Eye of the Burning Man: A Mick Callahan Novel (The Mick Callahan Series) (14 page)

"The name was Jack Fields. I didn't get names for the other two. He's probably legitimate, but see what you can find out, okay?"

"Are you starting to wonder if the disappearance of your housekeeper's nephew was in any way targeted at you?"

"That's exactly what I'm worried about."

"Let us hope you're wrong."

"Let's hope. Thanks, Hal."

"I will have a couple of employees jump through hoops. I'll get back to you in a day or two. How are things otherwise?"

"You mean with Leyna Barton? She still won't talk to me."

"That is a pity. Perhaps she'll come around."

"I don't know if I give a damn."

"Pride goes before a fall."

"I'm serious. To tell you the truth, I always had the feeling she was looking down her nose at me, like I was a bug under glass or a noble savage."

Hal donned his reading glasses and shuffled some papers. His mind seemed to wander. He grimaced, signed something, and looked up again.
He's not himself. He's really distracted
.

"I know I'm getting boring, Hal, but are you feeling all right?"

"Certainly."

Not true
. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," Hal said. "Back to Ms. Barton. So perhaps it is all for the best, then?"

"Perhaps."

"Or perhaps you are merely rationalizing a stinging defeat."

"Fuck you."

Hal laughed. "In the meanwhile, you have a beautiful, deeply wounded young creature on the premises. Has that particular situation tempted you in any way?"

"Remember what you told me a long time ago? I asked you how to stay out of trouble with women, and you said that if I didn't go to the shoe store and hang around all day, I was not likely to buy myself a pair of shoes."

Hal nodded. "So, you have been staying out of the metaphorical shoe store then, despite the fact that it is located in your own guest bedroom?"

"Indeed I have, and you know what?"

"What?"

"It's a drag being the good guy all the time."

"Tell me about it." Hal winced and held his stomach. "Damned gas pains again. I must away, stallion. Take care."

The screen went dark. He was keeping something from me, I felt sure of it. I sat thinking for a few moments, then dialed Jerry's telephone number, but stopped on the last digit. Then I punched the final number, but didn't let in ring. Instead, I broke the connection and lowered my head. I was trapped in a maze and wild beasts were chuffing hungrily all around me, just out of sight.

* * * * *

"You got rocks in your fucking head or something, Jackson?" The raven-haired Latino woman was leaning over the speaker phone with one hand on a stack of papers, the other flat on the desk. She was in her thirties; tall, strong, big breasted and obviously fit, and wore a 9mm and a badge on her belt. "I told you not to talk to my goddamned witness."

"I was trying to help," a man said, his voice tinny from the speaker. "Hey, I'm sorry."

"Oh, you helped all right," the woman said. Her tone was razor sharp. "You helped her decide to go back to Mexico." She pronounced it correctly,
Meh-HIE-co
. "Nice going. Just like a man."

"Maybe it'll still shake down okay. I'll back the hell off, and she'll talk to you again, okay?"

"Bullshit," said Sergeant Darlene Hernandez. "Her lips are tighter than a gnat's asshole."

I was wearing a sticker that said "guest" on it, although I doubted anyone would have mistaken me for a cop. I stood silently, and watched her with genuine admiration. She shuffled through some wanted posters, found what she wanted and tore it up. Darlene wore tan slacks, a tight white blouse, and dark, flat shoes. She seemed aware she had an audience, but probably assumed it was one of the other LAPD detectives.

"Okay." The man sighed, exasperated. "Well, what the fuck do you want from me?"

"I want you to consider going into some other line of work," Darlene said. "I think you'd make a great fireman."

She slammed down the phone and then, feeling eyes in her back, turned to face me. It took her a while, but then she focused. Her smile flickered and widened.

"Well I'll be goddamned," she said softly, "it is the star himself, my own personal Hugh Grant."

I blushed and forced a smile. "Your cousin was supposed to have told you I would be stopping by. He left my name for a guest pass."

"The one that's half Italian, Donato?"

"Yes, ma'am, Larry."

"He didn't tell me anything," she said flatly. "Or if he did, I forgot."

"I hope this isn't too much of an intrusion."

"Oh, not at all," Darlene said, deadpan. She came around to the front of her desk and perched on the edge. "I had nothing else to do today except babysit some pampered, boy toy celebrity."

"Ouch."

"Get to it, Callahan."

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee? I mean, since we're off to such a good start here, and all?"

Darlene Hernandez cocked her head like an angry parrot. "Jesus. Why in the world would I want to go get a cup of coffee with you of all people, Callahan?"

I considered. "Okay then, how about a chili cheeseburger?" Her mouth twitched. Encouraged, I pressed my case. "But only if you're done roasting my nuts over an open fire."

"A chili cheeseburger? Okay, that's better. Just let me grab my coat and sign out."

The Hollywood Police Station is on Cole Avenue, on a side street, and flanked by several craftsman cottages. Black and whites pull in and out constantly, both solo and clustered in formation. Darlene Hernandez set a blistering pace. The crowded, pale green halls of the police station were filled with cuffed perpetrators and scurrying detectives. She shoved the patrolmen out of the way, or proceeded as if they were expected to scatter like pigeons.

She marched me out the front door and down the concrete steps. I had to struggle to keep up with her. At the foot of the steps she stopped abruptly and I ran into her from behind. She looked back over her shoulder and flashed a sarcastic, thin-lipped smile.

"Back off, or at least kiss me first."

"Where exactly are we going, Sergeant Hernandez?"

"You can keep calling me ma'am."

"Ma'am."

"Follow me."

I grabbed her elbow, chuckling. "I already jogged this morning. Why don't we try walking instead?"

