Eye of the Burning Man: A Mick Callahan Novel (The Mick Callahan Series)

by Harry Shannon

  "Ma'am."

  "Follow me."

  I grabbed her elbow, chuckling. "I already jogged this morning. Why don't we try walking instead?"

  "Don't put your hands on me." She wasn't joking.

  I immediately let go. "Sorry. No offense intended, Sergeant."

  A pause. "None taken. Let's move."

  "Why so fast?"

  As we set out down the sidewalk: "Some of us work for a living, Callahan. That means we only get an hour or so for lunch."

  "Why, that damned near breaks my heart. We media stars get six or seven one-hour breaks every day, and that's just to fuss with our makeup."

  "I'll bet you do."

  "And we are going . . . ?"

  "There's a great burger stand three blocks down, kind of a family joint, with chili to die for."

  "I'll defer to your expertise. Can we talk as we go?"

  "So talk."

  "Okay. But I want to get something out of the way first."

  "What?"

  "I don't really remember that night. I'm grateful for what you did, but I was in a blackout or something."

  "When you hit on me, you mean? Offered me a measly fifty bucks for a blow job?"

  "Look," I said, wincing. "I'm really sorry."

  She laughed. "Which part? Asking for a blow job, or only offering me fifty bucks?"

  I stopped in my tracks. "Christ, woman, cut me some slack, will you? I'm trying my best to apologize."

  "Fine. Apology accepted."

  "I partly came here just to thank you."

  She turned. Two small children in blue uniforms ran through the crosswalk. She waited for them to pass before responding, and by then she had softened. "Look, Callahan. You were bombed out of your mind, right? And I had already spent the last eight hours walking around Selma Avenue in high heels and teased hair, with my tits hanging out, trying to act like a hooker. I was not in the mood for more paperwork."

  "What happened?"

  "You really don't remember?"

  "I really don't remember. I just remember afterwards, that you poured me into a cab."

  Darlene grimaced. "I was done for the night. You came stumbling along looking for your car, and you saw me. I was getting ready to ask if you thought you should be driving smashed like that when you hit on me. That was it."

  "Except you didn't arrest me, and you should have. You took me to a coffee shop, showed me your badge, talked to me for an hour, and then got me to take a cab home. Why?"

  Darlene thought for a moment. "My back-up had left, except for Tommy Riley. You probably don't remember this, but he and I argued about arresting you. I told him to take off."

  "Like I said, why?"

  "You seemed so unhappy." She studied my face. "I watched you on the tube sometimes, and I knew it would be all over the papers. I felt kind of sorry for you and I didn't see how taking you off the air would be best for anybody, all right? But I'll tell you something, if the rest of my crew had still been working you would have gone down."

  "You know I'm clean and sober now?"

  She nodded. "I read that somewhere. And Donato said he ran into you the other night. Somebody jumped you and your date, right?"

  "I still don't know exactly what that was all about. That's the final part of why I came to see you."

  Darlene started walking again. I moved to her side, dropped into step and looked down. "I really did want to thank you for keeping what happened that night a secret."

  "You're welcome."

  With a straight face, I said, "Of course, you did go and run your mouth to your big, no good, half-wop cousin."

  "Hey, screw you Callahan! I could have made a wad by taking that story to the tabloids or something. I did you a good turn and you know it."

  "Damn, you're feisty. I was just pulling your leg. Is this the place you were raving about?"

  A splintered, white wooden sign said "Willies" in bright red letters. An emaciated old man in an apron was crouched over an immense, grease splattered looking grill. He was frying what seemed like forty pounds of raw bacon. A large metal pot stood on one end of the blackened stove. It was filled to the brim with thick, dark, reddish chili.

  "Trust a cop," Darlene said. "Best food in town."

  We sat on tall wooden stools, ignoring the acrid smell from the exhaust of passing cars and the odor of the thick layer of morning smog. The chili quickly overpowered the air pollution. It did smell good; thick with onions and peppers and rich beef stock.

  Later, she said: "The guy is a pimp? I hate pimps."

