Cold Shoulder (26 page)

‘Yeah,’ murmured Lorraine, but then Curtis returned and Elsa moved off to a prospective client.

He leaned on the back of the booth. ‘You still want videos? I can maybe get some in a couple of hours, I got business right now. Come back later.’ The barman waved him over to take another call. Curtis did his video and drug trade in the bars, just small stuff. His girls made the drops for him. Lorraine gave him an uneasy feeling. He watched her walking out. He didn’t believe the line she’d fed him about wanting a porno video.

‘Elsa!’ She sauntered across and Curtis covered the phone. ‘Who was the blonde?’

Elsa looked back to her john, and scratched the front of her wig. ‘Hooker, used to hang round the pool halls, did a few tricks with her way back. She was something else, man, a real sleaze lady, but boozed out — Lorraine. We called her Lazy Lorraine. She’d never score a john, just waited until she was so smashed she wouldn’t have known if she had one or not. She went with some weirdos, didn’t give a fuck.’ She hesitated a moment and then leaned closer. ‘Maybe don’t trust her too much, okay?’

Curtis gripped her wrist. ‘What you mean?’

Elsa twisted free, pissed off because he’d hurt her. ‘Word was she used to be a cop, that’s all.’

Lorraine walked along the strip, stopped at two more bars and then spotted Nula paying off a cab. She called, Nula turned, was puzzled for a moment, and then recognized her.

‘You got time for a drink?’ Lorraine smiled.

‘No, I just come on, I’m late.’

‘How’s Didi?’

Nula shrugged and they walked down the strip together. ‘She’s still got problems with her foot but she won’t see a doctor — hates them.’

Lorraine asked again if she had time for a drink. Nula looked at her watch and agreed, but only a quickie. They went to a small coffee bar and sat with two espressos. Nula was edgy, constantly looking out at the strip.

‘I wanted to ask you about the night Holly was murdered. A friend of mine was picked up by a real creep. He had wet slobbery lips, rimless glasses, quite middle America, not beat up… and she was uneasy about him. She figured she’d seen him the night Holly died — maybe it was him picked her up. Anyway, she did the business and got the hell out of his car.’

Nula stirred her coffee. ‘Never saw nobody like that the night she got it. I tell you somethin’ though. Didi, right, she was duckin’ and divin’, she sees the guy cruisin’ down the road, right, she reckons she’s scored but little Holly beat her to the punch.’

‘Wait a minute. Are you telling me Didi saw Holly being picked up?’

‘She said it was a guy in a sort of beige-coloured car.’

‘Have you told anybody this?’

‘No, why should I?’

‘Because he might have been the guy who killed her.’

‘Yeah, he might not. It was early, just after I come on, so…’ Lorraine didn’t like to push too hard. She started asking casual questions about how they worked it, the trannies and the straight chicks, but Nula wasn’t interested.

‘You think the john that picked up Holly might have been wanting Didi?’

‘Jesus, I dunno. Why you askin’ all these questions?’

Lorraine lit a cigarette. ‘Just curious. Is Didi workin’ tonight, then?’

Nula said she was at a motel with a regular, but she’d be around later. ‘I gotta go. With Art gone, we’re short of cash.’ Nula rested her hands on the table. ‘I said I’d not talk to you again because of Art. That was a bad thing you did, Art was a decent guy.’

‘Come on, Nula, he was getting kids screwed. I saw the photographs, even saw Holly in a few of them.’

Nula leaned in close. ‘How come you’re so interested in Holly? What’s she to you?’

‘She’s dead. Maybe I feel sorry for her — she was only seventeen.’

‘So was I once! We had cops around — some fucker gave them a tip-off. We haven’t done any photographic work for weeks — that’s because of you, isn’t it? You know, I been trying to place your face, like Didi says, we was at an AA meeting but… I don’t trust you. Stay away from us.’

She walked out and Lorraine took the tab to the counter. As she turned to leave, she saw Curtis outside with Nula, who pointed to the coffee bar. Curtis pushed her, they seemed to be arguing, and then he turned to look in at the window. Lorraine saw the sign to the toilets and walked out. Curtis came in, asked for Lorraine and the waitress pointed.

Lorraine stood on the toilet seat. She heard the door creaking open, then footsteps and the other cubicle door pushed open. As there were just the two, she knew he would try the next door, and find her, but just as his footsteps stopped outside her door, the waitress walked in and told him to get out. Lorraine waited fifteen minutes before she eased open the door and peered into the coffee bar. Curtis was standing directly outside and there was no back exit, or none she could see, so she decided to front it out.

He turned fast when she came out. Suddenly his arm shot out and he grabbed her elbow. ‘You askin’ questions about Holly an’ I wanna know why. What you askin’ questions about my little baby for?’

