Читать книгу Cruel - Jacob Stone - Страница 10

Chapter 2

Morris Brick had not been to Luzana’s before, and for good reason. The restaurant on North Cahuenga Boulevard had a reputation for putting a serious dent in its customers’ wallets, but even if that wasn’t the case, there was little chance he would’ve been able to get a table there. Luzana’s had become Los Angeles’s most exclusive hotspot. A place for Hollywood royalty, sports celebrities, and the ultra-rich to be seen and noticed. Morris might’ve become a minor celebrity after years of catching depraved serial killers, but that still wouldn’t have bought him a table reservation at Luzana’s, and so it only mildly surprised him when the maître d’hôtel gave him the snootiest look he had ever seen. He was genuinely surprised, however, after the man peered over his stand to see that the pig-like grunt just heard had come from Parker, Morris’s all-white bull terrier, that he made a shooing gesture with both hands. That was just plain rude!

Morris arched an eyebrow and, keeping his voice amiable, asked, “Am I supposed to guess that means you have no tables available? At twenty past two on a Tuesday?”

If it were possible, the maître d’ would’ve climbed onto a stepladder so he could look even further down his nose at Morris. “Apparently,” he mumbled under his breath.

Morris stood his ground and lazily rubbed his jaw. If he were the vindictive type, he could’ve called in a favor at the mayor’s office and had the place shut down for a kitchen violation—imagined or real, it didn’t matter. After all, six months ago he and his team at Morris Brick Investigations, commonly known as MBI, very likely saved the lives of hundreds of thousands of fellow Angelenos, and at a heavy cost. Charlie Bogle had almost died after being shot in the chest and hadn’t been the same since, even quitting MBI two months ago, and Morris himself had taken shrapnel to the leg from a booby trap, and it was only since last month that he was able to put away his cane. But as tempted as he was to drag the maître d’ out from behind the stand and teach him some manners, he maintained a calm demeanor and told him he was meeting a friend. “Philip Stonehedge. He’s already here,” he said.

The maître d’ opened his eyes wide with incredulity. Stonehedge was high up on Hollywood’s A-list, and not only that, he was dating the gorgeous Brie Evans, who sat near the top of the list. But since there was a remote chance Morris might be telling the truth, he asked for Morris’s name and made a phone call, keeping his voice low so Morris couldn’t eavesdrop. Shortly afterward, a waiter came bustling out of the main dining room and whispered something to the maître d’, whose attitude quickly changed.

It was almost as if a magic wand had been waved—in less time than it took to snap one’s fingers, his contempt transformed to full-blown obsequiousness. He bowed and asked Morris to follow him, and as he led them through the crowded dining room filled with Hollywood royalty and other studio muckety-mucks and onward to the equally bustling outdoor patio, Morris resisted the urge to plant a kick onto the man’s well-padded derriere.

Parker had been behaving himself, but he suddenly grunted excitedly and lurched forward as he strained against his leash. The bull terrier must’ve spotted Stonehedge, who was grinning at them from his table, the thick, jagged scar running down his cheek giving his grin a sardonic quality. The actor had gotten the scar from being slashed with a gun barrel. This happened after he had arranged with the mayor’s office to tag along with Morris on the Skull Cracker Killer investigation, although it wasn’t SCK who did the slashing but a vicious criminal by the name of Alex Malfi who didn’t appreciate the actor trying to interfere with a Beverly Hills jewelry store robbery. Malfi further showed his displeasure toward Stonehedge by shooting him in the thigh, and the actor would’ve died if it hadn’t been for Morris’s later heroics.

Stonehedge left the table to playfully tussle with Parker, then shook Morris’s hand and reached over to bring him in for a hug. The maître d’ stood deferentially off to the side until Stonehedge slipped him a fifty. Morris and Parker joined Stonehedge at the table, which already had several platters of food waiting for them. When the bull terrier grunted impatiently, the actor fed him a piece of meat from one of the platters.

“Wood-grilled lamb tenderloin wrapped in jamón ibérico,” the actor said, beaming. “Absolutely delicious.”

Morris knew enough Spanish to guess that jamón ibérico was a kind of expensive imported ham. Given the way Parker wolfed it down and grunted for more, the dog must’ve concurred with Stonehedge’s assessment.

“Don’t give him too much,” Morris said. “He needs to lose a few pounds.”

Stonehedge laughed at that. “Don’t we all?”

That was true for Morris. He needed to drop ten pounds from his waistline, but for someone who enjoyed gourmet food as much as Stonehedge, his friend somehow stayed as lean as a marathon runner. Before he could object, Stonehedge fed Parker another piece of lamb. Morris snared a piece for himself and had to agree it was exceptional. A waitress came over to take his drink order. Stonehedge had a bottle of champagne already at the table. When Morris tried ordering a beer, his friend stopped him.

“You’re not seeing me off with a beer,” he insisted. Then to the waitress, “My buddy will have a le daiquiri.”

Before Morris could say anything, the waitress was rushing away from the table. “Le daiquiri as opposed to a daiquiri?” he asked.

