Natural Causes (28 page)

"Shades of Quentin," Jack said over my
shoulder.

We caught a cab to the Belle Vista. The cabbie let us
out in the parking lot. I looked for Jerry, but he wasn't at his
usual post by the canopied bridge. The other kid--the one I'd talked
to on Friday afternoon--was standing there. I walked over to him,
with Jack trailing behind me. "Where's Jerry?" I asked. He
shaded his eyes with one hand. "Who?" I dug a five out of
my wallet.

"Oh, Jerry!" he said. "You mean Jerry
Ruiz. Haven't seen Jerry in a long time, man."

"How long?"

"Not since the last time you asked about him. He
quit."

"Did he give a reason why?" The kid
laughed. "You gotta be joking. You ever park cars twelve,
fourteen hours a day?"

"You don't know where he lives, do you?"

"Nope. He used to hang out at a bar on Sunset,
but I haven't seen him around there since Friday."

"O.K. Thanks."

We walked across the bridge to the lobby, where the
woman with the prim, pretty face was stationed at the front desk. She
smiled familiarly at Jack.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Moon. Should I ring Miss
Rose's room?"

Jack looked at me. "Do you want to talk to her?"

I thought about it. It was possible she knew
something useful about Quentin's ranch. And since Connie Dover was
threatening blackmail, I figured there'd be no harm in checking the
story that she'd told me--about Helen supplying Russ Leonard with
cocaine. If it was true, and it wouldn't have surprised me if it was,
the Dover woman could make Glendora and United think twice about the
investigation. There was one other reason, as well. Cocaine was a
profitable business--a quick-kill business. Just the sort of thing to
put a desperate man back on his feet.

"Yeah," I said. "You go on down to her
room, and I'll be down in a minute."

Jack told the desk clerk to tell Helen he was coming,
then went through the French doors into the garden. After the clerk
had given Helen the message, I walked up to her. She forced a polite
smile. I could see from her face that she was tired of me. She hadn't
been cooperative the last time I'd questioned her. And I had the
feeling that I wasn't going to get anywhere with her this time,
either. She was clearly a job for Wattle.

"The boy who was working in your parking lot
Jerry Ruiz? I'd like to talk to him."

"Jerry is no longer with us. He failed to show
up for work for three consecutive days."

"You wouldn't know where I could get in touch
with him, would you?"

"Do you mean by that, would I give you his
address or phone number?"

I nodded.

"We don't give out that information, sir,"
she said sternly.

I thought about trying to bribe her--everyone else in
L.A. seemed to wear his price on his sleeve--right where his heart
should have been. But while this one might have taken a bribe from
the right sort of person, I didn't think I qualified. I wasn't
Bel-Air enough for her.

"O.K.," I said. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," she said coolly.

I stepped through the French doors into the courtyard
and walked down to the south quadrangle. The fact that Jerry Ruiz had
dropped out of sight bothered me a little. The first time I'd talked
to Maria Sanchez, it had been Jerry Ruiz who had pointed me in her
direction. At the time I'd had the feeling that they were working
together. Cabbies and bar girls run the same kind of scam all the
time. The cabbie steers the john to the hooker, for which he gets a
small percentage of the action. Whether they were running a game or
not, I had the feeling that they were connected. And the last time
I'd talked to Jerry, he'd gotten very nervous when he thought that
Maria had told me that he'd given Quentin a key to the Belle Vista
gate. That was hardly a reason to murder anyone, but Maria had died
the next day and Jerry had dropped out of sight. I figured it was
worth looking into. Wattle would be the one to do it--for a price.

When I got to the south quadrangle, I found Jack Moon
sitting on a bench by the bowl-shaped fountain. He had a dark look on
his face. I sat down beside him.

"Someday I'm going to bust that bitch in the
chops," he said, scowling at me.

"What now?"

"What else? The breakdowns aren't right. Walt is
fucking up the blocking. He won't cooperate. And it's my fault."
He shook his head. "It's Quentin all over again, I'm telling
you."

"Russ Leonard, too," I said.

Jack looked up at me. "There are only so many
story lines in daytime, Harry. And we've just about run the
gamut--from A to B. Like she said, we don't merely write 'em, we live
'em. It's all going to start up again. I can see the handwriting on
the chalkboard. The same endless round of recrimination and buck
passing." He pressed his brow with the back of his hand, as if
he was checking to see if he was running a fever. "I've got to
get out of this racket. I'm not kidding. I'm a desperate man."

For a second I believed him. Then he dropped his hand
with a sigh and slapped himself encouragingly on the knee. "C'mon,
Jack," he said to himself. "Buck up. It's only a job."

"I'm afraid I've got some more bad news," I
said.

He curled his hands and made a coaxing gesture at me,
like a fighter baiting his opponent. "C'mon, lay it on me. I'm
made of steel."

"Connie Dover told me that Helen was Russ
Leonard's connection, that she had supplied him with coke."

Moon's face turned as white as milk. "Good God,"
he said softly. "You're not going to go in there and ask her
about that, are you?"

"I'm going to ask you first."

Jack started wiping his beard nervously. I thought he
might wipe it off. "Where the hell did Connie come up with that
story?"

"From Quentin, I guess."

Jack laughed feebly. "From Quentin."

"She claimed she could document it."

"Oh, my God," Jack grabbed his stomach as
if he were shot.

"Take it easy, Jack."

"Take it easy," he said manically. "The
man says take it easy. Why the hell do you care what Helen may or may
not have done for Russ Leonard?"

"I don't care, but United might. Connie conceded
that Helen was probably feeding it to him to keep him from hustling
it on the street."

"Then drop it, for chrissake. For my sake."

I stared at him for a second. "Why, Jack?"

