Joseph Wambaugh - Hollywood Crows

Nate leaped back and drew his Glock, tripping on a loose chunk of sandstone and falling flat on his ass, tumbling backward several feet down the hillside.

Ronnie drew her Beretta and so did Rita Kravitz. Bix Ramstead pulled his nine and his baton, just in case deadly force was not in the cards. And they all started yelling.

“Crawl out!” Rita Kravitz ordered. “Hands first!”

“Let’s see your hands!” Ronnie ordered. “Your hands!”

“Now!” Bix Ramstead ordered. “Crawl out now!”

As Hollywood Nate scrambled to his feet and advanced on the tent, looking for cover if the guy should come out shooting, the tent flap was thrown open and four guns were deployed diagonally, leveled at the tent.

A wizened transient with a wild white beard halfway down his puny bare chest popped his head out, holding his “weapon,” a piece of broom handle, and saw the four cops pointing pistols at him.

He offered an apologetic, toothless smile and said, “I’m just not a morning person.”

Things were getting desperate for Leonard Stilwell. Nothing was working out in a world where trust was eroding. The old burglary targets had gotten harder what with more sophisticated alarms and window bars. His short flirtation with purse picking had terrified him after seeing what happened to the long-haired guy in flip-flops. He’d tried the ATM scam for three nights straight and never again was able to score the way he had with the Iranian woman. One of the chumps figured it out right away and threatened to call the cops.

He had no rock left, no crystal meth, not even a blunt to mellow him out before he hit the streets, contemplating a degrading life as a common shoplifter. Then he thought of old customers to whom he had sold stolen cases of liquor. He thought of Ali Aziz.

It was late afternoon by the time he arrived at the Leopard Lounge on Sunset Boulevard. The nightclub would not be open yet, but he knew workers would be there cleaning and setting up. This was the hour when he used to drive up to the back door with Whitey Dawson and get his prearranged cash payment from Ali. Leonard banged on the front door and was admitted by a Mexican busboy who recognized him. Ali was in work clothes behind the bar, checking the stock.

“Ali!” Leonard said, slapping palms with the nightclub owner.

“Leonard!” Ali said with a grin, displaying the gold eyetooth that Leonard figured was a status symbol in shitty sand countries.

“Can we go in your office and talk?” Leonard asked. “Just for five minutes?”

“For my old friend Leonard, yes,” Ali said.

And Leonard was glad he’d worn his only clean T-shirt and freshly laundered jeans. His sneakers were worn out, but he felt that he didn’t look as poor and desperate as he really was.

When they got inside the office, Ali said, “You got some liquor for me, Leonard?”

“Well, no, not yet. But I’m working on it.”

Ali turned sullen. He didn’t ask Leonard to sit. If this thief wasn’t selling liquor, what could he possibly want?

“So?” Ali said, sitting on the corner of his desk.

“I got this deal in the works, Ali,” Leonard began, “but I need an advance. Not much, but enough to pay a guy to give me an alarm code.”

“Advance?” Ali said, and he started fidgeting with one of his gold pinkie rings, the one with a big white stone that Leonard doubted was real.

“Maybe…five hundred?”

“You wish to borrow five hundred dollars?” Ali said, incredulous.

“As an advance against my fee when I deliver the stock.”

“You are going crazy,” Ali said, standing up. “Crazy, Leonard.”

“Wait, Ali!” Leonard said. “Two hundred. I think I could shake the alarm code loose for two hundred.”

“You waste my time,” Ali said, checking the face on his huge gold watch.

“Ali,” Leonard said, “we done lots of business in the past. I can still help you out. I got several plans in the works.”

Ali Aziz glanced at the photos on the shelf over the TV. Then at Leonard, then back at the pictures. He went around his desk and sat in his executive chair and motioned Leonard to the client chair.

Leonard’s legs were shaky and his hands were sweating now. He needed some rock bad. Perspiration was running down his freckled cheeks from his rusty hairline, and sweat beaded under his sockets, beneath the vacant blue-eyed stare. But he was full of hope and he waited.

Nearly a minute passed before Ali spoke. When he did, he said, “Leonard, you are a good thief, no?”

“I’m the best,” Leonard Stilwell said, trying to look confident. “You know that. We never had no trouble when Whitey and me sold you liquor. No trouble at all.”

“No trouble,” Ali said. “That is so. But now Whitey is dead.”

“And if I just had the alarm code that this guy said he’d…”

Ali shook his head, waving his hand palm down, and Leonard shut up.

“You are giving me a big idea,” Ali said. “About the alarm code. You enter and steal from business buildings many times,” Ali said. “You also can enter and steal from a house, no?”

“Yeah, sure, but why would I want to? There’s nothing in most houses. Even the big houses up where you live. People don’t keep cash laying around no more. Everything’s done with credit cards. And a lot of that fancy jewelry you see at red carpet events? It’s fake.”

“How you know where I live?”

“You told me one time,” Leonard said. “Up in the hills. Mount Olympus, right?”

Ali nodded. “Okay, but I do not live there no more. My bitch wife is living there with my son. We are in a very big divorce fight. The house is sold and we must wait for escrow to close up.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Leonard said, unable to concentrate fully. Thinking how fast he was going to drive his Honda to Pablo’s Tacos or the cyber café and score something to smoke, wondering how much he could get out of this Ay-rab.

“I am thinking that I need for you to enter my house on a Thursday. At four o’clock in the day. There is something I must have for my divorce fight.”

“What something?”

“Bank papers. Very important.”

“Can’t you just ask for them? Or have your lawyer do it?”

“Impossible,” Ali said. “My bitch wife is not going to give them. She wishes to use the documents against me.”

“Are they in a safe? I never done a safe.”

“No, just in a desk drawer.”

Now Leonard was perspiring even more. This didn’t sound right. He didn’t like the way Ali was explaining it. There was too much hesitation, like he was making it up as he went along. If he’d only smoked one little blunt to mellow him out, he could think better.

Finally he said, “Another reason I never did much housebreaking was ’cause there’s always a chance somebody will walk in on you. I’m not into violence, Ali.”

“No violence,” Ali said. “That is why Thursday is the correct day. My wife does the exercise that afternoon. The maid finishes housecleaning at four o’clock. She sets the alarm, she locks doors, she goes. Her grandson collects her in front. Then you enter my house and get the bank papers for me.”

“I don’t know, Ali,” Leonard said. “It ain’t that easy. How about the alarm? You got the code?”

“I am sure that my bitch wife changes all locks so my key is no good. And she also changes the regular alarm code. But I do not think she can change the code for the maid. Lola is a most stupid Mexican who cannot see good up close. Stupid old woman cannot find most of dirt in the house neither. I want to fire her, but my wife says that Lola is very good with my Nicky. Okay, Lola many times forgets her correct code and many times she sets off alarms. My wife is not changing the code for Lola, no way. That code I give to you.”