Heartbreak Hotel

Chapter 29

We retrieved the unmarked from the lot, drove west to Centinela, then south, just past Jefferson, to a block of tired-looking small businesses, restaurants, and bars.

Len Gottlieb was waiting on the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette and bouncing on his heels in front of a block-faced tavern called the Windjam.

Milo said, “What, they ran out of letters?”

I said, “Maybe they’re into music. Heavy-metal oboes.”

We got out, were greeted by Gottlieb’s fist-bumps. “Guess how many places I tried before I found this dive?”

“Five.”

“One. This was number two.”

“Unbelievable, Len.”

“Maybe God really does love me. That’s what my name means, God-love.” He inhaled smoke. “Maybe He’ll even protect me from the results of this filthy habit. Anyway, this is where DeGraw watered himself after work. Regularly and pretty heavily, bartender says they had to cut him off several times, the fact that he was driving made them nervous.”

“All that spit and polish,” said Milo, “and turns out he was a sloppy drunk.”

“Not sloppy-aggressive,” said Gottlieb. “He never caused problems, would just fall asleep and they’d have trouble waking him up.”

I said, “What did it take to get him to that point?”

“Meaning?”

“Did he need to be stressed to drown his sorrows? Did he ever express himself?”

“Hmm,” said Gottlieb. “Let’s find out.”

No sailing motif inside Windjam. Nothing musical, either. The starkest drinking-dive I’d ever seen north of downtown: a single anorexic room that was mostly lacquer-top bar, the sides diamond-stitched black leatherette glued unevenly.

Bolted-in stools were wood-grain and blue vinyl. Vats for well-booze took up more space than bulk bottles of low-priced spirits. On the opposite side, a couple of tables, unoccupied.

No pool table, no jukebox, no stage, nothing on pine walls aged a better bourbon color than the bottles. Vintage Beach Boys sputtered through tinny speakers perched in two corners. “Don’t Worry Baby” deserving better fidelity.

The two beer-hounds at the far end of the bar didn’t seem to mind the ambience. A slew of empty bottles and foamy splotches said the corpulent barkeep’s work ethic had flagged.

As we approached him, he saluted and motioned us away from the drinkers. Sparse hair, small Buffalo Bill beard under which two supplementary chins flourished. He wore a tan work shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows.

One of those hard-fat guys, tightly packed, with powerful shoulders and ham-hock forearms. Tattoos on both arms: Semper Fi, a bald eagle, Uncle Sam wanting someone, Mom in a winged heart. Tradition flourished.

Len Gottlieb said, “This is Stan, he’s been real helpful.”

Milo said, “Appreciate it, Stan.”

Stan said, “Swissair gets himself killed? Only thing to do is help you guys.”

“Swissair.”

“Never knew his name, sir, but when I asked him where he was from he said Bern. I thought he was being an asshole, telling me to put lighter fluid on myself or something. I almost kicked his ass out. I guess he didn’t like the look on my face so he told me it’s a city in Switzerland, that’s where he’s from. So I started calling him Swissair, that’s their airline.”

Not for a decade. No sense getting picky.

Gottlieb tapped the bar. “Stan says DeGraw’s been coming in for around two years. Off and on but when it’s on, it’s like three, four times a week, always evenings.”

“Looked to me like an after-work deal, we get a lot of those,” said Stan. “He’d be wearing this maroon jacket and a tie. Couple of shots, the tie would come off. Bunch more, his head would go this way.”

One hand mimed a slow descent. “I didn’t want one of those lawsuits so I kept an eye on him, told my wife to do the same when she was tending. We worked out a system. The tie comes off, he gets three more, tops. He never argued. Never said much of anything, just sat by himself and put it away.”

“What was his pleasure?” said Milo.

Stan said, “Scotch.”

Gottlieb said, “Here’s the main thing: DeGraw always came in alone until three weeks ago when he had a companion.”

“Really,” said Milo.

Stan said, “Oh, man.” Thick arms shaped an hourglass figure.

Milo said, “Cute, huh?”

“More than cute, juicy. I’m thinking, what’s he doing with something like that?”

“They get all lovey-dovey?”

“Nah,” said Stan. “But he tried to impress her. Before, he never ordered a brand, this time he wanted Crown Royal. Waste of time, she wasn’t into brown, ordered Stoli.”

Gap-toothed smile. “What they got was Canadian Mist and Smirnoff. And no hoochie-coo, all they did was drink and talk.”

“About what?”

“How should I know? I’m here, they’re there.”

Gottlieb said, “Stan says she wore a blond wig.”

“I could tell it was a wig ’cause it was too perfect. Like back-in-the-day-Farrah, those wings and things?” He exhaled, wiped his hands on his shirt. “Some body on her, what’s Swissair doing with that? But then I could see they weren’t like that.”

I said, “Nothing physical going on.”

“Nah, they just talked and he waved his little book around, then she left and he did his usual slop till you drop.”

