Boulevard

by Bill Guttentag

  He put his arm on her shoulder. She screamed, “Get away! Get away from me!!”

  Jimmy let go. She raced across the street.

  Jimmy slowly walked back, wondering where and how it all went wrong—he tried so hard to do everything right. He slipped inside the car, and for a moment, silently stared ahead, down the lights of the Boulevard. He turned to Erin. “I’ve been doing this job for eighteen years and I’m still naïve enough, stupid enough, or crazy enough to think cops help people. But the truth is—I can’t even help my own family.”

  40

  Casey

  Casey was back on the Boulevard with Dragon, Jumper and the others. The walking back and forth drove her crazy. Stores where they couldn’t afford to buy anything, restaurants where they couldn’t eat, hotels where they’d never stay. What was the point? But what else were they supposed to do? So they walked. Coming towards them, taking fast bites from a glazed donut, was Dog-Face.

  “Doggie,” Jumper yelled, “they keep you in there all night?”

  “Assholes,” Dog-Face said.

  “That’s big news.”

  “Fuckin’ assholes.”

  “Cops gave you some fine food though—” As he said it, Jumper snatched away what was left of Dog-Face’s doughnut.

  “Fuck you, Jump, this is serious, man. They’re fuckin’ obsessed with getting the dude who greased the mayor’s buddy. And they got someone on the street.”

  Dream laughed. “They got lots of guys on the street, you dumb fuck.”

  “No, bitch. Undercover.”

  “Come on,” Tulip said.

  “No, come on. I was there,” Dog-Face said.

  “What—they told you?” Dragon said.

  “I was lying on the floor all handcuffed and they forgot me—thought I was asleep. Yo, this is super-fucked. Someone’s out here spying on us.”

  “Hiding in our closet?” June Bug said, “They’d be pretty bored.”

  “No. On the street.”

  “Actually,” Jumper said, “I know that already.”

  “You do?” Dog-Face said.

  “Sure.”

  They all looked at him.

  “Sure. ’Cause that person’s me.”

  Jumper got the smiles he wanted.

  “No, man,” Dog-Face said. “This is serious”

  “So am I.”

  “Asshole, this is real.”

  “Doggie, that’s bullshit. Cop shit,” Jumper said. “Let’s go to Joey’s.”

  Casey looked around. Everyone was enjoying the show. Not her.

  She suddenly felt sick, like when she was a little girl and had a bad fever, and every muscle, every bone, her head, her skin, and her stomach—all felt sore.

  They kept walking. But Dog-Face held still.

  “Hey, man,” Dog-Face said, “How do I know it’s not you, Jump?”

  “It is.”

  “No, really.”

  “Dog, if it was me—I would’ve turned your sorry ass in a long time ago. Let’s eat.”

  41

  Jimmy

  Jimmy stood in line at Kinko’s Copies. He couldn’t believe there even was a line. One-thirty in the morning, and the rest of America was sleeping, but in Kinko’s on Sunset it might as well have been noon. Two guys in their late-twenties were buzzing with energy as they went back and forth over what color their screenplay cover should be. A rock band complete with the big hair, circa mid-80’s, dressed entirely in leather, and with spiked wristbands was picking up a two-foot high pile of posters announcing a gig. And of course, there were the knock-your-socks-off stunning girls in the self-service area, Xeroxing resumes and stapling them to the back of their headshots. The pictures all had the same basic look. Glossy eight-by-ten black and whites of fresh-faced girls from places like Wisconsin or Texas with pearly white teeth, a lot of them wearing tank tops, and nearly all with long hair, laying over their shoulders. Everywhere Jimmy went in LA he saw them—from the breakfast joints at the Farmers’ Market to the corner dry cleaners. There were so goddamn many girls, most of whom could stop traffic in their home towns, and every day the Hollywood pond was restocked. How do you break out of the pack. With talent? Good luck. It was a crap shoot all the way, and the woods were full of assholes who were ready and eager to prey on girls who didn’t know shit, but had the killer looks. Girls like Dani, chasing the dream, but at this second, was swinging naked around a pole at the SR Club. Sometimes the girls gave up and went home—they were lucky. Others got lucky by checking out of this bullshit, like he wished Dani would, and instead they managed restaurants, became teachers, went back to college. The unlucky girls just descended lower and lower, and in Hollywood that was the porno world. They would be barely out of high-school and banging for the camera one guy after another. Ask them about AIDS, and they’d say, everyone has to be tested. Great. One test, six months ago, and after that they were free to get it and spread it. Was it really worth it? Fucking whoever they told you, and every time you did, playing Russian Roulette?

