Inherent Vice (37 page)

“
Let
’
s hear it, Bigfoot.
”

“
I seem to recall that some years ago, just before he went into Folsom,
this Beaverton used to work for a loan shark downtown, named Adrian Prussia. And this dealer El Drano also happened to be one of Prus
sia
’
s steady customers. Maybe Puck was there on his former employer
’
s
behalf.
”

Doc felt uneasy. His nose was beginning to run.
“
I remember Adrian
Prussia from back when I had that skip-tracing job. Fuckin snake, man.
”

Bigfoot signaled the counterman.
“
Chotto,
Kenichiro!
Dozo, motto panukeiku.
”

“
You got it, Lieutenant!
”

“
Not quite like my mothers, but still a real
‘
trip,
’”
Bigfoot confided,
“
though what I really go for here is the respect.
”

“
Didn
’
t get much of that from your mom, huh?
”

Had Doc really said that or only thought it? He waited for Bigfoot to take offense, but the detective only went on,
“
You probably imagine I have a lot of status up in Robbery-Homicide. Who could blame you for thinking, man goes around like Prince Charles, like they
’
re going to crown him chief any day
...
The reality, however
...
”
He was shaking his head slowly, looking at Doc in this oddly beseeching
way.
“
God help us all. Dentists on trampolines.
”
But no, that wasn
’
t it. Not exactly.

“
Okay, Bigfoot,
”
aware of another con job in progress,
“
I can tell you
this—the other night, when we dropped Rudy Blatnoyd off in Bel Air, it was dark, he was giving all these directions, whole lotta turns, I don
’
t
think I could find the way back there even in daylight, or know how this connects to wherever you guys found the body, but it was about eleven
p.m.
”
—scribbling on a napkin—
”
and here
’
s the address.
”

Bigfoot nodded.
“
That
’
s just where we found the body. He was staying there as a houseguest, and this helps a little with the chronology. Thank you, Doc. Hair and drug-use issues notwithstanding, I
’
ve never thought of you as any less than professional.
”

“
Don
’
t get sentimental on me man, it fucks up your edge.
”

“
I can be even more emotionally irresponsible than that,
”
replied
Bigfoot.
“
Listen. There are certain polygraph keys on this case that if I told you what they were, then the only ones who
’
d know would be Homicide, the killer, and you.
”

“
Good thing you
’
re not telling me, then.
”

“
Suppose I tell you anyway.
”

“
Why should you?
”

“
Just so we know where we
’
re
‘
at,
’
as you people say.
”

“
You mean just so you
’
ll have another reason to run me in. Thanks, Bigfoot. How about if I put my fingers in my ears and scream if you try to tell me?
”

“
You won
’
t do that.
”

“
Really?
”
Doc genuinely curious.
“
Why won
’
t I?
”

“
Because you
’
re one of the few hippie potheads in this town who appreciate the distinction between
childlike
and
childish.
Besides, this is right up your alley. Listen
...
we
’
re officially calling it a fatal neck injury—don
’
t.
..
do
that!—but more specifically, Dr. Blatnoyd had puncture wounds on his throat, consistent with bites from the canines of a midsize wild animal. That
’
s what the coroner found. Keep it under your hat.
”

“
Well now that
’
s mighty weird, Bigfoot,
”
Doc said slowly,
“
because Rudy Blatnoyd was one of the partners in a tax dodge that calls itself,
get this,
Golden Fang
Enterprises. Huh? I don
’
t suppose you had the SID
test out those neck punctures for gold, or nothin like that?
”

“
I shouldn
’
t think there
’
d be much trace. Gold is all but chemically
inactive, as you might have learned in chemistry class if you hadn
’
t been
ditching it all the time to score dope.
”

“
Wait, what happened to Locard
’
s Exchange Principle, every contact leaves traces? it would sure be
ironic,
man, is all I
’
m saying, if it turned out Blatnoyd was bit to death by a golden fang. Or even better, like,
two
golden fangs.
”

“
I don
’
t.
..
”
Bigfoot tilting his head and hitting it like a swimmer trying to clear water from his ear,
“
see why
...
anything like that would be especially
...
material?
”

