"I don't even have the number, Snorts. Oh well."
"Yeah. Oh well. Now back to the case, please."
"Right," I said. "Sorry. Where were we?"
"I asked you if you were one-hundred-percent positive that it was Brad Jackson down on the beach."
"Right. Yeah. I'm pretty sure it was him. Now I'm thinking that he had an accomplice, obviously."
"New-Bug?"
"Yeah. New-Bug. I was really hoping for that goddamn thing to belong to the victim. That would have made this case a whole lot easier to figure out."
"I know, but at least we can follow up on this guy.
"Well, he is a hack screenwriter in Hollywood which means he's probably waiting tables somewhere at a shitty diner in the city. Are you down for another trip to the City of Angels?"
"Why would we drive to Hollywood if the guy’s car is here?"
"Just call it a hunch. I am willing to bet that car is gone now, and even if it isn't, we still need to find out all we can about this guy. He shouldn't be hard to track, and besides, Enzite even gave us his address. We need to do some snooping around. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark here."
"That makes no sense."
"Yeah, I know. Sorry. Hey. Ya think they call L.A. the City of Angels because of all the Mexican guys there named Angel?"
"This is the worst vacation ever."
"I agree, Miss Elise. I agree. Let's go."
"I need to stop and get gas...on the expense account!"
"Fine. I need to get a Rockstar...on the expense account. Let’s go, Babydoll."
"Oh-la-la."
22.
On the road back to LA once again. Elise was right; this is the all-time worst vacation ever. I missed my house and I missed my nephews. Elise had called to check in on them right when we hit the road. All was well with the kiddos and Wrecker. We owed Jamie BIG TIME!
As soon as we hit the freeway, my phone started vibrating. I dug it out of my pocket and checked the ID. It was Anderson. I tossed the phone to Elise and told her to answer it.
"Hi Detective," she answered.
...
"They do?! For what?"
...
"Ay yi yi. How did you even find this out?"
...
"Oh, you have your ways, huh? Ugh, that is ridiculous. We didn't do crap.
I butted in. "What happened?"
Elise ignored me and continued her conversation with Anderson. Speakerphone would have been a little more polite at this moment, but whatever. There is no winning when a woman is involved. Ha.
"Alright, Detective. Thanks for the heads up. I'll tell Archie."
“Tell Archie what?!” I interrupted. Again.
"We're actually on our way to Hollywood again. We need to have a word with the owner of that car that was parked in Brad Jackson's garage."
Oh my god, if this woman doesn’t quite ignoring me I’m going to go insane!
"No,” Elise continues, “but Archie has a hunch that it is not there anymore. And even if it is there, he wants to get a background on him. We think he's involved in all of this and maybe he'll be the weaker link."
I was paying more attention to the one-sided conversation than I was to driving. I drifted over the line and quickly swerved back into my lane. Elise shot me a dirty look then began talking again. They concluded their conversation and Elise handed me my phone back.
"Well," she said. "You, my good man, have an official complaint of stalking filed against you with the Pismo Beach Police Department by one Mister Brad Jackson."
"What the grizzlebees?!" I was shocked. How the hell...?
"Yeah, that’s pretty much what I said."
"How could he even know who I am, let alone file a complaint on me? And how does he know I even did shit? This is frakin' fishy as hell and I know that he knows we're on to him. He needs to get me away from him so he can clean up his mess. Right now, I am probably his only loose thread."
"You know what this mean, right?" Elise asks.
"Ya goddamn right I do. We work harder and bust this pretty-boy doucheface."
"You got the right, partner."
***
Earlier that morning, Brad Jackson placed a call to the Pismo Beach Police Department; a department that treated him very, very well, and filed an official complaint of stalking on his new arch-nemesis Archie Lemons. (He giggled at the thought…ARCH-nemesis.) He spoke with the officer in charge of such things, a Mr. Steve Edwards, and informed him that he had been the subject of a crazed fan who had broken in to his house. When asked how Brad knew the house was broken in to, he simply replied that he had had a feeling and set a small trap, and if they would like further proof they would be more than welcome to come out to his house and dust for prints. Prints that Brad was nearly one-hundred-percent sure they would find.
Being a major Hollywood player definitely has its upside, especially when the major Hollywood player's wife was murdered by a stalker. Supposedly. The police asked no further questions of the famous actor and immediately filed the complaint and started the paper work on a restraining order against the man with the stupid name.
Brad’s new plan was coming along swimmingly. Who the hell needed those ridiculous, ugly screenwriters anyway? Brad Jackson is the real deal, he thought. The whole package! If ideas could win an Oscar, Brad thought, he would certainly have a mantle filled with them! With the complaint filed and the restraining order in the works, all he had to do was get Archie in his house. Then he would finally tie up that loose end. First, his wife, then that little bitch on the beach, and finally Archie Lemons. Murder seemed to be getting easy for him. He felt no regret, no remorse, only excitement.
