The Detective & the Pipe Girl (15 page)

24

S
o the pyramid was in Neese’s fence, right in plain sight—if you looked really closely. But, right now, it wasn’t Neese who I wanted to talk to. I needed someone weaker. So it was back over to the Sades, to Jimmy Yates’s place. Without much waiting at all, Jimmy’s SUV pulled out of his gate. He wasn’t in the same SUV as the last time I tailed him. Now he was in one of those boxy, silver, war-style Mercedes SUVs.

What a joke.

He started heading down Sunset, toward Hollywood. I figured, here we go, back to go get another goddamn smoothie. But nope. It wasn’t smoothie time. It looked like he was going to Riviera Country Club. A really beautiful and challenging golf course spread out right in the Sades. A private club, but also the location of the L.A. Open.

Yep, Riviera. He pulled onto the property. I did too. The lot was pretty full—good. Jimmy maneuvered the top-heavy, boxy Merc into a spot between two cars—a tight squeeze. I quickly grabbed an end spot in a different row, away from him.

Out of the Cobalt and over to Jimmy’s spot, fast. He was awkwardly getting out of his ridiculous SUV, pinned in a bit by the Lexus next to him. He slid out, then shut the door and turned around.

Turned around to face me. Right in his face.

“Hi, Jimmy, remember me?”

It was tight between the two cars. We were stuck in a little claustrophobic alley. And his tall, boxy car blocked us from the activity of the club. Perfect. And, shit, I just remembered, I had a big black bump on my head so I probably looked really crazy. Perfect-er.

“Yes, I do,” he said. “Get out of my way.”

“You’re going to talk to me, Jimmy. Right now. And you’re going to tell me more than you did last time.”

“Actually right now I’m going to call the cops.”

He produced his iPhone. You know, those phones that you can’t type on or make calls on? I snatched it away.

“Give that back to me.”

“Suzanne Neal was a Pipe Girl. You know that term? I think you do.”

“I told you this the last time you stalked me, bud. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Next up, I’m going to Neese. The modern-day pimp. We’ll see what Neese has to say about me knowing about you using his service.”

“Do whatever you want, whoever that is.”

And then he started screaming. It was actually a smart move.

He screamed, “Hey! This asshole . . .”

I grabbed his arm, yanked him toward me, twisted it, twisted his body around, and put him on the ground. Put his face in the cement. He had a good view of the undercarriage of his horrible SUV. I was wrenching his arm in a very painful way. I was just about to break it. This poor fuck was in agony.

“Stop screaming,” I said.

He did. He was absolutely silent.

“You need to help me out, Jimmy. Suzanne was a pro, I know that. Neese was her pimp, I know that too. And you were using her. Right?”

I released some pressure. He looked back at me wild-eyed, hysterical.

“I could have you fucking killed,” he whisper-screamed.

“Really,” I said. “I could kill you right now.”

I tweaked his arm and I could see tears sprout in his eyes.

He didn’t say anything. This asshole was starting to impress me. Or maybe it was just Neese had told all these guys exactly how to behave. And they were terrified to disobey him. But I had a Plan B. Now, pressuring, bullying, kicking the shit out of someone to tell you something doesn’t always work. That is for sure. But the times it does work is when you can really zero in what it is that person has to lose. Usually, that’s family, friends, money. But I had a special case on my hands here. I had a star. This guy had the world kissing his ass day and night. He was on top. And, ask anybody, these guys will do anything, literally anything, to protect that. They’ll protect it more viscerally than they’d protect their own family. Sad, but was I pretty sure of it.

“Jimmy. I have a friend named Jose Villareal. Works for the rags. I’m giving him this story right now. I’m telling him that you used Richard Neese’s service to hire a prostitute and now she’s dead. I don’t even know the whole story yet, but I’m going to give it to him prematurely, because I know you’re involved. I know for sure. It’s going to ruin my case, but you know what else it’s going to ruin? Your life. But it’s worth it to me because Suzanne Neal is a corpse, and you don’t give a shit. So, say good-bye to your perfect image.”

It took him less than a second to say, “Don’t do that.”

“Then give me some information.”

He took a deep breath. I released the pressure on his arm a little bit.

Jimmy Yates said, “I have never spoken about this to anyone. Yes, I used Richard’s service. Okay. But that’s all I know. Okay, I swear. Suzanne was who I got. That’s who Richard gave me. She was really special actually.”

Time to test him. “So you used a pro. Weren’t you worried that she would talk? Or bribe you somehow?”