"Don't put your hands on me." She wasn't joking.

I immediately let go. "Sorry. No offense intended, Sergeant."

A pause. "None taken. Let's move."

"Why so fast?"

As we set out down the sidewalk: "Some of us work for a living, Callahan. That means we only get an hour or so for lunch."

"Why, that damned near breaks my heart. We media stars get six or seven one-hour breaks every day, and that's just to fuss with our makeup."

"I'll bet you do."

"And we are going . . . ?"

"There's a great burger stand three blocks down, kind of a family joint, with chili to die for."

"I'll defer to your expertise. Can we talk as we go?"

"So talk."

"Okay. But I want to get something out of the way first."

"What?"

"I don't really remember that night. I'm grateful for what you did, but I was in a blackout or something."

"When you hit on me, you mean? Offered me a measly fifty bucks for a blow job?"

"Look," I said, wincing. "I'm really sorry."

She laughed. "Which part? Asking for a blow job, or only offering me fifty bucks?"

I stopped in my tracks. "Christ, woman, cut me some slack, will you? I'm trying my best to apologize."

"Fine. Apology accepted."

"I partly came here just to thank you."

She turned. Two small children in blue uniforms ran through the crosswalk. She waited for them to pass before responding, and by then she had softened. "Look, Callahan. You were bombed out of your mind, right? And I had already spent the last eight hours walking around Selma Avenue in high heels and teased hair, with my tits hanging out, trying to act like a hooker. I was not in the mood for more paperwork."

"What happened?"

"You really don't remember?"

"I really don't remember. I just remember afterwards, that you poured me into a cab."

Darlene grimaced. "I was done for the night. You came stumbling along looking for your car, and you saw me. I was getting ready to ask if you thought you should be driving smashed like that when you hit on me. That was it."

"Except you didn't arrest me, and you should have. You took me to a coffee shop, showed me your badge, talked to me for an hour, and then got me to take a cab home. Why?"

Darlene thought for a moment. "My back-up had left, except for Tommy Riley. You probably don't remember this, but he and I argued about arresting you. I told him to take off."

"Like I said, why?"

"You seemed so unhappy." She studied my face. "I watched you on the tube sometimes, and I knew it would be all over the papers. I felt kind of sorry for you and I didn't see how taking you off the air would be best for anybody, all right? But I'll tell you something, if the rest of my crew had still been working you would have gone down."

"You know I'm clean and sober now?"

She nodded. "I read that somewhere. And Donato said he ran into you the other night. Somebody jumped you and your date, right?"

"I still don't know exactly what that was all about. That's the final part of why I came to see you."

Darlene started walking again. I moved to her side, dropped into step and looked down. "I really did want to thank you for keeping what happened that night a secret."

"You're welcome."

With a straight face, I said, "Of course, you did go and run your mouth to your big, no good, half-wop cousin."

"Hey, screw you Callahan! I could have made a wad by taking that story to the tabloids or something. I did you a good turn and you know it."

"Damn, you're feisty. I was just pulling your leg. Is this the place you were raving about?"

A splintered, white wooden sign said "Willies" in bright red letters. An emaciated old man in an apron was crouched over an immense, grease splattered looking grill. He was frying what seemed like forty pounds of raw bacon. A large metal pot stood on one end of the blackened stove. It was filled to the brim with thick, dark, reddish chili.

"Trust a cop," Darlene said. "Best food in town."

We sat on tall wooden stools, ignoring the acrid smell from the exhaust of passing cars and the odor of the thick layer of morning smog. The chili quickly overpowered the air pollution. It did smell good; thick with onions and peppers and rich beef stock.

Later, she said: "The guy is a pimp? I hate pimps."

I swallowed a bite of the burger, grunted with pleasure, and downed half a can of soda. "He's a pimp, and there is also a chance he's involved in kiddy porn in some way."

Darlene shook her head. Twin red dots appeared on her cheeks. "What the hell is it with you men?" She was smiling, but she didn't mean it. "There's nothing terribly complicated about sex, but men come up with every conceivable perversion and just keep on going. How much is enough?"

"No offense intended," I said.
Screw it; what the hell do I have to lose?
"But don't you think lumping me, and most of the men I know, in with a group of child pornographers is pushing the tired feminism rhetoric just a bit too far?"

The air was thick. We measured each another a bit differently. Finally, Darlene said: "Maybe. The jury is still out."

I put down my cheeseburger, like a man lowering his weapon in a street brawl. "I'm sorry I happen to have a penis, but I didn't come here to argue with you. I came here to ask for your help."

"What kind of help?"

"I just helped a girl who wanted to get sober. She's someone who did a lot for me when I got in all that trouble up in Dry Wells, Nevada."

"I read about that. Some people got killed."

"It was a close call, but fortunately I wasn't one of them."

"Go on." She squinted, bit and chewed.

"This woman, she's got a pretty sordid past."

"Okay." Darlene wolfed down more of her hamburger.

"Part of it involved making some porn movies for this pimp Fancy."

"So?"

"So he may be after her. Both of us."

"Based on what?"

"First, somebody tried to rob my date and I the other night. That's when I met Larry Donato. Then someone may have been stalking this girl and another lady friend of mine who was staying with me. They were alone at my house, and I was at work."

"Fool me once, shame on you," she said. She looked intrigued. "Fool me twice, shame on me. Is that how it goes?"

"Yeah, well, fool me three times, then. I was at an AA meeting and three guys in business suits cornered me in the john. They pushed me around a little."

Darlene used a finger to bend her nose to one side. "Mob?"

"I doubt it. In fact, one of them flashed me what looked like genuine FBI identification. He asked about a pimp named Fancy. That's who I took Mary from in the first place."