Jeremy’s smile withered. “You saw it?” He studied me, unsure how to respond.
Milo said, “We were interested in the building and happened to walk by. Man, you’ve got a talent for cool. That was me?” He blew out air. “My partner’s right. They gave Oscars for bitchdom she goes home with a big, ugly statue.”
Jeremy’s analysis shifted to him. Hazel eyes sharpened. “Why are you talking to me?”
“Like I said, the building. We saw you and thought you might know stuff that could help us. I’m serious, man. You’ve got nerves of steel.”
Jeremy shrugged, working hard at not being pleased by the compliment. The flush under his ears gave him away. “Yeah, I’m chill. It’s like the way my brain works. My dad thinks it means I don’t give a rat.” Soft titter. “Usually, I don’t.”
Milo said, “Your dad got you the job at the building?”
Jeremy tweaked a lapel. “You really don’t know?”
“We really don’t.”
“More like forced me to do the job. Now I got to wear this shit.” Tweezing a maroon lapel between his fingers and grimacing.
“Why that building?”
“One of the other valets is one of you, retired, used to work for Dad. Dad called Rudy, Rudy fixed it, Dad said I had no choice if I wanted to live at home.” Another rueful touch of the lapel.
Milo said, “Rudy’s the one who just told you to take a stroll?”
“Yeah. He makes like he’s on my side but I think he narcs me to Dad regularly ’cause when I get home Dad has all these questions, it’s like he knows what happened. Tonight’ll probably be like that. Like it’s my fault things jam up and it takes time.”
Steady eyes. Every word spoken in an even tone. “Dad didn’t send you to narc me some more?”
Milo crossed his heart. “We’re West L.A., never met your dad. I mean, I’ve seen him, it’s obvious where you got the hair—”
“Yeah. Gee, thanks, Karl.”
“We’re totally leveling with you, Jeremy. It’s the building that interests us.”
“There’s criminal shit going on there?”
“Sorry, can’t get into details, but if you could answer a couple of questions it would be a huge help.”
“Doubt it, I don’t know shit,” said Jeremy. “I been working there for two months. Part-time.”
Milo said, “How part-time?”
“Two days a week.”
“What do you do when you’re not there?”
“Chill. Play bass with my band.” A beat. “Three times a week, I do the counter at Burger King in Venice.”
“Pico or Sepulveda?”
“Pico,” said Jeremy, smiling. “Sorry, no donuts.”
I said, “Sounds like a busy schedule.”
“They’re forcing me to do shit jobs so I’ll quit and go to college.”
“Mom and Dad.”
“She didn’t go to college and she became a dispatcher. He didn’t and he became a captain.”
Milo said, “Interested in police work?”
Jeremy stared at him as if he’d disrobed in public.
I said, “Music’s your thing.”
“I like it.” Shrug of narrow shoulders. “I’m not that good.”
Milo said, “Practice, practice, practice.”
“Huh?”
Milo showed him a picture of Susan Koster. “This girl. Recognize her?”
“Yeah,” said Jeremy. “I saw her a few times. Going in but not coming out. Not for a while. She’s a hooker?”
“She seemed like a hooker?”
“I dunno. You guys are cops, you don’t look for legal stuff.” Jeremey studied the picture. “She’s super hot, tight red dress showing off this killer bod, big heels. Who’s her john?”
I said, “Coming in but not going out?”
“Not during my shift,” said Jeremy.
“Day shift?”
“Yeah. You get them during the day.”
“Hookers.”
“Hookers, girlfriends of rich guys,” said Jeremy. “It’s the same thing. Pay for play.” He studied the traffic on Wilshire. “There is so much pussy around but you got to have the ess-cee.”
Milo said, “Ess—”
“Spending cash.” Orthodonture flashed. Another look at the photo before he returned it with reluctance. “So what’d she do? Rip off some rich dude?”
“No idea who she came to see?”
“How would I know? I’m stuck breathing in gas fumes, rich people throw me their keys or yell at me.”
“Is there a front desk inside?”
“Yeah, but there’s no one usually there. The management changed, they’re not putting any ess-cee out, people are pissed.”
“Like the bitch.”
“She’s always that way,” said Jeremy. “Husband produced stupid shit on TV, he kicks it, she gets the dough, thinks she’s a queen or something.”
Milo said, “Rest of the building like that? Showbiz types?”
“Showbiz.” Jeremy’s lips formed around the word as if it were a punch line. “I don’t know who they are except they’re all rich. I know her because she acts like that, Rudy gave me her story.” A beat. “She’s got a stupid name. Taffy.”
I said, “Do you know any of the tenants?”
“Not tenants, you can’t call them that, they’re owners. Why would I know them.”
“They treat you like shit.”
“A couple are nice. These two doctors, the Haleys, they’re like a hundred years old, get picked up by a chauffeur in an old Rolls.”
“Speaking of wheels, what did the girl in the red dress drive?”
“Hmm…you know, I never saw her drive anything, she’d just walk past looking hot.”
I said, “No taxi drop-off? Uber?”
“Probably,” said Jeremy. “Never noticed. Why would I?”
Milo said, “An hour or so ago a girl in a gray dress rode in on a bicycle and rolled into the sub-lot. About your age.”
“You say so.”
“You didn’t see her?”
“Like I said, I’m busy with the cars.”
“We thought you might notice a girl on a bicycle. Or just the bicycle parked down in the sub-lot.”
“There’s no bike down there now,” said Jeremy. “She probably took it on the elevator. She a hooker, too?”
Milo smiled. “Would you be willing to help us?”
“Like what?”
“Keep your eyes open for a girl on a bicycle. You see her, this is my number.” Handing his card over.
Jeremy pocketed it without reading. “That’s it?”
“You see her with someone, that would be even better, Jeremy. But whatever we can get is great.”
“Great,” said Jeremy. “That’s like an alien…” His lips moved. “An alien conception. I’m going back. I don’t, Rudy’ll narc me.”
“What’s Rudy’s last name?”
The kid stiffened. “What, you’re going to talk to him about me?”
“Not a chance,” said Milo. “We’ll maybe eventually talk to him about the building but your name won’t come up.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Scout’s honor.”
“What’s that?”
“An ancient ritual. Rudy…”
“Galloway. He used to give traffic tickets. He’s a total dick.”
* * *
—
We waited until he’d passed under the port cochere before retracing our steps and passing the building a second time. Things had quieted. Only two cars. Rudy and the other valet lolled near a phone-booth-sized structure and smoked cigarettes. Off to the side, Jeremy stood motionless, studying slate.
Milo said, “Twenty-four stories of people with fuck-you money. Try prying info out of the staff.”
I said, “One thing in your favor: The residents are owners, not tenants. Meaning they pay property tax and are on the assessor rolls.”
He stopped short. “Plug in the address, see who’s divvying up to the county…there’s got to be what, sixty units, seventy units, maybe more…cross off Taffy, the old doctors, look for a single guy or one whose wife travels…hell, yeah.” Slapping my back. “Muchas gracias.”
CHAPTER
39
Back at Milo’s office, he began researching the pink obelisk.
Completed in 1984, before the city imposed height restrictions. Ninety-four units.
The roster the assessor kicked out made him groan.
Fewer than half the owners were cataloged as individuals; the majority had shielded themselves behind ambiguously named trusts, holding companies, and limited liability corporations.
Milo said, “No one’s listed as Homicidal Asshole, aw shucks.”
He phoned Binchy and Reed, asked them to keep up the watch on Amanda Burdette, adding the details of the pink tower.