Post Pattern (Burnside Mystery 1) (10 page)

"What's the deal here?" Paul barked.

I looked at him and shook my head. From his appearance,
it would have been more appropriate for him to come to the door holding a
strawberry
marguerita
.

"Did you remember to fill that up with water?"
I asked.

Paul's lower lip curled in anger and he jerked the gun
up and pointed it in my face. "Don't screw with me, man! You don't know
who you're messing with!"

"Paul!" Evan hissed. "Keep it cool.
Remember?"

I lifted my hands in a peaceful gesture. "No harm intended,
fellas. I just have a few questions about the bachelor party last week."

"We don't want to answer any of your questions,
Jack," Paul said, his hand shaking slightly from the weight of the gun.
"We want you to get lost."

"Okay," I said. From the way Paul was holding
the gun I might have been able to smack it out of his hand if I reached out.
But that was the problem. He was too far away and I'd have had to lunge for it
and at that point I'd lose the advantage of a surprise attack. He might have enough
time to step back or pull his hand away or even squeeze the trigger. It was
still aimed at my tummy.

"It was a pleasure and a privilege to meet both of
you," I said, taking a step back.

"Just get the fuck out of here," Evan snarled.

"I may be back," I said, paraphrasing a
line from
The Terminator
.

"You do and you'll get a visit from my friend
here," Paul shouted, waving the gun as if I didn't know what he was
talking about.

"It's okay," I said, continuing to back up.
"I've got a few friends of my own."

The door slammed and I went downstairs and sat in my
Pathfinder for a while to cool off. I watched the sunset reflect off the smoky
glass windows of a Westwood office tower. Down the street, a grey haired old
man in a baby blue Cadillac turned the wrong way into the exit lane of a garage
and stopped short with a squeal of tires. After taking a full minute to figure
out what was happening, he shifted into reverse, backed out, and shot up into
the entranceway.

I pondered this as the last vestiges of color vanished
from the glass tower. As I began to wonder how the rest of the evening's events
would unfold, I saw a familiar face walk into the building. It was Lenny
Caputo. I stayed in the truck and waited for him to return. He came out fifteen
minutes later carrying what looked like a sack of groceries in a brown paper
bag. I smiled. Sometimes you get lucky.

I started the Pathfinder's engine and watched Lenny walk
down the sidewalk. Pulling slowly out of my space I eased the truck down the street
and followed him around the corner. He stopped three cars down and opened the
door to a new Toyota Prius. As he climbed into the vehicle, I drove up and
double parked in front of him, blocking any potential escape. Hopping out of
the Pathfinder, I drew my gun from the ankle holster and scooted around the
back of the truck. Sensing danger, Lenny leaped out of his car empty handed but
it was too late. My gun was in his face.

"Turn around," I shouted. "Hands on top
of your head."

I grabbed him and flung him around for emphasis.
Frisking him for weaponry, I found none and spun him back the other way.

"Get the bag," I said, jerking my head in the
direction of his front seat.

"You're not a cop!" he exclaimed.

"Call it a citizen's arrest," I snarled.
"Get it."

He reached inside and brought out the bag which said
"Target" on it in wide red lettering. I peeked inside without
touching the contents. It was a large white zip-lock baggie filled lavishly
with white powder and rolled up into a cylinder.

"Planning on doing some baking, Lenny?"

His eyes had the look of a frightened animal. His breath
was rapid and uneven, and his mouth quivered nervously. For a moment I thought
he might start to cry.

"I dunno where that came from, dude," he
started.

"Give it up, Lenny. I've got pictures of you
carrying it out of the building," I lied. "I even know you were in
apartment 14G."

"How... how do you know that?"

"Radar, kid," I said, starting to enjoy
myself. "You were in that apartment for eleven minutes and six seconds.
Would you like me to describe the furniture in the apartment, too? I can start
with the orange couch."

He shook his head no. I instructed him to hand me the
keys of his car and when he did so I told him to get in on the passenger side.
I sat down behind the wheel.

"Okay, Lenny, here's the deal. You're in a lot of
trouble. Big time trouble. With what I have here, you could go away for a
couple of years. San Quentin. Some of the boys there might teach you a new
definition of what a split end means. It won't be pretty."

His face was flushed and it held a petrified look.
"I’ve never been arrested before," he protested.

