Hollywood Dirty: A Hollywood Alphabet Series Thriller

by M. Z. Kelly

  “You start whacking and grafting in the basement and I’m turning you in,” Mo said.

  I looked up and saw that Nana was on the stairway scooter with Elvis. When they got into the family room Nana came over to me and said, “That’s not your real hair.” She reached up and yanked my hair.

  “Ouch, let go,” I yelled.

  “It is real,” Nana said. She looked at Elvis. “Maybe you should go see her hairdresser?”

  Elvis shook his head, his eyes orbiting up like he could see the squirrel topper on his head. “It’s too late for me. I should just go jump off a bridge.”

  The death threats and hair commentary went on for another half hour before I took a walk with Bernie and then headed to my bedroom. Despite my problems, both at work and in my relationships, I felt a sense of renewal. I got into bed, forgot about the world, and slept life a baby.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  After calling Charlie and learning that we still hadn’t gotten a response from the SkyWyre website, I spent most of my day off shopping. I figured that even if Brian Hamlin no-showed for our date, at least I would have new hair and a new outfit, not that I could afford either one. I found a pair of tie-dyed denim jeans and a long sleeve red silk blouse, both at a factory outlet store, which helped me justify the expense.

  I left Bernie at home with my roommates and entered the Cat and Fiddle just after eight. The Cat is a well-known Hollywood hangout, with reasonably priced food and good entertainment. It’s said that portions of the film Casablanca were shot at the restaurant.

  I found Brian Hamlin on the patio at a table that was in a quiet spot away from the main area of the establishment.

  “After the fiasco at my friend’s class I wasn’t sure that you’d show,” I said, taking a seat across from him. He was casually dressed in dark slacks and a sweater.

  Brian smiled at me and I noticed for the first time that his brown eyes had a hint of green in them. “Actually, the class was the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

  “I’m glad you were entertained.”

  A waiter came over and we ordered a Napa Valley cabernet and a grilled shrimp appetizer plate.

  Brian’s gaze came back to me after the server was gone. His eyes fixed on me and I realized he was piecing together what had changed about my appearance.

  “You look amazing,” he said. “What did you do to your hair?”

  For a moment I entertained the thought of telling him that I’d had a head transplant, but then decided he’d already endured enough trauma thanks to Natalie and Mo’s class. I simply said, “I just spent a little time with a new stylist.”

  “You need to give her a big tip. It’s beautiful.”

  I thanked him. After he poured our wine he asked about Bernie. “He’s home with my roommates, probably out for his evening walk about now.”

  After clinking glasses and tasting the wine, he asked, “Isn’t it unusual for a canine to be assigned to someone working homicide?”

  “Bernie’s a first. We worked patrol and then on a warrant task force together. I was lucky enough that the department allowed me to continue working with him after my promotion.”

  I went on for a moment, telling him about my assignments and career. I then asked him how he got into yoga.

  “I used to do rock climbing and had a fall, hurt my back. A friend suggested that I try yoga as a way to stretch out my muscles and regain my fitness level. I guess I took to it pretty well. I’ve been an instructor for almost a decade now.” After our appetizer came over he asked, “Have you ever taken a yoga class?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not the most athletic person you’ll ever meet. I’d probably fall over and break a leg.”

  He chuckled, his handsome face lighting up. “I could give you a lesson or two. I think you’d like it. It’s great for helping with balance and coordination.”

  “I need all the help I can get.” I sipped my wine, set the glass down. “I’ll give it some thought.”

  Actually, I was giving it a lot of thought. The idea of the handsome yoga instructor giving me a private yoga lesson was more than a little intriguing.

  We chatted for the better part of the next hour, each of us talking about our families and backgrounds. I told him about my crazy family life. He told me that his parents had divorced when he was an infant. His mother had remarried and he had a half-sister, Carly, who was a doctor.

  I found Brian Hamlin charming and easy to talk to. We discussed some of my prior duty assignments before the conversation eventually drifted to Jezzie Rose.

  “It’s such a shame what happened to her,” Brian said. “I didn’t know her well but she seemed like a nice kid, maybe a little overwhelmed with fame.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  He shrugged. “We talked for a few minutes before class a couple of times. She said that she wished the media would leave her alone. She even said something about regretting having won the gold medal.”

  “Really? That’s surprising.”

  “I think I can understand where she was coming from.” He poured us the last of the wine. “I’ve known a few other athletes from my classes. A couple of them have said similar things about notoriety.”

  “What about Shane Mumford?” I asked. “How well did you know him?”

  “We went to school together years ago but I didn’t know him very well. It’s still hard to believe that he killed Jezzie.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I guess you just never expect that of someone. He never seemed the violent type, but I guess sometimes people have another side to them that they keep hidden.”

  “That’s for sure,” I said. I took a moment, turning something over in my mind. Maybe it was the fact that Brian Hamlin seemed trustworthy and the wine was working in my system, but I decided to confide in him. “I want to tell you something, Brian, but I need this kept in confidence for now.”

  “Of course.” He held up his empty wine glass. “Another bottle?”

