Harbor Nocturne (29 page)

All he had now was the inconclusive witness statement of Lita Medina as a way to link the big middle-aged Korean who Markov had referred to as William Kim, talent agent, to the murdered girl. Neither the criminal databases, nor DMV records, nor Immigration and Customs Enforcement files were of any value with such little information to feed into them. A man named William Kim would be harder to find than a William Smith, because the given name had undoubtedly been chosen to replace a Korean passport name, if indeed Kim even
had
a valid passport. But it was all Bino had to work with, so he was determined to keep at it.

* * *

The south side of the Hollywood Boulevard Walk of Fame was seldom as crowded as the north side, where Captain America was busy posing with tourists. Hector arrived fifteen minutes early and found throngs of tourists and stargazers milling about. But there weren’t so many that they were bumping into each other yet, except for the distracted overgelled teens outfitted by Tommy Hilfiger and J. Crew, with cell phones glued to their ears. These entitled children wouldn’t stop texting and talking while driving Daddy’s car if the traffic fine turned into a five-year jolt in San Quentin.

Hector had to endure some smack talk from strolling couples who breathed in his cigarette smoke while passing by. He ignored the comments from guys that were way too young for Social Security and thus might kick his ass if he retorted. But when an elderly couple passed and the old man said, “Those things will kill you, young man,” Hector pointed to the old woman and said, “Yeah, then I’ll be deader than Gramma’s clit.”

At a few minutes before 6:00
p.m
., with the summer sun still blazing down on Hollywood Boulevard, Hector spotted Markov walking east among a group of tourists with cameras, and he was relieved to see that none of the tourists was Asian. Markov would always look like a foreigner, with his wraparound shades and dyed Elvis do, especially when wearing a tacky aquamarine shirt with eggshell trousers, and reptilian wingtips that looked like snakeskin knockoffs. It was easy to see he wasn’t armed, unless he had a weapon in the tan valise he carried under his right arm, with his left hand gripping the handle.

Hector stood directly on Sinatra’s star and said, “Thanks for being on time.”

Even behind Markov’s sunglasses, Hector could see the dark eyes glaring. “We cannot do our business here,” Markov said.

“Let’s walk,” Hector said.

They were silent as Hector led Markov to Highland Avenue and turned south, all the time looking behind him.

“I came alone,” Markov said.

“So far, so good,” Hector said. “I moved all my stuff outta the house. The key’s under the flowerpot on the back porch.”

“Fuck the key,” Markov said, the first time Hector had ever heard him utter an obscenity. “Why are you playing this cloak-and-dagger game?”

“Because I’ve come to realize that you and Kim are partners in everything. What’s yours is his, and vice versa. And I know he ain’t gonna be happy about giving up fifty pictures of Grover Cleveland.”

“I am not happy either, especially because I do not know if what you have is worth very much.”

“It is,” Hector said.

By the time they were approaching Hollywood High School, Markov said, “This has gone far enough, has it not?”

“Do you and Kim keep all your money in safety-deposit boxes or what?” Hector asked. “I mean, you do have fifty grand in that little suitcase, right?”

“Let us sit down,” Markov said. “I am too old for this.”

There wasn’t anything going on at this hour of a summer evening at Hollywood High School, so they walked onto the campus and sat on the concrete steps.

Hector held a scrap of notebook paper in front of Markov with Dinko Babich’s address printed on it in block letters.

Markov reached for it, but Hector said, “Don’t touch. Jist memorize it.”

After a few seconds Markov said, “All right, it is memorized.”

“A guy my age named Dinko Babich lives there with his mother, Brigita,” Hector said.

“Croats,” Markov said, and his lip curled slightly.

Hector grinned. “I always figured you for a Serb. I grew up with Croatians.”

Markov said, “Who are these Croats? And why is Lita Medina with them?”

“I went all through school with Dinko,” Hector said. “He happened to be in the sleazebag saloon in Wilmington the day I went down there to persuade her to come dance at Club Samara. Dinko almost jerked off on the spot when he first laid eyes on that girl. But right then I got a call from Kim telling me he was on his way down to the harbor to talk about the container with the people in it. Somehow he thought me and the Dodge City Crip could jist bust them outta there like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”

“What did your Croat friend do with the Mexican dancer?” Markov asked.

