Compulsion (22 page)

Milo pulled a steel-handled straight razor out of the hooker’s purse.

“Hands on the car.”

“That’s for protection, sir.” Husky voice.

“On the car.” Pocketing the knife, he stashed the purse in the trunk, put the hooker in back of the car, squeezed in next to her.

“Your turn to drive, pard.”

I slid behind the wheel.

The hooker said, “I love company.”

Next to Milo, she looked small and frail. Mid-to late thirties, hair stiff and shagged, platinum at the roots, copper at the tips. A hatchet face oatmealed by pimples gleamed through bronze pancake. Pert nose, plump lips, glitter-flecked cleavage, big hoop earrings.

Cobalt eyes under gritty half-inch lashes struggled not to bounce.

Below all that, a muscular neck. Pronounced Adam’s apple.

She saw me looking at oversized hands and slipped them out of view.

Milo said, “This is Tasha LaBelle.”

“Hi, Tasha.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, sir.”

“Let’s get moving,” said Milo.

Tasha said, “Where we going?”

“Nowhere in particular.”

“A few hours, Disneyland ’s gonna open.”

“Fantasyland your thing?” said Milo.

No answer.

I pulled onto Highland, hit a pothole that rattled the car’s suspension.

Tasha said, “Ouch. Such a teeny car for such big
men.
”

Gliding past Sunset and Hollywood Boulevard, I headed east on Franklin, drove past darkened apartment buildings, antique foliage. No people on the street. A solitary dog rooted near some hedges.

Tasha said, “What I done, you taking me for a ride?”

Milo said, “We like company. When we run your prints, what name’s gonna come up?”

“Prints? I didn’t do nothing.” Tension kicked the voice a few frets higher.

“Your name for the record.”

“Record of what?” A tinge of aggression lowered the timbre. Now I was hearing a nasal street guy, cornered and ready for fight or flight.

“Our investigation. There’s also the issue of your little nail file.”

“That’s a antique, sir. Got it on eBay.”

“What name were you born with?”

Sniffle. “I’m
me.
”

Milo said, “No doubt about that. Let’s not make this a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

“You don’t understand, sir.”

“I do. The past is the past,” said Milo. “Right?”

Hushed “yessir.”

“But sometimes history is important.”

“What’d I
do,
you take me in this
car
?”

“Besides the blade, you were witnessed engaging in solicitation and prostitution. But you can be back at Gordito’s in fifteen minutes instead of in lockup. Up to you.”

“What’re you investigating, sir?”

Milo ’s pen clicked. “First your given name. Not one of the monikers you use when you get busted.”

“Sir, I have not been arrested in… thirty… eight – seven days. And that was in Burbank. And it was just shoplifting. And charges were dropped.”

“Charges against who?”

Pause. “Mary Ellen Smithfield.”

Milo said, “Like the ham.”

“Huh?”

“What’s on your birth certificate, Tasha?”

“You’re not gonna arrest me?”

“That’s up to you.”

Long sigh. Near whisper: “Robert Gillaloy.”

I heard Milo ’s pen scratching. “How old are you, Tasha?”

“Twenty-two.”

Milo cleared his throat.

“Twenty-nine, sir.” Breathy laughter. “And that’s my final offer.”

“Address?”

“ Kenmore Avenue but it’s temporary.”

“Until?”

“I get my mansion in Bel Air.”

“How long have you been in L.A.?”

“I’m a native Californian, sir.”

“From where?”

“ Fontana. My parents worked in chickens.” Giggle. “Literally. I got tired of the feathers and the smell.”

“When?”

“Something like thirteen years ago, sir.”

I pictured a confused teenager making his way from the farmlands of San Bernardino County to Hollywood.

Milo said, “Phone number?”

“I’m in between numbers.”

“You use prepaids?”

No answer.

“How do people reach you, Tasha?”

“Friends know where to find me.”

“Friends like Tony Mancusi.”

Silence.

“Tell us about Tony, Tasha.”

“This is about Tony
Not-
Roma?”

“What d’you mean?”

“He don’t look Eyetalian. More like pudding – that egg stuff – tapoca.”

“He a regular, Tasha?”

“You’re saying Tony’s a badman?” A new vibrato twanged the voice. Back to girly and scared.

“Would that surprise you?”

“He’s never a badman to me.”

“But?”

