As usual, he walked on cat feet, like a vice cop. And he seemed to float through the smoke and gloom out onto Sunset Boulevard.
When he was gone, The Bad Czech said, "I think that vice cop is gooned-out on PCP. A duster is what I think."
"Really?" Dolly said. "I was thinking he's more the free-base type."
"Uppers, is what I think," Jane Wayne said.
"It's coke," Dilford said. "Internal Affairs is gonna nail him one a these days."
"Naw, he's a hardballer," Cecil Higgins said. "That's what speed and Mexican brown does to ya. A hardballer."
Never one to discourage any paying customer, Leery said, "Long as he pays his tab, he don't bother me."
"I don't like cops havin zoned-out eyes," Cecil Higgins said.
"He looks like the freaks on our beat," The Bad Czech said. "Maybe he ain't real. Next time he comes in let's make Ludwig bite him. See if he's real."
Jane Wayne, with her new steel bangs and evening makeup didn't look quite real herself when she said ambiguously, "It's the most unnatural thing imaginable." Then she said, "Well, if it's the end of the world, let's have another dance, Czech."
After a few more drinks no one thought about the end of the world or The Gooned-out Vice Cop, and everyone got back to normal.
Chapter ELEVEN
BRAVE NEW WORLD
Because of mario villalobos, The Bad Czech and Hans were in the detective squadroom the next morning, dressed not in their uniforms but in civilian clothes. Hans wore a blue leisure suit and a pink nylon shirt with a pastel necktie. The Bad Czech wore a sportcoat that looked like something that should go over an animal at Santa Anita, and was about the right size for it. His necktie ended halfway to his belt, so lengthy was his massive torso. They were all dressed up and on loan to Mario Villalobos. It made them really cranky.
"I'm no freaking detective, for chrissake," The Bad Czech griped to the black detective lieutenant who was trying to figure what would happen if the Dodgers beat San Diego and Atlanta got knocked off by Chicago.
"Whaddaya think, I asked for this?" Hans said in his whiny singsong voice which was driving The Bad Czech goofy this early in the day.
"It's enough I gotta listen to ya at Leery's when I got a drink and can cope" The Bad Czech said to the skinny K-9 cop.
"I got Ludwig all locked up in the yard at home. He misses me. You think I like this?"
"Just try to make the best of it," the detective lieutenant said, deciding that if Fernando could stop them one more time and Garvey could start to hit, the Dodgers might get their shit together yet.
Mario Villalobos, who was off getting the work of Chip Muirfield and Melody Rogers sorted out for the next few days, strolled into the squadroom drinking a cup of coffee. After his early date with Lupe Luna he had, unbelievably enough, gone straight home and listened to Cole Porter's "Just One of Those Things," which he had actually taken to be a happy song when he first heard it as a youth. He was not hungover and was not as weary as usual. But he could see that The House of Misery victims were not feeling good about things.
"Look," he said, anticipating the gripes. "We'll go up there to Caltech and just look at some photos of the faculty. And then . .
"Mario, I didn't get a good look at the guy!" The Bad Czech complained. "He jist walked by on the sidewalk, is all."
"I hardly noticed him," Hans whined. "You think I look at every guy walks by? Gimme a break, Mario."
"Here's my problem," Mario Villalobos said, lighting his eighth cigarette of the morning. "The guy at the Wonderland Hotel described him as a tall guy in a pinstripe suit with black hair and a black moustache."
"So?" The Bad Czech said.
"So the whore said she thought the moustache was phony, and maybe the hair was too. Except he wore a hat."
"So?" Hans said.
"Both the whore and hotel clerk see this tall dude, probably with a phony moustache. Maybe with a wig. You're better witnesses."
"How do ya know that?" The Bad Czech demanded. "He had the same moustache when I saw him."
"And horn-rim glasses," Hans added.
"And black hair," The Bad Czech said. "I don't know if it was a wig or what. Whaddaya mean, better witnesses?"
"You both said he wasn't as tall as the whore and the clerk thought he was," Mario Villalobos said. "You both thought he was in his fifties. They thought he was much younger."
"Maybe it's a different guy," Hans said.
"I know it's the same guy," Mario Villalobos said. "I can sense it."
