He put in the DVD and I sat back on the bed. A red FBI warning came up, then the 2257 information.
This motion picture “NAUGHTY TEENS 17” was produced on July 12th 2006. The records required by U.S.C. Sec 2257 and 28 C.R.F. Part 25 for this motion picture and on any related materials to which this notice is affixed are kept at the offices of the manufacturer, PDM Productions, located at 13505 Cielo Street, Chatsworth CA 91311 by the custodian of records, B. Handerlan. All persons who appear in this video are over 18 years of age. For adult viewing only. Exercise your rights as an adult American citizen and enjoy all of the fine XXX videos available from PDM Productions.
There was no way to pause it, since there was no remote, but Malloy didn’t seem to need to. He just wrote the address down. While he was writing, the menu came up. A large still of a brunette who wasn’t Lia, looking more bewildered than sexy, filled the right side of the screen. The title was beneath her and a large square to the left framed a repeating trailer cobbled together from clips from the various scenes. One of the scenes was Lia with Jesse. Just seeing him made me feel physically sick. Malloy stood and hit stop. The screen went gray, but it didn’t make me feel better.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’ll be better when he’s dead,” I replied.
22.
The PDM offices were just what I had been expecting. I’d never been there but I might as well have. The Valley was riddled with hundreds of places exactly like this. A warren of mildewy, over-airconditioned rooms up front and a huge hollow warehouse space in the back. A couple of indentured editors lurking lemur-eyed and unshaven in rooms lit only by images of grinding flesh. Mexican and Salvadoran ladies slipping slick printed covers into thousands of plastic DVD clamshells. Fulfillment girls and a forklift driver and some poor sod on QC, watching hour after mindless hour of smut in a never-ending hunt for digital glitches. A busy little beehive all working tirelessly, day in and day out, so that you can look at naughty movies in the comfort of your own home.
The ‘B’ in B. Handerlan turned out to stand for Barbara. She was blonde, plain and mushroom pale with the same expression of weary, put-upon exasperation worn by employees at the DMV. She acted as though the enormous effort involved in getting up out of her spavined chair and walking over to the file cabinet to find the records Malloy had requested was almost more than she could bear.
“We appreciate your assistance, Ms. Handerlan,” Malloy told her.
“No problem,” she said, making it clear that it was, in fact, a major problem. “What was the title again?”
“Naughty Teens,” Malloy replied. “Seventeen.”
“Right,” the woman said.
While she searched noisily through the files, I let my eyes wander over her desk. She had a photo of two chubby boys in a frame that said “Mommy’s Angels.” A few more years and they’d be sneaking peeks at Naughty Teens themselves.
“Okay,” she said. “Naughty Teens 17.”
Malloy met her halfway and snatched the slim file from her hand.
“Thanks,” he said, laying the file open on the desk and thumbing efficiently through the contents.
In seconds he had sorted through the model releases and found one for “Kimberly.” The model release and attached drivers license scan said her name was not Kimberly or Lia, but Amanda Rose Temmens, age 19.
Malloy jotted down the number on the license and was about to snap the file shut when he paused. He frowned slightly and jotted something else down.
The woman had just made it back to the desk and was about to lower herself back down into her chair.
“Thank you, Ms. Handerlan,” he said again. “One other thing.”
Ms. Handerlan halted her descent toward the chair, scowling at the prospect of one more thing.
“What?” she asked.
“Do you have contact information for the person who actually shot this video?” Malloy asked.
“What?” she said again. “You mean the director?”
“Yes,” Malloy said.
“Well...” she replied. “It should be on the release.”
“I saw that,” Malloy said. “But the address is a just a PO box. Don’t you have another address or maybe a phone number?”
“If we did,” Ms. Handerlan said, “it would be on the release.”
“Well,” Malloy said. “What if something goes wrong with the film and you need to contact someone?”
She shrugged. “If it’s not on the release, I can’t help you. You’ll have to talk to the owner.”
“Okay,” Malloy said. “Can I talk to the owner now?”
“He’s not here,” she said. “He’s out of town.”
Malloy seemed to realize that he had gotten all he was going to get out of her.
“Right,” he said. “Thank you for your assistance.”
The woman did not reply. Malloy shot me a look and gestured toward the door with his chin.
In the parking lot PDM shared with a chrome plating facility, a weight loss supplement company and a mysterious business whose sign read “J-Toc Fabrication,” Malloy lit a cigarette and spoke low.
“Got a license on Jesse Black,” he said.
Why hadn’t I thought of that? Of course Jesse’s release would have to be there too. Now that we had his real name and address, it would be a cinch to find him. The thought of it made me feel giddy—and a little nauseous.
“So now what?” I asked.
“I want to see what I can dig up on Amanda Rose Temmens,” Malloy said. “I’ve got an old friend on the job who owes me, but you can’t come. You’ll need to stay at the motel.”
I nodded, not really listening. I was still thinking about Jesse.
23.
I must have fallen asleep in the dim, musty cave of our room at the Palmview because it seemed like I’d only closed my eyes for a minute and Malloy was back. He brought Thai food, water and cigarettes.
“So?” I said. “Tell me.”
“Eat first,” Malloy said, offering me a takeout box and a plastic fork. “You haven’t eaten all day.”
I had been feeling kind of hungry right before the whole crazy shootout business and when I opened the little white box the fragrant, spicy steam brought it back in spades. I didn’t even know what I was eating, but I wolfed it down.
Malloy ate too, slow and silent. His shoulders were hunched, eyes narrow and distant, looking at nothing while he chewed. I thought maybe there was something on his mind, something that wouldn’t leave him alone, but it was so damn hard to tell with him.
“Well,” I finally said. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Okay,” he said, setting down his paper box of noodles and wiping his lips with a crumpled napkin. “For starters, the license for Lia is phony. Amanda Rose Temmens died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome at the age of five months.”
“No shit,” I said. “So does this mean we can blow the whistle on the guys who made the video?”
“We could,” Malloy said. “But I’m guessing the boss of this racket is way too sheltered to get popped. PDM would go down for distributing, maybe take a fall guy or two with ’em, but the D.A. would never get close to the boss.”
“Okay,” I said. “What else?”
“Well, my buddy who ran the license recognized the photo of Lia.” Malloy said. “Apparently a Jane Doe came in after getting hit by a city bus on Vanowen and Vesper. The driver and several witnesses claim that she threw herself in front of the bus deliberately.”