Secrets & Lies (30 page)

My task was done; as soon as I could do so, I scooted away from the site. I removed the mask and put on the coat, made it to my car, and drove home.

It was a satisfying evening, but it left me hungry for more.

1961

A
UGUST
29, 1961

I talked to Barry on the phone this morning. He told me that the police arrested everyone at the Heathens' auto shop on illegal gun possession. Unfortunately, the motorcycle club members and the old man were bailed out yesterday morning. The D.A. argued that they were a flight risk, but the hoodlums had good lawyers. No charges were dropped, though, so that's a good thing. Barry wanted to know if I'd come by his house in Laurel Canyon to pick up my payment and talk about what's next. He'd been asking me for some time, saying how beautiful it was there. His house is isolated, in the hills. I'd been putting him off, but I finally said okay, mainly to pick up the
350 he had for me. We made a date for tomorrow night, because tonight I had to work at Flickers.

Leo is missing in action, but Christina was at the club tonight. She was alone, as usual, but she flirted with men she knew at the bar. It seems she never sits at a table to watch the show, no matter who's performing. Tonight it was Al Martino, who sang his hit version of “Summertime.”

Gosh, the last time I saw Leo was about a week after that morning at his office. We went out to dinner and to a movie—he took me
to see
Breathless
because I hadn't seen it yet. What a strange movie! It was very—different. I don't know what I thought of it, but it was very interesting and that French actor in it was very good looking, in a bad boy sort of way, and he was a
very
bad boy. Leo hated it.

Still, we had fun. Leo continues to make me laugh, and I enjoy his company. I didn't go back to his house or let him come to my apartment, though. He was disappointed, but I told him I was tired and was having my period. That dissuaded him. We talked about how busy he was, and he apologized for not being around much. I sometimes wish he'd take me with him on his business trips, wherever they are. I wouldn't get in his way. I'd find something to do while he was busy. It's just that I really want to know what he does with his life when he's not with me. I sense something darker about him lately, as if he's
really
hiding something. I'd resolved to talk to him about it the next time I saw him. But then I saw Christina, and I sidled up to her at the bar when I had a few minutes away from being a hostess.

“Heard from Leo?” I asked.

She lit a cigarette and smiled at me. “Hi, Judy, nice to see you too.”

“Oh, Christina, you know what I mean. Hello to you, too. It's just that I haven't heard from him in a couple of weeks. Where is he now?”

She shrugged. “I think he's in San Francisco.”

“Really? I'd
love
to go to San Francisco.”

She shrugged again. “It's a nice town.” Then she looked at me with ice-cold eyes and the hint of a sneer and said, “He has something going in Las Vegas, too, so he spends time there.”

I think most people would have taken that literally, dear diary, but my internal alarm went crazy. Christina meant something entirely different.

Another girl?

“What's in Las Vegas?” I asked.

She puffed on her cigarette and answered, “A business opportunity.
Oh, there's Shrimp, I need to talk to him. Would you excuse me?”

“Sure.”

She went over to the end of the bar, where Sal Casazza's man stood with an empty glass of something. They greeted each other like old friends.

Leo and Las Vegas. I would have to think about that.

A
UGUST
31, 1961

Last night I went to Barry's place in Laurel Canyon. He was right—it
is
beautiful there. He lives in a tiny cabin that sits all by itself on a hill, and you can see the lights of Hollywood from his front porch. I drove there, following his directions, but I still got a little lost. I retraced my path and started over, and then I found the right road near a country store.

It was strange, him sitting there in civilian clothes and me in my Black Stiletto outfit, but we had a nice dinner and talk. He made burritos with refried beans and ground beef, and we drank beer. The food reminded me of Texas. I'm not an avid beer drinker, but I'll have it on occasion.

He smoked a cigarette afterward and we stared at the enchanting vista. I asked him if he ever got lonely, and he replied, “Sure. But I enjoy my privacy more, so I don't socialize much.”

“You ever been married?”

“Once. That didn't turn out too well.”

“Where is she now?”

He laughed wryly. “I have no idea.” Then he looked at me and said, “Do you know how famous you are now?”

“Oh, go on.”

“You are. The D.A.'s office loves you. There's now a Black Stiletto Fan Club in Hollywood.”

“There was already one in New York, or maybe it was national. I lost track of it after the first year.”

“Someday you might have to reveal who you are, you know.”

“Why?”

“Think of the money you'd make selling your story.”

“Remember, I'm still wanted in New York. I don't think I'd get off that easily.”

Barry shook his head. “I bet D.A. McKesson could fix that for you.”

“The money's not that important, as long as I have enough to live on and be comfortable. I don't think I'd want my private self to be subjected to that kind of notoriety. I like things the way they are.”

