“You no longer own the place. Why would they do that, Ron?”
“?’Cause of the way it is,” said Salawa. “Bus-bench lawyers troll records. I know I sound paranoid but I already have a pain-in-the-ass time when I travel, getting hassled by customs at the airport, can’t qualify for Global Entry.”
Toothy smile. “They won’t say why. As if. Anyway, I’m just finished closing my bags back up and you text me about this.”
“Kimby,” said Milo.
“I think.” A red shoe tapped. “Sorry it happened to her but don’t know her.”
“Could you check her employment records so we can find out who she is?”
“I could if I had them,” said Salawa. “Minute I closed with the Chinese I got rid of everything to do with that dump. There wasn’t much records to begin with, the girls were independent contractors—that’s how my uncle set it up. Less paperwork.”
“Better for taxes.”
Salawa blinked. Reaching into his jacket, he slipped on a pair of Maui Jim aviator shades. “He told me it was legal, sir. Whole deal was supposed to be turnkey. Later I found out he was in trouble—my uncle Moussa. Owed a lot of money to a lot of banks, going back to Dubai was an escape. My mom was ready to—she’s totally pissed off, he’s her brother, there’s supposed to be family honor. I ended up with the club and three other parcels but everything had liens Moussa didn’t tell me about.”
I said, “Did Kimby know Moussa?”
“Maybe but he’s not even in Dubai anymore, maybe Abu Dhabi, who knows? And to be honest, sirs, he’s not the killer type, just a sneak. I only remember her because she was one of the better-looking girls. The situation Moussa put me in, I wasn’t exactly getting supermodels.”
Milo said, “Did you ever socialize with the girls?”
Salawa drew himself up. “I’m a married man.” Small smile. “Not exactly a champ at it, this one’s Number Three, but I don’t play those games anymore. You ask anyone about me, they’ll tell you the same.”
I said, “Those problem customers, did any of them hassle Kimby?”
“Not that I heard. You’d have to ask the bouncers.”
“Nothing you noticed yourself.”
“I wasn’t around much,” said Salawa. “Less time I spent there, the better.”
I said, “What can you tell us about Kimby’s personality?”
Salawa let out an exasperated sigh. “These questions, sir. I didn’t know her. Okay, it’s a murder, I get it, you got to ask. But personality? I didn’t give them psychiatric tests. What I can tell you is that when I interviewed her she seemed okay.”
“Okay…”
“Quiet, polite, nothing weird. Not likely to be a pain.” Salawa adjusted a lapel. “If they looked half decent I put some music on and tried them out.”
“Kimby was a good dancer.”
“Actually, sir, not really. She’d move back and forth.” Illustrating with his hands. “Like she was bored. But by that time I just wanted to fill the stage.”
I said, “Did she hang out with any of the other girls?”
Salawa flicked the bottom of his beard. “Maybe I’m not getting it across: I wasn’t involved with any of them.”
Milo and I remained silent.
Salawa said, “I’m not trying to give you attitude, just telling you the truth. Can’t believe she’d go back there. Why would she do that?”
Milo said, “That, Ron, is the question. So no stalkers you’re aware of.”
“No.”
“What about a boyfriend?”
“For all I know,” said Salawa, “she could’ve had a girlfriend. You’d be surprised how many of them swing that way. Wish I could tell you more, she seemed like a nice girl—oh, yeah, here’s something. A couple of times I saw her doing a crossword. Or with a book. Does that help?”
“Everything helps, Ron.”
“Then okay, I helped you. She’s in her costume, waiting to go on, concentrating. Doing this.” Salawa’s upper teeth took hold of his lower lip.
“What was her costume?”
“What was available and fit. I wasn’t exactly running a studio with a huge wardrobe allowance. So what was going on at the place when it happened?”
Milo said, “Wedding.”
“Wow.” Salawa grinned. “Should’ve happened at my first wedding. Bad omen to warn me off.”
Out came Milo’s pad. “The bouncers’ names, please.”
Salawa inhaled. “You guys are going to think I’m hiding something but I’m not. Like with the girls, they were independent, all I remember is first names.”
“Then we’ll take those.”
“Okay…let me try to remember.” Fingers tapped a temple. “The ones back then I think were James and Del…something. DelMar? DelMonte? Del something. You know how they get with their names.”
“They?”
“Black guys. Okay, yeah, here’s something: James had a common last name. Smith, Jones, Brown, whatever.” Salawa shook his head. “Sorry—hey, I can tell you what they looked like. You want that?”
Milo gave him a thumbs-up.
“Okay,” said Salawa. “James was totally bald, Del-whatever had the long stuff—dreds. Big black guys. I think one of them maybe played football. I think Del. Maybe both of them, not sure.”
“Where’d they play?”
Shrug. “I can’t even tell you why the football thing is in my head, maybe he mentioned it. Or someone did. Or I’m wrong. I must sound like an idiot.”
I said, “How old are these guys?”
“Del was in his forties, James was younger—thirties. Huge—arms like a normal guy’s legs. I think he might’ve been gay.”
“Why’s that?” said Milo.
“You know queers,” said Salawa. “No matter how tough they are, sooner or later the way they move, the way they talk. I’m not saying he was a wimp. No way, José, someone messed with him good luck. I just got a feeling—the way he kind of…strutted? And sometimes he’d stand there and be doing this.”
Dangling a limp wrist. “Maybe I’m wrong, but probably not. I’ve got a feel for people.”
I said, “Your feel for Kimby was—”
“Nice girl, not much of a dancer, great looking. She didn’t seem dumb. Can’t say that for some of the other girls.”
“The bouncers took care of problems. Did anyone mess with them and end up the worse for it?”
“No one got hurt,” said Salawa. “I set rules: See them out and get them in their cars. If they weren’t too drunk. If they were, we called them a cab. I lost plenty of money on cab fees. Trust me, no one got hurt, the proof is no one sued me.”
Milo said, “Any idea how we can reach James and Del?”
“Hmm…I think James lived in the Valley—I’m saying that because sometimes he’d bitch about traffic coming over the hill. Del, I can’t tell you.”
“Independent contractors.”
“That’s how Moussa set it up,” said Salawa. “I thought he knew what he was doing.”
* * *
—
We watched him drive off in the Mercedes.
Milo said, “Let’s take a walk.”
“Food or peace and quiet?”
“Already ate.” He hooked a thumb and we did our usual southward stroll into the working-class residential neighborhood that borders the station. Nothing fancy but maybe the safest blocks in L.A.
“So what do you think of Ron?”
I said, “Hard to tell. Anything in his background?”
“No criminal record but no angel. In frequent arrears for child support with the first two wives, they’re always in court. Several convenient bankruptcies, and one fire at a warehouse he owned in East L.A. that looked suspicious but wasn’t provable as arson. Unfortunately, when it comes to his club venture, he seems to be leveling. He got the properties because his uncle—who’s a total deadbeat with a conviction for attempted bribery—owed him money on the sale of three apartment buildings they co-owned in Downey. Two of them Salawa unloaded at a loss, the other one and The Aura, he barely broke even.”
“Struggling businessman,” I said. “That could mean resentment and secrets.”
“Sure, but he returns to a dump he hates on the day of a stranger’s wedding in order to kill a former employee? Can’t see how that works.”
“Maybe he lied and it was personal. He tried to impress us with how disengaged he was. But he did notice Kimby’s looks and her dancing.”