Sunset Express

CHAPTER 28

The next morning I left the house as the eastern sky bloomed with the onrushing sun and drove to Lucas Worley's condominium on a one-way street just off Gretna Green Way in Brentwood. Gretna Green is a connecting street between Sunset Boulevard and San Vicente, lined with apartment houses and condominium complexes and some very nice single-family homes, but in the dim time just before sunrise the traffic was sparse and the neighborhood still. It was a wonderful time of the day for lurking.

Worley's condo was set between the street and a service alley in a lush green setting. They were nice condos, large and airy and stylishly ideal for former on-the-rise young attorneys turned dope dealers. I slow-cruised the street first, then turned down the alley and idled past the rear. Each condominium had a double carport at its back protected by an overhead wrought-iron door, and Worley's was filled with a gunmetal blue Porsche 911 sporting a vanity plate. The vanity plate read EZLIVN. Guess the loss of his day job hadn't inhibited his lifestyle.

When I reached the end of the alley, Joe Pike and Ray Depente materialized out of the murk and drifted silently to my car. Ray was wearing a black suit over a white shirt with a thin black bow tie. I said, 'When did you go Muslim?'

Ray looked at himself and smiled. 'Joe said you wanted scary. You tell me anything a white boy's more scared of than a Muslim with a hardon?'

Ray Depente was an inch taller than Joe, but slimmer, with mocha skin and gray-flecked hair and the ramrod-straight bearing of a career Marine, which he had been. For the better part of twenty-two years Ray Depente had taught unarmed combat at Camp Pendleton, in Oceanside, California, before retiring to open a karate school in South Central Los Angeles. Now, he taught children the art of selfrespect for ten cents a lesson, and instructed Hollywood actors how to look tough on screen for five hundred dollars an hour. The one paid for the other.

Ray extended his hand and we shook as he said, 'Haven't seen you in a while, my friend. Better get your butt down to my place before you get out of shape.'

'Too many tough guys down there, Ray. Some actor might beat me up.'

Ray smiled wider. 'Way I hear things been going for you, I guess it could happen.' The smile fell away. 'We got a plan for Mr Dope Dealer, or are we just gonna stand around in the dark waitin' to be discovered?' The eastern sky was cooling from pink to violet to blue. Traffic was picking up out on Gretna, and we could hear garbage trucks and cars pulling out of driveways as people left for work. Pretty soon housekeepers would be trudging past to their day work.

Joe tilted his head toward the Porsche. 'Worley's been inside since eight-thirty last night.'

'Is he alone?'

'Yes.'

I said, 'He's got to leave sooner or later. When he leaves we'll go in the house and find his stash. We find the stash, we'll have some leverage.'

Ray said, 'What if he doesn't have a stash?'

I shrugged. 'Then we'll live with him until he scores.'

Ray stared at the Porsche. 'Joe said this guy was a lawyer.'

'Yep. Until he got caught with the dope.'

Ray looked at the nice car and the nice condo and shook his head. 'Asshole.'

Joe and Ray vanished back into the thinning shadows, and I pulled out of the alley and down the little street to Gretna Green. I parked beneath a Moroccan gumball tree with an easy eyes-forward view of Lucas.Worley's street and waited while the air slowly filled with a mist of brightening light and early morning commuter traffic increased and the city began its day.

At twelve minutes after nine that morning the 911 nosed out onto Gretna and turned south, heading for San Vicente. Worley was a pudgy guy with tight curly hair cut short and close-set eyes and a stud in his left ear. He was wearing a tattered dark gray sweatshirt with no sleeves, and his arms were thin and hairy. Probably just running out for coffee.

I left the Corvette, trotted across Gretna and down along the little street to Worley's condo, where Pike and Ray were waiting at the front door. Pike already had the door open.

Lucas Worley's condominium was all high-angled ceilings and stark white walls and rented furniture of the too low, too wide, and too ugly variety. A fabric and plastic ficus sat in the L of two full-sized sofas, and a big-screen TV filled one wall. A stack of stereo equipment ran along the adjoining wall with what looked to be a couple of thousand CDs scattered over the floor and the furniture and on top of the big screen. I guess neatness wasn't one of Lucas Worley's strengths. Framed movie posters from Easy Rider and To Live and Die in L.A. hung above the fireplace opposite mediocre lithographs of Jimi Hendrix and Madonna, and the effect was sort of like a nebbish's fantasy of how a high-end life-in-the-fast-lane hipster would live. He even had a lava lamp. Ray said, 'Would you look at this?'