Gottlieb said, “What book?”

“This little book,” said Stan. “Red. He’s showing it to her, she looks at it once, then she leaves.”

Milo said, “Maybe a passport?”

Stan shrugged. “Beats me, I never had one. They’re red? That’s kind of communist.”

Gottlieb said, “Ours are blue.” He looked at Milo.

Stan’s attention had wandered to the men at the bar. “Something?” he called over.

Head shakes.

Gottlieb said, “Anything else you can say about this hot thing, Stan?”

The barman outlined another hourglass. “What looked like real tits, nice and high. Confident tits, ya know?”

Milo said, “How about if we bring a sketch artist over.”

Stan picked at his chin. “Never done that before.”

“Maybe it’s time for an adventure, my friend.”

“Hmm. Sure, why not, live dangerously. But I’m not swearing to nothing. I coulda seen her topless, I’d remember a whole lot better.”

“No need to swear, Stan. Just do your best.” To Gottlieb: “Okay if I use one of my Rembrandts?”

“Better than okay.”

“I’ll give him this.” He fished out a business card, showed it to Gottlieb.

Gottlieb said, “Be my guest, he’s already got mine.”

Stan pocketed the card without reading it.

Milo said, “Hot Stuff shows up again, please call Detective Gottlieb or me. And if you can catch a license plate, you’ll be a hero.”

“She’s bad news, huh?”

“She interests us.”

“Hot Stuff, yeah, that’s her,” said Stan. He licked the back of his hand. Drew it back and said, “Sssssss.”

We left the bar.

Gottlieb said, “With DeGraw taken care of, why would she come back here?”

“Hope springs eternal, Len.”

“Maybe in your world. Anyway, at least we got the confirmation: DeGraw was in with your suspects and wanted out. She came here to discuss it, he shows her his passport, assures her he’ll be leaving pronto once he’s paid off. She says it’s a deal, they arrange a meet at his place, she distracts him, I don’t even want to know how. When he’s not paying attention, your other two walk in and off him.”

Milo said, “He becomes just like Swissair. No longer in business.”

“Tough shit for him,” said Gottlieb. “Do that to an old lady.” He lit up another cigarette. “So. We got confirmation of our theory but, again, I don’t see any clear path to my case until you close yours and maybe someone talks.”

“Agreed, Len, I’ll carry the ball. But if you do learn something — like you did today—”

“Sure,” said Gottlieb. “But the thing you need to know is I’ve got vacation time coming up. Assuming the Boss Wife can keep her schedule clear. So I may be out of commission for a couple weeks.”

“Where you headed to?”

“Mexico, maybe Cabo,” said Gottlieb. “Maybe Puerto V. Best-case scenario, a beach with Hot Stuffs in bikinis who don’t want to kill anyone.”

We watched him drive away. I said, “He just disconnected from the case.”

“That’s okay, he’s right, it does all depend on me.” Rubbing his face, Milo checked his phone. “Moe watched Ricki S. last night, she went home, stayed there. Sean’s on tonight, let’s see.”

“Keep that eternal hope going.”

“Thanks for not laughing, talk about a true friend.”

He slapped my back lightly, returned to his phone. “Let’s see if Maestro Shimoff has time to do a drawing.”

Detective II Alex Shimoff, a Russian-trained painter and the man Milo calls “the other Alexander,” was working a commercial burglary case in the toy district.

He said, “Culver City doesn’t have anyone who can do it?”

“Anyone else is at the stick-figure stage, you’re a master.”

“Right,” said Shimoff. “When do you need this?”

“Sooner would be better than later, kiddo.”

“Of course... okay, we just moved to Westchester, Culver’s basically on my way home. This bartender work late?”

“You could do it tonight?”

“Probably.”

“Lemme ask him.”

We returned to the Windjam. The pair of drinkers had added to their bottle collection and the bar-top remained splotched. The music had changed, though. Sammy Hagar, poor fidelity giving him a lisp.

Stan, eyelids drooping, sat fooling with his cuticles. When he saw us the lids remained lowered but the spheres behind them rolled upward.

Milo asked him.

He said, “Probably.”

“Any way you can switch that to a yes, Stan? If I have Detective Shimoff give you an hour’s notice?”

“Detective? He’s a cop, also draws?”

“Multitalented,” said Milo.

“Got a kid who draws. Does crap in school but makes these comic books, crazy stuff. They say he’s good. You think this detective could talk some sense into him?”

“Let’s aim for that, Stan.”

“Then, yeah. What time?”

Milo redialed Shimoff. To Stan: “Between eight and nine.”

“I’ll be here,” said the barkeep. “Get the kid over, maybe bring a comic book he done. He likes to stay in his room, I’ll drag him over.”

Back outside, Milo reached Shimoff again. “Appreciate it, Czar Alexei. Also, the witness might bring his kid to watch you work.” He explained.

Shimoff said, “So now I’m a career counselor?”

