Hollywood Crows (14 page)

Finally he said, “Another reason I never did much housebreaking was ’cause there’s always a chance somebody will walk in on you. I’m not into violence, Ali.”

“No violence,” Ali said. “That is why Thursday is the correct day. My wife does the exercise that afternoon. The maid finishes housecleaning at four o’clock. She sets the alarm, she locks doors, she goes. Her grandson collects her in front. Then you enter my house and get the bank papers for me.”

“I don’t know, Ali,” Leonard said. “It ain’t that easy. How about the alarm? You got the code?”

“I am sure that my bitch wife changes all locks so my key is no good. And she also changes the regular alarm code. But I do not think she can change the code for the maid. Lola is a most stupid Mexican who cannot see good up close. Stupid old woman cannot find most of dirt in the house neither. I want to fire her, but my wife says that Lola is very good with my Nicky. Okay, Lola many times forgets her correct code and many times she sets off alarms. My wife is not changing the code for Lola, no way. That code I give to you.”

“Lemme lock on this,” Leonard said. “I break in through one of the access doors that’s alarmed, right? A door that’s used for entering and leaving, so there’s no panic at the alarm company? Not as long as I enter the maid’s code within a minute or so, right?”

“Absolutely correct,” Ali said with a reassuring smile.

“You could do the same,” Leonard said warily.

After a short hesitation, Ali said, “No, I cannot. Number one reason: I cannot permit for someone to see me doing such a thing. My lawyer would explode like… like…”

“An IED in Baghdad.”

“Precisely. Number two reason: I do not know how to enter a door that has the lock in place without making big damage.”

“Why is that important? When she finds the papers’re missing, she’ll know somebody broke in and stole them.”

“No, no,” Ali said, and after a thoughtful pause he continued. “She must not learn that the papers are of so much value and she must not know they are missing. You see, there are many other documents there.”

Now Leonard was certain that something was wrong and that Ali was winging it. But at least it didn’t involve violence, so Leonard said, “Windows are out of the question. And I’m sure you got a motion detector. Is there an attached garage?”

“Yes, the garage attaches to the house.”

“Do you think she changed the code on the garage door opener?”

Ali thought for a moment and said, “I do not think so. The gardener has a door opener and so does Lola.”

“Do you have one? I mean besides the one that’s probably built into your car.”

“Yes, I have the old one.”

“I’m sure the front door has a dead bolt and probably the other doors, but how about the door leading to the garage? A dead bolt? The kind you have to turn?”

“Dead bolt?” Ali pondered. “Yes.”

“And another lock, right? One on the doorknob or handle that locks by itself when the door closes unless you turn a little thumb-turn on the inside?”

“Yes, that is correct. On the doorknob. It is a very old lock.”

“And is the alarm pad right inside that door?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Leonard said. “Here’s the deal. Most people don’t bother to throw the dead bolt on the access door from the garage to the house. They feel comfortable that two doors are between them and the street. And besides, they’re always bringing something in or out of the car to the house. Do you think your maid might lock the dead bolt on that door when she sets the alarm and leaves?”

“Absolutely no,” Ali said. “When I was living there, I always drive into the garage and use my key for only the doorknob lock. But when my wife is home, no knob lock. No nothing.”

Leonard thought, if he was going to lie, he should lie large. He had to have this job. He said, “I can pick any ordinary lock, so your wife won’t know it’s happened. I’ll need your garage door opener and an exact idea of what papers I’m looking for and where to find them. And I’ll need your maid’s alarm code.”

“And you are very certain nobody will know you enter into the house?”

“Not unless your wife is paranoid and calls the alarm company to see if her maid came back for some reason. But would she?”

“No, my bitch wife will not do that,” Ali said.

“If your garage opener don’t work or if the dead bolt is thrown on that access door, I’m outta there,” Leonard said.

“Is okay with me,” Ali said.

“So where do I find the bank papers, and what do they look like?”

“Look for the brown folder. Big one. With the year two thousand and four on the outside. You shall find it when you open the bottom drawer in the white desk. It is in the office room next to the kitchen. Other brown envelopes are there too, but do not touch. Leave other papers. You understand?”

“I guess so,” Leonard said. “So how much do I get for this job?”

