The woman gave him a searching look before speaking. "Twenty-five dollars." Carr walked toward her with the drawing. He handed it to her and reached for his wallet. He pulled out some bills and gave them to her. The woman stared at the money for a moment, then accepted it.
"A cop buying lesbian art?" she said.
"It's a birthday present for my twin sister. She lives in San Francisco. We lead very different lives, but I respect her more than anyone I know. She had the courage to come out … to be honest." Carr turned and headed toward the door. He opened it.
"Do you remember the phony series E bonds that were cashed in the banks along Wilshire Boulevard five years ago?" said the woman.
Carr stepped back in and turned to face her. "Three grand's worth in every bank from downtown Los Angeles to Santa Monica. I remember the case well."
The woman tapped her chest. "Me," she said. "I can tell you now because the statute has run out and I can't be prosecuted."
"It was one of the best bond capers I've ever seen," Carr said. "Four agents spent weeks working on it. All we came up with was a vague description of a woman."
"I wore different wigs," she said. "Paul LaMonica was waiting in the car for me outside each bank. I ended up with nothing more than a few bucks out of the deal. There were too many people that had to be pieced off. Hell, at the time LaMonica was supplying my smack habit and that's all I really cared about. It was right after that caper that I got busted for marks and ended up doing a year in Frontera. I did a lot of thinking when I was in. For the first time in my life I admitted to my true sexuality. For the first time I realized that all of life is based on sex. Admitting my true nature solved virtually all of my problems. For once, I could accept myself. After I was released I kept completely away from the old crowd. I began living a new life. That's why I named this place the New Life Gallery."
"Have you seen LaMonica in the past few months?" Carr said.
"He stops by once in a while when he's out of the joint. He always wants me to do some phony paper for him, and I always shine him on."
"Any idea where I could find him?" Carr said.
"What did he do?"
"Escaped from Terminal Island."
"I'm sure you're already aware that all the paper pushers hang out at the Castaways Lounge in Hollywood," she said.
Carr nodded. "I've checked. He's not around there."
"Then I don't know what to tell you. But please, don't come around here anymore. My clientele is frightened of police types. This is more than just an art gallery. To my sisters and me, this is a shrine to women. The art here is a declaration of sexual truth. As a matter of fact, I believe that not being honest with oneself is the root cause of drug addiction. I know that my own problem disappeared as soon as I came out." She plucked a bread-dough plaque of buttocks and breasts off the wall and dusted it on her dress. She re-hung it. "It's been a long journey for me, but I've finally arrived. If you people would have knocked on my door a few years ago, I would have jumped through any available window. I was involved in so many crimes that when I was questioned by the cops I had to be told which crime they were talking about in order to confess." She shook her head and smiled.
"Did LaMonica phone you a couple of days ago?" Carr said.
"Who told you that?"
"What did he want?"
"As usual he wanted me to do a deal with him. He offered me half of the action, said all I had to do was play a part. I assumed it was some kind of a con scheme."
"Did he give you any details?"
"Paul LaMonica doesn't give details. With him, everything is on a need-to-know basis. Had I agreed to come in, he would have waited until the last minute to fill me in on the details, names, and places. He believes in high security. That's all I'm going to say."
"Thanks." Carr turned toward the door.
"Is your sister really one of us?" she asked.
Carr nodded. "Yes," he said in a tone of sincerity. "And I am very proud of her." He walked out the door. Kelly followed.
The agents climbed in the G-car. Kelly got behind the wheel and started the engine. "I say, lez-be-on-our-way," Kelly said. He laughed uproariously. "Mytwin sister in San Francisco!" He laughed again and Carr joined in. Kelly caught his breath. "I almost had a heart attack trying not to crack up in there! You definitely should get the Bullshitter of the Year award for that act." He threw his head back and laughed again.
Carr took out his notepad and made some brief entries concerning the interview. He put the pad away. "Do you think she was holding back?"
"Hard to say."
Carr rubbed his hands through his hair. "If LaMonica was going to print counterfeit money, why would he call Rosemary and ask her to 'play a part'?"
"It doesn't make sense," Kelly said. As they drove down Melrose toward the Hollywood freeway, neither man spoke. Kelly signaled, then steered onto a freeway on ramp and accelerated. "I wonder who would pay two thousand dollars for a wood carving of a cunt?" he said.
Carr shrugged.
"The boss'll be here any minute," said the bearded man standing behind a glass display case filled with cutting mirrors, roach clips, glass beakers, and tiny scales. "He stops by once a week to pick up the till."
"We'll wait," Carr said.
Kelly was busy examining a book he had picked off a wall rack entitled How to Grow Marijuana Indoors. He slammed it back on the rack. Two teenage girls carrying schoolbooks came in the door and wandered over to a display of hollowed-out silver dollars and fake soda cans with secret compartments. They giggled. One nudged the other and nodded at the red-faced, staring Kelly. They giggled again and hurried out the door.
There was the sound of a car pulling up in the alley. A prune-faced man with a sharp chin and elbows shuffled in the back door. The clerk whispered to him. He turned around and faced the T-men. "I'm Teddy Mora," he said gravely. "You people looking for me?" He spun a ring of car keys lewdly around his middle finger.
Carr held out his gold badge. "A prisoner escaped yesterday," he said. "He ran in the front door and out the side door of this place like he knew where he was going." He took a mug-shot photo out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Mora. "Do you know him?" Carr said.
Mora glanced at the photo and handed it back to Carr. "I'm an absentee landlord," he said. "I don't live in Los Angeles. This place is owned by a corporation."
"We figured you might know the guy," Carr interrupted. "His name is Paul LaMonica."
Teddy Mora shook his head. "Never heard of him. Is there anything else?"
"Yeah," Kelly said, examining a hashish pipe on the counter. "How long do you think it'll be before you'll be able to sell dope to the kiddies right along with all the paraphernalia?"
Teddy Mora twirled the car keys. His gaze shifted from Carr to Kelly and back to Carr. "Is that about it? I have things to do around here."
"LaMonica's a fugitive," Carr said. "We're real interested in finding him. You've been around long enough to know what I mean. If we can't find him, we'll be back. And that's a promise not a threat."
Ignoring them, Mora turned and spoke casually to his clerk. The agents exited the front door.
Kelly drove along Hollywood Boulevard on the way back downtown. When they stopped at a red light, there were straggly-haired teenage boys on each of the four street corners. One of the young men gave a groin-pump greeting to a passing convertible driven by an older man wearing dark glasses. The man pulled the convertible to the curb and the boy approached.
"Child prostitutes, stores that sell dope fixings…" Kelly muttered in a defeated tone. "The whole country is turning to shit. Sometimes I think I'd like to take my wife and kids, chuck everything, and live up in the mountains away from it all. No mind-rotting TV, no forced busing, no dope." He shook his bear-sized head.