Sunset Express

I said, 'I'm here to follow up the call you made about Susan Martin's kidnapping and murder.'

Lester finished tying the first boot, then started on the second. 'Sure. That guy I spoke to on the phone, he said someone would come talk to me about it. That's you, I guess.'

'I guess.' Mr Lucky.

He looked over and grinned when he saw my eye. 'Hey, you and Jonna kinda match, doncha?' He laughed after he said it, huh-yuk, huh-yuk, huh-yuk. Like Jughead.

I stared at him.

James Lester killed what was left of the first Hamm 's, then popped the tab on the second. 'I think I met the guys who did it.'

'Okay.'

He took another pull on the Hamm 's, then had some of the sandwich. When he bit into the sandwich he jumped up and opened the sandwich as if he'd just bitten into a turd. 'Goddammit, Jonna, what in hell is this?'

'That's your potted meat!' Yelling from the kitchen.

'Where's the fuckin' mayonnaise?'

'We're out. I gotta get some.'

'Where's the little pickles?' Now he was whining worse than her.

'I'm gonna go get some, all right?' Screaming, now. 'Do you think I'm your fuckin' slave!'

His face went sullen and his breathing grew loud. He had more of the Hamm 's. He had more of the Hamm 's again. My neck was hurting so bad I thought it would go into spasm.

'Tell me what you know, James.'

He stayed with the loud breathing a little longer, then closed the sandwich and took another bite. You'd think it was killing him, having to eat his sandwich without the mayonnaise and the little pickles.

I said, 'James.'

He went on with his mouth full. 'A week before it's on the news about her gettin' killed I stop in this place for a couple of brewscaleros. There's these two guys, one of the guys, he was wearing a Shell station shirt had the name "Steve" sewn over the pocket.'

'Okay.' I wrote Shell station on my notepad. I wrote Steve.

'We were talkin' about how shitty it was, havin' to work for a livin', and this guy, he gives me the big wink and says he's got her whipped. I'm all, whaddaya mean you got'r whipped? He goes, hey, a guy with the 'nads could snatch one of these rich Beverly Hills bitches and score enough fast cash to retire in style.'

I said, 'Steve said that?'

'Unh-hunh.' He stuffed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and washed it down. 'I tell'm that sounds like a fast track to the gas chamber to me, but he goes, all you need is a layout of the house and a slick way in and out, stuff like that.' He swallowed hard and let out a gassy belch.

'The other guy say anything?'

'Nope. Just sat there drinkin'.'

'What'd they look like?'

'Steve was kinda tall and skinny, with light hair. I'm not sure about the other guy. Shorter. Darker.'

A phone rang in the kitchen and we could hear Jonna Lester answer. James's face clouded and he yelled, 'That better not be one'a your cunt friends!'

She yelled back, 'Fuck you!'

I said, 'James.'

He turned the cloud my way.

'"Cunt" is an ugly word.'

He squinted at me as if he wasn't sure what I'd said, and then he shook his head. 'All she does is yack with her friends. All she does is run around the mall while I'm bustin' my ass.' Like that should explain it.

I said, 'Steve and the dark guy say anything else?'

He sucked at his teeth, getting rid of the last bits of the sandwich. 'I hadda pee so I went to the head. When I come back they was gone.'

I stared at him, thinking about it. Seven interviews so far, and his was the only one that seemed to be worth checking out. It would probably add up to nothing, but you never know until you know. 'You remember the bar?'

'Sure. It was a place called the Hangar over on Mission Boulevard. I go there sometimes.'

I wrote it down. The Hangar.

'Last thing the guy says before I go to the head, he says he knows just who to grab, too. He says she's a one-way ticket to Easy Street.'

'Steve said that?'

'Yeah. Steve.'

'He say a name?'

'Unh-unh.'

Jonna Lester reappeared wearing strap sandles and carrying a small purse. She'd made her face, but the lip still looked puffy. He said, 'Where the fuck do you think you're going?'

She pouted the lips at him, giving him attitude. 'I gotta go to the store. I got things to buy.'

'You think you're gonna run around with your cunt friends while I'm bustin' my ass? You think you're gonna spend my dough in some fuckin' mall?'

'We're outta mayonnaise. We're outta those little pickles.'

He jumped up and grabbed her right arm. 'You're gonna stay here and clean this fuckin' rathole, that's what you're gonna do!'

I stood.

She tried to twist away from him, screaming, 'You piece of shit! I'm not your fuckin' slave!' She pounded at him with her left fist, pretty good shots that nailed him on the head and face and chest until he was able to grab her left arm, too.

'James.' The ache in my neck had moved up to my scalp. Never a good sign.

She said, 'You're hurtin' me, you asshole!'

'James. Leave go of her.'

James Lester said, 'Fuck you. This is my house. This is my wife. She's gonna do what I say or I'll give'r a fat lip!'

I held up my right index finger. 'Watch the finger, James. I want to show you something.'

His eyes went to the finger, like maybe it was a trick, only he couldn't figure out what the trick might be.

'Are you watching my finger?'

'Suck my ass.' She was watching my right finger, too.

I hit him flush on the nose with a left.

He yelled, 'Ow!' and grabbed at his face with both hands. He stumbled back and tripped over the little side table. Jonna Lester leaned over him, wiggled her butt, and yelled, 'Ha-ha, asshole!' Some wife.

James Lester was on his back, eyes watering, blinking at me. He said, 'You piece of shit. You wait'll I get up!'

I put my notes in the manila envelope, then went to the door. Lucy was probably in the midst of her negotiation right now. Ben was probably watching Jodi Taylor shoot a scene right now. The world was turning on its axis right now.

I said, 'Thanks for the statement, James. If anything comes of it we'll be in touch about the reward.'

'You better not jew me out of that reward! I'm gonna call the cops, you hear? I'm gonna have you arrested!'

I left them to their lives and walked out into the sun. You want to do the right thing, but sometimes there is no right thing to be done.

Another day, another moron. And to think, some people have to work for a living.

CHAPTER 12

The Hangar was a small, bright hole-in-the-fence-type bar wedged between a place that sold balsa-wood rocket kits and another place that repaired appliances. They were doing a pretty good lunch business when I got there, selling chili tacos and grilled sausages to people swilling down schooners of beer. Both of the bartenders were women in their fifties, and neither of them knew a blond guy named Steve who worked for Shell. I didn't expect that they would, but you never know. The older of the two women called me'sweetie.' The younger of the two didn't like it very much. Jealous.

I bought a grilled sausage with kraut, a schooner of Miller, and asked if they'd mind letting me use their phone book. The older one didn't, but the younger one warned me not to walk out with it. I assured them that I wouldn't. The younger one told me to be careful not to spill anything on it. The older one asked the younger one why she always had to make such a big thing, and the younger one said what if I ruined it? I assured them that I'd buy them a new phone book if I ruined the loaner. The older one said, 'Oh, don't you give it another thought, sweetie,' and the younger one went down to the far end of the bar and sulked.

Half the schooner later I had addresses for the nine Shell service stations located in the El Monte,' Baldwin Park,' West Covina area. I finished the sausage, thanked the older one for her help, and made the round of the Shell stations. At each stop I spoke to the manager or assistant manager, identified myself, and asked if a tall blond guy named Steve had worked there anytime in the past six months. At the first four stations I visited, the answer was no, but at the fifth station the manager said, 'You mean Pritzik?'