Post Pattern (Burnside Mystery 1) by David Chill

Liquor
and Junk Food Emporium. I felt like joining them.
    Instead, I thought and pondered, coming up with so
little it was hardly worth the effort. There were at least two people at the
party who saw Robbie as he entered his bedroom, Lenny Caputo and Curt the
bouncer. Lenny wasn't much help and I suspected Curt wouldn't be either.
Besides, a motive needed to be established first and that would take some
digging if I chose to keep myself involved. Maybe I should listen to Norman and
back off. He was moving on with his life and the police were moving on as well.
It certainly made sense that I should too.
    As I speculated, I kept returning back to one salient
point. Norman had hired me to find out something, and I hadn't come through for
him. I had taken a week's retainer and put in a day and a half's worth of
effort. As corny as it sounded, I owed him something more, whether he wanted to
accept it or not. I owed Robbie something too, and I figured that he certainly
would have wanted the truth to come out. Mostly though, there was something
gnawing at me, something from my past that this case had dredged up. I never
liked loose ends, puzzles where the pieces didn’t quite fit together cleanly.
Satisfying resolutions don’t always happen in this business. There were
instances when it made sense to leave things be, but others where you just feel
you have to keep poking the stick until something emerges. This case felt like
the latter.
    And one thing I did have right now was an abundance of
time. With the exception of following Mrs. Wachs around, I didn't have a whole
lot else to do. Idle hands being the devil's workshop, I decided to take a ride
over to the ocean, but frolicking in the sparkling surf was the last thing on
my mind.

Chapter
6
    The beach at Venice was normally crowded only during the
weekends, but the searing heat which scorched the basin had seemingly propelled
one-half of L.A. to the cool Pacific waters. After spending twenty minutes of
futility looking for a parking space, I succumbed to the inevitable and paid
ten dollars to park in a lot.
    Venice was developed by Abbot Kinney in the early years
of the 20 th century, a testament to that lovely city in Northern
Italy. There were similar canals flowing into one another and homes built right
on the edge of the waterways. The ocean was nearby and it was an eclectic, yet
lovely place to live. Many years ago I had a girlfriend that lived there and it
was a soothing feeling to awaken to the sound of water lapping near the window.
Times change however, and so had Venice, California. The Venice of today still
had some trendy parts to it but it also was home to a steamy pit of cheap bars
and sodden people. Parts of Venice had been regentrified, but its charm would
undoubtedly take a longer time to return.
    Neary's Bar was located a couple of blocks from the
beach on a sun drenched street that featured an adult bookstore, a bikini shop,
and a little restaurant called the No Name Cafe. A pair of tacky paintings of
naked women highlighted the stucco exterior of Neary's. As I walked through the
old western style swinging saloon doors the smell of stale beer and sawdust
wafted into my nostrils.
    "Ten bucks admission," said a fat laden man
with a pencil thin moustache. He had on a cheap white shirt open to the navel,
and cheap black pants held up by a pair of cheap suspenders. Behind him, the
interior of the bar was dark and it took a minute for my eyes to adjust. A
young, well proportioned girl wearing a black negligee danced across a long,
narrow stage that looked like a miniature airport runway. A small railing
surrounded the stage and a few dollar bills draped the top of it. The
thundering beat of a pop song pulsated through the room.
    "Does that ten bucks include anything else?"
    "This ain't no massage parlor, Jack," he
snarled. "Pay up or screw." He emphasized the last word by jerking
his thumb over his shoulder.
    I handed him a ten and he thanked me by looking away as
I