“
You mean why would the fangs have to be gold? Instead of like just
some everyday werewolf fangs.
”

“
Well...o...kay...?
”

“
Because
it’s
the Golden Fang,
man.
”

“
Yes yes the decedent
’
s tax shelter or whatever. So what.
”

“
No, not just a tax shelter, Bigfoot. Uh-uh. Much, much more, what
you would call, vast.
”

“
Oh. And this wouldn
’
t,
”
patiently enough,
“
just be some more of
your paranoid hippie bullshit, would it, because frankly neither the Department nor, more importantly, I, have the time to waste on these
pothead fantasy leads.
”

“
Then you don
’
t mind if I just keep lookin into it myself? I mean,
there
’
s no IA issues
here
I hope, no deliberate LAPD obstruction, nothin
like that?
”

“
Everybody
’
s time is precious,
”
philosophized Bigfoot, reaching for
his wallet,
“
in
it’s
own way.
”

Doc was parked down in Little Tokyo, so he walked Bigfoot to the corner of Third and San Pedro and peeled off there, flashing a peace
sign.
“
Oh and Bigfoot.
”

“
Uh-huh.
”

“
Have the lab look for traces of copper.
”

“
What?
”

“
Not the kind that goes stumbling all over the crime scene contami
nating evidence—more like copper, the metal? See, gold teeth are never
pure gold, dentists like to alloy it with copper? If you hadn
’
t ditched
forensics class to go steal hubcaps to plant on some innocent hippie, you
might have known
that?

doc called clancy charlock
where she tended bar, over in Ingle-
wood.
“
Hi, how
’
d it work out with those two bikers the other night?
”
“
They did a lot of reds and fell asleep, thanks. Listen, have you seen
Boris Spivey lately?
”
There was a skip, not quite a tremor, in her voice. It
could’ve
been from smoking.

“
That
’
s just what I was gonna ask you! ESP, man!
”

“
Because it turns out Boris has disappeared. His place is empty, all his stuff is gone, nobody at Knucklehead Jack
’
s has seen him.
”

Doc located a Kool, went to light it, then just sat staring at it instead.
Could Bigfoot be right? Was Doc the kiss of death, laying bad karma on
everybody he touched?

“
Did you scare him or something?
”
Now she sounded pissed off.

“
How would I do that when I can
’
t reach higher than his knee?
Maybe he owes money, maybe it
’
s old-lady problems—do you know her,
by the way? Dawnette? from Pico Rivera?
”

“
Actually, I tried to call her, but she seems to be missing too.
”

“
Think they
’
re together?
”

“
You have me confused with Ann Landers. What did you want with Boris?
”

“
The guy I
’
m really looking for is Puck Beaverton, and I thought Boris might
’
ve had some line on his whereabouts.
”

“
That
asshole.
”

“
Almost sounds like you
’
ve
...
dated ol
’
Puck.
”

“
Both him and his roommate, Einar. Don
’
t ask me to go into details.
The boys have a slightly different idea about what a three-way is. I ended
up feeling, let
’
s say, underused, and made the mistake of telling them so. Puck and Einar just murmured together for a while, and then they kicked me out. Four
a.m.
in West Hollywood.
”

“
I didn
’
t mean to—
”

“
Reawaken painful memories, course not, it
’
s okay, just that there
’
s bein handled and bein handled, and this wasn
’
t even fun.
”

“
Boris mentioned that Puck might
’
ve been headed for Vegas, and I was just trying to narrow that down a little.
”

“
If Einar
’
s with him, they
’
ll be looking for girls to treat like shit, pref
erably ones who don
’
t mind too much. Happy hunting.
”

“
Maybe some tropical evening, we could play some canasta.
”
“
Sure, bring a friend.
”

waiting at the office
when Doc got back from lunch at Wavos was a disheveled girl in a tiny skirt, whose eyes after the style of the times were hugely made up not only with mascara but also with liquid liner and shadow almost the color of the smoke from a faulty head gasket,
suggesting to Doc as always a deep, unreachable innocence, all of which
sent the throbbing idle of his lecherousness into overdrive.