Wild L.A.

by Tripp Ellis

  "Go ahead,” I stared at him flatly, not giving a shit.

  He snorted and dismissively waved his hand at me before he climbed back into the car. The goons sped away, and the tires squealed as they rounded the corner.

  I kept heading north, under the 4th Street bridge. I quickly found myself in a revitalized area. Renovated warehouses and newly built condominiums. All the stores were closed, but there were juice bars, health food stores, and yoga studios. It wouldn't be long before the whole area was as tame as the suburbs.

  I stumbled into the parking lot of a strip-mall, looking for a payphone. My knee buckled, and I tripped and fell. I smacked the concrete, and another jolt of pain shot through my body. I couldn't move. I just lay there. My body throbbed, and my head was fuzzy.

  I could have been there for a minute or twenty. I wasn't sure. I may have passed out for a moment.

  "Hey, Mister, are you okay?" a woman asked, hovering over me.

  I could barely see out the slits that were my eyes. Her face was fuzzy.

  "Just peachy," I replied.

  "You need to get to a hospital," she said.

  "No hospitals."

  "I'm calling 911."

  "No. I'm fine."

  "You don't look fine."

  I tried to sit up. The world spun.

  "What happened? Did you get mugged?"

  I nodded. “Something like that.”

  "Oh my God, that's terrible! I thought this neighborhood was getting safer." She paused. "You really shouldn’t be out wandering around after dark."

  “Why aren’t you following your own advice?”

  “Because I was out for a jog. And I know where to go and where not to go. I run pretty fast.”

  She wore yoga pants and a sports bra. Judging by how flat her stomach was, I figured she spent a lot of time crafting her physique. It was a good one. She had short dark hair, alluring brown eyes, and beautiful bone structure. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming.

  She helped me to my feet.

  The ground swayed as I stood, like I was aboard a ship. She held me steady.

  She looked to be about college-age.

  "Are you sure you don't want me to call the cops or something?

  “No cops!" I barked.

  "Why no cops?” Her suspicious eyes surveyed me.

  "I'm a deputy sheriff."

  "Oh." Her face twisted with confusion.

  "Undercover," I added.

  "Where's your badge?” she asked, still skeptical.

  "With my gun, my wallet, and my cell phone." I sighed. “If you need to verify my identity, you can contact Sheriff Wayne Daniels with the Coconut County Sheriff’s Department.”

  “Coconut County?” Her face scrunched up. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s a long story. Let’s just say I got a little too close to uncovering something that powerful people didn’t want uncovered.”

  I took a step and teetered, then almost tumbled back down. The girl caught me before I fell.

  Her face tensed, and she looked me up and down. I could tell she was conflicted. "You really are in bad shape,” she said. “I don't usually do this, but you look pretty harmless—especially in your condition. If you're not going to go to the hospital, at least come back to my apartment, get cleaned up, and rest for a bit."

  I accepted her generosity, and she helped me to her apartment. She lived on the 4th floor, and the balcony of her apartment faced westward. I sprawled out on the couch, and she got me a few zip-bags of ice, which I strategically placed around my body.

  A tabby cat crawled onto my chest as I lay on the couch. The kitty hovered over me, it’s green eyes staring into mine. For a moment, I thought it was trying to steal my soul.

  “That’s Gizmo. Brush him off if he gets annoying.”

  He plopped down on my chest and began to purr.

  “Do you need me to call anybody?” the girl asked.

  “Yeah. Jack Donovan.” I gave her the number, and she dialed Jack’s phone while I kept the icepack on my face.

  “He’s not picking up. Do you want me to leave a message?”

  “Yeah. Tell him Paxton caught up with me and to watch his back.”

  She relayed information, then ended the call. “Is there anybody else I should call?”

  “Call Lyric Stone.”

  “You know Lyric Stone? I love her. She’s so spunky. I watch her on the news all the time.”

  I gave her Lyric’s number, and she called.

  “Voicemail,” the girl said a moment after dialing. “Do you want me to leave a message?”

  I had forgotten for an instant that Lyric didn’t have her cell phone with her. She was at the Château, but I didn’t know what name she was staying under.

  “Tell her I’m alive, and that’s the important part. Sorry about the car.”

  “He says he’s alive, and he’s sorry about the car…” the girl repeated.

  “Tell her I’ve run into some trouble and will catch up with her later and to stay put.”

  She relayed the rest of the message, then ended the call.

  “What happened to the car?”

  “She’s going to kill me,” I groaned. “I don’t know what happened to it. It could still be on the side of the road, or it could have been impounded.”

  “What kind of car?”

  “Ferrari.”

  She cringed. “You’re in trouble.”

  “I know.”

  “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “Water would be great. Thank you.” My lips were puffy and split, and I sounded like I had just gotten back from the dentist. I tongued all of my teeth, feeling the ridges of my molars. I still had them all, miraculously.

  The girl brought me a glass of water and handed me two gel-caps of ibuprofen, even though I didn’t ask for it. I took the capsules and swallowed them down.

