The Fox and the Snake (part 3 of 5)
The meeting was a few days away. I figured I might use that time to dig up a few of my contacts, see if anyone had heard anything about a big H racket operating in the area. I made a regular bus tour of the dirtiest bars and nightclubs in Santa Monica and West Los Angeles, talking to 4 or 5 of the folks I figured might know something about a racket like this. They’d all heard about it, sure, but no one was willing to dish out any information I could use. I wasn’t particularly motivated, in any case. I can be pretty persuasive when I need to be, and I was willing to bet even money that once I got my hands on this “Harry” creep I’d be able to get the information I needed out of him.
The only information of value I obtained was more of an analysis than a tip, but I filed it away all the same. “Jack” was a guy that I’d talk to once every couple of months. Usually the price of a drink or two was enough to get him to talk, and once he’d had a few he talked a good bit. I ran into him at Rick’s Tavern, a building so old and dirty that I was always surprised not to see a “Condemned” sign next to the sputtering neon martini glass. When I walked in I saw Jack sitting towards the back, clutching an empty glass. I wended my way through the lowlifes, nearly getting knocked into by a particularly belligerent customer having an argument with a fellow patron.
“I don’t know him personally, but this guy sounds like an amateur,” a sufficiently tipsy Jack tosses off. “Going after kids, rich kids, you know it makes sense, but I tell ya, he ain’t done no time. You gotta know you’ll get too high of a profile doing something like that. Somebody who knew the business would be going after the slums, places where people expect it. This guy sounds like, you know, a doctor or pharmacist or somebody, somebody who thought and thought and says to himself, I could make some good money. He’s smart, sure, ain’t he still running free? But if he was that smart you wouldn’t know about him. It’s like stealing from City Hall, you do something different, something unexpected, high profile, you know, and you’re sticking your neck out. That’s all I know.”
That was about all I knew, too, but I had a pretty good idea that I’d be meeting this amateur soon enough. Thursday night rolled around, and I took a cab out to Marina Del Rey. I had the driver let me off a few blocks from the meeting place, a drive-in movie theater that had closed up hours ago. The note had said 3am; it was 2:15 when I arrived and found a dark corner to hole up in. The moon was bright, and the illuminated pavement made the theater look as eerie and deserted as the moon itself.
The kid showed up first, pulling into the lot in an older model coupe. He looked even more nervous than the last time I had seen him. Maybe he needed a fix, hard to tell from that far away. He parked his car a good 50 yards from me and waited nervously.
3am came and went. I wondered whether “Harry” might have stopped using that drop and the kid didn’t know. He had probably heard about those two kids getting booked, but I didn’t guess that fear would trump greed for a guy like him. He’d have to talk to the kid.
I wasn’t wrong, either. The creep pulled in about 3:30 or so. He parked his car next to the kid’s, and I slowly made my way over to them. I didn’t guess there was much chance of them spotting me, but I was careful all the same. I could see that “Harry” was pretty angry with the kid about something, and the closer I got the more plain it was that the kid was definitely in need of a hit. He was trembling slightly, and his voice was panicked, though I couldn’t quite make out the words.
I pulled up to Harry’s car silently and smoothly, and he turned as I unlatched the door. With one swift movement I pulled him out of the car and threw him against the side, denting the rear door. I shut the driver’s door and smashed the handle. The kid took off. He was well shot of it now, in any case … Harry had slumped to the ground and I went to grab him again, but he came up quick and I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. I cursed loudly … he’d got me with a short knife or something. I was bleeding pretty bad; I hit him, knocked him down, but I’d need to stop that blood flow fast. I didn’t probably pay as much attention to him as I should’ve; I guess I panicked a little. I made a quick tourniquet to stop the blood. When I turned again, he was trying to climb over the back seat, I guess he couldn’t get the driver door open.
I tore off the driver door. “You’re gonna be sorry you did that,” I snarled at him as I grabbed him out of the car again. This time when I hit him he collapsed. I checked his vitals, he was fine, just unconscious. I picked him up and headed for a quiet spot where we could talk.
