The Museum of Desire

Chapter 49

We took Milo’s Impala. Just as he turned east on Santa Monica, Reed phoned in again.

“I was wondering if they’d go north on Benedict but they just passed the Beverly Hills Hotel. She’s driving, he’s kicking back and smoking what looks like a doobie — okay, they’re turning south onto Beverly Drive... now we’re at that insane intersection where all those streets come together...”

Honks in the background.

“That was close,” said Reed. “Texting idiot in a Maserati just ran the stop sign, nearly T-boned a tourist bus... everyone at the intersection trying to figure when to go, who designed this... okay, the prey’s turning left onto Canon Drive... staying on Canon going south... full stop at Elevado... have to make a full-fledged full stop, hopefully they haven’t made me, no reason they should... I’ll pull over and keep visual contact.”

Thirty seconds later. “Still south on Canon, got two cars between us again, the Rolls is easy to keep tabs on... another stop at Carmelita... they roll through... he’s a litterbug, flicked his butt out the window... she’s driving slowly, doesn’t look like they’re talking so they definitely haven’t made me... okay, now there’s a line of cars stopped at the red at Canon and Santa Monica, they’re not in the turn lane so they’re continuing south.”

I said, “Canon’s the new Restaurant Row in B.H., so maybe dinner.”

Milo said, “If we’re lucky. Be fun to ruin their appetite — Alicia and Sean, you still hearing this? Head over here. Code Two, no sound effects.”

“Roger, Loot,” said Binchy.

“Same here,” said Bogomil.

Reed said, “The light’s green but no one’s moving, more fools texting... all right, now we’re crossing Santa Monica... you’re right, Doc, tables on the sidewalk, people stuffing their faces everywhere. A whole bunch of pedestrian traffic... the Rolls just pulled over to a valet stand, looks like it handles... a bunch of restaurants. I’m pulling over in a loading zone thirty, forty feet up, watching through my rearview... they’re out of the Rolls... both are wearing white, not exactly virgins, huh? Sunglasses... she just handed the keys to a valet then... here we go, a place called... La Pasta. They just walked around to the side and went in... nothing yet, maybe they’re staying inside... nope, here they are, being shown to a sidewalk table right in front... maître d’ or whatever you call him is smiling at them... now he’s gone... they’re settling in... taking off their sunglasses... I’ll find legit parking — okay, there’s a city lot across the street, I’ll circle back on foot.”

Milo said, “We’ll be there in ten, Moses. Observe from where you won’t be seen. That goes for everyone.”

He phoned the Beverly Hills Police Department, used his rank until he reached the lieutenant in charge, a man named Fosburgh.

“We need to arrest two homicide suspects on your turf. I thought you should know.”

“Homicide,” said Fosburgh. “Shit. We talking gang guys coming to our turf to party? We should probably get involved.”

Milo said, “Nothing like that. Outwardly respectable folk from Little Holmby.”

“You’re kidding. What’d they do?”

“The Benedict Canyon limo thing.”

“That? I was wondering how it was going. Rich psychos or ghetto trash renting in Holmby?”

“Respectable,” said Milo.

“Wow,” said Fosburgh. “Guess I should thank you ’cause a few yards south it would’ve been ours. What do you need?”

“Nothing at this point, I’m figuring to keep it extremely low-key, just wanted to do right by you.”

“You did. They in a house or an office building?”

“About to dine at La Pasta.”

“That place,” said Fosburgh. “Overblown reputation but always busy, Eurotrash and rich tourists. They carrying? Maybe you should wait until they’re finished and get ’em where there’re fewer people.”

“They valet-parked, no jackets, all-white clothes, can’t see anywhere to put a weapon except maybe her purse. But I don’t think they have a clue and you don’t want an auto pursuit.”

“No-o, that would be uncool. Canon’s the new Restaurant Row, except for the occasional drunks, it’s mellow. A few years ago we did bust some Mafia-wannabes from the Valley doing a loan-shark thing in a patio right across the street. You don’t think you’ll need any backup?”

“There’s four of us. I’m aiming for a nice quiet walk-up.”

“That’s how I’d do it,” said Fosburgh. “All right, appreciate you giving me the one-up. Here’s my direct number. You need anything, use it. And let me know once the situation’s over.”

“Will do. Thanks, L.T.”

“You too, L.T. You can call me Eric.”