"Is the seat next to you taken?" an accented voice asked.
Kendall looked up. It was the tallest of the young men from the bar. His friends and the photographer were gone.
"You've been abandoned by your teammates," Kendall said, with a half smile. "I'm guessing you are on a professional team, perhaps soccer?"
"Yes, football as we Europeans say, and soccer as you Americans say. My friends are jet-lagged, they want to sleep. Of course I am wide awake," He said good naturedly.
"May I?" he asked and sat down. Kendall did not object. Up close he was even better looking, dark hair, dark eyes, with the accent. He could only be Italian.
"Piero Bracco," he extended his hand.
"Kendall Taylor," Kendall tossed her golden mane, her movements like a panther stretching. "Where are you from?"
"I play football - your soccer - for Modena in Italy. My teammates and I were invited to visit Los Angeles by the Galaxy team. Have you heard of the team?"
"I know nothing except horses and wine, and even those I find I know less each year," Kendall smiled quietly, finally relaxing.
"Not so many years," he smiled and his soft Italian eyes glowed. Kendall felt weak inside. She knew this boy was just on the prowl, but at least he had some style.
"A woman is exactly like wine. A few years in an oak barrel is good, it softens the edges."
"You are precious," Kendall laughed in spite of herself. "Did you just make that up?"
"My father owns vineyards in Piedmont. He makes Barolo, of course. He worked me like a Roman slave, but running up and down the hills is how my legs became strong enough for football, so I attribute my father for that."
Kendall's blues were suddenly gone. "I invest in wineries, in Napa, mainly, but we've never aged anything ten years."
"Then we already have something in common," Piero decided. "Shall we have another drink together? The same?" He indicated towards her empty glass.
"Yes, I would like that - except now you've made me want a glass of Barollo. Lets go to the Culina down the hall. They have a floor to ceiling wine cellar. Surely they can serve us a glass of Barolo. It will be quieter, too, so I can hear you."
Piero Bracco stood and held out his arm. Kendall was pleased. This handsome young athlete had some sophistication.
Culina was gracious, though it was late and the kitchen was winding down. They had a bottle of Barolo, pizza and salad. Piero lightly touched her arm as they talked. He was funny and relaxed. He made Kendall laugh. It had been awhile.
"Have you ever been in love?" Kendall asked, her voice trailing. "I've only been in love once and that was many years ago. We've been apart now twice the years we were together, but I can't seem to forget him." Her speech was beginning to slur. "I'm trying to figure out if I want to keep remembering, or if I just want to forget." Kendall sighed. Piero leaned back, his arm slung around the back booth as he lightly played with her hair.
"I gave him my heart, unconditionally. And he left me for another woman. A Korean woman at that." Kendall wrinkled her nose. Her beautiful face, flawless from a lifetime of staying out of the sun and using only the most expensive face creams was creased now. She tilted her perfect face upward, and smiled at her companion. Young. Not complicated. Kendall was lovely in the dim light. Wolf had been way too complicated.
"I don't understand why a young handsome guy like you wants to be here drinking with a lonely woman."
"I don't know why you are lonely when I am here with you now," His tone was soothing. Piero looked around, the place was almost empty. "What do you want to do tonight that would make you feel better?" he asked, smiling with his eyes.
"No woman can really know what truly goes on inside a man's mind, now can she?" Kendall purred as she slid closer to him. "I married twice for money, and the third time for love to a man who was as charming as he was insincere. When I met him he was desperate. There were signs. I ignored them because he made me laugh and I loved him like I have never loved a man. Was I so foolish?"
"He was foolish to leave you."
"You are so very sweet," Kendall said. "I thought I could change him." She stopped, abruptly, and turned to face him. Her next words were earnest, searching.
"Piero, dear, can you kindly explain something to me about men that I simply don't understand?"
"Ask away."
"Asian fever." Kendall said, shaking her lovely head in bewilderment. "Can you please explain the appeal of Asian women to a man? Because quite honestly, I don't get it at all."
