Dawn Patrol - Don Winslow [53]
The Boonemobile looks distinctly out of place in the Village, among the Rollses, Mercedeses, BMWs, Porsches, and Lexuses. Boone thinks that the locals might figure that he’s a cleaner or something, but the house-cleaners in the Village drive better cars than the Boonemobile.
Anyway, he pulls it up to the valet stand at the Milano. A valet ambles over, ready to tell whoever this is that he has the wrong address. Boone thinks he might have the wrong place, too. Several parking valets are standing around, none of them Mick.
Boone rolls down his window. “Hey.”
“Hey, it’s you,” the valet says. He and Boone touch fists. “What brings?”
“Alex, right?”
“Right.”
“Mick around?”
“It’s his day off,” Alex says.
“His day off?” Boone asks. “Or he just didn’t show?”
“Okay, door number two,” Alex says, glancing at Petra. He lowers his voice and adds, “You need a room, I can probably hook you up.”
Boone shakes his head. “I’m good.”
Alex shrugs. “Dude didn’t show today, didn’t show yesterday. He’s gonna lose the gig, he doesn’t straighten up.”
“D’you cover for him?”
“I made up some bullshit story. I dunno, the flu.”
Boone asks, “Where does he lay his head these days?”
“He was crashing with this stripper chick,” Alex says. “In PB.”
“I tried,” Boone says. “He’s not there.”
“Oh, you know her.”
“Yeah.”
“Fucking Mick, huh?” Alex says with a smile of envious admiration.
“Fucking Mick,” Boone agrees. “Anyway, you have his phone number, right?”
“It’s in the shack. I can get it.”
“It would be a help, man. I’d appreciate it.”
“Be right back.”
Alex trots away.
“She’s with this Mick person,” Petra says.
“That’s how I read it,” Boone says.
“Do you think they’re still in town?”
“Not if they’re smart.”
If they’re smart, they’re two days’ drive away, maybe up the coast in Oregon or even Washington. Or they drove out to Vegas, where Tammy could get work easily. Hell, they could be anywhere.
Alex comes back and hands Boone a slip of paper with Mick’s number on it.
“Thanks, bro.”
“No worries.”
“Mick still drive that little silver BMW?” Boone asks.
“Oh yeah. He loves that car.”
“Well, late, man.”
He slips Alex a ten.
“Late.”
Parking valets driving Beemers, Boone thinks. The trophy-wife business must be booming.
He backs out into the street and drives down to the cove and finds a parking spot overlooking the beach where the seals gather. A couple of big males are lying out on the rocks, with tourists standing above them snapping pictures.
“So we think that Mick and Tammy have disguised themselves as sea lions?” Petra asks.
Boone ignores her. He grabs his cell phone.
“What are you doing?” Petra asks.
“I’m calling Mick to tell him we’re on our way over.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Yeah.”
“Yo. I mean, Pacific Surf,” Hang says when he picks up.
“Hang?”
“Boone?”
“Get off whatever porn site you’re on and run a reverse for me,” Boone says. He gives him Mick’s phone number.
“That’s a cell phone, Boone.”
“I know.”
“Gonna take a minute.”
Boone knows this, too. Hang will use the number to go on the service provider’s Web site, get a new password for the one he “lost,” then access the billing record to get a home address.
It’s going to take at least five minutes.
Hang’s back on in three.
“Two-seven-eight-two Vista del Playa. Apartment B.”
“Down in Shores?” Boone asks.
“Hold on a sec.”
Boone hears him tapping at some keys, then Hang says, “Yup. You take—”
“No, I got it, thanks.”
Boone pulls out of the slot and heads back up to the Village, then heads north for La Jolla Shores. Mick’s place is only ten minutes away, and Boone already knows what he’s going to find there.
No Mick.
No Mick’s Beemer.
No Tammy.
39
Dan Silver is already irritable.
And concerned.
What had Eddie said? “Open mike night at Ha Ha’s is over, big man. It’s time you got serious, you feel me?”
Yeah, Dan felt him. Felt him like a rock lodged in his belly. Felt what Red Eddie was telling him, too. Clean up your mess. And what