Day of Atonement (21 page)

“Well,” Rina started out, “maybe they didn’t take the bus out of Inglewood right away. Being tired and not knowing where they were, maybe the two of them checked into one of those cheap motels near the airport. Those places have closed-circuit TV, the type of junk that might interest Hersh….”

Bingo!

He said, “How do you know about closed-circuit TV, Rina?”

“They advertise on the marquee, Peter.”

Decker said, “The ones that say XXX, nudes—topless, bottomless, adult entertainment in each room.”

“Yes, those.”

“Never look at them.” Decker got off the bed, walked over to Rina, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You’ve got a good mind, darlin’. Better than your old man’s. Let’s go.”

Rina tried to hide a smile by rummaging through her purse.

Decker said, “Hey, you think if I muscle the desk clerk hard enough, he’ll comp us a room for an hour?”

“I’m not doing anything on those sheets,” Rina said. “You don’t know where they’ve been!”

Rina could never
figure out why men became unglued behind the wheel of a car. She said nothing as Peter weaved in and out of traffic, swore, banged the dashboard of the unmarked, and talked not only to himself but also to drivers who couldn’t hear him. A psychiatrist witnessing the situation out of context would have declared her husband psychotic.

At least his mood didn’t dampen the day. It was already ugly. The sky was overcast with clouds and smog, the air smelled of chemical emissions, and the temperature had fallen to a dank sixty degrees. Nothing like New York freeze, but cold for Los Angeles in early October. The trip from the east valley to Inglewood under the best of circumstances took over an hour. In stop-and-go traffic, it was going to take a lot longer. The extra time allowed Rina to observe landmarks such as the Fox Hills shopping mall, the complex just a stone’s throw away from the Doric columns of Al Jolson’s cemetery edifice. Ten minutes later the oil derricks came into view, pumping oil from the surrounding mountainside, looking like skeletal dinosaurs bobbing for apples.

She heard Peter mutter a “fuck” and turned toward him. He offered no apology—just a “Did you see that asshole?” When Rina didn’t respond, he jerked the car into the far right lane, slamming on the brakes to prevent rear-ending
the Honda in front of him. She breathed a sigh of relief when he exited on Century Boulevard.

Decker glanced at his watch, then started groping his seat cushion.

“What are you looking for?” Rina asked.

Decker swung left, then a right onto Century. “My list. I put it next to my—”

“It’s in my purse,” Rina said. “It was just lying there and I didn’t want it to get lost—”

Decker said, “Can you
tell
me next time you take my stuff?”

Rina handed him the list and folded her arms across her chest. Decker consulted the addresses and drove at the same time, his eyes darting back and forth between the scrap of paper and the road. Rina was tempted to say something, but thought better of it and kept quiet.

Decker stuffed the list into his shirt pocket.

The strip leading into the airport was filled with high-rise office buildings, business hotels, and freight warehouses. Once the road had been littered with dozens of seedy, X-rated motels, but it looked as if time had forced the boulevard to clean up its act. Land values were too expensive to waste on “adult” motor inns, and porn films were found in most of the established hotels. Why would Joe Jr. Exec bother with something so downscale when he could get his rocks off in a clean place complete with room service?

Decker drove all the way to the airport, turned around and worked backward, figuring that to have been the route taken by Hersh and Noam.

Still some leftover fuck motels. Big marquees framed with pink and orange blinking lights, the black lettering advertising all the naughty pleasures found within. Decker turned left into a large parking lot. The place was a one-story job faced with dingy plaster and high, narrow windows. The lobby was fronted with a big picture window, next to it two vending machines—one for soda pop, the other for ice. Both
machines looked like they hadn’t been used in a long time. He parked and turned to Rina.

“Maybe you’d better come in with me,” he said. “This is not a great spot for you to be left alone.”

“Sure.”

“I snapped at you before,” Decker said. “Sorry.”

Rina said, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, you’re awfully patient.”

“One of us has to be.”

The clerk behind the desk held the photographs at arm’s length. His name was Clint Willy. He appeared to be in his early thirties, had thin blond hair and milky blue eyes. His skin looked tissue-thin and was pitted with acne scars. His eyes widened as he stared at the snapshots.

“I’m farsighted,” he said. “Forgot my glasses.” His voice was deep. “That’s the problem with being farsighted. You can drive without glasses, but you can’t
see
close up. Man, I can’t even read a newspaper with my Coke bottles. Now, if I was nearsighted, I couldn’t drive without my glasses, see? So I’d never forget them.”

