Robert Crais - The Two Minute Rule

Holman didn’t want to wait or go anywhere else. Now he was supposed to dick around while a bunch of Hollywood wannabes with nothing better to do than talk about their latest audition ordered food they didn’t eat. Holman’s already bad mood darkened.

“That was her, the one in the back he pointed out?”

“Yeah, Marki Collen.”

“Come on.”

Holman shouldered through the crowd past the hostess and went to the table. The busboy had just wiped it clean and was putting out new setups. Holman pulled a chair and sat, but Pollard hesitated. The hostess had already called two men to be seated, but now she saw Holman had taken the table and was glaring.

Pollard said, “We can’t do this. You’re going to get us thrown out.”

Holman thought, no fucking way.

“It’s going to be fine.”

“We need their cooperation.”

“Trust me. They’re actors.”

Marki Collen was delivering an order to the table behind Holman. She looked harried and pressed, as did every other waitress and busboy in the place. Holman dug out Chee’s money, keeping his wad hidden under the table. He leaned back and tapped Marki’s hip.

“I’ll be with you in a minute, sir.”

“Look at this, Marki.”

She glanced around at her name and Holman showed her a folded hundred-dollar bill. He watched her eyes to make sure it registered, then slipped it into her apron.

“Tell the hostess I’m a friend and you told us to take this table.”

The hostess had flagged the manager, and now they were steaming back toward the table with the two men behind them. Holman watched Marki intercept them, but part of him was hoping the two guys who wanted the table would get in his face. Holman wanted to kick their asses all the way out onto Sunset Boulevard.

Pollard touched his arm.

“Stop it. Stop looking at them like that. Jesus, what’s with this hostility?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You want to fight them over the goddamned table? You’re not on the yard anymore, Holman. We need to talk to this girl.”

Holman realized she was right. He was giving them jailhouse eyes. Holman forced himself to stop staring. He glanced at the surrounding tables. Most every guy in the diner was about Richie’s age. Holman told himself this was why he was so angry. These people were sopping up pancakes, but Richie was bagged in the morgue.

“You’re right. Sorry.”

“Just take it easy.”

Marki squared things with the manager, then returned to the table with a big smile and two menus.

“That was cool, sir. Have I waited on you before?”

“No, it’s not that. We need to ask you about Alison Whitt. We understand you were friends.”

Marki didn’t look moved one way or the other when Holman mentioned Alison’s name. She just shrugged and held her pad as if she was waiting for them to order.

“Well, yeah, kinda. We were buds here at the grill. Listen, this isn’t the greatest time. I have all these tables.”

“A hundred covers a lot of tips, honey.”

Marki shrugged again and shifted her weight.

“The police already talked to me. They talked to everyone here. I don’t know what else I can say.”

Pollard said, “We don’t want to know about her murder so much as a former boyfriend. Did you know she worked as a prostitute?”

Marki giggled nervously, then glanced at the nearest tables to make sure no one was listening before lowering her voice.

“Well, yeah, sure. The police told everyone about it. That’s what they asked us about.”

“Her record shows two arrests about a year ago, but none since. Was she still working?”

“Oh, yeah. That girl was wild-she grooved on the life. She had all these great stories.”

Holman was keeping an eye on the manager, who was pissed off and watching them. Holman was pretty sure he was going to come over because Marki was having a conversation instead of working.

Holman said, “Tell you what, Marki. Put in a couple of orders so your boss doesn’t freak out, then come back for the stories. We’ll look at the menus.”

When she went away, Pollard leaned toward him.

“Did you give that girl a hundred dollars?”

“What of it?”

“I’m not trying to fight with you, Holman.”

“Yes. A hundred.”

“Jesus Christ. Maybe I should have let you pay me.”

“Chee’s money. You wouldn’t want to get contaminated.”

Pollard stared at him. Holman felt a flush of embarrassment and glanced away. He was in a terrible mood and had to get a grip on himself. He looked at the menu.

“You want something to eat? As long as we’re here we might as well eat.”

“Fuck off.”

Holman stared at the menu until Marki returned. Marki told them she could hang for a minute, and Pollard went back to the point as if Holman hadn’t just made an ass of himself.

“Did she ever tell you about her johns?”

“She had funny stories about her johns. Some of them were celebrities.”

“We’re trying to find out about a guy she was with four or five months ago. He might have been her boyfriend, but it’s more likely he was a john. He had an unusual name-Anton Marchenko. A Ukrainian dude?”

Marki smiled, recognizing the name right away.

“That was the pirate. Martin, Marko, Mar-something.”

“Marchenko.”

Holman said, “How was he a pirate?”

Now her smile morphed into a giggle.

“’Cause that was his thing. Allie said he couldn’t get off without pretending he was this badass pirate, you know, yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum, how he lived a life of adventure and had all this buried treasure.”

Holman glanced at Pollard and saw the corner of her mouth curl. She returned his glance and nodded. They had something.

Holman looked back at Marki and turned on his friendliest smile.

“No shit? He told her he had buried treasure?”

“He said all kinds of silly stuff. He used to take her to the Hollywood Sign. That’s where he had to do it. He’d never take her back to his place or do it in the car or use a motel. They had to go up to the Hollywood Sign so he could make these speeches and look out over his kingdom.”

Marki giggled again, but Holman saw a problem.

He said, “Allie told you they went to the sign?”

“Yeah. Four or five times.”

“You can’t get to the sign. It’s fenced off and covered by security cameras.”

Marki seemed surprised, then shrugged as if it didn’t matter to her either way.

“That’s what she told me. She said it was a big pain because you have to hike up, but the guy was loaded. He paid her one thousand dollars just for, you know, oral. She said she’d hike up there all day for a thousand dollars.”

A nearby table waved Marki over, leaving Holman and Pollard alone again. Holman was starting to doubt Allie’s story about going up to the sign.

He said, “I’ve been up there. You can get close, but you can’t get to the sign. They have video cameras all over up there. They even have motion detectors.”

“Now waitaminute, Holman-this is making sense. Marchenko and Parsons lived in Beachwood Canyon. The sign is right at the top of their hill. Maybe they hid the money up there.”

“You couldn’t bury sixteen million dollars anywhere around that sign. Sixteen million dollars is big.”

“We’ll see when we get there. We’ll go take a look.”

Holman still had his doubts, but when Marki returned Pollard resumed her questions.

“We’re almost finished, Marki. We’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

“Like he said, a hundred covers a lot of tips.”

“Did Allie know why it always had to be the sign?”

“I don’t know. That’s just where he liked to go.”