“That’s the deal with Richard. The girls don’t talk. And I’ll tell you this: She never did. Never. Suzanne never said a word about it to anyone. Truth is, the only reason you even know about all this is because I got careless that day you caught me. I . . . I . . . I couldn’t . . . I got . . . I got careless.”

I looked at him, with half his face stuck to the cement. He hated, hated me having him in this position. I could see the disgust in his face. That some random P.I., that some
civilian
, was forcing him to say something he didn’t want to say. He thought he was so special. His face simply betrayed it. He disgusted me.

“How did Neese make sure the girls didn’t talk?”

With just the slightest letup on his arm he was already getting cocky again. “Dude. I don’t know. Paid them well? Who the fuck knows? He just said, ‘Trust me.’ And he was right.”

I grabbed the short hairs of his head, right above the back of his neck, and gave them a quick, hard twist. He shrieked.

“You were there the day she got killed, Jimmy. I don’t know what you told the cops when they contacted you. I guess you lied to them and told them you didn’t even know her. But you were there the day she got killed. So you know something about why she got killed. Either that or you killed her.”

I yanked his arm.

“I didn’t kill her. Jesus, how is this happening? Look, man, she told me she was going to quit. Does that help you?”

I just looked at him. And I thought: Hmm. Maybe that does help me. I let up on his arm a bit.

“How did you meet Richard Neese?”

Jimmy looked back at me, but I could see he was looking sort of behind me. I turned around to see a security guard looking at us, angling his head to see us better, approaching from about twenty feet away.

“Everything all right back here? Jimmy, that you?”

I let go of Jimmy’s arm, then helped him up. We both stood looking at the guard, who was now just beyond Jimmy’s SUV and the Lexus.

“Everything’s fine,” I said. “This gentleman, well, let’s be honest, Jimmy Yates, tripped getting out of his car. And I came over to help.”

The security guard grabbed his walkie and said, “Backup. South parking lot. Silver Mercedes SUV. Just beyond the sidewalk to the pro shop.”

Guess Mr. Security Guard read the situation right. Not bad. Or maybe he saw in Jimmy’s eyes that he was in pain, and wanted to kill me.

But Jimmy didn’t say anything. He was frozen. Still paralyzed over whether or not I was going to the rags.

I said, “Well, while the backup comes I think I’m going to leave. Excuse me.”

I began walking out of the little alley. The security guard stepped forward and got in my way, trapping me. This was not good. I had just gotten some info, I wanted out of there. Jimmy was frozen. Not sure whether to help me or say nothing.

This is what’s known as a jam.

So: I made a move for the security guy’s throat. He went to block me with both hands. Bad move. Rookie move. I grabbed his gun out of its holster, cocked it, and pointed it at his face. He got really, really scared.

“Get out of my way.”

He backed up. His heart in his throat. I walked out. Walked over and got in the Cobalt. Then pulled it around to Jimmy’s car, where he and the security guard now stood. I got back out of the Cobalt, walked over, and handed the security guy his gun back. Then I looked at Jimmy and said, “I know you’re a good actor, but you better not be lying.”

Back in the Cobalt and out of there.

25

F
olks, I now knew some stuff. But I also
didn’t
know some stuff. I was pretty convinced that Neese ran a prostitution ring with a high-concept twist, but I didn’t have anything on the murder. Neese popped Suzanne because she broke the rule and talked? Maybe. But maybe not. There was also Jimmy Yates. And the dude on her balcony the night she got killed. And the information that Jimmy had passed on—that Suzanne had told him she was going to quit.

There was more to know, plain and simple. There were more
possibilities
. And if I wasn’t careful here, it could all go away. Like Marlon the Marlin said. I go to the cops, the cops go to Neese, then everyone lawyers up and shuts up. And maybe we get Neese on some pimp charges, but Suzanne is still dead, and no one goes down.

I needed to examine some possibilities. I needed to think hard.

I thought: A hike. In the mountains. Clear my head. Walk and talk. Talk to myself, that is.

Another real bonus about L.A. You had the beach and the weather and the Hollywood scene if that was your thing. But there were also mountains right there on the coast. And I’m not talking about the various hills where people lived. I’m talking real mountains that were uninhabited and beautiful. With long, steep trails, with real nature, with beautiful trees and—true story—mountain lions. Mountain lions, walking around the hills of Los Angeles. No, not walking. Slinking, poking, sliding around the hills of Los Angeles. Deftly. Mysteriously. Gracefully. I love the big cats.

