“I’ll meet you at the club about four. If I can’t make it until later I’ll telephone and let you know. Remember, tomorrow we’re going shopping for your wardrobe. When I get you elegant, I might even get you some sweet young broad… if you promise not to fall in love.” Stark waved goodbye and went out before Momo could reply. The station wagon covered two blocks swiftly and was parked beside a telephone booth. He dialed the number of the Oceanview Police. The same operator buzzed the extension.
“Narco Division, Crowley.”
“Look, boss. I just left Momo at his pad. He’s going out for breakfast in a few minutes. Hell eat in the neighborhood. Then he’s gonna get a haircut. After that he’ll make his usual run to the Panama Club. That’s the best time to get him, on the way, so no hustler sees what’s happening. The broad might find out and go on a panic. You know she’s not right upstairs. Get the idea?”
Crowley did not seem enthused. “Yeah, okay.”
“You’re gonna do it, aren’t you?”
“I said I was.”
“You don’t seem happy about it.”
“It’s just my job, a dirty part of it. I get paid and do it as best I can. You think I should jump up and down about scheming with the enemy?”
“Okay,” Stark said, understanding the attitude. “But there’s one more thing. He might have a balloon of junk in his mouth.”
“And that’s something new for street pushers?” Crowley growled sarcastically.
“No, but tell whoever makes the roust to make sure Momo has enough warning to swallow it. If they got it off him, you’d have to lock him up or it’ll look funny. You keep him in the slammer too long, the connection might get worried and disappear. This has got to look like ques- tioning about something. I know you can find something still on the books. Then let him out about five.”
“I know how it’s got to look. What the hell! You ain’t only finking, you’re trying to run my job. I never saw a stool pigeon so worried or so enthusiastic.” The contempt in Pat Crowley’s voice caused Stark to redden with anger, yet he managed to continue the servility and the nervousness act.
“I’m just trying to make sure it goes right, to protect myself. My neck is out. Man, you almost got my head blown off with that last uncool move.”
Crowley didn’t answer.
“Lieutenant?” he queried, wondering if they had been disconnected.
“Maybe your pal, the fat Hawaiian, will give me the name of his supplier. Then I won’t have to chase you. I’ll just let Dummy know you are ratting out all your friends.”
“That’s not funny, I’m trying to help you.”
The receiver went dead.
Mute fury burned as he climbed behind the wheel. He wished there was a way to destroy the cop. Maybe a slick frame-up… But there were more immediate things to consider. He checked the gas gauge. A fill-up was needed for the long drive. He had a couple of stops to make in Riverside and then south to an exclusive suburb of La Jolla.
15
__________
The night before, he’d called up Alfie to set up a meeting with the local Mex drug dealer. He told his friend he had a plan that would make him rich and eliminate the competition.
“You’re not going to kill the guy, are you?” Alfie asked. “That would be nuts.”
“No, calm your engine,” Stark responded. “This is strictly a business deal.”
Stark needed to get to the top guy in the Mex network, to see if they would be interested in his higher class shit. He had a plan that would put him in the driver’s seat and make him rich. The Mexican was waiting beside his rusty pickup truck. Nothing flashy that might attract attention. Every Mex drove one of these wanted to keep a low profile. The Chicanos with their souped-up low-riders were always eyed by the cops.
The pusher was huge, dark-skinned, his features Indian. Another big Mex was with him. The other guy looked like he was carrying heat. The bodyguard said nothing, his contempt for the two gringos apparent from the first moment. The dealer spoke only a few words, sprinkled frequently with obscenities. He was both surly and suspicious when he learned they were not buyers, but sellers.
Ten minutes later, the atmosphere had changed - not to friendliness, but to uncertainty. Stark gave him a liberal sample of the high grade heroin taken from the drainpipe in Momo’s flat a few hours earlier. Stark told him to show it to his boss and promised to deliver an unlimited supply at a price that was almost ridiculous. The offer was so good that the Mexican’s eyes widened in wonder. Later, Stark explained to Alfie that after the first delivery, they would start to jack up their prices. Stark was sure that greed would bring his boss forward for a meet. The fear would come from someone who wanted to buy, not someone who wanted to sell. The Mex would call Alfie to set up the meet with his boss.
