She had a small canvas knapsack on her back. Her sandy hair was naturally curly and her features were attractive. Kreuzer thought she looked like a high school cheerleader. He made a right turn and drove around the block. He pulled up to the bus bench and the teenager approached the car. He could see that she had freckles. 'I'm going to Malibu,' she said.
'I'm going right past there.' Kreuzer leaned over and unlocked the passenger door. She shrugged off her knapsack and climbed in the front seat.
'I'm Dr. Kreuzer,' he said. 'What's your name?'
'Charlene.' She stared out the window. 'What kind of a doctor are you?'
'A medical doctor. I specialize in the practice of psychiatry.'
'I bet you meet some really weird people.'
'As a matter of fact, I work mostly with young people.'
'Are they all crazy?' she said, showing mild interest.
'Just kids with problems. Most of them have run away from home and have second doubts about it. They're glad to be out from under the pressures they had at home, but on the other hand they are unhappy with the usual hassles of life on the street.' He glanced at her. There was no visible reaction.
Charlene stared at the road.
'What's in Malibu?' Kreuzer asked.
'A job. This guy I met told me there was a coffee shop opening up. They need waitresses.'
'May I ask how old you are?'
'Fifteen and a half.'
They passed a movie theater. On the marquee was a color blowup of a long-haired movie star hugging a chimpanzee.
Charlene pointed at the theater. 'I saw that movie,' she said. 'It was really neat. This guy trains these monkeys to be spies and they parachute into Russia. This one monkey was riding around on a dog. I really laughed.'
'I love animals,' he said. 'I have horses and dogs at my ranch in Santa Barbara. I go there every weekend.'
'I love horses, too,' Charlene said. 'At home I had a scrapbook with pictures of horses. And when I was fourteen, I worked in a stable. My uncle got me the job…Can I turn on the radio?'
'Certainly.'
As Charlene fiddled with the dials, he tried to look down her blouse. She tuned into a station with screaming rock music. Her hands tapped her smooth thighs to the beat.
'Have you ever worked as a waitress before?' he asked.
Charlene shook her head. 'No, but this girl I met said that you can make a lot of money in tips.'
'Do you have a Malibu work permit?'
She turned toward him with a puzzled look. 'What's that?'
'Malibu is an environmental impact area. No one can be hired without a special work permit. As I understand it, there's a four-month waiting period for permits. I'm afraid you're not going to have much luck finding work in Malibu.'
'Shit.'
'Are you still interested in horses?' he said in an offhand manner.
She nodded.
'I have an opening for a horse groomer at my ranch. 'You're certainly welcome to fill out an application if you'd like.'
'Gee, that'd be great.'
'I live nearby. We can stop and you can fill out an application.'
'How do I know you're really a doctor?'
He pulled a phony business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her. 'It pays to be cautious. That's exactly what I tell all my young patients. It's better to be safe than sorry.'
Nothing was said for a while. They passed a restaurant that featured transvestite waiters.
She examined the card again and looked him over. 'Okay,' she said finally. Charlene fiddled with the radio as he swung onto a side street and headed north toward the Hollywood Hills.
Emil Kreuzer's apartment was furnished handsomely with a black L-shaped sofa and matching reclining chairs. The prints on the wall above a modern-looking fireplace were of sad-eyed children. They were mounted on either side of a phony University of Berlin diploma. Charlene stared at the diploma for a moment, then wandered to the bay window. The view was of the Hollywood business district. Finally she strolled to the sofa and sat down.
Kreuzer picked up a small box off the coffee table. He opened the lid and offered Charlene a marijuana cigarette.
She hesitated. 'Doctors use it too,' he said. 'It's harmless. I even allow my patients to use it.' She took one of the neatly rolled cigarettes, which he lit with a lighter.
'This is like a movie star's house,' Charlene said.
'It used to be owned by John Wayne.'
'Jeez.'
'You've had problems with your family, haven't you?' Kreuzer asked in a fatherly tone.
'How did you know that?'
'I'm a doctor. I get paid to recognize these things.'
Using her hands to cup smoke, she took a powerful drag on the cigarette. She blew out smoke. 'My father is an asshole, that's why I ran away.'
'It helps to talk about it.'
'I went to the beach with two of my girl friends and when I got home late he called me a whore and grounded me for a month. I just couldn't stand it anymore.'
'And your mother?'
'She left two years ago. She wrote me once.' Another marijuana puff.
Kreuzer stood up, went to the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. Having set the glass on the coffee table in front of Charlene, he handed her a small white pill. 'I want you to take this,' he said. 'It will help you to express your thoughts and resolve some of your problems.'
She stared at the pill for a moment.
'I am a doctor, Charlene. There is nothing to worry about. Go ahead and take the pill. It will make you feel more pleasant and comfortable than you have in a long, long time; pleasant, secure and relaxed.'
Charlene took the pill, puffed more marijuana.
A few minutes later she leaned back. Her eyes shut. She mumbled something about her mother. Emil Kreuzer took the burning roach out of her hand and dropped it into an ashtray. 'Can you hear me, Charlene?' he said. She didn't answer. He quickly straddled her on the sofa. Having unbuttoned her blouse, he massaged and licked her firm breasts. His hands rushed to her panties. Because of the fastener and the fact they were at least one size too small, it took him longer than usual to pull them off.
It was 1:00 A.M.
Travis Bailey parked in front of a store whose display window was full of mannequins wearing mink and sable coats. He climbed out of the car and trotted across the street to a door with a three-foot-tall eye painted over it. Above the eye, polished brass letters spelled:
The Magic Carpet
Dr. Emil Kreuzer-One Night Only
He nodded at the valet parking attendant standing in front and went in.
Inside, a well-dressed crowd sitting at cocktail tables stared at a small stage.
Emil Kreuzer stood in the middle of the stage holding a microphone. In mellifluous tones he reeled off hypnotic patter to a dark-haired young woman sitting in a chair. Because of the stage light his tuxedo and powder blue dress shirt appeared to have a fluorescent tinge. Suddenly he grabbed the woman's arm and raised it in the air. 'Stiff!' he commanded. 'Your arm is