Decker noticed that ole Clint could see Rina just fine. His mouth had dropped open the moment they walked through the door. His leers had lessened to sidelong glances after Decker had presented his shield. But Clint’s eyes still managed to wander in Rina’s direction.

The lobby was small and smelled of insect repellant. One wall was taken up by the registration desk; any leftover room was filled by a worn plaid couch accented with peeling Naugahyde strips and a coffee table graced with out-of-date airline in-flight magazines. In the corner was a pay phone. Rina was huddled between the phone and the front window.

Decker said, “I’ve got a magnifying glass in the car.”

“Nah,” Willy said. “S’kay. I can’t make out any detail—like I couldn’t tell you if this dude was blue-eyed or brown-eyed. Course the picture is in black-and-white, but I mean I
couldn’t tell you if the pupil was light or dark.” He handed Decker back the photos. “But I can make out enough to tell you that these two dudes were here. Checked out yesterday morning, paid their bill. No problems.”

Home run first time at bat. Decker reminded himself to give Rina a big kiss. He said, “Did they say where they were going?”

“Nah,” the clerk said. “They never do. If I’m lucky, they’ll just pay the bill and leave. These dudes were no problem. Paid in cash.”

“How did they leave?”

“Through the door.” Willy had a proud smile on his face.

Decker said, “Were they driving a car or did they take the bus?”

Willy thought for a moment. “Think they just walked out. Whether they caught a taxi or hopped the bus?” He shrugged.

“Were they loaded down with suitcases?”

“Each one had a suitcase—medium size. Nothing they couldn’t carry a few blocks.”

“You happen to notice the age of the younger one?”

Willy shrugged his bony shoulders. “His ID said eighteen—”

“C’mon, Clint,” Decker said. “Your eyesight couldn’t be that poor.”

“So maybe I thought the kid looked more like sixteen—”

“Try fourteen.”

“No!” Willy gasped. “No way he looked fourteen. Kid was bigger than fourteen.”

Decker said, “Next time ask for proper ID and you won’t have charges brought against you.”

“Charges?” Willy turned red. “What are you talking about? They said they was brothers. They looked alike. Both of them dark and talking with New York accents.”

“They weren’t brothers, Clint,” Decker said.

“Well, I didn’t know that,” the clerk said. “And if there was any indication that they was gay, I would have booted
their butts out of here. Me and my brother don’t put up with that shit. Start getting the gays in here, it scares away the straight perverts. John Doe starts having homosexual panic.” He broke into laughter.

Decker said, “I’m talking child molestation—”

“I told you,” Willy said. “The kid looked to be about sixteen, seventeen. We get single guys in here all the time—ex-cons trying to wipe the slate clean by moving to another state. Sometimes they come in twos—buddies renting a cheap room. Never for a moment did I think that something hinky was going on between them.” He paused. “Was something hinky going on between them?”

Ignoring the question, Decker asked, “How did they register?”

The clerk grinned. “It wasn’t under Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

Decker waited.

Willy cleared his throat and opened the registration book. “They registered under the names of Mr. Hank Stephens and Mr. Nicholas Stephens.” He showed Decker the book. “Like I said before, the older dude said he and the younger dude was brothers. So I gave them separate beds and everything. They didn’t look like they was pulling anything.”

“What did they look like?” Decker said.

Willy cracked his knuckles. “They looked a little shopworn. And maybe they looked like they were out to hustle. Especially the older one. He had that look in his eye, the know-it-all grin. He was definitely up to no good. But hell, everyone who comes through those doors—present company excepted—looks like they’re up to no good. Who comes to a dump like this? People hiding from their past, people hiding from their wives, their husbands, from their parents. We get a lot of losers who bring their broads here ’cause they’re still living at home.”

He cracked his knuckles again. “I checked their ID and then I registered them. After that, I minded my own business.”

Decker said, “It would be very bad for business to have
the police raiding this place for contributing to the delinquency of a minor—”

“Come on, Sergeant,” Willy whined. “I told you the kid’s ID said eighteen. I’m not required to ask for a birth certificate—”

“Close you down for a couple of months, not to mention all the fines—”

“I’m just trying to make a living,” the clerk said. “What do you want from me?”

“For starts, why don’t you show me their bill,” Decker said.

“I’m not required to do that,” Willy said. “But to show you how anxious I am to cooperate with the law, I’ll be happy to show you their bill.”

