White Heat Page 24

  Stopping at a phone booth about a block from the hotel, I called Eleanor Hildreth. She confirmed my suspicion that the senior Colbert had been an executive at the hotel at the time of Domino’s death, though she said she never realized he and Lobo were one and the same. I thanked her again and started to get in my car when I noticed one of the Three Tuxeteers on the sidewalk. I came up behind him, bar-armed his throat, dragged him into the shadows.

  His hand shot for the shoulder holster under his expensive Armani jacket. It didn’t make it. In fact, I grabbed it, twisting, and broke his wrist.

  “What the fuck’s this all about?” he said. “You’re fucking with the wrong people.”

  I shoved him into the wall. Down to the ground. Slammed my foot into his mouth. A tooth fell to the ground. Blood flowed out. There was a part of me that wanted to keep going. The more sane part said to quit.

  “Have a nice day,” I said.

  CHAPTER 35

  The Santa Barbara address was a bust. The apartment manager said Colbert had moved out two months ago without leaving a forwarding address. I felt like I was back to square one. My leads had taken me there. And there was nothing. I called Martin Luther King Hospital from a payphone.

  “Hey, dude, or is that Duke? What’s happening?”

  “You sound good. Better than before.”

  “Can’t keep me shut up forever. Hey, I’m gettin’ out.”

  “When?”

  “Today.”

  “If you can wait a couple hours, I’ll pick you up. I’m in Santa Barbara.”

  “Don’t come back to this mess on my account.”

  “It’d be my pleasure.”

  I grabbed a cheeseburger at McDonald’s and headed out to the 101 and the drive back to L.A. Tiny was glad to see me. Gave me a bear hug.

  “Looks like they patched you up pretty good.”

  “Can’t keep me down. I’m too mean,” he growled.

  “Feeling feisty.”

  A nurse wheeled Tiny to the curb and my waiting car in a wheelchair. There was nothing wrong with Tiny’s legs. Why do hospitals always have to do that? Insurance?

  “Glad to be outta that place.” He looked around. Blackened buildings. Charred remains of others. “Or am I?”

  We drove by his rental company. Still there and untouched. Which is more than I could say for my car. The tires and hubcaps were gone and what remained was a burned out hulk. There wasn’t even enough left to tow away. It sent a shot of sadness mixed with anger through me, but nothing like what I felt for the loss of Baron.

  “Whew! But I don’t think I want to go in today. Tomorrow’ll be plenty of time to do that. Let’s go have a beer.” He directed me to a small restaurant. I felt odd. I was the only white. Whispers floated our way. Were they wondering what a white man was doing here? Now?

  I caught him up on the progress of the case. He offered his help. I told him he needed to rest. I asked him about Teddie. He couldn’t give me any new information that would have been helpful.

  “I’ll get your car fixed up.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “Was on my property. I feel responsible. ’Sides, I know some good people who’ll do it for a price.”

  How could I argue? After a couple beers, I dropped him at his house.

  Before going home, I dropped by Laurie’s. Locked up tight. No sign of Jack’s bike. I rang the bell. No answer. Rang again.

  “Laurie, it’s Duke. I want to see if you’re okay.”

  Her car wasn’t in the driveway and I couldn’t see in the garage. I figured she might have gone out for the evening so I headed home. My answering service beeper was beeping. Turned it off. I didn’t care.

  The house felt strange. As if I wasn’t alone. Everything appeared undisturbed. Still it was an eerie feeling.

  I showered and crashed, dreaming that Baron was licking my face awake like he used to.

  The morning sun was bright as it streamed through window, waking me. Damn L.A. It’d be nice to have seasons. I didn’t want sun on a day like this. Half of L.A. was burned to the ground. What right did the sun have to shine?

