“Noway.”
“How’d you get the keys?”
“Dude gave ’em to me, I tole you.”
“But you don’t know the dude’s name.”
“Right.”
“Dude just hands you the keys to his ‘Vette, just like that.”
“Yeah.” Soames sniffed. A bony knee started shaking.
” Where’d this fairy tale take place?” said Milo.
“Ivar and Lexington, like I tole you.”
Hollywood back streets. The boy had a hollow-cheeked look that screamed too much
Hollywood.
Milo said, “He just came up to you on the corner and gave you his keys.”
“Right.”
“What were you doing on Ivar and Lexington?”
“Nothin’. Hangin’.”
“And he drove up in the ‘Vette and-”
“No, he walked up. The ‘Vette was parked somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Coupla blocks away.”
“So you figured him for a John.”
“No-I don’ do that shit. That’s all that happened, man.”
“What’d the dude look like, Chris?”
“Don’ know.”
“Dude gives you his car keys, and you don’t know what he looks like.”
“It was dark-it’s always dark there, that’s why- Go look for yourself, it’s always dark there.”
“Dude you don’t know and whose face you can’t see just hands you the keys to his
‘Vette, tells you to drive it home for him, gives you twenty bucks for the favor.”
“That’s right,” said Soames.
“Why would he want to do that?”
“Ask him.”
“I’m asking you, Chris.”
“He had another car.”
“Ah,” said Milo. “Something you forgot to tell me the first time around.”
“He- I-” Soames’s mouth snapped shut.
“What, Chris?”
“Nothing.”
“Part of the twenty was the dude told you not to say anything to anybody, right?”
Silence.
“Did he say anything about bailing you when you get busted for grand theft auto?”
Silence.
Milo got down on one knee, eye level with Soames. “What if I told you I believe you,
Chris? What if I told you I know what this guy looks like? Tall, skinny, big nose like a bird’s beak. Dresses all in black. Black hair, or maybe light brown. As in, wig.”
Soames blinked.
“How’m I doing?”
Soames looked away.
“What if I told you you’re a very lucky kid, Chris, because this is a very, very, very bad individual and you might be mixed up in something extremely heavy.”
Soames’s nose wrinkled. Dried snot crusted one nostril. His eyes were runny. His clothes smelled dirty, old, strangely metallic.
“Something unbelievably heavy, Chris.”
“Right.”
“Think I’m kidding you, Chris? How else would I know what he looks like? Why do you think I’m here at his house?”
Soames gave another abbreviated shrug.
“Accessory to murder, Chris,” said Milo.
“Right.”
“Hundred percent right. This guy likes to kill people. Likes to make it hurt.”
“Bullshit.”
“Why would I bullshit you, Chris?”
Soames said, “You-he-You better be bullshitting.”
“I’m not.”
Soames’s eyes had turned wet. His lip was shaking.
“You know something, Chris?”
“You better be bullshitting,” Soames whined. “I let him take Suzy.”
Susanna Galvez. Female Hispanic, black and brown, five-two, 116. A DOB that made her fourteen years and seven months old. Missing-persons report filed eighteen months ago at the Bellflower substation.
“Parents suspect she’s with her boyfriend,” said Milo, pocketing his phone. “Male
Caucasian, blond and blue, six to six-two, a hundred forty-five, goes by the name of
Chris. No last name.”
To Soames: “So, Mr. No Last Name, she ran away with you when she was twelve?”
“She’s fourteen now.”
Milo grabbed his collar. “You want her to make fifteen, tell me the rest of it,
Chris. Now, you stupid little shit.”
“Okay, yeah, yeah, I’ve seen the guy before, but I don’ know him, that’s the truth, man. Not a John, that was true, he just usually cruises. No name, he never told me no name.”
“No name and he cruises Hollywood in the ‘Vette,” said Milo.
“No, no,” Soames said impatiently. “Not the ‘Vette, never saw the ‘Vette before, the other car, this black Jeep. Suzy and I used to call him Marilyn, like Marilyn
Manson, ’cause he’s tall and weird-looking like Marilyn Manson.”
“What’s he cruise for?”
Soames’s nose bubbled. Milo pulled out a handkerchief, wiped it, took hold of
Soames’s face again and stared into the boy’s eyes. “What’s his business, Chris?”