  “I’m good.” I set my own glass aside, deciding that I’d had more than enough to drink over the past few days. “We have reason to believe that Jezzie Rose may have used steroids, specifically something called, MTP. It’s a performance enhancing substance that boosts the red blood cell count.”

  He took a moment before responding. “Wow. I had no idea. She hardly seemed the type.”

  “What was it that you said about sometimes people having another side to them?” He nodded and I went on. “Do you have any idea if someone at the university might have been helping Jezzie, either by providing her with banned substances or helping her beat the drug tests?”

  His gaze fixed on me and he shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid not. If the university had any idea…it would be very bad for the school. I’m sure if they knew that she was using something, Jezzie would have been expelled.”

  “Thanks. Let me know if you think of anything that might be useful. You’ll probably be reading about her suspected steroid use in the press in a few days, but until then this conversation never happened.”

  We spent another half hour chatting before Brian walked me to my car. The evening had been pleasant. It was nice to have a conversation with someone other than my roommates and I wondered if I’d see him again.

  We stopped at my car and I took a moment, explaining about Olive and my finances. He laughed, then said, “I was wondering if you’re free this weekend? I make a mean pasta salad. I live over in Westwood and thought maybe we could also try out a couple of poses in my home studio, if you’re game.”

  I looked up into his beautiful eyes. “I think I’d like that.”

  He leaned in closer to me, the light scent of his aftershave in the air. “Great. Wear something comfortable.”

  The kiss was on my lips an instant later and lasted just long enough for me to want more, a lot more.

  “See you then,” I said, after we parted.

  I drove home with a smile on my face. Between my hair and
Brian I again felt a sense of renewal. Then a question came to mind. What was it that Mo had said about certain yoga poses releasing sexual energy?

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The next morning I got a call from Charlie telling me that we’d caught a break. “Pearl got a hit on the website from Que. He set up a buy for four o’clock this afternoon on the Walk of Fame. Edna wants us to meet at the station at ten, make sure we’ve got everything set up.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief after ending the call. Haley Tristan still hadn’t gone to press with her article about Jezzie using steroids. I decided that Walter Stanwich must have some convincing tools in his garage.

  When I got to the station I got lots of compliments on my new hairdo. Even Kyle Gooch seemed impressed. “You ever decide you want to enter the Hollywood Station dating pool let me know. I think we could be simpatico.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “But that’s one pool I’m definitely staying out of.”

  We spent the rest of the day planning the sting. Edna told us he wanted enough manpower on the street to assist in case there were any problems.

  Pearl then told us how the buy was to go down. “I used the moniker BJ when I set up the meeting. I’m supposed to wear a Dodger’s ball cap and carry a newspaper. Que’s going to meet me in front of the Hard Rock Café, just down from the Kodak.”

  “Nothing personal,” Edna said. “But I want a young pup on the street in case things go sideways.”

  “I’m your boy,” Kyle Gooch said. “Even ran a little track in high school.”

  “I hope you weren’t on steroids,” I said.

  Eric Glade spoke up in a way that made me realize the brothers had apparently recovered from their lunch with Naw-naw. “Me and my bro are drug free, high on life.”

  Edna held up a hand. “Enough. Gooch is on the sidewalk. Everybody else needs to be in position to move in when the take-down signal is given.”

  ***

  “Hey, maybe our boy Que is expecting some kind of action out of you, bro,” Eric Glade said as we dropped Gooch off around the corner from the Walk of Fame a little before four. “Maybe he’ll want a little BJ for the juice?”

  “No nuts or butts from this player,” Gooch said. “I rake a hand through my golden locks and you guys come running, help me put the screw on the Que.” He smiled. “I’m just talking figuratively, of course.”

  We waited in separate locations on Hollywood Boulevard, not too far from the Kodak Theater as the four o’clock hour approached. Glade was nearby on the street with Pearl. Charlie and I were with Bernie in an unmarked car up the block from where Gooch paced back and forth on the Walk of Fame.

  While we waited Charlie told me about his date with Gladys. “She’s not exactly what I expected.”

  “You mean, as in being too young for you?”

  He smiled. Charlie never smiles so I was immediately suspicious. “Let’s just say that Gladys has a lot of energy.”

  “Really?” Even though I’d never met her, images of Charlie and someone named Gladys doing the dirty deed flashed through my mind. Yuck! “I take it you two are going to see one another again?”

  He shook his head. “I’m gonna check out some more profiles, play the field.”

  “Maybe you should check out the senior citizen section of the dating site.” Okay, I didn’t say it, instead I glanced over and saw that Gooch was still waiting, newspaper in hand. I decided that I needed to change the subject, purge my mind of Charlie and Gladys. I took a moment and told him about my new stylist, Maya, and what she’d said about my hair and embracing what our ancestors have handed down to us.

  “I think what she said makes a lot of sense,” Charlie said. “All of us probably got lots of different blood running through our veins. I think maybe my ancestors were Vikings.”

  I bit my lip, holding back a fit of laughter. “What makes you think that?”

  “Vikings were warriors. I just think it fits me.”