“Because I had to go meet Kim right away, I paid Dinko to drive her to Club Samara to see if she met with your approval, and then to drive her back to Wilmington to get ready for her permanent move to Hollywood the next day. Now, she’s a very tasty, blue-chip chick, and I thought he might buy a blow job off her or something, but I didn’t know he’d make some kinda live-in arrangement with her. She’s there at his mother’s house. Trust me on that.”

“Oh, I am trusting you on that,” Markov said, his lips drawn tightly over teeth that the setting sunlight exposed as dentures. “Does anyone else live in the house?”

“Negative,” Hector said. “Jist his mom.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Hector said.

“How can Mr. Kim get to her without the young man or his mother being there?”

“You mean so he can bribe her into leaving?”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t know. That’s not my problem.”

“All right,” Markov said. “And the dangerous information you have for me?”

“Let’s see my Clevelands,” Hector said.

“I brought one-hundred-dollar bills,” Markov said. “You will have to settle for President Franklin, not Cleveland.”

Markov opened the valise for Hector, who had to catch his breath as he caressed the stacks of hundred-dollar bills. He counted three of the stacks at random and said, “Okay, I trust you.”

That made Markov emit a bark of a laugh. “Now the information, please.”

Markov held the valise pressed to his chest as Hector said, “The first thing is, the day after Daisy disappeared, Kim roughed me up because I couldn’t help him get the people outta the container yard.”

“Yes, yes, I know about that,” Markov said.

“Well, what you
don’t
know is, he got very up close and personal with me that day and I saw scratches on the side of his jaw. Fingernail scratches.”

Markov didn’t respond to that but just stared at Hector for a moment, and Hector said, “I see you watch
CSI,
too.”

Markov said, “It does not mean that they will positively find DNA material from Daisy.”

“Do you wanna bet your freedom on it?” Hector said.

“Is that your dangerous information?” Markov asked, hanging on to the valise ever tighter.

“Not even close,” Hector said. “Remember our fucked-up evening with Basil?”

“Of course.”

“Well, the peg-leg guy who called himself Kelly works here in Hollywood, and I think you’re gonna see more of him and the guys he works with. And maybe a lot sooner than you’d like.”

For the second time, Hector heard Markov use an obscenity. “Son of a bitch! Can you just say what you are meaning?”

“He’s a cop!” Hector said. “And so is the guy that was supposedly being arrested right in front of the house. That’s why they caused so goddamn much commotion that everyone ran home, including Kelly.”

Markov’s eyebrows lifted. “How do you know this?”

Hector said, “I went to Hollywood Station to make a report about the fucking Armos carving ‘AP’ on the hood of my new ride. And who do I see there but both those guys! In uniform!”

“And they saw you?” Markov leaned forward in alarm.

“They were driving outta the station parking lot, and I’m positive they didn’t see me. So I think you have a little time, but not much.”

“A little time?” Markov said.

“You’re the guy with brains,” Hector said. “Kim don’t have any. Maybe you can work it out if I help you. The LAPD sends a peg-leg cop to infiltrate your action at Shanghai Massage because they know about Basil and his weird tastes. So that means they’re real interested in shutting you down and throwing you in jail for running a high-end whore operation. And while that’s going down, one of your Club Samara girls gets snuffed. And her roommates, Lita and Violet, know it has to do with the thirteen dead people in the storage yard because Daisy
told
them that. And Lita sees what? Kim picking up Daisy on that day, that’s what! You think all these dots ain’t gonna be connected? You think it ain’t gonna all come down on Kim? And after they find him, you think it ain’t gonna rain shit on you if Kim makes a deal to avoid being strapped down in the little green room up in San Quentin where they shoot you full of good-bye juice?”

The hard set of Markov’s jaw crumbled, and he said weakly, “How do I know you are correct about the man with the amputated foot? Maybe you saw a police officer who only
looked
like the amputee that called himself Kelly.”

“I either saw Kelly or his stunt double,” Hector said.

“How can I be sure?” Markov said, with a tremble in his voice that Hector loved hearing.

