Chapter 10. Crazy Shirley's

Bimbo's is a product of the author's imagination
and any resemblance to a real place is entirely
coincidental!

It was in the early evening and Ryan sat at a strategically located booth facing the entrance and both sides of the L shaped restaurant’s interior. Lopez sauntered into the place like he owned it and flirted with the young hostess at the register. 

"Hey, you're new. What's your name, sweetheart?" and so on. 

Ryan waited. It was Lopez that would have to start the conversation. It was his idea to meet and Ryan knew it wasn’t to talk about the Lakers.

Crazy Shirley filled both cups as soon as Lopez sat. She was a nice looking middle-aged woman, hair streaked with silver, and lines on her face that spoke of years pouring bottomless cups of coffee to anyone with a buck or two and a quarter tip, from harbor bums to cops. Bimbo's on the beach was the last of the chain that once dominated the off-ramps of highways from Santa Barbara to Miami Florida. Ryan saw it as sad sign of America's decline when Bimbo's suffered the first burst of Political Correctness that stifled everything from commerce to the arts. He knew his opinion wasn't shared by those who suffered the sexism, racism and homophobia preceding the seventies so he kept it to himself. Ironically, Sam Barista insisted Bimbo's name came from Betty Boop's pal and had nothing to do with demeaning women. The bottomless cups of coffee were gone too. Shirley still poured them though. She had worked there through two marriages and divorces since she was eighteen years young when the grand-pa of the chain, Sam, stepped in behind the counter and flipped a pancake or two once for old times sake.  

Once Sam passed on, his kids ran the chain into the ground. At least, that’s the idea everyone in town took away from watching the chain's demise. Ryan preferred a mature woman to the starry-eyed teens that Lopez always failed to impress. She was his kind of woman but the restaurant was no longer his kind of place since it tried to become a Chic shadow of itself.

“Good to see you strangers. You want a menu?”

Ryan ordered as soon as Lopez planted his butt, “Naw, When they gonna name this place Crazy Shirley's? You've been here long enough. I’ll just have an S.O.S.”

“Shit on a Shingle hasn’t been on the menu since the Mary Tyler Moore Show, Ryan.”

“I’d still have Mary Tyler Moore though,” Ryan teased.

“Me too,” she smiled, throwing in a bit of cop humor,"I can be a rug-muncher for that."

After Shirley left the booth, Lopez finally breached the subject, “We have a problem, Ryan. The scuttlebutt around the Barn says that you’ve gone over the edge on this case. I say that you ought best take some leave. You have it coming to you.”

Ryan's tone, without revealing the rage he was stuffing, asked, “And if I slump off, who’s going to cool Doc's jets? What sewer is this coming from, Lopez?”

“You know how it is Ryan. This shit doesn’t come out of nowhere. You’ve been a loose cannon and I know you know it. This ain’t like you, buddy.”

“Buddy my ass. You’re changing the subject. What’s goin’ on up there that you aren’t telling me? Is it somebody in the D A’s office?”

“The D A? What’s next Ryan, a UFO cover-up… contrails… the JFK assassination? You’re going on leave… paid vacation.”

Ryan did everything he knew to suppress his anger, telling himself, stay objective. Don’t let your emotions get to you. He said, “Okay. I’m good with that. I’m thinking of taking the Sherlock to Mexico anyway. Maybe Cabo.”

They were cordial and Ryan tried not to rush. He been wanting to get some pics of the tire treads on Doc’s Jag all day. He knew where Doc lived, and drove up Eucalyptus Road, parking down the street, where he had to walk a quarter mile on a lane lined with bougainvillea. The property was on a hill surrounded by an adobe wall within several acres of Eucalyptus and Sycamore trees on undeveloped land.

The wall had security cameras that were easily spotted. Ryan had paused near a side gate where he squatted while thinking of a ruse or tactic to get inside. Fortune graced is patience as he heard voices arguing… approaching the gate.

A calm deliberate Slavic accent said, “There can’t be witness. That bitch is no asset. Why did you fire that cab driver… we might have got right one but you don’t know.  Do you?”

His question was met with silence. He demanded once more, “Do you.”

“I fired him to get him out of the way.”

Ryan clicked on his cassette hoping to catch the conversation. It was loud enough. He could see them once they stepped out of the gate. 

The Slav grabbed Doc by the collar and put what Ryan knew so well to be a Marakov automatic pistol to the side of Doc’s head, “This is best way get someone out of way. You should do that, no?”

Ryan could only imagine Doc sweating blood… “I know. I will. I couldn’t right there in my office. W-we looked for him… C-couldn’t find him.”

Yuri slipped the pistol back inside is jacket, “He’s with whore. Where she is?”

Doc’s body breathed relief, “I thought she left town. Honest, I don’t know.”

Ryan thought, well, shit, neither do I.

“Amateurs… damned amateurs.” Yuri snarled, “She in town. And going city college. She use other name? Not Annadel Bonnaire? I don't know. Her old place is her registration? I check anyway. You don't know how easy is to get something like that.”

“We looked at some places she wanted to buy… several. But I thought she took the money and split.”

‘You want be gangster, Doctor Spawn. You shit. You idiyote! How much you give her, eh?”

“A couple hundred grand…”

“And places you look at… eh, what they cost?” I go to court house. I look house buy… see who bought. What houses you look at? Eh? What sold Annadel Bonnaire. You see? I can find before you know. You go in your doma... your house, and give me list before I go. Now we have nice dinner, my boyo. Relax, okay, I find her.”

This was better than tire tracks. Ryan couldn't have hoped for more. If only he could find where Anna was tucked away. He’d lost track of Kraszhinski too. He took Yuri’s advice and called county records as soon as he got back in town. The clerks there are quick to follow through with police requests. Favors curry favors and you never know when a county clerk's DUI might need to be dealt with. Ryan felt relieved almost as much as he was frustrated that there was no sign of a Bonnaire anywhere in the files. The old Bird Dog had trained her well. She must have had someone change the name to someone else’s by then. He wished he had Yuri’s list.