  A girl to the side of the cash registers was attaching her headshots to a pile of resumes. Jimmy could see her top credit was playing Marion in The Music Man in Redding—wherever that was—California. The girl was in her early-twenties, model-tall, with long strawberry-blonde hair. Their eyes met for a moment and she smiled at him. She was beautiful. Jimmy smiled back, and hoped he would never have to deal with her as a victim, the way he had with so many cuties, so many times before.

  When he got to the counter, a friendly girl with a pink and blue Mohawk and an English accent ran his order. He walked out of Kinko’s with fifty green sheets.

  The first place he went was the corner of Hollywood and Vine. A few months ago, Jimmy took one of his nephews from Brooklyn around, and this was one of the places he wanted to see. Allegedly it was famous, but when they got here the kid said, ‘this is it?’ There was a star for the astronauts who first walked on the moon, but the rest was nothing, just some seedy, forgettable stores.

  Near the corner was a tattoo parlor. Its lights were still glowing, and Jimmy could see a buff woman in a tank top with plenty of tatts herself, inking Chinese characters onto a guy’s shoulder. On a light pole in front of the place, Jimmy taped the first poster. On it, was a picture of a big, friendly Akita. Below the photo was printed, “Lost Dog. Carrie. Reward if found” and a phone number. For the next hour, Jimmy went down the Boulevard, every couple of blocks, putting up another green poster.

  42

  His car was parked on the fourth level of the Beverly Center lot. The oldies station was playing as usual, and some girl whose name he forgot or never knew was singing Save the Last Dance for Me. Jimmy opened a Fatburger bag he picked up on the way over and looked across the parking lot to see families laden with shopping bags coming down the escalators that ran up the outside of the enormous mall. They’d get off, the parents talking, the kids fooling around, and go to their minivans. Lots of happy families. Shopping together, hanging out together. Fuck. It didn’t seem so hard for them—what was the matter with him? He thought about Shannon and when they met. Pretty, with long curly red hair. She was a first–year law student at Fordham and was observing in a courtroom where Jimmy was testifying. The first night they went out, he knew—they both knew—this was the real thing.

  Her father was crazy, a con man who had done time, and when he wasn’t screwing up other people’s lives, he was wreaking havoc on his own family. Shannon got as far away from him as she could, becoming a lawyer, marrying a cop. He was moving up fast in the NYPD, and she was an assistant DA in the Bronx. They had a son, Liam, and for a while they were happy too. Liam was a great kid in every way. His favorite book was Pecos Bill. Jimmy must have read it to him a hundred times. One night, as Shannon sat on the edge of the bed folding laundry, and Jimmy read to him, Liam turned to Jimmy in the middle of the story and in his high voice said, “I don’t want to live in New York anymore, I want to go and be a rancher.” The name stuck, and from then on he was probably
the only Rancher in the Five Boroughs.

  They took trips together: New Hampshire to see the leaves change, Disney World for Rancher’s seventh birthday, and Ireland for ten days. But after Jimmy’s shooting and the shitstorm that followed, things began to fall apart. He kept playing the shooting over and over in his head, seeing it every night in his dreams. He and Shannon were hardly talking. He was going to choir practice. Far more than he should. Shannon told him to see a shrink. He had zero interest; choir practice was working just fine. He was pissed that she couldn’t understand what he was going through, the way the guys at the bar could. Then one time he took a skater from Disney on Ice, who somehow ended up in their bar, back to her hotel room. He didn’t fuck her, but he came close. He told himself that other guys would be proud they didn’t go through with it. But Jimmy felt like shit that he went as far as he did.

