“Not your fault,” I murmured. Then we were quiet again, each with his own thoughts. A long time later we slept.
Someone was tugging at my shoulder. I opened my eyes to Josh’s worried face and a sunny room.
“Robert’s gone,” Josh said.
I pulled myself up and stared at him. “What?”
“I got up and went into the bedroom to get to the bathroom. He’s gone.”
“Shit.” I swung my feet over the edge of our makeshift bed to the floor. I got up and walked into the bedroom. The bed was disheveled but empty. “What time did you come in here?”
“Just now. I mean, ten minutes ago,” Josh said, coming up behind me. “He took some things, too.”
I looked at Josh. “What?”
“All the money in my wallet. Some clothes.” He paused and sucked in air. “The leather jacket you gave me.”
“I’m sorry, Josh,” I said.
Josh attempted a smile. “He left me his.”
“Great.” The boy’s jacket, cheap vinyl, was tossed across a chair. “I’d better call Cresly. They might be able to find him.” “They won’t,” Josh said, softly.
I nodded and went to make my call.
Cresly and Freeman arrived just before noon. I put down the tuna sandwich I was eating and answered the door. Their faces were grim.
“No luck?” I asked, as they came into the kitchen.
Cresly’s eyes were at their iciest. “I can’t believe the kid just fucking walked out of here,” he said.
“We were asleep,” I said.
“Yeah,” he replied, accusingly. “Asleep.”
“Look, Cresly, if you’d put him in a hospital instead of bringing him here-” I began.
“Cut it out,” Freeman snapped. “The kid’s gone.”
“What about the warrant?” I asked, having earlier told Cresly about Zane’s flight from the robbery charge in Oklahoma.
He shook his head. “Oklahoma went on computer just a couple of years ago with warrants,” he said. “For fifteen years back they have to do a hand search. Could take weeks, if they still got the records.”
“So now what?” I asked.
Cresly and Freeman exchanged a look. I didn’t like it.
Freeman cleared his throat. “The cops want to set up a decoy,” he said. “Bust Zane in the act.”
“Put someone out on Santa Monica?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Freeman said.
“Those boys don’t wear many clothes,” I said. “You won’t be able to wire them for sound. Especially if Zane likes to cuddle before he beats them up.”
“That’s what the cops figure,” Freeman said. “Besides, they’re not going to get those kids to cooperate.”
Cresly, who had been ominously silent, added, “Yeah, look at the kid who was here last night.”
“So use cops,” I said.
“We plan to,” Cresly said, “but you know how it is. Put a cop in jeans and a tank top, teach him how to mince and lisp and he still looks, walks, and smells like a cop.”
I glared at him. “Do you think this stuff up in advance or does it just come to you?”
“He’s got a point,” Freeman said.
“What’s going on here, Freeman?”
“Maybe you noticed how much that kid last night looked like Josh,” he said.
“Oh, no,” I replied, shaking my head. “Absolutely not.”
Freeman said, “Look, Henry. I’ve watched Zane in action. Josh is exactly the type he goes for.”
“The cops get paid for it.”
“You want to get Zane or what?” Cresly said.
“Not that much.”
“Maybe Josh should decide,” Freeman said quietly. “Where is he?”
As if on cue, the front door opened and Josh walked in wearing the black jacket that Robert had left. He smiled, uneasily, and tossed the mail on the coffee table.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I’ll do it,” Josh said, simply, after Freeman and Cresly finished their pitch. We were sitting around the kitchen table again. The ashtray had filled with butts as the afternoon wore on.
“No,” I said, quietly. “You won’t.”
“I want to help,” Josh said, looking at me with his dark, serious eyes.
I shook my head in response. The others were silent.
“I owe it to Jim,” Josh said.
“Getting yourself killed won’t be doing him any favors,” I replied.
Cresly said, “No one’s gonna get killed here.”
I turned on him. “We’re dealing with a guy who’s already killed three people.”
Cresly lit a cigarette. The smoke curled upward into the frosty winter light. “We don’t know that he killed anyone yet,” he said. “Anyway, he don’t kill his dates. And we’ll be there.”
“How?” I demanded. “You can’t wire Josh.”
“We’ll wire the car Zane rents,” Cresly said, exhaling a snaky stream of smoke. “As soon as they get out of the car, we’ll be there.”
“See, Henry,” Josh said.
“Bullshit.”
Freeman said to Cresly, “Let’s go for a walk, Phil. Let them talk.”
Cresly smirked, but got up from the table. “Yeah, you guys talk,” he said, “but let me give you something else to think about, Rios. Something washed up on Venice Beach last night. It used to be Sandy Blenheim.”
He stalked out of the room.
“We’ll be back in a while,” Freeman said, following him out.
“You can’t do this, Josh,” I said. “Cresly’s using you. I don’t trust him.”
“How else are they going to catch Zane?”
“There are other ways,” I insisted.
“Like how?” he asked, lighting a cigarette.
“The warrant.”
He smiled, wanly. “Cresly says they might never find it.”
“Cresly could tell me the sun was going to set tonight and I’d still want a second opinion.”
“Why do you hate him?” Josh asked, flicking a bit of ash from the sleeve of his sweater. “‘Cause he’s a homophobe? The world’s full of them,” he continued, and added, “I was one. I called Jim Pears a faggot, just like the other guys at the restaurant.” He looked at me, his lips a tight line. “I owe him.”
“Not that much, Josh.”
“If they had asked you, you’d do it. Wouldn’t you?”
I didn’t have to say anything because we both knew the answer.
27
Two nights after New Year’s, I was sitting in an unmarked police car on Santa Monica Boulevard with Cresly, Freeman, and an officer named Daniels. The strip of the Boulevard between Highland and La Brea, usually packed
