The Gumshoe Diaries (13 page)

Turning my car around I whipped into The
Standard hotel just up the street from Carney’s. They offered valet
parking at an obscene price, but since I had no time to cruise
around for a bargain they had me over a barrel. Oh well that’s what
expense reports are for, right? I tossed my keys to the valet in
the red jacket and hot footed it across the street. I had to make
sure I entered the joint on the opposite end of the car from where
Officer Abernathy and his heavyset dinner companion sat. I wasn’t
sure what Ray Ray’s role was in all of this, but I knew he would
remember me from the old days and I wasn’t ready to tip my hand
just yet. I caught a break as a rowdy group of semi drunk
twenty-something’s pushed past me on their way up the street to The
Skybar. The timing couldn’t have been better and I rolled with the
rowdy group right up to the end of the yellow box car. When they
turned left to cross the street, I turned right and walked up the
steps at Carney’s ass end. Since the business side of the diner was
on the end there wasn’t a line of people to deal with. Side
stepping a young couple on their way out I strolled in and slowly
walked the length of the car. Ray Ray had his back to me but his
date was facing my way. He eyed me from over a chili dog, his eyes
narrowing slightly as he studied me. I nonchalantly pulled up a
chair at a table nearby and pretended to waive to someone near the
counter.

The heavyset fella looked over his shoulder
while he chewed in time to see a pretty young thing with a nose
ring waive back to me. Luckily for me Holly-weird has no shortage
of willing role players. Satisfied he turned his attention back his
meal and shrugged just a nanosecond before nose ring girl flipped
me off and picked up her order. I grabbed a menu from the top of
the napkin holder and covered my face while I strained to listen to
Ray Ray continue his rant. It was loud in the small boxcar but I
had cop ears and was able to filter out enough of the noise to pick
up a word or two.

“That’s right jackass, you fucked up! Look, I
get that English ain’t your mother tongue but your orders weren’t
exactly rocket science,
am I right?
”

The burly guy across the table just kept
chewing his food, but even from where I sat I could see there was
murder in his eyes. He glared at Ray Ray without blinking, not even
once. That’s not normal, and it should have been a warning to
Officer Dumbass but it wasn’t and he kept right on with his
rant.

“How did you get this gig anyway? Scare her,
rough her up a little if you need to, but we never said to kill the
little bitch did we?” Ray Ray waited impatiently for a reply, none
came.

“HEY, ABDUL, I’m talking to you
rag-head!”

I shifted in my seat and got ready to hit the
deck if the big fella made a sudden move for the piece that I knew
hung from a shoulder holster under his right arm. The busy room was
oblivious to what was unfolding, and even though the noise level
was high, there was an uncomfortable silence emanating from the
table six feet in front of me. Ray Ray’s shoulders squared and I
knew he sensed what I did. I cursed myself silently for leaving my
piece at home. All I had on me was a blackjack in my coat pocket
and a Swiss Army knife in my pants pocket. If lead started flying
the best I could do was dodge it or catch it. Abdul suddenly
reached into lap and retrieved a napkin to wipe his mouth clean.
Ray Ray’s chair squeaked as he shifted in his seat. He leaned
forward on his elbows and moved his right foot back to the chair’s
back legs, preparing to spring into action if provoked. Abdul set
his napkin down on the table in front of him, leaned back in his
chair and relaxed. He stared across the table for a moment before
speaking.

“She was exquisite, was she not?”

“Yeah, so what if she was? Is that your
explanation? You killed her because she was pretty?”

“No my friend, I killed her because she was a
whore.”

“Look Abdul, we aren’t friends, and this is
strictly business here, get it?”

“As you wish
my friend
, and my name is
Hassan, not Abdul. Please stop calling me that, it offends me
deeply.”

“Whatever HA-san, listen because you went all
Taliban on us the two little homos are dead and now I’ve gotta deal
with my brothers in blue as well as figure out how to tell our
Russian friend that his girlfriend is stone dead!”

“I am afraid it was unavoidable. The whore
would not cooperate and she was too ignorant to be frightened. She
insisted she knew nothing. She insisted that I was mistaken. She
became angry when I pressed further. She ordered me to leave and
threatened to call the authorities. She left me with few
alternatives.”