  When they moved to LA, things were better for a bit, but then it was the same. Shannon was once the love of his life, and now they fought all the time. More and more, on the nights they were all home together, he would read to Rancher in his room and once Rancher fell asleep, Jimmy would fall asleep beside him. Half the time it was because he was wiped out from work, but the other half it was because it was a lot easier sleeping next to sweet Rancher than arguing with Shannon. She was miserable, he was miserable. What was the point? After the divorce they shared custody of Rancher. A year later, she married a lawyer, which is what she should have done in the first place. Jimmy would stop by her new house in Encino whenever he knew something about Rancher. Usually he didn’t have much to say, and it was tough having the conversation with a picture of a beautiful nine-year-old Rancher snuggling with Shannon in a Dublin café, looking down on them from the wall. It was a big house, nice furniture, nice yard, nice husband. They had a whip-smart two-year-old boy, who Shannon worshiped. She loved Rancher, of course, and would do anything for him, but it was clear to Jimmy, her goal in life was not to fuck it up with her new son like they had done with Rancher. Sometimes it pissed him off, but most of the time, he understood.

  The passenger door opened. Jimmy turned his head to the side. Slipping in the car, was Dragon.

  “You the guy with the lost dog?”

  “You got him?”

  “I wish. He’s cute. Is he yours?”

  “My next door neighbor’s. Good to see you, Robin.”

  “That’s Dragon, now.” She had the street kid look down. Jimmy would defy anyone to make her as a cop.

  “Must be doing something right to get a street name like that. You doing okay?”

  “Yeah. Basically.”

  “You’re looking kinda thin. You eating enough?”

  “Sure.”

  “Yeah?”

  He passed her a bag from Fatburger holding two cheeseburgers, two bags of fries, and a huge shake. “This is for you.”

  “Thanks.” She tore right in.

  “When I was doing this, it was with wise guys in Brooklyn. They may have been murdering scum, but you never went hungry.”

  “I wish.”

  He looked at her. She was too thin. Dirty. Tired.

  “Now, how you really doing?” he said.

  “Good.”

  “Hey, just you and me here,” Jimmy said.

  “Sometimes it’s hard to keep up the act.”

  “Sure. It’s a rough goddamn assignment. You gotta give a performance worth an Oscar and I send you out there with what?—an hour’s advance warning?

  “But I wanted it. I still want it.”

  “You all the way in?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Good girl.”

  “But one thing’s bad—they know there’s an undercover on the street.”

  “You’re kidding. How?”

  “A kid overheard something—Dog-Face.”

  Fuck! Jimmy thought. The asshole on the floor.

  “We gotta take you out.”

  “I can’t. Not yet.”

  “It’s too risky not to.”

  “Jimmy, please. I can’t.”

  “You’re on the force what, three months?

  “Four.”

  “Okay, four. Listen to me, you’ll get other whacks at this stuff—.”

  “But not like this.”

  “Robin, sweetie, hear me out. When you were still playing with Barbie, I was doing the same thing you’re doing. And one thing I learned from my boss, and hopefully you’ll learn from me, is there comes a time when every deep-cover has to come out.”

  “The kids know there’s a cop. Sure. But they don’t know it’s me. This isn’t the subtle crowd. If they had made me, I’d know by now.”

  “And when they do know it’s you, you know what’s going to happen, right? You’ll be lucky to get outta there alive.”

  “But they haven’t made me. And they’re not going to.”

  “No guarantees on that.”

  “I got too much going to quit now.”

  Their eyes met. If something happened to her, Jimmy would never forgive himself. On the other hand, she was good, she was crucial to the investigation, and she was also right—if they had made her, she would’ve known it in two seconds.

