~ TWENTY-ONE ~

The garage behind Too Tall’s bungalow was secured with a chain and padlock. His motorcycle was nowhere in sight and there wasn’t any response to Behan’s pounding on either the front door of the house or the kitchen door off the patio.

Josie suggested they check The Carnival to see if his motorcycle was parked near the stairs leading to Abby Morrison’s apartment. If it was there, they could wait until he left and stop him a few blocks away. Technically, he wasn’t still working for them, but she didn’t want Abby or Guy Testa to think he might be feeding them information.

Behan warned Marge again she wasn’t to leave the car no matter what happened. If Marge had any qualms about being this close to the Testas’ nest she didn’t show it but sat quietly in the back seat.

Josie wondered if Abby had any suspicions about Vern and Art being the brains behind her competition—probably not, because they were still breathing. The Testas might be waiting and plotting for the right place and time to take care of business.

Too Tall’s motorcycle wasn’t parked behind The Carnival, but what they did see was Tomic’s city car tucked away in the alley.

“That can’t be good,” Marge said.

“What’s your partner up to, Corsino?” Behan asked.

Josie didn’t answer right away. It was the right question, but she didn’t have a clue.

“Hard to say,” she muttered, after a few seconds.

“No, it isn’t. I’ll say it. He’s fucked up as usual,” Marge said.

“Is there anyone in this damn Hollywood squad, including you, Corsino, that’s playing by the rules?” Behan said. He didn’t sound angry, maybe disappointed.

“Give him a break. We don’t know what he’s doing up there,” Josie said, but even she could hear the doubt in her voice.

“Come on,” Behan said, getting out of the car. “You stay,” he ordered, pointing at Marge. “Sonnofabitch, I can’t leave you here alone. Come on, but stick like glue to me. Last thing I need is you going after Morrison or her old man.”

Marge held up her right hand and said, “Swear I won’t kill anybody unless . . .”

“No ‘unless’ . . . you will stay behind me and keep quiet. You wanted to tag along but that’s all you’ll do.”

Josie didn’t say anything and followed him up the metal stairs to the front door of Abby’s apartment with Marge trailing a few feet behind. She saw a familiar smirk from Marge and knew staying behind and being quiet weren’t any part of her friend’s MO. There were probably a dozen reasons they shouldn’t barge in on Tomic, but Josie was growing weary of her partner’s Lone Ranger approach to investigations and she was willing to deal with the inevitable fallout.

They didn’t get an opportunity to knock. The door opened as soon as they were all on the landing.

“Welcome, Josie,” Abby said in a cheerful, bit too intimate voice. “Who’s the handsome redheaded stranger?” she asked, staring at Behan, but completely ignoring Marge.

“Detective Behan,” he said, brushing past her and stepping into the foyer. “Where’s Tomic?” he asked and not waiting for an invitation, walked around the wall and into the open living room.

Abby followed and said sarcastically, “Please come in, Detective. Hope you have a warrant.”

“Nope.”

“Then maybe you’d better get the fuck out until you do or until I invite you in,” she said calmly as she went to the bar and poured herself a large glass of gin and tonic. She held up the glass to Josie and asked, “Care for one? I won’t ask Sergeant Bailey. Medication and alcohol don’t mix. I heard about your unfortunate mishap. Hope you’re recovering. We miss you at The Carnival,” Abby said sarcastically.

“Fuck you very much; I’m doing fine and hope to be back soon, screwing with you and the degenerate that spawned you.”

Josie shook her head and nudged Marge into the master bedroom where Behan was standing over Tomic, who had apparently passed out on the unmade bed. She wanted a confrontation with Abby as much as Marge did, but this wasn’t the right time. Behan called for Josie to help him get her partner on his feet.

“What did you give him?” Josie asked Abby, who had followed them into the room.

Behan had managed to get Tomic in a sitting position on the edge of the king-sized bed where he was holding his head and claimed the room was spinning. Alcoholic vertigo, Josie thought, and believed he looked worse than he had when he left the narcotics office.

“Nothing,” Abby said. She was leaning against a white oak dresser, watching. “Came in, raided my bar, and passed out.”

“And that was okay with you?”

Abby snickered, spitting a little of her drink. “Not really, but I’m fond of Larry and he’s obviously going through a bad patch.”

“Fond of?” Behan asked.

