Milo said, “Drive a little and circle back, we’ll keep trying for a while. Once Tasha finds out Tony got sliced she’s a sure rabbit.”
His cell beeped. “What’s up, Sean?… Any resemblance?… Better than nothing, zip a copy over to Raul Biro… The smart one, worked with Petra… Yeah, him. Anything else? Good, get over to the house and be in charge while the techies do their thing… I don’t care about that, Sean, if any of those chrome mavens have a problem, tell ’em to call me. Now read everything you’ve got, go slow and enunciate. I got old ears.”
He listened for several minutes, worked his jaws, clicked off.
“Got a two-year-old DMV shot on Nicholas Heubel. Unfortunately, the photo shows him with a full gray beard and a shaved head and the address he listed is a P.O.B. in Brentwood that he only rented the month he applied for the lease on the house. He gave three references: Ansel D. Bright, San Francisco, Roland Korvutz, New York, and a Mel Dabson, here in L.A. ”
I said, “Establish a fake identify and back yourself up with your real name.”
“Clever boy, huh? The leasing company says Bright’s reference was ‘glowing.’ And the number they reached him at traces back to a prepaid cell. Korvutz never responded to the request. Unlike this Dabson character, who said he’d known Heubel for years, Nicky was upright, honest, and dependable. Two out of three plus twenty-four grand in cash was enough to close the deal.”
I said, “Where in L.A. does Dabson live?”
He checked his notes. “Altair Terrace, zip code looks like… not too far from here, in the Hollywood Hills.”
I said, “Wonder if you can see the sign from there.”
I made several passes up and down Highland, drove over to Santa Monica where transsexual and male hookers share the stroll with varying degrees of harmony.
Milo looked for Tasha while he worked the phone. Trying for background on Melvin then Mel Dabson.
No such individual.
I said, “Could be another alter ego.”
He ran AutoTracks and criminal searches using Melford, Melrose, Meldrim, and Melnick, sat back cursing.
A call to the state Franchise Tax Board on Dabson came up empty. But a brief chat with a helpful clerk at the county assessor brought a smile to his face.
“Trammel Dabson. Been paying the property tax on Altair Terrace for twenty-one months.”
A dive back into NCIC came up empty.
I said, “‘Trammel’ means ‘to hinder.’”
“Building word power every day.” He phoned Sean to check on the toss of the Brentwood house.
Empty, clean, no cars in the garage.
As he shut his eyes and leaned back, something caught my eye at the edge of a strip mall near Orange Drive.
“Rise and shine.” I pointed.
He jerked upright. “Pull over.”
CHAPTER 32
This time Tasha ran.
“Oh, great,” said Milo, as she ducked off Santa Monica onto Orange and veered into an alley.
He jumped out of the car and I circled the block to Mansfield. When I got to the mouth of the alley, Tasha was racing toward me, skinny-legged sprint easily outstripping Milo ’s openmouthed lumber.
Shoes in hand, panty hose shredding.
Milo ’s arms churned air. His face was crimson.
Tasha looked back at him, picked up speed. Saw me. Looked back again. Stumbled.
She went down hard on her back, purse landing just out of reach from a splayed arm.
As she got to her feet, Milo caught up, sucking air. He flipped her over, did a quick frisk and cuff, snarled a command not to move. Snagging the purse, he dumped the contents. Tissues, condoms, cosmetics, and a packet of Oreos landed on the asphalt. Then a clatter as a pearl-handled straight razor slid out.
Still panting, Milo stomped the weapon hard, ground pearl into dust. Hauled Tasha up hard.
“Idiot,” he said.
She grew limp in his grasp. Her face crumpled. Bits of gravel clung to her pancake veneer.
She began working up a smile.
Milo ’s snarl killed that. He put her in the back of the car, used the seat belt for further confinement.
This time he got in front.
Tasha jangled the cuffs. “You can take these off. I won’t run, sir. I promise, sir.”
“Open your mouth again” – pant pant – “and I’ll hogtie you.” To me: “ Hollywood station.”
“Sir, that’s not necessary!”
Milo strained so hard for oxygen that his bulk rose off the seat.
I drove.
Tasha said, “Least it’s a nice ride. Love these old Caddy-lackers. What was it, confiscated from some-”
“Shut the hell up.”
“Sorry. Sir.”
“Are you deaf?”
Five blocks from Wilcox Avenue: “Sir, don’t get mad but you’re still breathing hard. You sure you’re okay?”
“Why the hell did you rabbit?”
“I got scared.”
“Did we hurt you the first time?”
“No, but…”
“But what?”
Silence.
Milo said, “God forbid you should miss a trick. Idiot.”
“A girl’s got to make a living.”
“You’re not gonna be living if you don’t stop acting like a moron. Guess who got cut right after he left you?”
“Someone got cut?”
“You really are deaf.”
Long silence. “You’re not saying Tony?”
“You’re ready for Jeopardy!, genius.”
“Tony got cut? Omigod is he all right?”
Milo said, “Quite the opposite.”
“You mean-”
“We’re talking one trick that won’t be giving you any repeat business.”
“Omigod, ohsweetlord-”
“It happened right after he saw you,” said Milo. “We’re figuring someone was watching besides us.”
“Who who who?”
“What’s that, your owl imitation?”
“Who, sir? Please!”
“Think ugly suit and seamed stockings.”
“Him? Omigod no way!”
“You know something about him we don’t?”
“No, sir, no…”
“But?”
“I just never knew someone who… did that.”
“All those years on the street?” said Milo. “Spare me the innocence.”
“I seen fights, sir. Seen a man beat another man to death over a wrong look. Seen people all doped up, losing their lives ’cause a… seen plenty of badmen, sir, but no, not that, never something like that…”
“Not what?”
“Something… all controlled.”
“How do you know it was controlled?”
“Wannaboos,” said Tasha. “It’s all about the game. Tony didn’t do nothing to nobody, right?”
“Why not?”
“Tony was weak, there was no anger in him, just sadness.”
“You’re right about one thing,” said Milo. “This was real controlled.”
“I don’t wanna know, sir, please don’t tell me details.”
“Fine, but we like details. Let’s hear everything you know about Tweed.”
“Nothing else, I swear, nothing.”
Milo turned to me: “This is not going well, pard.”
Tasha said, “Just what I told you, sir, that’s everything I know!”
“How many parties have you been to with Tweed?”
“Just that one.”
“Why not more?”
Silence.
“What was the problem?” said Milo.
“It’s not a place I gone to again.”
“That’s no answer.”
Tasha said, “It’s – to be honest, no one invited me.”
When we got to the rear door at Hollywood station, she said, “You don’t need to lock me up, I promise.”
Milo whistled “ Dixie.”
“Sir, there’s a problem, a real problem, usually they only got one girl cell free ’cause all the troublemakers are boys and if the girl room’s all full, they put you in a boy room and it’s dangerous.”