Hollywood Assassin (7 page)

Pearl stood and spoke up again, “I’ve got a hundred dollar bill, ladies. All I need is ten minutes and some information.”

Mo was off the bed faster than a cat under a rocking chair. “Hundred bucks get you five minutes. That’s all.” She motioned to Hoover. “Let her go and we’ll have a little chit chat.”

A protest followed, Hoover probably thinking that she’d just missed out on the easiest payday of her life. It was too late.

Natalie already had the door open. “Have a great evening, pet. Sorry ‘bout getting you all into a paddy over nuthin’.”

The young prostitute turned back to Pearl before she left. “Hundred bucks—that booshit.” She cut her eyes back to Natalie and ran a tongue over her ruby lips. “I can make that in less than five minutes.”

“Fraid the poor girl’s full of the malarkey,” Natalie said after she was gone.

Mo sat down and stuffed the bill into her bra. Her voice was softer than before. “Hoover’s a good kid with a bad attitude. But she’s right about the five minutes. The girl can suck the chrome off a Buick.”

Pearl sat back down. His chair came closer to the bed. “We just need a little information, Mo.”

“You pay, I talk.”

It was a 360 attitude shift. Maybe the anger had been an act for the younger prostitute.

I handed Mo the photograph of our victim while Pearl explained why we were there. “We know you work for Maurice Simpson. The girl’s name was Cassie Reynolds. She also worked for him.” The heavyset prostitute studied the photo then handed it back to me. Pearl continued, “We have reason to believe that Cassie was killed because of information she had about the murder of her father.”

“Heard it was a cop that blew her away.”

“The investigation’s ongoing. We need to know if Cassie ever confided in you or any of the girls she worked with, maybe told them what she knew about her father’s death?”

Mo picked at a red nail, glanced at her watch. “Your five minutes is up. Don’t know nuthin’ bout her.”

Pearl tossed two twenties on the bed. “Five more minutes. Save yourself a long night in a holding cell.”

Mo wadded up the bills. “Cassie was hanging with some guy named Roger. Don’t know his last name, but Maurice didn’t like him.”

“You think Maurice had something to do with Cassie’s death?” I asked.

The prostitute shook her head. “Maurice take care of business, but he ain’t no killer.”

“Where can we find Maurice?” Pearl asked. “We need to ask him a couple of questions.”

“Maurice around, but he finds you if he want somethin’.” Mo inhaled, Spandex straining. “But I can guarantee he don’t want nuthin’ from you two.”

“What can you tell us about Roger?” I asked.

“Cassie wanted into the Hollywood scene. Thought Roger could help her get into the movies.”

“Did Roger have connections to the movie industry?”

Mo shrugged. “He was in one of them soap operas. Cassie wanted him to get her a part.”

Natalie chimed in, “Was it that one about the girl who always wants to drop the doctors’ knickers? I like that episode where they’re in the operatin’ room after hours and…”

“Natalie.” I gave her a look. She made a zipping motion on her lips.

“I think it’s on channel three,” Mo said. “
Beautiful Lies
or some shit like that. Roger had a small part off and on. Saw it once. He sucked.”

“Did he get Cassie a part in the show?” Pearl asked.

“Roger said he would only get Cassie a part if she agreed to be in a movie he was producing over in the valley.”

“They make X-rated films in the San Fernando Valley,” Pearl said. “Is that what you’re talking about?”

Mo gave a little snort, her tone grew impatient. “Listen, Cassie thought Roger might be her ticket to a new life by getting her into the movies. As it turned out, he had only a certain kind of movie in mind for her.”

“Do you think Roger had something to do with Cassie’s murder?” I asked.

The prostitute’s heavy shoulders shrugged. “All I know is that if they gave out an Oscar for the biggest dick in Hollywood, Roger would win. And, believe me, I seen a lot of dicks.”

***

Back on the street, Pearl told us he would see if he could rundown the cast of
Beautiful Lies...
try to get a lead on Roger. Natalie offered to track down Maurice Simpson. We tried to dissuade her, but my snoop sister was insistent.

I dropped Natalie at home after giving her a lecture about the Hollywood street scene and being careful. As she opened the car door I said, “What do you think Clyde will say when he sees your outfit?”

“Clyde goes to bed at 8:30, but I might just wake him up and play a round of gobble the geezer.”

“You’re going to give Clyde a stroke one of these days.”

Natalie tapped a finger to her temple as she closed the door. “Life insurance is a wonderful thing.”

When I got home it was a glass of wine for me and
The Dog Whisperer
for Bernie. The episode where Cesar Millan gets bit by a little mutt is Bernie’s favorite. As the show was ending, my phone rang. It was the night watch commander, Sam Ballick.