Chapter 43
Hermés. Chanel. Trezzo, that was it. Something with Z's in it, Mick thought. He sped past and turned into the alley that ran behind all the stores parallel to Rodeo Drive. He parked beside a dumpster and put his cop plaque on the dash. He folded down the visor and adjusted his tie and instinctively reached for his gun. He always packed heat.
Mick Chang squinted at the sunlight. He put on his sunglasses and walked up to the back door. A male attendant, in a black suit and a clipboard stood with the guest list.
"What?" Mick said, defensively.
"Your name, sir."
Mick Chang’s face registered slight surprise when the attendant found it.
"Right this way, sir," he said, motioning for Mick to pass through.
Inside was cool, the ebb and flow of quiet conversation, the clink of Champagne glasses, many guests milling around with hardly any room to move, and there were no chairs. Mainly there were a lot of really hot looking, but skinny dressed up women of all ages. He tried to find Heather, but no luck, and he worked his way further up. A young caterer in a black t-shirt passed with a tray of champagne and Mick snagged one. He was thirsty. A pretty girl also in black offered him a tray of what looked like baby won-tons sprinkled with black sesame seeds with a black tooth pick sticking out of it. It looked like a lot of trouble for something so tiny. He took one then snagged a few more and put them on a tiny black and white napkin and ate. He wished he'd hit the drive-thru on the way here. Heather had said there would be food but this didn't count. Seriously.
Then he spotted Heather by the front door, in another throng. He worked his way there, it wasn't easy. It would have made him happy to be able to clear a path by firing a shot in the air but he had been written up enough times already.
"Thank you for coming," Heather gushed. Mick just stared at her. She had rocks around her neck that he just couldn't believe, they had to be real, he just knew. She wore impossibly high heels and a pouffy black skirt and sequined black top that showed off her rocking hot body. There was more black here than at funerals. "You look amazing."
"You're too sweet," Heather pecked him on the cheek.
"When is the show?" Mick wondered and Heather read his mind.
"See some of these tall girls walking around?"
"Yes. Yes, they are really tall," he said. And hot and skinny and young, and that one is not wearing a bra, and neither is that other one, but they are wearing way too much make-up - only he didn't say these thoughts aloud.
"They are the show. Instead of runway they walk around and pose for the guests. It's more intimate this way, don't you think?"
"It's more fun than I thought, babe," Mick finished his Champagne and magically another was handed to him and the empty glass disappeared.
"How much is one of his outfits?" He asked, curious.
"Outfit?" Heather thought for a second. "Trezzo's lines run starting from $5000, fur trim and fancy beadwork doubles or triples the price. Any sales made today, 15% goes to the Italian earthquake fund."
"Dollars?"
Heather nodded and touched his arm but Mick was distracted by a waiter carrying sliders. He snagged three of them and asked “What’s the noise?”
There was a strange loud squawking coming from outside and the shreek of electrical feedback.
"You came at the perfect time,” Heather touched Mick’s arm. “It’s protesters – they worry me - just only a little." Heather pointed him to the store display windows
looking out onto Rodeo Drive where the protesters were chanting and carrying signs. “They’re from PETA.” Heather sighed. “Protesting fur in the...”
Before Heather could finish, Mick bolted out the door. Heather reached out to grab his arm but Mick was too quick.
Mick marched across the sidewalk into the crowd blocking the street, and headed towards the head yahoo with the megaphone. In half a second, the leader was on the ground after a discreet rabbit punch to the kidney, on his way down he swung the megaphone wildly and caught Mick by the edge on the forehead. Instant blood.
"Let go of the fucking megaphone," Mick hissed, "or you'll think you're back in prison - on date night." Mick squeezed. After a few seconds the leader coughed and went limp. McChang grabbed the megaphone and took the batteries out of it. The lined-up guests behind the velvet rope waiting to get in broke into applause. The protesters shrieked and waved their signs. A TV newsvan rolled up and a reporter ran towards Mick.
"Was that force necessary?" she asked.
Mick put his hand over her mike. "Fuck you, bitch," he whispered and walked away. Heather ran up.