“You’re the one higher up the food chain,” Hector said. “Use some imagination. Get ahold of Gretchen, the dopey hostess with the bad tit job at Shanghai Massage. Send her to Hollywood Station to tell the desk officer that she works for a charity providing services for war amputees. She can say they heard about the brave officer at Hollywood Station with a prosthetic foot. I guarantee you, the dumb cop on the desk will give you Kelly’s real name and probably brag about him. And if that ain’t enough, then have Ivana stand on the sidewalk by the parking lot at six o’clock like I did, and watch him drive out in his patrol car.”

For just an instant, Hector thought that Markov was going to curse again, but the man sagged and said, “Yes, I think that Costa Rica might be a pleasant place to spend a year or two.”

“So are you gonna give Kim the Babich address?”

“Of course,” Markov said. “I have paid dearly for it.”

“But if you’re gonna get outta town, why bother with the Mexican dancer? Jist go.”

“Such things cannot be done overnight,” Markov said. “I must buy time to liquidate my holdings. And during this time Kim must remain free from arrest.”

“She
may
already have called the cops about seeing him with Daisy,” Hector said, looking at the valise and thinking that Markov might blow-off the whole deal if he knew there were already cops cruising by the Babich house.

“Perhaps she has already contacted the authorities,” Markov said. “But even so, if the Mexican girl is never seen again, it will be much more difficult to build a case against Mr. Kim, and frankly, I doubt if they can do it without her.”

“But what if they
do
have his DNA under Daisy’s fingernails?” Hector said.

“DNA evidence is often not recoverable,” Markov said. “With any luck, Mr. Kim may escape unscathed this time. But it is truly troubling that the local police know enough about our business that they were trying to use Basil to gain intelligence and arrest all of us. I cannot imagine how they learned about Basil and his unfortunate proclivities.”

“Then you don’t know the bitches that work for you,” Hector said. “There ain’t one of them that can stop jabbering even with a cock in her mouth.”

“I presume you know that I will no longer need your services,” Markov said.

“Yeah, and I ain’t giving you two weeks’ notice neither,” Hector said. “I’m leaving Hollywood tonight, and I won’t be back.”

“If anything you have told me today is a lie, you will be dead very soon,” Markov said.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Hector said. “It wouldn’t be hard for Kim or anybody else to find me. In fact, the Cozzos are in the Pedro phone book.”

“Farewell then, Hector,” Markov said. “You have done me a good turn today despite the outrageous price I had to pay you.”

He handed over the valise, and Hector grabbed it.

“Kim will jist bribe Lita to leave town, right?” Hector said, feeling a sudden shiver in his gut and a need for reassurance. “He’d be afraid to have another dead body connected to him, wouldn’t he?”

“Of course,” Markov said. “Good-bye.”

He stood up painfully, showing his age, and began walking slowly north, toward Hollywood Boulevard. Hector watched him, waiting a moment before heading south to his parked Mercedes, believing that Markov would phone the Babich address to Kim even as he walked to his car. And Hector Cozzo knew in his heart that Kim would try to kill the girl as soon as he could manage it.

The Watch 5 cars that worked near east Hollywood spent some time that evening driving past Club Samara, looking for a late-model black sedan with chrome wheels, but none was spotted.

Mel Yarashi and Always Talking Tony went code 6 at that location and even entered the club, standing near the doorway and making the Russian bouncer uncomfortable while they scanned the crowd. There was no big middle-aged Asian in the nightclub, and it was an uneventful night in Hollywood, California, for the coppers of Watch 5, which was just as well. They needed to store up some energy. Tomorrow was the night of a Hollywood moon, and that meant
anything
could happen.

TWENTY-ONE

T
he visit with
the priest to begin plans for the marriage of Dinko Abel Babich and Lita Medina Flores was scheduled for 3:00
p.m
. Because this first step toward a new life was such a momentous occasion, they awakened as dawn was beginning to blaze over the harbor of Los Angeles. Brigita Babich was already in the kitchen making coffee by the time they entered and sat at the table.

She smiled at the two of them and said, “I couldn’t stay in bed, either.”

Lita’s luxuriant hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she was wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes. She beamed when she blurted, “I have so much excitement!”

“You
are
excited,” Dinko said.

“I
am
excited,” Lita said.

“You are loved,” Dinko said.

Before Lita could echo their refrain, Brigita said, “Stop it, you two, or I’m gonna start bawling.”

“Bawling?” Lita said, turning to Dinko.

“It means crying,” he said. “But it’s happy crying.”