"Doesn't matter," I continued. "First
offenders go away all the time. Plus, it'll be very public. The headlines will
read "LAU football player goes to jail on drug charges." It'll haunt
you for the rest of your life. Everyone you meet will know about your past or
else they'll have friends who will. This is probably fun and games now, but
believe me it will live with you forever."

He bit his lip hard. "What do I do?" he
whimpered.

"Cooperate," I said. "Right now I'm the
only person in the world who can help you. Just me. I can ruin your life or I
can save it."

He looked helplessly at me. "What do you
want?"

I kept the gun steadied on him, although it probably
wasn't necessary. "Tell me about Robbie and Evan. I want it all and I want
it now."

Lenny swallowed and looked down as if he were betraying
nobility. "Evan's the source. Robbie was one of his customers. They knew
each other from growing up but it's business now."

"How much does Evan turn?"

Lenny shook his head. "Don't know. A bunch."

"He and Robbie ever have a problem?"

Lenny hesitated. I pointed to the paper bag with my gun
and he got the message. "Robbie owed him some money. Lot of money."

"Enough money to kill him over?"

"Evan doesn't kill people."

"When the stakes are high, anything's
possible."

Lenny shook his head. "He might have one of his
boys break an arm or something, but he wouldn't finish the job. If a guy's
alive he can pay the debt off. Can't do that if he's checked out."

It was a reasonable thought. If Robbie's life was really
in danger he could have gone to his father as his last resort. Borrowed the
money from him. Or taken it. But if I recalled, Robbie seemed anything but
worried on his last night.

"That's very perceptive," I said.

He looked bleak. "What's going to happen to
me?"

"Nothing right now. But I still have a problem with
Robbie Freeman's death. Tell me what happened at the bachelor party. In Robbie's
room. You were the only one there."

Lenny shook his head. "I don't know, dude. I was
out of it."

For a guy who talked like a surfer, Lenny was a shrewd
one. I decided to play my trump card. "Tell me everything you heard,"
I said. "And I'll walk away and you're free to drive home. No testifying,
no plea bargaining. You're home free."

Lenny looked me in the eye for the first time. He seemed
to be searching, if not within himself, within me. He shrugged, although not in
resignation, but more as if he had nothing to lose. "I heard
something," he said. "They put me on the bed and there was a scuffle
of sorts. I heard someone get whapped. Then I heard conversation. It wasn't
very long and it was kinda hushed. The music was playing really loud so I
couldn't hear real well."

"Go on," I said. The kid was my only ears into
an event that might otherwise never be known.

"I think I heard something or someone being dragged
across the floor," he said. "I was face down on the bed, mind you, so
I couldn't see anything. I heard some commotion on the balcony. And then the
next thing I know the police were in my face."

"How many people were dragging this thing -- and I
assume it was Robbie -- across the floor."

"I dunno."

"Okay," I said, licking my lips. "Did
anyone follow you and Curt and Robbie into the room?"

Lenny thought hard. "I didn't hear anyone."

"So how come you didn't tell me this last
week?"

"Didn't have a reason to, dude."

Shrewd, very shrewd. "You're a free man, Lenny. Not
everyone's going to give you the break I am."

"I'm not going to
jail?"

"Not unless you want to," I said, opening the
door and taking the bag with me. "And not unless you're holding out on me.
If you had anything to do with Robbie's death you better admit it to me or
you'll be in a lot worse trouble."

He looked me straight in the eye and said he didn't do
it. His expression was sincere, but L.A. is home to some mighty fine actors,
not to mention a large number of sociopaths.

As I got out of his car, Lenny climbed over the stick shifter
into the driver's seat. "Hey dude, how about giving me back my
stuff?"

I shook my head. "You're out of the business. Don't
bother to thank me, I'm used to it," I said, sticking the bag under my
arm. The next best thing to taking a dealer's money was to take his product.

"Evan's gonna be pissed."

"I think your pal's gonna have other things to
worry about. Stay away from him. Go home and forget you were here."

I climbed back into the Pathfinder and decided to call
it a day and go home. I was hot and tired and hungry and my jaw was starting to
swell. The freeway had thinned out by this time and it took just eleven minutes
to reach home. I cooked some spaghetti, not wanting my jaw to have anything
tough to chew on. After consuming a healthy portion, I was about to retire to
the evening news when I remembered the bag I removed from Dr. Caputo this
evening. I took his stash of white powder and flushed it down the toilet. Evan
might not have been pleased but I felt it was the most productive thing I had
accomplished since Norman Freeman hired me last week.