He stood up from his office desk and went to the fridge to grab a cold beer, then headed for the sofa. He plopped down, kicked his feet up and reached for the remote. While he scrolled through the seemingly endless channels of crappy daytime programming, he tried to think of ways to lure Archie Lemons into his house. It would have to be perfect.
His mind trailed off to the car in the garage. Him or his partner would need to drive it back to Hollywood, or at least hide it. He could have no connection with it.
He landed on some white-trash talk show, downed the rest of his beer then fell asleep. His plan could wait until later.
***
We arrived in Los Angeles in less than three hours, but the commute and this whole vacation actually, was really starting to wear on us. We were both exhausted. We had gotten absolutely zero rest or relaxation and we had spent excessively on gas, food, lodging, and you name it.
I was getting really frustrated about everything. My meds make it easier for me to cope with shit like this, but I was near my breaking point. The more I started thinking about it, the more I just wanted to walk away from everything. There was no case here. I was not being paid. In fact, I was losing money on this. If the Pismo police don't even want to bother with it, then why should I?
Every time I wanted to just say forget it, head back to the beach, get our shit and head home, my brain would flash an image of Marianne and I would remember the promise I made her while standing over her coffin, snow falling down on me. The promise to not let people get away with the horrible shit that they do. To always make things right, no matter what. And with that memory, I would decide to push on.
The more I thought about it, though, the more disheartened I got. We had no leads in Shell Beach as to who the woman was that was murdered. And without a missing person there, it means the woman wasn't a local. Which means, probably, she was one of any number of Hollywood whores or bimbos that came down to the beach with Brad Jackson for a weekend of God-knows-what. And if some wanna-be actress, model, dancer, whatever, goes missing in the big city, honestly, who is going to notice? And even if someone does notice, how hard will it be to track down the one I'm looking for? The answer, in case you were wondering, is Damn Near Impossible.
/>
So yeah, needless to say, when we excited the freeway into the heart of Hollywood, right next to the Chinese Theater and various other tourist attractions, I was pretty down on myself and not very enthusiastic about the case. It felt like we were chasing ghosts. Elise could tell how I was feeling just by the look on my face. It's a look she had only seen a few times before. I felt defeated.
I pulled into the parking garage of Hollywood and Highland and went down to the third level to park. I figured we could stop here and stretch our legs and figure out a plan.
Hollywood and Highland was a large, outdoor mall type area, named after the two streets it occupied, obviously. It was a tourist attraction next to the Chinese Theater, but it was actually a pretty classy little place. It had some nice shops and some good places to eat. I had actually been here numerous times with Marianne, too. It was a nice, quick little getaway and I absolutely adored catching a flick at Grauman's next door.
Anyway, we each grabbed an ice cream at Coldstone and took a seat at one of the tables to discuss where we go from here. Honestly, I was so tired and over this case, that I really didn't give a shit what we did. Elise had an idea.
"Why don't we go check into one of those hotels around the corner?"
"You want to stay the night here?"
"Be realistic. Look at the time. Even if we finish everything we need to do today, there is no way we can drive back to Shell tonight. We'll be exhausted. Hell, we already are exhausted. Let’s just get us a room for the night and take it easy. We can start again in the morning. We need to rest. Besides, we still have our bags from the Gap in the car, so we won’t even need to buy clothes again. Whatta ya say?"
"Yeah, actually that’s not a bad idea. I keep thinking about all the money we are pissing away on this, though. Christ, we already have one room rented in a city where we aren't even are; now we are getting another room? I don't even want to add all this up."
"We can worry about the finances when we get back home, McDuck. How about for now, we go get a room, order a pizza and watch movies in bed?"
"Actually, Elise, that sounds amazing. I promise though, we'll get right back to work in the morning and won't stop until we solve this stupid thing. Deal?"
"Sounds like a good deal to me."
We picked up our ice creams and headed back towards the parking garage. Once we paid our dollar fee, we drove less than half a mile to the first nice looking hotel we saw. We reserved a room with two queen beds.
Once checked in, we both collapsed onto the closest bed. I told Elise if she ordered the pizzas I would pay. She agreed and called down to room service. She ordered the largest extra-cheese pizza they had, four Coronas and two Pepsis.
"I don't recall saying I'd pay for beer," I said.
"Relax, Jack Benny. This one's on me." She reached for her purse and pulled out some cash.
"Thanks Elise."
"Of course."
I flipped through the channels until the pizza arrived. There was absolute dick on TV so I just stopped on HBO so we could watch whatever movie they were playing. We laid together on the bed, ate our pizza and drank our drinks until there wasn’t a single morsel of food left. Eventually our eyes closed and we fell asleep next to each other.
23.
