Boulevard

by Bill Guttentag

  She got up and they started towards Highland, when Tulip stopped.

  “Hey—where’s Paul? I could definitely use a mega-dose of the Saint right now.”

  Casey felt it in her stomach. “He get married and leave us all behind? “ Tulip continued.

  “Nah, “ Casey said. “He’s got some old rich dude hot for him and he’s riding it for all it’s worth.”

  “When you see him—tell him we need his cute ass back here—”

  Tulip then saw whipping around a corner, and flying to a stop at the end of the block, three cruisers. A pack of cops jumped out and before anyone knew what was happening, they grabbed a couple of the skinheads and two or three others. Fuck! Casey could see more cop cars farther down the Boulevard, all doing the same thing. This was it!

  “Shit!” Tulip yelled. Dragon froze. Casey turned around towards La Brea—and coming down the Boulevard from the other direction were two more cruisers. Tulip scrambled over the wall and sprinted into the parking behind the Chinese. Casey and Dragon followed, and the three girls raced through a line of parked cars. Casey looked back and saw a cruiser had jerked to a stop by the wall, and two cops were coming over it after them.

  As she ran, Casey felt a panic like she never had before. The other kids might get popped for being runaways or doing dates—big deal—what they wanted her for was a million times worse. She kept running, but then she realized it was crazy—how could they ever outrun the cops?—the parking lot was only so big, and in seconds they’d be back in the open on a street. Then she saw it. A cool old Impala convertible that someone was stupid enough to park with the top down.

  “Here!” Casey called to Dragon and Tulip. She dived over the Impala’s door, into the back seat, and the other girls followed. Casey and Dragon were huddled together, tight and low on the right side of the bump, and Tulip was on the left. Casey’s heart was pounding and she was so close to Dragon that her arm could feel Dragon’s chest going up and down as she tried to catch her breath. They heard a girl cop yelling to her partner.

  “It was this row, Manny?”

  “Yeah, “ her partner replied. A guy with a Mexican accent. “I saw them. Definitely.”

  Casey’s heart was racing so loudly you could hear it for a mile. She wanted to lift her head up to see. But didn’t. She could hear the soft crunching of boots on gravel as the girl cop walked down the row of cars. Her boots were moving slowly … very slowly, and every footstep sent a jolt through Casey. She thought, one minute you’re sitting on the wall chilling with your friends, and five minutes later, they got you. Forever. The steps were getting closer. She could now see the cop—she was in her twenties, intense, with black hair in a tight braid tucked under her hat. She slowly moved through the row of cars, towards them. Casey held her breath and kept saying to herself, keep going … keep going … And she did. But then, she stopped. Right at the hood of the Impala. The cop stood only a few feet away, her walkie-talkie was squawking away. Casey looked over at Dragon and Tulip. They were all holding their breath. Dead quiet … All the cop had to do was turn her head and they were busted. Her hand resting on top of her gun, she started to turn around … Shit. Run for it? Now? A second later, Casey heard the sound of someone running in the distance—and the cop took off. Casey lifted her head to see it was a skinhead. The cop’s partner caught him and was cuffing him. The girl cop was helping out. Casey leaned her forehead into the back seat of the Impala, her heart pounding, body trembling.

  34

  Jimmy

  In the large central room of the police station, a dozen cops at gunmetal desks all had kids sitting in chairs beside their desks. In the interview rooms down the hall, half a dozen more cops had kids with them. Jimmy, in charge of it all, was in the big room, across from June Bug who was sitting on her hands, squirming on the chair. On the desk in front of her was a picture of Lodge.

  “Where were you Monday night?” Jimmy asked.

  “You expect me to remember that far back?”

  “It was three days ago.”

  “That’s what I mean,” June Bug said.

  “Just try.”

  “The street. I was on the street. How’s that?”

  “It’s a start. Now what were you doing on the street?”

  She gave Jimmy a look of total boredom and looked across the room at Dog-Face, who was seething as he sat on a bench waiting his turn. At the other end of the room was the mayor’s guy Miller, watching over everything. Jimmy turned back to June Bug.

