Thomas's Street Guide, a few quick
and dirty disguises, a flashlight, and an empty coffee can for peeing
if you're a man. I don't know what you're going to do. Hold it in, I
suppose. Also never do a rolling surveillance in a car with front end
damage. It's a dead giveaway."
"What're you talking about?"
"I'm offering you a job, Chantal. If you want to
be a private investigator, you can start tonight. Of course, you'll
have to miss the second half of the class."
"Are you serious? . . . You are serious. Well,
I, uh, let's go."
Two minutes later we were out on the street.
"Where's your car?" I asked.
"I don't have one."
"You don't have a car? In Los Angeles?"
"Listen, mon ami ,
you try making it as a stand-up comic in this town and see how long
you keep your car."
" You haven't tried being a private detective yet
.... All right, what the hell, we'll rent you one. Right now we've
got a cushy client."
I opened the doors of the BMW. She got in on the
passenger side.
"Look," she explained as we drove off,
"I've done a lot of things in my life. You've just caught me at
a bad time. But I hope you know what you're doing, because I don't
like being a charity case. Even in my worst moments I've never done
that. I didn't even take a penny of alimony from my ex-husband even
though he could've afforded plenty."
"Who was he?"
" A psychiatrist."
I groaned.
"What's the matter? You have a problem with
psychiatrists?"
"No, no. I'm just, uh, surrounded .... Okay,
here's my proposition. For this case I'll pay you twelve dollars an
hour plus expenses. Sometimes you'll be working with me. Sometimes
alone. But any time there's shit work, it'll be for you to do."
"I don't go out for coffee. I promised myself
whatever I did I'd rather be a bag woman than—"
" I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about
grunt research. Going to the library, that kind of thing. Did you
tell them at the Fun Zone that you were quitting stand-up?"
" What for? Why close off options? You never
know. There could've been a scout from the Letterman show and—"
"Great. That's what I like to hear. Now, listen
. . ." I told her what I knew about the Ptak case, or most of
it, about Emily and Otis and Nastase and Bannister. About Koontz and
the suspected drug ring, even about the William Morris agents in
Tujunga.
"So tonight," I concluded, "I'm going
to have a look around Nastase's place. I want you to go down to the
Fun Zone and see what you can find out. Maybe go over to the Albergo
Picasso, too. They know me now, but you're just a nosy comic looking
around like the rest of them. I'll meet you back at the club around
midnight."
When I was done, she looked at me for what they used
to call a long minute. "Why do you trust me with all this?"
she said.
" Shouldn't I?"
"Well, yeah, sure, but"— she
shrugged—"you don't exactly know me."
"I've got to trust someone. Besides, I have a
great instinct for these things. I discovered my ex-wife was cheating
on me in only four years. "
Chantal grinned as we pulled up at the rent-a-car
office. We got out and I put a Datsun on my credit card for her and
headed off for Echo Park. The odd thing was, by the time I crossed
Western, I was starting to feel like I was missing her.
That changed to a feeling of unease the moment I
drove onto LeMoyne Street. To begin with, I used to live in the Echo
Park area and it always made me uncomfortable to return to old
neighborhoods. I made a note to ask Nathanson about that. But more
disturbing than the neighborhood was the street itself. It was poorly
lit and sparsely populated, winding up erratically along an eroded
ridge of smog-damaged eucalyptus and deteriorated twenties bungalows
to die out in a concrete retaining wall whose faded mural of
Quetzalcoatl was stained brown from a storm drain and webbed with
cracks.
I parked near this wall and walked down half a block
to an off-white bungalow surrounded with pampas grass. Some leftover
yellow barricade tape with LAPD on the gate
and dirty disguises, a flashlight, and an empty coffee can for peeing
if you're a man. I don't know what you're going to do. Hold it in, I
suppose. Also never do a rolling surveillance in a car with front end
damage. It's a dead giveaway."
"What're you talking about?"
"I'm offering you a job, Chantal. If you want to
be a private investigator, you can start tonight. Of course, you'll
have to miss the second half of the class."
"Are you serious? . . . You are serious. Well,
I, uh, let's go."
Two minutes later we were out on the street.
"Where's your car?" I asked.
"I don't have one."
"You don't have a car? In Los Angeles?"
"Listen, mon ami ,
you try making it as a stand-up comic in this town and see how long
you keep your car."
" You haven't tried being a private detective yet
.... All right, what the hell, we'll rent you one. Right now we've
got a cushy client."
I opened the doors of the BMW. She got in on the
passenger side.
"Look," she explained as we drove off,
"I've done a lot of things in my life. You've just caught me at
a bad time. But I hope you know what you're doing, because I don't
like being a charity case. Even in my worst moments I've never done
that. I didn't even take a penny of alimony from my ex-husband even
though he could've afforded plenty."
"Who was he?"
" A psychiatrist."
I groaned.
"What's the matter? You have a problem with
psychiatrists?"
"No, no. I'm just, uh, surrounded .... Okay,
here's my proposition. For this case I'll pay you twelve dollars an
hour plus expenses. Sometimes you'll be working with me. Sometimes
alone. But any time there's shit work, it'll be for you to do."
"I don't go out for coffee. I promised myself
whatever I did I'd rather be a bag woman than—"
" I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about
grunt research. Going to the library, that kind of thing. Did you
tell them at the Fun Zone that you were quitting stand-up?"
" What for? Why close off options? You never
know. There could've been a scout from the Letterman show and—"
"Great. That's what I like to hear. Now, listen
. . ." I told her what I knew about the Ptak case, or most of
it, about Emily and Otis and Nastase and Bannister. About Koontz and
the suspected drug ring, even about the William Morris agents in
Tujunga.
"So tonight," I concluded, "I'm going
to have a look around Nastase's place. I want you to go down to the
Fun Zone and see what you can find out. Maybe go over to the Albergo
Picasso, too. They know me now, but you're just a nosy comic looking
around like the rest of them. I'll meet you back at the club around
midnight."
When I was done, she looked at me for what they used
to call a long minute. "Why do you trust me with all this?"
she said.
" Shouldn't I?"
"Well, yeah, sure, but"— she
shrugged—"you don't exactly know me."
"I've got to trust someone. Besides, I have a
great instinct for these things. I discovered my ex-wife was cheating
on me in only four years. "
Chantal grinned as we pulled up at the rent-a-car
office. We got out and I put a Datsun on my credit card for her and
headed off for Echo Park. The odd thing was, by the time I crossed
Western, I was starting to feel like I was missing her.
That changed to a feeling of unease the moment I
drove onto LeMoyne Street. To begin with, I used to live in the Echo
Park area and it always made me uncomfortable to return to old
neighborhoods. I made a note to ask Nathanson about that. But more
disturbing than the neighborhood was the street itself. It was poorly
lit and sparsely populated, winding up erratically along an eroded
ridge of smog-damaged eucalyptus and deteriorated twenties bungalows
to die out in a concrete retaining wall whose faded mural of
Quetzalcoatl was stained brown from a storm drain and webbed with
cracks.
I parked near this wall and walked down half a block
to an off-white bungalow surrounded with pampas grass. Some leftover
yellow barricade tape with LAPD on the gate
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