We talked some more about mundane stuff and then he brought up business. He said the guns they found at the auto-repair shop were only a small portion of a larger cache. Somewhere in the greater Los Angeles area there were a lot more, and he was working on other leads.

“Someone in Casazza's organization is making counterfeit money,” Barry said. “The feds arrested a Serpientes member on his way to the border, and he was trying to smuggle five grand worth of fake five- and ten-dollar bills. They were very sophisticated, the best printing job they'd ever seen. Counterfeiting is not as bad as running guns, but it's still against the law and hurts our Treasury Department. The D.A. wants me to see if I can find the source of the funny money so we can take them down.” He lightly hammered his fist on the arm chair and said, “God, I'd like to nail that S.O.B. Vince DeAngelo.”

“You sound like it's something personal.” That made him pause. “You don't have to tell me if it's—”

“No, no, I'll tell you. You know I served some time because of some smuggling I did a few years ago when I was a cop.”

“Yeah?”

“I was smuggling guns for DeAngelo. It was years ago, before his operation was as sophisticated as it is now. Because of my connections with West Texas, I had a foolproof pipeline to the southern states. Anyway, when I was caught, I stayed mum. I wasn't a rat. I thought DeAngelo would pull strings and get me off, but instead he
sold me down the river. He didn't lift a finger to help me. My actions made the LAPD look bad, and that meant more to him than having a cop in his pocket. So I lost my job, went to jail, and became a pariah. The most ironic thing is that DeAngelo took over my smuggling route and contacts in Texas, got rich, and became who he is today.”

“Gee, I'm sorry,” was all I could think of to say.

“That's not all. I have a brother in Odessa. Skipper, Skipper Gorman. Four years younger than me. He was working with me when I was doing all that criminal activity, and DeAngelo
shot
him.”

“Oh, my God!”

Barry held up a hand. “He lived, but he's crippled. Has to stay in a wheelchair and is in constant pain. Two bullets destroyed his hip.”

“That's terrible.”

“He's okay. Skipper works as an accountant or investment counselor or something like that. Got himself a straight job. I don't understand stocks and bonds and taxes, but he does.”

I laughed. “Me neither. I'm terrible at math.”

“So, anyway, you asked. That's why I'd like to get DeAngelo. Eh, we'll get him eventually.”

Dear diary, I'd been thinking of asking Barry this for some time, so I rustled up the nerve to do so. “Have you ever heard of a guy named Leo Kelly?”

The name didn't seem to excite him much, but Barry replied, “Yeah, I know who he is. He's in the warehouse business, or something like that. Why do you ask?”

“Let's just say I know who he is.”

“He's a friend of Sal Casazza's, we know that, but he's not on our radar. He's kind of a playboy about town. A hit with the women. He has an uncle who owns a hot nightclub in Hollywood.”

“What else do you know about him?”

“Nothing much.” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. “Wait, he has a sister who was a bank robber. Went to jail, if I recall correctly.”

That
I didn't know. “Really?”

“Yeah. Oh, and I know Kelly is chummy with none other than DeAngelo's daughter, Maria.”

That made the hair on my head bristle. “Oh, yeah?”

“Their families were close for a long time. I knew Leo's father when I was on the force. He was a powerful guy down in the Wholesale District. I'm pretty sure Leo and Maria grew up knowing each other.”

I didn't know what to think of that. “Does she live in Las Vegas, too?”

“Yeah, with her daddy. Spoiled bitch, if you ask me, but she's pretty.”

Uh-oh
. Do I have any reason to worry about that information? I could be imagining things. Maybe Leo was indeed
just
friends with her.

“So you don't suspect him of being involved in any of Casazza's or DeAngelo's activities?”

“Like I said, his name has never come up in that regard.”

“You care if I check him out?”

Barry looked at me with a furrowed brow. “You really know him, huh?”

I didn't say anything.

He lit another cigarette, and said, “Well, if you want to on your own dime, go ahead. He's probably clean, but I guess it couldn't hurt to have a look at him. After all, he works with all those union guys, knows people at the Port, and that's where the guns come in from overseas.”

We eventually called it a night. Barry said for me to contact him in a week and he'd let me know what we'll do next. I drove home from the hills—in the
dark
, and it was a little nerve-wracking—but I made it safely and reentered the world of Judy Cooper.

Now I'm thinking about how I can investigate Leo more thoroughly.

T
HE
P
RESENT

Oh, my freaking god, I'm in freaking
jail
and my dad's in the freaking hospital in critical condition and I'm in a freaking lot of trouble. I'm sure my legal problems will sort themselves out, because I did
nothing wrong
. It was self-defense. I was protecting my father, who was
tied to a chair and about to be tortured
. The man aimed a gun at me, I leaped for it and knocked him sideways, but the damned thing went off—at Dad.