“But nothing,” said Tasha.

“How often do you see him?”

“No schedule,” said Tasha. “Not a regular – a
un
regular.”

“Tony circulates?”

“No, he likes
me
or he don’t party. The issue is show me le money, honey.”

“Tony’s short on dough.”

“He says.”

“Complains about it a lot.”

“Ain’t complaining what men do, sir? The wife, the prostrate, the weather.” Laughter. “The Dodgers. With Tony it’s also his discus.”

“His what?”

“The back discus.
This
hurts,
that
hurts. I’m like, poor
baby.
But no massage, these French tips are fragile.”

“Putting up with all that bitching,” said Milo, “you might as well get a husband.”

“You’re a nice, funny man, sir. What do
you
complain about?”

“Bad guys getting away,” said Milo. “Where’d you meet Tony? And don’t say ‘around.’”

“Around. Hee hee – okay, okay, don’t give me that evil look, I met him at a party. Wannaboo party up in the hills.”

“What’s a wannaboo?”

“A gentleman who pretends he’s pretending.”

“To be a girl,” said Milo. “As opposed to your homegirls at Gordito’s.”

“My homegirls are
girls
no matter what the government say. My homegirls are la femme in the brain, where it counts.”

“Wannaboos-”

“Wannaboos don’t even try. For them the thing is
ugly.
Ugly
wigs,
ugly
dresses,
ugly ugly shaving bumps, square shoes. They don’t got the bones. The deli-ca-cy. For the wannaboos it’s Halloween Parade then back to the suit and tie on Monday.”

“A costume party,” said Milo.

“Not even, sir. They don’t even try.”

“Where in the hills was this party?”

“Some place near the Hollywood sign.”

“Above Beachwood?”

“I don’t know streets. It was a long time ago.”

“How long?”

“Six months?” said Tasha. “Could be five? I talked to Tony but I went home with a lawyer.
That
was a house, all the way in Oxnard, by the water, to get there we drove and drove and the air smelled all salty. I won’t give you his name no matter what you do because he was sweet. Sweet and old and lonely, his wife was sick in the hospital. Next morning he cooked waffles with fresh bananas and I watched the sun come up over the water.”

“Also a wannaboo?”

“No, he was a straight.”

“There were straights at the party, too.”

“Girls, wannaboos, straights.” Giggle. “Maybe kangaroos.”

“What was Tony?”

“Straight. I thought he was the gardener or a plumber or something. Came to fix the toilet.”

“He wore a uniform.”

“Sloppy,” said Tasha, as if it were a felony. “Wrinkled Dockers, sweatshirt that said
Aloha.
Very low-classy.”

“How’d you end up at the party?”

“Some girl asked me. Germania, that’s the only name I know. High-water but white, went back home a few months ago. Talked about her daddy having two wives in Utah, the stepmother was real accepting, but her own moth-”

“How many people were at the party?”

“Thirty? Fifty? People all over the house. The girls looking hot, the wannaboos like a buncha grammas, the straights trying to figure out what to do.”

“Who owned the house?”

“Never found out.”

“How’d you hook up with Tony?”

“He was sad.”

“And…”

“Everyone else partying, he’s sitting there complaining to this wannaboo. Wannaboo listens for a while then ups and leaves Tony all alone. Tony looks sad, I’m a nurturer so I sit down next to his poor self. He starts complaining to me, we take a walk. Up the road, but we heard coyotes. I got scared and we went back.”

“No coyotes in Fontana?” said Milo.

“Lots of coyotes, that’s why I got scared, sir. I seen what they done to the chickens.”

“Tony was complaining about…”

“What I said, sir. Le mon
ee.
He used to live in a nice place then his back discus made him all messed up and his mama wasn’t helping him no more, called him a bum.”

“He said all that to the other wannaboo?”

“I heard the word ‘money’ before I sat down. That word
always
gets my ears unfolded. When we were walking he got into his mama mistreating him. Said she pulled the rug out, he was the only child, why would she do that.”

“Angry?”

“More like sad. Depressed, even. I said you should try the Prozac or something. He didn’t answer.”

“When he complained to the wannaboo, did the wannaboo seem to be listening?”

“I guess… yeah, he was looking straight at Tony, nodding like
I hear you, bro.
Then all of a sudden he gets up, like he heard enough.”

“Bored?”

