Presumed Guilty (22 page)

Dallas had done nothing so strange since her days wandering North Beach.
But these were strange times, and something had to happen. It was late afternoon, and she used her cell phone to call the
number for the escort named Gilda.
She almost clicked off. But a recorded voice stopped her. It was
melodramatically sultry. “Hi there. This is Gilda. I’m soooo glad
you called. If you’ll leave me a number, I’ll get right back to you.
I’m anxious to meet you, you know.”
And then there was a beep.
Dallas had at least thought it through to this point. She put on a
deep voice, her best one — Mel Gibson-ish — and threw in a Southern drawl to boot. “Howdy there. I saw yer picture and I’d sure like
to see you. Call me back and tell me what to do.” She left her cell
number and closed her phone.
Are you completely nuts?
Yes
.

Her call was returned in half an hour. Dallas saw Gilda’s number on the LCD.
She answered in her deep Southern accent. “Howdy.”
“Well, hi there.” It was the same throaty voice as on the recording. “Is this the nice man who just called?”
“Shore is.” Dallas’s hands were shaking, but the deep voice was working on Gilda. So far.
“Well now, you sound like somebody I’ve just got to meet. What say you and me get together?”
“Yep.”
“All you have to do is name the place.”
Place! She’d forgotten about that. What was she expecting, that she’d ask a call girl to come to Cara’s house?
“I’m, uh, a little nervous about this.”
“Your first time?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“That’s so special! Oh, you sound sweet. And just because of that, I’m going to make you a special deal. I don’t always do this. But for you, I will. I’ll meet you for a drink at a place I know, and we’ll talk a little. If you like me, I know a nice, quiet place we can go for a while. Sound like a plan?”
“Shore.”
“Way cool! There’s a bar called the Laurel, it’s on Ventura. You just go on in and tell them you’re meeting Gilda. Say eight o’clock tonight?”
“Okay.”
“Don’t sound so nervous, honey. We’re just going to relax and have ourselves a great time. I guarantee it. Oh, and just so there’s no surprises, the drink’ll cost you fifty dollars.”
“Huh?”
“You know, I love my work, but it is a job! I’m trying to save up for a Mercedes. Think of the drink like an initial consultation. And if you like me, we’ll deduct the fifty from the rest of the evening’s tab. See? Usually the first drink is a hundred, but like I said, you’re special. I love showing first-timers around. What do you say?” She could barely speak. “Eight o’clock then.” “Super trooper! I’ll see you there.”

The Laurel was stuck on a strip of Ventura Boulevard in the rundown section between Laurel Canyon and Lankershim. It was next to an auto-parts store, not exactly the upscale draw the boulevard was desperately seeking a couple of miles east.

The last time Dallas had been in a place like this was back in San Francisco. The bad days. She almost turned around and forgot the whole thing.

But she was close to something. No, she
had
to be close to something that would explain what had happened to her husband. Willing it to be so, she entered the Laurel. It was dark inside, and she was immediately greeted by a man with a barrel chest in a blue T-shirt stretched to the max. A silver necklace the size of a bike chain hung from his neck.

“Help you?” He seemed suspicious, as if a normal person walking into his dive was cause for alarm. No doubt it was. The place had a criminal ambience.