“I give you the two hundred dollars you say you want.”

“Fuck that!” Leonard said. “That was an advance. This is housebreaking and it’s dangerous and takes special talent.”

“Okay, okay,” Ali said. “I give you four hundred dollars after you give me the bank documents.”

It was the biggest gamble that he’d taken in a long time, but he decided to go for it. Leonard said to Ali Aziz, “Two hundred now. One thousand more when I give you the papers.”

“You crazy, Leonard,” Ali said. “No way.”

Leonard was fully prepared to back down, but he gambled again. Standing up, he said, “I’m outta here. Good luck, Ali.”

“Okay, okay,” Ali Aziz said. “I agree.”

Now Leonard quickly swiped at his face to stem the rivulets of perspiration and said, “But what if the papers ain’t there? I still risk state prison. I still want the thousand.”

“But how shall I know if you go in there and try?”

“Tell me something that’s in the house that your wife won’t miss. Some little thing.”

“Napkin,” Ali said. “She have very special cocktail napkins. Look inside baskets on the countertop in the kitchen. Has her initial printed in gold on every napkin. Bring one to me if you don’t find no bank papers. I see that napkin, I pay you.”

“You’ll give me the thousand anyways? No argument?”

“Yes, I shall not argue.”

Leonard put out his hand. Ali looked as though he didn’t want to touch it but did. “We got the deal,” Ali said.

“Call me on my cell when you’re ready. I’ll stop by here same time as today. Have the garage door opener and the alarm code for me. Now I’ll need the two hundred.”

Ali reluctantly pulled out his wallet and peeled off four $50 bills and handed them to Leonard Stilwell.

“One thing more,” Ali said. “When you finish with the job, you meet me down where you see the Mount Olympus sign. I shall be there in my car. Black Jaguar.”

“That’s weird,” Leonard said. “Why don’t I bring them here?”

Ali hesitated yet again. “Maybe I look at the papers and don’t find the certain document I need. Maybe I ask you to go back, look somewhere else.”

“No fucking way!” Leonard said. “I go in one time and that’s it. What’re you trying to pull?”

“Okay,” Ali said quickly. “If the correct document is not there, is okay.”

“Are we finished here?”

“You leave that door with no lock on the knob. Very important. No lock.”

Now Leonard was totally confused. This thing was going sideways before it started. “Unlocked? But you said you didn’t want your wife to know anybody had busted in her house. If she gets outta her car and finds the knob lock ain’t set, what’s she gonna think?”

“She shall think the stupid old Mexican maid forget to lock the doorknob again. No problem.”

“This ain’t right, Ali,” Leonard said, brow wrinkling. “There’s something wrong here.”

“I wish for her to fire the stupid Mexican maid,” Ali explained. “My bitch wife says Lola is good for my son. I do not think so. My wife finds the door unlocked again, maybe she decides to fire Lola. That shall be good for my Nicky.”

“Look, why don’t you and me just do the job together?” Leonard said. “All I gotta really do is pick that lock and let you in. That way, you could look around anywheres you want. You could check her underwear drawer and sniff her panties if you want. And I could leave you in there and go about my business. Don’t that make a lotta sense?”

“No, Leonard. I shall never go inside the house, no way. Not till my divorce is finish. I must not take a foolish risk. Someone see me go into the house, what do you think happens to my divorce fight? Do the job like I tell you and I pay, no problem. Okay?”

“Okay, but you still wanna meet me there in your neighborhood rather than right here?”

“By Mount Olympus sign, Leonard.”

Leonard felt the four President Grants in his pocket and thought, if he could smoke a little rock, this whole thing might clear up in his mind. Maybe then he could figure out what this goat fucker was really up to.

“I’ll come here when you call me,” Leonard said to Ali Aziz, using the desk notepad to write down the number of his throwaway cell phone. “By the way, what’s the address?”

When Ali recited his Mt. Olympus street and house number, Leonard wrote it down on a second notebook sheet.

“No, Leonard,” Ali said, watching him. “You write down the wrong number. Last two are not correct numbers.”

Leonard showed Ali his knowing smile and said, “That’s a little trick I learned from Whitey Dawson. “I always subtract two from the last pair of numbers in the address of a job I’m gonna be working. That way, I don’t have to memorize nothing. Guys forget stuff when they gotta memorize things. If the cops stop me and find the address, it ain’t gonna mean shit to them.”

