Davidian Associates was etched in white on the mirrored glass door of the ground-floor office on Western Avenue in Little Armenia.
Cutter parked his Land Cruiser in a vacant space and watched the office for several minutes. No foot traffic. He broke open a packet of hard candies and inserted one in his mouth. He climbed out and donned his shades against the three pm sun that beat down mercilessly, reflecting off the building he was heading to.
Offices on the top floor, signboards for law firms, accountants, therapists stuck to the dark windows. Ground level was a row of stores—convenience, liquor, massage parlor—and the real estate broker.
A bell tinkled when he pushed open the door and entered a small hallway. To his right was a reception desk, but no one was behind it. Brochures of the properties the broker was selling, a smiling photograph of the man himself, Arek Davidian, and his profile. If his achievements were to be believed, he had single-handedly rescued the property market from going bust.
‘Coming,’ a voice called out from inside.
Cutter waited, scanned the ceiling for cameras … and spotted one just above the door jamb.
Arek Davidian came out of an office, a wide smile splitting his face. He was deeply tanned, with dark hair gelled in a smart style, brown eyes, white teeth that flashed, and an outstretched hand as he approached.
‘You’re alone?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the broker beamed. ‘Personalized service, low costs, that’s how I operate—’
Cutter grabbed him by his shirt and shoved him back. Backhanded him with a lazy slap that sent Davidian staggering backwards.
‘Hey! You!’ the broker shouted. He recovered and held one arm up to fend off a blow while he searched for his phone with the other. He brought out the device and was dialing for help when Cutter punched him in the belly.
Davidian wheezed and gasped as he doubled over and dropped his phone. Tears leaked out of his eyes. His lips worked, but before he could utter a word, Cutter hauled him up.
‘That your office?’ he snarled, gesturing at the one the man had come out of.
‘Yes—’
He dragged him down the hallway and threw him across the wooden desk and onto the leather chair.
The broker collapsed in a heap and moaned. A telephone fell to the floor, followed by several folders.
‘WHO ARE YOU?’ The broker dabbed at his split lips and yelled at Cutter in fear and anger. ‘WHAT DO YOU WANT?’
‘Where’s Panig Janikyan?’
‘WHO?’
He leaned across and slapped the broker again. ‘Panig Janikyan,’ he repeated, ‘the Armenian Bros leader.’
‘I DON’T KNOW.’
He shrank when Cutter made a threatening move.
‘I SWEAR. I DON’T KNOW HIM.’
‘You don’t know that gang?’
‘NO! I’ve heard of them, but I’ve got nothing to do with them. I’M A BROKER.’ His fury burst through his fear. ‘WHY WOULD I WORK WITH THEM?’
Cutter dropped into a visitor’s chair and gestured at Davidian to take his seat.
‘How badly are you hurt?’
‘I DON’T KNOW, DUDE!’ the man shouted. ‘MY CHEEK’S BROKEN—’
‘It’s not. Your lip’s split. It will heal. Your dignity is hurt, nothing more. How would you like to experience real pain? Slowly?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Davidian whispered, his eyes wide. He dabbed at his mouth with a paper towel and shuddered when he saw the blood on it. ‘Who are you? Why are you doing this?’
‘You called Vienna McDonald several times. About selling her house.’
‘Vienna—’
‘East Hollywood. North Heliotrope Drive.’
‘Ms. McDonald! Yes, I know her. She sent you?’ He straightened angrily.
‘How could she? She’s dead. Killed a few nights back. Along with her sister.’
Arek Davidian collapsed in front of his eyes. His shoulders sagged. His face turned pale.
‘Dead?’ he asked hoarsely and reached out blindly for a glass of water.
Cutter thrust it at him and watched as the broker drank hastily. Several drops ran down his chin. He returned the glass to the table and wiped his mouth with a paper towel. Appeared to compose himself, and when he spoke, his voice was calmer.
‘I didn’t know,’ he said.
‘It was all over the news.’
‘I don’t watch it. Fires, politics, that’s all they seem to cover. My business is hard enough without getting stressed out over events not in my control.’
He’s telling the truth. No reason for him to lie.
‘She and her sister were killed in Beverly Hills. Cops suspect it was a gang shooting.’
‘What’s that got to do with me?’
‘Armenian Bros operate in this area—’
‘And you thought I’m Armenian, so I must be a gangster?’ the broker fired back.
‘Yeah,’ Cutter replied bluntly. ‘Or you have gang connections.’
‘I don’t. I run a clean business. Of course, I’ve heard of that gang. Who hasn’t? And that Janikyan? I don’t know him, I’ve never met him in my life.’
‘You were trying to get Vienna and her neighbor to sell their houses.’
‘That’s my business. They’ve been there a long while. Their houses have appreciated significantly. There’s a lot of demand for residences in that area. Dude,’ he said scornfully, ‘do you know anything about real estate?’
‘Other than people live in houses, nope.’
He stared at Cutter, uncertain if his visitor was joking.
‘Shooting our clients,’ he said sarcastically, ‘that would be great for business, wouldn’t it?’
‘What would happen to the value of those properties? Where the owners were killed?’
‘They would drop, dumbass, which would mean less commission for me.’
‘Not if the Armenian Bros were the buyers. They would love to get the properties cheaply, or for nothing.’
‘Read my lips,’ the broker said savagely. ‘I. Have. Nothing. To. Do. With. The. Gang. I’m gonna sue you. You’ll regret coming to my office. What’s your name? Where do you live? What interest do you have in—’
‘Good luck with that,’ Cutter told him and strode out of the office.
He drove away from the building quickly and went to a fast-food joint, where he ordered food and sat at an umbrella-covered bench.
That was a dead end. He chewed thoughtfully as he considered Davidian’s interrogation. He felt guilty about roughing up the broker and decided to make up for it. I’ll go back when he’s calmed down. Apologize.
He froze mid-bite.
He had to get to Vienna’s house immediately. He would get near-certain proof there that Davidian was telling the truth.