  I swallowed a bite of the burger, grunted with pleasure, and downed half a can of soda. "He's a pimp, and there is also a chance he's involved in kiddy porn in some way."

  Darlene shook her head. Twin red dots appeared on her cheeks. "What the hell is it with you men?" She was smiling, but she didn't mean it. "There's nothing terribly complicated about sex, but men come up with every conceivable perversion and just keep on going. How much is enough?"

  "No offense intended," I said. Screw it; what the hell do I have to lose? "But don't you think lumping me, and most of the men I know, in with a group of child pornographers is pushing the tired feminism rhetoric just a bit too far?"

  The air was thick. We measured each another a bit differently. Finally, Darlene said: "Maybe. The jury is still out."

  I put down my cheeseburger, like a man lowering his weapon in a street brawl. "I'm sorry I happen to have a penis, but I didn't come here to argue with you. I came here to ask for your help."

  "What kind of help?"

  "I just helped a girl who wanted to get sober. She's someone who did a lot for me when I got in all that trouble up in Dry Wells, Nevada."

  "I read about that. Some people got killed."

  "It was a close call, but fortunately I wasn't one of them."

  "Go on." She squinted, bit and chewed.

  "This woman, she's got a pretty sordid past."

  "Okay." Darlene wolfed down more of her hamburger.

  "Part of it involved making some porn movies for this pimp Fancy."

  "So?"

  "So he may be after her. Both of us."

  "Based on what?"

  "First, somebody tried to rob my date and I the other night. That's when I met Larry Donato. Then someone may have been stalking this girl and another lady friend of mine who was staying with me. They were alone at my house, and I was at work."

  "Fool me once, shame on you," she said. She looked intrigued. "Fool me twice, shame on me. Is that how it goes?"

  "Yeah, well, fool me three times, then. I was at an AA meeting and three guys in business suits cornered me in the john. They pushed me around a little."

  Darlene used a finger to bend her nose to one side. "Mob?"

  "I doubt it. In fact, one of them flashed me what looked like genuine FBI identification. He asked about a pimp named Fancy. That's who I took Mary from in the first place."

  "Fancy and the Feebs? Now, this is getting interesting." Darlene finished her burger and licked her fingers. She wiped them on a napkin and nodded. "And you got the name and badge?"

  She produced a pen from her slacks and I recited from memory. I watched upside down as she scribbled the names and the FBI identification number. "And you want me to nose around?"

  "I'd be most grateful if you would. The truth is I don't know anyone else I can ask."

  Darlene belched with no trace of embarrassment. "I can already tell you a little about that asshole Fancy. He's done a lot of delightful things in his time, but nobody has ever been able to make anything stick. He was born and raised in London. He's smart as a whip, genius level IQ, and by the time he came to the states he was already rich."

  "He dresses like it."

  "Fancy runs a pretty serious operation out of San Bernardino County, out as far east as Pomona. The street says he sells low-level dope like grass and Vicodin, but his main thing is pornography."

  "From there?" I asked. "Jesus, it's not as if that business is undergro
und anymore. Why bother?"

  "That's a good question," Darlene said. "Some people figure it's because the kind of porn he's making is too nasty even for the Italians who run the San Fernando Valley. Others say it's just because he started to give them a run for their money, so they drove him out of the area. I'm inclined to believe the latter, but who knows?"

  I finished the food and wondered if my hands would ever feel clean again. "You seem pretty on top of Fancy. Why is that?"

  "Memos circulate. Everybody knows he's raking in the cash hand over fist, but no one can figure out exactly how and from what end of the business."

  "Or why he's out in Pomona, if he's so successful?"

  She nodded. "Or why he's out in Pomona."

  I signaled for the check. Darlene allowed me to pay it. She stood up. "Ready?"

  We began to talk back towards the Hollywood station. "What about the kiddy porn thing," I asked. "Do you know anything about that?"

  "Besides that it's despicable?"

  "That may be too mild a word."

  "Jesus, Callahan, even cons hate pedophiles."