  The message on the beeper was from Jack. I tried him. Couldn’t connect. Called the service. Jack had left a message there too. Craylock had gotten to Laurie. She was in Cedars-Sinai Hospital with a swollen cheek and minor lacerations. It felt like déjà vu. I tried the hospital. Laurie was asleep. Jack wasn’t there. Wasn’t home either. They’d said she was doing fine. I wanted the details. Where? When? How? Were the police involved? No one would tell me anything.

  I called Warren. He didn’t have anything new to add. No teddy bear and he was as surly as ever.

  “I missed you in Reno,” I said.

  “Yeah, well something came up.”

  “I thought the Big L.A. Party was over?”

  “Man, some parties never end. Some dude caught me on videotape. Cops came and arrested me and I had to be arraigned. Otherwise I wouldda been there. Been on your ass all the way.”

  Guilt overcame me so I headed for the hospital. I was about to turn into the parking lot when I spotted a black Beamer in the rearview. It couldn’t be. Pulling over to the side, I let him pass. It was him—Craylock. He pulled into the hospital parking lot. I drove in behind him. He didn’t notice me in his rearview mirror. I followed to where he parked, blocking his car in with mine. He saw me. Knew he couldn’t drive out. He got out of the car and ran.

  I left my car blocking his. A parking attendant yelled at me to move it.

  “Police,” I shouted.

  Craylock ran down the side street to San Vicente. Dodging traffic, he dashed across the road into the giant Beverly Center shopping mall parking lot. I chased him through the parking lot, zigzagging in and around cars, to the escalators. He headed up, shoving people out of his way. One thing I never understood is why people went up when they were trying to escape. Unless there was a chopper waiting for them, it was always a dead-end. I knew that if I ever had to run from someone I’d go straight ahead, full throttle.

  We came out into the mall. Innocent shoppers watched two men run down the hall. He pushed a baby in a stroller out of the way. I kept after him. Mall security joined the chase, running and talking into walkie-talkies at the same time. Craylock jumped onto another escalator, heading up again. He stayed on it until he reached the top level where the food stalls were.

  We played dodge-the-shopper until there was nowhere else for him to run to. I crashed into him, knocking him against the Hot Dog on a Stick’s brightly-striped yellow and blue walls. The fresh lemons in their lemonade machine escaped their bondage and crashed down on us, spilling sticky pink lemonade all over us.

  Four uniformed guards from mall security had us surrounded. They were already radioing the real cops. I didn’t show the Star. No need to hassle that. Craylock was panting. I was in a hell of lot better shape than he and I was panting too. In between gulping air, I tried explaining to the security guard in charge what was going on. “This man’s wanted by the police,” I said, gasping for air. He didn’t care. They hustled us into a back room where we waited for the police. It didn’t take them long to show up. An older L.A.P.D. sergeant, who looked like he’d seen it all, twice, and a young female officer. The mall security guys had neglected to frisk us. The cops weren’t so lax. I asked Sergeant Webb if I could speak to him alone for a minute. We went into the hall.

  “I’m a licensed private detective.” I showed him my ID. “The man inside is wanted for stalking and beating up a client. I saw him at Cedars, where she’s recuperating, and gave chase. And I’m carrying a concealed weapon.”

  “Real easy now,” he said, “Lean against the wall. You know the drill.”

  I did what he said, spreading my arms and legs. He asked where the gun was. I told him. He removed it, patted me down. Didn’t find anything else—I never did get my knife back from the Tuxeteers.

  “Do you have a permit?”

  “No. That’s why I was hoping we c
ould work this out. I was chasing him. I felt I needed the gun.”

  “We’ll see how it plays out. Let’s go back inside.” He asked for a brown paper bag, got one, and put the gun in it. No one else had seen it.

  “I don’t know why this man is chasing me. He’s crazy.”

  The sergeant called the station. There was a bulletin out on Craylock. He was wanted for questioning in Laurie’s beating. The sergeant got my name, address, phone number. He took my statement. “No need to come down to the station now,” he said. “We’ll be in touch.” The woman cop cuffed Craylock, who was still proclaiming his innocence. “Don’t forget your lunch,” the sergeant said, handing me the brown bag.