We woke up some twelve hours later with the television still on. We had somehow worked our bodies into the normal sleeping position and the room service tray was now upside down on the floor at the foot of the bed. Oh well, not my room, not my problem.
Actually, yeah, damn it, it was my problem. Shit on the floor drives me crazy. Ugh, I guess I’ll bend over and pick it up. Ughhhh! Oh well.
The half-day of sleep was much needed, though, and it felt quite nice to not be in a rush. We were able to have a nice, semi-relaxing morning.
Elise decided she would order us breakfast from room service, and after she placed our order, she went into the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. I imagined this was the latest she had slept in in years. I reached for the remote and began swimming the channels again, searching desperately for Full House or my precious RTV. No luck. Not even Urkel or a Saved by the Bell. LA has not been impressing me, lately. I continued searching, quite apathetically.
Elise came out of the bathroom, fully dressed and drying her hair with a towel right as our breakfast arrived. I tipped the waiter, or bellhop, or whatever the hell you call them, a five spot and set out our breakfast.
When I was finished, it was my turn to shower and get ready. I had fresh underwear from our previous shopping trip at the Gap, and my shorts would be fine for the third straight day of wear, but the only clean shirt I had was a red Something Corporate t-shirt that was left in Elise's car from a while ago. I had given her the shirt after she had dirtied up her own shirt a few months back. Apparently, it has been in the back of her car, clean and folded ever since. I didn't much care about it because I had packed on a few pounds since that shirt fit comfortably. Now I had no choice but to try to squeeze into it. I wasn't looking forward to it.
I showered and got fully dressed in the bathroom, and just as I feared, the shirt was disgustingly tight. You could see my bellybutton shadow and my nipple bumps. We would be needing a store trip before we went anywhere. I stepped out of the bathroom, ready for my ridicule. Right on cue...
"OH YEAHHHH!" Elise says, doing her best Kool-Aid man impression.
I tried to keep a straight face. I failed. "I get it, I get it. It’s a wee-bit snug."
"A wee bit? You look like ten pounds of Jell-O in a five pound bag."
"Laugh it up, Skinny. One day this is coming for you, too, ya know."
"Me? Never!"
"Hey, you ever wonder how many enemies the Kool Aid Guy had?"
"Um, no." Elise says curiously. "What do you mean?"
"Well I mean, how many houses do you think that fat bastard wrecked? Like, I bet a lot of those houses were like the projects and shit. Like, some bored little poor kid is like, Yo ma, where da Kool-Aid at? And then here comes Kool-Aid Man smashing through the fucking wall. The mom comes running out and is like Damnnnn Kool-Aid Man! We be likin' yo' product and all, but we just rentin' this goddamn place, fool! And dis some cheap ass construction, this whole fuckin' buildin' gon' be fallin' now.
"Ya know. Shit like that. He had to have made some enemies."
Elise was trying to act offended but she couldn't hide her smile. "Wow," she said. "Way to racial profile people."
"I wasn't racially profiling anyone. Simply saying that poor people like Kool-Aid. If they weren't poor, they could drink something better..."
Elise rolled her eyes and shook her head. Oh well, I thought it was funny at least. I need to stop wasting my jokes on people who don't even get them.
I decided to switch gears.
"Elise?"
"Yeah?"
"I didn't bring my pills with me."
"Oh. Well, that’s okay. It's just one day. Hopefully you can make it through. Yeah?"
"I don't know. I've been thinking. I think I want to stop taking them."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. They don't make me feel right. I mean, it's nice always not having to worry about a breakdown, and it's nice being able to ride in elevators and stuff, but lately I just don't feel like myself."
"Well, Chubs, that is your decision to make."
"I know. And I think I want to stop. It's just not me. Like, this case for example. I know I am missing something. Something that probably would have been so obvious to me eight months ago. But now, there is just nothing there. Maybe my behavioral problems are an advantage to our line of work, instead of a disability. That’s what my dad always told me. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah," Elise says sympathetically. "It makes perfect sense."
"I just want to go back to being normal. And, I know I have a lot of problems and I have some serious issues, but I like myself. Temper tantrums, the potty mouth, everything. I
know I’m far from perfect, but… I like how I am...how I used to be. I need to go back to the previous Archie."
"I totally understand."
"You're not mad at me?"
"Archie, why would I be mad? You are an amazing person. You've only been on the pills for less than a year, but all the time I knew you before that you weren't on them, and I still loved you. You are an incredible person and you have a gift. Stop taking the pills"
I let out a sigh. "You know this means we won’t be able to keep our office."
"Who cares about a silly office? I'm sure someone on the bottom floor would love to switch us."
"You sure you're not mad?"
"I am one-hundred-percent positive. I'm actually quite excited. I love the old Archie. He was exciting. Sometimes he went a little over the line, but I still enjoyed his company."
"Well, good...because he is coming back."
A Touch of Danger (Archie Lemons #2) Page 11