“It’s the le that makes it so special,” the actor said with a straight face. “When you taste it, you’ll be glad I changed your order. If not, you can always have her bring you a beer. Besides, this is the last chance I’ll have in four months to be so obnoxious with you.”

“At least you admit it.”

Stonehedge lifted his champagne glass, his eyes narrowing as he gazed at the slightly rose-colored bubbly. “I’m nothing if not painfully self-aware of my indulgences and faults.” He took a sip of his drink and turned again to Morris, his lips showing a pensive smile. “I’m glad you were able to make it. And I’m glad you were able to bring the little guy along.”

“He never would’ve forgiven me if he knew I’d cost him a mooching opportunity at Luzana’s.”

As if on command, Parker let out a grunt. Stonehedge fed the dog what looked like a blackened piece of meat from another platter. “Truffle-encrusted Wagyu beef,” he said. “It’s even better than the lamb.”

Morris whistled Parker over and ordered the bull terrier to lie down. The dog did as he was commanded, but not without letting out a few unhappy grumbles.

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to get him to eat his dog food after this,” Morris complained.

“Eh, if you put it in front of him, he’ll eat it.”

That was mostly true. Parker rarely ever walked away from his dish when there was still food in it. He was also a champion moocher, and Morris himself had proven over the years to be a soft touch, but he was trying to change his ways since Parker’s last visit to the veterinarian. That was three weeks ago, and the veterinarian confirmed what Natalie had been telling him: that Parker needed to lose weight or it could cause health problems later on.

Morris asked, “When are you leaving?”

Stonehedge took another sip of his champagne. “Flying out of LAX eight this evening, and with losing eight hours I won’t be arriving in Dublin until two tomorrow. Then a two-hour drive to Galway.” His expression grew wistful. “My last decent food until then.”

“This time you’re making a romantic comedy?”

Stonehedge had taken what looked like a fancy slider from one of the platters and was munching on that. He waited until he swallowed his food before nodding. “You’ve got to try one of these, Morris. They’re amazing. But yeah, that’s right. Stumbling in the Rain. Not the best title for a rom-com, but the script’s good, and my co-star is the lovely Claire Rose. The film will be a nice change of pace from the thrillers I’ve been making of late.”

Morris took Stonehedge’s advice and tried one of the sliders, and it was every bit as good as his friend had claimed. The filling was a thick slab of bacon coated with a sweet bean garlic glaze. He didn’t have the heart to deprive Parker of bacon that delicious, and he scraped off the garlic glaze and fed the rest of the slider to his dog. Tomorrow would be another day to get back onto Parker’s diet—and his own, for that matter.

Stonehedge watched with an amused grin but held back any comment as their waitress had returned with le daiquiri. Morris took a sip and had to admit it was better than any beer he could’ve ordered.

“A shame Brie isn’t co-starring with you,” Morris said.

Stonehedge made a face at that idea. “They wanted her, but Brie’s tied up for the next two months. Probably better that we’re not acting together. Competition’s not the best thing for actors in a relationship. But we’ll be seeing each other. Next week she’s flying to Munich for a promotional event, and I’ll hop over for a visit and take advantage of the beginning of Oktoberfest. But enough about that. How about yourself? Any interesting cases?”

“Mostly run-of-the-mill insurance fraud work.” Morris had grabbed another piece of wood-grilled lamb and fed it to a grateful Parker. “The most interesting of which was a stolen coin collection I closed last week. The collection was appraised six months ago at one point two million and was supposedly stolen three months later in a home burglary. It turned out that the owner had sold off the collection to several private buyers and then staged the burglary. What he really bought for himself was a grand larceny charge.”

“You’re right. Sounds pretty run-of-the-mill.”

“You can say what you’re really thinking. Boring.”

“Well, yeah, compared to hunting serial killers.”

“After that psycho Jason Dorsage, I’m fine with boring.”

“You say that now, but just wait until you’re chasing after your next serial killer. Knowing my luck, it will be while I’m in Ireland, and I’ll miss all the fun. And—” The actor abruptly stopped talking and snapped his fingers to get Morris’s attention. “Hello? Are you still there? Morris, buddy, you faded on me, like you went away somewhere deep in your head.”

“What?” A hard grimace tightened Morris’s lips into a thin line. “Just a random thought. Nothing worth mentioning.”

Stonehedge had been right, and Morris was lying now. It was more than just a random thought that had distracted him. In fact, he was so distracted that he had fed Parker another piece of lamb without realizing he had done so, and the bull terrier didn’t mind this absentminded lapse.

He hadn’t thought about the Nightmare Man murders in years, but something caused a disturbing fact about those killings to resurface in his mind. Maybe it was because of what Stonehedge had been talking about, or maybe something else had triggered it, but whatever it was, it occurred to him that October second would be the seventeen-year anniversary of when the last killings started.

The Nightmare Man had never been caught. When the first set of killings happened thirty-four years ago, a witness had described the killer as a man in his late forties. Even if the Nightmare Man was still alive, he’d be close to eighty now, if not older.

Still, Morris couldn’t help feeling a sense of dread knowing what might be coming in only a week.