L A Woman Page 4

  Tomas said, “In your Will, put the truck to us!” They hoo-hawed at that one, slapping low fives and bumping shoulders.

  “Tell me about Magilla.”

  Atticus said, “You ever watch National Geographic, any of those shows about the big mountain gorillas?” I nodded. “Shave all the hair off one of them and you’ve got Magilla, except he’s white. He has the big forehead and brows, a big, big barrel chest, and huge arms. He’s crowding seven feet and must weigh four hundred pounds.” Atticus scratched his head, “Man, how could you not know about him? Guy’s legendary. He bends railroad spikes with his hands like I bend licorice sticks.”

  “What’s he into?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I know about him, not what he does. Some things you don’t ask.”

  “Are Magilla and John Wesley working together?”

  “Don’t know, don’t want to know. Finding out that kind of information might lead to a shortened life span, you dig?

  I nodded, “Thanks.” As I opened Shamu’s door, they started snickering. Somehow, they had gathered up several dozen plastic toy figures of fish characters from that animated Disney movie, Finding Nemo, and hung them throughout the interior. It was like looking into an aquarium.

  Oh, they were rolling on the ground when I climbed in. Oscar made fish faces at me, moving his hands behind his ears like flapping gills as I drove off the lot and into traffic. After two miles and hundreds of stares, I knew what it was like to live in a fishbowl.

  CHAPTER 5

  Hondo’s Mercedes was at the office and I parked beside him. He was sitting at his desk sharpening his SOG knife when I opened the door.

  “Magilla Gorilla,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Man, you need to know your competition if you’re going to work in this town. How could you not know about him?”

  “Are you talking about Magilla Sykes?”

  I shifted my eyes around, “Uhh, sure. Yeah.”

  “What about him?”

  I went to my desk and propped my feet up, “First, you tell me what you know about Magilla. I’ll fill you in on what you’re missing.”

  “He’s not somebody to mess with.”

  “Hah! I know much more than that.”

  Hondo folded his knife and put it in his pocket. “So tell me.”

  “Remember the black cowboy we saw on the tape? His name is John Wesley. I think he’s working with Magilla, and they were both chasing our mystery girl right before she lifted the Firebird.”

  “You know this how?”

  “Superior detective abilities, of course. Ronny Baca, Super Detective, that’s me.” Hondo rested his forearms on his desk and looked at me like you’d look at a tiresome kid.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, “There was a 7-Eleven down the street from the car lot and the store had a surveillance camera pointed in the right direction. They let me look at the tapes and I saw the girl dodging Magilla and John Wesley as they drove around looking for her. I didn’t know their names right then, so I described them to the wash guys at the car lot. They told me John Wesley and Magilla’s names.”

  Hondo got up. “Let’s find Magilla.”

  “Whoa there, amigo. You just said he’s not somebody to mess with.”

  “I’m not worried, I’ve got Super Detective with me.”

  We took Hondo’s Mercedes, but not before Hondo got a look at the fish inside Shamu’s cab. “You have some serious problems,” he said.

  “Hey, it wasn’t me. I couldn’t find a knife or scissors or anything to use to cut them down.”

  Hondo handed me his knife, crossed his arms and waited. I opened the cab and cut the monofilament fishing lines holding the plastic fish. Hondo’s knife is so sharp it seemed that I barely had to touch the blade to the strings. Me, I can work on a knife for hours, sharpening and sharpening, and maybe get it to cut a few hairs off my forearm. Hondo, on the other hand can take a butter knife and give it a few whacks on a stone and the darn thing will cut through a dropped silk scarf like a Damascus sword.

  After I had all the plastic toys gathered in my arms, I started toward the Mercedes. Hondo said, “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to give them to you, as a gift.”

  “I don’t want them in my car.”

  “It’ll go good with the paint job, make you seem more festive.” I held out one that looked like a small angelfish, “See how colorful? Be just what you need to perk up your appeal to the opposite sex.”

  “No.”

  “Ohh, okay,” I said.

  Hondo took the little angelfish, the Nemo character, from my arms and tossed it back in my pickup. He said, “For good luck.”

