Dim Sum Dead (18 page)

“He’s a big boy. He’ll go to work and sell another hundred containers of bicycle parts or whatever shit he sells,” he said, referring to Trey’s commissions from his import sales gig.

“You think?”

“It’s a tough world out there, Mad. It’ll all be okay. Don’t you worry. Somehow, people cope.”

Do they? I wondered. Did Quita “cope”?

“Say,” I said, changing the subject. “Do you know if Verushka’s working today?”

“She works every day. You want her address?” He pulled
a pen from his pocket, and I gave him a notepad from my purse.

“You seem calmer than the last time I saw you, Buster.”

“It’s my new Zen thing. It works for me, don’t you think?” He grinned.

“I’m glad.”

He looked up at me and let the hip mah-jongg master mask slip off. “It’s been a rough couple of days. Really, really rough. Quita was a real pain that last week, blowing up all the time, demanding all the time. I know I shouldn’t say that because she’s gone now, but Quita could be self-absorbed to the point of…Well. And then the accident. I was pretty freaked myself, there. And then, you know, those idiot cops coming around and making like it was my fault. It hasn’t been easy here. But, you know, I get the feeling everything is getting better.”

“Good for you,” I said, getting to my feet. I looked over at Trey. He was still doing laps, the lonely long-distance swimmer. I said good-bye to Buster. He made a big deal about standing and giving me a hug.

“It’s Doris Ann,” he said. “She’s amazing. Wait until you meet her. She’s teaching me to meditate, and I just started teaching her to play MJ. And she beats my ass already.”

“Ah, just what the world needs,” I teased him gently, “another hot mah-jongg player.”

I turned to leave, folding the note with Verushka’s address. I had to follow up on the money angle. Verushka was desperate to get together a lot of cash. Maybe she’d tell me the reason why. Especially since I just that moment realized I had a sudden suicidal impulse to make Verushka a very sizable loan.

I
n September of 1917, Harry Culver incorporated his own city, just east of the beach resort known as Venice, California. He was quite a promoter. He bussed people into his new burg and gave them a “free lunch.” He offered free land to the winner of the prettiest baby contest. He started a marathon car race. But his biggest marketing brainstorm was so effective it forever altered the history of Culver City. He enticed early movie man Thomas Ince to relocate his Sunset Boulevard studio facilities to 10202 Washington Boulevard. In 1924, a roaring lion moved in. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer took over the forty-acre Goldwyn Studios. And Culver City became one of the major centers of this new screenland industry.

Even now, bought out with Japanese money and bearing a Japanese name, the same venerable old studio still stands. It was to this older Culver City neighborhood that I was headed. In the shadow of what is now called Sony Pictures Entertainment, on a side street off of Washington, was an old warehouse that housed the miniature-model shop of Mars/Kirschner Industries. I pulled up and easily found a spot to park on the street, a sure sign it was Saturday if there ever was one.

The plain-front gray building gave no indication of the work done inside. You couldn’t tell from the exterior of the three-story-high structure what went on inside, and that’s the
way these businesses liked it. The warehouse fit into its non-descript block, appearing generically industrial. I pushed the intercom button next to the front door and hoped someone working on a Saturday would hear my ring.

A few moments later, a security release buzzer sounded, and I quickly pulled open the large metal-framed door. The reception area was deserted, but soon a young African-American woman with fabulous braids came out front. She wore extralarge overalls over a skinny little tee.

“Hi,” I said. “My name is Madeline Bean. Is Verushka available? We’re friends.”

“Oh, sure,” she said. “Follow me.”

I walked with her though the doorway and turned down a typical office hallway. But unlike any other light industrial office corridor, were the Day-Glo colors used to paint each office door and, on the walls between the doors, the cool eight-foot-high photo blowups depicting Paris and Dodger Stadium and the surface of the moon.

“She’s in the shop,” my guide told me, as we walked all the way down the hall. At the end, she opened a lime green door, and we entered a large open warehouse space three stories high.

The woman stopped in the open doorway and pointed off a ways. “She’s over there. See her?”

She left me alone at the entrance to the miniature-model shop. The place was simply amazing. If you ever played with a doll house when you were a kid, or built a model rail-road set, you’d be in heaven.

All around were incredible tabletop environments, miniaturized and perfect down to each hair-thin detail. Stretched out on two dozen worktables, I saw everything from English villages to skyscrapers and from airplanes to spaceships. In one corner, I could see some sort of alien vessel, its exterior blasted with phaser fire. On a farther table, I saw an exact replica of the football stadium at Notre Dame. These, I knew, would appear life-size on the screen.

