Hollywood Dirty: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  I’d seen Tristan’s article in the Times this morning. She’d speculated that Shane Mumford was the father of Jezzie’s unborn child. I thought about the Roses reading the article, and then possibly a follow-up piece about their daughter using steroids, and my spirits deflated further.

  The lieutenant finally wandered away, reminding us that we had a team meeting when the fuck brothers, as he called them, arrived.

  “To tell you the truth,” I said to Charlie after Edna was gone, “I don’t know where we go from here. We’ve basically got nothing to run with on either homicide.”

  He shrugged. “It’s still early on Wilson. As for Jezzie…maybe the steroid talk eventually goes away, Mumford walks based on claims that the murder weapon was planted, and the case gets closed with Ralston still being the primary suspect.”

  “I don’t think Ralston’s good for it.” I drummed a chipped nail on my desk, thinking I needed both a massage and a manicure but couldn’t afford either one. “We’re missing something, I just don’t know what the hell it is.” I noticed that my partner looked more rested than the last time I’d seen him and wondered about his love life. “What’s the latest with Wilma?”

  “Haven’t talked to her. I’ve decided to play the field anyway.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean?”

  “I’m seeing Gladys Friday night. Wilma’s going to have to get in line.”

  “Do you think that’s fair to her?”

  He swallowed the last of his muffin and shrugged. “She’s the one who decided to see her old boyfriend. You tell me what’s fair?”

  I was going to mention that Wilma had said she and her former boyfriend were just friends, but let it drop. I didn’t want to get into another “men can’t be friends with women” discussion. Bernie ended his crumb watch and started to settle at my feet but then stood up again and growled at something in the hallway.

  I glanced over and saw Jessica Barlow stomping her way into Lieutenant Edna’s office. I started to tell Charlie but realized he’d already seen her.

  “I thought I smelled something rotten.” My partner stared at her through the window in Edna’s office. He took a swig of his pink diet drink and turned to me. “Wonder what she wants?”

  Charlie and I had spent the past couple of months giving depositions and denying Jessica’s claim that we’d created a hostile work environment. Her lawyer, Herb Benson, had said that he planned to file a civil suit for his client’s pain and suffering. So far, the suit hadn’t materialized but nothing had been settled. Jessica was angry with me because I’d once dated her high school crush and she wouldn’t let it go. As for Charlie, it was simply a case of mutual distain.

  “Last I heard Jessica was still on stress leave,” I said. “Whatever she’s up to can’t be good.”

  “I just hope she’s not returning to work.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Charlie had his hopes crushed. Jessica slithered out of Edna’s office and headed straight for us. The Versace serpent stopped a few feet from our desks, eyeballing Bernie who was growling again.

  “Call your dog off, Sexton,” she snarled.

  I touched Bernie’s backside and he quieted down. “I think you just surprised him.” I noticed that Jessica had added some blonde highlights to her shaggy do. She was wearing almost no makeup and, not to be catty, this was a woman who needed makeup. Her beady blue eyes seemed to float in her ghostly face.

  “Or maybe Bernie just got a bad case of indigestion when he saw you,” Charlie said.

  Jessica wagged a finger, tapped what looked like a Footcandy black and white designer pump on the floor. “Just so you know I won’t stand for this treatment again.”

  “What treatment?” Charlie said. “You’re the one coming over here, stirring shit up.”

  “I’m returning to work Monday morning. And, just so you know, the lieutenant is considering giving me and my partner the Rose case again.”

  “What?” I said. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “You fucked it up,” Charlie bellowed. “and now you want it back. Go to hell.”

  “I’m filing papers on this conversation,” Jessica said. “I’m taking this up the chain and calling Herb Benson.”

  Charlie was unable to resist aggravating her. “Go ahead. Benson’s the perfect mouthpiece for a pit bull like you. I heard his law firm even takes dog bite cases.”

  “That kind of comment,” Jessica said. “Is precisely why you two will be out of a job if I have my way.”