I headed toward the range that sat right on the coast. The Santa Monica Mountains. I was already pretty close; they bordered the freaking Sades, for chrissakes.

I was now entering a more difficult, delicate, and potentially violent section of the case, so I want to tell you about somebody that’s very important in my life. Just a quick aside; it won’t take too long. I want to tell you now, because I was thinking about him at this moment in the story. I think about him, his influence, when the heat gets turned up.

I grew up in the San Fernando Valley. The Valley, as most people know it. The part of L.A. that gets made fun of. And not because superficial movie stars are walking around bathed in attention and vanity. No. The opposite. Because it’s considered lame. Ordinary. Suburban. Tacky. The stepchild of Los Angeles.

Truthfully, an unfair stereotype. The Valley has beautiful sections. And I’ll tell you this: It’s grounded in a reality that the rest of L.A. isn’t. It
is
really, really hot in the summer though. Whatever shit it gets for that it deserves.

My family was normal, from the outside. Mom, Dad, brother. When we were kids, my mom stayed home and took care of me and my brother, and my dad was an accountant for a tire company. A good man. A guy who sat in his chair at night and watched TV and said things to me and my brother, with a vacant but sweet look, like: “Everything okay at school?”

I loved him. He’s dead now. He had a heart attack. He never seemed particularly stressed or unhealthy but he had a heart attack anyway. As a dad, he was who he was and I got that. And so did my brother. My mother? She was more of the firecracker type. Tough. Downright ruthless sometimes. She had to be, I suppose. To make sure my bro and I turned out okay. I never saw her fight with my father, but I never saw her really connect with him either. But let’s get back to my father. Did
we
connect? Well, not really. I respected him. So did my brother. He went to work and did what he had to do to make life okay for the rest of us. But, truthfully, he seemed a little paralyzed. Sweet, always sweet and nice. But just a little sad. And not quite
there
with the rest of us. I don’t know if he wanted to be out there doing other things, pursuing other dreams, or another life altogether. I really don’t know. But if I had to guess I’d say no. It was more like he was just stuck in the wrong universe.

Enter our neighbor. A man named Jim Douglas.

Jim Douglas was a major force in my life. He was married to a woman named Candy and they had four daughters whom they loved and raised and parented beautifully. I’m still in touch with all of them to this day. Jim was a career military guy. He had been in Vietnam, a Green Beret. He had another color associated with him too. Black. Jim and Candy and their kids are black. But Jim’s skin wasn’t the only thing that was black. His belt was black too. He was a serious badass karate master. A black belt and a champion.

As much as Jim loved his daughters, he wanted a son. And me? Jim was the kind of guy that I was desperate to be around. At first, he just stepped in where my dad wasn’t so proficient. Taught me how to throw a football. Taught me how to shift my weight when hitting a baseball. My dad wasn’t threatened—something I later realized was really admirable. My dad
liked
that I was excited to hang with Jim. He liked that I was learning the things that I innately was interested in. Like sports. And camping. And how to really hurt a guy if you ever had to get in a fight.

Yes, Jim taught me how to fight. Not at first. Not for years. But eventually. I was about thirteen and I was at his house and I remember him sitting in a big recliner, drinking scotch. He filled up the chair totally. Jim was a big man. About five-eleven, pretty tall, but thick and strong and kind of stocky-looking when he stood up despite his height. In later years he sported one of those cement-hard guts. I hope I have one of those one day. What is the deal with those things? You have a gut, sometimes a big one like Jim’s, but it’s hard as steel. So you’re not really fat I don’t think. Anyway, that night, I remember vividly he wore a red, totally unbroken-in baseball hat with some kind of army logo on the front. The hat was enormous. Just a giant, flat front and a flat, uncurved bill. Like he had intentionally not broken it in all. Lee Trevino–style. I could tell you an entire story about the size and crispness of that hat.

He said, “Sit down, John.” And then he said, “John, you’re going to have to fight sometimes. Now, don’t start fights. And once I teach you how to fight that doesn’t mean you should find stupid reasons to practice either. You know what I’m saying? Make up stuff like you had to get in this fight or that fight. And another thing. Once I teach you to fight, don’t get sucked into cleaning up other people’s messes either. Some guy you know cops a bunch of attitude to some other guy, then wants you to clean up his mess? No, that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m just saying there are times you’re going to need to know what to do. There are times when fighting is the
right
answer. And when you feel like that is happening, you just have to ask yourself one question. One simple question. Is now the time? And if the answer is yes, then do this. One: Commit yourself totally to the cause. Two: Aim your punches for the throat and the nose. And three: Finish the job and get out of there.”