"Sense it!" Hans whined. "Who you think you are, Ludwig? And that reminds me, I was supposed to give Ludwig a bath today. How would you like it if nobody ever gave you a bath?"
"Listen to this shit!" The Bad Czech groaned. "On top a everything else, I gotta put up with this noodle-neck doggie cop all day. Gimme a break, Mario!"
Finally the lieutenant put down his sports page, unable to solve the problems of the National League with all this bitching going on. "Fellas," he said, "the bottom line is that two policemen should be a sight more reliable than a street whore we can't even find and a hotel clerk who drinks a fifth a day."
The Bad Czech almost asked the lieutenant how the hell much he thought Hans drinks, but he could see it was no use.
He looked at Hans and thought, he had to trade Cecil Higgins for this?
Hans looked at The Bad Czech and thought, he had to trade Ludwig for this?
Mario Villalobos pulled out the American Express card and said, "If it weren't for you finding this, we wouldn't have a single clue in our clues closet, Czech. If anything comes outa this, I'm gonna ask the lieutenant here to write a nice 'attaboy' for your personnel package."
"I can't wait" The Bad Czech grumbled. Then he said, "That reminds me, on the way to Caltech let's stop by the Pusan Gardens. They got my American Express card in their lost-and-found drawer."
"Hope nobody used it to buy won ton," Mario Villalobos said as he got his reports together. Then he looked at the dead private eye's credit card for a moment and said, "I wonder why this card didn't work for Missy and Dagmar? The American Express people didn't know Lester Beemer was dead, and he kept his bill paid."
"Mine always works," The Bad Czech shrugged.
"This couldn't be a forged card, could it?" Mario Villalobos wondered. "When we pick up your card, I wanna compare the two of them closely."
"What's the credit card got to do with murder, for chrissake?" The Bad Czech asked.
"I don't know what anything's got to do with anything,"
Mario Villalobos said. "I've told you guys everything I know."
"This is just a goddamn fishing expedition," Hans whined. "Ludwig should be getting groomed today. I hope Ludwig don't get ringworm or something."
"I hate mysteries," The Bad Czech complained. "This case is gettin as complicated as this doggie cop's fetishes."
Mario Villalobos and Hans waited in the detective car while The Bad Czech went into the Pusan Gardens to collect his American Express card. When he returned to the car, Mario Villalobos had Lester Beemer's card in his hand. He examined them side by side.
"That's a legit card," The Bad Czech said. "Looks jist like mine."
"The same," Hans agreed, leaning over the front seat of the car.
"Damn," The Bad Czech groaned. "You smell like Ludwig. Sit back, will ya?"
"The Korean B-girl said Missy complained about the card not working, remember, Czech?" Mario Villalobos noted. "Yeah, so what?"
"It didn't work when Dagmar and Missy used it on Restaurant Row either."
"Mario, we gonna screw around all day?" Hans whined. "Let's get this over with."
"Okay," Mario Villalobos said. "Lemme just make one stop. I wanna take this to a bank and have them run it through in a normal transaction and see if it's an ordinary legit card."
And while both Hans and The Bad Czech moaned about Mario Villalobos, and detectives in general, they stopped at a downtown bank on their way to the Pasadena Freeway.
<
br /> The bank officer returned with the credit card and said to Mario Villalobos, "Sergeant, there's no information on this card. That's the problem."
"Whadda you mean, no information? Is it a forged card?" "No, it's a proper card," the man said. "But the magnetic stripe doesn't contain any information." "Why's that?"
"It's been erased. I don't know how. I've heard that a magnet can do it."
"A magnet can wipe out the information on the magnetic stripe? Like the magnetometer at an airport terminal?"
"No, I've carried mine lots of times in airports. A strong magnet can do it, that's all I know. Why don't you use our phone and talk to someone who knows more about it?"
The Bad Czech and Hans both turned their persecuted faces to Mario Villalobos when he returned after thirty minutes.
"If we had Ludwig, we'da sent him looking," Hans said.
"A strong magnetic field can erase the information on these cards," Mario Villalobos said. "That's why it didn't work for Missy and Dagmar!"
"So, what's that mean?" The Bad Czech asked.
"Mean? Nothing, yet."
"It's amazing the irrelevant things that make detectives so happy," Hans said.
The K-9 cop looked unhappily out the car window at the downtown pedestrians dodging and careening into one another. An army of blinded worker-ants sweating in the smog.