“We used to be very close,” she said, grinning at Marge and emphasizing the word “very.” “Don’t worry, he never spilled any deep dark police secrets . . . it was sex, just sex . . . finished years ago.”

Josie looked at the overweight, badly dressed, middle-aged woman with the Nonna-styled bouffant hair and tried to picture Tomic having sex with her. What is wrong with this guy, she thought. Not only is he sleeping with the enemy, but he’s jeopardized his career and exposed his wife to who knows what diseases from this weirdo. If it was true, Josie was done with him and she knew for certain Behan had to initiate a personnel investigation. If Tomic survived the process, he might spend the rest of his time in the police department sitting in some back room counting paper clips. Trust and credibility are a big part of police work. Tomic had damaged both.

“She’s lying,” Tomic moaned.

“There’s a revelation,” Marge muttered.

Josie and Behan then managed to get him off the bed, down the stairs, and stuffed into the back seat of the car. Apparently it hadn’t taken much of Abby’s liquor to finish the job he’d begun with the cheerleader last night, but the stupor seemed to be wearing off and he was able to communicate.

Marge had followed them to the car but not before she stopped on the landing to have a few private words with Abby. The screen door slammed closed as she slowly worked her way down the stairs and got in to the back seat with Tomic.

“Lying about what?” Behan asked. He was disgusted.

“Everything,” Tomic said, attempting a smile at Marge and adding, “Good to see you out and about.”

“You didn’t sleep with her?” Marge asked.

“I’ve never been that drunk,” Tomic said, his voice growing a little stronger. “She’s been my snitch for years.”

“You were on her bed,” Josie said.

“I . . . don’t know how I got there . . . I remember her giving me something, whiskey, to drink . . . we talked. I got really tired, dizzy, but . . . that’s all I remember.”

“One drink, that’s all you had?”

“One, I swear,” Tomic said, holding up his right hand. “I don’t think I even finished that.”

“Why did you go there by yourself?” Behan asked, still not convinced.

“I thought I could get her to tell me more about Art. I lied and said we were looking for him to sign some resignation paperwork or he wouldn’t get his retirement check.”

“So what did she say?” Josie asked. She still wasn’t buying his story.

“Can’t remember. My head hurts so bad . . . no wait,” he said, groaning and leaning a little closer to Marge, “I think it was her might’ve been asking me about Art.”

Behan sighed and said, “Okay, we’ll go with your version of events for now. I’ll have one of my guys drop you at Central receiving. They can take blood and urine, see if she put anything in that drink. I’ll get somebody to take your city car back to the office.”

Tomic didn’t hesitate. He wanted the tests and, more importantly, he wanted a prescription for medication that would make him feel better.

They went back to Hollywood station and while Behan was arranging Tomic’s transportation for medical treatment and a ride home, Josie went with Marge upstairs to the Vice office. Behan had refused to let her ride in the car any longer. He mumbled something about having a block of TNT in the back seat.

“What did you say to Abby?” Josie asked as soon as Marge sat behind her desk and stopped groaning. She was attempting to find a comfortable position in the department-issued oak antique.

“Nothing.”

“Okay . . .” Josie was quiet for a few seconds, then said, “You threatened to kill her, didn’t you?”

“Of course not, Corsino,” she said with the same disinterested tone. “I’m a cop.”

“Good,” Josie said, nodding several times. “Worse?”

“So much fucking worse.”

BY THE time Behan returned with Josie to Too Tall’s bungalow off Melrose, the motorcycle was back, parked in the driveway, and the side door of the garage was open.

Before they got out of the car, Josie asked, “You believe Tomic?”

“Mostly,” Behan said. “When she was younger, before she got married, Abby didn’t look the way she does now. She was an Italian doll with long brown hair and those big dark eyes. I’m sure that horny bastard partner of yours thought about it even if he didn’t do it.”

“What happened to her?” Josie asked as they walked up the driveway. She wanted to remind Behan why he’d been married so many times, but knew it was pointless—one horny pot calling the kettle horny.

“Marriage didn’t agree with her.”

“There’s a lot of that going around,” she said.

Too Tall came out of the house as they were about to enter the garage. He didn’t say anything, but went back inside, leaving the kitchen door open.

“Guess that means come in,” Behan mumbled, moving toward the house.