“Is okay then,” Lita said. “I must do bawling also.”

Brigita put cups of coffee in front of them and told Lita, “You look so young with your hair like that.”

“I have nineteen years and four months,” she said. Then she added, “Almost five months.”

Dinko said, “No, you
are
nineteen years and four months old.”

“It is seeming strange, but okay,” Lita said. “I am nineteen years and four months old.” Then she asked, “Is okay to say I am
age
nineteen years and four months? Is not so strange that way, yes?”

Dinko and Brigita both smiled, and Dinko said, “Yes, that’s perfectly okay.”

“Even you look younger today,” Brigita told Dinko. “Like a boy. My baby boy.”

“Better start breakfast, Mom,” he said. “Before you start bawling.”

That made everyone laugh. It was that kind of day, full of joy and excitement for the members of the Babich family of San Pedro.

“I’m going to Dispatch Hall today to see the hall man,” Dinko said. “Gotta get ready for my first day back on the docks. I’m gonna take jobs six days a week and work my way up to crane operator ASAP, just like Dad. This soon-to-be-married San Pedronian has something to prove and something to work for.”

“Not
too
soon to be married,” Brigita said. “The process takes weeks. This is just the start, where we gotta fill out the Church’s prenuptial inquiry
forms. I’ll have to dig up your baptismal record and your First Communion certificate. And, of course, we’ll have to see if Lita’s mom has church documents that she can send to us.”

Lita said with concern, “Documents?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Dinko said. “You were baptized, weren’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” Lita said.

“And you made your First Communion, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but my family in Guanajuato . . . I do not know if they still have the . . . documents.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Dinko repeated. “The Catholic Church is nothing if not flexible these days. They’ll give you dispensation if the paperwork is lost.”

“Don’t get so caught up in hall business that you’re late for the meeting at the rectory,” Brigita said.

“Nothing could make me be late for that,” Dinko said.

“And how will you pass the time today, Lita,” Brigita asked, “until we go see the pastor?”

“I am thinking of doing a bike ride,” Lita said. “If Dinko permits me to ride his bike.”

“Sure, I’ll pump up the tires before I go,” Dinko said. “But where will you ride?”

“Not far,” she said. “Maybe by the harbor. Maybe to the park.”

“You’ll be very careful, won’t you?” Dinko said. “It can be dangerous riding in traffic.”

“You remember our bike ride on Catalina Island?” she asked.

“I’ll never forget it,” Dinko said with a wistful eye.

“I am a very careful bike rider, no?”

“Yes, you are,” he said.

“So do not be worrisome, okay?”

“Worrying,” he said.

“Okay, lovebirds,” Brigita said, “who wants scrambled and who wants easy over?”

It was late morning by the time Dinko was ready to drive to the Dispatch Hall. Lita waited for him, sitting astride his bike in the driveway, next to the Jeep.

Dinko yelled good-bye to his mother, looked at his watch, and walked to his car, telling Lita, “You should have a bottle of water with you. It’s gonna be very hot in the next hour or so.”

“Do not be worrisome, Dinko,” Lita said.

He looked at her, and she laughed and said, “I know. ‘Worrying’ is the correct word. I am just joking on you.”

Dinko surprised them both by sweeping her into his arms and kissing her with both tenderness and passion. “You are loved,” he said, before he jumped into the Jeep and drove away.

Brigita came out to the front porch and waved to Lita as she rode the bike into the street, calling after her, “Don’t tire yourself out. And be careful of the cars!”

Lita Medina waved to Brigita Babich and headed down toward Gaffey Street, never seeing the black Mercedes with chrome wheels a block behind her.

Lita pedaled east, to the harbor, and rode along the dock looking at small fishing boats, all that was left of what had once been a formidable fleet. The big commercial boats, docked in Mexico without the expense of crew insurance and workmen’s compensation, had ended their good life, but at least there was squid in local waters, and bonita for the cat food cannery, so a few of them still prevailed. Lita saw huge heaps of nets stored on the docks with yellow floats attached, right beside the dinghies that hauled those nets out into the water to surround the fish just before the catch was winched up and put down in the hold, eventually to be fed to household pets.

