I noticed last night that I’d published a weeks old draft without looking at it. If you got here before this revision, come back.
Purcell and I packed the kids out the garage door, the three females agreed to go with Toni, who was less agreeable – “You’re the babysitter, Meyers. I have a business to run.” – Burke fell in behind Toni. I put Trey in a cab and pointed it toward the ocean.
We took a length of rope from Purcell’s car and Chellaine’s leash, harnessed Suitman and Black PJs Two to a cleverly disguised steel support beam that ran top to bottom through the house and retired to a pair of matching built-in cushion-less fiberglass loungers on a private patio off the second floor.
Purcell pulled out a lighter and one of the stubby cigars I’d given him from the gas and taco station, huffed it to life. After a few contemplative smoke rings, he rearranged himself in the chair to keep from sliding out. “The fuck you get me into, Meyers?”
“Besides the uncomfortable chairs? Nothing we can’t make work. For both of us.”
“You, maybe. I got prisoners, a smoked stiff, a house full of stolen shit normal people can’t use, a trail of violence a mile fuckin’ wide…Not to mention the undead Dubrevs.”
“None of those problems are yours.”
“Need to hear you explain that.”
“First, between you and I, we need to hammer out a deal where the kids get a walk on the burglaries.”
“Youth with stars in their eyes, misled by a criminal Svengali, that shit? I can live with that, provided I can live with your plan.” He studied the cigar for a moment. “If they’ll sign a lifetime free of criminal pursuits contract.”
“I thought those went out with the juvenile delinquent crisis.”
“They did. Never were worth the paper they’re printed on, or the delinquents wouldn’t be runnin’ everything. But trust me, I’ll put the fear of God into the little trash talking shit heads when they sign. Plan?”
“Lo’s community despises Dong Boi. I’ll get him to take your prisoners to the safe house where we found Chellaine. Hopefully Lo can find out who Jack in the Suit is and what he knows without killing him, and I’m sure Lo has a pretty, empathetic native speaker to ease the phony ninja’s mind so he’ll give up the squat where Dong Boi keeps his disposable people. Maybe Lo gets lucky with the suit and hands you a warehouse full of counterfeit logo gear”
“I’m not sure how happy I’ll be if Lo finds a warehouse full of Uzis and cleans it out before her tells me about the leftover watches and jeans and designer underwear.”
Lo’s a politician wannabe more than he’s a gangster wannabe. He’ll work his end, call you, you make a few calls and meet the news and the feds where Lo tells you.”
“And what are you gonna do while the crooks and cops are doin’ the dirty work?”
“I’ll get this place cleaned up. They’ll be done by noon. Paint and plaster will need to dry, so call it tomorrow. I’ll need you to pull the watchdogs on the Dubrev estate when I’m ready and I’ll go see a couple of old men about a dog. Give me till the end of the day tomorrow and I’ll even hand you a porn production studio full of souvenirs garnered from human trafficking where you can send vice. There won’t be anything there but more evidence to bury Dong Boi and Dubrev if the Surfer’s tape is what he and the girl say it is.”
“Just like that? None of us were ever here, the human trafficking is exposed to daylight, Dong Boi and Dubrev emerge for murder and conspiracy and illegal porn made with unwilling participants?”
“The last thing you need is details. Go home, get four hours of sleep and hope nobody important enough to require a homicide lieutenant died while we were busy last night. Wait for Lo’s call.”
“What about all the stolen shit in this place?”
“I know a woman who could use a break. The simple plan is intrepid Homicide Lieutenant Purcell not only busts human traffickers, but he also followed a tip from an insurance investigator and found this house. Take her to burglary, let her tell them about it. She and your brothers in burglary inventory everything and lay that over the stolen property reports. She gets to call the insurance companies, you get headlines and attaboys for not treating her like a crank, burglary gets a gold star for clearing a shit load of rich rip offs and maybe uncovers some white-collar fraud.”
“You said ‘simple’.”
“Complicated would be set up a phone bank and a phony auction, have Longwei and the same woman who tipped you to this place sell it to Bren. Get the FBI and Interpol and whoever deals with diplomats and international art theft involved, make a lot of headlines, catch a bunch of rich collectors who claim they aren’t thieves who’ll probably never do more than fifteen minutes in jail and you fill out paperwork until you retire.”
“Fuck that noise,” he pulled out his steno pad and a pen. “Who’s the broad?”