Mario Villalobos wisely decided to buy Hans and The Bad Czech something to eat before going to Caltech, so they wouldn't be quite so difficult. The Bad Czech insisted on Chicken McNuggets, so they stopped at McDonald's and he ate four orders of them, and had two chocolate shakes and three bags of fries. So that he could cope with the afternoon.
They went straight to Lupe Luna's office and found her working away on a typewriter, looking even better than Mario Villalobos remembered her from last night. He thought that if he were a real Mexican, he might have beautiful hair and teeth and skin like Lupe Luna.
"Hi," she said brightly when the detective walked in with The Bad Czech and Hans. "Thanks for dinner last night. It was great."
The Bad Czech and Hans gave each other a look that said, Is this why we're here? To give old Mario a crack at a foxy secretary?
And then Mario Villalobos almost panicked when he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to include one detail when he briefed the cops as to the nature of their "work" as restaurant employees. He'd never told them what kind of employees they supposedly were.
He never got the chance. When he introduced them to Lupe Luna as "Czech" and "Hans," Lupe Luna said, "Which is the waiter and which is the busboy?"
In that Hans thought quicker, he said, "I'm the waiter."
And when The Bad Czech caught on, his demented gray eyes started to bulge and pulsate. Mario Villalobos prayed that he wouldn't scream something like, "I gotta play like I'm a fuckin busboy?"
But Lupe Luna said, "Let's get started. It'll take you a while to look at all the pictures."
Mario Villalobos offered a placating glance at the monster cop, who was glaring murderously at Hans because the K-9 cop started giggling. He was the waiter and The Bad Czech was the busboy!
They reminded Mario Villalobos of typical witnesses looking through police department mug books. At the start, witnesses have some interest and diligence. Very quickly diligence wanes and confusion reigns. Then they give the photos a perfunctory glance and realize that they must see the person in the flesh if they're even to have a chance.
At four o'clock that afternoon, Mario Villalobos said, "Enough. There's no point looking at them again."
"I just have six maybes," Hans sighed.
"I jist have four maybes," The Bad Czech sighed.
"Lemme go talk to Lupe for a minute," Mario Villalobos said. The Bad Czech rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, stretching the fabric on his doubleknit pants with a pair of thighs the size of Hans' waist.
When the detective returned he was grinning. "Lupe's taking us to their bar. We're gonna get some drinks, compliments of her boss."
"Aw right!" The Bad Czech said.
"A couple drinks helps me recognize people," Hans said.
"Let's not take advantage," Mario Villalobos warned. "Her boss is gonria get our bill."
As it turned out, the afternoon's bar tab wasn't as high as it once was when Lupe Luna's boss hosted a cocktail party for thirty in the Caltech dining room. But it was close.
The Caltech Athenaeum was one of the older buildings. It was built in 1929, just before the crash, during the golden age of California architecture. An age of tile roofs, Moorish arches, Corinthian columns and vaulted gold-leaf ceilings. Lupe Luna took them on a tour of the building, past an elegant dining room into an enormous sitting room.
The Bad Czech said, "Primo! You could play basketball in here!"
Hans walked on the Oriental carpet and said, "That rug's big enough for a hundred ayatollahs to roll around on!"
"What a fireplace!" The Bad Czech said. "It's big enough to roast Ludwig in."
"Look at the patina on that walnut paneling," the detective said. "They don't make things like this anymore."
"I never saw a busboy so big,". Lupe Luna said suspiciously to Mario Villalobos.
The detective hushed her and whispered, "He's sensitive about it. He used to be a waiter and got demoted for dropping dishes."
She looked as though she didn't believe that either. They passed back through the lobby to the Hayman Lounge. It was a restful cocktail lounge with upholstered chairs and a bartender in black tie.
"This is where donors and trustees drink," Lupe Luna explained. "The students and faculty prefer it downstairs."
"Let's go downstairs," Mario Villalobos said.
The downstairs Athenaeum bar was in a basement lined with sturdy, unpretentious wooden tables and chairs. The floor was thinly carpeted and the basement walls were painted concrete. But the bar, even without the upstairs luxury, had a pub quality which Hans and The Bad Czech were comfortable with.
