Hollywood Crows (27 page)

Cat was running fast, her nine in both extended hands, when Gil fired the rounds. After the tweaker was on the ground and other cops were running to the obelisk and Cat had gotten on her rover and requested a rescue ambulance, Gil Ponce said, “He pulled a gun, Cat! I had to shoot him!”

“I know you did,” she said, putting her arm around the young man. “I would’ve done the same thing. You did good.”

By the time the tweaker arrived at the ER, he was deemed to be in serious but not critical condition. However, after a seemingly successful surgery, he died three hours later of a pulmonary embolism. Surgeons reported that one of the rounds had dotted the
i
on the tattoo across his bony chest, which said “Mom tried.”

Despite the tweaker’s statement, which the paramedic repeated in a TV interview, it was widely believed that the trapped and surrounded robber had intended to die. In fact, the TV reporter who covered the incident from the start of the pursuit came on the eleven o’clock news and described the events in the Hollywood cemetery. After reciting a long list of film stars who were interred there, he told his audience that police had withheld the name of the deceased until next of kin could be located.

Then, in response to a question from the anchor desk, he said, “It is the opinion of this reporter that, despite what was said to the paramedic in the rescue ambulance, what we have here is another tragic case of suicide-by-cop. To believe that the cornered robbery suspect was trying to comply with police commands when he pulled what appeared to be a deadly weapon from his waistband flies in the face of credibility. If he’d wished to surrender, he would never have done something so stupid.”

Leonard Stilwell, who was lying in bed when he saw that newscast, knew from long experience that in Hollywood, things are seldom as they seem. And he muttered to the TV screen, “Dude, that idiot’s entire brain would fit in a coke spoon.”

E
ARLY THE NEXT MORNING
Hollywood Nate got a phone call at home from his CRO sergeant at Hollywood South. The surfer cops had been trying to reach Nate and had left a cell number with the sergeant. When Nate called the number, Jetsam answered, and Nate could hear the sound of crashing surf in the background.

“Why am I being summoned by the headache team?” Nate wanted to know.

“Bro, Malibu is radical today!” Jetsam said. “You should be here. My partner is out there with two little newbies in thongs the size of tire patches.”

“I see,” Nate said. “You had to give a surf report to somebody and I won the prize?”

“No, bro,” Jetsam said. “I gotta talk to you about something.”

“Talk,” Nate said.

Jetsam said, “I wish I could do it in person at the station, but our hours and yours don’t match too good.”

The rest of it faded, and when the signal returned, Nate said, “I can’t hear you.”

“Shit!” Jetsam said. “Meet us at Hamburger Hamlet at noon straight up.”

Then it was Nate who said “Shit!” The signal was gone and Nate figured it was probably because the goofy surfer had failed to charge his cell.

Nate was supposed to meet Rita Kravitz to talk with three members of the Homeless Committee, but he felt obliged to postpone that and meet with Flotsam and Jetsam, who would be at Hamburger Hamlet, expecting him. Hollywood Nate could only hope that Jetsam wasn’t in his sleuthing mode again. The last episode had gotten him supper with Margot Aziz, but that was all it had gotten him. She still had not called.

Late that morning Leonard Stilwell dragged himself out of bed without having slept more than two hours altogether. He’d awakened several times with nightmares and had lain awake for hours before falling into a brief but fitful sleep. For most of the night, he’d contemplated how he had barely survived catastrophe the previous evening as a result of being driven to desperate measures. He was lucky to be alive and free but had no prospects whatsoever, except for the job with Ali Aziz. His weekly rent was due in two days and he hardly had enough money to put gas in his car and enough food in his belly to keep from feeling weak and nauseous. He ate the last of the breakfast cereal right out of the box, since he had no milk, drank a cup of coffee, didn’t bother shaving, and got in his car, determined to drive straight to the Leopard Lounge and demand another advance from Ali Aziz.

Leonard had to bang on the kitchen door before one of the Mexican workers looked out and opened it.

“Where’s Ali?” Leonard asked.

“He ees een the office,” the young guy said, obviously uncertain if he should have opened the door for Leonard.

Leonard walked past him, entered the main room, where another Mexican was vacuuming and cleaning tables, and continued down the long hallway to Ali’s office. He didn’t bother to knock.

“Leonard!” Ali said, irritated by the abrupt entrance.

