by M. Z. Kelly
After another five minutes of profane references about what the lieutenant would do to the anatomy of the prankster, we got down to business.
Jessica and I took turns bringing them up to speed, covering our interviews, including our discussion with Melanie Grace about her and Michael Clinton’s affair, and the dead groom’s former business relationship with Steven Drummond.
We then updated them on what we’d learned yesterday from Malik Brown.
“According to Brown, China worked for the escort company about three years ago,” I said. “Brown was probably supplying Chauncey with drugs. In return, Chauncey set him up with escorts, including China. When Brown ran into China a few weeks back, he started blackmailing her, telling her that he’d reveal her dirty little secret unless she provided him with sexual favors.”
“I still can’t believe China was a prostitute and slept with that little asshole,” Jessica said. “She was such a pretty girl and had everything going for her.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time a nice girl fell into a life of prostitution,” I said.
“Are you talking from personal experience?” Jessica asked.
My new partner was apparently still reeling from Malik Brown’s insults and wanted to take it out on me.
“No,” I said. “I read your personnel file the other day.”
“I won’t continue to take this shit,” Jessica said to Edna.
“Get over it, Jessica,” I said. “You started it.”
“I did not. You’re the one who dresses like a prostitute.”
Jessica had just pushed the wrong button. No one insults my sense of fashion. “At least I’m not some crazy bitch out of a reality TV show.”
“Enough,” Edna shouted as Pearl chuckled over the exchange. “Once we solve the case, I’ll put you both in a cage and you can fight it out.”
Jessica and I glared at each other. I was wearing a navy textured cotton jacket over a white tweed short sleeve top with straight leg twill pants that matched the jacket. The outfit was conservative. And, for once, I didn’t have to hold my breath to get into my pants. I’d been happy with my fashion choice, until the beatch of the century came along. Even my sometimes unmanageable hair had seemed to cooperate this morning.
“Let’s talk about the escort service China used,” Edna said.
“It’s called Discrete,” I said. “Brown made it sound like it was high-end girls. If China was, in fact, working for them, it would seem to confirm that.”
Pearl spoke up for the first time. The semi-retired detective had a voice like Morgan Freeman, smooth and gentle like sweet dark syrup. “Discrete is one of the oldest escort services in Los Angeles, operating out of several locations. It was established at a time before the Russian, Asian and Armenian gangs got a foothold in the city and began using human trafficking for prostitution. Over the years, there have been lots of rumors about the agency catering to high rollers, supplying them with high-end working girls, but they’ve always operated under the radar.”
“Why don’t we check their website?” I suggested.
“I’ll get my laptop,” Jessica said, scurrying out the door like a rat that smelled cheese.
“You two going to survive this?” Pearl asked when she was gone.
“I’m having fantasies about using guns, knives, and poison on her. Other than that, we’re like sisters.”
My evil sister came back with her laptop that she placed between Edna and Pearl, ignoring me. I came around as she found the site and read from the text.
“Discrete offers confidential, private, and exceptional escorts who strive to provide the most glamorous and memorable service to our clients in Los Angeles, Hollywood, Beverly Hills and surrounding areas. Our escorts come from around the world and offer the highest standards of service and quality in the industry.”
“Nothing like keeping your standards high when you’re providing hookers,” Edna said.
Jessica clicked on the bio page. We saw several scantily clad women’s bodies with brief descriptions of their interests. She then clicked on the rate page.
“Six hundred dollars an hour,” I said, my eyes widening. “Maybe I’m in the wrong business.” I saw that Jessica was biting her forked tongue.
“Okay, I’ve seen enough,” Edna said. “Let’s find out who owns this shit parade and see what they know. I also want you to talk to Marvin Chauncey again, find out what kind of cut he was getting for pimping China.”
“I wonder why Mags and her mother didn’t tell us about China’s past and her relationship with Chauncey,” I said.
Edna took a call. Pearl responded. “Could be they don’t know. Working for an escort service and being pimped out by your agent wouldn’t be the kind of thing you’d want to talk to your family about.”
Edna ended his call and said, “That was Captain Emerson with South Bureau. Their officers got a call about a dead body an hour ago.” His eyes narrowed on me. “They found one of your business cards on the kitchen table at the murder scene.”
“Malik Brown?” I said, remembering I’d left my card.
“He was found in the living room by his girlfriend when she got home from work early this morning. He was shot in the back of the head.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jessica, Pearl, and I spent the morning and early afternoon at the Malik Brown crime scene in Compton. There was nothing remarkable about the murder, other than it appeared to be a classic execution-style killing. We decided that Brown’s death probably either had something to do with his drug dealing or there was a tie-in to our investigation.
After talking to Brown’s girlfriend, Jessica learned that the gangster had a lot of enemies. My new partner speculated that the crime was probably a payback for a drug deal gone south. She put it bluntly, “Too bad they didn’t blow the cocky little shit’s nuts off.”