And the skylighted work space was filled with people. About forty artists were moving about the airy workshop room tinkering on different projects. On the table closest to
me, four men were rigging miniature cables. They worked on a three-foot-high, twenty-five-foot-long replica of the Golden Gate Bridge, perfect down to the minute signs of oxidation on its rust-colored paint.

“We’re going to blow that one up,” Verushka said, walking up beside me. “Kaboom. I’m really excited about that.”

I turned and said hello.

“These days,” Verushka explained, “most movie effects are CG—you know, computer-generated. It’s much cheaper, but we say, you get what you pay for. We’re winning them back. Sometimes the effect is worth the time and money. You know they used miniature pistons in the engine-room scenes in
Titanic.
”

“This is fantastic,” I said.

“Thanks.” Verushka turned to me. “What brought you down here? I was shocked to see you standing by the door.”

“Hope I didn’t scare you,” I said.

“No, but technically, as far as our top-secret clients know, we are a secure site.”

“Sorry, I forced my way in with gunfire and then tied up your receptionist.”

Verushka laughed. “We have Dreamworks coming in today. If anyone asks, you’re consulting on a kitchen environment for one of our space modules.”

“Perfect,” I said, smiling. “You know, Wesley would actually be great at that.”

“Really? I should call him. So what’s up?”

“Buster gave me your address. Can you spare a minute for a couple of questions?”

“Party questions? Come on out to my office,” she said, giving me a big smile.

Verushka led me out of the workshop and back down the corridor. We soon stopped and she used a key-card to open a chartreuse green door. Her office was large and spotlessly white. There was a nice white-leather sofa in one corner, and she flopped down. She was dressed in casual clothes, a denim work shirt that she wore as a jacket over a T-shirt and pair of baggy shorts. It revealed a bit more of Verushka’s thighs than I’d seen at the Sweet and Sour Club parties, and
there was a bit more of Verushka to see in the daylight. Her makeup was neat and her pretty bow mouth sported a fresh application of burgundy lipstick.

I took a seat on the sofa next to her. “I haven’t come about any parties. I’ve been worried about what happened to Quita.”

“Oh, yeah. Quita. That was pretty horrible, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” I agreed, watching how she reacted. “I just stopped by the house. I saw Buster and Trey. Buster looks like he’s getting over the shock, I’d say.”

“How’s Trey?”

“Not great. He’s been staying with Buster, did you know?”

She looked worried.

“How are you holding up?”

“Me? I’m doing okay. Thanks. I’ve been stressed, but that has been going on for a while…nothing new.”

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Money.” She looked to see how I might respond. I gave her a reassuring look and she went on. “It’s always money, isn’t it? I love this company, Madeline, but it is a long road until we make profits. Right now, all our income goes to paying our staff and running the place.”

“You looking for investors?” I asked casually.

She looked over at me, and her expression changed. “You?”

“Possibly.”

“Oh, Madeline. This is wonderful! I mean, you’d really be getting in on the ground floor. We’re turning the effects business around. We do pyro. We build ‘em and we blow ‘em up. My partners aren’t here right now. They worked all last night, actually. But you’d like them. They are both master model-makers.”

“What kind of capital are you looking for?” I asked her.

“Twenty thousand,” she said quickly.

Here it was again. That same desperation.

“Verushka, what the hell is going on?”

“What do you mean? I thought you wanted to—”

“Look, I’m not the investor type. But tell me honestly
what you need that money for. Maybe I can help you.”

“What do you want me to say?” Verushka asked, her voice going up, her eyes opening wide. “I’m mortgaged up to my eyeballs here. My credit cards are maxxed. I just need a little cash flow.”

I heard the same pitch of panic in Verushka’s voice that I’d heard in Quita McBride’s.

“Is it for someone else? Maybe for someone close to you?”

Her deep brown eyes didn’t blink. Slowly she nodded.

“Who?”

“My boyfriend. You don’t know him,” she added. “He needs my help.”

“I had no idea.” This was an understatement. Verushka had always seemed like the lone strong woman type. And the guys with whom she played mah-jongg never talked about her boyfriend that I could remember. It just went to show that one really never knows. We don’t always have time to pay attention. People are a mystery. “I didn’t realize…” I said.

“I know,” she said, sighing. “I’ve been pretty low profile about our engagement. That’s the way he wants it. There are reasons.” Verushka folded her plump hands in her lap.

