“I’m not lying.”
“You’d better not be. Get yourself cleaned up. I’ll be downstairs in the car.”
Holman watched Pollard let herself out, then hurried into the shower.
36
THE MAYAN GRILLE was a small diner on Sunset near Fairfax that served only breakfast and lunch. Business was good. People were waiting on the sidewalk and the outside tables were packed with young, good-looking people eating pancakes and omelets. Holman hated the place as soon as he saw it and he hated the people outside. He didn’t think about it much at the time, but just looking at them filled him with disgust.
Holman hadn’t spoken as they drove toward the Mayan Grille. He had pretended to listen as Pollard filled him in about Alison Whitt, but mostly he thought about Richie. He wondered if criminal tendencies were inherited as Donna once feared or if a lousy home life could drive someone to crime. Either way, Holman figured the responsibility came back to him. Thinking these things left him feeling sullen as he followed Pollard through the crowd into the restaurant.
Inside was crowded, too. Holman and Pollard were faced with a wall of people, all waiting to be seated. Pollard had trouble seeing past the crowd, but Holman, taller than most everyone else, could see just fine. Most of the guys were dressed in baggy jeans and T-shirts, and most of the girls were wearing belly shirts that showed tattoos across the top of their butts. Everyone seemed more interested in schmoozing than eating, as most of the bused plates were full. Holman decided either none of these people had jobs or they worked in show business or both. Holman and Chee used to cruise the parking lots of places like this, looking for cars to steal.
Pollard said, “The police identified one of the waitresses, a girl named Marki Collen, as having been close to Whitt. She’s the one we want to see.”
“What if she’s not here?”
“I called to make sure. We just have to get her to talk to us. That’s not going to be easy with them being this busy.”
Pollard told him to wait, then worked her way forward to a hostess who was overseeing a sign-up sheet for the waiting customers. Holman watched them speak and saw someone who looked like a manager join them. The manager pointed toward a waitress who was helping a busboy clear a table in the rear, then shook his head. Pollard didn’t look happy when she returned.
“They got twenty people waiting to be seated, they’re shorthanded, and he won’t let her take a break. It’s going to be a while before she can talk to us. You want to go get a coffee and come back when she gets off?”
Holman didn’t want to wait or go anywhere else. Now he was supposed to dick around while a bunch of Hollywood wannabes with nothing better to do than talk about their latest audition ordered food they didn’t eat. Holman’s already bad mood darkened.
“That was her, the one in the back he pointed out?”
“Yeah, Marki Collen.”
“Come on.”
Holman shouldered through the crowd past the hostess and went to the table. The busboy had just wiped it clean and was putting out new setups. Holman pulled a chair and sat, but Pollard hesitated. The hostess had already called two men to be seated, but now she saw Holman had taken the table and was glaring.
Pollard said, “We can’t do this. You’re going to get us thrown out.”
Holman thought, no fucking way.
“It’s going to be fine.”
“We need their cooperation.”
“Trust me. They’re actors.”
Marki Collen was delivering an order to the table behind Holman. She looked harried and pressed, as did every other waitress and busboy in the place. Holman dug out Chee’s money, keeping his wad hidden under the table. He leaned back and tapped Marki’s hip.
“I’ll be with you in a minute, sir.”
“Look at this, Marki.”
She glanced around at her name and Holman showed her a folded hundred-dollar bill. He watched her eyes to make sure it registered, then slipped it into her apron.
“Tell the hostess I’m a friend and you told us to take this table.”
The hostess had flagged the manager, and now they were steaming back toward the table with the two men behind them. Holman watched Marki intercept them, but part of him was hoping the two guys who wanted the table would get in his face. Holman wanted to kick their asses all the way out onto Sunset Boulevard.
Pollard touched his arm.
“Stop it. Stop looking at them like that. Jesus, what’s with this hostility?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You want to fight them over the goddamned table? You’re not on the yard anymore, Holman. We need to talk to this girl.”
Holman realized she was right. He was giving them jailhouse eyes. Holman forced himself to stop staring. He glanced at the surrounding tables. Most every guy in the diner was about Richie’s age. Holman told himself this was why he was so angry. These people were sopping up pancakes, but Richie was bagged in the morgue.
“You’re right. Sorry.”
“Just take it easy.”
Marki squared things with the manager, then returned to the table with a big smile and two menus.
“That was cool, sir. Have I waited on you before?”
“No, it’s not that. We need to ask you about Alison Whitt. We understand you were friends.”
Marki didn’t look moved one way or the other when Holman mentioned Alison’s name. She just shrugged and held her pad as if she was waiting for them to order.
“Well, yeah, kinda. We were buds here at the grill. Listen, this isn’t the greatest time. I have all these tables.”
“A hundred covers a lot of tips, honey.”
Marki shrugged again and shifted her weight.
“The police already talked to me. They talked to everyone here. I don’t know what else I can say.”
Pollard said, “We don’t want to know about her murder so much as a former boyfriend. Did you know she worked as a prostitute?”
Marki giggled nervously, then glanced at the nearest tables to make sure no one was listening before lowering her voice.
“Well, yeah, sure. The police told everyone about it. That’s what they asked us about.”
“Her record shows two arrests about a year ago, but none since. Was she still working?”
“Oh, yeah. That girl was wild-she grooved on the life. She had all these great stories.”
Holman was keeping an eye on the manager, who was pissed off and watching them. Holman was pretty sure he was going to come over because Marki was having a conversation instead of working.
Holman said, “Tell you what, Marki. Put in a couple of orders so your boss doesn’t freak out, then come back for the stories. We’ll look at the menus.”
When she went away, Pollard leaned toward him.
“Did you give that girl a hundred dollars?”
“What of it?”
“I’m not trying to fight with you, Holman.”
“Yes. A hundred.”
“Jesus Christ. Maybe I should have let you pay me.”
“Chee’s money. You wouldn’t want to get contaminated.”
Pollard stared at him. Holman felt a flush of embarrassment and glanced away. He was in a terrible mood and had to get a grip on himself. He looked at the menu.