Apparently Jessica was still processing yesterday’s rage over her encounter with the dead gangster. My money was on the hit having a tie-in to our case, maybe involving someone wanting to keep Brown quiet about China’s past, but the shooter had been too late.
After we left the Malik Brown crime scene we drove to Marvin Chauncey’s office on Wilshire Boulevard. Chauncey was apparently doing well financially, because his office was on the tenth floor with an expansive view of the city.
After I settled Bernie into a corner, we let Pearl begin questioning the impeccably dressed talent agent and pimp. “It’s come to our attention that you had a special relationship with China Warner, one that went beyond being her agent for her work on Hollywood Daybreak. You want to explain why you kept that from us?”
“Just so we’re clear,” Chauncey said smoothing a hand over his expensive silk tie, “I don’t have to explain anything and I don’t have to talk to you without a lawyer.”
“And we don’t need to have this conversation in your lovely office, Mr. Chauncey,” Pearl said. “We’ll be happy to talk to you in a more secure environment.”
“You have no basis to arrest me.”
Pearl smiled, exposing the small gap in his front teeth. “You and I both know that we can detain you for questioning as a suspect in the murders of Michael Clinton and China Warner. If we later determine that there’s insufficient basis to charge you, we’ll release you after seventy-two hours as required by section 849 of the penal code. If that’s how you want to spend the next three days, we’d be happy to oblige.”
Chauncey leaned back in his chair and sniffed. “I have nothing to hide. China and I had a relationship that goes back a few years. When that ended, I became her agent.”
“Tell us about the relationship,” Pearl said.
“We dated for a few months and it ended amicably.”
“How did you two meet?”
Chauncey smiled. “Do you know about China’s past?”
Pearl gave nothing up. “Why don’t you fill us in?”
China’s former agent took a moment, probably deciding how much to tell us, while he
ran his fingers across his cornrows.
“China was working for an escort company called, Discrete,” Chauncey said. “You might say that China was one of their most exquisite and desirable products. I was representing clients in the entertainment industry at the time and China had an interest in breaking into the business. We hit if off well, dated for a while, and I eventually became her agent. End of story.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about this when you were questioned at the wedding?”
Chauncey shrugged, twisted the diamond ring on his pinky finger. “I figured it wouldn’t serve any purpose. I’m still not sure why you’re wasting your time with me, instead of trying to catch her killer.”
I’d tried not to interfere, but the desire to wipe the snide little smile off Chauncey’s face got the best of me. “When did you become her pimp?”
Chauncey’s eyes swung over to me as the smile faded. “That’s a big word.”
I shook my head. “Nope. It’s only four letters that means blood sucking asshole. Look it up sometime.”
China’s former pimp folded his arms together, his gaze sweeping over all of us. “Do you all honesty believe that I had something to do with China’s death?”
“We honestly believe that you purposely withheld information that’s pertinent to a murder investigation,” I said, now on a roll. “You either tell us everything or we will finish this discussion downtown—at Twin Towers.”
The mention of Los Angeles’ notorious jail apparently loosened something up in Chauncey. I saw the sweat pop on his forehead as he held up a hand.
“Okay, I’ll admit that I arranged a few dates with China for some individuals who were in the entertainment industry,” Chauncey said. “As I said before, she wanted to break into the business. I tried to facilitate that.”
“By setting her up with men like Malik Brown,” Jessica said, apparently feeling empowered by seeing Chauncey start to break.
Chauncey said, “There were a few exceptions, some individuals not in the entertainment field who were willing to pay handsomely for her services.”
“Brown got it for free,” Jessica said. “He told us that you made the arrangements.”
Chauncey pushed back in his chair, got up, and strolled to the window. He removed the silk handkerchief from his pocket and patted his forehead while looking out on the city. He then turned back to us. “I had a drug problem. Mr. Brown helped me out. I’d hit a rough spot financially and China helped me pay back my debts to him with a couple of dates. That’s all it was.”
We made him go over his story several times, Chauncey each time insisting that there was nothing more to the arrangement. I found it hard to believe that China would have agreed to sleep with a man like Brown to help out Chauncey. There was probably a lot more to the story, but I doubted that we had enough leverage to get it out of him. I decided it was time to play the ace card.
“Did you kill Malik Brown?” I asked.
Chauncey’s mouth fell open and he blinked. “What?”
“Brown was found dead early this morning, shot in the back of the head.”
He went back to his desk, sat down, and exhaled. “If he’s dead I had nothing to do with it. I’m sure the man had his enemies.”
“When was the last time you saw Brown?” Pearl asked.
“It’s been a couple of years, at least.”
“And I suppose you have an alibi for last night?”
“I was home all night with my wife.”
“Wow, lucky lady,” I said. “Did you know that Brown was blackmailing China for sex by threatening to reveal her past as an escort?”
“What?” Chauncey shook his head. “If I’d know that, I would have found a way to stop it.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. You’re a real standup guy.”
