Chapter 14
"Did you call the taxi?" Black asked as he navigated back towards Los Angeles, over the ridge of hills that separated the San Fernando Valley from the city.
"Damn. I knew I was supposed to do something..." Roxie said, and put the phone down. Black was used to it - it was her way of signaling that she was annoyed at a question. He waited a few seconds and then she picked it back up. "Of course I did."
"Great. And have you got anything on the numbers I gave you?"
"Not yet. But I did get a hit on one of your movie dirtbags. Seems like he's got a rap sheet for petty crimes. Reads more like a con man and a dope fiend than anything. Typical Sunset Strip bottom feeder."
Black sighed. He'd already forgotten about Jared. "What have you got?"
"Looks like a home address. Actually, not that far from your place. Maybe eight blocks away. Like minds..."
"Spare me the insults before lunchtime. Which one is it, and what's the address?"
"Reginald Calper. The one you scribbled 'Preacher' next to." Roxie gave him the address.
"Okay, got it. I'll go by and pay him a visit."
"So no chai for me today, either. No wonder Mugsy hates you."
"What does me not getting you chai have to do with Mugsy? And I thought you said he doesn't hate me."
"I just said that so you wouldn't hold it against him. He's protective of me, and knows when you're subjugating me."
"Subjugating?"
"Oppressing. Keeping me down."
"I'm not subjugating you."
"Classic misogynist. In denial."
"I'm not a misogynist, although you certainly have me thinking about becoming one..."
"At least you're open to accepting it. They say that admitting you have a problem is the first step."
"I'm not admitting anything. You're inventing this. I'm not a misogynist."
"He said angrily," Roxie quipped.
Black took a deep breath. "I'm not angry."
"Sure thing, Mr. Hothead. Just don't come into the office and hit me."
"I've never hit you."
"Yet."
"Roxie? I'm going to hang up now. Is there anything else?"
"Misogynist, violent and angry, and now dismissive. Why am I not surprised?"
"Will you call me when you get something on the phone records?"
"Your mom and dad stopped by."
Black pulled onto the freeway, having to fight his way on after being blocked by an older woman in a Buick, the Eldorado stuttering as it strained up the incline of the hill.
"Are you just trying to ruin my day?"
"They really did. I thought they were sweet."
"How did they find my office?"
"Uh, you are in the book."
"Damn."
"Spring and I had a lovely time. Although she's worried because you're not dating."
"Roxie..."
"She wanted to know if I thought you were gay."
"Roxie..."
"She mentioned the wardrobe, and also the no girlfriend... I wish I'd had something more positive to tell the poor woman. Although she seemed accepting, if resigned..."
"I think this is where I hang up for real."
"That's okay. I don't mind if you like men, Black. To each his-"
Black listened as the engine labored and prayed they'd make it to the summit of the hill, much as he did every day, on every grade he encountered. He absolutely had to take it in and get it looked at. Just as soon as the check cleared the bank.
Which reminded him to stop at the bank. Thereby solving his maintenance problem.
Small miracles were showering from the heavens like manna, he thought as he crested the hill and started down the long winding grade, the city sprawling before him. The Cadillac stopped misfiring and returned to purring quietly, and Black resolved that this time he wouldn't put off seeing his mechanic any longer.
The bank run took twenty minutes, by which time his stomach was signaling that it was time to eat. He considered something healthy, then opted for a big, greasy double burger slathered in down-home Island barbeque sauce with triple cheese, bacon, and a deep fried onion ring from a Hawaiian burger joint close to his apartment run by a constantly bickering Korean family who were about as Aloha as they were Irish. His nutritional needs met, he considered possible approaches to take with Reginald, AKA Preacher. As he burped up a rancid stew of teriyaki and pork byproduct, he decided that the direct approach was probably the best.
Roxie was correct that the neighborhood was nearby, but the proximity didn't prepare him for how run-down the building was - it made the Paradise Palms seem like Buckingham Palace. He found a parking place down the block and took his time locking the car, eyes roving over the deserted street, more out of habit than from a sense of any impending threat. Satisfied that he wasn't going to be robbed of his trusty steed, he ambled along the sidewalk until he was in front of the building, which like his, was a horseshoe built around a pool - only this one had been paved over long ago, and the exterior could best be described as prison chic.
An ancient Vietnamese man sat in the courtyard, wearing soiled brown elastic-waist slacks and a T-shirt that looked like someone had been buried in it. He watched, stone-faced, as Black eyeballed the structure. Black nodded to him, but the man gave no response, and merely continued to rock back and forth on his cheap lawn chair, seemingly oblivious to the world.
Black climbed the stairs unhurriedly and moved along the second floor landing until he arrived at Reginald's apartment - number thirty-two. He stood outside, listening for any signs of life, and after twenty seconds of silence, rapped on the door.
Nothing.
A sparrow alighted on the rusting iron railing five yards away from him and searched the area for food, then hopped away, having determined that there was nothing promising from Black's direction. Smart bird, he thought, and knocked on the door a second time in the futile hope of a response.
The old Asian was still staring blankly into space when he returned, and Black stopped near him and tried his most inviting nice-guy tone.
"Hello. Do you live here?"
The man looked at him like he was insane, and returned to whatever reverie was playing on infinite repeat in his brain. Black was just turning to leave when the man rasped out in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, almost feminine in timbre.
"Whatchou wan?"
Black hesitated, considering the best way to describe what he wanted. "I'm looking for Reggie. I'm a friend," Black said with what he hoped was a warm grin.
"Reggie?"
"In number thirty-two. Reggie." Black didn't see any recognition in the man's eyes. "Preacher?"
The old man spit to the side in disgust. "Piece a shit," he declared with startling precision, then folded his arms, as if convinced that Black was crafted from the same imperfect clay as his friend.
"Yes, he is, isn't he?" Black agreed, wondering how to keep the man engaged long enough to get more information out of him than his global perspective on Reginald's character.
"No good. Boy no good."
While Black certainly couldn't mount a spirited defense of Reginald in his absence, he sensed that the old man wasn't likely to be forthcoming with much more information. Still, Black was a professional, so he gave it one last try.
"When does he usually get home?"
The man's eyes narrowed to slits, and he waved a gnarled hand dismissively at Black. "You go way or I caw porice."
"But-"
"You go now. Mao. Didi mao!"
Black didn't need to brush up on his Vietnamese to get the gist of the old man's exclamation, and held his hands up in what he hoped was a non-threatening way as he backed slowly from the railing he'd been standing near.
"Okay, Grandfather. No disrespect intended. I'm going."
"Mao! MAO!!!"
That went well, he thought as he exited the complex, the old man's screams echoing off the walls in a parting serenade. Maybe next time he could just start shooting through the door instead of knocking. About as inconspicuous.
He returned to the car and slid behind the wheel, wishing he'd never agreed to do this for Gracie. Yet another example of him knuckling under, a pushover for the women in his life. The thought ignited a flare of annoyance, and as he settled in to wait for Reginald to show, he wondered whether there might not be something to Kelso's ideas about females and his rage after all.