American Criminal (30 page)

    The smell of grilled pork faded as he walked past HANS TIGER TAEKWONDO INC. Ray reached a large intersection and took a right onto North Western Avenue. Following the road north, he soon reached Melrose Ave, a name that reminded him of the television show, Melrose Place. He figured the show was probably filmed in the area. Continuing along Melrose Avenue, he reached an intersection with Vine Street. His legs were becoming very sore at this point. He would have to stop soon whether he liked it or not.

    Burnside took a right onto Vine Street and went north towards Hollywood. The flow of traffic and pedestrians increased as he crossed through a large intersection with Santa Monica Boulevard. Not surprisingly, the pedestrians became more eccentric as he moved towards Hollywood. Groups of multi-racial Gang-banger imitators and young Goths wearing dark clothes and sporting multiple piercings became a common sight. Of course, there was also an occasional homeless person sitting on a curb or bench with a cup in hand.

    Soon, Burnside reached an even larger intersection with Sunset Boulevard and took a right. He guessed it was after eleven o’clock, but there was no end to the pedestrians crowding the sidewalks. As he had predicted, this area of the city came alive at night, which made it a perfect place for him to blend in.

    A patrol car with flashing lights pulled ahead of him on the sidewalk. He stopped dead in his tracks, cold with fear, as he watched two officers wearing light brown police uniforms exit the vehicle. They ran in the opposite direction and tackled a young black man walking alone on the sidewalk. Burnside’s pulse slowed considerably. The officers wrestled the young man to the ground, snapped cuffs on him, hurried him to the cruiser, and departed as quickly as they arrived.   

    After walking several more blocks, Burnside spotted a red neon sign reading MOTEL 8 HOLLYWOOD ahead. He felt like he had discovered a hidden oasis in a desert. He hoped the motel was cheap enough to rent a room to him without requiring any form of ID.

    It turned out the motel was even more run-down than Ray had hoped for. For starters, two half-naked prostitutes propositioned him in the lobby. He had been a long time without female companionship and was tempted to sample their wares, but he also knew it would be a foolish move. He had to keep a low profile. The worn, 70’s - style furniture looked like it hadn’t been dusted in years. A balding, middle-aged man, wearing a dirty t-shirt that used to be white - but was now a light shade of gray, sat at the front desk. Ray approached him and pulled two hundreds from his back pocket.

    “How much for one night?” he asked.

    “We charge by the hour.” 

    Ray noticed the man’s eyes were bloodshot and his speech was slurred.

   
“Okay, then how much for an hour?” Burnside asked.

    “It’s eight dollars an hour. All our rooms are smoking,” the man said, placing a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it up as if to emphasize the point.

    “That’s fine,” Ray said. “Can I start with 24 hours and get back to you if I need more? I’m conducting business in the area and I don’t know how long it will take.”

    The clerk’s bloodshot eyes widened as Ray handed him a pair of hundreds. The man snatched the bills from Ray’s hand and pocketed them faster than a magician performing a magic trick.

    “Twenty-four hours is two hundred including tax,” the man slurred as he reached under the counter. He pulled out an antique-looking key and handed it to Burnside. “Number 27 in the back. It’s a good room. Plenty of privacy.”

    “Perfect,” Burnside said, taking the key.

    “My name’s Jake,” the man said as Ray started to turn away. “If you need anything, just give me a holler. Women, drugs, whatever you want. Just dial zero.”

    “I appreciate that,” Ray said, grinning as he turned.

    Ray spotted a beat-up Coke machine in the corner and went to it.

    “Does this thing work?” he asked.

    “Sure it does,” Jake said, taking a deep drag from his cigarette and blowing out a cloud of smoke.

    Ray pulled two dollars from his back pocket, smoothed them out, and placed them in the slot. Pressing the button for bottled water, Ray heard the drink tumble down into the tray. He picked it up and was grateful it was cold. He opened the bottle, took a long swig, and sighed. The two hookers standing near the door were looking him up and down.

    “You sure you don’t want some company, honey?” a tall, thin, black-haired, middle-aged woman in a black leather mini-skirt and see-through white top asked him.

    “I’m all set for now,” Ray said, flashing a half-grin.

    “We’ll give you a discount,” the younger blonde said, giving him what she must have thought was a seductive smile.

    She was wearing enough makeup to accommodate a troop of showgirls and her shorts and top barely covered her pudgy body. The woman’s large breasts sagged in her red, lingerie-style bra and her wide hips and thighs barely squeezed into her pink, skin-tight shorts. 

    Ray exited the decrepit lobby without making further eye contact with the prostitutes and followed the walkway around back to room 27. He turned the key in the lock and discovered the room was slightly less disheveled than he expected. The old, faded bed sheets didn’t have any obvious stains and the worn carpet appeared clean at first glance. The only trash he could see consisted of several used butts in an ashtray on a small table by the window. A worn recliner next to the table looked surprisingly comfortable, so he walked over and collapsed into it. Ray sighed as he leaned back. It felt good to be off his feet. He pulled the shades closed to cut off his view of an overflowing dumpster in a dark back alley.

    Ray drained the bottled water in one long swig and placed the empty on the table next to the ashtray. He felt himself fading, so he got up and went to the bed. The stolen 9MM in his waistband dug into his lower back, so he pulled it out and slid it under the bed. He collapsed and drifted off as soon as his head hit the pillow.