  “I really think you should go to the hospital. You could have a concussion. Are you having any double vision? Headache? Memory loss?”

  “No, I feel fine,” I lied. “Are you in the medical field?”

  “No. But my older brother was a daredevil, and I made more than a few trips to the ER with him growing up.”

  “Tell me your name again?” I asked.

  “Opal.”

  “That’s a pretty name.”

  “Thank you. I hated it growing up. My older sister’s name is Amethyst, and my younger sister’s name is Ruby. My folks were kind of new-agey.”

  “Were?”

  She frowned. “They were killed during a carjacking.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  She shrugged. “It happened when I was 16. That’s life. You either deal with the crap that comes your way, or you get buried by it.”

  “Amen to that.” I paused for a moment. “What’s your brother’s name?”

  “Jasper.” She sighed. “Lucky bastard. He got a normal-sounding name. But he still got teased a lot as a kid.”

  “Kids can be cruel,” I said.

  “Judging by the looks of you, so can adults.”

  “All things considered, I caught a lucky break.”

  “If you call this lucky, I’d hate to see your version of bad luck.”

  I started to chuckle but stopped myself before the pain in my ribs grew too intense.

  “Can you tell me what you were doing undercover?”

  I gave her a hesitant look through my swollen eyes.

  “Just tell me to leave you alone if I’m bothering you. I’m inquisitive, and I like to ask a lot of questions. I’m an aspiring screenwriter. I study film at USC. So, this kind of thing is fascinating to me. You probably can’t say anything about ongoing investigations. Top-secret and all that stuff, right?”

  I gave her the short version of everything.

  Her eyes rounded, and she stared at me in disbelief. “You need to tell someone!”

  “I don’t know how deep Paxton’s connections go. As far as he knows, I’m dead right n
ow. And that’s the way I like it. Gives me the advantage of surprise.”

  “I know someone who can help.”

  I arched a curious eyebrow.

  40

  “My brother is a deputy district attorney,” Opal said. “He can help you.”

  I looked at her with cautious optimism.

  “And I know you can trust him.” She grabbed her phone and dialed the number before I could protest.

  A groggy voice answered the other end of the line. It was well past midnight.

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  Her brother grumbled something, and it didn’t sound too pleasant.

  “Yes, I know what time it is,” Opal said. “This is important.”

  The voice crackled through the speaker of her phone.

  “You’re not going to believe what I’m about to tell you,” Opal said.

  She gave him an even shorter version of my story. They talked for a few minutes, then she handed the phone to me. I put the device to my ear and said hello.

  “That’s a pretty tall tale you’re telling,” Jasper said. “Do you have any proof to back it up?”

  “No,” I said reluctantly. “Other than an eyewitness that can put Detective Paxton at the Château the night Mia drowned, and a former prostitute that will testify Paxton blackmailed her and demanded sexual favors. One of Nikki Griffin’s girls.”

  Jasper scoffed. “A former prostitute? What’s her name?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “Okay. Let me tell you how it is. You don’t have shit. Defense counsel will tear through the hooker and discredit her immediately. I’ll bet you dollars to donuts she’s got priors, and probably a drug conviction. Am I right? And you expect the jury to believe her testimony against that of a decorated detective with an outstanding record?”

  “Like I said. I don’t have anything substantial.”

  He paused for a moment. “You know what I think… I think my sister’s overly compassionate heart brought in a stray crazy person. And quite frankly, I’m concerned for her safety with you in her apartment. I’m tempted to call the police and send a unit over right now.”

  “You’re not going to do that,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because there’s a part of you that knows I am telling the truth. Otherwise, you wouldn’t still be on the phone.”

  “Call it a courtesy to my naïve little sister.”

  I told him to call Sheriff Daniels and call me back. I ended the call and handed the device back to Opal.

  She looked at me with curious eyes. “What did he say?”

  I told her.

  She huffed. “What a jackass. And I am not naïve!”

  Jasper called back a few minutes later. Opal answered, then after a brief exchange, “He wants to talk to you.”

  She handed me the phone.

  “Do my credentials check out?”

  He didn’t answer directly, but his continuation of the conversation was an unspoken yes. “I want to help you, I really do. But you need to help me. Tomorrow, I’ll meet you down at the Office of the Inspector General. You can fill out a complaint, and we can start a formal investigation.”

  “No. Too risky.”

  “I can guarantee we have oversight in place specifically to investigate these types of criminal allegations against police officers.”

  “And I’m telling you I just got beaten within an inch of my life at the behest of two of LA’s finest. You’ll forgive me if I don’t put a lot of faith in your system.”

  He sighed. “Look, you can go online and fill out an anonymous complaint. But without any substantial evidence, nothing will come of it. If you do want to make a statement, we may be able to get Paxton on assault, kidnapping, and a host of other charges.”

  It would be my word against Paxton’s and his partners. I couldn’t see much happening from a formal complaint without indisputable evidence. I didn’t know the structure of the department here. Oftentimes, IA divisions are in the same building and under the same command structure as the rest of the department. Asking cops to police themselves was like asking burglars to stand neighborhood watch. People look out for their own. It’s just human nature. No cop wants to turn on another cop.