  “Thanks, sergeant.”

  He didn’t respond, just turned to the business at hand. I told him where Craylock’s car was parked, then headed off. Walking back to the parking lot across the street, I, once again, felt as if I was being followed. There were a lot of people around. Many of them had seen the chase. I passed it off to paranoia and figured people were watching me ’cause of the chase.

  The parking attendants hadn’t had my car towed, but more police were milling around it. I told them what had just happened. After verifying the story, they let me go without frisking me. I felt lucky.

  Before getting into my car, I looked in his. Fresh flowers. He’d been bringing her flowers. People never cease to amaze me.

  Laurie had been off her guard when Craylock came up to her. It was the middle of the day—her lunch hour. She was walking down the street to a sandwich shop when he cut her off at an alley and pulled her into his car. He’d driven toward the freeway on-ramp, but hadn’t made it. She was kicking and screaming the whole way. He’d tried to beat her into submission, thus the hospital stay, but it hadn’t worked. She belted him in the mouth and jumped from the car.

  She was home from the hospital after only one day. Craylock was safely in jail awaiting arraignment. Jack and I went to visit her.

  “What’s this?” she said, as I handed her a brown paper bag.

  “Chicken soup. From Cantor’s Deli.”

  “Jewish penicillin,” Jack said. He had to say something. “You’ll get well more quickly.”

  Laurie put the soup in the fridge. She poured us all diet sodas. We sat in the living room.

  “I told Jack not to come around. I wanted to do it on my own. I figured, what was the point, I couldn’t have a bodyguard forever.”

  “You did do it on your own,” I said.

  “I know,” she grinned. “But I still want to take a self-defense class and learn to shoot better. Jeez, how much longer do I have to wait to pick up the gun? I got lucky with that one punch that landed on his nose.”

  She thanked us. Said to keep in touch. I said we would. At the very least we’d be testifying at Craylock’s trial. Jack and I split and hit a bar, downing a few beers.

  “I can’t shake the feeling of being followed,” I told him as we downed another.

  “It’s just these cases, man. Both stalkers. Got you spooked.”

  “You’re right. That and lack of sleep.”

  I went home. Called Rita. No answer at her place. I left a message saying I’d been out of town and saying she could call me or I’d call back again. Either way. I was nervous about talking to her.

  Square one.

  Square one.

  Square one, I kept saying to myself. Chasing all over hell and back and still nowhere. I wasn’t about to quit though. Finding the Weasel had become my mission.

  I dialed the phone. “Hello, Lou.”

  “Duke. What’s going on?”

  “I’m getting closer. I know who the guy is.”

  “You do?” She responded quickly, with anticipation.

  “Yes. Jim or James Colbert, Jr. Originally from Sparks, Nevada. I think he’s living here now.”

  “Oh no. I can see it coming.”

  “You have to run him, Lou. If you do I’ll find him, get the police in on it.”

  “You’re sure it’s the right guy.”

  I told her Colbert’s story.

  “Sounds like it’s him.” There was a long pause. I could hear her breathing. “All right. I’ll run him first thing in the morning. And if he’s in the computer fine, you find him, turn him in. But if he’s not, we go to the police with what we’ve got now. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  We made plans to have another dinner at El Coyote and hung up. My whole body ached. Stiff everywhere. All I wanted was to take a hot shower and hit the hay.

  A noise.

  Outside.

  Go to the window.

  Can’t see anything.

  Crouch on the floor.

  Peek out.

  Nothing.

  Wait.

  Waiting hurts.

  Silence.

  No movement.

  Am I being followed?

  Maybe I’m not so crazy after all.

  Still nothing.

  The silence of the night.

  Silence.

  Calm.

  Peaceful.

  Too damn peaceful

  Too damn quiet.

  A shadow.

  Moving across the garage wall.

  CHAPTER 36

  The shadow of a Weasel?

  A Craylock who’d made bail?

