at top volume.
And I’m not ashamed to say my heart was beating almost as loudly as the guitar riffs. Being on the phone with Greenway had been unnerving enough, but my teeth were starting to chatter at the thought of a face to face encounter. Our pace slowed as we neared two-ten. On the other side of that door was a murderer. I suddenly felt very vulnerable. And, I realized, thinking about Ramirez’s big black gun, very unarmed.
Dana and I paused outside the door. The room had one window facing the parking lot. It was covered from the inside with a faded green curtain and, from the absence of light peeking between the ratty fabric, it looked like no one was home.
“Maybe he isn’t here?” I whispered.
“Maybe he’s sleeping.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t wake him up.”
“Hey, this was your idea,” Dana whispered.
I know. And it sounded good downstairs. But close up, I was having second thoughts. Before I could act on my newfound chickenhood, Dana rapped her knuckles against the wooden door. I bit my lip, resisting the urge to run and hide.
Nothing.
Dana knocked again, this time yelling, “Hello?”
Nothing. I heaved a sigh of relief strong enough to ruffle my fake bangs.
Then I heard it. A gun shot.
It cracked like thunder on the other side of the door, rendering both Dana and me paralyzed for one awful second.
If this were the movies, we would have rammed our shoulders into the door, busting it open and tackled the perp without breaking a nail. But, since neither of us was under contract with Warner Brothers, we did what all Los Angelinos are trained to do when confronted with real live gunfire. Run.
Dana and I turned as one, diving to the right amidst high pitched, “ohmigod”’s. We clacked back down the stairs as quickly as our insanely high heels would allow and made a mad dash for my Jeep, parked across the lot. Dana hiked her dress up and was charging with quarter back determination toward the car. I was a short step behind her, my arms flailing like a crazy woman for balance as we sprinted across the black top.
Metallica poked his head out of the office doors. “What was that? What the hell did you crazy ho’s do?”
“Nothing,” Dana yelled, reaching my Jeep.
“I heard a gun.”
“No you didn’t,” I said. I know, world’s lamest comeback. But at the moment speed was more my goal than wit.
We climbed in and were just pulling out of the driveway when I swear I heard a second gunshot. I didn’t stop to make sure, instead pulling down Vanowen, going two blocks before circling back around toward the freeway.
I was still reeling from the adrenalin high when Dana voiced the obvious.
“We just got shot at. Can you believe someone just shot at us?”
No I couldn’t. This was so not my life. Somehow I’d been transferred into Lucy Liu’s body, I was sure of it.
“Do you think it was Greenway?” I asked.
“Uh… duh! Do you know any other homicidal maniacs that would shoot at us?”
Good point.
“So, do we call Ramirez now?” Dana asked.
I couldn’t help it. The smart-aleck in me reared its ugly head. “Uh… duh!”
I pulled into the parking lot of a Denny’s at Van Nuys and Oxford and reached into my little bag for the card Ramirez had given me. I’m not ashamed to say my hands were still shaking as I dialed the number on my cell phone. I let Dana do the talking on the off chance Ramirez recognized my voice. I knew he’d want to ask me all kinds of annoying questions like, how did I know where Greenway was staying? How did I get his room number? Why did he shoot at me? Questions I would much rather avoid altogether. So, Dana put on her Betty Boop hooker voice again and left the anonymous tip with the desk sergeant who answered the phone.
“I don’t know about you,” Dana said when she hung up. “But I could use a stiff drink.”
“Me too.” Only I couldn’t drink. Not until I knew if that line was pink or blue.
“Want to start happy hour early?”
Honestly, all I wanted to do was go home and take about ten showers to wash the creep off me, but considering I was the one who’d dragged Dana out to North Hollywood in the first place, not to mention got her shot at, I felt like I owed her.
“Sure. You have someplace in mind?”
Dana flipped down the visor and began touching up her makeup again. “I know a guy who bartends at Mulligans. It’s just a couple blocks over on Van Nuys.”
I pulled out of the Denny’s and drove down Van Nuys, following her directions until we pulled up to a brick building with a blue neon sign above the door, blinking the word “Mulligans.” A steady stream of people in business casual attire filtered through the door. I looked down at my spandex. Silently making bets on how many propositions I’d get before the day was out.
The lot was packed, so I found a place on the street and after reluctantly feeding the meter, Dana and I emerged into the dimly lit interior of Mulligans. I immediately recoiled as the sounds of bad karaoke echoed from a small stage in the corner where a pudgy, middle aged man was belting out a Shania Twain song.
Dana immediately ordered two vodka martinis with extra olives from her bartending friend, a Bruce Lee look alike dressed all in black. If any day of my life ever called for a martini, today was it. However, counting selfless act number two, I promptly changed my order to a Diet Coke. Once they arrived, Dana only had time to munch one olive before Bruce Lee grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the karaoke machine for a duet of American Pie.
I sat at the bar by myself and sipped my Diet Coke. Generally, I’m not much one for the happy hour crowd. I prefer places where you can actually hear your friends talk, like Starbucks or Nordstrom. For me a night on the town consisted of dinner and a Julia Roberts movie at Citywalk. But something about the loud, crowded, anonymity of Mulligans was oddly soothing at the moment. Like a huge, badly sung escape from my real life.
My hands were only slightly shaking as I took another sip of my Diet Coke. It really was a poor substitute for a martini.
I was dying to know what was going on back at the motel. Had Ramirez gotten the tip? Was he arresting Greenway right now? I wondered if there was a big shoot out with the cops when they arrived. God, I hoped nobody got hurt. Well, I guess I wouldn’t mind Metallica taking one in the ass, but I really didn’t want anyone to get killed. Least of all me, which is why even though I was dying of curiosity, I made myself stay right where I was and sip my Diet Coke. I’d give it two hours, then I’d call Ramirez’s number again and nonchalantly ask if there’d been any new developments. I would, of course, leave out the part where I gloated about finding Greenway when the whole police force couldn’t. Ha, who’s girly now?
Dana jostled up beside me, diving for her drink again and took a long sip. “Ohmigod. I forgot what an awesome singer Liao is.” She drained her glass and crunched down hard on an olive. “Come up with us. We’re gonna do ‘I’ve Got You Babe’ next.”
“No thanks. I’m not really in a karaoke mood.”
Dana cocked her bobbed wig to one side. “Hey,are you okay?”
No, I was not okay. I’d just been shot at!
But Dana had been nice enough to come all the way to the Valley with me, even though I’d almost gotten her killed, so there was no reason to ruin her evening with Bruce Lee.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. Eventually.
“You sure?”
I fake smiled. “Yeah. Fine. Really.”
“Okay. Well, in that case, you wouldn’t mind driving home alone would you? See, Liao’s house sitting for this guy in the hills and he says he’s got a hot tub that looks out over the Hollywood sign.”
I looked down at her outfit. I hoped the invitation didn’t have anything to do with the mini skirt. Then again, knowing Dana, she probably hoped it did.