  I narrowed my eyes to give Hondo my mean look, then took the rest of the toys into the office and put them in my drawer, covering the little Walther PPK I kept there for emergencies.

  Hondo drove us southeast along Lincoln Boulevard and kept on it as it turned into Sepulveda while I called Sergeant Vick Best of the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department and asked him if he could find out a little about our John Wesley character.

  Sepulveda was still really the Pacific Coast Highway, but in certain cities, they have to rename things for one reason or another. We started asking questions in Hermosa Beach where Hondo had a few contacts and knew people-who-knew-people who knew Magilla.

  People seemed to have two responses when asked about Magilla: One was to look over their shoulder before saying they’d never heard of him; the second was to ask for money. The old barter system, money for information.

  After paying out somewhere around two hundred dollars and following leads to other areas as directed, we narrowed Magilla’s whereabouts to an area about the size of Australia.

  It seemed he was everywhere and nowhere. Yeah, they knew he was around, mostly Torrance or Downtown LA or San Pedro or West Hollywood or Compton or Hermosa or Inglewood or Pasadena or Brentwood or Palm Springs or somewhere in the western half of the United States and yeah, they’d heard he was just there last week, or two days ago, or ten days ago, but no, not lately. Maybe he moved, they would add with their hand out, just in case we were motivated to slip another five or ten onto their palms.

  “At least nobody has said he’s in Nova Scotia,” I said. “We can cross that off our list.”

  “Nothing like knocking a big portion of geography off our search,” Hondo said.

  I held my hand up like a student asking for permission to speak. Hondo said, “What?”

  “Do you think we could eat? I think better if I eat at least once every couple of days. My stomach thinks my throat has been cut.”

  “Any particular cuisine?”

  “Nope. If you see a herd of cattle, stop and I’ll drag down the slowest one and eat it on the spot. I’m starving.”

  “The Galley in Santa Monica okay?”

  “That sounds perfect. Get a steak, eat at the bar where those bartenders can keep the glasses full.”

  The sun had set on a long day, leaving only a thin line of red sky on the horizon as we drove on the Santa Monica Freeway. It was a lot of work for nothing to show, but that’s how it went sometimes.

  The next morning we walked from our office to The Cow’s End for coffee and breakfast. The usual crowd of locals and a few visitors were there, bantering with the friendliest staff in Los Angeles.

  I ate my pastries and drank as Hondo said, “Got a couple of calls last night. One of them said that John Wesley’s cruising around, asking kids on the street about the girl.”

  “We might be able to find him pretty quick if he keeps that up. What was the other call?”

  “Emma wants me to work in an indie she’s directing.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “She didn’t say. She wants me to come over tonight to talk about it.”

  “Ahh, a couch audition,” I said. Hondo grinned and drank his coffee.

  When we returned to the office, there was a package from Hunter Kincaid waiting for us. Insid
e the big cardboard box were five bags of Julio’s chips and a small Styrofoam box with five jars of Julio’s Salsa. We could live for a month on that. Hondo put the bags in the closet and the salsa in the small refrigerator. He sat down just as Sergeant Vick Best walked into the office.

  “I smell chips,” he said.

  “Hey, Sergeant Vick,” I said. “Yes, we’re doing just peachy. Thanks so much for asking.”

  He made a face like tasting something sour. “Ronny, if you were half as smart as your mouth…”

  Hondo got up, went into the closet, then the refrigerator, and returned with a bag of chips and a jar of salsa. “Here you go, Vick.”

  Vick snatched them up. “Keep your hands off, Ronny.”

  I held my hands up, “They’re all yours, officer. Please don’t shoot.”

  He made a snorting sound and sat down in the chair in front of Hondo’s desk. “That John Wesley character you two are looking for is bad news. I talked to some people in Nogales and Douglas that knew him. They said he’s been arrested a number of times, but never convicted. He’s sharp enough not to leave witnesses and knows something about forensics, because everything is wiped clean at the crime scenes.”

  I asked, “What crimes?”

  “Murder. Five times for murder.”

