Harbor Nocturne (17 page)

“You are doing crazy talk again,” Lita said.

“It’s not crazy!” Dinko said. “Look at this big house. Since my father died the two of us rattle around in here.”

Lita tried to tone down his intensity by saying, with a smile, “Three of you. There is Ollie.”

“We have plenty of room for you,” he said. “How about my idea of you finding a decent job and living here for a while? Just to see if you like it?”

“I cannot pay the rent in such a grand—”

“Stop it, Lita,” Dinko said. “We’re not rich, but we’re very comfortable. My dad had an insurance policy and my mom’s gonna be collecting Social Security, and like I said, I’m gonna start stacking up the hours. You wouldn’t believe how much money a longshoreman can make, even during this recession. You won’t have to pay anything. Just be our guest for a few months, okay? Let’s see how it goes.”

“That would bring shame,” she said. “I am not someone for . . . I cannot think of the word for poor peoples who must accept money for nothing.”

“Charity,” he said. “You’re too proud to accept charity. But I’m not offering charity. I’m offering . . . I’m offering . . . Christ! I think I’m offering a . . . a lifetime commitment!”

“I do not understand what is that,” she said.

He said, “I told you I could lend you some money to send to your family, but you don’t want that. Well, what if it was
your
money? What if half of everything I got is yours? I can’t think of you leaving here and going back to hell on earth. I just can’t!” He paused and suddenly said, “What if I married you?”

That stopped everything. She sat quietly for a moment, then stood up and walked into the spare bedroom and closed the door softly. When she opened it a moment later, she called out, “Please come, Dinko.”

He got up and walked slowly to the bedroom. When he got inside, he saw her standing beside the bed, naked. Now the hammering of his heart actually startled him. Finally, he said, “You’re breathtaking.”

“This,” she said, “this is all I got. This is all men want from me. Take it. You do not have to lend to me nothing. Take it. Is yours for free. Then you shall see me with eyes more clear.”

“Please, Lita,” Dinko said weakly, but she rushed forward and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. It was tongue and teeth and velvety lips, and he wanted to resist and show her she was wrong about him, that he was not like those other men, but her long fingers were on him, sliding over his body. And with a shudder that started in his throat and ran to his loins, he kept thinking that this was not merely lust. This was something
more
.

The lovemaking was the same and not the same. It was familiar and not familiar. Afterward, misty and spent, he didn’t know if he’d been lying supine for ten minutes or sixty. Time had become irrelevant. Vaguely, he realized that his mother would be home soon if her favorite cronies didn’t happen to be at bingo night, but he didn’t even care about that. He didn’t care about anything in the world, except convincing this girl not to leave him. But at that moment he couldn’t even speak of it. She spoke first.

“Now, Dinko,” she said, “you got all. There is no more. Now do you see me with eyes more clear?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m seeing you with eyes more clear. And there is
so
much more. I see you in here.” He touched her temple. “I see you in here.” And he touched her chest. You are
very
clear to me. And I’m asking you . . . no, I’m begging you. Please stay with me, Lita. Please become my wife.”

She instantly sat up and said, “You wish to marry with me? Foolish talk! We shall see tomorrow how you are thinking. Now we must get dressed before your
mamá
is returning. And we must not talk to her about this.”

“I’ve gotta do whatever it takes to keep you,” he said. “I’m so crazy for you I might jump off the freaking Point Fermin cliffs if you leave me.”

“This kind of talk is not for joking,” she said. “If anyone do that thing, they burn in hell for all time.”

“Then I’ll burn in hell. Better than thinking of you back in that slime pit. Better than stumbling through life like I always have, screwing up every chance I get. Never loving somebody till now.”

With that, she put her hand to his face, saying, “You are
really
loving me, Dinko? Are you for sure? You are loving
me
?”

“You are loved,” he said. “Believe me, you are loved.”

ELEVEN

“
A
re you nervous,
dude?” Flotsam said nervously.

“No, I ain’t nervous,” Jetsam said. Then, to their driver, Sergeant Hawthorne, who was wearing the same UCLA sweatshirt as when they’d first met with him, minus the ketchup stains: “But I gotta warn you, Sarge, if the dude gets a man crush and tries playing hump the stump, I might get all goosey and cry like a molested girl. Right before I go all street and tear his fucking head off and throw it in the punch bowl or whatever they’re serving at this ghoul gathering!”