“You’ve always been good at multitasking.”

“Walk and chew gum, eh?”

“I owe you.”

“You always do.”

The following morning a screen shot of the drawing was in my email. Shimoff to Milo to me, no topic heading.

Beautifully rendered portrait of a generic gorgeous blonde. Monroe, if you squinted. A bit more angular if you didn’t.

I couldn’t see much value in it, kept that to myself and sent a text: Binchy see anything last night?

Instead of replying in kind, Milo phoned. “Nada. Speaking of Ricki S., the crime lab’s asking when I’m gonna get Thalia’s stuff out of storage and talk to her executor. They have it in an auto bay, someone crashes while shooting or being shot at, they’ll need the space. Given who the executor is, I obviously want to hold off. Meanwhile, I’m heading back to the hotel, see if anyone has a story to tell about the cute blonde.”

“Good luck.”

“I was figuring to bop by and pick you up.”

“Sure,” I said.

“No sandwiches necessary, had a big breakfast.”

Alicia Bogomil said, “Yup, that’s her. Probably. Only saw her a couple of times. With the dudes and then by herself. She was walking in front, that’s a switch. Had a bod, showed it off.” Forming two balloons on her own flattish chest.

I said, “Tight clothes?”

“Tight clothes and posture.” She stood up straight, arched her back, accentuated her torso. “Bod-confidence, you know? Like she liked being looked at.”

Milo said, “A performer.”

Bogomil said, “Hmm. Yeah. So maybe she’s an actress or something.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re saying she — they — definitely had something to do with it?”

“Not yet,” he lied. “You ever see her with DeGraw?”

“No, why?”

“He just got murdered.”

Her mouth dropped open. “No shit! Oh, man, so that’s why he hasn’t been around. You’re kidding — crap! How?”

“Can’t get into it, sorry.”

“Whoa,” said Bogomil. “Another one bites it. Rumors have been circulating that he got fired by the Arabs, the place is definitely closing down. Shit. It’s like this place is Heartbreak Hotel.”

Milo said, “Let me ask you something else. Thalia’s lawyer, she always show up alone?”

“The sad-looking, dumpy blonde? Yup, every time I saw her, she was flying solo.” Her face tightened. “You’re saying she’s also—”

“I’m not saying anything.”

Bogomil looked at him.

“I wish I could say, Alicia. This is a damn whodunit.”

“Got it. Sorry,” she said. “But the place is closing down, right? Like I told you before, no new guests, and now the snip tucks have tapered off.”

“I have no facts on that but it sounds logical.”

Her hands clenched. “Damn, I got to start looking. Probably have to settle for another boring private thing so I can pay bills. But that’s temporary, working with you showed me I need a real badge again. Preferably you guys. If I can’t get that, San Diego, Santa Barbara, something with a warm climate and real cases.”

“What I said holds true. Once you apply, let me know, Alicia.”

“You can count on it, Loo, thanks.” Her arms began what might’ve been a hug, but dropped down. “Meanwhile, I’ll stick around long as they pay me, keep my eyes open for you. Not that I expect anything, place is a tomb.”

Same temp at the desk — Kelli. No sense showing her the drawing. We found Refugia vacuuming the hallway of the original wing, pushing the machine around in slow arcs and looking defeated.

She studied the rendering. “Yes, that’s the one in Cinco.”

“What can you tell us about her?”

“She looks like this — maybe a little narrower, here.” Pointing to the left jawline. “She’s a bad person?”

“We’re still investigating, Refugia.”

“She wasn’t nice.”

“How so?”

“I came in to clean, she was leaving, I said hello, she walked by me. I know she heard. She was making like I wasn’t there. Sometimes they’re like that.”

“Guests.”

“Rich people,” she said. “Not everyone, I know some nice ones. But you know.”

“She came across like a rich lady.”

“Nice clothes,” she said. “Chanel purse.”

“That so.”

“Could be fake Chanel, I don’t know.”

“What color?”

“Black silk, this thing.” Shaping a diamond. “This pattern sewn into it.”

“That time,” said Milo, “was she by herself?”

“Yes, and the place was very messy. Bottles, glasses, food, messed-up bed. Also the pull-out.”

Her color deepened.

I said, “Big mess.”

She looked away. “It smelled. The bed and the pull-out.”

“Of...”

“You know,” she said. “Like it happened there? Doing it all over the place?”

“Sex.”

Quick nod. She fooled with the handle of the vacuum cleaner. “They’re saying we’re losing our jobs.”

Milo said, “Who’s saying?”

“Everyone. Also, DeGraw’s not here, there was something to do, he’d be here but they’re saying he quit. Is it true, sir? Should I look for another job?”

“Don’t know the facts, Refugia, but it might be a good idea.”

Her shoulders dropped. “I thought so. Not another hotel, I want to take care of an old person. I like old people.”

Her eyes filmed. “I liked Miss Mars.”