  "Has anything come across your desk lately that I should know about? About kiddy porn, I mean?"

  She considered. "Not much, actually. There is a Father Fortunato that's been getting a lot of attention lately. Have you heard of him?"

  "Yeah. He's the guy who is concentrating on the Internet side of things. Fields mentioned him, and someone else named Rinaldi."

  "Everybody knows there has been a fucking explosion in child pornography because of the Net. They busted some Rabbi in England a couple of years ago. He was actually wholesaling the stuff. Maybe this Rinaldi is involved with some of the people who are fighting back."

  "I guess so. What do you hear about who is behind it, supplying the real money and the muscle?"

  We stopped at the crosswalk. An Oriental woman, wearing a yellow slicker and carrying a STOP sign, escorted four more uniformed children through the traffic. Someone honked angrily. The old woman glanced down to make sure the children were not watching and flipped him the finger. Darlene looked at me and laughed.

  "Only in L.A." We started walking again. "Look, Mick, I have read that there has been one main group financing and peddling child pornography around the world for several years, now."

  "Any names?"

  "Nope. They funnel huge sums of money to front groups, even outfits like NAMBLA, and they are wired into high places in several different countries. It is a well-oiled machine of money and influence. It is presumed that the heads of the organization are probably pedophiles themselves."

  "Who are notoriously unrepentant."

  Darlene snorted. "How unusual for a man, to be always convinced he's in the right."

  "Funny, I thought that was women," I muttered. Fortunately for me, she didn't hear.

  "These perverts, they actually think that cultural sex hang-ups are the only reason they can't molest all the little children they want."

  I caught such a wave of repressed rage, my step faltered momentarily. I looked down at Darlene again, hoping to read her expression, but her face was chiseled in stone.

  "Darlene, Fields mentioned that there might be some relatively new group muscling in on their territory, somebody with money of their own, ruthless enough to be giving the big boys headaches. Have you heard anything about that?"

  She shrugged. "I think I saw something in some memo. You're thinking it may be Fancy and his boys?"

  "Maybe."

  "I keep pretty good records, so I'll go back and take another look."

  "I'd appreciate that. And I meant what I said about thanking you for covering me that night, even if you did tell Donato."

  She deadpanned. "Hell, I had to tell somebody that I met Mick Callahan and he asked me to blow him. That was quite an event."

  "Actually, I was hoping to have the incident engraved on my tombstone."

  Darlene laughed, softened further. We walked in silence for a moment. "One last favor?"

  "Jesus, Callahan. Donato warned me about this. And just when I was starting to like you."

  I stopped and held her gaze. "My housekeeper's nephew got kidnapped maybe six weeks ago. That's bad enough, but now all this talk about Fancy and child pornography is starting to make me feel sick. I want to satisfy myself that his disappearance has nothing to do with me."

  "Aren't we being just a wee bit paranoid?"

  "Maybe, Darlene, but Blanca has been with me since my drinking days. She is really torn up about this. I don't want the boy to just fall between the cracks. If I fax you some stuff about that case, would you look into it?"

  "What do you expect me to be able to do?"

  "Just ask around. Maybe there's some way you can nudge that investigation along, or keep it alive so that it doesn't die under a stack of papers. He's just a nine-year old kid."

  "Do you know how many kids . . . ?"

  "Yes. I do. But this one is special to me. His name is Manuel Garcia, and his nickname is Loco."

  She sighed. "Oh, hell, I didn't have anything else to do this weekend." She thought for a moment. "So you like Fancy for that kidnap, too?"

  "That's a real long shot, but what the hell."

  She considered that. "You're right. What the hell."

  We arrived at the Hollywood Station. Darlene squinted up into the sun and then examined my face as if panning for gold. "You look good, a damn sight better than you used to. How long you been sober?"

  "A couple of years now. I plan on staying that way."

  "Good for you, Mr. Callahan." She shook my hand briskly, quite formally. Then I realized that two patrol officers in a black-and-white were staring at us, ready to tease her mercilessly if they saw one sign of weakness. "You give me a couple of days, and then call me. Okay?"

