Tinseltown Riff Read online

  It was now ten after eight. He had a few minutes to wolf something down and take it all in till Angelique touched base. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t such a bad idea. This Ben character might be some kind of link. Any kind of link would be better than hanging everything on Ray’s hunch about Angelique’s handoff of a calling card. And his hunch this Mexican was about to horn in. Banking on both hunches leading straight to the missing stash was way too scattershot.

  And so was checking on that wimp Elton Frick’s voice mail again. And finding out both Fed agencies figured Frick was spooked by organized crime. That’s why Frick wasn’t calling back. And that’s why they were looking into it.

  Too much static all around. He needed something he could get a bead on here and now.

  As Deke did his best to hang tight waiting for Angelique’s call, a young punk dressed in a matching flower-print shirt and pants, brushed by and took his order. The only thing recognizable on the menu was an Island burger with chili and pineapple chunks. The chili was made of soy and tofu, but the beef was supposedly from a steer. Plus they couldn’t have messed with a cold bottle of Coors.

  The punk thanked him as he scooped up the menu and stopped in mid-motion. “Nice T-shirt. Say, you wouldn’t happen to be a talent scout or something?”

  Deke gave him a blank stare.

  “Just asking. Our acting coach at the Strasberg Instiute says you never know. That’s the same Strasberg--long departed, of course--who made Marilyn Monroe a star.”

  Deke cast his eyes away from the punk and onto the tiled tabletop. Marilyn Monroe again. First Castroville and now here. Even more static.

  “Okay, just tossing it out there,” said the pushy punk. “But like coach says, in this business you play the moment. You see an opportunity, you grab it.”

  Deke tapped on the tiles. The punk finally caught on, excused himself and flitted off into the blare of the Beach Boys Live and the obstacle course of grass huts and tropical birds. The glazed macaws were perched overhead painted in turquoise, lime, orange and flamingo red.

  Deke snatched the crinkled L.A. map from the top pocket of his jacket, slapped it on the table and scanned the West Hollywood streets. Last time he was here, the chase also took him every which way. This particular watering hole was set back on a boulevard that wasn’t a boulevard. There was a chunky gold building down the street like a fake eastern temple, shoddy store fronts, radio towers that looked like mangled oil derricks, a weird Chinese-looking theater, then a cluster of chrome bimbos that looked like a hood ornament for a 1950s Caddy.

  Everything was so flung around, you were never there. To find Paramount or this Avalon Studios, you had to scout around up La Brea or Fairfax, cut across Melrose and turn down. And all the while cars zipped by on either side and tried to cut you off. Either that or everything slowed to a crawl. But if you tried some side street, you’d like as not wind up on the Santa Monica Boulevard and to hell and gone.

  To Deke’s mind, at least in Vegas, all of it was piled up on the Strip. You couldn’t miss it if you were blind drunk and had amnesia. There it was till they tore it down and stuck an even bigger load of crap in its place: shooting fountains, an Eiffel tower, the statue of liberty plunked in a fake ocean, and a screaming roller coaster. Inside, you got an old lion stuck in his cage, topless girls, every kind of blown up show, crowds streaming in and out of the casinos and banks of slot machines. From there you had your high-rollers betting $5,000 a hand, the buzz at the roulette tables, baccarat, blackjack dealers with their dead eyes peeling cards from a shoe. You want it, it’s in your face and you were smack-dab sons-of-bitches there.

  What it had come down to was that Deke had goddamn had it. Sick of being bottled up and jerked around. Sick of the spasms in his back. Sick of the jokers to the right of him, clowns to the left. Sick of what was up with the Feds, the Mexican, Walt and the Outfit. He was a footloose tracker and, one way or another, he was going to by-God stay footloose.

  The punk came back with Deke’s order and made no more play for Deke’s attention. But still no call from Angelique. He set his cell phone aside and wolfed down the meat and mealy-sauce-and-fruit combo. By this point, it had gotten so bad he almost missed Sin City. Missed getting a thick steak and all the trimmings any time of night and day. Missed being called in ‘cause some bozo had signed markers, comped a huge credit line, or some bag man was skimming off the top. No problem. You smoked him hightailing it to the desert or Red Rock Canyon. Then you were out of it, back to the shack up in Cold Creek. Over and done.