The man looked her up and down, then shrugged. “Business is business, am I right? Come on this way.”
He showed her to a table in the corner, by the window. “What can I bring you?”
“Oh. Just water.”
“Hey, not here. You got to order something.”
Was he joking? She decided not to ask. “All right. A diet Coke.”
“That’s it?”
“Is that all right?”
He shrugged. “To each his — I mean her own.”
Dallas watched him go and say something to the young bartender, who had dark curly hair and a jaded face. Working in a place like this, how could he not be?
The man returned with a modest-size glass of diet Coke that he placed in front of Dallas. It didn’t even have a lemon slice with it.
“That’ll be fifty dollars,” he said.
“What?”
“Expensive Coke. Bottled in Saudi Arabia.”
A criminal comedian? But he didn’t smile or walk away. He was serious.
“It’s for Gilda,” he said.
Of course. Dallas felt a blush rushing in and was glad the place was dark. She was so unsophisticated about these things. This was the way it was done, she supposed. She fished in her purse for cash and put two twenties and a ten on the table. The man snatched it up.
“No tip?” he said.
Dallas looked at him.
“Kidding. Enjoy. I’ll let Gilda know you’re here.”
The Coke was watery. This whole thing was watery — unsolid, unpredictable. She looked around the place. It was empty except for an older woman at the edge of the bar, looking into a martini glass. The young bartender looked at Dallas as if she were a curio.
Dallas took a small New Testament out of her purse, one she’d carried around for years. She’d read it in many a circumstance, but never one like this.
Her ribbon bookmark was in the twelfth chapter of John’s gospel, and she read to the end:

Then Jesus cried out, “When a man believes in me, he does not believe in me only, but in the one who sent me. When he looks at me, he sees the one who sent me. I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness.

“As for the person who hears my words but does not keep them, I do not judge him. For I did not come to judge the world, but to save it. There is a judge for the one who rejects me and does not accept my words; that very word which I spoke will condemn him at the last day. For I did not speak of my own accord, but the Father who sent me commanded me what to say and how to say it. I know that his command leads to eternal life. So whatever I say is just what the Father has told me to say.”

Oh, the stakes were high! For Ron and Jared especially. Would they reject Jesus after all? Jared was far away. Where was Ron?
Do not let them remain in darkness, Lord!

She looked up and saw a woman in a red jacket with fur collar and cuffs talking to the man at the front. The woman also wore a black miniskirt from which two long dark-nyloned legs shot downward, coming to rest in black shoes with stiletto heels. Her hair was a blazing shade of purple.