"You're bleeding!" She reached for a black and white napkin off a tray.
"Really?" McChang touched his forehead with his fingers and looked at the blood. "Sorry".
Several of the male guests patted him on the back. Someone else brought him a glass of Champagne.
"I'm an attorney," a voice said, and handed Mick his card. "Call if there's a problem with this. We're big supporters of anything Heather Hart does and appreciate you helping out."
Mick turned to Heather. "If you're good, I'm going to disappear. I don't want to be a distraction. Beverly Hills cops will be here. I can hear the sirens. They're used to dealing with these clowns."
"You are so exciting, darling. Some of my friends were scared, and you took care of it.” Heather gushed. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Can you still have dinner?”
"Text me, babe. I'll go out the back.” And he was gone.
Heather looked out the front window of the store. The cops were clearing out the protesters to the far sidewalk. The store front of Trezzo would make the news, and that was never a bad thing. The guests would had some excitement. All in all, a great day. And damn that Mick was sexy when he got fired up. Heather sighed at that thought.
Chapter 44
"Pick-up! Pick-up! Please!" Heather whispered into the ringing phone. Heather sat on her favorite couch. Her husband Gordon was upstairs. He spent his days feeding his neuroses only. The rare meetings or social events he attended were both proceeded and followed by massive anxiety attacks. Heather looked around the room and quickly placed a call.
"Hello," Holly answered on about the sixth ring.
"Holly! It's me! I have to see you and I can't talk about it on the phone!" Heather was frantic. She loved Holly like family. Strike that. She didn't like anyone in her family as much as she liked Holly.
An hour later Holly was in Heather's living room, drinking cappuccino, eyeing a small plate of almond biscotti and leaning on silk cushions. The room was pale yellow and turquoise with huge potted palm trees and a very large cream colored Persian carpet with some sort of floral design.
"You look so good!" Holly said, with utter sincerity.
"I've been only eating raw almonds," Heather offered. "And quinoa and ahi... I hate this room. Actually I hate this house - but this room has the most privacy. You quickly learn that the servants always have an ear out."
Holly nodded. She could see the blue glitter of the pool outside.
"I've been trying to get a hold of you!" Heather whispered urgently. "I don't want to alarm you but the Feds are planning a huge raid and American Legal Services - is on the list!"
"What...?" Holly stammered, the color drained from her face. "Are you sure? How do you know?"
“Gordon had a sleepover at his mothers, again.” Heather whispered. “So last night, I went out to dinner with you-know-who.”
“The cop?”
“Yes!” Heather whispered urgently. “He always has his phone on the table during dinner. Well, it pinged while he was in the restroom so I looked – I mean any girl would look, right?” Heather’s eyes went wide and Holly nodded.
“Anyway,” Heather continued, “I looked over and saw ‘American Legal Services’ pop up. Isn’t that where you work?”
Holly nodded.
“Well, that’s what I thought. So I picked up the phone and read the text because that’s just the kind of person I am,” Heather confessed. “And it was confirming the logistics to raid the place next week. Why are they raiding, Holly? Are you in trouble?” Heather asked, earnestly.
“I don’t think so! Did you see my name?” Holly asked, frightened.
“No, no, not your name. You-know-who has no idea we are friends or that I know you. When he came back, I poked around and asked what he was doing next week. He said he was working on a big raid. You should move offices quickly! You know how the cops are. They take everything and ask questions later. You are my dearest friend in the world so I have to tell you!”
"What should I do?" Holly asked, her heart already pounding.
"Move your office, quickly."
"When?"
"Now! Once the warrant is signed you don't know when they'll hit. It's a big raid. And be careful what you say on the phone."
Holly sat up straight. "Now as in today?"
"Yes. The sooner the better! Go now, quickly!" Heather said, gesturing with her hands. "Before it's too late!"
Chapter 45
Holly H. Park - Attorney at Law.
Holly peeled the sign off the door. She pushed the door closed and threw the sign into a cardboard box, which in turn sat on top of a stack of other boxes.Exhausted, Holly went to her desk and put her head down and fell asleep.