It was early afternoon and heat waves shimmered above the asphalt when Stark drove slowly past the Aztec Travel Agency. It was in a long, one storey building, new and white, its front window showing colorful travel posters with the names of faraway places and Greyhound, TWA, BOAC, and others. He turned at the corner and circled through the alley at the rear, noting a back door to the agency. Beside it, in a parking slot, was a new Cadillac.
He parked in a lot half a block away and walked down the boulevard, stopping at the window as if to scrutinize the charts with rates for tours and their schedules. But he was really checking inside, where there were two employees — a kid and a dame, both in their twenties, clean cut, collegiate. They couldn’t be involved in the wholesaling of junk. They were busy at desks and did not look up. He loitered inconspicuously and finally was rewarded. From a door at the rear marked ‘Private,’ a middle-age woman appeared. She was dressed expensively, with neatly done gray hair and lots of gold jewelry. She talked to the two kids, picked up some papers, and went back to her office. It all looked legit. Maybe he’d made a mistake.
Stark turned away. He’d have to wait it out for the Man to arrive. Across the street was a coffee shop with a good view of the travel agency. He ordered a cuppa, grabbed a window seat and made himself comfortable. He started to worry, maybe Momo was giving up the name of his supplier. If so, cop cars would be swarming the place, soon enough.
After an hour of waiting, he had just about decided to brace the place when a familiar convertible pulled into the curb across the street. It was Dummy. He watched as the mute rushed inside. The door marked ‘Private’ opened. A few minutes later, Dummy came out, the old dame walking him to the door. Under his arm, he carried a small parcel. Stark could guess what was in the package. Momo told him he was a runner.
As soon as Dummy drove away, Stark left the table and crossed the street. Maybe the Man, himself, was still inside. Inside the travel agency, the air-conditioned coolness chilled him. The girl rose from her desk and came forward. She was tan and wholesome, with a zestful prettiness born of youth and health. She smiled, her teeth perfect.
“I’m planning a three-month vacation for me and my wife. Is the boss in? I’d like to get some ideas of costs and plan an itinerary.”
“Well, we have a number of travel brochures I can give you…”
“Nah, let me talk to your boss.”
“I’ll see if Mrs. Klein is available. Who should I say you are?”
“My name is Burdman.”
She left him to knock on the door of the inner office and went in.
He looked around while he waited. The young man was at a desk, writing diligently. Except for a glance, he had not paid any attention to him.
The agency was small, but it was a going business, not just a front. He had expected at least one shady character, or something undercover. If it hadn’t been for the visit from Dummy, he would have thought he was on the wrong track. The girl beckoned him, still smiling. “All right, Mr. Burdman. Mrs. Klein will see you now.”
The girl announced him, then faded inconspicuously out, as the woman came around her desk to offer her hand. She smiled, but Stark could see there was no warm
th as her cold eyes checked him out.
“Mr. Burdman, nice to meet you. Why don’t you sit down. I understand you and your wife are planning a long trip. How can I help you?”
Their hands met.
“I’m actually here to meet Mr. Klein. Is he around? I have some private business to discuss with him.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have a long wait, Mr. Burdman. You see, my husband passed away three years ago. I’ve been running the agency ever since.”
“A fellow I know advised me to come here — Momo Mendoza.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize the name.”
“You know him. He’s a very fat Hawaiian drug dealer. You couldn’t forget him. He’s probably the only Hawaiian dealer in California. You sold him some very good drugs lately.”
“I think you’ve made a mistake. I know no such person. We are a licensed travel agency and have been in business for fifteen years.”
“No deal, lady. I just saw your runner, my pal, Dummy, leave your place. That was no stack of travel brochures he was carrying under his arm.”
