Chapters (30)
- DOGTOWN
- DOGTOWN
- DOGTOWN
- Table of Contents
- BREAK MY HEART IN SMITHEREENS
- DOGTOWN
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
- CHAPTER NINTEEN
- CHAPTER TWENTY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
- MERCEDES LAMBERT
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- MERCEDES LAMBERT BIBLIOGRAPHY
“Cocaine. It is water-soluble. Do you dig? You take a spoon of water, put in your cocaine, soak it up with a piece of cotton and fill your needle from the cotton. Understand? Cocaine—not crack. Crack, it do not dissolve. That’s why the boys can hide it in their mouths.”
I heard the other men laughing as I walked away.
Radar slipped me a piece of paper as I came out of the lockup. “Here. And you better pay that parking ticket.”
I started to thank him, but he brushed me away. I unfolded it as I arraigned Sly and set our trial dates.
The Volkswagen belonged to one Peter David Manzo, who lived on Almira in East LA. Cathy’s roommate told me Cathy had a boyfriend named Pete. I wanted Radar to get more for me, but I could tell from his eyes that I had used up my last favor with him.
I know a lot of bailiffs. I seem to project a certain wholesomeness that appeals to law-and-order types, the guys who go to rifle ranges and want to invite me to go waterskiing at Lake Elsinore in their RVs. I stopped by 131 to see the bailiff. I had to buy three candy bars his son’s Little League team was selling before he would feed my information into the computer.
While he was on the phone, I wondered what to do about finding Monica Fullbright. How could I make her tell me what was going on? Monica Fullbright was not who she said she was. Nobody in this town is. The guy who cleans your pool is an actor. The girl behind the counter at the hamburger stand is a musician. Everyone else is writing a screenplay. Twenty percent of the population is illegal and pretending they’re not here. The entire city is a Greyhound bus station.
“This guy a friend of yours?” asked the bailiff as he finished the phone call with the computer.
“New friend,” I replied.
“I would have thought you could have done a lot better than this.
I got out my pen and the little black notebook I carry in my purse. “Shoot.”
“Got an arrest in ‘86—breaking and entering, dropped. Another arrest in ‘86—breaking and entering with a conviction. Two arrests for under the influence of an opiate in... Jeez, there’s a lot of these, sure you want it all? Guy’s a junkie. He’s out on parole right now.”