“Did you find the flash drive?”

“No, and as you know she did not survive the
interrogation.”

“I’m aware of that ass wipe. I just can’t
believe we got nothing outta her.”

“That is not necessarily true.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not here, we are not alone,” Hassan said
staring directly at me.

“
What?”

Ray Ray spun around in his chair in time to
see my backside fast walk toward the exit. I waited until I heard
the chairs fly across the room before I broke into a run and
sprinted out the door. I leaped passed the steps and hit the
pavement at a full gallop. I hadn’t moved that quickly since high
school football. By the time Ray Ray and Hassan made it out of
Carney’s I had disappeared into the craziness that was every
Hollywood night at the witching hour. I was pretty sure that he
hadn’t seen my face, but was also pretty sure Hassan could give a
fairly detailed description. Great! Now I was dodging the cops and
these guys. I walked past The Standard Hotel and ducked into The
Body Shop, one of LA’s better strip clubs. Better to lay low for an
hour or so before I got my car and beat it on home to think. A
couple of beers with some Jack back sounded good right now. Like I
said, I think better with booze.

****

(“One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever
do….”)…Three Dog Night…1971

Chapter Seventeen

UCLA, Saturday, Feb 21, 2009…around
midnight…

Ernie Namura was feeling pretty lucky
tonight, so lucky in fact that he could hardly suppress the shit
eating grin that wanted to spread across his face. This might be
the end to a long dry spell he hoped. He wasn’t exactly Don Juan,
but the Prof seemed to be responding to his subtle advances. At
least that was his story and he was sticking to it, and that was
what he’d share around the poker table with his frat brothers later
no matter how the night ended. Besides, you never know, maybe she
really was warm for his form, it could happen. Glancing at his
Timex he checked the time again. It was ten minutes later than the
last time he had checked. Dr. Looney,
Judy
, was late. She
had forgotten some notes she said and had run home to pick them up.
She said she’d be right back, that was three hours ago? Maybe he’d
come on too strong too quickly? That was probably an
understatement, given the condition his condition was in (long dry
spell). In any event he decided to give her another half hour
before he gave up the ghost and resolved to take care of his own
business later.

The horn dog lab tech stepped over to the SEM
and removed the samples that Dr. Looney had been evaluating. They
didn’t look very sexy, just a few blue threads with various
contaminants associated with wherever they had come from. You never
know what sort of
smegma, sap,
or
spooge
clothing
gets dragged over, under, or through in the course of a day. Ernie
decided not to take any chances and transferred the glass slide to
an airtight container then set it on the lab bench for Judy to
collect when she returned, if she returned that is. That’s when he
remembered that she had taken the test results with her when she
left, which meant she was likely in analysis mode by now, which
also meant she wouldn’t be back anytime soon. Ernie sighed audibly,
realizing that he had been had. Typical he thought,
women
,
can’t live with
em
, can’t shoot
em
!

“
Why am I always getting played,”
he
muttered, wondering aloud?

No use wasting time pondering that question,
it was as old as the ages and unanswerable. Might as well ask why
ducks quack,
why
, because they’re ducks stupid! Ernie
grabbed a cold slice from the pizza box and fished in his pocket
for some change for the vending machine in the hall. He and Judy
had finished the beer hours ago and he needed something to wash
down the meat lover’s special with anchovies. It was going to be a
Mountain Dew night given all the time he wasted on zooming Dr.
Feel-good,
oh joy!
Reaching the brightly colored soda
dispenser he stuffed three quarters into the coin slot and punched
the oversized back lit green, yellow, and red button. He listened
as the aluminum can ran down the track to the bottom of the machine
and landed with a loud thud. It was the last sound he ever heard as
the business end of a 38 ounce framing hammer connected with soft
fissure that separated his skull into left and right hemispheres.
His head imploded like a smashed pumpkin and Ernie Namura was dead
before he hit the ground. The death process began quickly, his
bowels releasing, his blood cooling and coagulating, no longer
running through his veins and arteries, while his eyes stared
lifelessly at the baseboard behind the vending machine.