Josie took a quick look in the garage. It was empty. She turned and watched for any movement on the street or around the small patio area before entering the house where the big man was in front of the sink opening a bottle of Budweiser. Dressed in full motorcycle gear, leather jacket and heavy boots, the ex-cop looked as if he’d just arrived. Behan was leaning against the wall watching.

“Where’s Art?” she asked, feeling as if she’d interrupted a man-to-man moment, but not really caring.

“Like I told Red, don’t know.”

“You worked with the guy for two years. You must have some idea where he might’ve gone,” Behan said, seeming to pick up on her sense of urgency.

“I was chemically out of it most of the time we were together, but he was tight with my cousin. I do remember that much.”

“We think Abby’s searching for him too,” Josie said.

His puzzled expression told her maybe he was telling the truth.

“She hasn’t said anything to me. I did see her and Uncle Guy talking with one of their Vegas thugs last night. They stayed out on the birds’ nest overlooking the club, so I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Guy was as mad as I’ve ever seen him,” Too Tall said, pushing past them and sitting near the table.

“If you couldn’t hear anything, how’d you know he was from Vegas?” Behan asked.

“Trust me, I know the type. He’s a Testa family soldier.”

“Maybe they want Art too,” Josie said. “She might’ve drugged Tomic to get him to tell her what he knew.”

“How would Tomic know where Art is?” Too Tall asked.

“He doesn’t . . . but he might’ve been out of it enough to give up that hippie’s address in Venice,” Josie said. “We’re aware of Kit now so I doubt Art would go back there, but . . .” Her voice trailed off because she worried that most of the key players in this investigation ended up dead or missing. She hardly knew Kit, but didn’t want to see her become another casualty in the turf war between the Testas and Art.

“He wouldn’t go there,” Too Tall said, finishing his beer. “Have you checked out Eddie Small’s house?”

“Why there? Small told me he hates both of you . . . a lot,” Josie said.

“No, he hates me, but I’m sure there’s something between him and Art. That day you saw us at Eddie’s house, I was trying to force the little weasel to confess what they’d been up to before Art stepped in and stopped me from snapping the jerk’s scrawny neck.”

“I saw,” she said.

“Art swore the drugs were making me paranoid. I knew better but smack doesn’t exactly keep you focused either, so I let it go.”

“How about Vern Fisher in patrol, did Art seem friendly with Vern?” Behan asked.

“Never saw them together . . . Art never talked about him.”

All the pieces were finally falling into place in Josie’s mind. Art would need Eddie Small’s help to move a large quantity of cocaine out of Property division. If Narcotics’ Major Violators could identify the kilos recovered from Beverly’s garage, they would tell her exactly how much cocaine had been seized and when that evidence should’ve been destroyed. When she knew the date and time scheduled to destroy the drugs, she could determine who was in charge of overseeing the burn. She was certain Art’s name would be on the paperwork and Eddie Small would’ve been on the roster to work that day.

After he stole the drugs, Art transferred to Hollywood where he could cut the kilos into grams to sell on the street with the help of Superman while Vern systematically eliminated Abby’s street dealers by planting dope and arresting them. Josie had to admit Art was a lot smarter than she’d thought. He’d managed to gain the trust of the police department and Abby while he and Vern betrayed both.

As a member of the Hollywood narcotics squad, Art was aware of every search warrant and narcotics task force. Superman had been Tomic’s informant, but he was Art and Vern’s paper boy and made his cocaine deliveries virtually untouched. No wonder Kent was so cocky, she thought. He could snitch on Abby’s dealers and get paid by Tomic, then turn around and sell cocaine to the Testa family’s customers knowing he’d never get caught. If he and boyfriend Butch hadn’t gotten greedy, the scheme might’ve gone on much longer with Art and Vern making a ton of money off cocaine everybody believed had been destroyed.

Josie told Behan what she had figured out when they got back into his car, and he agreed, saying he’d come to a similar conclusion. Her growing fear was Abby might’ve somehow put those same pieces together and that was the reason for a Vegas hit man.

Too Tall had agreed to go back to The Carnival and try to find out what the Testas were planning. The ex-cop had no love for the LAPD, but he liked his cousin and uncle even less. Now that he was off heroin, he realized his easy access to the opiate might’ve been facilitated by Art and the Testas to keep him from interfering in their business. It wasn’t an excuse because he readily admitted his need and desire for the narcotic, but his partner and family had made no effort to help him. In fact, they encouraged his addiction. His motive for helping Josie was nothing but simple revenge.