To Die in Beverly Hills (18 page)

"How do I know you aren't trying to frame me?" Bailey said. "Sometimes people have been known to wear hidden microphones. They try to get policemen to say things in order to frame them."

"Look, dammit," she said angrily,
"I'm
the one who's been framed. I'm the one who's sitting in a stinking cell. If you don't get me out of there, and I mean quick, then you will be in trouble. I mean that."

Travis Bailey reached into a coat pocket. He pulled out a pad and pen. He printed,
"I'll have you out by tomorrow morning. Be careful of what you say in this room-bugs?"
on the pad. As he held a finger to his lips he showed Amanda Kennedy what he had written.

Amanda Kennedy stood up. "Don't forget." She turned and walked toward the steel door.

Travis Bailey drove down a winding road from the Women's jail past rows of pink and green stucco dwellings whose walls and fences were covered with spray-can graffiti. Though he had the car's air conditioner on at maximum, his hands were so wet with perspiration he could hardly hold on to the steering wheel. At a stoplight at the bottom of a hill, he wiped his palms on his trousers. Doing this, he remembered stealing cash from the wallet of a businessman whom he had arrested for drunk driving. His fear of getting caught had reached the point of nausea. It had been easier the second time.

He turned right on Eastern Avenue and drove a block to a taco stand. He pulled over, parked and walked deliberately to a telephone booth. He stepped into the booth and closed the door. He stared at the receiver for what must have been a long time as his mind wandered to unrelated incidents in his life: the death of an aunt who had always offered him refuge from his stepfather's unreasonable punishments, the childhood experience of being lost in a department store, the visit to an alcoholic doctor who falsely diagnosed ulcers to keep him out of the military draft, his teenage ex-wife pushing him off her as he was in the act of orgasm, the recurring nightmare of lying on a beach on which the sand becomes increasingly hot until finally his back and legs burst into flames.

As he dropped a dime in the coin slot he became aware that the booth was sweltering. He dialed Bones Chagra's home number. The freeway sounds, the sound of metal whizzing through air, seemed to get louder.

Chagra answered.

"We need to get together," Bailey said.

"Can it wait? I have two studio bitches coming over to do a tag team on me before I go to work. It's taken me two nights of bullshit to talk 'em into it."

"I need to see you right now."

"You wanna come over?"

"No," Bailey said. "I'll meet you at the pastry shop."

"I hope it's important enough to give up two pieces of ass."

Travis Bailey hung up the phone.

The pastry shop sandwiched between exclusive shops on Rodeo Drive was crowded as usual. In a dining room adjoining a spotless bakery with glass display counters filled with tortes, cream pies and other ultra rich baked goods, groups of women wearing the latest styles sat at bistro tables in groups of two and three. They buzzed amiably (but loudly enough to be heard by others) about clothing, the chefs at Ma Maison and L'Orangerie and European vacations. The walls were decorated with nostalgia prints of old bakeries and bakery trucks.

Travis Bailey sat alone at a table in the corner, glancing impatiently at his wristwatch. Finally Bones Chagra hurried in the front door. He wore an Italian-cut sport coat and white loafers. Spotting Bailey, he made his way through the bakery to his table. As he sat down, he gave the crowd a glance of disdain. "I hate this place," Chagra said. "Why do you always want to meet here?"

"Because no one I know comes in here," He lifted a cup and sipped
café au lait
. "Who is Amanda Kennedy?"

"The bitch who managed the apartment house where Lee lived; fair jugs, good ass. Lee had her over all the time. He thought she had class. He loved anything with class. We did a ménage with her a few times. She likes to take it both ways at once. She would blow Lee while I fucked her up the-"

"What does she know?" Bailey said abruptly.

Chagra gave him a puzzled look.

"I said what does she know?"

"Nothing," Chagra said. "She was just a punch. Once we did switchies with her and one of the cocktail waitresses from the Blue Peach." He smiled.

"She's in jail right now, and she tells me she knows all about our game. She knows about you and me and Lee and says if I don't get her out of jail she'll sing a song."

Chagra's jaw dropped. "How?..."

"She said that Lee got high one night and told her the whole story; laid it all out for her. She got pinched with
some jewelry: a necklace with a pendant."

An expression of agony spread across Bones Chagra's face. He rubbed his temples, then set his hands, palms down, on the table. "Lee did give her a necklace. I told him I didn't like the idea and he just laughed. The necklace came out of a house I did."

"Where was the house?"

"It wasn't in Beverly Hills. It was a block or two over the boundary into L.A.," Chagra said. He closed his eyes. "Damn."

A young, long-nosed woman wearing a Dolly Madison-style dress and hat served oversized pieces of cream cheese pie to a pair of middle-aged fat women sitting at the table next to them. One of the women remarked on the size of the serving and said she would never be able to eat all of it. She dug in with her fork and took an enormous bite.

Chagra looked pale. "I've been down the road three times. I'm a fucking three-time loser. Another jolt means ten years for me. I can't do ten years. There's no way I could handle that kind of a jolt. I'd rather take my chances at being a fugitive for the rest of my life. Fuck it." He bit his lip. "I don't like this place. I hate places like this."