“No, no, more like… like it was too sad.”

“Describe the wannaboo?”

“Bigger than Tony. Not as big as you, sir.”

“Heavyset?”

“Hard to tell with those clothes. I’m talking
tweed
and it was warm. Like… like… one a those movie gramma things, Gramma’s a cold Waspy bitch? Stockings with
seams
up the middle.”

“How old?”

“He was trying for biddy, all that makeup, the gray wig. Coulda been thirty, coulda been fifty. Lots of them do that, make like
Come to Gramma.
Like comfort food, you know? If having a gramma who don’t shave her legs and got a face like a toilet lid gives you comfort – where are we, never been this far.”

We’d traveled two miles east of her stroll.

As we approached Rodney, Milo said, “Pard, why don’t you turn?”

I drove by Tony Mancusi’s building. Milo watched Tasha’s face. Tasha appeared to be sleeping.

Hooking a left on Sunset, I said, “It’s kind of interesting, Tasha. Tony complains about his mother to a guy trying to look like a mother.”

“Hey,” said Tasha. “I didn’t think a that.”

Milo said, “What’s this guy’s name?”

“If I knew I’d tell you, sir, I truly would.”

“Big, thirty to fifty. Give me more details.”

“Ugly, sir. Puffy face, the red shiny nose like he’s been drinking all day and all night… um um um… glasses. Pink plastic glasses. With the rhinestones.
Biddy
glasses – oh, yeah, natural nail polish.”

“Eye color?”

“Don’t know, sir. That long ago, all I really can remember is the ugly. Working at it, you know? Gray wig like a dishcloth, tweed two-piece, all baggy and heavy – green velvet trim.” Retching sound. “Shoes you could step in mud no one’s gonna notice. Like a
scarf’s
gonna fix all that?”

“He wore a scarf,” said Milo.

“Only pretty part of the whole
on-
sombel,” said Tasha. “Purpley, gor-juss. Louie Vee-town. What a waste.”

As I continued through East Hollywood, into Silver Lake and Echo Park, Milo pressed for more details on Tony Mancusi’s confidant, got nothing. The lights of downtown came into view.

Tasha yawned.

Milo said, “Here’s a picture of a guy we know.”

“Hairy bear,” said Tasha.

“Could he be the wannaboo?”

“Take a clippers to him, maybe I could tell you.”

“Try to look past the hair.”

“Sorry, sir, I want to be honest. Too much coiffure.”

“Did you get a sense Tony and Tweed knew each other before the party?”

“Tweed, heh, yeah that should be his name. Never saw him or Tony before, never saw
him
after. Never went to another party up there. Because my sweet old lawyer told me not to. Wanted me all to himself when he’s in town. Backed it up with le money. Still does.”

“But you still have time for Tony.”

“Too much free time’s a bad thing, sir. Nothing’s for free.”

“What gets Tony off?”

“Being sorry.”

“For himself?”

“That, too, sir, but I was talking apologies.”

“For what?”

“Everything,” said Tasha. “Taking up my time. Comes in wanting what he wants and then after he gets it, he’s all Prozacky frowny-frown, says he shouldn’t be doing it, he’s really not like that.”

“Denying he’s gay.”

“Tony’s mind, he’s
never
gay. You call him that, he gets cranky. He figures he likes me ’cause I’m a girl, he only likes girls. A lot of them are like that. Want to have it and eat it, too.” Laughter.

“How often does he see you?”

“Most often was once a month, sir. Then it stopped. Tonight was the first time in like… three months? Could I go back? Please? I don’t know this part of town, don’t like being where I don’t know.”

Milo said, “Sure.”

I found a driveway, did a turnaround.

“Thank you, sir. Can I have my little helper back?”

“Don’t push it,” said Milo. “So Tony’s conflicted.”

“Call it what you want, sir. Before they get what they want, they’re all hungry. Then it’s over slam bam wham and it’s like a light’s shining deep inside them and they’re seeing something they don’t like. A first-timer, you never know how they’re gonna deal with that light. That’s why I need my helper.”

“Pretending only goes so far,” said Milo.

“
There’s
your Fantasyland. Tony really a badman?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“The
wannaboo
is a badman? You asking all those questions about him.”

“Just collecting information, Tasha.”

“Someone got killed? I’m on the street, I need to know, sir.”

“Tony’s mom.”