  In my experience, 99% of cops are honest, hard-working people who put up with an inordinate amount of shit in an attempt to make the world a better place. But Paxton and his group of bad apples were making the whole organization seem rotten. Sorting out who to trust was impossible.

  “I appreciate your time,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”

  I handed the phone back to Opal.

  Chuck Paxton had pissed me off, and I was seriously considering taking care of this the clean and simple way.

  I had made a resolution not to use deadly force unless absolutely justified. I wasn’t an assassin. Not anymore. My brain was jumping through mental hoops trying to make the use of force in this situation seem justified.

  In a way, it was justified.

  Paxton was a dirt-ball, and he would keep abusing his position of authority until somebody stopped him. The world would be a better place without him. No doubt, some other scumbag would step up to take his place, but that wasn’t an excuse to let him continue. All it takes for evil to flourish is for good men to do nothing.

  But I had made a promise to myself and to the Universe—I wasn’t inclined to break it.

  I’d been given a second chance at life, and I needed to stay as squeaky clean as possible. As much as I wanted to find Paxton and kill him in cold blood, I wasn’t going to do that. But it sure was tempting.

  41

  I crashed on Opal’s couch and woke up in the morning with Gizmo purring beside me. Everything hurt. I felt 907 years old.

  The morning sun filtered through the blinds, and I attempted to peel myself from the couch. It was a slow, painful process. I staggered to the guest bathroom and caught a glimpse of my face. I had black circles under both my eyes. My face was puffy, swollen, and discolored. My arms, legs, and chest were multiple shades of purple, blue, green, and yellow. I looked like a horror show.

  Afterward, I hobbled to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. I grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the top, and guzzled it down. My mouth was sand.

  Opal emerged from the bedroom, wearing a T-shirt and men’s boxers.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” I said, lifting up the bottle of water.

  “Help yourself.” She wiped the sleep from her eyes. She almost cringed when she saw my condition. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I got run over by a steamroller.”

  She didn’t have a landline. Just a cell phone.

  “You mind if I use your phone to call a cab?” I asked.

  “Where do you need to go?”

  “Back to the Château.”

  “I can take you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s not a big deal. I don’t have class till later.”

  “You didn’t hear back from anyone we called last night, did you?”

  “I have my phone on do not disturb at night. Let me go check.” She slipped back into the bedroom and emerged a moment later, holding her smartphone. She shook her head. “Nope. No calls.”

  My brow knitted together. It was early in the morning, and I figured JD was probably still asleep. The band had probably tied one on last night. Lyric didn’t have her phone, so it made sense she never got my message.

  “Tell me what you want, and I’ll cook you breakfast,” I said.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s the least I can do in return for your hospitality.

  She gave me a doubtful glance. “Are you sure you’re healthy enough to fix breakfast?”

  I frowned at her, playfully. It hurt to frown. I made a mental note not to do it again.

  “I’m going to slip into the shower while you make breakfast.”

  She disappeared back into the bedroom and closed the door. A moment later, I hea
rd the shower nozzle twist and the water spray across the tile.

  I sifted through the fridge and found eggs, bacon, cheese, ham, and spinach. I grilled up omelettes and bacon, and we had a nice breakfast. I was thankful I still had my teeth and could chew. Sipping your food through a straw with a broken jaw is no fun. I tried to be thankful for what I did have, and not regretful over what I didn’t.

  After breakfast, I asked her if she had a hat and sunglasses I could borrow. She dug through her closet and found a ball cap and handed me a pair of women’s oversized sunglasses. I tried them on, and they were a little too narrow for my face but better than nothing. I looked ridiculous. But this was Hollywood, I would fit right in. And hopefully, the disguise would somewhat conceal my identity.

  She locked her apartment as we left, and we ambled to the parking garage. I tried not to limp but didn’t do a very good job. I delicately climbed into the passenger seat of her Mini Cooper. It was low to the ground, and my legs and back hurt when I tried to stuff myself into the tiny car.

  She dropped the top and pulled out of the garage. The wind swirled around the cabin, and the morning sun hovered in the air, casting warm rays of LA sunshine.

  It was a nice day.

  The sun had burned away the chaos of the night and concealed the ugly, dark side of the city.

  We took the 10 west, then headed north on La Cienega. A few minutes later, we pulled into the secluded entrance to the Château.

  “I can’t thank you enough for coming to my aid.”

  “No problem. I would have wanted someone to do the same for me.” She paused. “I really think you should consider making an official report like my brother suggested.”

  “I just don’t know how much good it would do.” I frowned.

  “So, is this it? Will I ever see you again? I feel like I’m invested in your story now. I have to know if you get this guy.”

  “Let me see your phone,” I said.

  She handed the device to me, and I programmed in my number. I entered Joel’s information as well.

  “I’ve added my contact info as well as my agent’s, Joel. He’s with Inventive Artists Agency. One of the best in town. You’re an aspiring screenwriter, right?”

  She nodded, eagerly.