‘If she’s a pro, she plays for the big boys – first class.’

‘And how can we find that out?’ Garcia asked.

‘A girl this pretty would only work for one guy around here – D-King.’

‘Elvis came back from the dead to become a pimp?’ Garcia asked narrowing his eyes.

‘Not the King, D-King, homie.’

‘D-King? What kinda name is that?’ Garcia frowned.

‘The kinda name you don’t wanna fuck with.’

‘Big-time pimp and drug dealer,’ Hunter cut in. ‘Rumor has it that he also deals in guns, but he runs a very tight operation. Everything very much underground. That’s why you wouldn’t have heard of him. He controls everything from afar, except his girls, where he prefers a hands-on approach.’

‘And where can we find him?’ Garcia asked.

‘You won’t find him on the streets, his business is high class.’ JJ scratched the small scar over his left eye. ‘What’s in it for me?’

‘You get to keep all your ugly teeth and not bleed all over your cheap suit. Sounds like a good deal to me,’ Garcia said pushing JJ against the wall one more time.

‘Who the hell’s this guy?’ JJ asked Hunter taking a step away from Garcia.

‘I’m the guy you don’t wanna fuck with,’ Garcia said, stepping closer once again.

‘He’s my new partner JJ and I don’t think he likes you very much. Last guy he took a dislike to still can’t eat anything more solid than yogurt.’

‘Can’t you keep him on a leash?’

‘Sure I can. The leash is in the car. I’ll go get it. You guys will be OK by yourselves for ten minutes or so, right?’

‘Wait, wait. OK, man. No need to leave me alone with monster-cop here. Friday and Saturday nights D-King likes to go to the Vanguard Club in Hollywood. You’ll find him in the VIP area.’

‘How about tonight, right now, where can we find him?’

‘How the hell should I know, homie? I’m doing you a favor here, man, the Vanguard Club Friday and Saturday nights, that’s all I know.’

‘You better not be messing with us, JJ.’ Garcia’s tone was threatening.

‘Why the fuck would I do that? If I never see you two again, that’d be too soon.’

Hunter placed his hand on JJ’s left shoulder squeezing it. The pressure made JJ contort in pain once again. ‘I really hope you’re not sending us on a bogus chase, HOMIE.’

JJ tried in vain to escape Hunter’s grip. ‘I’m telling you the truth man. For real ese.’

Hunter let go of JJ who started dusting his jacket with both hands. ‘Look at what you’ve done to my suit man, these things don’t come cheap you know.’

Garcia checked his pocket change. ‘Here.’ He extended his hand towards JJ. ‘A dollar ninety-five. Go buy another one.’

‘He needs to see somebody, like an anger management person or something. Don’t you guys have shrinks in the police?’

‘No one good enough to cure him,’ Hunter laughed.

JJ muttered something in Spanish as he walked away from both detectives. Garcia returned his change to his pocket and waited until JJ was far enough. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think you’re pretty good in the bad, angry cop role. What a transformation! Even I believed it.’

‘Last guy I disliked still can’t eat anything more solid than yogurt?’ Garcia asked, arching his eyebrows.

‘Well, I wanted to make it convincing,’ Hunter smiled.

‘So what’s next?’

‘I guess we’re going clubbing this Friday,’ Hunter said reaching for his car keys.

Nineteen

Hunter pumped the gas pedal four times, placed his key in the ignition and turned it. The engine made a coughing noise followed by a rattling sound, the dashboard lights flickered but the car didn’t start. Hunter returned the key to its original position, pumped the gas a couple more times and tried it again. This time he kept the key turned for about twelve seconds pressing the gas pedal gently. The engine coughed again and made the dreaded locomotive sound.

‘You ain’t serious,’ Garcia said, staring at the dim flicker of the dashboard lights.

‘Chill out, it’s OK. This engine is just temperamental,’ Hunter replied, avoiding Garcia’s stare.

‘By temperamental you mean old, right? Anyway, the problem isn’t your engine. It sounds like a dead battery to me.’

‘Trust me, I know this car, it’ll be OK.’ Hunter tried once again and this time the engine made no sound. The dashboard lights flickered only once and then…

‘Umm! I guess you better call your road rescue service.’

‘I don’t have one.’

‘What? Please tell me you’re joking,’ Garcia said, leaning against the passenger door.

‘No I’m not.’

‘Are you crazy? You have a car that’s… How old is this car?’

Hunter screwed up his face trying to remember the exact year of fabrication. ‘About fourteen years old.’

‘You have a fourteen-year-old car and no road rescue plan? You’re either very optimistic or a mechanic, and I don’t see any grease on your hands.’

‘I’m telling you, I know this car. We just gotta give it some time and it’ll start, it always does. So coffee or beer?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Well, we’ve gotta kill some time… twenty or so minutes. We could just sit in here and shoot the breeze, but since we’re on Sunset Strip, we might as well grab a drink while we wait, so do you prefer coffee or beer?’

Garcia looked at Hunter in disbelief. ‘I don’t see how waiting any amount of time will recharge your battery, but coffee will do for me.’

‘Beer it is then,’ Hunter said, opening his door and slipping out of the car.

‘Shall we go back to the Rainbow? Maybe you can continue your very interesting conversation with the “Rock Bitch” blond babe,’ Garcia taunted.

‘It’s OK, I got her phone number,’ Hunter teased back.

They found a small, quiet bar on Hammond Street. It was just past one in the morning and most punters were getting ready to go home. Hunter ordered two beers and a bag with ice for his ankle before taking a table towards the rear of the bar.

‘How’s the foot?’ Garcia asked as they sat down.

‘Fine. It’s just a simple twist,’ he said after a quick examination. ‘The ice will keep it from swelling up.’ He placed the bag of ice over his foot and rested it on an empty chair to his left. ‘I won’t be able to run for a couple of days but that’s all.’

Garcia nodded.

‘I’ve never seen anybody run the way you did, were you in the Olympics or something?’

Garcia smiled, showing glistening white and perfectly aligned teeth. ‘I used to be in my university’s track and field team.’

‘And you were very good at it by the looks of things.’

‘I’ve won a few medals.’ Garcia sounded more embarrassed than proud. ‘How about you? If you hadn’t twisted your foot you would’ve gotten to him easily. He was half your weight.’

‘I’m not as fast as you, I can tell you that,’ Hunter replied with a tilt of the head.

‘Maybe one day we’ll find out,’ Garcia said with a challenging smile.

A loud crashing noise came from the bar catching their attention. Someone had slipped from his bar stool, smashing his beer bottle and plummeting to the floor.

‘Time to go home, Joe,’ a short brunette waitress said, helping the man back to his feet.

‘There’s something that bothers me about this case,’ Garcia said following Joe out of the bar with his eyes.

‘Everything bothers me about this case, but let’s hear yours,’ Hunter replied, having another sip of his beer.

‘In this day and age, how can the killer not leave anything behind? I understand that the killer also has a lot of time to clean up the place before he leaves, but we’ve got lights and chemicals and different gadgets that can reveal a speck of dust on the floor. We’ve got DNA tests; we can convict someone by his saliva. Hell, if the killer had farted in that house the forensic team would probably have some gadget that could pick it up. How can the crime scenes be so clean?’

‘Simple, the killer never works on a victim at the location where the victim is found.’