A framed Harvard Law School diploma was leaning against the lava lamp.

Ray was shaking his head. Incredulous. 'The kids I work with down in South Central bust their asses just to get a high-school diploma so they can get away from this shit, and here this fool is with a goddamned ticket from Harvard Law.'

I said, 'He won't be gone long, Ray. We've got to find the stash.'

Ray moved away from the diploma. He glanced back at it twice and sighed as if he'd seen something so incomprehensible that understanding would forever be denied.

I started for the stairs. 'I'll take the second floor. You guys search down here.'

Pike said, 'Don't bother. It's in the tree.' Pike was circling the ficus.

I stopped at the base of the stairs. 'What do you mean, it's in the tree? How would you know that?'

'Because it's where a lightweight would put it.' Pike grabbed the ficus and yanked it up hard. The ficus came out of its pot, and there was the dope stash. Like Pike had sensed it.

Ray and I stared at each other. We stared at Pike. Ray said, 'Nawwww.'

Pike made a little shrug.

Ray said, 'You're pulling our legs. You saw him foolin' in there through the window last night.'

Pike angled the flat lenses at Ray. 'You think?'

You never know with Pike.

The ficus had covered two Baggies of white powder, one Baggie of brown powder, a metric scale, and assorted drug sales paraphernalia. I told Joe and Ray what I wanted them to do, and when, and then they left. I stayed. I took the dope out of the planter and put it in a neat pile on the coffee table, then replaced the ficus, looked through the scattered CDs until I found something that I liked, put it in the changer, turned on the music, and sat on the couch to wait. The Police. Reggatta De Blanc.

Forty-two minutes later, keys worked the lock, the door swung open, and Lucas Worley came halfway through the door before seeing me. He was carrying a newspaper and a Starbucks cup. He looked surprised, but he hadn't yet seen the dope on the table. 'What the fuck is this? Who are you?'

'Come inside and close the door, Luke. Can I call you Luke? Or is it Lucas? Lucas seems pretentious.' He was a little bit taller than he had looked in the car. His eyes were bright and sharp, and he spoke quickly. You could tell he was used to talking. You could tell he was used to saying bright things and having them appreciated, and you could tell that he thought he was brighter than he really was. Probably where the smugness came from.

He said, 'Maybe I'm confused. Isn't this my house? Isn't that my sofa? The only thing that doesn't seem to belong here is you.' Showing attitude.

'Look at me, Luke. Do you recognize me?'

'Sure. On television. You're the detective who's working with Jonathan.' He closed the door. He was moving slowly. Wary, but trying to be oh-so-cool about it. 'How's Jonathan?'

I smiled at him. 'Funny you should ask, Luke. Jonathan is why I'm here.'

That's when he saw the Baggies. He stared at them for most of an eternity, and then he said, 'What's that?' Like he'd never seen them before.

'Here's the deal, Luke. You used to work in Jonathan's contracts department, and I want to know everything there is to know about Jonathan and his relationship to Teddy Martin. You're going to tell me what you know, and then you're going to get me into his office so that I can see for myself. Are we on the same page with that?'

He shook his head as if I'd spoken Somali. 'Are you high? I don't know you. Get out of here.'

I leaned back and spread my arms along the hack of the couch so that my jacket would open and he could see the Dan Wesson.

'Look, I'm not doing anything for you. I'm going to call Jonathan right now. I'm going to tell him what's going on.'

'

'Oh, you'll go along, Luke. Trust me.' I pointed at the Baggies with my foot. 'You've been a bad boy.'

He smiled like he'd decided exactly how he was going to play it out and he knew he could beat me because he was smarter than me. 'Is this how you're going to get me to do what you want? You're going to call the police? You figure you can have me bounced for violating probation?'

I shook my head. 'No way, Luke. We don't need the police.'

He smiled wider and moved past me, going to the phone. 'Tell you what. I'll call them for you.' He picked up the phone and waved it, showing me just how in control he thought he was. 'Because when they get here and pull us in, I promise you that I can beat this nine ways from Monday in court.' Waving the phone at the dope. 'That's not mine. You're here, you planted it, and you're trying to extort me to screw Jonathan because of the Martin case. Man, Jonathan will have a field day with that one. I can see it now.'

I looked disappointed. 'You didn't listen, Luke. I'm not going to call the cops. I've already made my call.'

Worley frowned and looked uncertain. 'Who'd you call?'

Someone knocked at the door.

