NORTH NORTH HOLLYWOOD - Chapter 29 -by Peter Nolan Smith

TWENTY-NINE

The next morning after leaving the motel in Studio City, Frank deRocco drove to Laurel Canyon, where he spotted a newsstand on the corner. The reek of cat piss from the wet eucalyptus leaves greeted him upon getting out of the Taurus and raindrops dotted the sidewalk, as the hippie agent added all the New York and LA papers up and said, "That'll be $3.78."
deRocco swore under his breath and asked the over-aged paperboy, "Where's the twenty-eight cents come from?"
"I only collect tax for the state.” The second-generation hippie had been hassled by enough cops in his life to recognize one off-duty, who were the worst kind.
"Keep the change." deRocco gave him four $1 bills and inside the Taurus he lit a cigarette before executing an illegal U-turn on Ventura Blvd.
After buying a back-up pack of cigarettes, a coffee, and several enchiladas at a taco stand, deRocco stopped at one red light, then remembered you could take a right at a red. Looking in his rearview mirror, he was surprised that none of the cars behind him had blown their horns. The drivers' patience made no sense, but he reckoned their politeness was more derived from a fear of road rage than highway courtesy.
Not wanting to offend them any longer, deRocco stomped on the gas and nearly knocked over a homeless person in the crosswalk, who were the only people he ever saw walking in LA, but even this soggy vagabond smiled at him, instead of shaking his fist like his New York counterpart would have, and he began to think everyone had been brainwashed into being nice by too much sun.
Five minutes later he parked outside the unoccupied apartment building on Sepulveda and went through the LA Times without finding a single reference to an ex-NYPD detective being found DOA in Hollywood. Maybe it would make tomorrow's papers and he momentarily tormented himself for having deserted his partner in the Hollywood motel, until telling himself, "Kev would have done the same thing."
Throwing the newspaper into the back, he grabbed the photo off the dashboard, thinking if Sean had just let Kev shoot him, deRocco would be back in New York and so would Kev, instead of being a cold stiff in Hollywood. It was all Sean's fault and he couldn't wait to get his hands on the drifter, though he had to ask himself, "What if Tempo's a no-show?"
With those wallets loose, it was only a matter of time before a knock on the door would announce his arrest for multiple murders. Having already broken into the girls' apartment without finding any sign of them, deRocco had decided Sean had them in his possession and looking at the photo, he said, "Seano, you're coming back with those wallets. When you do, you're going to be a dead man. And you can write that in stone."
deRocco bit into the cruller and settled in for the long wait, yet there's only so long you can sit in a car doing nothing and after two hours deRocco decided to take a break without waiting for a torrent of rain to stop. He jumped out of the Taurus and leapt across a raging torrent to duck inside the XXX store, which was the industrial neighborhood's sole diversion.
His nostrils flared in reaction to the sickly sweet pine fragrance saturating the shop. The counter displayed sex toys, explicit playing cards, and marital aids. The shelves were stocked with glossy magazines and video cassettes exhibiting every genre of copulation known to mankind and a single corridor led to a series of 25 cent video booths designed for single-person occupancy. You could go anywhere in the USA and the set-up would have been the same from Maine to Oregon.
"Good day, sir," the Pakistani clerk behind the counter offered, but asked himself what kind of perversion could have dragged this big-nosed ferengi from his house in such weather. "Can I help you?"
"Do you have any films of Lena de Gama in stock?" deRocco was curious why this girl was so special.
"Of course, boss, and they are of the finest caliber. Very popular indeed. You want to buy how many, sir?” He had collected every Lena de Gama video and his brown face beamed with the pleasure of meeting another fan of this great actress.
"No, I just want to watch one here. Is that possible?" deRocco wiped his face with a handkerchief.
"Of course, boss. May I suggest the best film she did? I think it is very, very good, sir.” The clerk presented out the box for YOU, ME, AND HER, Lena's first film. "She is so, so beautiful."
"So what booth can I use?" deRocco asked, laughing to himself. "The Paki fool doesn't even know the bitch lives across the street."
"Number one, boss. I cleaned it this morning. No one has been in since,” the Pakistani replied, wishing he was the one going into paradise, instead of having to remain to his duty.
"Great, I'll pop its cherry," deRocco joked.
The clerk did not catch the Americanism's meaning, but smiled anyway saying, "I will play the video in this VCR. Only the best quality."
deRocco gave the clerk $5 and entered the video booth. He thought about sitting on the narrow bench, except there was no telling what had been there before him. The 19"screen brightened with the FBI's warning against pirating, after which insipid rock music signaled the video's beginning. The NYPD detective pressed the FF button on the control panel and the clothes-on opening blurred into a boggling vortex of clothes flung off bodies. His hitting PLAY filled the screen with naked flesh, as two lanky women with shaved heads made love to a young girl with silky black hair. Her sleekly curved body showed she was no gym rat and deRocco licked at his lips, imagining several contorted positions to try on her. The mercenary position first, then....
A gathering rumble of thunder filled the cubicle.
The four walls vibrated and the unearthly roar intensified to a deafening pitch. This Sensaround effect was definitely not part of the show and panic seized hold of deRocco. He was about to scream, when the tremors subsided, and he emerged from the cubicle and asked the clerk, "Was that an earthquake?"
"Oh, yes, sir, but a very, very small one.” The Pakistani acted, as if nothing had occurred, but deRocco darted out of the shop and stared across the gloomy street at the vacant apartment complex. "Everyone has to come home some time."
Only he wasn't thinking any longer about Sean anymore, but Lena de Gama. He would show her what a man could do, but before he could concentrate on his fantasies, his cellular phone vibrated for the first time today. The number on the LCD screen belonged to Louie Sinreich. "What you want?"
"Just that you report in.” Louie snapped.
"What? No one has been here. That help you," deRocco replied, thinking, "Everybody wants something done yesterday."
"No one?"
"Like I said. No one." Having listened to the most recent messages on the apartment's answering machine, deRocco suspected the women were close to completing their film and would probably show up tonight or tomorrow, but he wouldn't tell Louie that information, until he was good and ready. "If I see them, you'll be the second person to know."
Inside the car deRocco gazed blankly into the murk, mentally playing a sadistic mental video featuring Sean and Lena de Gama. It wasn't pretty, but he was getting in the mood, maybe for the last time, and he could hardly wait.