"Ten years is a treat compared with a trip to the gas chamber," Bailey said. "If she sings I could be put together on Lee's murder. She could tie me right to him with a motive. Even if I beat the rap it would be the end for me. I'd lose my job."

"Exactly what does she know?" Chagra said.

"I didn't want to go into detail with her sitting in the visitor's room at the jail," Bailey said sarcastically. "We definitely need to find out. We need to find out real soon."

"What the hell are we gonna do?"

"Find a bail bondsman that you trust. Have him post bail for her. Be waiting outside the gate when she's released. Be nice to her. Play a tune for her. And find out exactly what she knows. We've got to know what kind of damage she could do to us. Call me at home when you find out."

The women at the next table continued to eat and chat loudly. They dabbed their lips with sterile cloth napkins.

Travis Bailey motioned to the waitress. She came to the table. He paid the bill and left her a sizable tip. "You first," he said with a nod toward the door.

"Huh?"

"You leave first."

Chagra nodded, stood up to leave.

"Go for it," Travis Bailey said offhandedly. Chagra left. The women at the next table continued to eat, chat loudly and dab their mouths with napkins as Bailey sat deep in thought. He rubbed his temples and felt what he believed to be an increase in his heart rate. Finally he pushed his chair back and stood up. He left the restaurant and strolled casually past trendy shops toward his police car. At the corner, he window-shopped at a store with a window display featuring a mannequin couple attired in thick canary yellow vests standing in front of an enormous human silhouette target decorated with bullet holes. A sign leaning next to one of the mannequins read The Latest in Men's and Women's Bulletproof Sportswear. He crossed the street and climbed in his car.

Back at the Detective Bureau, he opened a file drawer next to a telex machine and rummaged through the day's stack of crime Teletypes. In the middle of the stack he found a homicide Teletype that read as follows:

To: All L.A. area
Vice
and Homicide details

Fm: Santa Barbara Sheriff's Dept.

Re: 187 PC Victim
Waters, Jackie (no middle name)

Fem. cauc. 34 yrs, 5'4', 110, possible prostitute.

Female corpse found in bushes off Highway I near El Capitan Beach had pocket litter and trick book with L.A. area phone numbers. Only I.D. found on body is expired Calif. Driver's License. No suspects. Cause of death appears to be bullet wound to rear skull. Request you check with vice details re: possible L.A. area associates.

He shoved the stack of Teletypes back in the drawer and left the office. He walked down the street to a drugstore and bought a package of chewing gum.

Outside the drugstore, he stepped into a telephone booth, fished a dime out of his pocket and dialed. He unwrapped two sticks of the gum and, after a few chews, used his index finger to position the gum between his teeth and upper lip.

A man answered, "FBI."

"I know who set tip the attempted murder on the bank president in Beverly Hills," Bailey said. "The one who is a witness in the counterfeiting case."

"May I send a special agent out to meet with you, sir?"

"No," Bailey said. "I don't want to get involved. The guy who wanted the bank president killed is Tony Dio. He's a loan shark. He hired a guy named Leon Sheboygan to kill the bank president. It was a contract thing. Dio provided the gun. It was a thirty-two."

"I'm familiar with the name, sir," the FBI agent said. "May I ask where you got the information?"

"Look, I said I don't want to get involved," Bailey said angrily, "But I'll tell you this much, just so you won't think I've made up the whole story. I'm dating a girl that just broke up with Dio. She was living with him and overheard Dio lay the whole thing out to Sheboygan. She was in another room at Dio's house when Dio laid the contract on this Lee. She heard the whole thing. Dio told him that the bank guy was leaving town for a vacation and that he had to hurry up and do the job. Is this call being taped?"

"No, sir," the FBI man said. "You have my word on that. We'd like to interview the lady who gave you the information. If you'll give me her name I'll guarantee that your name will never be mentioned. We could question her on a routine basis."

"I don't want to get involved," Bailey said. "I'm a married man and I've got too much to lose."

"You have my personal assurance that we will never reveal you as the source of information."

Bailey waited before speaking.

"Sir? Sir? Are you still there?"

"Her name is Jackie Waters."

"How old is she?"

"She's about thirty-five," Bailey said. "I'm not going to answer any more questions. I've probably said too much already."

"Can you give me her address?"

"She left town," Bailey said. "A couple of days ago she told me she thought Dio was acting strangely ... as if he didn't trust her. He ended up slapping her around. She was scared to death and left town. She told me she thought Dio had let a contract on her. She was so scared she couldn't eat."

"Is she employed?"

"I guess you could say that."

"How did she earn a living?"

"She was a call girl," Bailey said. "Tony Dio got her started."

"Where do you think she is now?"

"She said something about Santa Barbara," Bailey said in his best sincerity tone. "I'm worried. She hasn't called and I think something has happened to her. I think I've said enough."

"Sir, it would be a real help if we could get together in person just for a few minutes-"