  “Okay,” Jimmy said. “But, the barest, tiniest hint of them making you—someone even looks at you the wrong way—and you gotta get outta there as fast as your legs will go. Deal?”

  “Deal. Thanks.”

  “What do you got?” he said.

  “I got a kid who’s been telling me about someone on the Boulevard who I’m pretty sure is Lodge.”

  “That’s good.”

  “With chicken meat.”

  “Boys or girls?”

  “Boys.”

  “Naturally. What else?”

  “Not much. But kids are starting to open up. I got that kid, Dog-Face bragging about a murder.”

  “No shit. Who’d he kill?”

  “A bouncer at the X Club, who was also dealing.”

  “Nice. I remember that one, we had nothing. Good work. We break this case, we’ll move onto that.”

  “Look, I know things are coming way too slowly. But they really are coming.”

  Jimmy knew it was true. But he also knew, unless he got somewhere soon, they would pull him off. This was a career-making case—you don’t get too many of them—and if he was replaced, it would be a huge blow to any chances he had for moving up.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “We got a waiter at the Chateau who has a girl in the room with Lodge, the night he got whacked. She was wearing two earrings in each ear. Long brown hair, cute.”

  Robin smiled.

  “I know it’s not exactly look for the six-foot-five Samoan with Bugs Bunny tattooed above his wrist. And one other thing, our stud coroner’s got the perp as a southpaw.”

  “That’s something,” she said.

  “Who gave you Lodge with chicken meat?”

  “A girl named Casey. I was with her the night you popped the teacher.”

  “Oh yeah. Nice acting. Very convincing.”

  “What happened to the perp?”

  “Out the next morning. Scum’s probably back teaching. This girl, she have a street name?”

  “No. Just Casey.”

  “What’s the deal with her?” Jimmy said.

  “She’s okay. Sweet.”

  “They all are. Till they stick a knife in your heart.”

  “I guess. She was tight with a kid named Saint Paul. Know him?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “He doesn’t seem to be around anymore. I’m sitting on her. She’s opening up.”

  “Better get me something soon. The mayor’s crawling all over his pal. The pal is crawling all over the chief. The chief’s is crawling all over the captain, who’s crawling all over guess who?”

  “And you’re crawling all over me.”

  “Of course. Gotta get me something, sweetie.”

  “I will. Soon. I promise. Can you give me a couple of bucks?”

  “I like th
e way you say that. You’re good.”

  “I’m supposed to be hitting up the tourists. Can’t go back to the squat with nothing.”

  Jimmy took out all the coins he had, then opened his wallet and gave her a twenty and a small wad of singles. She passed back the twenty.

  “It’s too much.”

  “Take it. Tell them it’s from some French tourist who didn’t know any better.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Be careful, huh … Really careful.”

  She nodded and swung the car door open.

  “Wait,” Jimmy said. “I got something else … you ever met up with a kid named Rancher?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her eyes lowered. She knew, Jimmy thought. It was the worst kept secret in Hollywood.

  “I’m sorry,” Robin said. “It must be hard.”

  “It ain’t easy. Next time you see him, let me know right away. Okay?”

  43

  When Jimmy came home his bathroom looked like the health club steam room. Dani was in the bath and running a natural sponge hard over her body.

  “Scrub my back, baby?”

  He took the sponge and ran it across her skin. The soap foamed up in small bubbles, leaving a milky film.

  “Little harder.”

  He went back across. He knew what was going on. She was purging the creeps from the club: their grubby hands, the money they rammed into her G-string, the awful things they said to her. No matter how late it was, and how tired she was, every night when she came home Dani scrubbed and scrubbed, till the coating of dirt flowed down the drain.

  “I called Santa Monica College for you,” Jimmy said, gliding the sponge in an arc across her back.

  “You did?”

  “They got a teacher education program that starts next week. You missed the regular registration, but I spoke to the assistant director of the thing, and she said they still got a couple of places open. If you go down and speak to her, she’ll probably let you in.”

  “That’s so sweet of you.”

  She turned around, and he ran the sponge over her stomach, her breasts.