***
I made the calls I needed to make. Lo’s people must have broken a land speed record to get to the stack house as soon as they did. They packed Suitman and the baby ninja off in a catering van. The heated exchange Lo’s people were laying down on Suitman almost made me feel sorry for him. Almost. Tommy’s crew of mob erasers took their sweet time but emerged from a garishly painted Indoor Weather Wonders Year Round Heating and Air Conditioning van in their full coverage white hazmats and told me to get lost. I walked to the end of the driveway and waited for Huntley to show in his land yacht Buick and take me home.
***
I sat in my favorite chair, put my feet on the coffee table…The knock on my door came as I closed my eyes. Or so I thought. I checked the clock with one eye. One-thirty PM. I’d been asleep nearly five hours. The knocks came in a series of threes, more insistent with each set. The Browning automatically found its way into my hand. I unlocked the door, backed away, said “It’s open.”
“Can’t do that,” the voice said. “Los Angeles police. Open up.”
I didn’t believe them but stood aside, turned the knob and pushed the door open.
“Awful jumpy.” From a pink cheeked uniformed cop.
“It was a long night.”
“Your problem. Lieutenant Purcell. Homicide—”
“I know who he is.”
“Good. Because he says its time you got your ‘ass outta bed and meet him for a chat.’”
“He know how bad your imitation is?”
“Doubt he gives a shit. And why he gives enough of a shit about a fuckwad P.I. we should waste half a shift makin’ sure nobody disturbs your beauty sleep is beyond comprehension.”
“That’s a big word for a uniform.”
“I went to college. I’ll be Purcell’s boss before he retires.”
“If you live that long,” I ran a hand through my hair. It came out a little slick. “I need a shower.”
“Go ahead. We’ve wasted this much time. And, uh, it might be wise not to answer the door with a weapon after we’ve identified ourselves. It could get you dead.”
“They teach you to preach in the academy? Look, kid, there are people out there who don’t care if you’re a cop or the second coming, so here’s the best truth you’ll hear all day. While you’re standing there with your dick in your hand completely unprepared, gun or no gun, if I was a bad guy and you needed to be dead, you would be,” I tossed the Browning on the chair. “Pull your head out of your ass and close the door. I’m shy around strangers.”
***
I followed the kiddie cop’s cruiser running full lights and sirens. Behind me, a motorcycle cop running the same way. We blew through West Hollywood, hit the 405 at a hundred miles an hour, stayed there until we screamed off the freeway onto South Wilmington in Long Beach. They ran hot until they pulled into the parking lot of a half mile long shipping warehouse across from refinery row and rolled into a scene reminiscent of a disaster without the accompanying destruction.
I saw the antenna trucks, ambulances, and a throng of onlookers who probably should have been working. Crime scene tape stretched across an open truck bay door. Too many men in roughly the same suit milled around, EMTs shouldering them out of the way. Folding chairs filled with freaked out, silver-mylar-blanket-wrapped Asians sat at odd angles under a row of pop-up shade canopies. EMTs, paired with translators and any bi-lingual bystanders, checked vitals and made notes.
My escorts yipped their sirens, flashed their lights to part the ocean of emergency workers, cheap suits and aimlessly cruising unmarked vehicles and the scene folded in behind me.
***
I found Purcell who waved me into the back seat of a shiny black four-door Chevrolet.
“The Trans Am back in the impound lot?”
“Good news, bad news,” he ignored the Trans Am crack, joined me in the back seat, one leg out the open door, “Fuck it. There’s no good news.” He stared off into the circus. “What we found in that warehouse would gag a maggot.” He drummed his fingers on his thigh, snorted. “The pony-tailed suit didn’t fare well with one hung Lo’s people. Said we’d find him in a dumpster somewhere with the rest of the garbage. When Lo called about this mess, he said to give you this.”
Purcell had scribbled on a torn envelope. “A garden where nothing grows still awaits a harvest. The blind see, the deaf hear, all that is crooked is not bent. The wise warrior divides his enemies and sets them one upon the other.”
“Buncha fuckin’ fortune cookie nonsense, you ask me.” Purcell said.
“It is, but I get it.”
“Yeah, well get this, smart guy. Ten, fifteen minutes ago Addie Dubrev ran out the door at the Dog Sitter’s, jumped in a big black Buick and took off.”
Not Very Deep Thoughts 