Lucas Worley suddenly didn't look so sure of himself.

'Don't you think you should get that?'

He didn't look at the door. 'Who is it?'

Someone knocked again.

I said, 'I kinda figured that you wouldn't cooperate, and that if I tried setting you up with the police that you'd find a way to beat it, so I called a guy I know named Gerald DiVega. You know DiVega?'

His mouth formed into a little O, like the name was ringing a bell but he couldn't quite be sure of it.

I went to the door. 'Gerald DiVega sells drugs to westside hipsters like yourself. For many years he sold drugs on the streets, like so many other gentlemen of free enterprise, but in the past few years he's chosen to cultivate a more upscale clientele: movie and TV people, music people, lawyers and doctors, the very same people you're selling to with your little pissant business.' I opened the door and Ray and Joe stepped in. They were both wearing sunglasses and looking somber. Ray reached under his jacket and drew out a Colt.45 Government model. Joe Pike took out his Python. I said, 'This is Mr X and this is Mr Y. Mr D sent them because he doesn't like you cutting in on his clientele.'

Ray Depente said, 'This the muthuhfuckuh?' He took a black tube from his jacket pocket and screwed it onto the muzzle of the.45 as he said it.

That's him.'

Lucas Worley's eyes went wide, and he took one step back. 'Hey. What is this? What's going on?' Smug was gone. Arrogance had vanished.

Ray and Joe crossed the room like two large, sinuous sharks gliding toward a blood spoor. Ray moved between Worley and the stairs, and Joe moved in from the other side and grabbed Worley's throat hard and rode him down on the couch. When Joe grabbed him, Lucas made a gurgling sound. I said, 'I guess you should've called the cops when you had the chance, Luke.'

Ray waved the.45 at me. 'You can split now, you want. Mr DiVega says thanks.'

'Can't I stay?'

Ray shrugged like it was nothing to him. 'Either way.'

Lucas Worley's eyes were bulging and his face changed from red to purple. He was clawing at Joe's one hand with both of his, but it was like a child trying to bend steel bars.

Ray jacked a round into the.45, then put the muzzle of the suppressor against Worley's cheek and held out his other hand to shield himself from the blood-splatter that would surely follow and Lucas Worley thrashed and moaned and his bowels and bladder went loose at the same time. Guess the real world wasn't seeming like Easy Rider anymore. Guess it wasn't like a movie or a television program. Not much glamor in messing your shorts.

I said, 'You guys don't shoot him, yet.'

Lucas Worley's eyes rolled toward me.

I walked over and squatted by him to look into the rolling eyest I said, 'I helped Mr DiVega out a couple of years back, and he owes me. He knows that I want something from you, and he's willing to play this however I want. You see?'

Lucas Worley was trying to shake his head, trying to say he wasn't trying to cut in on anyone's trade and wouldn't do it anymore if only they'd let him live. Of course, since Joe was strangling him, we couldn't quite make out the words.

'These gentlemen have orders to kill you unless I tell them not to.'

Ray said, 'Kill yo' ass dead.' I frowned at Ray over the top of Worley's head, and Ray shrugged. Overacting.

I said, 'So what's it going to be, Luke? You going to help me out with Jonathan Green, or do I walk out the door and make these guys happy?'

Lucas Worley gurgled some more.

I said, 'I didn't understand you, Luke.'

Joe released some of the pressure, and Lucas Worley croaked, 'Anything. I'll do anything.'

Ray Depente pressed the gun in harder and looked angry. 'Shit. You mean we don't get to kill the little muthuhfuckuh?'

'Not yet. But maybe later.'

Ray squinted down at the rolling eyes, then withdrew the gun and stepped back. Joe let Worley go and also stepped away. Ray said, 'You got a pass this time, dipshit. But Mr DiVega be on your ass now, you understand?'

Lucas Worley was frozen on the couch like a squirrel in front of an onrushing car.

Ray said, 'You just retired from the dope dealin' business, didn't you?'

Worley nodded.

Ray said, 'You're giving Mr DiVega your word, and you know what will happen if you break your word, don't you?'

Worley nodded again. I think he was too terrified to speak.

Ray looked at the framed Harvard Law School diploma and shook his head. 'Dumb muthuhfuckuh. You Oughta be ashamed of yourself.'

He put away the.45, then he and Joe Pike walked over to the bar and made themselves a drink.

I said, 'I told you that you'd see it my way, Luke. Now go wash off and change your clothes. We've got some work to do.'