Then, someone was knocking at the door. She stood up and looked at her watch. Who could it be? Holly opened the door hesitantly.
Detective Mick Chang stood there with a police badge around his neck, wearing jeans and a black t-shirt, which exposed his heavily tattooed arms. Her heart was racing so fast she put her hand on her chest. How did he know she was here? It was after hours and the office was closed.
The detective took in the boxes, desk, case files and empty bookshelves. It was a tiny office, but there was enough.
"Going somewhere?" Mick Chang asked, challenging her. "You know you just messed up my warrant. Now I'm going to have to go back to the station and write up a second warrant and find a judge to sign off on it. None of which is gonna make me happy. So why don't you start cooperating and tell me why you are moving in such a big panic?"
"I know my rights. If you have something on me arrest me now or you can leave and come back with a proper warrant."
Detective Mick Chang stood in the doorway a moment, his eyes moving up and down, brazenly. "Let me guess. You like to party and go drinking which is why you came to this side of town. Lawyers don't usually leave a fancy downtown firm for a ghetto place like this. Most people want to go up-market - not down."
His eyes definitely registered that he had done his homework on her. Mick brushed past Holly and walked into her office without being invited. "Don't you know that obstruction of justice is a felony and I could 'cuff you and take you down?" Detective Chang asked in his toughest cop voice.
Holly held out her wrists, a gesture which Mick Chang ignored.
"I know more about the Dumok than you do," Mick Chang bragged. Holly just stared at him, so he kept talking.
"Yeah, he wears nice suits, but a punk is always a punk. Yeah, I know all about him." Holly blanched.
“Bingo,” Mick thought. He had stabbed blindly, but Holly's face told the tale. Mick's eyes narrowed, suspicious. "That woman you work for - Kate Hong - there's probably enough dirt to get her into court. She didn't look so pretty in prison denim back in New York. Put it this way, if she ended up dead, nobody would be taking up a collection for flowers. Did she tell you abou
t that? Kate Hong got smart and got out of the game, but maybe now she's back to her old tricks," the detective put his foot up on a stack of books.
Holly consciously slowed her breathing and tried to not react. “Where’s your warrant, detective.” He ignored her.
"Personally, I don't give a rat's ass," Mick Chang continued. "I'm just trying to put the pieces together. There's Kate. She's dirty. There's been a long list of lawyers she uses and you're just the most recent. The dead but not mourned councilman was dirty for years, too. I wouldn't care if he was fucking a dog as long if he wasn't knifed to death in the process. How does the American Legal Service dream team plan on defending little Naomi Linser, the Virgin Whore? Did you know that she had bloody hundred dollar bills sticking to her like post-it notes at the crime scene? What's your defense, counsel?"
Another million dollar question, but the more Mick Chang talked the more it proved he had nothing solid so Holly decided to hold her tongue. Maybe he would say something interesting.
"And then there's the Dumok. The dirtiest of all. A rich man getting richer off the poor Koreans who do his illegal activities.”
Mick didn’t bother to mention that his own father had run parking services for one of the Dumok’s night clubs, and when Mick’s father had died, the Dumok had paid for the funeral. To this day his mother kept a newspaper photo of the Dumok on her fridge, which infuriated Mick to no end. Mick only remembered what suited him, and what suited him now was to rant and try and un-nerve Holly.
“The common denominator in all this filth?” he continued. “You. How do you fit? Or is it that the Dumok likes you because you are a dirty girl, too?"
Now Holly was getting annoyed. The sexual innuendo made her sick.
"Are you the FBI?" Holly taunted. “If you’re not, you can just leave.”
Mick walked over to the plant holder looked down and spit. He didn't speak right away but only stared at Holly in that stoic, detached way cops have.
"I don't waste my time wearing suits and hanging out in offices. I'm from the streets. I like it up close and personal. People like you, who sit behind a desk, you don't know shit," he spit again and put a leg up on the plant holder.
The Virgin Whore Trial: A Holly Park Legal Thriller Page 16