She could see in his face he wasn’t going to hurt her. He wasn’t scared, just upset.

‘What’s it to you?’ she asked.

‘She was my girl.’

Lorraine pulled her arm free. ‘Maybe for no reason but that I liked her.’

‘You knew her?’

‘Yeah, not well, but I knew her.’ He made to move off. ‘Curtis, wait a minute.’

He looked at her. ‘I dunno what you want but stay away from here.’

She took a chance. ‘Maybe I’m askin’ for the cops.’

He stepped back fast, his face altered, his hands tightened into fists. Suddenly she knew that if they were alone he would hurt her, really hurt her.

‘Not in the way you think, Curtis — come on, I was a hooker. All I’m doin’ is feedin’ back a bit of information, they got nothin’ on her killer. Don’t you want him caught? She was your girl, you just said so, she was beautiful, real beautiful, and—’

‘She’s dead, right, so fuck off.’

Curtis walked away and Lorraine followed. He turned into an alley and stopped. Now she no longer had the safety of other people around her.

‘You got a fuckin’ nerve, lady. Back off me.’

She stood four feet from him, far enough to keep out of range of a swinging fist. She held him in a steady gaze, not afraid, showing him she was on the level, letting him look at her.

‘I’m bein’ paid under the counter, fifty bucks. I’m not paid to do anythin’ else, just see if there was anyone who saw her that night, saw the john that picked her up. I don’t want to know anythin’ else. Help me. Why don’t you help me? Come on, man, she was your girl.’

Curtis leaned against the wall and, to her astonishment, started to cry. Lorraine moved closer. ‘She was picked up last time you saw her near Didi and Nula’s patch, that right?’ He nodded. She asked if he had seen anything, asked why Holly had been working the transsexual patch. He sniffed, wiping his face with the back of his hand. ‘She’d had a fight further up the strip, that’s all I know. She’d had this fight and we’d been talkin’, she said she wanted to move further down the strip, I was sortin’ it for her. I never got to tell her I really cared—’

‘Now’s your chance to make it up to her, Curtis. If you hear anything, know anybody that saw anything, will you contact me?’

‘I don’t work for cops.’

‘I’m not a cop.’

She made him write her telephone number on the back of his hand. Then he walked off down the alley.

Lorraine sighed. She was about to walk back the way she came when it hit her.

‘Freeze.’

The boy ran on, his Superman stripe lit up in the neon lights.

‘Freeze.’

He didn’t turn because he hadn’t even heard her, because it wasn’t a gun in his hand but a Sony Walkman.

Sweat broke out all over her body. Her mouth felt dry and rancid. All she could think of was getting a drink. She started to run, back up the alley, along the strip, banging into passers-by, her whole body aching, her brain screaming for a drink. ‘
No, no, I won’t, don’t do it, don’t do it, just keep walking, keep walking.’
A lethal, whispering voice repeated over and over, ‘You killed the poor kid, he wasn’t involved, you emptied your gun into a
little kid’s back. How does that make you feel, you drunken bitch? You killed him.’

Lorraine walked until the panic attack subsided. She sat on a wall, gasping for breath, waiting for her heart to slow down. She knew what she had done, but refused to face it. She had never faced it.

‘You okay?’ Didi limped towards her. ‘You ran right past me like you’d seen a ghost.’

‘I did. I was just running from a drink.’

Didi laughed, understanding. ‘Well, if you’re okay I guess I’d better get a move on.’

‘No, please, I need to ask you something, about the night Holly died.
Please
just wait.’

Didi hobbled closer. ‘Listen, I don’t know nothin’, I didn’t see nothin’ and I don’t know why I’m talkin’ to you. We had cops asking questions, we can’t get a shoot together, we’re broke, all down to you.’

Lorraine faced her out. ‘I’m not a cop. I was once but so long ago even I can’t remember it. I’ve been hookin’ for years and drunk for as many, you know that.’

Didi pursed her lips. ‘Once one, always one.’

Lorraine caught hold of Didi’s sleeve. She gripped her hand, feeling the heavy ring on Didi’s finger. ‘Please just tell me about the guy. The one Nula said you saw. He picked her up right on your patch.’

‘I don’t remember nothin’, not even that night, they’re all the same to me.’

‘Come on, Didi, it was the night you got beat up. Did you see the john that picked her up, see his car?’

Didi shrugged. ‘Maybe. Nula’s been talkin’ to you, has she?’

‘Yeah, and Curtis. They both want to help me, so please, just tell me what happened that night.’

Didi told Lorraine almost the same story as Nula — how the car had cruised down the road, stopped, driven on, how Holly had run across the road and got into the passenger seat.

