Ronnie said, “Good afternoon, sir. We’re from Hollywood Division Community Relations Office. Here’s my card.”
While Stan Hooper looked at the card, she said, “We have a complaint from residents at the other end of the alley that cars from your shop are often blocking the alley early in the morning, and apartment residents can’t get their cars out when they need to go to work. In fact, I noticed three cars parked there now with barely enough room for a VW Bug to squeeze by.”
Stan Hooper wiped the grease from his hands and said, “We’ll move them right away, Officer. I’m sorry. This place is too small for us but it’s all we can afford right now. I’m looking for more space. I try to keep the alley clear, but sometimes customers park there before I can tell them not to.”
“Business must be good,” Ronnie said, looking toward the open door leading into the main room, where body work was in progress on a white Lexus SUV that was taped and primered.
“Too good, but I shouldn’t complain,” he said, looking at the surfers, wondering why it took four cops to deliver the warning. “I don’t want no tickets. I won’t let it happen again.”
Jetsam said, “Nice rides you got in there.” And he strolled into the large open area, where the work was being done.
“He’s one of our officers,” Ronnie said to Stan Hooper. “He likes cars.”
Stan Hooper followed Jetsam into the work bay and said, “Two of those are for sale. My customer said I could sell them if someone wants to buy. I wouldn’t take no commission if an officer from Hollywood Station wanted one of them. The Mercedes is really nice and the price is pretty good.”
The surfer cop began writing down license numbers and VIN numbers, and Stan Hooper said, “Something wrong, Officer?”
Jetsam said, “We got a few reports about hot SUVs being repainted and having license plates switched. It’s just routine.”
“I never been in trouble in my life!” Stan Hooper said. “You can check. I got a reputation with insurance companies for doing honest work at an honest price, and we specialize in SUVs. We can even straighten bent frames if they’re not too bad. Insurance companies refer SUV owners to us all the time.”
At this point the other three cops knew that Jetsam was just trying to save face when he said, “I wasn’t thinking of you. I was thinking of the owners of the SUVs. Do you know them personally?”
“I know two of them from way back. I’ve worked on their cars for ten, fifteen years. The other two I don’t know. One’s an old guy, lives in Los Feliz district. The other’s a woman. Drop-dead gorgeous. Lives in Hollywood Hills somewheres. One of my guys drove her home.”
“Are any of your workers from the Middle East? Arabs maybe?”
“Arabs? No. Three’re Mexican, two’re Salvadoran. One’s an Okie. That’s about it.”
Jetsam looked sheepishly at the other cops, and Stan Hooper said, “The woman customer has a name that sounds like maybe an Arab name, but she’s American. Her SUV was full of old magazines and newspapers written in a Middle East language. They were laying around the shop last time I looked. I wish she’d come and pay me and pick up her car, but she hopes I can sell it for her.”
Stan Hooper handed the repair estimates to Ronnie, who glanced at them perfunctorily just to help Jetsam gracefully exit, and she saw the name Margot Aziz.
“Aziz,” she said. “Would this customer be related to Ali Aziz who owns a nightclub on Sunset?”
“You got me,” Stan Hooper said, shrugging.
Hollywood Nate suddenly got very interested. He looked over Ronnie’s shoulder and saw the familiar address on the work order, and he memorized the phone number.
“How much does the lady want for the SUV?” Nate asked casually.
“It’s three years old but has very low mileage. It had some body damage but nothing major. Somebody smacked into her in the parking lot at Farmers Market, she said. She’ll take twenty-eight.”
“Twenty-eight thousand,” Nate said. “That’s a little high, isn’t it?”
“Maybe she’ll come down,” Stan Hooper said.
“Keep the alley clear, please,” Ronnie said, turning toward the door.
When the four cops were back outside, Ronnie said, “A Mercedes SUV? And you recently bought a Mustang, I believe. Are you on the take, Nate?”
“Nice ride. I always admired these Mercedes SUVs.”
“See you guys,” Ronnie said. “I’ll leave you to run license and VIN numbers if you wanna stay on this case.”
When the surfer cops got back in Flotsam’s pickup to drive to Hollywood Station, Flotsam said, “Dude, I know Ronnie rocks your libido, but this kinda move ain’t gonna help you become a Crow.”
Jetsam said, “At least I got it right about the Arabic newspaper.”
When they arrived back at Hollywood South, Ronnie found Bix sitting at a desk with his BlackBerry in front of him, still making tedious phone calls. And Nate seemed in a hurry to make a few calls of his own, but not in the office, where the others were working. Nate walked outside and dialed the number on his cell, surprised at how cotton mouthed he was when she answered.
“Hello…Margot?” Nate said.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“It’s Nate Weiss. The police officer you met?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “How’d you get my number?”
“You won’t believe what a coincidence this is,” Nate said. “But today I had occasion to be at Stan’s Body Shop and I saw your SUV there and learned it’s for sale.”
“Yes, it is,” she said.
“I’d like to talk to you about it,” Nate said. “I might be interested.”
“I’m asking twenty-eight thousand.”
“Would you be willing to negotiate?”
After a few seconds she said, “I might.”
“Could I come by and talk to you about it?”
“When?”
“Oh, after I get off work this evening?”
“What time would that be?”
“I could get to your house as early as eight o’clock.”
“My au pair is not available tonight,” Margot said. “I’m afraid I’ll be occupied with my five-year-old son. It’d be better if you come tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night at eight?”
“That’ll be fine,” Margot Aziz said. “One question, Officer Weiss.”
“Call me Nate. What’s the question?”
“That’s my dinner hour and I’m not a bad cook. How about sharing some homemade pasta and mango chicken salad with me?”
When Hollywood Nate Weiss closed his cell phone, he actually felt giddy.
After Margot Aziz hung up her house phone, she used her pay-as-you-go cell phone and rang another go cell that she’d bought for a beautiful Amerasian topless dancer.
“It’s me,” Margot said when Jasmine answered. “I can’t wait any longer for the number one draft pick. Remember the other one I mentioned to you? He’s coming here tomorrow night. I’ll see how it goes. He might work out.”
“I’m getting sick and tired of this,” the dancer said. “If something don’t happen soon, I’m pulling outta the whole thing. It’s too nerve-racking.”
“Be patient, honey,” Margot said. “We’ve worked hard getting into the man’s head. We’ve got him primed. It’ll just be a little while longer.”
Since there wasn’t a full moon, the watch commander hoped for a quiet night. A full moon over Hollywood meant that anything could happen and usually did. Most of the things were not the sort that the police discussed with the business community at meetings of the Community Police Advisory Board.
Dan Applewhite was using up some of his accumulated overtime days, so young Gil Ponce had been assigned to ride with Gert Von Braun. They hadn’t been out on the streets more than thirty minutes after sunset when 6-X-66 got a call in Southeast Hollywood regarding a silent burglar alarm at a furniture store. When they arrived and did a routine check of windows at the store, Gert’s new eight-inch flashlight began blinking. She tapped it a few times and the light went out.