  “And he was never convicted?” I said.

  “Nope.” Vick opened the top of the bag and ate a chip. “He’s been in Los Angeles for a year and there’s no reason to think he’s changed. I talked to LAPD and they don’t know who his associates are and neither do we. But he’s working for someone or he wouldn’t be here. This is no town to start up his type of criminal career as a solo act.”

  Hondo said, “Someone’s always importing outside talent.”

  “Like the NBA and free agents,” I said.

  “Except their shooters are a little different.” Hondo said.

  Vick stood up, “I hear anything else, I’ll call. And this,” he held out the chips and salsa, “Isn’t enough. You two didn’t keep up with the vig. It’s two bags and two jars.”

  “Well, you little loan shark, you,” I said. “I guess we’ll have to get another shipment. Don’t you feel bad taking our last chips?” Hondo looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

  “I feel pretty good about it, if you want to know,” Vick said, laughing as he went out the door.

  After Vick left, Hondo said, “I’m going to the gym and work out with the power-lifters, try to clear my mind a little. You want to come?”

  “Nah, I need to check the internet for any open casting calls, see if I can get my ego crushed again.”

  “Ohhh yeah,” Hondo said, then added, “I’ll get on the phone later, see if I can put some more feelers out there for our mystery girl.”

  “I’ll finish up on the computer, then I think I’ll go motor around a little.”

  Hondo looked at me, “A hunch?”

  “Maybe, I’m not sure. It’s just that we’re missing something, and it’s bugging me.”

  “I can go with you.”

  “Go work out, you need it.”

  “Uh-huh,” Hondo grinned. He said, “If you run into something, call me. I’ll keep my cell phone handy.”

  I asked, “What are you pushing each other on today?”

  “Bench press.”

  “Don’t let any of those weenie power-lifters sit on your phone. You know how they are.”

  The power-lifters are all big and stocky and very strong, and Hondo looks nothing like them, but he out-lifts many of them on a regular basis. Hondo is six-three and weighs a ripped two-oh-five. His body fat stays below six percent. His build is deceptive, and he is strong the way Bruce Lee was strong. Just way out of proportion to his size.

  I said, “Be gentle with the big boys today. Their egos are fragile.”

  Hondo said, “Call me.”

  “I will.”

  **

  When I finished on the computer, I got into Shamu and headed out. I first drove to the car lot and circled it in a slow, ever-widening, then ever-shrinking grid, hoping something or someone would catch my eye. By the time the sun was going down, I was tired of driving in circles, but still not ready to give up looking.

  I was also starving, and my stomach was telling me it wanted something very special. I knew what it needed, so I turned Shamu in the right direction and maneuvered through traffic with my crosshairs on the corner of La Brea and Melrose.

  Hondo called while I waited at a stoplight and said, “You still out there?”

  “Yeah, for a little longer, then I’ll call it a day. Right now I’m going to get something to eat.”

  “Where?”

  “Pinks. I feel the need for a couple of stretch chili cheese dogs.”

  “I hear that. I’m going to the house and make more calls. If you need me…”

  “I’ll call. See you in the morning,” I said.

  After I ate at Pinks, I meandered to the Sunset Strip and cruised up and down the length of it, looking at the people. When I approached The Comedy Store, the hairs on my neck stood up.

  Magilla Sykes, wearing a silver LA Raiders windbreaker the size of a circus tent, was hurrying along the sidewalk. He dwarfed everyone. Several people stared at him with open mouths as he passed. I pulled over to a parking space and got out just as he ducked his head to enter The Comedy Store. I took a deep breath and followed.

  Inside the Comedy Store, it was wall-to-wall people, and I soon saw why. It was Open Mike night, and a group of the newest, hottest comedians on the West Coast was on stage and had the audience in hysterics. They were alternating with anyone from the audience suicidal enough to try an amateur act sandwiched between the two white guys, brothers Jim and Raymond Sellers, the black woman, Etta Jefferson, and the two Latinos, Carlos Mendoza and Adan Puente. They were all playing off each other and enjoying it. Comics call it in the zone, and this group was on fire. The crowd ate it up. Pauley Shore watched from the far side, laughing his head off.