    When Ray woke up, he didn’t know where he was. He expected to see the top bunk of a bunk-bed above him and was surprised when he saw the ceiling of the motel room. The events since his escape came back to him slowly. He couldn’t help smiling as he thought about being free from the vicious prison hellhole.

    Daylight leaked through ragged curtains. Ray sat on the side of the bed and looked at the
Capo’s
number engraved on his forearm. He needed to call that number ASAP. He figured the mob was his best chance of making it on the outside.

    Ray remembered the money he stole from the drug dealers and searched his pockets for it. He found a huge wad of bills in his right pocket. His eyes widened as he opened the bills and saw many rows of hundreds. As he counted, he eventually encountered fifties, twenties, tens, and fives. One thousand, eight-hundred, and fifty-five dollars total. He felt a rush of excitement.

   
What a windfall. 

    Ray reached into his back pocket and took out the money left over from paying the hotel clerk. Another hundred-twenty-six bucks to add to the pot. He needed to buy was some new clothes. The drug dealers he beat up would be looking for a guy in a blue shirt and khaki pants. He was also very hungry and thirsty.

    Ray reached under the bed and pulled out the stolen 9MM. He replaced the handgun in the back waistband of his pants and covered it over with his shirt. He felt paranoid leaving the room without it. The drug dealers were after him and so were the cops. Would he shoot a cop who tried to arrest him? He didn’t know. He liked to think he wouldn’t shoot one of his former brothers, but he also knew that prison was hell and he would do anything to avoid returning there. Would he kill someone innocent to avoid going back? He wasn’t sure. He would make the decision when the situation called for it.

    Ray locked the door behind him and left the hotel room. The smell of garbage in the overflowing dumpster in the back alley was overpowering. He found it strange that he didn’t remember the smell the night before. The sun was bright, so he put on his sunglasses. He turned the corner into the parking lot and walked past several parked cars until he reached the sidewalk. He glanced briefly at the office as he passed it and saw a younger guy behind the desk. He turned right onto the sidewalk and made his way down Sunset Boulevard.

    Ray didn’t know what time of day it was, but he guessed it was early afternoon from the position of the sun. It turned out he was right when he walked into a McDonalds and found they were serving lunch. It was one-twenty PM according to the cashier. He fueled up on a couple Big Macs, fries, and a four-piece McNugget. He used to hate fast-food, but at this moment it tasted delicious. He ate quickly at a plastic table in the back and returned to the sidewalk when he was finished.

    Ray found a tourist store selling t-shirts and shorts a few blocks down. He bought a pair of black shorts and a gray t-shirt. He also bought a pack of Marlboro lights and a lighter. He returned to his motel room, changed into his new clothes, and sat down on the comfortable chair near the window. He opened the curtains enough to let some light in, but not far enough to see the dumpster in the back alley. He opened the pack of cigarettes and found it was difficult not to view the pack as a valuable treasure chest. In prison, cigarettes were like money. A full, fresh pack of cigarettes was valuable as hell. He could get just about anything he wanted with one.

    Burnside felt like he was lighting a dollar bill as he lit a cigarette. He took a drag, felt a rush, and blew out the smoke. He smoked it down to the filter and felt light-headed as he put it out in the ashtray. It was time to call the
Capo’s
number. Would the
Capo
even remember who he was? Was he even going to answer? Probably not, but it was worth a try. What else was he going to do? Hang around here until all his stolen money was gone? And then what? Rob some more drug dealers? He would end up back in prison in no time.

    Ray returned to the street and found a pay-phone outside a nearby convenience store. He obtained a few dollars of change from the store clerk and made the call.      

Chapter 41

Contact

   
The phone rang twice before it was picked up.

    “Boss’s line,” a young voice answered.

    Burnside didn’t recognize the voice on the other end. It certainly wasn’t the deep, scratchy voice of the prison
Capo.
It was a younger, higher voice that sounded more like an accountant than a mobster. Ray wondered if he had dialed the wrong number.

    “I was told to call this number to get some work,” Ray said.

    “Who is this?”

    Ray took a deep breath.

    “Ray Burnside.”

    “Hold on a second.”

    Ray waited for what seemed like a long time before the familiar deep, scratchy voice of the
Capo
came on the line.

    “Burnside, you crazy fuck, how the hell are you?” the
Capo
asked.

    “Not bad. How about you?”

    “I’m still in this hellhole, but I guess it could be worse,” the
Capo
said.

    “I’m sorry to hear that.”

    “Don’t be. Business is booming. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

    “I’m looking for work.”

    “You came to the right place. We’re always on the lookout for a man with your special talents.”

    “I appreciate that.”

    “Where are you?”

    “I just skipped out of a medium security joint in California.”

    “You’re on the outside?” the
Capo
asked, surprised. 

    “I’m in LA.”

    “Don’t get any more specific than that,” the
Capo
said. “Inquiring minds may want to know.”

    “Is this line secure?” Burnside asked.

    “Hell, no,” the Capo said, laughing. “It’s a cell phone. But I can get you a number that is. Hold on.”

    The line was silent for almost a full minute and Burnside had to add more change to the phone meter.

    “Burnside, you still there?” the Capo asked.

    “I’m not going anywhere,” Ray said.

    “I’m giving you the temporary land-line for our LA chapter. Wait five minutes and then call it. Are you ready?”

    “Shoot.”

    “It’s 818-451-6626. Got it?”

    “Got it.”