Cruz took out the envelope, plucked out two hundred-dollar bills, and passed them under the table as the exotic dancer on the little stage took off her top and shimmied her pasties for the crowd. Cruz leaned closer to Karen Ricci. “You get the rest after I meet this woman.”
“You already did,” Ricci said. She tilted her chin toward the staircase.
“Upstairs? At the closet door?”
“That’s her,” Karen said. “She gets off work at four.”
CHAPTER 72
Cruz swallowed the Bad Spaniard, including the egg, and said, “I’ll be back.”
He put a twenty under his empty glass and went up the stairs.
Carmelita Gomez was still standing by the armoire when Cruz came through the curtain of shirts. He did all the talking, telling her that Karen Ricci had said to tell her he was okay. That he needed information for cash. And that he’d be waiting for her outside the club at four a.m.
He gave her his cell phone number and said, “ No llegues tarde. Don’t be late.”
Cruz got his gun back from the doorman, then got in the car and headed south.
Del Rio and Scotty were in the surveillance van on South Anderson Street near the corner of Artemus. Cruz parked, slapped the van’s door, got in the back.
Cruz briefed the guys on Carmelita Gomez, and they told him that a whole lot of nothing had happened to the thirty million in drugs stolen from the Mob. That the West Coast boss, Carmine Noccia, was paying for the surveillance but was cracking his knuckles and grinding his teeth, making phone calls to Jack, getting crazy.
Del Rio said, “What I think is that this warehouse is a safe house. They’ll move the van when they have a delivery secured. Or else the warehouse has become a drugstore. Those pills could be leaving here a few bottles at a time.”
Cruz let Del Rio and Scotty sleep, took a shift watching the warehouse. He, Scotty, Del Rio, and Justine were working their major cases while Jack spent all day and all night trying to get his ass out of the bad case against him.
Cruz would be happier when Jack was free, when he was back working with them, and he hoped it would happen before the top guys at Private burned out.
Cruz shook Del Rio awake at 3:35 and got back into his fleet car. At four on the nose, he parked again on North Western under the light, across the street from the sign reading Havana.
The street was emptier and more desolate than it had been six hours before, except for a bunch of rowdies having after-drinks fast food at the Tacos El Patio.
Cruz was thinking maybe he’d go in there and use the bathroom, when the door to Havana opened and a woman in jeans, black cardigan, and black Converse lace-ups came out to the street. He flashed his headlights, and Carmelita Gomez crossed to the car. She glanced up and down the street as she slipped in the passenger side and closed the door.
CHAPTER 73
Carmelita Gomez smelled like flowers and cigar smoke. She turned her dark eyes on Cruz. It was like looking at the business end of a couple of nines.
“Karen just told me you wanted to talk about that dead john last year. She’s got a big mouth,” Carmelita said.
“You told her about it, right?”
“The guy was dead. I’m the last one who partied with him. Cops wanted to know. Everyone wanted to know.”
“And now I want to know, but I’m paying for the information. I’ll keep you out of it.”
“Give me the money first.”
“That’s not how it works,” Cruz replied.
The girl opened the door and had one sneakered foot on the pavement when Cruz said, “Wait.”
She got back in and looked at him, not saying anything.
“Here’s three hundred,” Cruz said. “With the two I gave your friend, that’s a total of five hundred. Half down. Now, Carmelita, you have to talk if you want the rest.”
The girl put the money inside the neckline of her top and said, “The killer is a limo driver. He drives the girls to their dates. Then he comes back and kills the johns.”
“Do you think that? Or know that?”
“When I was at Sensational Dates, I was friends with one of the drivers.”
“Name?”
“Joe Blow.”
Cruz’s hand moved fast, like a snake, to the girl’s neckline. He had his hand on the money when she grabbed his wrist and said, “It doesn’t matter what is his name. He’s dead, okay? He OD’d.”
Cruz pulled out the rest of the money, held it in front of her eyes.
Carmelita sighed.
“These drivers. They are a bad group. Ex-cons. Illegals. They make their own hours. Many times, they use their own cars. When the calls go out for a driver to take an escort somewhere, they hear over the radio where the girls are going and they choose the jobs they take.”
“I need a name.”
“The driver who took me to the Seaview the night Arthur Valentine was killed? He was a guy called Billy Moufan. He and I told each other our secrets.”
“For instance.”
“Billy told me one of our drivers had killed the john at the Moon. He didn’t name the name. Just said to be careful.
“Then my date was found dead. Later, Billy OD’d. I didn’t tell the police anything. They don’t protect party girls, you understand? Maybe Billy OD’d. Maybe someone did it to him. All I know is what Billy told me. The killer was a driver who worked for Sensational Dates in the summer of 2010. Did you know that? No. If you are a good detective, maybe you can find this driver.”
“I’m going to try.”
“ Bueno. Now give me the rest of the money.”
CHAPTER 74
Justine grabbed at the ringing phone on her nightstand, fumbled it, dropped it, scrambled for it under the bed.
When her hand was around the phone, she squinted at the caller ID. It said only, “Incoming call,” and she didn’t recognize the caller’s number. She glanced at the clock. It was just after four a.m.
Justine said into the phone, “Hello? Hello?”
She heard sobbing. “Hello, who is this?”
“It’s Danny.”
“Danny. Where are you? What’s wrong?”
The crying continued, and between the sobs, Danny gave Justine an address in Topanga Canyon.
“Please come fast,” he said.
Justine said she’d be there in twenty minutes. She disconnected the line, then called Del Rio. He picked up on