That was the introduction. He eventually taught me actual moves. He trained me. So I can fight karate-style or barroom-style. It’s not perfect. And I’m not a black belt like Jim. But, boy, it comes in handy a lot in my business. Most people, even tough guys, don’t really know
how
to fight. But even if they do, I always go back to another thing Jim said: “Technique isn’t what it’s all about. It’s about commitment. Ask yourself that one question. Is now the time? If the answer is yes, then go for it completely. Completely. And you’ll win over ninety percent of the time. Maybe more.”

Another thing Jim taught me a couple years later was in his words, “The most important thing in life, really.” Jim had a billiards room set up in his house. Wood-paneled walls. Pictures of him, his family, his army buddies. Jim and I were shooting pool. He wore a light blue terry-cloth shirt which looked amazing against his black skin.

I said, “What, Jim? What’s the most important thing in life, really?”

He looked at me and he was very serious. His eyes betrayed intensity and experience and truth. “Loyalty. Loyalty is the
most
important thing in life. You know why? Because loyalty is hard. You’ll see what I’m talking about when you get older. Life becomes grayer and more nuanced and the decisions you make get more and more difficult. It gets harder and harder to remain loyal to people. Listen, John. You’re going to make a lot of friends in life. And you’ll meet men and women who are charming and fun as shit and hilarious. All that stuff is
easy
. And none of it means dick compared to loyalty. Your friend who always makes you laugh? Who’s always there for a good time? That’s all fine and good, until he fucks your girlfriend. See? See what I’m saying? John, listen to me. Do you see what I’m saying? He ain’t worth a shit compared to your friend who always has your back.”

Which brings me to yet another thing that Jim taught me. It was right around the time of the loyalty lesson and Jim said it was connected. This time we were on a canoe trip. His wife and daughters and his brother, Otis, were with us too. But in our canoe it was just me up front, his daughter Shawna in the middle, and him in the back, in charge.

We were just paddling along, gliding down the river, and he said, “John, listen. Turn around and look at me and listen.”

I turned around and stretched my neck to look around Shawna at Jim. Jim wore gray gym shorts, a necklace with a cross on it, and a bright orange life preserver. Also: Army-issue shades. These days he had the aforementioned gut, which, I’m proud to say, he had no shame about whatsoever. I was looking at him, waiting for him to speak. As he paddled along he was sweating profusely, which he also didn’t appear to give a shit about.

He said, “John. Don’t ever make your mind up about somebody until you see how they behave when the pressure’s on.”

Instinctively, I turned to look ahead and make sure we were still going in the right direction.

“Don’t worry, I got the canoe. John. John. John, turn back around, son. Turn back around now.”

I did.

He continued. “See, somebody might seem great, and then something happens that puts a little tension into the situation. Forces that person to make a
tough
decision. Will he or she keep their cool and do the right thing? Or will that person suddenly become
someone else
? A panicking, selfish fool? Now, it can work in the reverse too.”

Jim was working the paddle, sweating, steering us down the river as he spoke.

He said, “John. John. John, look at me. See, somebody might not impress you at all. You know, in everyday life. Might be a bump on a log. Or even a seemingly selfish cat who doesn’t seem to understand the bigger picture. But then . . . then something heats up. I’m talking about anything. A guy being a jerk at a ball game. A car accident. A boss who doesn’t treat his employees right. And that person who you thought was a nobody will stand up and handle it like a pro. Tell the guy at the ball game he needs to adjust his attitude. Get people to the hospital that need to be at the hospital. Tell the boss calmly that he can’t treat people like that. Conversely, somebody who you’d
think
would handle pressure in just the right way, sometimes won’t. Sometimes that person who fronts confidence, who fronts courage, will wilt like a flower that’s been picked out of the ground. You see what I’m saying? John, do you see what I’m saying? When pressure enters into a situation, when the element of tension enters, that’s when someone’s true personality emerges. Remember that. Now turn around and paddle, help me steer a little, son. We’re getting off course.”

He chuckled at his little joke.

Back to the Santa Monica Mountains. Back to the story. See, it’s times like these, when a case takes a turn, when I can feel the fire coming, that I think a lot about Jim. About Jim’s advice.

And it comforts me.

So, my hike. I had decided to go on a hike to mull things over. To plan my next move. Here’s what happened on that hike.