  Draining the Coors and asking for another, Deke took out the little notepad and nailed down his plan. Intercept those “financial resources” and get the hell out. Over to Vegas for a juicy tradeoff with the Outfit. Then cool it down overlooking the Sierra Range: wild brownish red in the morning, a coat of fresh snow atop Mount Charleston in winter. The desert road to the Valley of Fire ... dancing sunsets on Red Rock Canyon walls ... swinging over to Sunrise Mountain, Lake Mead, up and over to wherever the hell he goddamn pleased.

  About twenty minutes later, he paid his tab and scooted out. Over to the beige rental car a few blocks away; his sightlines cut off by a humongous billboard display: some grinning nutcase, half of him dressed in a wedding gown, the other half in a tux, fat pink and blue letters spelling out Split Decision. Seemed everywhere he looked, something about this town kept twanging his back.

  Finally, his cell phone did its jingle. He gave Angelique only a few seconds for her song and dance about how hard it was to keep sneaking away from Ray to make a private call.

  “Talk to me,” Deke said, “or forget it.”

  “That is like so rude. Like I deserve this?”

  “Then forget it.”

  “All right. Damn, this was supposed to be so-o fun.”

  “The girl. You said she was coming down to do double duty. What was she driving? An old pickup maybe?”

  “Who knows, who cares? The point is, Lester was doing his rounds last night and came across the card Ben must’ve slipped her. The point is, she didn’t show up at my place and there’s still no sign of her yet, besides the card and some doughnut wrappers and all. But if she’s looking for me ...”

  Angelique lost her train of thought before she came back with, “The story is, only Studio Three and the bungalow are open and there must be some kind of misunderstanding.”

  “And this writer, this Ben character?”

  “That’s the worry part. He’s playing hide-and-seek.”

  “Who told you this?”

  “Iris, my trainer, who else? She was just there, called back a bunch of times and finally caught him by the gate. Sounds like he’s got something else going.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Look, I need a project real bad. Gotta make sure this comes to something. Gotta get back on the power list before I fade and die.”

  Breaking in on Angelique’s meltdown, he learned that Iris was at her fitness center this minute waiting to fill Deke in.

  Deke made some more notes. A glance at the map gave him a two-step trajectory. He was on it now and all he had to do was follow the trail.

  Deke drove a few blocks west and got a break headed down Fairfax hitting only light traffic. Parking behind the gym in a no-parking spot, he unbuttoned the suit jacket swearing he would never again wear anything that made him feel like a male whore. Then snatched the stainless steel attaché case out of the trunk for added effect. Afterwards, when he swung back up Melrose and over to the studio, he’d put on the Levi jacket and play it his own way.

  Before locking the car, he checked under the front seat making sure the slim-line Walther and belt slide were carefully tucked out of sight.

  As he drifted through the glass doors of the gym, he got sidetracked by a bunch of gals in the room to his right. The space was lined with mirrors rimming a shiny wooden floor and they were all wearing bright halters and shorts with their hair done up in a ponytail. In the few seconds it took him to re
alize the instructor was much too young to be Iris, he nodded as heads turned to check him out. It seemed they were in the middle of a routine, reaching like they lost something way up high, crossing their arms in front, swinging them all the way around and obviously in no position to help him out. He pivoted to avoid the instructor’s eyes but turned too fast and felt a twinge down low in that same spot in the small of his back.

  Ignoring the spasm, he scanned the layout. The space beyond the front counter was much larger and held the treadmills and flickering TV monitors. Down a flight of stairs was a lineup of all kinds of machines, weights, bench press equipment and such much further back. And that’s where he spied her, way over in the corner, well past the tall brunette and little blonde going neck and neck, stride by stride on parallel cross trainers. The only trouble was the pounding speakers overhead wailing and thumping about ‘good lovin’ that hurt his ears. Adding to the racket, the giant fans were grinding and blowing the night air in a cross current. Having to raise his voice to get something out of this Iris character was dumb. But she looked too busy to move her outside and he didn’t have time to ask her to step into an office.

