L. A. Heat (21 page)

David sighed and leaned over to crank the other
window down. It didn’t help much, but it was better than nothing. He turned on
the radio and caught the tail end of Garth Brooks wailing on about walking in
the fire. Then it was Patsy Cline’s turn.

*****

“This one disappeared out of
Silver Lake in early July. No doubt there, according to his numerous friends.”
Martinez sucked on a mint, scowling. “And no doubt about which way he swung.
Found his roommate and he was happy to give up these.”

Martinez handed over a pair of three-by-fives.
They showed another slender guy with dark hair cut short and streaked. He was
dressed in leather. At least he was partly dressed, as Martinez was quick to
point out.

“Get a look at that outfit. Can you believe they
wear that shit?”

David hadn’t seen too many men in full leather
regalia. He'd visited one leather bar in Palm Springs and spent a night with a
too submissive bottom who was more into pain than David was comfortable with.
In his experience they were a private bunch who kept to their own clubs and
rarely wore their gear in public. This one had on leather chaps over bare
skin—only a leather pouch covered his genitals. A harness studded with metal
rings, exposing a well-muscled chest, covered his upper body. Both nipples were
pierced. Dark eyes peered out from under a stiff leather cap. In one picture a
pair of black shades dangled from his fingers. In the second one he had donned
the mirrored sunglasses to put the finishing touch on the ensemble. He looked
like something out of a Kafka western.

David glanced down at the missing-person report
Martinez had dug up. Jeff Charette. Apartment in Newport Beach at the time he
went missing. Twenty-three. The oldest identified victim so far.

“His friends know where he hung out?”

Martinez flipped through his notes. “Couple of
places. Joint called the Eagle Leather Bar. Silver Lake. Another one in West
Hollywood.”

“Guess we plan a visit.” Again he studied the
report. “Missing somewhere between the thirtieth of June and the first of July.
Body found July third. Dead at least twenty-four hours at that point.”

“If our doer went by his standard MO then he was
held several hours.” Martinez narrowed his dark eyes and chewed fiercely on his
mint as he glared at David. “We? What do you mean ‘we’?”

“Wouldn’t want you to miss anything.”

“Thanks,
partner
. Has anyone informed the
sheriff’s department about this? This guy seems to be operating in their
backyard just as freely as he is in ours.”

“Lieutenant says they’re apprised and they’re
willing to share the investigation, but they figure it’s our call. Body dumps
are ours, no way to know where the doer’s stashing them, but unless we can
prove he’s doing them in West Hollywood—”

“—they want no part of it.”

David shrugged. “It’s a political hot potato no
one wants to catch.”

“I know how they feel. ‘We,’ huh?
Madre de dios
,
my mother would be turning over in her grave if she could see her eldest son
now.”

*****

From the outside, the Eagle
didn’t look like much. Plain dark brick and a door covered with security bars.
Martinez stood on the sidewalk and stared at it as if it was the entrance to a
man-eating dragon’s lair.

David pushed the door open. Beside him Martinez
hitched up his purple herringbone pants and followed. The instant they were
inside David could smell the old reek of hops, stale sex, and cigar smoke.

The interior of the club was deliberately dark and
cavernous. Light came from wall sconces and a pair of fluorescent lights above
the bar. There were a lot of dark paneled walls posted with images of men.
Several TV monitors played porn loops. David wondered if Bobby had played here.
He was mesmerized by one that showed a bear in full police regalia, right down
to the holstered gun fucking what could only be a Latino gangbanger. The
bartender was a tall, narrow-hipped guy in full leather, including a peaked hat
on his hairless head. No pierced nipples on this one, but he did have a black
and gold leather dog collar around his neck and several gold earrings in both
earlobes. A submissive.

He watched them approach with flat brown eyes.

“
Dios
.” Martinez breathed shallowly through
his mouth. His eyes didn’t stop anywhere for long.

David took in the long mahogany bar on one side
and the narrow row of small tables crammed along the opposite wall.