  After Hurricane Jessica blew through we assembled in the conference room with Edna, the brothers, and Pearl. We began the meeting by telling the lieutenant about Jessica’s meltdown.

  “She said you’re considering giving her back the Rose case,” I said.

  Edna waved a hand. “It was just a stall. Don’t worry about it.”

  “She’s also making more threats about having our jobs,” Charlie said. “I’m about ready to file something with HR for her harassment of us.”

  “Let it go,” the lieutenant huffed. “She and Liebowitz are gonna catch a full load come Monday morning. She’ll be too busy to stir anything up. Just try and stay out of her way.”

  “That’s like trying to walk through a backyard full of dog shit,” Charlie said. “It’s impossible not to step in something with that shrew around.”

  We went on for another five minutes before Edna said he’d heard enough. The brothers then began a summary of where we were on the Chucky Wilson murder. As they talked I felt like both the Rose and Wilson cases were circling the drain.

  “Hannibal went lights out courtesy of a nine millimeter slug to the head,” Gooch began. As usual, he and his partner were dressed casually, in jeans and t-shirts. I wondered if either of them owned a suit. He went on, “There’s nothing in the databases that’s a match to the slug dug out of Chucky’s melon. We did a knock and talk with some of his relatives yesterday. Didn’t get much, other than a cousin saying he thought Wilson had been dealing steroids to a handful of athletes for a while. He said it was a side business because times were tough.”

  “As we know, Chucky lost most of the clients he represented in recent years, along with his McMansion up in the hills,” Eric Glade added. “His mother said she knew that he was depressed. She told us he’d been using drugs and drinking heavily for the past few months.”

  “Maybe the hit was a drug deal that went sideways,” Edna suggested.

  “Could be,” Gooch said. “But we don’t have anything that ties him to a major player. I think he was just buying what he could afford on the street.”

  “What about the steroids?” I asked. “Any idea how he was getting the drugs and who he was dealing to?”

  Glade shrugged. “No one’s willing to say much. Wilson’s source could have been somebody at one of the local gyms or he might have even gone through a licensed medical facility.”

  “I don’t think that’s the case,” Pearl said. In contrast to the casually dressed brothers, the semi-retired detective wore a neatly pressed gray suit that complemented his silver hair. “I did a little face time yesterday with some of the athletes Wilson represented. A couple of them admitted to me that he offered up performance enhancing drugs so they cut him loose. Then I remembered Wilson also represented Ray Dunbar a couple of years ago.”

  “The baseball player?” Glade said. “Wasn’t he suspended for using steroids?”

  Pearl nodded. “I know him from doing a death notification to his parents when his brother was killed in a drive-by a few years back.”

  “I heard that dude lost mega-bucks because of the suspension,” Glade said.

  “Millions,” Pearl agreed. “Long story short, I talked to Ray yesterday. He wouldn’t come right out and say it but it’s pretty clear that Wilson was supplying him with the steroids. He said I should check out something called SkyWyre on the Internet.”

  “Never heard of it,” Edna said.

  “It’s an exchange site. Some of it looks legit, bu
t there’s also a personal ad section that’s basically a place for illegal hookups, everything from sex to drugs.”

  “Does vice know anything about it?” Charlie asked.

  “I talked to Chewie Smith and he said he’s heard of it. You basically indicate what you want using certain well-known code words. When you get a response, a meeting is arranged between the two parties, and the deal goes down.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, still nursing a hangover headache. “Trying to find Wilson’s dealer and any tie-in to Jezzie Rose seems like a long shot.”

  Pearl smiled in that he has that always tells me he’s put something together. “Maybe not. I had SID take a look at the computer Wilson had in his office. There were dozens of deleted e-mails from someone he hooked up with on the SkyWyre website. The guy called himself Que.”

  “He was Wilson’s supplier?” Edna asked.

  Pearl nodded. “In one of their little chats, Wilson even used the letters MTP.”