“I gotta talk to you, Ali,” Leonard said.

“I tell you I shall call.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t wait no more,” Leonard said.

Ali Aziz glared at him. Leonard’s freckled face looked blotchy. His blue eyes seemed even more empty and stupid-looking than usual. His rusty red hair was a tangled mess and he hadn’t shaved in days. Ali thought he must be a fool to be involved with this thief. If only he himself knew how to open a locked door. He was starting to wonder how long it would take him to learn such a skill and if a locksmith could be hired to teach him.

Then Ali said, “I shall need you soon.”

“Well, soon ain’t soon enough,” Leonard said. “I’m busted, man. I need money now. I’ll wait, but only if I get another advance.”

“No, Leonard,” Ali said. “I give you one advance. We make the deal.”

“Four hundred more,” Leonard said. “I gotta pay my rent and I gotta actually take some nourishment once in a while. You ever think of that?”

“We shall do the deal next week,” Ali said. “I promise you.”

“You said a Thursday. Tomorrow is Thursday.”

“This week, no,” Ali said. “Next week for sure.”

“I’m outta here,” Leonard said, turning toward the door.

“Okay!” Ali said. “Leonard, please. Go out to the kitchen and tell Paco to get you food. Eat. I see you in twenty minutes, okay?”

Leonard reluctantly obeyed, wondering what kind of food they’d serve in a joint where all the customers really wanted was to look at bare ass and jerk off.

When Leonard was gone, Ali pulled his worry beads from the desk drawer and fingered them while he dialed the number of the
farmacia
on Alvarado Street.

“
Bueno
.” Jaime Salgando answered it himself.

Affecting a jaunty tone he did not feel, Ali said, “What is happening, Jaime? You do not hire a girl to answer the phone no more. Business is very bad?”

Recognizing the voice and accent at once, Jaime Salgando said, “Ali, old friend! And how are you today?”

“Fine, brother, I am fine,” Ali said. “But I must have a very big favor. I must ask my friend to please come for the date tonight and bring what I ordered from you. The girls are very much ready for you. This night is very much better for them.”

“I can’t, Ali,” Jaime said. “My granddaughter is in a school play this evening and I have to be there to see her.”

“Jaime,” Ali said. “This is most important. I must have it. Another child on my street almost got attacked yesterday. From this killer dog.”

“I’m sorry, Ali,” Jaime said. “I can’t disappoint my grand-daughter.”

“Can I come to the store and pick up my order today? I do that, okay?”

“But I haven’t seen my friend yet,” the pharmacist said. “I don’t have what you ordered.”

Ali thought of how desperate Leonard looked, and now it was his turn for desperation. He worked those worry beads for all they were worth until he came up with a plausible story. Ali said, “Jaime, my brother, I am so sorry. There is another reason that Saturday date is no good.”

“What is that?”

“Tex, she is getting married on Saturday. Big wedding. We all shall go to it. She says to me she cannot have fun with old friend Jaime no more after that. Even Goldie shall go to this wedding. I have new girls to work that night. I never meet these girls before. I hire the girls from the agency. I cannot ask new girls to have a special party with my friend Jaime. I am sorry.”

The pharmacist was silent for a moment and then said, “Strange. I never think of these girls as doing normal things like getting married.”

“But Tex says if her friend Jaime can come tonight, she can give him a very great time. Like, how you say, it is her getting married party?”

“Bachelor party,” Jaime said. “Or bachelorette, in this case.”

“Exactly!” Ali said. “And Goldie says, ‘Oh yes, that is going to be very much fun.’”

Again the pharmacist hesitated before speaking. “All right. I’ll make a call and deliver your order to you at seven o’clock. I’d like to watch the show for a while. Then I’d like to have my private party and be home by midnight.”

“All shall be as you wish, brother!” Ali said. “The dinner reservation shall be ready and so shall Tex and Goldie!”

“I didn’t like that motel last time,” Jaime said. “It wasn’t very clean. I want to go to that nice one by the Leopard Lounge.”

“Anything, brother,” Ali said.

After he hung up, Ali scrolled to Tex’s cell. When she answered, he said, “Tex. You shall not do the special party on Saturday. You must do the party tonight. Get Goldie. Come tonight, eight o’clock.”

