SUICIDE HILL

579

Seeing a picture of himself drenched in ink, Joe said, “These are Duane’s threads. You know we have to get out of here. We can’t stay here forever.”

“I know that. Clothes should reflect a person’s early environment, then, as they put out karma, they transform what they wear. What did you wear when you were growing up? You know, prep like me, or mod, surfer, what?”

Joe watched Anne light a cigarette, then exhale and sniff the air like it could get her high in place of coke. He said, “This isn’t the time to be talking fashion. We’ve got no car and no money, and a crazy man on our ass. I can’t go by my pad or the motel, because he’ll be there. But we have to move, and I have to eat.”

Anne said, “I’ve got friends who can help us, and I can make money. Just answer my question.”

“How? Peddling your pussy?”

“Don’t say that! I can give sex and not sacrifice my karma! Don’t say that!”

Joe put a hand on her arm and said, “Sssh. I’m sorry, but I am in deep trouble. ”

“Then answer my question.”

Joe sighed. “I grew up dressing like a ridiculous Mexican gangster. Plaid Sir Guy shirts buttoned to the top when it was ninety-five degrees, bellbottom khakis that dragged the ground, spit-shined navy shoes and an honor farm watch cap. It was a joke, and it had nothing to do with karma.”

“Everything does.”

“I killed a man last night. Aren’t you scared?”

Anne sniffed the air. “I took a Dilaudid Black Beauty speedball just before it got bad with Stan and Duane, and I’m starting to crash. In about an hour I’ll be real scared. You act like a tough guy, but you talk like you went to college. You’re sort of a phony. ”

Only Bobby knew that about him.

Joe put his arms around Anne and whispered, “It’s because of this song I can’t write, and Bobby and Sir Guys and khakis and what I have to do, but I can’t do any more. Does that make sense to you?”

Anne dry-sobbed into his chest. “No no no no no.”

Joe whispered back, “You’re just pretending not to know. You’re a musician, so I know you know. Listen. I’ll tell you exactly what we’re going to do. We’re going to walk down the Observatory Road to Vermont, then steal some rich preppy car. Then we’re going to hit up these friends of yours and get some money and get the hell out of town. Say yes if you think we can do it.”

Anne made a choking sound and nodded her head up and down. Joe 580

L.A. NOIR

looked out at the L.A. skyline and knew for the first time in his life that it was his—because now he could leave it behind.

21

Lloyd pulled up across from Likable Louie’s One-Stop Pit Stop. Seeing no fed units, he grabbed his forged search warrant and Ithaca pump, ran across the street and knocked on the door of the built-on house. A feeling of being close grabbed him, and he flicked off the safety and jacked a shell into the chamber.

The door was opened cautiously, held to the frame by a long chain. A Mexican woman peered through the crack and said, “Luis not here. Police took him.”

Lloyd saw copwise smarts. “You mean federal officers?” he said. “F.B.I.?”

“Luis hip to men watching him. These L.A. cops, green car, big antenna.”

Lloyd shuddered. Metro had glommed the Calderon info. “When?” he asked.

“Half hour. I call lawyer.”

Lloyd ran back to his car and lead-footed it the two miles to Rampart Station, hoping to find Lieutenant Buddy Bagdessarian or another detective familiar with Calderon. Parking in the lot, he saw no black-and-whites, only civilian cars, and knew that the station contingent was skeletal—

probably because every available unit was aiding Hollywood Division in the cop-killer canvassing. Then he spotted an olive-drab Metro wagon parked crossways in the watch commander’s space. The feeling of being close got claustrophobic, and he ran into the station full-tilt. There was a single officer on duty at the front desk. Lloyd eased his stride and approached slowly, knowing that the early evening station scene was way too quiet, way off. The desk officer grimaced when he saw him coming. He moved toward the intercom phone on the wall behind him, then changed his mind and mashed his hands together. Lloyd reached the desk and saw a cross and flag pin attached next to the man’s badge. The abomination made his