“Do you mean Mr. Floyd? He is a messenger for our best clients. He usually hand delivers airplane tickets and reservations to our good customers. There’s nothing illegal here. Who are you, the police? Show me your I.D.”
“Let’s stop kidding each other. I came here to do you a favor. That is, if Momo is not spilling his guts to the cops as we talk. They picked him up a couple of hours ago. Momo and I are partners. He told me you are his connection — except he called you the Man.”
“If you don’t leave immediately, I will call the police. I know a shakedown when I see it. And I know an ex-convict when I meet one. The cops will be happy to take you in on my complaint.”
“Now, let’s not get too hasty. I came to do you a favor. A big favor. I happen to know that your biggest competitor, the Mexican network, will soon be out of business. With the high quality of dope you have, we can take their place. They dealt mostly with Mexicans, but my partner, Momo, can take over that action. I have connections that are ready to fall into place.”
“Who else knows you’ve come here?” she asked, a bit more interested. “Who told you about me?”
“My partner, Momo, but he kept calling you the Man. I guess he wanted to throw me off.”
“This Momo character says he’s met me?”
“Of course.”
Mrs. Klein laughed. “No dealer has ever met me. Except one guy, and Mr. Floyd, the man you call Dummy, took care of that problem. How do I know you’re not a cop? How do I know that everything you have told me is not a lie?”
“Ask Dummy if he doesn’t know me. We go back to our shared time, courtesy of the State. We’re pals. He can vouch for me.”
“Did he tell you about me?”
“Not likely. They don’t call him Dummy because he can’t talk. They call him that because he won’t talk.”
“So how did you find me?”
“Dummy should not carry around your travel agency matches. That, and the fact that Momo knew the connection was in La Jolla. I just added the two pieces of info together. Dummy’s visit today cinched things.”
“Who else knows about me?”
“Well, I’m going to have to tell my partner, Momo, but he won’t talk. He’d be afraid of Dummy.”
“How do I know I can trust you? Why should I?”
“You’ll need me. We need each other. There’s millions lying out there for the taking.”
“Give me twenty-four hours to think about this. I’m not sure I can handle the supply for a big expansion of the business. I’m not sure I want to. I do all right as it is.”
“If we don’t move in now, someone else will, and they won’t want your competition. It’s now or never.”
“Let me think about it. Give me a number where I can reach you. I have to see if I can or want to take this on. In the meantime, forget you have ever been here. And don’t tell anyone. Not if you want to live.”
“I don’t have a phone number for you, but Dummy knows how to find me. Or Momo. If I don’t hear from you in twenty-four hours, a certain narcotics detective will be hearing about our meeting.”
“No need to threaten me. You have no proof. Even now. Don’t cross me, or you’ll hear a different tune from Mr. Floyd. Am I making myself clear?”
“Now, let’s try to be nice, here. Neither of us wants to go to prison — not while we’re about to begin a very profitable relationship. I’ll await your call.”
Mrs. Klein shook his outstretched hand. A good sign that a deal was in the making. He couldn’t wait to tell Momo that the Man was a woman. What a kick.
“You can find your way out, I suppose, Mr. Burdman? That’s not your real name, is it? If we are going to be partners, I should know your real name. What is it?”
“Just call me Stark. That will do.”
“Good day, Mr. Stark. You’ll hear from me.”
Stark left the agency, walked down the block. The street was on fire. Going from the refrigerator of the agency to an oven outside was like being hit over the head by a hammer. He found a phone booth and rang Momo’s joint. He should be out of the slammer by now.
The phone rang and rang. There was no answer. Momo couldn’t still be in jail. He couldn’t have given up his connection to Crowley. He didn’t know it was a woman. Could the cop be sweating him out, like he did Stark? He’d call again when he got to Oceanview.