“Very clever, Leonard,” Ali said. “I think you are a clever man.”

“You gotta do your homework,” Leonard Stilwell said, thinking about the rock he’d be smoking that night. Figuring he had lots of time to see his Fijian neighbor and learn how the hell to pick a lock.

L
ATE THAT DAY
, after the Homeless Outreach had been concluded and the hills behind the Hollywood Bowl were encampment free for the time being, Ronnie kept her appointment with the surfer cops. She arrived with Hollywood Nate at 4
P.M
. and parked in front of an auto body repair business in East Hollywood that was ostensibly diminishing the quality-of-life for a few hundred Hispanic people at the other end of their shared alley. Bix Ramstead was at the station catching up on paperwork and “constant caller” phone messages that he’d been postponing. It was estimated that about 30 percent of all CRO complaints were from the same callers.

The surfer cops were already there, standing by Flotsam’s pickup truck in their normal street attire of T-shirts and jeans.

“Thanks for coming,” Flotsam said, glancing uneasily at Nate, whose expression said to him, Are you an innocent bystander, or what?

“So why don’t you come in with us and make sure I do it right,” Ronnie said to the surfers.

Jetsam followed Ronnie inside, and Flotsam trailed, whispering to Nate, “The game’s afoot, dude. He think he’s Holmes, but I ain’t no Dr. Watson.”

The proprietor of Stan’s Body Shop was not an Arab, not an Iranian, nor an immigrant from any foreign country. He was a fifty-year-old white Anglo native of Los Angeles named Stan Hooper, and he was very surprised to see two cops in uniform and two other guys who looked like cops enter his place of business.

Ronnie said, “Good afternoon, sir. We’re from Hollywood Division Community Relations Office. Here’s my card.”

While Stan Hooper looked at the card, she said, “We have a complaint from residents at the other end of the alley that cars from your shop are often blocking the alley early in the morning, and apartment residents can’t get their cars out when they need to go to work. In fact, I noticed three cars parked there now with barely enough room for a VW Bug to squeeze by.”

Stan Hooper wiped the grease from his hands and said, “We’ll move them right away, Officer. I’m sorry. This place is too small for us but it’s all we can afford right now. I’m looking for more space. I try to keep the alley clear, but sometimes customers park there before I can tell them not to.”

“Business must be good,” Ronnie said, looking toward the open door leading into the main room, where body work was in progress on a white Lexus SUV that was taped and primered.

“Too good, but I shouldn’t complain,” he said, looking at the surfers, wondering why it took four cops to deliver the warning. “I don’t want no tickets. I won’t let it happen again.”

Jetsam said, “Nice rides you got in there.” And he strolled into the large open area, where the work was being done.

“He’s one of our officers,” Ronnie said to Stan Hooper. “He likes cars.”

Stan Hooper followed Jetsam into the work bay and said, “Two of those are for sale. My customer said I could sell them if someone wants to buy. I wouldn’t take no commission if an officer from Hollywood Station wanted one of them. The Mercedes is really nice and the price is pretty good.”

The surfer cop began writing down license numbers and VIN numbers, and Stan Hooper said, “Something wrong, Officer?”

Jetsam said, “We got a few reports about hot SUVs being repainted and having license plates switched. It’s just routine.”

“I never been in trouble in my life!” Stan Hooper said. “You can check. I got a reputation with insurance companies for doing honest work at an honest price, and we specialize in SUVs. We can even straighten bent frames if they’re not too bad. Insurance companies refer SUV owners to us all the time.”

At this point the other three cops knew that Jetsam was just trying to save face when he said, “I wasn’t thinking of you. I was thinking of the owners of the SUVs. Do you know them personally?”

“I know two of them from way back. I’ve worked on their cars for ten, fifteen years. The other two I don’t know. One’s an old guy, lives in Los Feliz district. The other’s a woman. Drop-dead gorgeous. Lives in Hollywood Hills somewheres. One of my guys drove her home.”

“Are any of your workers from the Middle East? Arabs maybe?”

“Arabs? No. Three’re Mexican, two’re Salvadoran. One’s an Okie. That’s about it.”