Mario Villalobos liked it here because it was obviously the kind of "neighborhood" saloon in which people talked. And as all detectives knew, talk was finally what solved crimes, "scientific" detection serving only as public relations sop. He just hoped he could pay attention to business, what with Lupe Luna distracting him.
The students had decorated the walls of the bar with allusions to current events. A chalkboard posed a question: "Should 40,000 Falkland penguins be guaranteed political asylum?"
Another offered an answer: "Only if they wear 'Save the Whale' stickers epoxied to their flippers."
The dress of scientists, be they student or professor, seemed to range from careless to grungy. There was a slim, attractive woman tending bar and she was just opening for the evening. The Bad Czech took one look at her and made himself right at home on the first stool by the door.
"Bourbon on the rocks. Double," The Bad Czech said, wondering how long was considered polite in high-powered science institutes before you made a move on lady bartenders.
"Scotch on the rocks. Double," Hans leered, not caring what was considered polite.
And Mario Villalobos thought, so much for worrying about other people's bar tabs.
Lupe Luna gave him a shrug and said, "We believe in supporting our local police, as they say."
"Okay," Mario Villalobos said. "A very dry vodka martini on the rocks. Double." And when he added, "Hold the vermouth. Hold the olive," the woman behind the bar displayed a knowing bartender's smile and gave him a very healthy shot of vodka over ice.
The Bad Czech said to Hans, "This might turn out to be pretty good duty after all." And then he saw the dish full of Goldfish bar tidbits, and a huge plastic bag full of popcorn on a table.
"You give away free Goldfish and popcorn?" The Bad Czech asked the bartender.
"All you want," she said.
"This here ain't like Leery's, eh, Mario?" The Bad Czech said. "You get somethin free!"
Lupe Luna, who was sitting at one of the wooden tables wi
th the detective, said, "Where's Leery's?"
"That's the, uh, owner of the restaurant where they work."
"He calls you by your first name? Are you so intimate with all your witnesses?"
"I believe in being an approachable cop." "Uh huh."
"Speaking of intimate, when're we going out again?"
"Have you told me the whole truth about this ... jewel theft you're working on?"
"Would I lie?" Mario Villalobos asked, swallowing the double vodka.
"That,"she said, pointing to The Bad Czech, "is a busboy?"
"Do you think I could have just one more drink on your boss's tab? We'd buy our own if this wasn't a private club."
"I'll get it," she said, and he knew that the lie might not fly.
"Tell her a vodka martini ..."
"Very, very dry," Lupe Luna nodded.
"She knows I'm full of crap, and still she buys us drinks. I think I'm in love!" Mario Villalobos mouthed the words to The Bad Czech, who just shrugged.
When Lupe Luna returned she brought him a double vodka and a whiskey sour for herself.
"I'm gonna get you drunk and take advantage of you," she warned him playfully.
"You are?" Mario Villalobos cried. "Along with free drinks?"
"Yeah. Then I'm gonna find out what you're really investigating. I'm getting excited. I love a mystery." She looked at him over the rim of her whiskey sour with mischief in her eyes.
"I hate a mystery," Mario Villalobos said. "It drives me bonkers. But I'm getting excited too. I love overbites."
Meanwhile, The Bad Czech and Hans were no longer cranky at all about their detective assignment, and the bar started to get crowded. They were both working on their second double and The Bad Czech was threatening to break the pub record for eating Goldfish, previously held by the chairman of the division of chemistry.
In fact, The Bad Czech began giving a lecture to two "post-docs," young women who were postdoctoral research fellows, one doing work in physics, the other in chemistry, after having received their doctoral degrees. The Bad Czech's lecture to the two young women was on how to eat Goldfish.
"Some people eat a Goldfish by chewin off the tail first," The Bad Czech said. He took the little fish-shaped cracker and held it in fingers as big as 50-milliliter test tubes. "It's real interestin sittin at a bar and seein how people eat Goldfish," The Bad Czech said. "There's these tail biters. Some bite the tail edgewise and some do it flat. Then there's these types that put the little fish between their teeth and kind a split it down the middle. Then a course, there's people that jist gobble them up and all the crumbs jist floop outa their mouths. I ain't much interested in mectin people like that. I see you two're tail biters. I like tail biters. I wish I could buy ya a drink, but we're jist guests here."
the Delta Star (1983) Page 21