  “Okay,” Jimmy said, “let’s try this again. It’s the day Mark Lodge was killed. Where are you?”

  “Know something? I’ll save you a lot of time—I killed him.”

  “You did, huh?”

  “The jerk deserved it,” June Bug said.

  “Why are you saying he’s a jerk? You knew him?”

  “All these guys are jerks. I know them all.”

  “You giving it to me straight up? About knowing him?”

  “I told you. I know all these guys.”

  “That’s not what I asked. How about answering my question?”

  “Or what?—You’re gonna tell my parents?”

  “Where are your parents?” Jimmy said.

  “Can’t remember.”

  “You don’t think I can find out?”

  “In Tucson.”

  “They know you’re here?”

  “They know I ain’t home.”

  “What do they do in Tucson?”

  “My dad’s an artist. My mom … my mom … she’s just fucked up.”

  “But if they were ever hurt, you’d want to find out who did it, right?”

  “Suppose.”

  “Well this guy wasn’t a john, or a jerk. He had a wife. A baby. Help me out here …”

  “I seen him around,” June Bug said.

  “Around?”

  “He was one more guy I seen talking to kids on the Boulevard.”

  “Who—which kids?”

  “Can’t remember.”

  “When did you see him?”

  “Dunno. A month ago?”

  “Ever see him pick up kids?”

  “For dates?”

  “For anything?” Jimmy said.

  “Nah.”

  “Sure?”

  “Sure I’m sure. Why would I cover for a jerk like that?”

  Across the room, Erin had Dream and was asking the same questions. Erin looked nervous. Dream was probably giving her the same garbage, and he knew she felt responsible for the slow going. It was Erin’s idea to pull everyone together and do the raid. Jimmy told her if it got them something, anything—great—but if it didn’t, it was all part of the investigation. Still, she desperately wanted some leads to come out of this. But after a couple of hours, none of the cops had walked up to Jimmy, put an arm on his shoulder and said, ‘come over here, I got someone you should talk to.’ And Jimmy had his private disappointment. When Charles approved the raid, Jimmy had secretly hoped Rancher would get caught in the net. No such luck.

  Jimmy caught Erin’s eye and gave her a subtle shrug that said, ‘don’t worry about it’. He selected Dog-Face as his victim. He knew the kid by sight, but had never spoken to him. Then he knew why.

  “You think you got the right to bust anyone you fucking want, and then fuck with them any way you want!,” Dog-Face snapped.

  “You finished?” Jimmy said.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Hey. Enough about me. Let’s talk about you. What were you doing when the mayor’s buddy was killed?”

  “What are you saying, man?”

  “I’m not sayin’ anything. I’m asking. What were you doing Monday night?”

  “I was fucking your old lady.”

  He nearly screamed it. Everyone, cops and kids alike, turned to them. The room went strangely silent for a second.

  Jimmy sucked in his breath then leaned into the kid and in a harsh whisper said, “You know something. You’re a piece of shit. I know it. Everyone in this r
oom knows it, and deep inside, you probably know it, too. And pieces of shit like you don’t deserve to breathe the same air as I do. Your ass belongs in jail. And unless I start seeing a little change here, I’m gonna put you there. And I’m not gonna break a sweat doing it. So consider this your get-out-of-jail card, asshole …” Jimmy then lost his whisper and spoke to him in his usual voice—“Now, what were you doing Monday night?”

  “Actually, I kinda do remember … I wasn’t fucking your old lady after all … I was watching her suck off a crackhead!” The kid sprang up, kicked over his chair and snapped, “I’m outta here!”

  That’s what he thought. Dog-Face’s right wrist was now handcuffed to the leg of a bench in the far corner of the room where he sat on the floor rhythmically banging the cuff back and forth. But having sufficiently annoyed everyone, he finally stopped. He sprawled out on the floor and shut his eyes. Across the room, Jimmy took Casper, the little skinhead, to his desk. Where was Charles’ Chinese stress ball when he needed it?

