“Did he give you details?”
“No.”
Cindy had her lipstick out, smearing on another coat. “Cindy, he tell _you_ anything?”
“No”–a little squeak.
“Nothing about enemies?”
“No.”
“What about girlfriends? Duke have any young stuff going lately?”
Cindy grabbed a tissue, blotted. “N-no.”
“Feather, you buy that?”
“I guess Dukey wasn’t talking up nobody. Can we go now? I mean–”
“Go. There’s a cabstand up the street.”
The girls moved out fast; Bud gave them a lead, ran to his car. Up to Sunset across from the cabstand; a two-minute wait. Cindy and Feather walked up.
Separate cabs, different directions. Cindy shot due north on Wilcox, maybe toward home–5814 Yucca. Bud took a shortcut; the cab showed right on time. Cindy walked to a green De Soto, took off westbound. Bud counted to ten, followed.
Up to Highland, the Cahuenga Pass to the Valley, west on Ventura Boulevard. Bud stuck close; Cindy drove middle lane fast. A last-second swerve to the curb by a motel–rooms circling a murky swimming pool.
Bud braked, U-turned, watched. Cindy walked to a left-side room, knocked. A girl–fifteenish, blond–let her in. Young stuff–Duke Cathcart’s statch rape type.
Eyeball Surveillance.
Cindy walked out ten minutes later–zoom–a U-turn back toward Hollywood. Bud knocked on the girl’s door.
She opened it–teary-eyed. A radio blasted: “Nite Owl Massacre,” “Crime of the Southland’s Century.” The girl focused in. “Are you the police?”
Bud nodded. “Sweetie, how old are you?” No more focus–her eyes went blurry. “Sweetie, what’s your name?”
“Kathy Janeway. Kathy with a ‘K.”‘ Bud closed the door. “How old are you?” “Fourteen. Why do men always ask you that?” A prairie twang.
“Where are you from?”
“North Dakota. But if you send me back I’ll just run away again.”
“Why?”
“You want it in VistaVision? Duke said lots of guys get their jollies that way.”
“Don’t be such a tough cookie, huh? I’m on your side.”
“That’s a laugh.”
Bud scoped the room. Panda bears, movie mags, schoolgirl smocks on the dresser. No whore threads, no dope paraphernalia. “Was Duke nice to you?”
“He didn’t make me do it with guys, if that’s what you mean.”
“You mean you only did it with him?”
“No, I mean my daddy did it to me and this other guy made me do it with guys, but Duke bought me away from him.”
Pimp intrigue. “What was the guy’s name?”
“No! I won’t tell you and you can’t make me and I forgot it anyway!”
“Which one of those, sweetie?”
“I don’t want to tell!”
“Sssh. So Duke was nice to you?”
“Don’t shush me. Duke was a panda bear, all he wanted was to sleep in the same bed with me and play pinochle. Is that so bad?”
“Honey–”
“My daddy was worse! My Uncle Arthur was lots worse!”
“Hush, now, huh?”
“You can’t make me!”
Bud took her hands. “What did Cindy want?”
Kathy pulled away. “She told me Duke was dead, which any dunce with a radio knows. She told me Duke said that if anything happened to him she should look after me, and she gave me ten dollars. She said the police bothered her. I said ten dollars isn’t very much, and she got insulted and yelled at me. And how’d you know Cindy was here?”
“Never mind.”
“The rent here’s nine dollars a week and I–”
“I’ll get you some more money if you’ll–”
“Duke was _never_ that cheap with me!”
“_Kathy, hush now and let me ask you a few questions and maybe we’ll get the guys who killed Duke. All right? Huh?_”
A kid’s sigh. “Okay, all right, ask me.”
Bud, soft. “Cindy said Duke told her to look after you if something happened to him. Do you think he figured something was gonna happen?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Why maybe?”
“Maybe ’cause Duke was nervous lately.”
“Why was he nervous?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ask him?”
“He said, ‘Just biz.”‘
Feather on Cathcart: “Jazzed on some new business scheme.” “Kathy, was Duke starting some new kind of thing up?”
“I don’t know, Duke said girls don’t need shoptalk. And I know he left me more than a crummy ten dollars.”
Bud gave her a Bureau card. “That’s my number at work. You call me, huh?”