"Because we don't need it," he said. "Can't
you see that? Isn't the situation bad enough as it is?" He took
a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. "You don't
understand, Harry. That stuff--it's commonplace out here. It comes
with the table setting, to the left of the spoons."

"So?"

"So everybody does it. Do you hear what I'm
saying? Do you have any idea how many people--I mean, famous people,
people whose names you'd know in a second--have had their noses
rebuilt and their blood washed? Some of them on a monthly basis. It's
big business. It's perks. It's Hollywood beer. It's what they hand
out now the way they used to hand out hookers and studs. You can't go
in there and ask that woman whether she's a cocaine pusher. You don't
ask that question out here--of anyone. You're looking for trouble if
you do."

"From whom?"

"From everybody," he said. "It's like
breaking the law of silence in the Mafia. It's just not done."

Jack fumbled with his hands as if he'd run out of
rope. "Harry, please," he said. "Don't open this can
of worms. Not today. Not this week."

"I'm sorry, Jack."

I got up and walked over to the room.
 

33

The door was open so I walked in. Helen wasn't in the
living room, but I could hear her rummaging around the bedroom.

"If that's you, Jack, I apologize. If it isn't
you, I still apologize."

"It's Harry Stoner," I called out.

"Harry!" she said, as if she were saying
'Darling!' "I'll be out in a moment. I'm stopping a clock with
my face. Make yourself comfortable."

I went over to the white couches and sat down in
front of the fireplace. A cedar log was burning on the andirons. The
room air conditioner was on, too, full blast. With the door open, it
made for interesting weather, as if the room couldn't make up its
mind what season it was. I stared out the door at the sunlit
courtyard. Jack Moon was still sitting on the bench--hands clasped
together, head bent.

Helen walked into the room and sat down across from
me on the other couch. She had her head wrapped in a silk scarf, with
the fringe of her curly bangs peeking out in front. Her face looked
the same as it had on Wednesday--childish, bruised, full of worry.

"How's the scandal business?" she said
hoarsely.

"Keeping me busy."

"Yes? Did Jack tell you about our latest
misadventure?"

"You mean Walt's document?"

She nodded. "Isn't that something? Quentin would
die again, if he knew."

I stared at her for a moment. "I don't
understand. You would have fired Quentin if he had presented that
document to you, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, course," she said. "The way
things had been going, we wouldn't have had any other choice."

"Then why didn't you fire Walt?"

"Harry, sweetie," she said. "Stick to
the detective biz. It's a lot more logical."

She glanced over her shoulder at Jack.

"That's his trouble," she said. "He
keeps looking for reasons where there aren't any reasons. He keeps
trying to figure things out. I tell him, 'Jack, as soon as you figure
them out, they're going to change on you. You can't count on anything
or anyone but yourself.'" She shook her head. "Look at him,
sitting there. He looks like a penguin on a rock." She turned
her head back to me. "I guess I hurt his feelings."

"He'll get over it."

"I don't know," she said. "He's going
to have to grow up one of these days. Either that or he's going to
have to quit the business. He doesn't have the right temperament for
this kind of work."

"I guess so, Helen," I said. "He keeps
feeling sorry for people like you."

She gave me a sharp look "Jack's no angel,
sweetie. He's as hungry as the rest of us. He just hasn't learned how
to use his knife and fork, yet."

"As long as we're on the subject, let's talk
about spoons."

"What do you mean?" she said with a nervous
laugh.

"Little silver spoons. The kind you use to snort
coke with."

"Let's not," she said coldly.

"Quentin's mom told me about Russ Leonard,"
I said.

"Told you what?"

"That you were feeding his habit."

Helen stood up suddenly and turned to the open door.

"Jack!" she shouted. "Get your ass in
here!" Moon didn't move.

"Jack, goddamnit!"

"Sit down, Helen," I said.

She whirled around. "What did you tell me to
do?" she said. "When did you start giving me orders in my
own hotel room?"

"Call a cop," I said. "You need a
quarter?" I fished one out of my pocket and held it up to her.
"Here."

She sat down slowly on the couch. "I think you
must have lost your mind, Harry. Do you know who I am?"

I said, "Cut the crap, Helen. I'm not the
police. But if you want to talk to them, I can arrange it."

"You'd tell the police about this?" she
said with alarm.

I said, "All I want to know is whether or not
it's true."

She looked hurt--the way she had when Jack had raised
his voice to her. "Russ was a sick man. A desperate man. I
couldn't just let him wander around the streets, could I? He would
have gotten himself killed that way."

"And you would have lost the head writer on your
show."

"That, too," she admitted. "This is a
business, Harry. And I'm responsible for seeing that it's run
efficiently."

Unless something or someone goes amok, I said to
myself, in which case there would always be another fall guy. I had
the feeling that Walt was the next one on the list. Or maybe it would
be Jack Moon--who hadn't come running when she'd shouted for him.

"Then you did get the coke for Russ?"

Helen looked down at the floor, at the plush white
carpeting. "I didn't," she said after a time. "Walt
did."

"You know I'm going to ask him, don't you?"

"Walt got the stuff for him," she
persisted. "I knew about it. I just ... I looked the other way."

"Who paid for it?"

Helen squirmed on the couch. "What difference
does it make?"

"You did?"

"All right," she said, looking up at me. "I
paid for it. So what? It was Walt who kept feeding him more and more
of it. He was supposed to keep him on a maintenance dose--until we
could get Russ some professional help. But Walt had other ideas.
Russ's habit went from two-fifty to a thousand dollars a day in less
than six months. I simply couldn't afford it at that point. When I
cut him off, Russ threatened to kill me. He actually came to my home
in Long Island and threatened my life."