  35

  Nothing was coming his way. Jimmy had been at it all day and into the night. He had talked to nine or ten street kids himself, not to mention how many Erin and the rest of the guys had interviewed. The room was now cleared of kids except for the one asshole still cuffed to the bench and passed out asleep on the floor. And for all the back and forth, cajoling, threatening and sweet-talking that went down, they had little to show for it. Jimmy leaned back in his chair, his legs up on the desk and looked across at Erin who was entering her report. She was the last cop left. He knew she felt bad, but it wasn’t her fault. It was still a good idea—the hardest core thugs, not to mention the nervous first-timers—they all need to talk. If it wasn’t for that, police work would be a thousand times harder than it was already.

  Jimmy started to walk over to Erin, when coming towards him was Charles, along with the mayor’s guy, Miller.

  “How you doing?” Charles said.

  “We’re doing.”

  “What do you have?” Miller asked.

  “We got him I.D.’d on the Boulevard by three kids before he was murdered. Any ideas what he might be doing up there?”

  “Ideas?”

  “Yeah. Hollywood Boulevard isn’t exactly the Bel Air Country Club.”

  “You’re not serious?”

  “I am.”

  “Mark Lodge was on the West Hollywood Redevelopment Commission. Don’t you read the newspaper?”

  “I’ve been busy.” Fuck, Jimmy thought.

  “This is pathetic,” Miller said, “The one piece of information you have—the million people who read the LA Times already know. What are you doing?”

  “I got the same question for you. What exactly are you doing here?” Jimmy said.

  “I’m trying like hell to get this case solved.”

  “You’re doing a great job.”

  “Jimmy, take it easy,” Charles said, bringing some calm back. “Just let us know what you’re coming up with.”

  “We’re pretty sure the perp’s a female. A lefty. We’re getting a piece here. Bit there. Little things. But little things add up. You know that …” It was bullshit. All the little things they had added up to next to squat. “But we keep going like this, all the pieces will come together and we’ll get the killer.”

  Across the room Erin quietly got up to leave. She offered Jimmy a sympathetic glance and rounded the corner out of sight.

  “I hate to say this,” Charles said, “but we’re just—”

  “I know, not moving fast enough for the mayor,” Jimmy said.

  “Jimmy, maybe, you know, we should get someone else to straighten this thing out. We gotta get this one taken care of. Know what I mean?”

  “Cap’, we’re moving. We got a perp in lock-up whose prints match the knife? No. Are we getting closer?—absolutely.”

  “The mayor is anything but happy with the speed this is running,” Miller said. “Every morning and every night, without fail, I get a call from him wanting to know what’s going on, and why the hell it’s taking so long.”

  “Jimmy, we gotta break this one. You know how it is. So—”

  Jimmy slowly exhaled. The time had come. He looked right at Charles. “Look, I got something else. Yeah, we’ve been doing all the regular stuff. Street interviews, forensics, informants … but on top of that, I still got my top ace to play.”

  “Which is?” Charles said.

  “I can’t say.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t say?”

  “I can. But only to you.”

  “What is this?” Miller said.

  “Sorry,” Jimmy said.

  “Jimmy,” Charles said, “this man represents the mayor. The guy who signs all our checks. Let’s hear it, man.”

  Speaking very softly, Jimmy said, “We got someone inside. An undercover cop working it too.”

  “How inside?” Charles asked.

  “Completely inside. If the street kids give up anything up at all, we’ve got the perp nailed.”

  “He coming up with anything?”

  “It’s deep cover. I’m waiting for the heat on the street to come down before I risk making contact.”

  “You feel good about this cop?”

  “This is as inside as it gets.”

  Charles nodded. He got it.

  36

  Casey

  The girls sailed through the long aisles of a Rite-Aid on Fairfax, with none of the security guards saying anything. Either they somehow looked respectable, or the guards were too lazy to follow them around.

  “I can’t believe how close that cop was!” Dragon said, “if she had looked an inch more—an inch—that would’ve been it.”

  “It was great,” Tulip said. But she said it weakly. Casey knew she was down.

