Obsession

“If you haven’t done anything-”

“I didn’t do nothing. But this guy who referred him, he’s a little famous, you know?”

“Who, sir?”

“I don’t know nothing about his problems.”

“Whose problems, sir?”

Benezra sniffed the air, smoked greedily. “What I hired him for was legal. What he did for other people, I don’t wanna know.”

“Sir,” said Petra, “who are we talking about?”

“A guy I hired.”

“To do what?”

“Watch the wife. She wants the house on Angelo, nine thousand square feet, she can roll around in it, fine, okay. She wants the jewelry, okay. But my boat? Properties I had before I met her? Very very very not okay. I knew what she was doing with you-know-who, maybe this guy can prove it, she don’t get too pushy.”

“We’ve got no-fault divorce in California.”

“That’s the official stuff,” said Benezra. “But she got the fancy friends, the fund-raisers, lunch at Spago. Not gonna look good everyone knows she’s not so perfect. I hired him to get the evidence.”

“We’re talking a private investigator.”

“Yeah.”

“Because your wife…”

“You’re a woman. What do you think she did?”

“Slept around?”

“Not around. One guy, her eye doctor.” Tapping a black lens. “I pay ten thousand for LASIK so she don’t have to wear contact lenses, no more itchy itchy. She pay me back by getting another kinda treatment.” Chuckling.

“It’s good you can laugh about it,” said Petra.

“What, I should get an ulcer?”

“What’s the name of the private detective?”

“The famous one,” said Benezra. “Fortuno.”

“Mario Fortuno.”

“Yeah. He still in jail?”

“As far as I’ve heard, sir.”

“Good. He took my money, did nothing. The other stuff, I have no idea.”

“Did Fortuno say how he knew Blaise De Paine?”

Benezra ticked a finger. “A friend of a friend of a friend of a friend. ‘But he’s okay, Avi, trust me.’” He laughed louder. “Maybe I missed one of the friends.”

“What else did Fortuno tell you about De Paine?”

“Nothing else, I was stupid, but I figured a guy like that, he’s working for me, why would he cluck me? I even gave discount rent because the place was crap, it was gonna get tear-down soon.” Swiveling back toward the view. “Lookit that.”

Petra showed him one of the party photos taken off the Internet. “Is this the person we’re talking about?”

“That’s him. What’d he do?”

Moses Grant’s DMV shot produced a head shake. “Him I never seen. What, a gangster from Watts?”

Robert Fisk’s mug shot evoked raised eyebrows. “That one was here, seen him at least a coupla times. Maybe living here, even though the deal was only one person, we’re talking six hundred square feet, one bedroom, one bath. Used to be the garage of that bastard’s place back in the fifties, he buys two years ago, thinks everything should go back together but don’t wanna pay market. He drives me so crazy, I was going to leave green space but forget it, it’s gonna go inches from the property line.”

Petra waved Fisk’s image. “What makes you think this person was living here?”

“One time, I come for the rent, he was the only one in the house. No shirt on, crazy tattoos, doing exercises in front of the window-on a mat, you know? Judo, karate, something like that, clothes and crap all around. I try to make chat. I learned krav maga-Israeli-style karate-in the army. He said yeah, he knows it, then he shuts his eyes and goes back to breathing in and out and stretching the arms. I say sorry to bother you but what’s with the rent. He says he don’t know nothing, just visiting. Those tattoos, all over here”-touching his own chest-“and up to the neck. He’s a bad guy?”

“We’d like to talk to him. What else can you tell us about De Paine and Mario Fortuno?”

“That’s it.” Benezra looked at his watch. “I hire him to find out about her. He tells me she’s clucking the eye doctor, thank you very much, big-shot detective. That I already know because she sees twenty-twenty and she keeps making appointments.”

Shaking his head. “Thirteen thousand dollars for that, thank you very much. He should rot in jail.”

Milo said, “So he never followed through?”

“Always excuses,” said Benezra. “It takes time, Avi. We need to make sure it’s gonna be bona fide evidence, Avi. The eye doctor’s office is locked, Avi, maybe it’s gonna cost a little more, Avi.”

A wide smile nearly bisected his face. “I finally figure out I’m being clucked twice. Now I’m thinking maybe sue my divorce lawyer-he’s the one sent me to Fortuno. I call him, he tells me Fortuno ripped him off, too.”

“How?”

“Hired him to write some documents, didn’t pay.”

“The lawyer’s name, please.”

“Oy,” said Benezra. “This is getting complicated. Okay, why not, I’m finished with him. Marvin Wallace, Roxbury and Wilshire.”

Benezra took a last drag of his cigarette, pinched it out, flicked it across the lot. “Always excuses for not doing the job, Fortuno. Finally he’s got a good one.”

“What’s that?” said Petra.

“The one you guys gave him. You put him in jail.”

CHAPTER 27

We left Benezra worshipping his view and descended Oriole Drive.

Petra phoned Captain Stuart Bishop and filled him in, then clicked off. “He’ll make calls, but wants a meeting.”

“When?” said Milo.

“As soon as we get back to Hollywood.”

“We?”

“You and me, Stu’s big on interdivisional communication.” She turned to me: “Your attendance is optional but certainly welcome. He said to thank you for helping his nephew.”

Last year the preschool-aged son of Bishop’s younger sister had been frightened by the evening news. Well- adjusted boy; a few sessions had been enough.

Confidentiality meant all I could do was smile.

Petra smiled back. “I thought you might say that.”

The captain’s office at Hollywood Division was a spare, white corner space livened by school art created by the six towheaded Bishop kids and masses of family photos. A white BYU Cougars mug shared a credenza with a case of Trader Joe’s bottled water. A window cracked two inches blew in air and heat and street noise.