“Kate, we’ve got a customer down here who says you sent him our way.” I was drawing a blank when Ballick said, “The guy says he spent the evening starring on LAPD’s sex cam.”

I laughed, said to Ballick, “Send him home to his wife. Tell him he has to let her know what happened because we’ll be sending her the video.”

Before we called it a night I said to Bernie, “Ever wonder what kind of trouble guys would get into if they didn’t have a penis?”

I got the silent treatment. I guess there are some things guys just won’t talk about.

Chapter Nine

“Hi, my name is Roger.” The man pulled up a chair and sat down at my table. Could this be the part-time soap star—the Roger who was involved with Cassie Reynolds?

A second glance told me this Roger was no actor. He was a drink-drooler, a beanpole who looked to be about thirty-five with greasy hair and bad teeth. Got Meth?

After a day of training that ended at the shooting range, I’d left Bernie at home and gone to Club SUK to watch The Divas. Now there was Roger trying to make butthole-brown bloodshot eyes look sexy.

“So what’s your name?” Roger asked.

Clever. Why me? There were other single women in the club. I was enjoying The Divas. They were a big hit with the crowd. A flash of inspiration. Natalie would be proud.

“Bob Fredericks,” I said, motioning to the stage. I tried to make my voice sound like Barry White. “Got a cold. Can’t perform tonight.”

A testosterone-neuron vapor lock left Roger speechless. His mouth fell open long enough to catch a fly. Maybe he was a frog and…no way.

Roger finally vibrated his vocal cords, “Damn, you’re a fine looking woman.” His eyes lingered on my white open collar blouse. You’d think I was dressed like Natalie.

Roger fished a baggie of white powder from his pocket and placed it on the table. At least it wasn’t a condom. He picked up the baggie and dangled it in front of me.

“I don’t think you’re a guy, but I do think you’re in need of a good time.”

I rechanneled Barry White, “Believe me. I’m all makeup and hair. Get lost.”

Roger put the baggie away and smiled. The teeth were worse than my initial impression, a bad Jack-O-Lantern carving—typical tweaker dentition.

“I’ll get us a room. We can party all night.”

Now I had two problems. I was getting aggravated and my throat was hurting from doing the Walrus of Love growl.

“Sorry,” I barked. “I don’t believe in cross-species dating. Do the world a favor, take your dumb ass back to Big Ugly, Mars where you were born.” Ouch! I sipped water. I mean, I took a gulp. Man-talk ain’t easy.

“Fuck you,” Roger snapped. His face turned Martian red.

Guess I’d hit a nerve. Maybe a more cerebral approach was in order.

“Since I’m a man,” I woofed, “that wouldn’t be possible, at least not in the conventional sense.” I smiled in a manly way. “Then again, maybe you’re gay.”

“I’m not a queer and you’re not a guy.” Roger was a persistent, if bigoted, asshole. He went on, “Let’s get a room. You can show me your package, if you’ve got one. If you’re a guy we can make a call, get some chicks. Party.”

I started to flip out my badge, ending the charade. I hesitated. Maybe Roger did deserve a package.

“Okay, meet me in the parking lot in ten,” I said.

A snaggletooth grin followed. “Don’t be late or I’ll come looking for you.”

I dialed my phone while The Divas ended the performance by showcasing their ample derrieres and singing “Bootylicious.” There were big cheers—a standing ovation.

“Thanks, John, I appreciate it,” I said, ending my conversation as Robin and Clark stopped by my table.

Wigs came off. Martinis were ordered all around. Even in their evening attire and theatrical makeup, Robin and his boyfriend made a handsome couple. Clark’s blue eyes and brown skin were striking against his white sequined evening gown. He’d also bronzed his skin. Why didn’t I bronze? Then remembered, I’m broke.

“No Bernie tonight?” Robin asked.

“Home dreaming about chasing border collies.”

“Bet it’s a doggie-style dream,” Clark said.

I smiled, then turned back to Robin. “I talked to Mom yesterday. I’m having lunch with her and Sis day after tomorrow.”

“Lord help you.”

“I just love a good family drama,” Clark offered.

There was a commotion near the stage. A muscular young man with a shaved head, except for a long black ponytail, made an entrance. A heavyset guy wearing a robe then walked in, Mr. Ponytail acting as his body guard.

“Bon Bon,” Clark said. He rushed over to the celeb who looked like he’d just walked out of the shower and thrown on a robe. He was probably too big for regular clothes.

Other patrons moved his way, creating a mini-stampede to meet Wolf Donovan’s son. As far as I knew, Bon Bon was famous for appearing on a reality TV show. His contribution—sitting around and eating the other contestants’ food.

“Hope I can deal with this,” Robin said to me. “The premiere of
Tidal Wave
is tomorrow night. We’re still on for the after-party.”