  They stopped at the makeup counter. Tulip took one of the testers, leaned into a mirror, and smeared some Revlon stuff over her bruise.

  “You can still see it, right?” she asked.

  “A little,” Dragon answered.

  Tulip applied another layer and finally got it covered. As she put on the makeup, she looked carefully at her face in the mirror. When she finished, she kept staring at her reflection.

  “You alright?” Dragon said.

  Tulip looked away … but a moment later she turned back and leaned in closer.

  “I look in here and know what I see? … My mom.”

  “Your mom?”

  “Yeah … she was a receptionist for some big surgeon in Fort Lauderdale and then married this gym manager fucker who became my stepfather, who messed with me. My mom caught him, and for one time in the whole history of the whole fucking world, the guy went to jail for it. But two weeks after he went in, the other guys in there stabbed him, ’cause that’s what they do to child abusers in prison, and he bled to death. My mom couldn’t keep it together after that. A couple of months later, I go into her bedroom and she’s holding a gun in her mouth. I begged her not to do it. I cry, I scream, I beg—but she says, ‘I’m sorry darlin,’ and pulls the trigger … Now, every time I look in a mirror, I wonder if I’m cracking up like she did?”

  Casey kissed her on the cheek. “You’re not. You know you’re not. You’re the greatest.”

  Back on the Boulevard. Back at the wall. Tulip and Dragon were sharing a Big Gulp cup of Mountain Dew. The kids who the cops had picked up were coming back. No one seemed too bothered. “Hey!”

  The scream came from the parking lot behind them. The girls turned and saw Rancher and Mary.

  Casey had never ever seen Mary so whacked out.

  “Can I have a sip?” Mary asked softly.

  Tulip passed her the Mountain Dew.

  “What happened with the modeling thing?” Casey said.

  “Wasn’t a fashion shoot at all, but just some sleaze who wanted to take pictures of me with nothing on.”

  “You do it?”

  “I shouldn’t have. But, you know …”

  “Fucked up,” Rancher said
. “All fucked up. Rock’s all gone. And now we got nothing.”

  “Wouldn’t say that,” Tulip said, “Least you’re out here. Half the kids on the Boulevard ain’t, thanks to—”

  “My dad? Give me fucked-up dads for two hundred, Alex.”

  “Your dad?” Dragon said.

  “Oh yeah. Big fucking detective. His number one gig—making life suck for us.”

  Mary looked like she was going to cry. Tulip put her arm around her and said, “Let’s get some pancakes or something.”

  While they went to Joey’s, Casey headed for the Koreans. At the cash register was the boy, and like always, his head was buried in a math book. He was majorly shy, but nice looking. The boy’s mother called over to Casey, “Apple, you want apple?”

  “I have money, “Casey said.

  “You take apple. Free,” she said. The lady then spoke in Korean to her son, starting with ‘Chan June’—that had to be his name. He got her a Fuji and went to wash it off. He didn’t look at Casey, but she sensed something. Casey looked at him and thought, what if? What if a miracle happened and somehow they could go down to the beach together? They could body surf in the big waves, and then they’d come out and he could read his books. She could curl up next to him. She would read something, too—back home she used to read all the time. The sun would be beating down on them. It would get too hot and they’d take another swim. Ride the waves some more. And once they got cold, they’d come out, get warmed up under one big towel, and watch the sun go down over the water.

  He handed Casey the apple.

  “Thanks.” She smiled at him.

  He shyly looked down. “You’re welcome,” he said, barely loud enough for her to hear … but then he lifted his head and smiled back. Progress.

  But as fast as it happened, he turned back to the cash register to ring up a security guard. Casey went out into the street. It was getting colder. She glanced back at the market. The boy, brightly bathed under the store lights, was weighing the salad of a kid with dark blond dreads and an electric guitar case strapped on his back. After he bagged the salad he went back to his book. Casey thought, she’d give anything to be in his place. He’d go to college. After that, maybe he’d go to law school, or maybe become a doctor. Definitely a doctor. And what was she?—a fucked-up whore on the Boulevard.