*

The following morning came too soon and I promised
myself to remind the apartment manager that Ms. Linzmeier’s pipes were still
howling. It was a little early to start work so I killed an hour skimming the
local fish wrap, also known as the L.A. Times. I lingered over three cups of
French Roast and a pair of raisin bran muffins smeared with blackberry jam to
mask the taste. By eight o'clock I was ready to start re-reading my Raymond
Chandler collection.

I concentrated my thoughts instead on Lenny Caputo and
Evan Wurman and the DVD of the bachelor party. With the exception of Curt, who
I knew I would have to deal with at some point, nobody at the party seemed to have
the motivation, the culpability or the lack of an alibi necessary to have
killed Robbie Freeman. I decided to concentrate on those who were not at the
party. Talk about your needle in a haystack.

My first stop was at Terry Kuhl's dorm room again. It was
nine o'clock and I assumed I would be waking the lad up, but to my surprise he
wasn't even there. A thin, amber skinned girl wearing little more than a red
striped pajama top and a sleepy expression opened the door a crack. She was
very pretty and had what might have been large doe eyes when they were fully
opened. Her hair was long and billowy, and was slightly disarrayed, probably
from hugging a pillow too tightly.

"Help you?" she managed in a soft voice.

"I'm looking for Terry Kuhl."

"Terry? He ain't here."

"Early class?" I wondered, perhaps a tad
cynically.

"No. He's at his mother's place over near
Crenshaw," she said and peered at me. "What's your name?"

"Burnside. I'm a private investigator."

Her eyes finally widened. "Is Terry in some kinda
trouble?"

"To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure. Do you know
Terry well?"

"Well as anyone, I guess."

I looked around the hallway. "Can I come in?"
I asked.

She nodded and opened the door for me. I entered a ten
by fifteen foot room that contained a simple bed, desk and dresser that smacked
of institutional quality, and an entertainment center that was probably
finished by a Danish carpenter. The multi-tiered walnut piece held a small flat
screen TV, DVD player and a stereo with enough knobs and switches to confuse an
engineer. This was a lot different from my dorm room. I admired it briefly, and
wondered if I had been born too soon.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"LeTanya," she said, pulling on the same
burgundy silk robe Terry Kuhl was wearing last week.

"Well LeTanya, how long have you known Terry?"

"We met over a year ago. They were recruiting some
athletes and I was part of the orientation tour. That's how we met."

"Orientation tour?"

"Yeah, you know. High school recruits come through
here and the coaches have us take them around and let them see the
campus."

I nodded. Show them a good time. At least some things
hadn't changed in twenty years. "Did you volunteer for this?"

She shrugged. "I was asked to. Some of the
girls volunteer but the coaches don't take everyone. They want to make a good
impression on the recruits."

"Apparently you succeeded."

She smiled faintly and looked down. "Some of us do
all right."

I nodded. "What can you tell me about Terry?"
I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Has he been acting any differently lately? Nervous
about anything?"

"No, not really. Terry's Terry. He's always been a
little high strung. Exceptional people sometimes are."

"Did Terry know Robbie Freeman real well?"

"I guess. Robbie came over now and again. They were
friends, but not real tight. Know what I mean?"

"Casual friends?" I offered.

"Casual, that's it."

"Did they get along okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Any hassles between the two?" I inquired
breezily.

"No. In fact Robbie helped Terry out a few times
with studying."

"I didn't think Robbie was much into school
work."

"I dunno. But he helped Terry do well on a few
tests. He was flunking a couple classes and Robbie helped him pull
through."

"Was Terry into drugs?" I asked, watching her
reaction carefully.

"He was at one time. Not any more. And not like the
others."

"Others?"

"Other players. I don't wanna name names."

"How about if I name some. Evan Wurman?"

"Never heard that one."

"Lenny Caputo?"

She nodded. "He was really into it."

"Did you know if Lenny and Robbie ever had any
problems with each other?"

"I dunno 'bout that. But I do know Terry used to
say that if he had wide receivers who could block, he'd of made Freshman
All-American last year. He was a little mad about their playing. Nothing
personal, mind you. Off the field he seemed to like both of them."

I digested this and decided Terry and I needed another
conversation. LeTanya gave me Terry's mother's address and I thanked her and
gave her my card in return.