And then she was walking toward Dallas with a face that did not look pleased.
“What is this?” she said.
“Gilda?”
Her face, registering annoyance, was heavily made up, especially around the eyes. They were cat eyes, and Dallas figured they must drive some men to certain distraction. Or should she say, destruction?
“I was supposed to meet a guy named Dallas.”
“I’m Dallas.”
“You’re not a guy.”
Dallas did Mel. “Thanks fer comin’, ma’am.”
Gilda’s mouth made a little
O
. “Well now, that’s very clever.” She slid out the opposite chair out and sat down. “What’s your real name?”
“It’s really Dallas.”
“How’d you get it?”
“My dad. He was from Texas and he loved the Cowboys.”
“Oh.”
“What’s
your
real name?”
Gilda said, “You don’t think it’s real?”
“Just asking.”
“Clever again. You ever see that old movie with Rita Hayworth?”
“
Gilda.
I think Glenn Ford was in it too.”
“I always wanted to look like her. But you play the cards you’re dealt.” A distant, mournful tune seemed to play in her head. Then she snapped back. “You didn’t need to do all that posing. I go both ways, I just don’t advertise it. You do voice-overs or something?” “Or something. Only for fun.”
“Fun’s my middle name, girl. Like what you see so far?”
What did she see? A woman of about twenty-eight or nine, on the cusp of getting too old for what she did. And then what?
Damaged goods.
“I’d like to talk to you,” Dallas said.
“Sure. We got a few minutes here.”
“Fifty dollars’ worth.”
“That’s right.”
“Can I make it a hundred, and get more time?”
Gilda narrowed her eyes, now looked even more feline. “More time here?”
“Right.”
“We won’t need it.”
“Maybe we will.”
“Why?”
“Because I just want to talk. Nothing else. Should be the easiest hundred you’ve ever made.”
“You a cop?”
“No.”
“Good. Because I’ve got a tape going in my coat. It’s just a formality in case you pull a badge.”
“No badge.”
“And no tape.” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a tape recorder. Ironically, it looked identical to the one Detective Lacy used. Maybe the cops and hookers in L.A. shopped at the same store.
Gilda clicked it off. “So what do you want to talk about?”
“Melinda Chance.”
Gilda’s hand, holding the recorder, froze. “You
are
a cop, and I’m walking out right — ”
“I’m the wife of the man accused of murdering her.”
Now Gilda’s body froze. For a moment Dallas thought she was going to walk out without another word. But then Gilda thawed enough to put the recorder back in her coat pocket and say, “I got nothing to tell you.”
“I haven’t asked anything yet.”
“You don’t have to.”
“How well did you know her?”
“That’s my business.”
“I need to know.”
“You don’t need to know anything.” Gilda took a long breath. “Look, I’ll give you a word here, since you paid. Don’t go anywhere with this. Forget about Melinda. She’s dead. She’s probably happier too.”
“But I don’t think my husband killed her.”
“That’s not my deal. I’m just telling you, don’t go any further with Melinda, you understand what I’m saying?” She leaned over the table and whispered, “It wouldn’t be good for you.”
“Why not?”
“Trust me.”
“Why should I?” Dallas surprised herself with that one, but she was not in a mood to back down.
“Look, you seem like a nice lady. Nice, respectable. And if your man did it, you won’t be the first wife whose husband lied to her. Believe me, ninty eight percent of the guys I see have a little wifey at home. But the circles I run in, me and Melinda, it’s not for you.”
“Bad guys involved?”
“They can be.”
“Like Vic Lu?”
She looked startled. “You are on thin ice, lady.”
“Is that who you work for?”
“I got nothing else to say.” Gilda stood up, almost knocking over the contents of the table.
“Please,” Dallas said. “I need help.”
“You need to keep your nose where it belongs. And do not call my number again. Stay away from this.” She turned quickly and walked to the front, pausing for a word with the big man, then was out the door.
Well, that worked like a charm. A real detective she was. She took one more sip of her diet Coke, the most expensive drink she’d ever bought, and it was even more watery now. Like her prospects of helping Ron.
She felt the perfect fool too, as she started out. She could feel the bartender’s eyes on her, and goodness only knew what he was thinking.
Never again, girl. Leave the cloak-and-dagger stuff to Harry Stegman.
She didn’t even want to look at the big guy with the bike chain necklace, but she couldn’t avoid it with him standing right in front of the door.
“So soon?” he said.
What should she say to him?
Thank you for your hospitality?
He was creeping her out and she just wanted to get to Cara’s and take a shower. She felt dirty.
“Excuse me,” she said.
“You’re not mad about the fifty bucks, I hope.”
“Excuse me.”
He didn’t move.
The creepy feeling inside her grew stronger.
“May I leave?” she asked firmly.
“Sure. In a couple of minutes.”
“Now.”
“No can do.”
She realized again that she was alone in this place, except for Necklace and the bartender. And Necklace wasn’t budging.
“Move,” she said.
Necklace smiled. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Absolutely not. I’m leaving.”
