaking-out scared. Dog-Face was gaining on her—and her feet slipped out from under her, and she fell down.
This was it. Her knees, hands, everything, was covered in mud. Stopped cold. She turned back to see Dog-Face charging her, faster than ever. But no way was it over! Not Lodge! Not Doggie! Not anyone! She scrambled back onto her feet, and as much as she hurt, she was back running.
Dragon was ahead, by the hole leading out. Casey now ran like she had spiked track shoes on. Dog-face was almost close enough to grab for her. But fuck it all! She reached the hole out. Dragon’s good arm dropped down for her to grab. She took it and was out of the hole.
Rain was crashing down all around. Casey was just out, when she saw Dog-Face—just behind her. He jerked his body through the opening, and stood up looking for them—when from behind Dragon swung a long two-by-four board straight into his side. Dog-Face screamed and fell to the ground. Dragon raced through the rain, across the yard, and out under the fence to the street. Casey followed her to the street—running, stumbling, heaving for breath.
59
Jimmy
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