  Charlie a warrior? My partner was a human slug. I think he might actually have some snail DNA.

  Charlie motioned up the street to a motorcycle slowing down at the curb near Gooch. “I think we got some action.”

  I looked over and saw a helmeted figure stopping in front of the Hard Rock. He was on a BMW motorcycle and wore a tinted faceplate, making it impossible to see his features. I realized that the motorcycle didn’t have a license plate. Then I realized something else.

  “Son of a bitch,” I said, turning to Charlie. “It’s the same guy.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Wilson’s shooter. He’s the one who ran from his office, took off on a motorcycle.”

  I put out a radio call to Pearl and Glade. Charlie put the car in gear but it was already too late. As we pulled away from the curb we heard a gunshot. Ahead of us we saw that a figure was down on the sidewalk.

  Kyle Gooch had been shot!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Charlie drove while Pearl and Glade came up the street and gave first aid to Gooch. I put out the call.

  “Officer needs help. We have an officer shot in front of the Hard Rock Café on Hollywood Boulevard. Have all available units respond Code 3 and send an RA unit to that location. We are in pursuit turning northbound onto Orange. Our suspect appears to be a male, unknown description, on a black BMW motorcycle with no license plate.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Charlie yelled as we came around the corner and saw the motorcycle roaring down the street, weaving into oncoming traffic. Cars braked and horns blared. “He’s gonna kill somebody.”

  “He’s turning at the alleyway,” I said, pointing up the street where the motorcycle had swung over into an apartment complex.

  “I see him.”

  My partner hit his brakes and then his horn. He made his way through oncoming traffic, before following the suspect down the narrow alleyway at high speed.

  I made another call to dispatch. “Suspect has entered the alley at the Biltmore Apartments, now heading westbound.”

  We lost the cyclist for a moment as he approached Sycamore Avenue. Then we saw him again—on the wrong side of the street. The motorcycle’s engine revved louder. Pedestrians began running for their lives as he went up over a curb, onto the sidewalk.

  “We need an airship and additional units,” I said into the radio, before giving dispatch an update on our location.

  Seconds later we saw a woman go down, the motorcycle striking her as it screamed down the sidewalk. The impact caused the rider to lose control. The bike went down, skidding wildly into the street. Our suspect came off the bike, tumbling behind it.

  Charlie hit his brakes and we skidded to a stop. I was nearly out of the car when I saw the rider get up and look in our direction. I couldn’t see his features because of the helmet’s tinted faceplate, but something about his size and the way he carried himself seemed familiar. Before I could respond, he limped over, pulled his bike up off the street, and zoomed off again.

  I was back in the car, on the radio. “Dispatch we have a pedestrian injured. Send an RA to the 1700 block of Sycamore. Suspect is heading south on Sycamore again.”

  “This guy is insane,” Charlie said as we were off again, barreling down the highway, weaving in and out of traffic. “I gotta feeling this ain’t gonna end pretty.”

  “He’s turning back onto Hollywood Boulevard,” I said, pointing up the street.

  I called dispatch with the update as we skidded around the corner into heavy traffic. Up ahead I saw the motorcycle accelerating again. The driver was on the wrong side of the road. He then zigzagged over to the sidewalk but this time his luck finally ran out.

  The cyclist appeared to hit something slick on the sidewalk. The motorcycle started to wobble and skid out of control. There was a violent crashing sound as the cycle and the rider smashed through a display window into a store.

  I made the radio call as Charlie stopped and ran in the direction of the suspect with his gun drawn. I followed with my big dog g
rowling and ready to attack. When we got inside the store, I saw that Charlie already had our suspect on the ground, holding him at gunpoint.

  “Don’t shoot,” the man screamed.

  “Stay down,” Charlie yelled. “Put your hands out to your side. Spread your legs.”

  Bernie was barking and pulling against his leash, wanting a piece of the action. I kept him back at the same time holding our suspect at gunpoint as Charlie went over and cuffed him.

  After Charlie got our prisoner to his feet, he took a moment and pulled off the man’s helmet. My heart thumped in my chest as the realization hit me. Even with the blood on his face I immediately recognized the man who had shot Kyle Gooch and led us on a wild chase through the streets of Hollywood.

  He was Jezzie Rose’s brother, Bix.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “Gooch is going into surgery now,” Lieutenant Edna said to us when he arrived at the scene. He motioned to Bix Rose who was still handcuffed and being tended to by paramedics. “Did he have anything to say?”

  Charlie put a stick of gum in his mouth. “Not yet. If he’s medically cleared we plan to take him back to the station, read him his rights, and see where it goes before we book him.”

  “Let’s hope we get some fucking answers before he lawyers up.”

  An hour later Bix had been cleared for booking. Pearl and Edna followed us back to Hollywood Station where we put him in an interview room, handcuffed to a table. We left him alone and began making plans for the interview when Eric Glade called. I put him on speaker as he updated us on his partner.

  “The wound was through and through. The doctors say my bro should be able to eventually return to duty after a little beach time with the babes.”

  “Great news, Eric,” I said. “We’re at the station with Bix, getting ready to read him his rights and question him.”