Julie curses quietly.
“I wish you hadn’t gone to the crime scene, but since you did, I want to see what you have.”
“I think Candy got some good shots of the three assholes. If you give them to the cops or the Vigil or whoever, just leave our names out of it.”
“Don’t worry. You’re the last person I’m bringing in as a witness.”
I take the phone outside so I can light up. It feels good to have the smoke in my lungs, burning out the smell of all that blood in the apartment. The stink reminds me of the arena Downtown. Of course, there the blood was usually mine.
“Something bothered me all the way home. The address you gave us. The eight-thousand block of Wonderland Avenue. Does that sound familiar to you?”
“Should it?”
I puff the Malediction and scrape at the KILLER paint job on the windows with my thumb.
“The Four on the Floor murders, way back in ’81. It was big news at the time. Four people beaten to death with bats and pipes.”
“And you’re saying the murders took place nearby?”
“On the same block. Those murders were drug-related and we were there on a drug case.”
“But you said you didn’t see any dealing going on.”
“Fine. Alleged drug case. But you see the similarities, right?”
“It is a funny coincidence, I’ll give you that,” she says. Then, “Are you talking about the murders where they arrested some big porn star?”
“John Holmes. Ex–porn star by then. He was on a long downhill slide. The cops were certain he was one of the killers, put up to it by a big L.A. dealer named Eddie Nash. They put Holmes and some other losers on trial. Everyone walked.”
“It’s an interesting story, but a hell of a stretch. Where’s the connection after all this time?”
I turn around and there’s a wino watching me from across the street. I can practically smell him from fifty feet. He makes finger guns and yells, “Bang! Bang!” Then, “Have a nice night, killer!”
I really have to get rid of this paint job.
“I don’t know the connection. Look, maybe, at worst, it’s a copycat crime. But those guys in uniforms, they stank of crazy. And not just any crazy. L.A. crazy.”
“What does that mean?”
“L.A. crazy is when you don’t just kill someone, you turn it into a cheap made-for-TV movie. The Wonderland killings, starring Laurel Canyon money, dope, and porn. B-horror-movie killers like the Hillside Strangler and the Night Stalker. It’s Charlie Manson hanging out with the Beach Boys because he thinks they’re going to make him a rock star. It’s the Black Dahlia, a murder so strange a lot of people didn’t believe it at first. Hell, I’m babysitting Death. That’s what I’m talking about. L.A. crazy.”
“I’m not going to tell you this often, Stark, but I’m going to tell you now,” says Julie. “Go and have a drink. Have two or three. Calm down and bring me the pictures in the morning.”
I drop the Malediction and grind it out with my boot. Feel around in my pocket for the flask, unscrew it, and take a pull.
“I wonder if what happened is going to make the news?”
“Why do you care?” says Julie.
“Maybe someone else saw the Three Stooges.”
“Let it go for tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Okay. See you then.”
I hang up, but don’t go inside right away. I have a couple of more drinks. Boss’s orders. Besides, something else is bothering me.
Tonight is the first time Candy’s gone Jade since becoming Chihiro. It was a beautiful thing to see, but it brings up a problem I hadn’t thought of before. What if down the line someone sees her change and starts calculating the odds of me hooking up with two Jades in a row? Maybe I can just pass it off as having a thing for shark-toothed berserker girls. I’ve heard of worse fetishes. Still, it’s one more thing to worry about.