After a few more questions it was clear that we’d hit a dead end. Before we headed for the door, I flipped a business card on his desk. “Feel free to call or stop by anytime. Just in case a desire to tell the truth suddenly hits you.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Predators once roamed the entire Hollywood area,” the museum guide says. “For tens of thousands of years, heavy oil has been seeping up from the earth, forming tar pits right here in what’s now the middle of the city. As animals became trapped in the pits, predators would wander in and also become entombed and die. Where there are now stars and studios, there were once saber-toothed tigers and mammoths. The result of what has been called the black death are the fossilized remains of these incredible mammals.”
The Wolf listens for a moment longer, thinking about the delicate dance between prey and predator—life and death. The museum is surrounded by the tar pits and glass enclosed workshops where the bones of the dead are studied. All things considered, it’s a fitting place to meet the man who gives the death orders.
The guide is left behind as The Wolf walks down a path until he finds a park bench in the shadow of some oak trees. In the distance, children are laughing and chasing one another through the park. It’s a serene moment that, for an instant, pushes away the memories of those who have been killed.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” a man says.
The Wolf’s eyes move over to the man. In the instant of recognition, there is a moment of panic. Fear registers despite his attempt to suppress it. This is not the man who has been giving him the kill orders, the one he’s been waiting to meet. This man is the alpha-predator.
The man standing before him is in his mid-sixties, with short gray hair and empty brown eyes that seem to look inward to another world. He is solidly built. At first glance, he looks like he could be a grandfather who has taken his grandkids to the museum for the day. The Wolf knows otherwise.
“Yes, it’s a fine day,” The Wolf agrees.
The elderly man sits on the bench. A cold silence settles between them, contrasting with the warmth of the afternoon.
The older man’s eyes survey the park as he finally says, “Days like these are enough to make a man wonder how many more will follow. At my age, I know life is short and fleeting.”
The Wolf nods. “The days can be shorter for some than others.”
“You would be wise to remember that.” A soft breeze stirs the afternoon air as the predator’s eyes swing over like some ancient hungry beast. “Too many mistakes have been made. A trail has been left that must be covered. I’ve made you a personal visit to emphasize the importance of the matter.” He looks away and exhales. “Considering your personal interest in this situation, I expected more from you.”
“I left the gun as a backup plan, just as we discussed. I don’t understand why...”
“Enough.” The predator rakes a hand across his short gray hair. “No more excuses. Here’s how we proceed. Any deviation and I will hold you personally responsible.”
Something cold has been stirred. Like a frozen wind that cuts through The Wolf, it has found its way into nerves and blood. It is the icy remnants of fear that trail behind the predator like the stench of death from a slaughterhouse.
The Wolf meets the predator’s eyes, but the glance is fleeting. Despite the fear, he finds enough courage to say, “I thought I’d paid everything in full.”
“Your debt is paid when I release you, not a moment sooner.”
The Wolf nods, looking over at the tar pits. He now understands what it must have been like to be the prey caught in the suffocating grip of the black death.
The elderly man continues, “The woman, Marla West, she’s been with us a long time—too long. She’s been running her own game behind our backs.” He scoffs. “It’s amazing how some people will put their lives at risk for a few dollars.”
“You want her to go away?”
The predator nods. “An accident. Make sure it looks like an accident. Nothing else is acceptable.”
“What about the cops?”
“We hope it ends here. If not, I may have further use of your services.” The predator stands, takes in a breath of air. “
Have a wonderful day.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
After finishing with Chauncey, Pearl said that he’d fill Edna in on the interview and we could call it a day. We planned to meet with Marla West, the business manager for Discrete Escort Services, the following evening. I was beginning to think there was a link between the wedding murders, Malik Brown’s death, and the escort service, but wasn’t sure what that connection was.
When Bernie and I got home, we found our roommates, except for Nana Hannah, gathered in the family room and adjoining kitchen. Then I realized there was someone else with them.
“Jack,” I said, coming over to the loveseat. “How...when did you get...” He cut off my words, kissing me in that way that takes my breath away.
As we parted, Tex said to Natalie, “The act of pressing one’s lips against the body parts of another is a rather odd cultural phenomena, if you ask me. It’s somewhat reminiscent of squirrels gathering nuts and exchanging scent data through muzzling.”
“They ain’t no squirrels,” Mo said. “And they ain’t doing nuthin’ with nuts, at least for the moment.”
After more “muzzling,” Jack and I dropped down and sat on the loveseat. “So, what brings you to town, Bautista?” I asked.
“Just in the neighborhood looking for nuts.” He glanced over at my roommates. “Have to leave in the morning.”
My excitement at seeing him was partially tempered by the knowledge that he’d be gone again, almost as quickly as he’d arrived. Was it always going to be this way?
We all made small talk for a few minutes, Jack giving me some general details about a case he’d been working on for the feds. Natalie and Mo were on the sofa with Tex sitting between them—Natalie taking charge of the TV remote. She found a rerun of The Dog Whisperer.
When Bernie heard the theme music, he ambled over. He loves the show. I call the time he spends watching it his “yappy hour.” As he took up a spot directly in front of the television, Prissy went into the kitchen to make dinner.