As he drove home, he wondered if he had taken the right approach. This Mrs. Klein was no rube. In fact, she was dangerous. The wrong move and she’d have him in the slammer, or dead. He wouldn’t be able to con her. He had to figure out a way to get his network up and running as soon as she gave him a green light. How was he going to do this? And how was he going to break the news to Momo - especially about Dorie? He would have to get rid of the dame. He needed Momo more. She’d survive.
16
__________
The last red light of day was on Oceanview as Stark entered the Panama Club. The action was slow at that hour. The two bartenders, already on duty, were stocking their wares and mixes. The ‘B’ girls sat in a gaudy row on the stools, three magpies, chewing gum and chattering. A handful of customers were at the bar. The jukebox was temporarily silent.
“You’re on the scene early, honey,” one of the girls commented.
“Might catch a live one, pretty. The early bird catches the worm.” Stark started toward a vacant stool at the rear. Then he stopped. “Elaine, you seen Momo?” The girl looked back to Stark. She noted his haggard appearance and misjudged its origin. “No, baby. I don’t think he’s been in all day. Some other people were askin’ for him, earlier. They didn’t look good. Jess made them leave.”
He nodded. “Thanks. I just wanted to see him. Buy him a drink.” He went to the stool, thinking; Crowley had fulfilled his mission, but where was Momo? Stark would have to telephone the cop to find out what was happening. He needed Momo for their new expansion, but the cop wouldn’t rest until he had someone in the bag. How to keep out of jail and make the deal work - right under his nose? Now that would be his biggest con - if he could get away with it. He’d need to throw him someone. Soon.
The bartender appeared, also commenting on his early arrival. He shrugged and forced himself to be garrulous.
“Nothing else is happening. I thought I might come in and hook up with one of the girls early before she gets busy. I might even spend some money with her.” He winked meaningfully, and the bartender laughed.
“Got one of them in mind?”
“It’s all the same, ain’t it. Looks the same in the dark.”
“You ought to try out that new little Oriental. I went out with her a couple of nights ago. She’s got it good.”
“I might just do that. I was looking her over last night. Gimme a double shot of Harper’s. Get yourself a drink, too.” He brought out a thick wad of green. “I’m loaded.”
One thing Crowley might go for would be to pull
down the whole Mexican network. Alfie, at their meet in Santa Ana, had given him the name of the Mex who delivered in this area. Probably an illegal. Once Crowley got the guy, he could sweat him with deportation. That might keep him busy and give him and Momo a chance to move in.
He went to the phone outside the men’s room and called Momo’s number. “Hello?”
Shit, it was Dorie.
“What the fuck are you doing in Momo’s pad? I told you to stay low. You’re going to queer my deal with Momo. Are you nuts?”
“I couldn’t stay at your place. About an hour ago the phone rang. I answered it, but no one said anything. Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang again. I thought it was you and told you to fuck off. It wasn’t you that called, was it?”
“No, I didn’t call. Somebody must be playing games.” Could Klein have made up her mind so soon?
“Well, it creeped me out. I came back to Momo’s place, but he’s not here. I suppose he’s with you at the club.”
“No, he ain’t here. Where the fuck can he be? He’s got customers looking for him here, too. You might as well stay where you are. Momo don’t have to know where you slept last night. Give him some bullshit story. You’re good at that. I told him you were out cooling off and might come back. I’ll call you back soon as he shows up.”
He hung up and then dialed Crowley’s number.
“Let me speak to Lieutenant Crowley.” “He’s out of the office. Who’s calling?”
“The name’s Stark.”
“He left word that he needed to speak to you urgently. Please leave your number, and he’ll call you as soon as he gets in.”
“I’m not leaving any number. I’ll call you back in an hour.”
Over a double shot of bourbon, Stark thought of how all the pieces were falling into place. He would get rid of the Mex network with just one call to a forever grateful Crowley. He called Momo’s apartment again, but Dorie said he still hadn’t shown. She sounded scared. He was at a point of emotional saturation. So much treachery in so little time had exhausted his capacity for stimulation. He did not feel tension as he glanced at his watch. He just wondered if Momo was okay.
Stark: A Novel Page 11