  Warren on the rampage?

  Nondescript burglar, variety 27?

  The guy who’s been tailing me?

  Safety off.

  Latch off the back door.

  Open slowly.

  Hinge creak.

  Damn.

  Been meaning to oil those hinges.

  Toe-walk down the stairs.

  Creeping.

  Shadow inching along edge of garage.

  Padding forward.

  A target in the light.

  Could’ve turned the outside floods off.

  Would’ve given myself away.

  Stillness.

  No tranquility.

  Rustling breeze.

  What’s that?

  Breathing?

  A sucking step into mud or wet grass.

  Charge the garage.

  Running steps.

  He’s heard me.

  Seen me.

  Knows I’m here.

  Hard charging.

  After him.

  Around the garage.

  Behind the incinerator.

  Shadow on the wall.

  He’s over.

  I’m over.

  Running through the neighbor’s yard.

  Who’s there? neighbor shouts.

  I’m calling the cops.

  Bolt down the driveway.

  Intruder runs up the block.

  Chase him.

  Red lights.

  Blue lights.

  Cop car.

  Ditch into the bushes.

  Cops ride by to neighbor’s house.

  Don’t see me.

  They’re gone.

  So is intruder.

  Damn.

  Fuck up.

  Fuck up.

  Fuck up.

  Head home.

  Avoid cops.

  Curse the night.

  What would he have done if I hadn’t heard him? Spied on me? Broken in? Robbed? Attacked? Killed? L.A. cops are notorious for not catching calls quickly. My luck these guys must have been cruising nearby. Damn.

  The phone was ringing as I entered through the back door.

  “Yeah.” Angry. Out of breath.

  “Sounds like you’re having a good night,” Jack said.

  “I’m sure I’m being tailed.”

  “You’re being paranoid again.”

  “I chased the son-of-a-bitch outta my yard and into the street. Would’ve caught him if a neighbor hadn’t called the cops.”

  “Should’ve let the cops catch him for you.”

  “And deprive me of the pleasure?”

  “You’re right. Besides, they prob’ly would’ve busted your sorry ass.” He chuckle
d, pleased with his little joke. “Who do you think it was?”

  “I don’t know for sure. My guess is the Weasel.”

  “Seems weas-ly all right. Smart.”

  “Not smart enough. I’m onto him. I know who he is. And Lou’s gonna tell me where he is.”

  “Well, I guess you don’t wanna go out and have a few.”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Stick around, see if he’ll come back?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Want company?”

  “Thanks, but no.”

  Jack was right. I thought maybe he’d come back, whoever he was. If he did, I wanted to be there. I slept in the hall, halfway between the kitchen and the living room. Figured I could hear anything at either end of the house that way. The Star was my pillow.

  Lou’s call woke me the next morning. Colbert had, indeed, moved to L.A., to an apartment about ten blocks from where Teddie lived—and died. Walking distance. That’s why no one had seen a car. He had some smarts. Thank God for Lou, computers and the DMV, though some people might fault one or the other sometimes. I wondered if he knew I was onto him. Might he have called his dad? Did Colbert senior even have a phone? Had he followed me? Maybe I wasn’t so paranoid all along? If he had he was a damned good tail. I might have seen little hints of things out of the corners of my eyes, but I never saw him. Never anything concrete. Did he know about my meeting with Ramon? Trip to Calexico? Reno? Had he seen me with Laurie?

  Had he followed me home? Killed Baron?

  Lou had gone into work early to run him. She figured if she had to get up early, so did I. As long as I was up, there was no time to lose. I dressed. Headed out. It took about ten minutes to get to the Weasel’s apartment. The name was prettier than the building, The Ocean Breeze Palms. There was no ocean. No breeze. And the palms were dead or dying. Just like the street they lived on. Just like the building named after them. Some Russian-speaking children headed off to school, arguing about the merits of the USA over the former USSR. I don’t speak Russian, but enough of their interchange was in English for me to get the gist of it.