“Don’t think like that,” Sergeant Hawthorne said soothingly. “The worst you’ll have to do is look at his photo album and humor him about your supposed shared fascination, and tell him about the great time you had in T.J. at the hands of Dr. Maurice.”

“Whatever can go wrong . . .” Flotsam said.

“Will you please stop saying that!” Sergeant Hawthorne said. “You’re starting to make me jumpy. We’re just trying to shut down a prostitution ring. These aren’t serial killers, for God’s sake.”

During the vice unit’s ride north to Encino there was another drive taking place that also involved Hector Cozzo, but this one came south, to Los Angeles Harbor. A black Mercedes four-door S-Class with chrome wheels, purchased from the same dealer who had leased Hector’s car to him, arrived in Wilmington and parked half a block from the strip joint where Lita Medina had worked. The driver got out and entered, ignoring the smile he got from the overweight dancer writhing on the stage.

“Where is the boss?” the Korean said to the Latino bartender.

“He comes in at about nine-thirty.”

“I will wait.”

The Korean threw a ten-dollar bill on the bar and said, “Tomato juice.”

He stood at the bar, ignoring the empty stool next to him, and didn’t touch the juice. The bartender flicked a glance at the big Korean a few times, but turned away when those cold black eyes looked back at him. The bartender was relieved when the boss arrived early.

The Korean recognized him waddling through the entry door, and he left his drink, stopping the boss before he’d reached the first tables. The boss’s comb-over looked like it had been painted on by a brush that was missing half its bristles. He was about the same age as the Korean but flabby, and he smelled sour from sweat and wine. He might have been Latino, but it was hard to tell.

“You remember me?” the Korean said.

The boss looked at the Korean’s face, and at the double-breasted oyster-colored Armani suit, and said, “Sure, you’re the guy that came in here about Lita. Couldn’t dance, but a great-looking chick. Hector came and offered me some green and I let her go to a Hollywood club. I sorta felt like he worked for you. Like maybe it was your club or something?”

“I got a new job for her,” the Korean said. “She is not in the Hollywood club no more.”

“No? Well, she didn’t come back here,” the boss said. “There’s the other strip bar down the street. Did you check with them?”

The Korean said, “I will check her home. Where she use to live when she was working here. Give me the address.”

The boss got cagey, eyeing the Korean conspiratorially, and said, “We ain’t accustomed to handing out the addresses of employees or former employees, not even to the cops. I don’t think I can do that.”

“You can do that,” the Korean said.

The boss peered into those glaring black eyes, and when the big Korean bared his yellowing teeth in what was supposed to be a smile, the boss said, “Well . . . I suppose . . .”

The Korean produced a fifty-dollar bill, and the boss grabbed it and went to his office, returning in a few minutes with a piece of notepaper.

He said, “I think she lived at this address with two or three other girls. It’s right here in Wilmington. You don’t speak Spanish, do you?”

“Everybody understand money,” the Korean said.

He followed the directions the strip club boss had written down and found a boardinghouse catering to minimum-wage workers. He eyed a group of teenage Latinos slouching on the porch steps next door, drinking beer out of cans. He entered the building and saw plastic numbers tacked to each of the apartment doors. He knocked at number four.

A Latina in her early twenties opened it and looked quizzically at the Korean, saying, “No English. Sorry.”

Kim said, “Lita. Where?” Then he tried to remember the Spanish word for “where,” but he couldn’t.

The young woman shrugged and said, “No
aquí
. Hollywood. Lita in Hollywood.” Then she pointed vaguely in a northerly direction.

The Korean dialed Hector Cozzo even before he got back to his Mercedes, glad to see that none of the Latino teens had bothered his shiny new car.

Hector didn’t think there was any more he could’ve done. He’d spent three hundred dollars on food and booze, as ordered by Mr. Markov, and he’d laid everything out as best he could. The bruschetta was beside the baked artichokes and Brie. There were three kinds of crostini, and he’d gone all out and bought a large plate of smoked salmon and red caviar, along with truffle canapés. And, of course, there was the ubiquitous plate of assorted sushi with wasabi, ginger, and soy sauce. He had a bottle of Vivid vodka on ice for himself and two bottles of Stolichnaya for the Russian, and he’d washed and carefully wiped all of his glasses until they gleamed.