He had to hold the phone away when she yelled, “Goddamnit, Ali, I told you I needed tonight off! I got a date I been looking forward to! I ain’t doing the old Mexican tonight and that’s final!”

Ali felt his blood rising. The planning, the expense, the anxiety, the fear, it was all getting to be too much. He was doing all of this for his son. To save his beloved son from his son’s bitch mother. His motives were pure and he was being obstructed by everyone!

Ali heard himself yell into the phone, “I shall pay you big bonus! I shall pay Goldie big bonus! But you shall come tonight! You are listening to me?”

“Keep the bonus, Ali!” Tex yelled back at him. “You can fuck the old Mexican yourself, for all I care!”

Ali began choking on rage now. His eyes were bulging and he’d broken the strand that held the worry beads. He screamed into the phone: “You do like I say or I fire you! You got to fuck the old Mexican! I am the boss! The boss don’t got to fuck no old Mexican!”

He was panting, and he swallowed his spit and felt light-headed and unsteady. He thought he might vomit. The worry beads were scattered all over his desk.

Then Tex’s voice said calmly in his ear, “It better be a big fucking bonus, Ali. And I mean it literally.”

Four of the eleven senior lead officers at the Community Relations Office were on vacation. Ronnie and Bix were filling in for the Police Explorer Program, which involved kids of both genders ages fourteen to twenty. Many of the former Explorers went on to join the LAPD when they were twenty-one years old. Ronnie liked working with the kids, who were open and eager and idealistic. She hoped they could hang on to some of that if they did become regular police officers. Of course, there was no way she could warn them about the premature cynicism that she and her colleagues had to battle throughout their careers. For these kids, cynicism was not on their desktop.

Bix Ramstead was starting to worry her more each day. Through casual conversation she learned that his wife and two children had left for their vacation, along with his wife’s parents, to her parents’ lakefront home in Oregon. From what he said and didn’t say, Ronnie gathered that Bix’s father-in-law, a retired judge and a demanding perfectionist, might not have been a best friend to his son-in-law. In any case, Bix seemed relieved not to be spending two weeks with the judge.

Since his family had gone, Ronnie thought she could see a difference in his eyes, his voice, even the steadiness of his hands. She was positive that he was drinking, and not just a little bit. Ronnie didn’t think that Bix should be alone in his house for two weeks.

That day, while the two cops were taking code 7 at a good little restaurant in Thai Town, sharing a spicy, hot shrimp salad, she said, “Must get lonely for you with the family gone.”

“I’ve got our dog, Annie, to keep me company,” he said. “How about you? You’re always alone.”

“I’m used to it,” she said. “But you’re used to a wife and a couple of adolescents charging around. How’re you coping with silence?”

“I get to watch whatever TV program I like,” Bix said. “With a big, slobbery dog sleeping in my lap. And I don’t have to make the bed.”

“You know you’re always welcome to join us for our burrito rendezvous on Sunset Boulevard. Sometimes Cat shows up, or Hollywood Nate. Rita Kravitz is usually there, and Tony Silva. The boss comes by once in a while. In fact, we might be going there tonight.”

“No, thanks,” he said. “I think I’ll try for eight hours’ sleep, if Annie will let me. She sleeps crossways and takes up most of the bed. She kicks like a mule in her sleep and passes enough gas to launch the Goodyear blimp.”

Ronnie hesitated, then said, “Are you still concerned about the, you know, booze thing when you go out with a bunch of coppers?”

“It enters my mind,” Bix said, “but that’s not the reason.”

“How long’s it been since you had a drink?”

“I don’t count the days like an alcoholic does,” he said. “But it’s been well over a month.”

“Do you miss it?”

He shrugged and said, “I can take it or leave it.”

Ronnie Sinclair knew that Bix Ramstead was lying.

“No shoes, no service,” the imperious hostess at Hamburger Hamlet — one of the legion of otherwise unemployable liberal arts majors who staffed nearly every nonethnic restaurant and bar in Hollywood — said to the surfer cops when they walked through the front door.

“Bro, I didn’t notice you were shoeless,” Jetsam said to his partner when they returned to Flotsam’s GMC pickup to get his sneakers. “You gotta show some class.”

“Why do you take me to fancy establishments where you gotta wear shoes?” Flotsam said. “I’m so used to running around the beach all day, I don’t know if I got flip-flops on or not. You think I spend a lotta time looking at my own feet?”