it.”
“They called me about three weeks later, but there wasn’t much urgency in their questions. I think they figured it for what it was.”
“Gotta watch those Ms. Universes,” I said.
“I think it’s just the runner-ups,” she smiled. “And finally, I do work at the Getty. My Kubicek find—lucky as it was—got me noticed, and they asked me to start a journal for them. And because I’d had a windfall, I could afford to take the job. I also edit their catalogues and write most of the captions for the exhibits. And for the record, I just couldn’t face going to work today. I don’t even know why I lied about that.”
She looked drained.
I said, “Well, Dr. York, now that the truth serum has taken effect, and you have the day off anyway, why don’t we run over to Ralphs and have a look at the scene of the crime.”
As we rode down the hill into the relative civilization of the 90210, the radio in the Rolls was on. Steve Hartman and Petros Papadakis—the Jimmy Neutron and Jack E. Leonard of Los Angeles sports talk—were, as usual, making intelligent, insightful points. Unfortunately, they were doing it at the same time. Hartman and Papadakis are the two heavyweights in town and have separate shows, mostly because you can’t shoehorn that much IQ, ego and certitude into one studio. But management apparently thinks it’s good radio to jam them together every once in a while, step back and watch the ignition. I wonder if they’ll feel the same way the day their two biggest stars go fists, teeth and key man policies over the desk at each other. In the meantime, though, while the bosses smile, the audience listens…and waits.
When I couldn’t decipher what they were shouting about, I turned it off. Kim was quiet, which elevated her anothernotch in my book. People who have to fill every silence with conversation make my ass tired, so it was nice to just ride along with my own thoughts.
I kept turning her story over in my head, but it didn’t quite mesh. Like what was the real reason she hadn’t wanted to call the cops last night? Naked or not, most people’s reaction is to scream for a police officer if a dog is barking three blocks over, let alone if they’ve just escaped a kidnapping.
I was pretty sure that if her car was eventually found, the clothes she’d been wearing would be in it. But why take the car at all if you were just going to dump her in the drink? Why chance getting picked up in a vehicle that isn’t yours? Unless somebody wanted to go through it first, thoroughly.
Kim said she hadn’t been raped, and after her reaction in bed, I believed her. Women who’ve been sexually abused aren’t usually interested in making love a couple of hours later. But bad guys holding a woman they’re going to kill anyway generally aren’t paragons of restraint. Usually only pros have that kind of self-control. Or men who’ve been sent to do a job by someone they deeply fear.
And why did Tino get out of the van? You have to figure if you’ve botched an abduction, you’d want to get as far away as possible as fast as possible. Why let half of the drivers on the 405 get a look at you?
I concluded she was holding something back. Maybe without even knowing it—but that’s not what my gut said.
I turned off Santa Monica into Century City and honked my horn as we passed my law firm’s offices. Miguel, the parking valet, saw my Rolls, gave a big grin and waved. Where else but L.A. can you valet park to visit your lawyer.
“Somebody else you’ve helped?”
I smiled. “Miguel does just fine on his own. He and his cousin, Jorge, have the Century City valet parking and car washing concession. They probably make more than half the people working in the offices. My attorney did the negotiations for them. No charge, providing he got free valet service and clean cars for life. That’s his building.”
Jake Praxis has been my attorney and friend for a while now. He started life as a navy
“They called me about three weeks later, but there wasn’t much urgency in their questions. I think they figured it for what it was.”
“Gotta watch those Ms. Universes,” I said.
“I think it’s just the runner-ups,” she smiled. “And finally, I do work at the Getty. My Kubicek find—lucky as it was—got me noticed, and they asked me to start a journal for them. And because I’d had a windfall, I could afford to take the job. I also edit their catalogues and write most of the captions for the exhibits. And for the record, I just couldn’t face going to work today. I don’t even know why I lied about that.”
She looked drained.
I said, “Well, Dr. York, now that the truth serum has taken effect, and you have the day off anyway, why don’t we run over to Ralphs and have a look at the scene of the crime.”
As we rode down the hill into the relative civilization of the 90210, the radio in the Rolls was on. Steve Hartman and Petros Papadakis—the Jimmy Neutron and Jack E. Leonard of Los Angeles sports talk—were, as usual, making intelligent, insightful points. Unfortunately, they were doing it at the same time. Hartman and Papadakis are the two heavyweights in town and have separate shows, mostly because you can’t shoehorn that much IQ, ego and certitude into one studio. But management apparently thinks it’s good radio to jam them together every once in a while, step back and watch the ignition. I wonder if they’ll feel the same way the day their two biggest stars go fists, teeth and key man policies over the desk at each other. In the meantime, though, while the bosses smile, the audience listens…and waits.
When I couldn’t decipher what they were shouting about, I turned it off. Kim was quiet, which elevated her anothernotch in my book. People who have to fill every silence with conversation make my ass tired, so it was nice to just ride along with my own thoughts.
I kept turning her story over in my head, but it didn’t quite mesh. Like what was the real reason she hadn’t wanted to call the cops last night? Naked or not, most people’s reaction is to scream for a police officer if a dog is barking three blocks over, let alone if they’ve just escaped a kidnapping.
I was pretty sure that if her car was eventually found, the clothes she’d been wearing would be in it. But why take the car at all if you were just going to dump her in the drink? Why chance getting picked up in a vehicle that isn’t yours? Unless somebody wanted to go through it first, thoroughly.
Kim said she hadn’t been raped, and after her reaction in bed, I believed her. Women who’ve been sexually abused aren’t usually interested in making love a couple of hours later. But bad guys holding a woman they’re going to kill anyway generally aren’t paragons of restraint. Usually only pros have that kind of self-control. Or men who’ve been sent to do a job by someone they deeply fear.
And why did Tino get out of the van? You have to figure if you’ve botched an abduction, you’d want to get as far away as possible as fast as possible. Why let half of the drivers on the 405 get a look at you?
I concluded she was holding something back. Maybe without even knowing it—but that’s not what my gut said.
I turned off Santa Monica into Century City and honked my horn as we passed my law firm’s offices. Miguel, the parking valet, saw my Rolls, gave a big grin and waved. Where else but L.A. can you valet park to visit your lawyer.
“Somebody else you’ve helped?”
I smiled. “Miguel does just fine on his own. He and his cousin, Jorge, have the Century City valet parking and car washing concession. They probably make more than half the people working in the offices. My attorney did the negotiations for them. No charge, providing he got free valet service and clean cars for life. That’s his building.”
Jake Praxis has been my attorney and friend for a while now. He started life as a navy
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