Hector said, “This ain’t prom night” when Ivana showed up in a coral side-slit dress with spaghetti straps, along with four-inch heels. Her naturally dark hair had been recently dyed a honey blond, and he wasn’t wild about it. He thought if she was going to go blond, then the blonder the better when it came to back rubs and blow jobs. And why the fuck didn’t she just wear her tee and shorts from Shanghai Massage? These bitches. Go figure.

Ivana had brought her lotions, powder, and towels, arranging them on a small folding table she’d carried in and placed beside Hector’s bed.

She looked at her watch and said, “Maybe they are not coming, Hector.”

“Don’t sound so hopeful,” he said. “Do you know how much you’re gonna make tonight? That fucking Russian tips like Frank Sinatra, back in the day.”

“I admit I am a bit in fear, Hector,” Ivana said, sipping a cold martini. “I know he is generous. Lotus told me that when she was still with us. But this crazy shit about the cut-off arms and legs and feets and hands? It makes me feel like snakes crawl on my back.”

“Okay, so he’s got some kinks,” Hector said. “Who don’t? But he ain’t one of those guys that asks you to do really spooky stuff with handcuffs and weird objects. Tell him your G-spot’s where only your dentist can see it. Then control your gag reflex during the face rape and you’ll walk outta here with enough green to buy out Victoria’s Secret.”

His cell rang, and he looked at it and said, “Fuck! This is all I need.” Then he opened it and said, “Yes, Mr. Kim.”

The Korean said, “Hector, I am down by the harbor looking for Lita. Do you know she run away too? Like Daisy.”

“So what?” Hector said, but he felt a wave of fear, remembering what Violet had told him about Lita seeing the black car drive off with Daisy. “Why do you need Lita? We got better dancers. If she don’t come back, who cares?”

“I want to offer to her more money,” Kim said. “You will find her for me tomorrow. You look, you find.”

“Goddamn!” Hector said. “I’m doing a party tonight. A party ordered by Mr. M. I don’t know when the fuck it’ll end. I gotta get some sleep. I’m being run ragged by everybody!”

“Tomorrow,” Kim said. “You will find Lita. She don’t know nobody in Hollywood. I think she is back down near the harbor.”

“Aw, crap!” Hector said. “I guess I can check that strip joint in Wilmington where you sent me to reel her in.”

“I already check there,” Kim said. “She did not go back there.”

“Okay, then I’ll get the address where she was staying down there and—”

“I check that too,” Kim interrupted. “The girl there tells me that Lita is in Hollywood. So she don’t know nothing neither.”

“Well, how am I gonna find her?” Hector said. “I can’t start asking all over the goddamn Spanish-speaking community down there. I don’t even talk the language except for a few words!”

“You go down there. That is where she is. Somewhere down by the harbor. I am offering her money to come back and be happy at Club Samara.”

“Okay, I’ll try,” Hector said. “But if it don’t work, I hope you don’t show your disappointment the way you did last time. My fucking hip is still killing me.”

When he closed his cell, he felt it again. The fear. Kim wasn’t going through all this just to hire her back. Hector was suddenly out of his depth, with the growing panic of a drowning man.

The doorbell startled him.

“I get it,” Ivana said.

Hector watched her sashay across the room in those sky-highs, thinking, Why couldn’t the fucking Russian just want a girl like Ivana to stomp on mice and gerbils in those four-inch heels, or walk up and down his back until he bled? Something more Hollywood normal, for chrissake! Why did it have to be severed arms and legs that stiffened his sausage?

Hector was surprised to see a buff, healthy-looking, thirty-something dude walk in. Christ, he looked like he just came from a tanning salon, but Hector could tell the difference. This guy’s tan was real. And he could not detect any limp. Why in the fuck would a guy like this go to T.J. and pay some quack to—

“Dah-link!” Ivana said, kissing Jetsam on the cheek. “I am full of delight that you have come. We are going to have a special evening.”

“I’m Kelly,” Jetsam said, offering his hand to the host. “You must be Hector.”

They shook hands, and Hector said, “Is Kelly a first name or a last name?”