  "Okay, I will, Sergeant. Thanks again."

  I watched her hips as she walked up the steps and back into the building.

  TEN

  "Six hundred thousand dollars is serious money."

  "Indeed it is," J.C. Kramer said. He kept smiling, but his face had gone pinched and pink. My deal was going south faster than the NASDAQ in 2001.

  "So of course," Darin Young said unctuously, "I'm sure you realize we would have some serious liability insurance concerns that we would need to address."

  I asked, as innocently as possible. "Like what?"

  "Oh, come on. Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Callahan. That business in Nevada, for example, was quite messy."

  "I thought there was no such thing as 'bad' publicity."

  I was in trouble. The thin, well-manicured network VP had already fired me once, for missing an audition, and had only agreed to see me again under pressure from above. Darin was arrogant and narcissistic in the extreme. He was also in his mid-twenties.

  Now, this is a combination guaranteed to give me fits.

  I looked at my new agent, J.C. "Judd" Kramer. He smiled weakly and tried to intervene.

  "Darin, I'm sure you realize that the Nevada papers referred to Mick as a local hero. After all, he broke up a drug ring and solved two murders almost singlehandedly."

  Darin Young smiled and picked at his teeth. He looked like a well-fed shark. "Mick here also physically assaulted some townspeople and nearly got himself killed in the process. Gentlemen, the truth is that the cost of that pilot episode would actually be chump change. If we go ahead with a syndicated television series, we will be risking millions. We need to know that Mr. Callahan has his instinct for adventure under control."

  I reined in my true reaction. "I've been sober for quite a while now, if that's what you're referring to."

  Young pursed his lips, looking like nothing so much as an auld English fop. "You would be prepared to guarantee your sobriety in writing?"

  Kramer interrupted with a cautionary wave of his hand. "Wait a minute. And just how could he do that?"

  "Drug testing, perhaps, on a random basis?"

  "Listen, you little . . ."

  Th
e snarl escaped before I could contain myself. Kramer kicked me under the coffee table. I nodded, fell silent.

  "That temper of yours is also of some concern to us," the executive said. "I don't know that we want to deal with that."

  I forced a tight smile. "Just don't piss me off." Then I laughed. Kramer laughed too, but a little too loudly.

  Darin Young just chuckled. "I also have it on good authority that the backstage behavior on your former show was less than desirable. In fact, an anonymous executive from that production company suggested that we build in a very severe clause with respect to moral behavior."

  "That's enough." Judd Kramer got to his feet. "Come on, Mick. I guess this meeting is over."

  I remained seated, took a long, slow breath and let it out again. Never let a narcissist put you in an adversarial position. Play on his vanity and his need to feel superior. "Hold on a moment, Judd." I was opting to play 'good cop.' "I can understand Mr. Young's posture, here. I was given a wonderful opportunity. I was blessed with decent ratings, and I managed to fail in a quite public way. He wants to know that history will not repeat itself."

  Darin Young blinked. "That's exactly right."

  "As a matter of fact, I think it takes a great deal of courage to just come right out with matters this delicate, with no beating around the bush. I respect your honesty, Darin."

  "Thank you," the executive said. He began to preen, straightened his cuffs and smoothed his already perfect hair. "I'm glad you understand that my position is difficult."

  "Oh, certainly," I said. "Sit down, Judd."

  Baffled, Judd Kramer sat. He groped for words and settled for something harmless. "Where were we, then?"

  "Mr. Young was voicing his concerns over my reputation. It seems I am known for being hot tempered, abusing drugs and alcohol, and some other unspecified forms of moral turpitude. I assume he is referring to my former propensity for collecting groupies."

  Darin Young bowed forward. "Exactly. More to the point, for pursuing your . . . well, shall we say 'recreation' while on company time?"

  "Alcohol removes inhibitions, Mr. Young. That's one of the main reasons people drink it. And that kind of loose behavior tends to go along with alcohol and drug abuse. I don't drink any more."