  “That’s the substance Brie Henner thinks Jezzie might have been using,” I said, my excitement growing.

  “Let’s set up a sting,” Kyle Gooch said. “We go on the site, make a request for the juice, and swoop down on the dirty dog.” He turned to Bernie who was resting in the corner. “Sorry buddy, nothing personal.”

  Edna agreed. “Let’s make it happen forthwith. I’m gonna head down to MRS and plead our case with Commander Nelson, but I’m not sure how long they can hold off Haley Tristan.”

  Images of the obnoxious reporter swam through my mind for a moment. I remembered her throwing herself at Walter Stanwich, Westridge University’s president. The lights in the video game that was my brain suddenly popped on.

  I smiled at Edna and said, “I just thought of a way to keep Tristan’s mouth closed.” My grin grew wider. “At least in certain situations.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  We spent the rest of the day making preparations for our sting. Pearl posted an e-mail on the SkyWyre site using code words similar to the one’s Chucky Wilson had originally used in his contacts with the dealer. We tried to make the request sound urgent as we wanted to set up a buy before Tristan published her article.

  After our meeting, I’d spent a half hour on the phone with Walter Stanwich, explaining the dire consequences to his school if it was linked to a steroid scandal. The university president said he understood the gravity of the situation and would immediately contact Tristan. I told him that he might consider using every tool in his arsenal to head off the story. I think he got the message.

  After a day at work pushing paperwork around I remembered that I had my hair appointment with Maya at Sinclair’s. I went directly to the salon after work with Bernie. My date with Brian Hamlin was tomorrow night, providing the yoga instructor didn’t stand me up after last night’s disaster at Natalie and Mo’s class. My hair intervention wouldn’t be a moment too soon.

  “I just hope Maya doesn’t say I’m hopeless and shave my head,” I said, looking at my dog in the rearview mirror.

  Bernie licked his chops, which I took to mean, It might be an improvement, Kate. I was worried what a new hairdresser might do with my rebellious locks. Seeing a new stylist is a little like going to your gynecologist and being told that she’s on vacation but a guy named Bill Clinton will see you.

  Sinclair’s was located on Melrose. It’s a trendy salon filled with heavenly scents, something that reminds me of lavender and vanilla. The reception area was deserted and I called out after entering.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, sweet one,” a woman said with a slight accent that I couldn’t place as she came from a back room. “You must be Kate.”

  The stylist was much older than I’d expected. She was African-American, probably in her late fifties, with a pleasant round face. She wore a flowing rainbow colored dress. Her hair was silver and styled into ringlets that highlighted her glowing face.

  After introductions, Bernie and I followed her to one of the stations. I realized that we were the only ones in the establishment and commented about the shop being deserted.

  “I prefer later appointments,” Maya explained after I took a seat in her chair and Bernie settled a few feet away. “The solitude offers me the opportunity for good conversation while I’m working.”

  I looked at myself in the mirror. “I’m afraid you’ve got your work cut out for you, Maya.” I held out one of the hair extensions. “I’m not sure these are working for me.”

  Maya walked behind me. I had the impression that she might be studying me like a trauma surgeon deciding that her patient was hopeless.

  Finally, she said, “Perhaps it is time to go back to what God has given to you.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting?”

  “I could trim your hair, refasten the extensions, but…” I saw her smile in the mirror. It reminded me of how a mother might look at a sick child. I suppressed an image of my own mother as she finished her thought. “…I do not think you will ultimately be happy with the results.”

  “What God has given me might also be a problem. My hair has a mind of its own. Sometimes I feel like maybe it belongs on someone else’s head.”

  “Perhaps it is trying to tell you something, Kate.” She touched one of the extensions. “Why don’t I remove what is not yours and we can decide where to go from there.”

  I agreed to her suggestion, only because I had no idea what was best. I just hoped that she could pull off a miracle. As she worked, Maya told me a little about herself.