The clerk sifted through a file, then pulled out a computerized slip of paper. On it was a record of phone calls. Decker pulled out a pen and his notebook and started to copy down the numbers.

Willy said, “Don’t bother. I can tell you what all these calls are. These nine-seven-six numbers are porno lines. They made five calls to them. This number…it’s an outcall service. I think this one belongs to Embassy Girls. This is Joe Bittelli’s number. He owns Wong Lee Mandarin-Style Cuisine. Guess the boys ordered some Chinese takeout.”

Decker copied down the number of Embassy Girls. He said, “The girls come here?”

Willy shrugged and said, “Guy wants a massage in his room, I can’t stop him.”

Decker tossed him a dirty look.

Willy said, “People come here to be unwholesome. I don’t help them do it.”

“Right,” Decker said. “And you’re just trying to earn an honest buck.”

“I don’t get any kickback from the girls,” the clerk said. “These guys want to call up a young lady, I don’t make a dime off of them.”

Decker shook his head. “What can you tell me about the young lady who was sent up?”

“No one passed through the lobby. However, a couple of months ago I did happen to notice a blonde walking around the back…musta been around six. Hard to miss. She was wearing white hot pants and a halter top. My first reaction was that she must be freezing her ass off.” He looked at Rina and apologized. “But then I saw she was well-endowed in certain places and thought maybe all those extra pounds were keeping her warm.”

“You noticed all this in the dark?”

“I got some lighting in the back,” Willy said. “Security purposes. I could see her well enough. Like I said, I’m farsighted. But I’ll be honest. I wasn’t looking at the face.”

Decker looked at the motel bill again. “What are these charges for?”

“Using the in-house adult TV channel,” Willy said. “The boys watched three movies. Three’s about an average day’s worth of viewing. Seen one, seen them all.”

Decker asked if there were any more charges made to their room. Willy answered none that he knew of.

“Did they ever leave the room, go somewhere?” Decker asked.

“I didn’t pay attention to their comings and goings,” Willy said. “The day they checked in, the younger kid brought out this big bag and asked me where he could do the laundry. I directed him to a spot a block and a half down the road.”

“I want to take a look at the room,” Decker said.

“You can, but it’s been cleaned,” Willy said. “You know, my maid usually doesn’t mention the state of the rooms after the people leave.” He looked at Rina and lowered his voice. “I mean, she’s used to all sorts of smells, if you know what I’m talking about.”

“I know what you’re talking about.”

“But she did mention to me that their room had a very fishy smell in it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Dirty sex
can be very fishy-smelling but she said the odor was out of the ordinary.”

Decker thought back to the apartment in Flatbush. The bits of home-cooked fish in the garbage. “Did she find any remnants of fish lying around?”

“She didn’t say,” Willy said. “And believe me, she don’t check the trash. The woman cleans with thick gloves. But I thought I’d pass that bit of info on to you. Just to show you that I’m cooperative.”

“If you wanted to be Mr. Joe Citizen, you should have called the cops the moment you saw those two walk through the door.”

“On what basis?” Willy said. “Yeah, maybe the kid looked a little scared, maybe he even looked stoned. So what? How many scared or stoned kids you see in this town, Sergeant? How many are you gonna stop and ask what’s wrong?”

“I don’t see a lot of kids checking into a dump like this,” Decker said.

“That’s ’cause you don’t work here,” Willy said, suddenly assertive. “Know what I see? I see exactly what you see, Sergeant. The leftovers.”

Embassy Girls was nothing more than a name. All its calls were routed through a tiny little shack discreetly labeled Ace Messenger Service. The service, sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a printer that advertised
FAX MACHINES AVAILABLE
, was located on Aviation Boulevard, a half mile south of the airport. Looking at the place, Rina would never have suspected it was a front for outcall services although all the blinds were drawn tight. She sat in the unmarked, listening to the cars on the 405 freeway whizzing by, waiting for Peter to finish up.

She wished she had brought Ginger for company.

Ten minutes later, Peter appeared with a smile on his face. If Rina hadn’t known better, she would have been jealous. He opened the driver’s door and slid in.

“Did you find the massage girl?” Rina asked.

“I found her.” He turned the ignition key and the motor charged up. “Caught her just before she was about to go out.”

“Was she well-endowed?” Rina asked.

“Clint didn’t lie,” Decker said.

“One of your more enjoyable interrogations?”

“Rina, this isn’t my idea of a good time. I’d gladly trade looking at a pair of large breasts for a little peace and quiet.”