The Acid King

by Maggie Abbott

  He quickly walked around the whole block, wanting to avoid going too near the two-story blank wall that abutted the alleyway, and round to the front door. Examining the rear from a distance through his binoculars, he was not surprised to see what looked like a sensor device above the rear door and on the adjacent corner. There were no security cameras, but this was good enough to detect loiterers.

  When he finally arrived back at the far end of the alley he could see that nothing had changed. No parked cars had been moved. He relaxed for a moment, picked up the binoculars again and studied the area around the back door. There was an iron grill security gate, now folded back, and the solid looking door itself carried bits of paraphernalia, some little stick-on decals for punk rock bands, he deduced from the aggressive names, a few printed business cards, curled up at the edges, and several signs proclaiming the same theme to any would-be invaders. Private! Go Away, No Callers, Death to Intruders. The collected works of a paranoid recluse.

  Cortez was very curious about the time between Rivkin’s escape from the safe house, and holing up in this one where he had evidently spent a number of years. How and why did he end up here? Sizing up the space from his exterior examination, he guessed that the entire two floors were Rivkin’s domain. A well-sealed box with two exits. Cortez was idly wondering about the roof access when he saw car headlights coming from a side road at the far end of the block and turning into the alleyway.

  He ducked into a carport and observed an old model Chevy being hurled into a small space with the expertise of a frequent visitor, and a sexy looking woman, who left the car with a loud slam, didn’t lock it, and headed straight for Rivkin’s back door. She thumped on it, pushed it straight open, closed it behind her, and left Cortez bewildered and loaded with questions. Another woman? An angry one? Plus a very useful observation. The door was very heavy, reinforced, and most likely bullet proof.

  Cortez was positively salivating for his prey, but the predator had no choice but to wait some more.

  It was less than ten minutes later when another car approached, from the same end of the alley, parked carelessly, and two young guys with Mohawks got out, laughing and talking loudly as they sauntered on their heavy boots, wobbling a bit against each other, and knocked on the door. They didn’t wait more than a second before pushing the door open, swallowed by the light inside, then dark silence came over the alleyway once more.

  Cortez didn’t move from his observation post back in the car. He was rewarded by a sudden surprise when the door burst open and the woman came out, arguing, turning to gesticulate at the man following her, who pulled the door shut and stood there, reasoning with her.

  It was him. Too sudden for Cortez. He was glad to be sitting down. Yes, it was him. He couldn’t see his face properly, but the body type and manner told him he was looking at an older Leonard Rivkin. He held his breath and tried to hear their words.

  “…make me feel like I’m not wanted.”

  Rivkin gestured in a conciliatory way and moved toward her, putting out his hand to touch her face. She slapped it away and stalked to her car door, yanking it open.

  “Not true, not true. How long has it been like this?”

  “Too long.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  This time she allowed him to come closer and slide his arm around her shoulder, the other hand touching her hair.

  Cortez couldn’t hear the rest, but the couple embraced loosely, swaying a little together, ending with a kiss. Rivkin walked backwards to his door, waving briefly as the car backed out of its space. Watched him slump for a moment as he reached his door, then pull back his shoulders before plunging back in. It was a very private moment.

  Instantly Cortez made his move. It was an impulsive decision, and the right one, he was sure of it. He managed to start the car, turn it around and catch up with the woman before she could take a right into the main road, kept nicely out of view and followed her on a very long trek which ended in what he later found out was The Valley. Like a good agent he made notes all the way, street names, store signs, landmarks, and finally her exact address. This was her home, no question about that.

  Cortez felt satisfied now he had a second lead, and a more likely connection. He wasn’t happy at the work involved, staking out the lady. Following her around to get some background on her life. That was the work he was trained to do, but he was younger then. In those times he would have slipped into a local motel, but he’d paid up at the other one, his personal gear was there and he was desperate for sleep. He just wished he had access to that office computer. Her license plate number wasn’t much use to him, but he wrote it in his book.

  It was a thirty-five minute drive from her house back to West Hollywood. He had to return again in the early morning. He made his plans and drove away.

  CHAPTER 38

  Industrial Technical Supplies – Pico Boulevard, Los Angeles

  Vince had been watching the little dot that was Cortez’s car sit unmoving for hours on the computer screen map at the technology lab. Cortez must have been on a stake out. Particularly a small apartment block Cortez could be watching from his car. Half an hour later the dot moved, taking off towards Sunset; it made a right and then another right and moved rapidly along Fountain Avenue towards Hollywood. The journey was short, ending with some inexplicable turns and coming to a stop in a small street close to Fairfax Avenue.

  Vince scrambled to get to the scene. Speeding over to find Cortez wedged down inside his rental, only the top of his head showing as he stared out into the dark alley. It was impossible to tell on the drive past which was the target address.

  Vince decided to wait it out, keeping Cortez just visible in the distance. Obviously he’d followed someone to this place. Now Vince watched him watching the arrival first of a woman in a big car; then two punks, apparently stoned, turned up and they all went in the same door.