Acres of glass surrounded a tiled dance floor that
wasn’t much bigger than a kitchen table but was already packed with at least a
dozen men writhing to the deep bass that thundered out of hidden speakers.
Lights bounced off the mirrored walls and the watchful patrons, most of whom
had gigged themselves up in leather. Behind the dance floor there was a stage
festooned with posters for upcoming contests and shows, most showing images of
semi-naked men in erotic poses.

David stared at a tall black guy leaning against
the bar who wore nothing but chaps and a leather thong that did a poor job of
concealing his equipment. David could even make out the cock ring the guy wore.
His body was hairless and oiled, showing off his sculptured ebony chest and
tight abs. David stared at him hungrily.

His eyes met David’s and held them. He showed
white teeth in a smile that completely unnerved David. As if he knew David’s
secrets. Even the ones he barely acknowledged. He broke out in a hot sweat.

Everyone in the bar watched them. Especially
Martinez, who along with the purple pants sported a loud yellow and green plaid
blazer that had to be one of the ugliest things David had ever seen. Add to
that a wide, purple tie and he definitely stood out in this field of cowhide.

“Help you?” the bartender asked.

David and Martinez both flipped out their gold
shields. Then David pulled out the police-artist sketch he had had prepared
from Digger and Ant’s descriptions of Anstrom’s phony uncle the day before and
showed it to the bartender. “Have you ever seen this man?”

The bartender sucked on the ragged end of his Fu
Manchu mustache. “Maybe,” he drawled. “Not a regular.”

“When did you see him?”

“Didn’t say I did, now did I?” the bartender said.
“Just... maybe.”

“Ever see him with anyone?” The bartender
shrugged. “Maybe. Who pays attention?”

“How long you worked here?” Martinez leaned his
bulk over the bar, crowding the bartender’s space. “Most bartenders I know,
they don’t miss anything that goes on in their place.”

The bartender looked Martinez up and down, unfazed
by his nearness. “I don’t think we travel in the same circles, friend. I run a
place where guys come in, have a few drinks, maybe meet new people.”

Martinez sneered. “Pollyanna’s dating service.” He
looked around the crowded bar. “If I was to start carding guys, what do you
think I might find?”

“That a threat?”

“Sure it’s a threat,” Martinez said. “How come no
one ever recognizes plain old police threats anymore?”

“We just came to ask some questions,” David said
quickly before this could degenerate into a pissing match. “Let’s start with
your name.”

“Barry Lakowski. What’s this about, anyway?”

“Can you recall when this man”—David tapped the
police sketch—“was in here? Any regular customers interact with him? You see
him leave with anyone? Nothing too difficult there, right?”

“Like I said, he’s not a regular. He might have come
in a while ago.” He glared at Martinez. “If he left with someone, that’s what
they come here for.”

“Did he ever appear to be helping anyone? Maybe
somebody got sick all of a sudden?”

“Sick?”

“Sick, falling down drunk, that kind of thing.”

“I cut people off all the time they have too much.
Take their keys if I have to.”

“But what if someone offered to take the guy home?
Anyone going to object to that?”

Behind him, Martinez approach the nearest table
along the wall. He dropped something among the litter of beer bottles and
shooters and leaned in close.

“What’s he doing?” Barry asked in alarm.

“Showing some people pictures.” David tried not to
show his dismay once he realized whose picture Martinez was flashing around.
“See if anyone can ID them.”

Martinez left the table and approached the bar
again. He laid the six images of Chris and the others out and invited the
bartender to study them.

“Ever see any of these guys in here before?”

Martinez didn’t object when a couple of
leather-clad men crowded close to the bar to peer at the pictures. David could
smell their aftershave and sweat.

Barry looked confused. David tapped the sketch. “I
need you to try to remember when you last saw him.”

“What this guy do, anyway? Kill someone?” Barry
laughed.

Neither David or Martinez joined him.

“Christ,” Barry said.

David tried not to watch Martinez in his
determination to prove Chris guilty. “Give him to me, Barry. When was he here?”

Sliding his leather cap off his head, revealing a
recently shaved scalp, Barry stared at the sketch, then to David’s dismay he
glanced back at the image of Chris that lay on top of the six-pack of pictures.

