“Motherfucker comes in with some other motherfuckers, everything’s cool. Then motherfucker thinks he’s gonna get up and dance with the band. I tell him he ain’t, he smiles and gets off the stage, like he’s cool.”
Bowland sighed. “I’m walking him away from the stage, he starts running his mouth. But being cool, he knows I’m just doing my job, he’s been there, dude. I’m like you been there? You’re a toon, man, know whum saying?”
“He is a little guy, Bassett-can I call you Bassett?”
“Bass. Like the ale.” Bowland rubbed a thumb and forefinger together. “You do like this he could disappear, motherfucking toon.”
“So he’s cooperating with you, pretending to be friendly.”
“We keep walking, I get him past the bar, go have a drink bro, chill, he’s like I don’t drink, keep it real. Holds out his hand like this.”
He formed a power shake. “I wanna keep it cool so I do it know whum saying? Instead of shaking he gets me here.” Touching a wrist. “My fucking arm goes dead then he kicks me in the knee then he grabs me.”
“By the neck,” said Petra.
“Fucking iron claw,” said Bowland. “I’m hitting him upside the head, he’s kicking me.” Caressing a knee. “Dislocated the bone or something, I’m falling over and he’s still doing the claw. They told me he stomped my back but I’m big, you know, he didn’t break nothing.”
Rasping out the words had exhausted him. He panted, sat back hard enough to budge the couch.
“Sneak attack,” said Petra.
“Only way he coulda done it,” said Bowland. “That’s the whole story. Now I gotta sleep.”
“Working hard?”
His reply was a yawn.
“What kind of work you do, Bass?”
“Security.”
“Where?”
“Pawnshop on Van Nuys. Persians. Gotta wear that, pay to clean it.”
“Who’d Fisk come to the club with that night?”
“Other cocksuckers. He’s gonna get his.” Lazy smile as he formed a finger gun.
“We sympathize, Bass, but we are the law, so be careful.”
“I didn’t mean that,” said Bowland. “God’s gonna pay him back.”
“You’re religious?”
Bowland reached inside his T-shirt and drew out a small gold crucifix. “Everyone pays.”
“Fisk didn’t pay because you didn’t want to testify.”
Bowland didn’t answer.
“Guy did that to me, Bass, I’d want him to serve some jail time.”
Bowland appraised her slender frame. “Guy did that to you, he should get the death penalty.”
“As opposed to you?”
“I can handle myself.”
“I’m sure you can, but still-”
“What?” said Bowland. “I go to court and cry and everyone’s saying Bass is a pussy, needs the po-lice to do his game?”
He closed his eyes.
Petra said, “What else can you tell us about Fisk?”
“Nothin’.”
“Ever see him before that night?”
“Coupla times.”
“He always hang with the same people?”
“Yeah.”
“How about some names?”
“One was Rosie,” said Bowland. “The other was Blazer.”
“Rosie his girl?”
“Black guy, he deejays sometimes.”
“At Rattlesnake?”
“No.”
“Where, then?”
“Dunno.”
“How do you know he deejayed?”
“He told me.”
“When?”
“Before.”
“Before Fisk attacked you.”
“Yeah.”
“You and Rosie were having a conversation.”
“We were by the stage and he was saying the band was okay but he could deejay more power by himself.”
“Ever have problems with him?”
Head shake. “Always cool.”
“What’s his last name?”
“Dunno.”
“What about Blazer?”
“Little guy, last name’s something with Pain.”
“Blazer Pain?”
“Something like that,” said Bowland.
“Black or white?”
“White. Thinks he’s a ceeleb.”
“Wants the VIP room?”
“There weren’t none at the Snake. Motherfucker just acts stupid.”
“Stupid, how?”
“Walks around like he’s all that.”
“Blazer Pain,” said Petra.
“Something like that.”
“Robert Fisk hung with these two regularly.”
“I guess.”
“You don’t know?”
“It was always crowded.”
“You were at the door, you saw who came in.”
Bowland shook his head. “Sometimes I was by the stage.”
“The night Fisk attacked you, where were you stationed?”
“The stage.”
“So you don’t know if Fisk came in with Rosie and Blazer.”
“I seen ’ em inside. Rosie was with Blazer then Blazer walks away and Rosie stays by the stage. Fisk’s like watching out for Blazer, then he comes back and says he’s gonna dance.”
“Watching out for Blazer how?”
“Standing close to the motherfucker, looking like, you know.” He narrowed his eyes, bobbed his head.
“Fisk was Blazer’s bodyguard?”
Shrug.
“Blazer needs a bodyguard?”
“Maybe he thinks so.”
“Do you know of any reason for him to need a bodyguard?”
“Ask him.”
“What I meant,” said Petra, “was does he engage in illegal activities.”
“Ask him.”
“Where can we find him?”
Bowland laughed. “Maybe in toon-town.” Yawning. “Gotta sleep.”
“Why are you so tired?” she said. “Never heard of a pawnshop with a night shift.”
“Gotta be there eight in the morning.”
“Till when?”
“One,” said Bowland.
“Part-time gig,” said Petra.
“Feels like full-time. Standing around looking at the crazy shit those Persians buy.”
She stood. “Bass, was not wanting to look like a wimp the only reason you didn’t testify?”
“Yeah.”
“No other reason?”
“Like what?”
“No one paid you to stay away?”
“Someone paid me, you think I’d be standing around looking at the crazy shit those Persians buy?”
Flipping on his back, he rested his hands on a mountain of belly and stared at the ceiling.
By the time we made it to the door, he was pretending to snore.
Loud, theatrical. More volume than he was able to produce by speaking.
Outside, standing next to her Accord, Petra said, “Rosie and Blazer Pain. Maybe the gang squad will have them on the moniker list.”
I said, “Rosie’s a deejay, Robert Fisk thinks he’s a dancer, and Blazer has visions of celebrity. ‘Pain’ could be a stage name.”
“Or an S and M angle.”
“The club scene,” said Milo. “You know what goes with that. Maybe Jordan will end up as just another dope hit.”
Petra said, “Gyms, now clubs. Great. One place I don’t have to go is Rattlesnake. I checked and it closed down three months after Fisk assaulted Bowland. Most of those dives are fly-by-night. This is not going to be simple.”
I said, “There are a couple of places right on Cherokee, just off the boulevard. Walking distance to Jordan’s place.”
“Meaning it would’ve been easy for Jordan to walk over and sell or buy or whatever,” she said. “Problem is I know those places, El Bandito and Baila Baila. They’re reggaeton, a Latino crowd, white and black guys wouldn’t make it past the door.”
She checked her watch. “Got some time before the night crawlers are out, maybe Eric and I can have some dinner. What’s on your schedule, guys?”
“Nothing too complicated,” said Milo. “Gotta pick up a gun.”
“The maybe match to Lowball Armbruster,” she said. “I’m still trying to locate the slugs dug out of him. Coroner claims they have them, but all those years pass, you know how it goes.”