“You come down on assignment, for Hawley,” I said. “Then you drop the case and you stay. I don’t get it.”
“What’s not to get, kid. Look around—for a fixed-income schmuck like me? This place is Shangri-La. And it’s trimsville, if you catch my drift.”
The sound of a truck in the far distance, and Gladstone raised a knowing eyebrow.
I said, “You gonna scream for help?”
“I don’t have to. Listen, kiddo, take my advice and get the hell out of here. This place isn’t safe for intruders—sin vagabundos.”
“I’m not splitting until you give me what I came for.”
“What did you come for?”
“The scenario. You came here for Hawley. You decided to stay. Now what did you find out?”
“I told you, nothing useful. Nothing at all.”
“You’re lying through your crooked teeth. Why’d they pay you to drop the case? What is it you know they don’t want you to know?”
No answer.
“Who killed Durazo?”
He snickered.
“Were the DJs here connected with Hawley’s band?”
“What band?” He shot me a droll look—his intelligence beamed strong and sharp for an old guy—everything had aged but the eyes.
“What about Cinnamon?” I said.
Again, his answer came one beat too fast: “What about her?”
“They have something to do with her OD?”
For one-tenth of an instant, Gladstone’s face went rock solid.
I grabbed him by his bony shoulders. “They kill her?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Tell me.”
“There’s nothing to—”
“Bullshit—tell me—”
His eyes fritzed, lower lip trembled—pale.
“What?”
Footsteps up the path. “They’re looking for you, kiddo—you’re screwed.”
“No,” I said. “You’re screwed. Hawley’s been murdered. Brutally. If you don’t spill the beans, I’ll take it up with the Los Angeles Police Department, Newton Station, Officer Lanterman. And unlike you and me, he’s no wimp.”
His eyes went calculating, REM wide awake.
“Quick,” I said. “Before they bounce me outta here.”
“She was waitstaff, okay. Big deal. For less than a year, before she split for Santa Cruz and got herself a nasty junk habit.”
“And then?”
“Then kaput—she overdosed like an idiot, and her mother ID’d the body and it was over. Miserable shit.”
Footsteps up the stairs.
“They tell you this?”
He gritted teeth.
“It’s me or the cops, old man. Did. They. Tell you?”
“You better leave.”
“Naw, there’s more. She worked here—and then what?”
“And then she disappeared. Off the books. And you better disappear too.” He was seething—hard knock at the door.