  It wasn’t a long wait. A door opened, a woman and a man came out. They seeming to be arguing. She got into her car and swept by looking upset, and Vince just had time to duck out of the glare of headlights as Cortez started up and followed her, passing within inches of Vince’s car. .

  When it was quiet again Vince got out and walked over to the heavy door covered in crap, looking for a number and address, without any luck.

  He had the bright idea of going round the building to what would be the front entrance to find it, avoiding the obvious sensor overhead. He knew it; this was the place where Rivkin lived, and judging by the description Reggie had given him, Vince knew that he had seen the man himself. Mission accomplished.

  He bought a bottle of Jack Daniels on the way home in anticipation of celebrating a job well done. Checking the Swindon Lodge tour itinerary, he made the call. Reggie was his usual laid back Brit, but Vince could tell he was very pleased and would no doubt be calling his friend Tony in England with the good news.

  CHAPTER 39

  Pete’s House – Friday

  It was early morning and Tony was out in the rear courtyard of the house, polishing the chrome on an old but perfectly shiny red Jaguar XK140. The car was his reason for living. He had an idea he might drive Pete to the airport himself, seeing he had so little luggage, and the Bentley was in the shop. Heard his mother calling him to the phone, it was Los Angeles. Tony tossed the rag away and ran into the house; she was holding it out in her fingers like a biochemical threat.

  “Some Englishman. Didn’t give his name,” she frowned.

  “Tony Winston here. Reggie! Good morning old sport, early night?”

  “Yes, brother, travel day, we’re in New Orleans now. Just got a phone call from our friend in the security business. He found your mystery chap. Want the address?”

  Tony reached for a pad and pen, clicking his fingers at Mum, who pushed them towards him and stood there pouting. Tony just turned away and wrote.

  “Leonard Rivkin. Right. And? Fairfax, where’s that? Oh, I know, where the Farmers Market is. I’m such a B
everly Hills boy, you know. Okay, got it. Two more? Well, give them to me anyway. Anything else on Rivkin? No current name, license plate, I.D. or… Okay, well, call it in when you get something. I’ll transfer the balance into his account by wire, soon as I hang up. Well done. You came through. I’m sure my party here will appreciate it.”

  After some brief tour gossip, Tony put the phone down and turned to his mother, who was now watching the kettle boiling, teapot at the ready.

  “You seem to be very busy plotting something, my lad. What is it?”

  “Oh nothing, Mum, just an old acquaintance of Pete from the sixties who left the scene and he’s got unfinished business with him. It’s nothing, really.”

  “Well, pull the other leg, it’s got bells on. You and Miss Ping and that sad old wreck from up north, you’re all in on something. Look, we worked our fingers to the bone to get some peace and quiet. Now we’ve got it and you’re turning it upside down.”

  “Just bear with me, Mum, it’s almost over and we’ll be back to normal.”

  “I read somewhere that change is growth and growth is change. And I don’t like either of them.”

  “Been reading Pete’s books again, Mum?”

  “Matter of fact, yes. And I like some of the things I pick up. Better than religion and the Bible as far as clearing up some of the mysteries. Look at us, we’ve done well and all because you’ve got a good friend in Pete. You have to take care of him.”

  “I do, Mum, for crying out loud, I couldn’t do more, now, could I?”

  “Yes, you could. If he’s going to Los Angeles to see this unfinished business, you should be close behind him to cover his backside.”

  “You think?”

  The kitchen intercom rang and Tony picked it up.

  “Morning Pete. You’re up early. Tea now. Breakfast at 8. Right. Everything’s ready, we’re going to the airport in the Jag. And guess what, I got the location of that Rivkin fella Madeleine was talking about. One of those odd connections, old friend of Reggie’s knew where to put his finger on him. No? Well, I’ll put it in your day runner anyway. Okay, she’s on the way.”

  When he was sure Mum was off with the tea tray, Tony picked up the phone and dialed a number.

  Carol answered; she was sleepy and depressed.

  “Tony!” she brightened. “How’re you doing, pet?”

  “Well, much better for hearing your voice, sweetheart. How’re you?”

  “Not very good. Barry’s been a real white woman’s burden for days now. After his triumphant appearance at your local pub and a couple of days on the other side of the tracks he came down to earth with a thud. Then I realized he’d stopped taking the valium or any of the other ones, just so he could indulge his anger, regret and… what was the other thing?”

  “Self-pity?”

  “Yeah, that too. Lost the desire to live, he said. I thought that was pretty drastic and I haven’t had much sleep but I’ve been overdosing him with good food and body rubs, got him back on the medication and he’s fast asleep upstairs now. Hope I can get some rest. What’s up with the rich and famous?”

  “Thought you’d like to know I traced Mister X. King Leonard Rivkin now lives in a rundown shop in the Fairfax district, which is a kind of orthodox Jewish enclave with connections to the underground punk crowd who hang out at the local all-night deli.”

  Carol started writing notes from the conversation on a telephone notepad.

  “Well, well. So he’s had his comeuppance then. He goes from hanging out with the stars so he can bust them and ruin their lives, to living in a ghetto. Give me the address. I’d like to have it. Just… you know.”

  She nodded and wrote down the details.