“Does it matter?” Jetsam said.

“Not at all,” Hector said. “Not around here. Vodka? Scotch? A martini?”

“I could pound a brew or two,” Jetsam said.

“Sure, I got beer.” Hector went into the small kitchen and took a bottle of Corona from the fridge. He brought it back, asking, “Need a glass?”

“This’ll do,” Jetsam said, thinking the dipshit really did wear his hair in a mullet. The top and sides were cropped short, and the back of his black hair hung over his collar. And his silky, green-tomato shirt was open halfway down his skinny chest. And those snakeskin knockoffs on his feet? Must be his lame idea of what an up-to-the-minute Hollywood pimp should look like.

Hector said, “Whadda you do, Kelly?”

Jetsam thought, What the hell. With Sergeant Hawthorne listening, he might as well take his performance straight to the top and deliver the rehearsal lines. He said, “Right now, I’m all into buying video poker machines in Arizona and selling them to residential casinos around L.A. If you’re, like, ever in the market, get in touch with me. You can easy take in a couple grand a week on one machine. There’s way big potential, bro.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not really my line,” Hector said.

They started grazing at the canapé table, and Ivana sidled up to Jetsam and ran her hand over his ass, saying, “You are having a good week in business, dah-link? You are very tense from all the customer problems? Maybe I got to give you the Ivana supreme massage tonight?”

“That’ll do till Mr. B. gets here,” Hector said. “Let’s keep things at room temperature for now.”

Ivana scowled for being chastised in front of a potentially big tipper, and went into the kitchen to pout and pour another martini.

They heard her say in a loud voice, “James Bond is full of shit! Stirred is only way to make fucking martini!”

Hector shook his head at Jetsam and held his palm up, saying, “Hypersensitive bitches. What can I do?”

“So whadda you do to pay the rent, Hector?” Jetsam asked, stuffing a cracker loaded with something he thought might be spicy crab into his mouth and washing it down with the brew.

“I do a little of this and that,” Hector said, lighting a cigarette.

Jetsam finished the beer and said, “Okay, man, but I told you what I do.”

Hector knew he couldn’t afford to offend this freak, so he said, “I’m kind of a selector. Like an agent. I find new talent to work at Shanghai Massage and at a few other businesses around Hollywood.”

“Yeah?” Jetsam said. “Nice job. What’re the other businesses? Massage joints?”

Hector checked the time on his fake Rolex again and said, “Not jist massage parlors. I find talent for nightclubs, too. You know Club Samara?”

“Club Samara?” Jetsam said. “I don’t think so. I mostly hang at the happening clubs on the Sunset Strip, with all the wretched-excess chicks.”

Hector wondered if this fucking pervert was putting him down. He said, “Club Samara is better than any of them short-pour nightclubs that cater to the pimple-and-zit crowd looking for Paris and Lindsay. Club Samara is for grown-up people, like the Russian gentleman who’s coming here tonight to meet you.”

“The dude must be bucks up, huh?” Jetsam said, moving casually to the ice buckets and checking out the vodka. “To rate all this attention.”

Hector was starting to get annoyed by so many questions. He said, “All I know is, the guy has a . . . passion for the work that our former doctor done in Tia-juana.”

“Your former doctor?” Jetsam said. “You mean
my
Dr. Maurice?”

“Dr. Maurice took care of us girls real good,” Ivana volunteered, rejoining the party, and Hector could see that she’d had more than one martini in the kitchen. “You can’t sleep, you go to Dr. Maurice,” Ivana went on. “You get too much sleep, Dr. Maurice give you the energy shots. You got something wrong with the . . .”

“Okay, we get the idea,” Hector said. “He was a regular Dr. Schweitzer. Shoulda been doing missionary in the Congo or somewheres.”

“Why you are talking smack to me, Hector?” Ivana said, slurring her words. “I am getting another martini, and I ain’t staying here all night waiting for no Mr. B.” Then she stalked into the kitchen to pour another drink.

Jetsam was getting excited. Ivana had not so much as blinked when he’d mentioned Dr. Maurice during his visit to Shanghai Massage, as though the name meant nothing to her. This
was
starting to look like a full-scale criminal conspiracy, maybe even involving human trafficking, and complete with a drug-dealing quack to keep the hookers happy!