  “I was born in Nigeria but came to this country as a child after my mama fell ill and passed on. My father was a preacher in Mississippi where I grew up. She motioned to a framed photograph on the wall. She explained that the black and white photo of her sitting on her father’s lap was taken when she was five years old. “He was my inspiration, the man who taught me that each day is an opportunity to serve in the garden that is the Lord’s glory.”

  “He sounds like a wonderful man.”

  She nodded, her eyes lighting up. “When I am not working, I grow orchids.”

  I saw that she had several of the flowers on the marble console in front of me—a spectrum of color and beauty.

  “They’re wonderful, Maya. They don’t even look real.”

  Her face was full of the compassion I’d seen earlier. “They are like my little children, each of them at play in the garden—this heavenly place we have all been given.”

  I felt a calm appreciation for what she’d said as she worked. Maya was unlike anyone I’d ever met. She helped me, if only for a few minutes, forget the ugliness of what I saw on the streets of Hollywood.

  When she had the hair extensions removed, Maya ran a hand through my unruly locks. “I believe that you have been given your hair for a reason, sweet one.”

  I couldn’t resist saying, “Yes, to annoy the hell out of me.”

  She laughed. “You can choose to be unhappy with your situation or embrace it. Perhaps your hair is an expression of that which is both internal and external.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean?”

  “Maybe it is time to embrace what is given, to be like the flowers in the garden of creation.”

  I looked at the beautiful orchids again. They were hues of white, red, and even blue, all vibrant and beautiful. I met Maya’s eyes in the mirror again and surprised myself by saying, “I’m going to let you tend to the garden, Maya. You decide what you think is best.”

  She smiled, nodding her head excitedly. “You will not be disappointed.”

  Maya spent the next hour trimming my hair and using a variety of herbal products and conditioners.

  As she worked, I said, “I’m going to think of you as my hairapist from now on.”

  “Your what?”

  “My hairapist—I think you’re good for my hair and my psyche.”

  “I am merely here to help you express your inner goddess, what has been handed down to you by your ancestors.”

  As
she worked, Maya turned me away from the mirror, telling me that she wanted to surprise me with the outcome.

  I took a moment and thought about my birthmother. Even in her present physical condition I could tell that our hair was something we shared. When she was younger and starred in the movies, she had beautiful flowing curly locks that were considered her trademark. Maybe that’s what Maya had meant by her reference to that which had been given to me by my ancestors.

  Just before she finished up, Maya faced me and said, “You are a beautiful, strong woman, Kate. It’s time to celebrate the spirit that has been given to you.”

  Maya turned me back to the mirror. My mouth fell open and I almost fainted. “Oh my, God. It’s beautiful and amazing!”

  “It is you, my sweet one. The essence of your spirit.”

  My hair was now a flowing cascade of beautiful soft brown curls that fell down to my shoulders. My locks looked like something I’d once seen in a backstage story about a stylist who worked on Beyoncé before one of her performances. If this was my true essence, Maya had not only found it, she had resurrected something that had long been hidden away.

  After settling my bill, I hugged my new friend. “Thank-you, Maya. I don’t know what else to say, except I love it and…” I felt my eyes misting. “I love being around you.”

  “Love is the spirit of God’s glory, my sweet one. Always embrace and celebrate that.”

  ***

  When Bernie and I got home I showed off my new do. My roommates went crazy—or should I say crazier.

  “For a minute I thought we were having one of them home invasion robberies,” Mo said coming off the sofa to examine my locks. She was probably being as complementary as she knew how. “You don’t even look like you.” She looked over at Natalie. “Maybe Kate secretly has a twin sister and this is her, only with good hair.”

  “Or maybe she got one of them head transplants,” Natalie said. “I read in one of them rags at the grocery shop ‘bout someone getting a head swap.”

  “Technically an operation like the one you’re suggesting is a possibility,” Tex said. “The difficulty stems from the successful decapitation of a host head and the technical processes involved in grafting the spinal column. It’s something I’ve considered experimenting with in my spare time.”