Making no mention of the arrest as one of Gretchen Stengel’s girls. The Westside Madam’s name had hit the news big time, but none of her call girls had been exposed. Nor had the clients.
Milo scrawled in his pad. “So there was another contact before the Christmas visit.”
“I wasn’t counting phone calls,” said Teague.
“Any other calls?”
“Nope.”
“Did you send her bail money?”
“No way. I said forget it, you made your own bed, now sleep in it. She cussed me out and hung up.”
Teague snorted. “She tried to bullshit me, told me the whole thing had been a mistake, she’d been working at one of the casinos, escorting rich guys, nothing illegal, the cops had ‘overreacted.’ She said she just got caught with no cash on her, all she needed to do was get home to her credit cards, she’d fix it if I’d float her the dough. Credit cards—letting me know she was living the high life and here I was stuck, recuperating.”
“You were sick?” said Milo.
Teague touched the scar clump. “I used to have my own electrical business, was doing a job out in Calabasas. Someone fucked up, I ended up duking it out with a mass of rebar. I was in a coma for a week, had dou-ble vision for months. I still get headaches.” Glancing at the beer cans. “I sued, tied myself up for years, the lawyers took most of it. Then she tells me she’s pregnant.” Cocking his head toward the bedroom. “I was on painkillers, halfway groggy most of the time, and Lauren calling out of nowhere, whining about the police overreacting.”
Defiance spiked his voice. Even in death Lauren pushed his buttons.
“How’d she make her bail?” said Milo.
“How should I know?” Teague shook his head, picked something out of his beard. “I could’ve thrown her out the first Christmas, but I wanted to be decent. She might not’ve considered herself my daughter. But I was too mature to let that get to me.”
“She said she didn’t consider herself your daughter?”
Teague laughed. “That’s just one of the things she unloaded on me. Big truckload of shit, and I just sat there, being cool. That’s the way I always was with her—when she was a kid. She’d open up a big mouth and I’d just shine her on.”
Long silence.
Teague said, “Lauren and I, we never— She was always a handful. From day one she always tried to make me feel . . . like an idiot. Everything I said and did was insensitive. And stupid.” He placed his palm over his heart. “Lauren was— Sometimes there’re people you just can’t get along with, no matter what the hell you do. I was hoping maybe one day she’d grow up, understand, maybe she’d start being . . . polite.”
He shook his head. Moisture in his eyes, for the first time. “Least I got two others. . . . They love me, those two. No shit outta their mouths— You really have no idea who did it?”
“Not yet,” said Milo. “Why?”
“No why. I was just thinking it couldn’t be any big mystery. Look for a low life, pal. ‘Cause Lauren chose a low-life lifestyle. Fancy clothes and all. Last time she was here, bragging about enrolling in college, I had my doubts.”
“About what?”
“About her being a student. I figured it was another one of her cons.” To me: “She lied since she got out of diapers—whether you saw it or not, that’s the truth. When she was four, five years old she’d point to red, tell you it was blue, just about convince you. To me, she didn’t look like a student, never seen a student dress like that, flash all that jewelry.”
“Expensive stuff,” said Milo.
“To my eye, but what the hell do I know—I don’t shop on Rodeo. Her mother liked all that crap too, used to lean hard on my checkbook. I had a good business back then, but who wants to blow it on that crap?” He pitched forward. Smiled. “She married an old guy. My ex. Senile old bag of shit. She’s soaking him for his dough, waiting for him to croak— Did you tell her about Lauren yet?”