--

UCLA murder, postscript…:

--

The lab doors shut softly behind me as I
silently exited the building with the threads Judy Looney had
carelessly left behind. The cops were already on the way, called
from Ernie’s own cell phone, a little stroke of genius that would
send them down a few blind alleys. The CSI team wouldn’t be far
behind, but they would find nothing useful, they never do. Another
work of art if you ask me. Satisfying this blood lust requires
perfection; it is something that I deliver routinely. Too bad Dr.
Looney was a no show; I had something special in mind for her
tonight. Pity that one cannot plan for every contingency, the world
is rife with random elements. Not to worry though, her time was
coming soon. I hope she isn’t wasting her last moments with that
rube of a private eye, but I suspect she is. Oh well, no accounting
for taste. Whitey’s time is coming as well.

Don’t rush, savor every delicious moment.
They are an amusing pair are they not? I think so. I am curious
what they will do with what they know so far, or what they think
they know. The threads will only lead them away from the truth they
seek. Ah but Whitey is smarter than he looks; he’ll figure that
out, but will it be in time? I haven’t decided yet. This is a new
experience, the hunter being hunted, I like it.

****

(“Nobody told me there’d be days like these….”)…John
Lennon…1984

Chapter Eighteen

Hollenbeck Station, Los Angeles…Monday, Feb
23, 2009…8am

You didn’t have to be a fly on the wall to
pick up what Oscar Celaya was laying down. The volatile lieutenant
was hopping mad and everyone within earshot was getting a crash
course in
“sailor-speak 101.”
It was bad enough that Dr.
Looney had given these nimrods the slip, how hard could it be to
keep an eye on a five foot nothing skirt anyway he wondered? But
the fact that she had done it twice, once coming and once going.
TWICE,
what the hell?
These two were supposed to
be professionals,
LA’s finest for Christ’s sake
,
incredible!

“You know what Iggie, I don’t care. Let’s not
waste any more time playing the blame game, you’re supposed to be a
team, you’re BOTH to blame,” Oscar bellowed giving Detective 1st
grade Bob Ingram (Iggie) and his trainee partner Rebecca Tran a
look that would put frost on a hot skillet.

Iggie was accustomed to the Lieutenant’s
short fuse but this was young Rebecca’s first public ass-chewing
and she didn’t like it, although she was more mad than scared.
Failure in her Vietnamese culture was unacceptable and she was
pissed at Iggie for putting her in this situation with his laid
back, what’s your hurry attitude. She’d wanted to tail Dr. Looney
closer, get out of the car and walk the neighborhood, maybe peek in
some windows or something, anything besides staying cooped up in
that musty old Ford with Iggie’s constant reminiscing and
flatulence, gross! Now wasn’t the right time, but as soon as she
made up for this setback, and she would, make no mistake about
that, she was going to see if she could get reassigned to a less
seasoned training officer. Apparently seasoned at this precinct
meant lazy and that was 180 degrees from this Asian newbie. She
worked hard to get her gold shield and she wasn’t about to risk
losing it by tying herself to a gold brick like Iggie Ingram. What
kind of name is Iggie anyways? Sounds like a cartoon character. The
man might just as well call himself Yogi or Boo Boo! Rebecca jumped
suddenly, startled by a loud finger snap and disgruntled growl.

“Am I boring you Detective Tran,” asked Lt.
Celaya sarcastically?

“
Ah
, no sir, I’m sorry, I was,
um
, just thinking about what you were saying,” Becca replied
too quickly.

“Really, I’m intrigued, what exactly did you
get from everything I said here?”

Becca felt like a six year-old caught in a
white lie. She shuffled uncomfortably and stared at her feet,
racking her brain for something to wax philosophical on, she had
nothing.

“Well, I know that we,
um
…”

“Spare me Tran; just get your tail on outta
here. Why don’t you and Iggie there hot foot it over to UCLA and
check out the city’s latest homicide. If my hunch is right you’ll
discover that your ineptitude cost the vic his life. Rumor has it
Judy Looney was the last person to see him alive,” scolded Lt.
Celaya, dismissing the two detectives with a flippant waive of his
hand. Rebecca started to say something but Iggie grabbed her by the
arm and led her out of the boss’s office.