  When my eyes adjusted, I spotted the girl near the front edge of the stage. She wore a ball cap and was dressed in a black tee shirt, jeans and running shoes.

  I saw Magilla looking over the crowd, but he hadn’t located her. I worked my way forward, but it was tough going in the standing-room-only crowd. I found a small gap in the mass of people and hurried toward the edge of the stage just as Jim said, “How about a little fun now?” The crowd roared.

  He said, “I think what we’ll do is have someone from the audience come up and improv with us.” The crowd yelled. Raymond hopped beside him, the mike between them, and Etta, Carlos and Adan stood behind them, ready to go.

  Raymond yelled at the audience, “C’mon you cowards!” The crowd went nuts.

  The girl looked around and saw something behind me at the back of the crowd. She squirmed through the audience, moving along the front of the stage, still looking behind me.

  I glanced back, expecting to see Magilla standing in the area where she looked, but it wasn’t. It was John Wesley. I hurried forward and reached the edge of the stage just as a woman spilled her drink.

  My foot hit the ice cubes and I looked like an Olympic skater attempting a triple axel until I hit the stage and rolled across it, stopping at the mike.

  They helped me up, with Raymond saying, “Good Lord, Sonny. You don’t have to dive onstage just to touch Jimbo’s garments.” He gestured to the crowd, “Ladies and Gentlemen, it looks like we’ve got a live one tonight.”

  I felt like a Christian being led to the two largest lions in the coliseum. The mike was in front of me, with Jim on my left, Raymond on my right, and the other three comedians close at my back. I was sure I would die like the dirty dog that I was, impaled countless times by rapier wit.

  I watched the girl edge to the far side of the stage, looking for a way out. Jim said to me, “What’s your name?”

  “Ruh…Ruh…Ronny.”

  Raymond clapped me on the shoulder and said, “Well, Ruh-Ruh Ronny, you ready for a
little action?”

  A disturbance in the crowd caught my attention. Magilla was pushing through people like they were nothing, but even for him it was difficult getting through a crowd packed together like sardines. He changed direction, stepped on the stage, and came toward us.

  I moved my head back from the mike so it wouldn’t be amplified and whispered to the comedians, “He’s coming for me.” I nodded my head at Magilla.

  They looked at him, then at me. Jim and Raymond moved me behind them, putting themselves between me and Magilla. Then Raymond went into a flaming gay role and flounced to Magilla. “Oh my goodness, Jamesy, do you see this hunka hunka burnin’ love come walking into our bedroom?” He wrapped his arms around Magilla’s bicep and squealed, “Ohh, ohhh!”

  Jim motioned with his hand for me to leave, then he minced over to Magilla saying, “Ray-Ray, isn’t he just the most darling thing! He’s like having a whole room of tight ends!”

  The crowd yelled with laughter. Magilla was at a loss. He had no beef with the comedians and the fact that he was now part of their routine had him stymied. Raymond pranced to him and ran his hand over Magilla’s jacket, “The thilver giant has come to help us tone our muscles.”

  Etta Jefferson came up to Magilla from behind and grabbed his butt cheeks with both hands as she yelled, “Thank you, God!” She motioned as if for the crowd to come forward, “There’s man flesh here for all of us!” The crowd was in hysterics. She said to Magilla, “Honey, if you weren’t AC/DC before, you will be tonight!”

  Carlos Mendoza and Adan Puente motioned me over. Carlos said, “Pal, you better get out of here quick before Godzilla decides he doesn’t want to play anymore.” Adan pointed in the direction the girl had gone, “That way, then you can go left or right and be out of sight.”

  I scooted out the side door. The girl was nowhere around. I decided not to wait for Magilla or John Wesley to stumble out on top of me, so I trotted to Shamu. I waited for several minutes, then saw John Wesley emerge from the front entrance, and a second later, Magilla came out the back. Both men looked around before leaving in different directions. I thought about following them, but wasn’t sure which one would be the best. I wanted to save the girl, but she had vanished like some young ghost.