Oh, man. What kind of guy encourages his “fiancée” to keep their relationship a big secret? Easy odds answer: a married one. Poor Verushka. I never understood women like Verushka, who allowed themselves to get involved with unavailable men. Or did I? I thought about Arlo for the first time that day.

But I felt sorry for her instantly. And on top of all that, he had money troubles.

I looked at Verushka and reassessed. In the time I’d known her, she’d impressed me as funny and outspoken and large and endearing. She reminded me of Velma on
Scooby-Doo
—quick and sincere, everyone’s best friend. Only now I was beginning to worry that Velma had fallen for a bad dog.

“Why does your boyfriend need the money?”

“He’s got debts. He’s gotten behind in paying them off. I have to help him, Maddie.”

“I see.”

“I really shouldn’t talk about it. He’s very private.”

“Oh, sure. I understand.”

This always works. The trick is to stay quiet.

“It’s not really so unusual,” Verushka continued, after a few seconds of the patented M. Bean silent treatment. “Everyone owes money, don’t they? My fiancé is in trouble. What do you think? Could you give us a loan?”

“Twenty thousand is a lot of money,” I said. “Who does he owe?”

Verushka looked up. “Everyone. He’s borrowed money from everyone we know. Most people look at him and think he’s successful. They can’t see his pain.”

“I’m surprised I don’t know your boyfriend from the Sweet and Sour. Does he play mah-jongg?”

She hesitated again. “Really, Maddie, I wish I could tell you his name. I just can’t.”

“Okay.”

But of course, she wanted to tell me. “The Sweet and Sour is not a good place for my boyfriend.”

“Is that it, then? The gambling?”

At the weekly parties, I made a special point of not noticing these things, as gambling for money is illegal, but I’d suspected hundreds and even thousands changed hands at the end of the night.

She looked up at me, hesitating. But Verushka was a talker. I was counting on that. I sat there looking interested.

“Your boyfriend has a problem?” I asked gently.

After a few seconds she let out her breath slowly. “Huge.”

“Oh, Verushka. You must be worried.”

“You can’t tell anyone this, okay? I tried to get him to go to Gamblers Anonymous. I wanted him to go to a therapist or something, but he won’t. And it seems to be getting worse.”

“You must be stressed,” I said.

“Now he’s in debt to some Chinese guys, and he’s going crazy trying to pay them back. They gave him a deadline of Wednesday night, and we couldn’t get the cash in time. I’m frantic worrying about what they may do. Do you think you
could lend me the money, Madeline? Just until I can pay you back? I’ll put up my stock in this company as collateral. Please.”

“Verushka.” I looked at her. I knew she didn’t want to hear what I had to say. That didn’t stop me. “This guy sounds like big trouble. Do you really need this?”

“Do you believe in fate, Maddie? I do. Some things are beyond our power. And even though we might be in pain, we can’t always control our own destinies. Some people have money problems. Perhaps that is my fiancé’s fate. And it’s my fate to love him.”

Throw fate in my face? This is exactly why I have hated the concept all these years, hated the excuse it provides to people who don’t want to take responsibility for solving their own problems, fixing their lives, growing up and healing themselves.

“Won’t you help us, Maddie? Can’t you find a way in your heart to give us a loan?”

Another woman in need, begging for my help. I felt the weight of it. Just the other night, I had turned Quita down, and now I was paying that price.

“You believe in fate, don’t you?” Verushka asked.

“Well,” I said, “right now, I don’t believe I’m fated to lose twenty grand.”

“Oh.” Her dark brown eyes widened, clearly showing her pain. “I had such hope.”

I had hopes, too. I hoped to find out what had happened that night to Quita McBride. We don’t always get exactly what we hope for.

And then it all sort of just clicked together. Verushka was in love with a man who needed twenty thousand dollars to pay off gambling debts. Verushka had to keep her lover’s name a secret. Quita McBride was also desperate to get her hands on a lot of money. Now what was the possibility that they were both trying to save the same man? And I thought, could it be Buster who is the man in need? Was Buster broke and stringing Verushka along? Is that why Buster couldn’t lend money to his friends?

“Verushka, it’s very important for me to know your
boyfriend’s name.”

“Madeline,” she said with finality, back to being the businesswoman. “It’s very important for me to get back to work.”

“Is it Buster?”

She laughed, startled at the suggestion.

I sat there, hoping she’d break down. Hoping to find out the connection. I tried one more time, speaking softly. “Please tell me,” I said.

She stopped at the door and turned back to me, a smile on her sad face. “Is it worth twenty grand to you to find out?”

But just then, of course, it all clicked into place. No money would be changing hands. I figured it out myself for