‘You think he really wanted maybe you or Nula?’

‘If he did we’re lucky then, aren’t we?’

‘Close your eyes and think, Didi. Was he dark, blond, balding? Think about him.’

Didi tried but her mind was blank.

‘Did he wear glasses, kind of rimless, pinkish-lensed glasses?’ Lorraine prompted.

‘Yeah, yeah, maybe he did.’

‘Was his mouth wide, wet? Did he have a crew-cut? Short-haired, blondish hair?’

‘Yeah, yeah, that’s right.’

‘He never cruised by you before?’

‘I remember anyone that’s near to a regular, darlin’. I’d never seen this guy.’

Lorraine cocked her head to one side. ‘You’re not holding anythin’ out on me, are you? You’re not just saying, yeah, yeah, because that’s what I said?’

‘Why would I do that? He kind of fitted the description you said but it was a while ago. Listen, I knew Holly, and like everybody else round here, we’d like that piece of shit put away, right?’

‘If you think of anything, will you call me?’

Didi nodded and limped off to earn her night’s cash.

Lorraine arrived home to find a note from Rosie saying Rooney had called and she had gone to a meeting. Rooney was not at the station so she called his home. When she got through he sounded hoarser than ever, she could hear his heavy rasping breathing. ‘You can go see Fellows now, he’s expecting you — and I’m expecting somethin’ soon for my dough, understand?’

Lorraine fixed some food, stuffed vitamins down herself and, a little refreshed, left the apartment.

Rosie, meanwhile, had returned to Janklow’s house on Beverly Glen. At night it was easier to park and remain semi-hidden. She pulled out the camera, double-checked the instruction manual and then took a few practice shots. She heard a car come up the hill behind her and stop in front of the barred gates. It was the Mercedes. Crouching, Rosie inched up over the front seat. ‘Come on, you bastard, get out of the car, lemme get a good shot.’

The driver opened the gates by remote control, never looking in Rosie’s direction. She could see the glint of his glasses but nothing more — the top of his head was hidden by the roof of the car. The gates closed behind him as he drove up to the house. Rosie got out and, still carrying the camera and keeping close to the hedges, made her way cautiously towards the gates, hoping to get a second shot as he got out of the car to go into the house. She fiddled and muttered, the zoom lens was loose, and by the time she had it tightened the man was inside.

Rosie returned to the car. She’d tried, she told herself. As she turned on the ignition, the engine coughed and died. She tried again, it coughed, spluttered and then died again with a low, whirring sound. ‘Oh, fuck it!’ She tried another three times to start it but the ominous whirring sound grew fainter and she was miles away from the main road. She got out and started to walk.

The road she was in was badly lit, so she kept to the centre as much as possible. Two cars passed her going down the Glen and, even though she stuck out her thumb, they didn’t stop. Her feet were aching and she was working up quite a sweat. She wished she’d locked the camera in the trunk; it was heavy and the strap cut into her shoulder.

When Rosie reached the main road, she was past caring about Janklow or anything else. She was hungry and it was getting chilly. She heard a car behind her and looked up to the traffic light. The ‘Walk’ sign was blinking and she reckoned she’d never make it across the wide road before it blinked off, so she hovered at the kerb. The Mercedes paused at the red light just as Rosie realized it was the car. She fumbled with the camera and made out she was taking a shot of the sign ‘Hollywood Stars’ Homes Maps Here’. She had the bonnet of the car in focus just as the lights changed to green, and then the car moved off. It was not a man driving, but a blonde woman, wearing dark glasses, a silk scarf wrapped round her throat.

Rosie got two, possibly three, reasonably clear-angled shots before the car disappeared out of sight. She caught a bus and got off at Sunset, called home, but when there was no reply decided she’d take the film round to the all-night Photomat Snap store, and get a set of prints made up while she waited. She also had to arrange with the rental company to collect the car. Suddenly being busy rather than in limbo, as she’d been for so long, made it all okay again. She handed over the roll of film and settled down outside the store with an ice-cream cone. She had half finished the big strawberry and chocolate ice cream when she saw the Janklow Mercedes passing. The blonde woman was alone, hunched over the driving wheel and wearing black gloves. She reminded Rosie of an old movie star, with her thick makeup, black sun-glasses, or maybe someone else, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Rosie sucked her hand, sticky with ice cream. She was good at remembering faces. She could match those puzzles, the jigsaw faces of stars, faster than a bat of the eye. Julie Andrews’s lips, Goldie Hawn’s eyes, Jane Fonda’s nose. She concentrated and then remembered. She was sure she’d seen the blonde woman at the art gallery, the one Lorraine had worked at. Confident she was right, Rosie returned to the store and collected the photographs.