“Looks like Clark’s leading the parade.” An entourage had formed. The Bon Bon line snaked through the club.

“He gets a little star struck. I just hope I can keep him out of The Cavern.”

“Cavern?”

“Donovan’s estate has a swimming pool that runs underground—lots of music, dancing, and naked bodies writhing around.” A thin smile. “Just your typical backyard barbeque.”

I was warning Robin about keeping Clark away from drugs when two uniforms entered the nightclub. I excused myself and met up with them at the club’s entrance.

After a few moments I returned to the table and told Robin, “This should be interesting.”

“What’s going on?”

“Just delivering a package to a guy named Roger.”

We sipped our drinks and chatted for a few minutes until the officers reentered the club with their suspect in handcuffs. I walked over and inspected the package that the younger of the two cops held up.

“Test was positive for meth,” the officer said.

Roger gave me his best angry, sultry look.

I couldn’t resist rubbing it in. “In case you get lonely tonight, ask if you can room with a Mr. Wiener. If you get lucky maybe he’ll show you
his
package.”

I returned to my table and finished my drink. After more chit-chat I told Robin I had to call it a night. As I was leaving, he mentioned that Sara Johnson would be calling me about her mystery dating event.

“Maybe I’ll meet another guy named Roger,” I said.

I drove home and parked in front of the closed appliance store. Natalie waved to me from inside. She was with her elderly husband, Clyde. As I walked toward the store,

Natalie opened the door, greeting me, “Hey sweet pea.”

Clyde was on a ladder tying balloons to a post. He said, “Big sale starts tomorrow. Everything is twenty percent off. Let me know if you need a new washer.”

He teetered, reminding me of a chubby teddy bear up a tree.

Natalie steadied the ladder. “Always the salesman. How was your evening?” Before I could tell her about Roger, she added, “I’ve been meaning to ask you if I could go on one of them follow-arounds with you.”

“Come again?”

“You know, follow you around at work. I’m thinkin' I might wanna do some real detective work someday. Need to get more of a feel for it. See if I’ve got enough snoop in me.”

“I don’t do that sort of thing, but you can call the station. They’ve got a ride-a-long program. You could go with a uniformed officer for a shift.”

“That’s it, a ride-a-long.” Natalie leaned over and whispered, “Do you think you could recommend an officer that looks like Johnny Depp?”

“Sure.” I lied. Most of the cops I knew looked more like Charlie. “Why don’t you come up for a nightcap? I’ve got a little story for you.”

Natalie turned to Clyde. “Back in a few, sweetie.”

“But we’ve got the sale tomorrow,” Clyde protested, again teetering.

Natalie held his ladder a moment longer. “Keep it up, Clyde, and you’ll be selling Maytag’s to Saint Peter.”

Up in my apartment, Natalie and I shared a glass of riesling while I told her about my evening.

“Wish I was there.” Natalie lowered her tone. “Coulda used me King Henry voice and convinced Roger I was your partner.”

“I seriously doubt you could convince anyone you’re a guy.” My phone rang. It was Pearl Kramer.

“Kate, I’ve located our soap star. His name is Roger Diamond. He’s a small time porn producer who filled in on
Beautiful Lies
a couple of times. Got an address and phone number.”

Pearl gave me the number. I told him I’d call him back. A couple of minutes later, I had Roger Diamond on the line.

“We’re looking into the death of a woman you knew named Cassie Reynolds, Mr. Diamond. I’d like to come by and ask you a few questions.” I waited, expecting he wouldn’t cooperate.

“I…I think that’s a good…idea. There’s…s…some things…I need to ttt…talk about…”

“Mr. Diamond, is everything okay? I can come over this evening if you’d like.”

When he came back on the line his voice was heavy, barely audible. “Tomorrow night…best…come round…tt…ten.” The line clicked dead.

I called Pearl back, told him Diamond sounded drunk, but that he’d agreed to meet with us the following night. When I hung up, Natalie was clapping her hands.

“Hooray, more snoop work. Do you think I should wear a trench coat and bring Clyde’s pistol?”

“No guns, Natalie. Promise me.”

“Oh, all right. But, I do have a coat I think would be just the ticket.”

I had a vision of her dressed like Sherlock Holmes.

Natalie made a slicing motion with her hand. “Maybe I should bring a knife. I’m pretty good with a knife. I once got a little tiddly and cut a trog named Johnny Utley’s ball bag after he tried to get me to play burp the worm, but…”

“Natalie, no guns, no knives, and no slicing up anyone’s testicles!”

I made her do a pinky swear before we said goodnight.

Roger Diamond was on my mind as Bernie and I got ready for bed. He’d been drunk, but his voice also had another quality. I’ve encountered it before when suspects are desperate and running from something or someone.