Two perspiring Latinos were working on the nets when they noticed Lita watching them. She spoke to them in Spanish, commenting on what a fine day it was. They concurred and smiled at each other, delighted to have exchanged pleasantries with such a beautiful Mexican girl. They waved when Lita rode off in the direction of Point Fermin Park, that peaceful place so special to her and Dinko.

There were hundreds of tourists already at the park on this clear summer day when Santa Catalina Island appeared so close. Lita dismounted near the slope leading up to Angels Gate Park and the Korean Bell of Friendship. A dozen children of grammar school age were frolicking around the bell, and she walked her bike up the knoll to the bell pavilion to listen to a docent lecturing the children.

The docent informed her young audience that the seventeen-ton bell, a gift from South Korea to celebrate America’s bicentennial, had been cast from several metals for good tone quality. Figures of the Goddess of Liberty were engraved in relief on the bell, along with a dove of peace. The bell was without a clapper and was struck four times a year from the outside with a wooden log. It rested inside a stone pagoda supported by twelve columns, each representing one of the twelve designs of the Oriental zodiac, and with a carved animal guarding each column’s base. The children were told that the pagoda’s remarkable roof of blue tiles and the sweeping curves at the four corners had been designed in a style that has been extant for more than four thousand years.

After the children had moved on, several Asian tourists, both men and women, walked to the pavilion and began chattering in their various languages and dialects. One of them was a big middle-aged man wearing a dress shirt and necktie who had his back to Lita. When she saw him, her heart pounded and she felt like running or screaming or both, until he spun around and looked past her. He wore glasses and had a round, cherubic face, which took on a worried expression when he called to a little girl who had disappeared behind the gathering crowd. When the little girl heard him calling, she ran to him and grabbed his hand. It was the first time in several days that Lita had had a fearful thought of Mr. Kim.

Lita walked her bike down to the street and began pedaling for home, feeling a strong urge to thank God for guiding her here to Dinko Babich and the wonderful new world surrounding her. When she got to Eighth Street she rode west, to the church, and looked up at the bell tower, with its ten-foot bronze of the Blessed Virgin standing on top, her arms outstretched to the sea. Lita gazed at the mosaic over the front doors, which also pictured Mary, this time standing on ocean waves. And Lita Medina entered the church hesitantly.

The interior of the church was elaborate and baroque, reflecting the tastes of the Italian, Croatian, and Portuguese working families who had founded and financed it, as well as of the growing number of parishioners from Mexico and Central America. The altar sat upon a level four steps high, and in this place, Christ had to give way to his mother. It was Mary, Star of the Sea, who stood tall, directly over the altar, holding a tuna clipper in one arm, as a mother would hold a baby. Christ crucified was relegated to a smaller and lower position to the right of the altar.

There were only two elderly women in the church, praying in one of the pews near the front, and after a moment they got up and walked down the aisle and left. Lita dipped her fingers in the font of holy water and crossed herself, ending by kissing her thumbnail as a way of symbolically kissing the cross, in the custom of her homeland. She chose a pew near the rear of the church, genuflected, then knelt, crossing herself again and thanking God for never giving up on her, and for providing her with this chance of redemption and love. She thanked the Holy Virgin for guiding her during her long journey, and for bringing her here, to a home at last.

Lita Medina never saw or heard the big Korean who entered the church silently. He removed his silk necktie when he saw her kneeling alone at prayer.

Returning home from the Dispatch Hall, Dinko chose to drive up Eighth Street from Gaffey for no other reason than that he would soon be driving back the same way to go to the rectory for the wedding preliminaries. He was shocked to see several black-and-white police cars, several other official-looking vehicles, and two ominous-looking vans parked in front of the church, where there was yellow tape strung across the entrance.

A uniformed police officer was directing traffic, waving all the curious motorists past. Dinko lowered his window and said, “What happened, Officer?”

The cop didn’t answer, only gestured with more urgency, so Dinko continued driving west, but when he looked back at the church’s entry, he saw a familiar bicycle lying on its side. He slammed on his brakes in the middle of the street, leaped from the Jeep, and ran panic-stricken to the church doors, where he was physically intercepted and restrained by two detectives and a uniformed officer. Another uniformed officer ran from the black-and-white parked directly in front of the church to assist, and soon all four cops were yelling commands at him.

But Dinko Babich didn’t understand a word they were saying. The tears were running into his mouth, and he couldn’t do anything but scream, “LITA!”