“I know the face.” He cocked his head. “But not
recently. I’d have to say it’s been at least a couple of months.”

Martinez pulled out his notebook. “Really?” he
murmured. “Two and a half months ago...That was Jeff Charette.”

“Who?” David reluctantly dug out the two pictures
of the leather-clad Charette and dropped them on top of the sketch.

Barry paled.

“What are you doing with those?”

“You know him?” Martinez leaned over the bar. “He
come in here?”

“Regularly.” Barry frowned. “At least he used to.
Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“How long’s a while?”

“A month, maybe six weeks.”

“Mid-June? July?”

“Could have been.” Barry’s gaze fell back on the
police artist’s sketch. He frowned.

“Anything unusual happen the last night you saw
Jeff?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

Barry tugged at his bottom earring. Then his face
grew pinched. “Jeff must have been putting the screwdrivers away too fast.
Usually he’s not a heavy drinker, but he got totally wasted that night. I was
gonna take his keys, but this guy he was drinking with said he’d take him
home.”

Bingo
.

“And you knew this guy hadn’t been drinking so you
were happy to see Jeff taken care of.”

“Didn’t see any harm in it? Why? What are you
telling me?”

“Know where we can get in touch with this guy?”
David tapped the sketch. He kept his voice casual. “Got a name on him?
Anything?”

Barry shook his head violently. “He never gave me
a name. Who is this guy? What the hell is this about?”

“How often was he here?”

“Once, twice maybe.” Barry was starting to look
worried. “Does this have something to do with the fact that Jeff’s never come
back? What happened?”

“Jeff Charette is dead. His body was found July
third, but was only identified recently.”

Barry grew even paler. His gaze fell on the
sketch, then skated over to the picture of Chris. He frowned. “And you think
one of these guys had something to do with it?”

“We don’t know that, sir. We need to talk to them
is all.”

At the other end of the bar someone rapped the
counter. “Hey, Barry, you stopped working for the night? We’re dry down here.”

Barry jumped, but then he seemed to welcome the
interruption. David waved him off.

“Go on, if we have any other questions, we’ll find
you.”

A grateful Barry moved off down the bar.

Martinez scooped up the sketch. “I’m going to call
down a couple of D’s, get them canvassing the area for any other wits.”
Martinez slapped the pictures. “Told you we’d get him, partner.” Then he seemed
to catch something on David’s face. He narrowed his dark eyes. “Something
wrong?”

David glanced at his watch, knowing he had to
escape from Martinez. It was nearly five. “I have some personal business to
take care of. Catch up with you later?”

“Sure. Personal, heh? Got a hot date?”

David thought of Chris. He shook his head. “No,
it’s not like that.” Even as the traitorous thought came:
I wish it were
.

“Sure.” Martinez grinned. “I believe you.
Thousands wouldn’t.”

“Glad to have a partner who trusts me.”

“Hey, I trust you.” Martinez clapped David on the
back. “Do me a favor,
amigo
. At least
try
to get lucky, okay?”

Martinez gathered everything up and shoved it back
into his briefcase.

“Come on,” he said. “Call the station and get
those D’s assigned. Then you go take care of your personal business. If I don’t
see you till tomorrow morning, I’ll understand, really.”

David followed him out the door, trying to ignore
his crude laughter. Wishing he hadn’t said anything.

Already looking forward to seeing Chris again.

Return to Contents

Wednesday,
1:45 pm, Police Impound Lot,

East
Commercial Street, East Los Angeles

UNDER THE WATCHFUL glare of two
uniformed cops, Chris was shown to his impounded SUV. He popped the door and
instantly backed off as a wave of chemical fumes enveloped him. The younger of
the two cops smirked.

“They use heated superglue to lift prints.” The
cop was still grinning at his discomfort.

“Superglue?” Chris sniffed again. He recognized
the smell now. “Great, so I get stoned on the drive home.”

“I suggest you keep your windows down until you
hit the freeway, sir.” The sneer was obvious now. The cop was baiting him.
“Don’t stop to pick up anybody.”

Meaning what? Jesus, were they telling him they
were going to follow him?