She took one step to try to get by him. His hand whipped in front of her and snatched her purse right out of her hands. Quick as a blink he tossed the purse over her shoulder. The bartender, now five feet away, caught it.
“Find out who this chick is,” Necklace said.
Dallas tensed and considered her options. They were all bad.
As if he could hear her inner gears grinding, Necklace said, “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Jamaal was asleep on a cot.
Tiana lay on the bed. Jared sat on the other cot, nowhere close
to being able to sleep.
Back in the Padilla shack. It was like a bad dream. He’d once
heard that life was just a series of recurrences. You never really got
anywhere. You always ended up just going over the same ground,
arriving at the same place. You died and came back and lived
through it all again. Like that movie
Groundhog Day
, only it wasn’t
funny and you didn’t remember anything.
Around and around and that was it, forever and ever amen. “Can’t sleep?” Tiana whispered.
“No.”
“How come?”
“Why don’t you sleep?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Great. Now go to sleep.”
Instead, she sat up. “Your mom’s right.”
“What’s my mom got to do with it?”
“You got stuff going on you can’t handle by yourself.” “I do all right. Go to — ”
“Doesn’t look to me like you do all right.”
“I don’t really give a flying rip what it looks like to you.” “I want to take Jamaal to church.”
“He’s your kid.”
“Come with us.”
“You do sound like my mom.”
“I’ve been thinking this all through. You’re right about me needing to get some work, and starting over again. I want to start
all
over
again. Because of Jamaal. I want to give him the best life I can.” “There you go.”
“You got us out of L.A., so why don’t you stay with us?” “And do what? ”
She didn’t answer immediately.
“You think I’m money?” he said.
“Huh?”
“You think I’m a guy you can palm off of?”
“No.”
“Yeah, you do. You got that look.”
What am I saying?
He was starting to see pain in her eyes. The
room started to go dark on him. He closed his eyes, opened them,
hoping to bring in more light.
He saw Tiana staring at him.
“Cut it out!” he screamed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Shut up!”
“Don’t talk that way.”
“Shut up I said!” Without a thought, operating on something
like instinct, but from a source outside himself, Jared made a fist
and raised it.
The moment he did, the moment he saw her eyes widen with
shock and fear, in that moment he knew he was no better than
Rafe.
He ran out of the house, jumped into his truck, and burned
rubber.
He welcomed night. He could drive into it, get lost in it, stay
there. Maybe if he drove fast enough, outran the demons, he could
drive over a cliff or into a wall. Then there wouldn’t be a blot of
Jared Hamilton on the earth anymore.
He’d fought and bled in Iraq. He believed in the cause he was
fighting for. He got to know enough of the Iraqi people to know how
much they craved true freedom. But there was a kind of freedom
some people would never know. Freedom from fear and memories
and events that haunted.
He would never have that freedom.
Somewhere outside the city limits, on one of the darker roads,
flashing lights came into the rearview mirror.
Cops or highway patrol. Maybe a sheriff. Anyway, they had him
in their sights.
Keep going.
He pushed the pedal to the metal.
The siren split the night silence.
Now it was a high-speed chase.
Maybe end up on the evening news.
That’d thrill his mother.
Or he could charge into a tree right now, get it over with.
End it. End it now.
Yeah, right now.
He considered the trees, eucalyptus lining the road, standing
and waiting, illuminated by his headlights.
Would have to be a strong one.
End it.
His mom. He saw his mom. How would she handle it?
It doesn’t matter.
Yes, it does. It does matter. He couldn’t do this to her now. He braked, letting the truck come to a stop on the soft
shoulder.
The car pulled up behind him.
It was a chippie. He came up on the passenger side, knocked on
the window. Did not look happy.
“You miss me back there?” the chippie said. He was of the exlinebacker style of highway patrolman.
“I stopped, didn’t I?” Jared said.
“License, registration, proof of insurance.”
Jared reached toward the glove compartment.
“Slowly,” the chippie said.
Jared opened the compartment slowly, slid out the registration,
and remembered he didn’t have insurance. He took his license out
and handed it to the patrolman.
Then waited as the officer went back to his vehicle. No doubt
to write him up.
So what? What’s a ticket gonna do? Keep going. Drive north tonight.
You can figure out a way to die later, and write a note to Mom explaining it all. She’ll have to make do with that.
The patrolman came back on the driver’s side. And he was holding his weapon.
“Out of the truck,” he said.
“What?”
“Get out, sir.”
Jared opened the door. “What is all this?”
“Hands behind your back.”
“Hey — ”
“Do it
now
.”
Jared complied. The officer slipped plastic restraints around his
wrists, pulled them tight.
“What am I being arrested for?” he said.
“They want you down in L.A.,” the patrolman said. “You skipped
out on a DUI. They don’t like that, you know.”