  Just then, a body-builder type bulging out of his V-neck tank top lumbered out of the shower rooms behind the counter. Deke asked if he would mind turning the sound down. Snapping open the attaché case and pulling out the notepad and silver ball point seemed to get a rise out of him. But mostly it was Deke’s mauve T-shirt that the body-builder called “very dishy” that did the trick. The bodybuilder asked if Deke was from out of town on business. When Deke said he had an appointment with Iris, the guy switched stations to Broadway show tunes and kept it on a low decibel level. He also said not to worry about interrupting her. Iris was only disinfecting the machines for their nightly dust-up. He added that he was free at ten and would be more than glad to show Deke around.

  After giving him a thanks-but-no-thanks, Deke headed down the stairs, straight between the dueling cross trainers and the water fountain and across to the far end. Iris still had her back to him as she sprayed the handles of something that looked like a huge snowmobile that had hit an embankment and spun on its tail. Her knees were on the seat of the contraption as she squirted away at the chrome handlebars with a plastic bottle filled to the brim with soapy foam. A paper towel rolled onto the floor. Deke picked it up and handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” said Iris. “Angelique send you?”

  “Uh-huh. Can we get right down to it?”

  “You said it. Hey, wait a second, what happened to the beat?”

  “I asked the guy at the desk to turn it down.”

  “Oh, yeah? He didn’t just tweak it. He switched to slurpy shlock. You can’t pump iron to slurp. I’m telling you, everything right now is totally out of whack.”

  Before pressing on, Deke gave her a once-over. She was built like a squat lady wrestler but wore a silky yellow windbreaker with the sleeves rolled up, yellow shorts, socks and matching tennis shoes. Her thick grey hair looked like she’d clipped it with sheep shears. No makeup, deep tan. The lines in her face told him she was well over fifty. Her beady eyes and low, rusty voice told him she shot from the hip and he could cut to the chase.

  “Get it?” said Iris, wiping down the handles again to make doubly sure. “What I’m saying is, think about it. Ben’s all over the place. You got one dorky guy manning the gate who knows from nothing. Leo asks if the Mexican who works out with the heavy bag is Ben’s secret friend. This is just the other day, mind you. Tonight, Leo calls and asks again, wants to make sure.”

  “Of what?”

  “That it’s going down, what else?”

  “With Ben?” said Deke. “The writer guy?”

  “Who else?”

  “And Leo is ... ?”

  “Never mind. The point is, Ben has to be leaned on, pinned down before the whole thing tanks. You read me?”

  “Yup,” Deke said, as she hopped off the Chin-up/dip.

  She moved over to the Pec Fly. “By the way, this one isolates the pectoralis major. But judging from the stiff way you handle yourself, you’ll need more flexion and less muscle work. Keep that in mind once we get through this rough patch. But enough. Are we through?”

  “Just about.” Pulling out the notepad from the attaché case, jotting down a few more pointers, Deke said, “Now about this Pepe fella.”

  “Ah, you know him?” said Iris, going over to the Preacher Curl. “Interesting. Seems he may be the problem instead of the solution. Calls Ben up in the middle of the night. Oh, yeah, I heard, I caught it. Got my finger on everything. I have to, as you can plainly see. You getting the picture now?”

  “Uh-huh,” said Deke, making a checkmark.

  “Good,” said Iris, spraying in two directions and alternately wiping down the dual Hip Abductors. “Off the record, I am pushing this for Leo.”

  Deke circled Leo’s name having no idea who he was or how he fit in.

  “Still and all,” Iris went on, “since Ben needs this so bad and, underneath, may have the goods plus the means—but enough said. Isn’t it time you got on your horse?”

  “The means? Something going on the side, is that it?”

  Iris attacked the Lat Pull-down with a double spray. “What am I, talking too fast for you?”

  “No, you’re doing just fine. And what about the girl?”

  “What girl?”

  “A ringer, a look-alike.”

