Los Angeles Noir

the Flo Boyz and they’d tried to pay him with some shit called “butter.”

Fast Al Townes, one of Central Detection’s top operatives, tracked the fibers that Cravitz had retrieved from the murder scene back to the Dream Closet, a Silverlake costume shop. A sales girl recalled renting four ninja costumes-now overdue-to some rude young men on Halloween eve.

Diss ’N’ Dats Records, the Vegas label that first recorded the Flo Boyz, FedExed publicity stills of the quartet, and Vargas emailed them to all the local news outlets.

A man named Francisco Hernandez called the L.A.P.D. crime hotline to report that he had sold a tan late- model Ford Falcon to una cabeza de quevo-a dickhead-named Monster P, from the Flo Boyz, the kids wanted on TV.

Flagg Jackson, dumpster-diving out back of the Amarillo Bar on Lankershim Boulevard, was the first to drop a dime. He called the Chateau Rouge and told Hi-C he’d seen the punks go inside the bar. Their jalopy was stashed behind his favorite dumpster. He was sure they were packing. Cravitz called Vargas and told him to meet at the Amarillo in an hour.

It took Cravitz fifteen minutes to drive the twenty miles to the Amarillo. Two dozen Harleys leaned against one side of the bar. At the end of the line of hogs, Flagg Jackson waved and pointed to the front of the bar.

Cravitz took a long pull from his cigar, cocked his Berretta, and headed for the door.

Behind a curtain of beads he saw four young men, each one at a corner of the bar, armed with shotguns.

About twenty customers were lined up against the walls. In the center of the room there was a pile of wallets and jewelry.

Cravitz pushed aside the curtain with his big Beretta and stepped in.

“Well, well, well. If it ain’t that bitch from the Chateau Rouge,” said Monster P, training his shotgun on Cravitz.

Cravitz could hear distant sirens, coming closer. He figured he could kill two, maybe three of the boys without any problem. That fourth would be tricky.

“Drop the guns, boys,” Cravitz said.

Now all four young men aimed their weapons at Cravitz.

“Tha’s a bad idea, fella,” a voice growled from behind the bead curtain.

Hi-C stepped in, his red satin top hat seeming to scrape the ceilings. He held a nasty-looking, TEC-9 assault weapon in his hands. Behind Hi-C was his boss, Cash Cravitz, followed by his crew, ready for a bloodbath.

“You got shit in your ears, boy? Drop them gats,” Cash growled.

All but Monster P complied. He cocked the shotgun and smiled. “I ain’t afraid to die. But I’m gonna kill you first, bitch.”

Cravitz smiled too. Lazily, he strolled up to Monster P and flicked the drooping ash from his Cuban stogie onto the boy’s pretty new sneakers. He hurled his 6’5” frame forward and batted the shotgun aside with his Beretta. In the same lighting motion, he smacked Monster P across the face with his free right hand. Monster P saw the flash of a broad, shadowy palm, then felt the blunt imploding thud of his head crashing against the steel base of the classic country-andwestern jukebox twelve feet away.

Uniformed cops took the other Boyz away in cuffs while the cops questioned Monster P and Cravitz at the scene.

Cravitz said, “Why’d you do it, you little shit?”

“That bitch was gonna cut me in,” Monster P replied.

“Bennita put you up to this?”

“Bennita? Hell naw. Some other bitch-” Monster P said.

“Other bitch?” Vargas said.

“-called herself Belle. Said we was gonna be rich, and we was gonna live in a fabulous house. Anyway, she knew I was pissed ’cause that old man tried to fade me. Fade me, Monster P!”

“Calzone dissed you so you killed him?” Vargas said.

“He called me Twinkletoes,” Monster P said, genuinely hurt.

Cravitz drove home in a funk.

He remembered something Yippie had said that morning: She had on a mask, but I recognized her. I don’t think she saw me. Suddenly his blunder hit him. He couldn’t believe what a fool he’d been. He got on the phone to Vargas.

Arriving at the Chateau, he bounded up the back steps. Three minutes later he was knocking on the door of suite 313.

Athena Powers was smiling when she opened the door.

Esmeralda sparkled in her pretty hands.

The light in the suite was dim, but Cravitz could see that Athena had her suitcases out.

“Going somewhere?”

“Afraid so, boo. Sorry I can’t take you.”

“So you’re the bitch assassin? Don’t they pay you enough at Ebony?” Cravitz said.

“Everything I’ve told you was a lie. All except the pillow talk. When you were fucking me. I told you the truth about that, sweetboy. Anyway, bitch is a little harsh, don’t you think? I prefer… Belle.”

“Belle Starr, the outlaw queen. Nice touch,” Cravitz said, handing her his Berretta and walking into the suite.

“I try,” Athena Powers replied.

Luggage and bricks of yellow opium were strewn across the bed. Bennita Bangs was tied up at a desk with duct tape over her mouth. Her pretty topaz eyes flashed terror. She’d been beaten and there were nylon cords around her wrists.

“Nice knots,” Cravitz said.

“I was a Camp Fire Girl, didn’t Jordan tell you?”

4.

Cravitz got comfortable on the bed and pulled out a fresh cigar. “You kill Bingbong?”

“Had to,” Athena Powers said.

“So you work for that Vegas pig-Paco Santiago?”

“Yeah, Paco bought a little piece of my time. My Bloomingdale’s bill is a bitch.”

“So, you and Paco…?”

“That’s right. He’s like you-a pussy freak. It didn’t take long for him to realize I was irresistible. But this butter deal is big. And when Ernie stole his shit, Paco sent me down here to kill him.”

“So now you stiffin’ him?”

“I’m afraid this cowgirl has outgrown little Paco.”

“Paco is not a forgiving guy,” Cravitz said.

“Believe me, I didn’t plan this. I just came down here to do my job: kill Bennita and that dickhead Ernie, grab the smack, and haul back to Vegas for my payday. I didn’t figure on falling in love with you,” Athena Powers said.

Those deep brown eyes that once seemed so warm, so welcoming, now seemed aflame, cruel.

“Where did the Flo Boyz come in?”

“Just stupid kids,” Athena Powers said. “I laid out a couple of lines of butter, promised them a cut of the profits, and voila, instant killers. Anyway, they were already pissed off with your boy Calzone. When Paco called and told me that he had word from his L.A.P.D. snitches that a broke-down cop named Calzone might be on to me, I realized he had to be stopped. I didn’t have a clue how to find him. That’s where you came in. The Boyz followed you right to his hideaway.” She looked at her watch. “Oh where does the time go? I’ve got to catch my jet.”

“I’m gonna let the girl go,” Cravitz said, and got up. He untied Bennita Bangs and tore off the duct tape.