And while she was doing that, Hollywood Nate was apprising the acting watch commander, Sergeant Murillo, on what they’d learned from Naomi Teller. His supervisor was not just interested but very impressed.
When Nate was finished, Sergeant Murillo said, “Damn, I think you’ve nailed it. Clark Jones, or whatever he’s called, has gotta be the rapist too.”
“Dana nailed it,” Hollywood Nate said. “A lotta coppers woulda just taken the original report for the busted window and turned it in and been done with it. Not her. She’s gonna be one hell of a sergeant.”
“No doubt about that,” Sergeant Murillo said. “And though we’re one day early for our full moon over Hollywood, this piece of police work deserves a large pizza with the works for you two.”
“Which you’ll help us eat,” Nate said.
“Of course,” said Sergeant Murillo. “And I think I’ll call Miriam in to join us at the feast.”
“If you’re calling in Sergeant Hermann, don’t you think you better get the super-large-size pizza?” Hollywood Nate said.
When Nate got back to the report room, Dana Vaughn was still writing. He watched her for a moment. When she stopped writing and glanced up at him, he said, “When your promotion and transfer goes through, I hope you’ll come back here as our midwatch supervisor after you finish your probation.”
“You gonna miss me that much?” Dana said.
Hollywood Nate said, “You’re not a sixty-nine-year-old guy with too much gut and a crew cut right out of an old black-and-white movie, but by God, there’s something about you that reminds me of the Oracle.”
“Why, honey,” said Dana Vaughn, “that’s just about the nicest thing anyone around here’s ever said to me.”
After paying the check, Dewey said, “Will you two excuse me? Cocktails always excite my bladder.”
“We don’t need the details,” Eunice said. “Just go.”
When Dewey was gone, Eunice said to Malcolm, “Can you give me your cell number, Clark? I’ll be needing it when we have to set up jobs for you.”
“Sure,” Malcolm said.
Eunice smiled at Malcolm when she punched his number into her own cell phone. He didn’t like the way she was smiling at him and wished his boss would hurry back.
The moment he was alone in the restroom, Dewey pulled his cell from his pocket and speed-dialed. After one ring, he heard Tristan say, “Yeah.”
“Call in exactly ten minutes,” he said.
“Okay,” Tristan said and clicked off.
Dewey’s bowels suddenly rumbled and he ran inside a toilet stall just in time.
Eight minutes later, after Eunice had visited the restroom, she and Malcolm and Dewey were in the parking lot behind the restaurant, having said their good-byes. Dewey paid for his car and Malcolm’s, and just as they were ready to go, Eunice, who’d drunk two cocktails more than usual, said, “Clark, don’t go home yet. Let’s stop and get a nightcap. Have you ever been to the Formosa Café? No, of course you haven’t. It’s another old Hollywood joint on Santa Monica that Bernie likes because Bogie drank there.”
She saw the young man’s blank expression and said, “Humphrey Bogart? Ever heard of him?”
“No,” Malcolm said.
“Damn, you’re young!” Eunice said.
Dewey looked at his watch. Less than two minutes! The kid had to be gone when his cell rang, or the whole gag could fail! “Ethel,” he said, “this young man can’t have a nightcap. He’s not old enough to drink in bars, so why don’t we let him go.”
When she turned to face him, Dewey could see she was hammered, and only minutes away from belligerence. If she turned mean, it was all over. As he was trying to decide how to handle her, the kid saved him.
“Thanks, but I should go home now,” Malcolm said. “I had a real nice time, but I still gotta get up early for my job at the warehouse.” Then he added, “Which I hope I can quit real soon.”
“Soon,” Dewey said. “We’ll start working in earnest late tomorrow afternoon. Keep your cell on and I’ll call around noon.”
“Good night, Mr. Graham,” Malcolm said, walking to his car. “Good night, Ethel.”
“Night,” Eunice said and then turned to Dewey and said, “You can’t let someone have a nice evening out, can you, Mr. Graham?”
He didn’t need this shit, not now. He looked at his watch and held open the passenger door for her, saying as soothingly as he could without condescension, “Eunice, we had a very nice evening. The boy had to go home and -”
His cell chirped, and she heard it while she was lighting a cigarette and shooting a boozy glare at him.
He opened the cell and said, “Bernie Graham speaking.”
He heard Tristan say, “Okay, I’ll jist keep this goin’ till you say good-bye.”
Then Dewey said for effect, “Oh, shit! How did that happen?” After a long pause, he said, “Oh, Christ, I can’t come now, and I don’t have anybody else to send!” He paused again and said, “Okay, okay, how long will he wait?” After another pause he said, “I’ll deal with it somehow.”
When he clicked off, Eunice said, “Now what the hell’s the problem?”
“That was our runner Creole. He works with Jerzy and they’re stuck downtown at the interchange with a flat tire and no spare. I was depending on them to deliver three laptops and two small plasmas to a regular customer of ours named Hatch. You’ve heard me talk about him.”
“They’ll have to do it tomorrow,” Eunice said.
“He said Hatch wants the merchandise by ten o’clock tonight or he’s walking away from the deal. And he owes us three grand in addition to this delivery.”
“What, you’re giving easy terms to thieves now, Dewey? How the hell is it that he already owes us three grand?”
“It wasn’t me. Creole did it last Thursday without my approval when he made another delivery to Hatch. I knew you’d get mad, so I didn’t tell you. Anyway, Hatch is waiting in north Hollywood in Von’s parking lot with almost five thousand dollars for us. That’s if we make tonight’s delivery by ten o’clock.”
As drunk as she was, it made her stop and think, as Dewey had hoped it would. He knew he could always depend on her avarice.
She said, “And I suppose the goods are in the storage room in Reseda.”
“Of course,” he said, “and there’s just barely enough time to pick up the stuff and deliver it to Hatch. I’m just saying, that’s how it is.”
She smoked and thought about it and said, “Okay, let’s go. I mighta known I could never get a nice evening out without some major shit going down all wrong.”
“It wasn’t my fault, Eunice,” Dewey said.
“Just drive to Reseda, for chrissake,” Eunice said, taking a big drag from the cigarette and blowing it at the windshield. “And hurry it up, Dewey, or we’ll lose it all and that’ll make everything perfect. A perfectly fucked-up evening.”
NINETEEN
THE STORAGE FACILITY was almost without customers by the time Dewey and Eunice arrived at 8:45 P.M. The light was on in the office, and the employee on duty at that time of night was an elderly ex-employee of a local alarm company who’d been pensioned off and was now supplementing his income. Dewey had met him on a few occasions but couldn’t remember his name. When Dewey stopped at the gate and punched in his code, the man looked out and buzzed open the car gate. Dewey drove in and stopped at the office, leaving Eunice in the car while he went inside to check in.
The night man had more hair than Dewey did, but it was chalk-white. His face was splotchy with liver spots, and the skin on his hands was translucent. He had a small TV on the desk and was watching Dodgers baseball.