  “Oh, you mean the sketches. The ones Gillian just grabbed.”

  “So this Ben character was with her.”

  “Using her, you mean. Or maybe she’s using him or both. Who knows? Isn’t this complicated enough for you? So, like I said, pin him down.”

  With her tone getting more and more testy, she added, “Pin him down so Leo can have his shot.”

  “Leo wants his shot,” Deke said, making a final note.

  “Out, out of here,” said Iris, rising from the padded rollers of the Leg Curl and the Leg Extension. “What is it with you? Too uptight to move?”

  Before he had a chance to duck, she whacked him across the back. Not hard, but hard enough.

  Deke covered up this next spasm by moving away and looking around. He settled his gaze on the tall brunette and the little blonde who had just ended their contest on the cross trainers. He grimaced and watched as they caught their breath and mopped each other’s faces with big white towels. When he turned back around, he found Iris glaring at him.

  “One last thing,” Deke said, still waiting for the spasms to subside. “This Pepe, what does he look like?”

  “Did you see Mr. Muscles at the counter? If Pepe is who I think he is, add long, jet-black hair, the face of Zorro and a crazy look in the eyes.”

  Deke gave Iris a final nod and walked over to the water fountain just as the tall Brunette and little blonde sashayed by and headed up the stairs for the lockers arm in arm. He snuck a pain pill in his mouth, filled the paper cup and guzzled the ice cold water down.

  Back in the car--the Walther tucked in the belt slide just behind his right hip--he held his cell phone close to his mouth and let Ray have it.

  “Give it to me, Ray, before I move in.”

  “Hey, what did I tell you? We gotta make it short. You never know what bugging devices they got now.”

  “I don’t care if it’s one word. What is it? What’s worth all this pain?”

  “Look—”

  “Tell me or get yourself another flunky.”

  “I’ll tell you and that something I’ll tell you is this. You will tell me and I will tell you nothing.”

  “Okay then.”

  “Wait. What do you know?”

  “I know you’re so strapped, you can only lease one building, a bungalow and a joker at the gate. Which tells me there’s no way you can front Angelique’s operation without collateral. Without those missing resources, you can’t launder squat.”

  “Are you talking to me? Are you talking to Ray like this? I am calling Walt. I am
nailing his ass and telling him--”

  “You do that. He’ll remind you, what with the accountant scamming you over the lame books plus this latest screw-up, the Outfit’s already got you by the short hairs. So, assuming some combo of Ben, the girl and Pepe haven’t already divvied things up and I can cut it off ... But hell, waste some more time. Please yourself.”

  Ray was so unhinged at this point, all he could say was, “Jeez, hold it, hey ...”

  Deke gave him two minutes to call back and give him the kicker. In the meantime, surprised at himself for coming on strong like that, he shrugged it off, ditched the pansy top and put the dress shirt back on. At least it was broken in and something a man could wear. He probably should’ve also put the suit jacket back on to keep up appearances but what for? Once he spooked the lone clown manning the gate, how much of an appearance would he have to keep up? So he yanked his Levi jacket out of his overnight bag.

  Then, just for the hell of it, he riffled through his notes. The riffling reminded him of time limits, high stakes, all the chips and the two hole cards down. If he was reading things right, it looked like Ray wasn’t that far off. Of course, Deke wouldn’t know Pepe’s hole cards and Pepe wouldn’t know his. But if it came to that, Deke would need an edge.

  He eyed the Walther and patted the belt slide by his hip. He tried to recall the last time he fired a hand gun. Did he wing the guy or just shake him up? He couldn’t remember. At any rate, he’d need the insurance no matter what Pepe was packing. Especially if he brought along some of his Chicano hoods out for revenge.

  Or, in any case, if this Ben and the girl gave him a hard time.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Ben’s last-resort ploy didn’t exactly pay off. Instead of going along with him, Molly shuffled into the bungalow in a daze.

  From his vantage point in the kitchenette doorway, Ben watched her meander over to the desk where Iris had plunked down the tote bag full of health food paraphernalia as heavy as curb stones. She peeked in, yawned, shook her head and just stood there.