“Yay,” Bobby Horse said.
“I need to talk to Mr. del Rio,” I said.
“Talk to Chollo,” Bobby Horse said.
There was a pause. I heard Bobby Horse say something, and then Chollo came on the line.
“Who you need me to shoot today?” he said.
Chollo was a graceful, mid-sized Mexican who was probably the best shooter I’d ever seen. Vinnie Morris might be as good, hard to be sure, but if I had to bet, my money would be on Chollo. He had helped me out in a place called Proctor some years back, and more recently, he and Bobby Horse had helped me win a small war in a place called Pot Shot. As far as I could ever tell, Chollo wasn’t afraid of anything at all.
“Nobody yet,” I said. “I’m looking for information.”
“Sí.”
“Guy named Elliot Silver, runs a security service out there.”
“Sí.”
“Guy named Carson Ratoff, who’s a lawyer.”
“I know them,” Chollo said.
“I’m working on the Jumbo Nelson case; you know about that?”
“Sí.”
“You ever hear the old Jack Benny routine?”
“About sí?” Chollo said, pronouncing it to rhyme with high.
“Sí,” I said, pronouncing it to rhyme with tree. “I’m told there’s important money behind Jumbo, and if I discover that he’s guilty, and say so, bad things will happen.”
“For sure, to Jumbo,” Chollo said.
“Know anything about important money invested in Jumbo?” I said.
“I’m a simple Mexican shooter,” Chollo said. “High finance, you’ll need to talk with Mr. del Rio.”
“That’s where I started,” I said.
“Mr. del Rio likes me and Bobby to screen his calls,” Chollo said.
“And I’m going to make it through?” I said.
“Sí,” Chollo said, and the line went silent.
I waited. It was probably two minutes before a new voice came on. It’s a long time when you’re on hold, but I had called before, and I knew the drill.
“Spenser? This is Victor del Rio,” the voice said.
“Thanks for taking my call,” I said.
“I don’t forget things,” del Rio said.
“Chollo tell you what I’m looking for?” I said.
“Of course.”
“What can you tell me,” I said.
“A great deal,” del Rio said. “I am just ruminating on how much I will tell you.”
“These people colleagues?” I said.
“Competitors, more precisely,” del Rio said. “Not enemies, but they could become such.”
“And you’d prefer they didn’t.”
“It will do me no economic good to make them such,” del Rio said.
“For what it’s worth, no one will know where I got my information,” I said.
“Your word on that?”
“My word.”
“Your word is good,” del Rio said. “Allow me to think another moment, is there anything I could tell you that only I would know.”
I waited.
Finally del Rio said, “There’s two brothers, Alexander and Augustine Beauregard. They run a company called AABeau Film Partners, in Burbank. The company funds movies. Most people refer to them simply as Alex and Augie, and what they really do is they launder money.”
“Mob money,” I said.
“Yes. They are connected to many criminal enterprises here in the Southland.”
“Mob wants to wash some ill-gotten gain,” I said. “So they invest in AABeau Films. AABeau invests in movie production. When the film is made, take their cut, return the money to the Mob as profit from a legitimate enterprise.”
“Loosely defined,” del Rio said.
“Okay, you’re not a film fan,” I said. “But that’s probably pretty much how it works, isn’t it?”
“It is,” del Rio said.
“And you know this because...?”
“Despite my distaste, I have occasionally invested.”
“Ill-gotten gain?” I said.
“No gain is ill gotten,” del Rio said.
“I like a man who is clear on what he believes,” I said.
“We both know what we believe,” del Rio said. “The fact that we do not believe the same does not prevent mutual respect.”
“No,” I said. “It doesn’t. Where do Silver and Ratoff come in?”
“Silver is AABeau’s security consultant. Ratoff is AABeau’s lawyer.”
“They in-house?” I said. “Or do they have other clients.”
“They have other clients, but it’s probably camouflage.”
“Same clients?” I said.
“As each other?”
“Yes.”
“They seem always to work in tandem,” del Rio said.
“Silver do detective work, or strictly security.”
“He does some investigating, if needed. But mainly he supervises, ah, compliance, for AABeau.”
“Strong arm?” I said.
“As required,” del Rio said.
“And Ratoff?”
“Was a criminal lawyer,” del Rio said. “Now he is a corporate counsel.”
“Good lawyer?”
“Said to be very clever,” del Rio said.
“Silver dangerous?” I said.
“They are all dangerous,” del Rio said.
“Me too,” I said.
“I know,” del Rio said. “Chollo tells me you are as dangerous as anyone he knows.”
“As dangerous as himself?”
Del Rio chuckled.
“Chollo cannot entertain the possibility that anyone is as dangerous as himself,” del Rio said.
“I have that conceit, too,” I said.
“I know,” del Rio said.
“So if Jumbo gets busted for a crime like the one he’s suspected of, a lot of people lose a lot of money.”
“Jumbo is as bulletproof a cash cow as there is in the movie business,” del Rio said.
“Despite being a world-class dildo,” I said.
“Irrelevant,” del Rio said. “Maybe even an asset to the adolescents who comprise most movie audiences.”
“Ever see one of his movies?” I said.
“No,” del Rio said.
“Me either,” I said.
“There is a great deal of profitable business being done,” del Rio said, “based on Jumbo Nelson. It is business done by a large number of people who have little regard for the well-being of anyone but themselves.”
“Either he did it or he didn’t,” I said. “I’m going to find out which.”
“If you live,” del Rio said.
“That’s always a consideration,” I said.
“Chollo holds you in high regard,” del Rio said. “If you don’t live, he may choose to avenge you.”
“Would that be good business?” I said.
“No.”
“But you wouldn’t prevent him?” I said.
“I do not believe I could,” del Rio said. “And sometimes we do other things but business.”
“So,” I said. “Does this mean you, too, value me highly?”
“No,” del Rio said. “It means I value Chollo.”
29
Henry Cimoli was leaning against the wall in the boxing room at Harbor Health Club, with his muscular little arms folded across his muscular little chest. I was beside him in my sweats. Z was doing intervals on the heavy bag. Hit it for twenty seconds. Rest for forty seconds. Do it again.
“How many of those you suppose he’s going to do?” I said to Henry.
“I dunno,” Henry said. “You know he’s in here like four, five hours every day.”
“What’s he do?” I said.
“Combination on the heavy bag, practices the check-block move Harriet showed him, hits the speed bag.”
“Harriet the martial-arts instructor?” I said.
Henry nodded.
“He jumps rope,” he said. “Does his intervals, like now, on the body bag. Different interval times.”