  Out of sight halfway up the second flight of stairs to the bedroom, Barry sat in his dressing gown, listening to every word. When Carol finished and shuffled off to the kitchen, he nipped down, copied the information on another sheet of the pad, tore it off and went back to the bedroom.

  CHAPTER 40

  Outside Juno’s House – Studio City – Friday

  Cortez sat in his rented car again, but this time his mood was bright: the hunter lion had the benefit of a good sleep and breakfast, his fine suit enhanced by a new shirt, with his notebook and Wall Street Journal on the passenger seat. This was the day his pursuit would be paying off and he loved the anticipation of success.

  All he had to do was follow the woman to a place where he could approach her. Win her confidence and get close to that man. He’d been right about Ann Stapleton all along.

  He had a clear view of the lady’s car where she had parked it the night before, but as the hours passed he lost every bit of confidence and optimism. She never left the house. Cortez was itching with frustration, afraid to leave his post in case he missed her. Even a few minutes could be fatal.

  Eventually he gave up. Trying to think methodically. It was no good going back to Ann Stapleton in the hope of using her as an introduction to Rivkin. She was smart. She’d smell a rat. He had to stick with what he was doing. He would give it one more chance tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 41

  British Airways Flight to Los Angeles – Friday

  Barry was slumped into his window seat, pleased with himself for the alacrity with which he’d transported himself from the staircase at home to a jet bound for L.A.

  He believed in going straight to the source, and he’d hurriedly packed a small bag of necessities, tiptoed past Carol in deep sleep on the sofa, out the door, down the road to a taxi stand, a short drive to the station, and the fast train to Newcastle Airport, where he enlisted the help of an efficient little girl at the reservations desk, who found him a perfect set of connections to London and Los Angeles. He took two of his uppers on the train. Dropped by the bank, confirmed that Pete’s deposit had cleared and bought some travelers checks. He felt sure God was blessing him, it went so right.

  He even got lucky when he phoned Carol, because she didn’t pick up and he was able to leave a message, sounding a bit too triumphant but he knew he was in trouble anyway, so what the hell.

  Not at all anxious about his plans at the other end. He’d improvise, rent an airport car and go straight to Rivkin’s place, park, wait and stalk. He had enough street cred and was familiar with the lowlife habitats of the town. Confident he would find someone who could assist him with the next part of the operation. It would cost him but he’d have plenty when he cashed his travelers checks.

  The plane droned on as Barry felt the downers take over from the uppers. Finally he dozed off.

  CHAPTER 42

  Outside Juno’s House – Saturday

  Cortez arrived promptly at 7 a.m. and observed the lady’s car, still parked at the side of the road. He guessed she must have a lot of junk in the garage. He felt very sour about her this morning, but had prepared himself with his notebooks and the Wall Street Journal, and this time he had a couple of sandwiches with him. The hunter lion was surly and restless, but he knew he could master his mood if and when necessary.

  When she emerged, around 9:15, the woman seemed to be in a contrastingly sluggish state, probably hadn’t slept well, he deduced. Her face was glum as she wandered over to her car and started it up, not looking around as she took off. Cortez followed her for several blocks leading to the busy local boulevard, keeping close enough to watch her pull into an alleyway off the main street, and park in a rear lot shared by a number of shops. He rounded the block and came in behind her, driving to a far spot and staying in his car until he saw her unlock and enter the rear door of a small shop, marked by a cute sign naming it Juno.

  Cortez took his time. Strolling around to the main street with the Journal under his arm to stop for some fruit at the market. Then he wandered up to the front of the shop and stood there, thoughtfully studying the name and window display, while he picked at the grapes. This was truly a gift from God, assuming God was still on his side in the venture. Juno was a store specializing in underwear and other decorative apparel for l
arge busted ladies.

  Setting a sparkle into his brown eyes and a small shit-eating grin on his lips, Cortez strolled in and pretended to look around at the various displays.

  The woman was in her late forties, he guessed, sexy and needy, he could tell with just one glance. He smiled warmly at her and gave a little wave, continuing his intense study of camisole tops and large sized lacy bras.

  “Looking for something for your girlfriend?”

  Cortez suppressed a grin. She must have noted his lack of a wedding ring. Smart lady.

  “Maybe,” he let the grin take over.

  “Maybe buying, or maybe girlfriend?”

  This was going to be easy.

  “Well, if I don’t have one now, I’m sure there must be one on the way. A lingerie store called Juno could be a sign. I’m thinking of getting something in anticipation. What do you suggest?”

  Juno swayed towards him from behind the counter. Up close she was a dish for an experienced man who knew there was more for him in this vintage model than some skinny adolescent. And Cortez was one of those. He also knew just how much to use this contact and how much to keep it in check until he got what he wanted. He was thinking lunch in that small bistro a few doors down would be the next move, but it was too early for that.

  “Sounds like you don’t have a specific size in mind. Just a vision?”

  She was sounding him out nicely.

  “That’s right. Something adaptable in terms of size…”

  “Then I hope you’ve got some time to spare because I can make several suggestions. Let’s start with these teddies. One size fits all, well, not quite all, just the lucky ones.”