“Two hundred and ten dollars? That sounds cheap.”
“It is cheap, but it’s two hundred and ten thousand dollars.”
I grabbed my chest in a mock heart attack. “I guess I’ll keep the decor of my home in Early Plastic.”
Harold smiled and said, “What can I do for you, Investigator Ronny?”
“I need to talk with Deco Martinez. Any suggestions?”
“I have his studio address and can call as an introduction. I don’t think you’d be able to see him otherwise, maybe not even then. Deco is a strange fellow. When did you want to visit him?”
“Today.”
“Come back to my office and I’ll call.” I followed him and he reached Deco’s assistant on the first try. He tried every persuasion, but was told that Deco wouldn’t see anyone. Harold walked me to the door and said, “I’m sorry. Artists are a strange breed, and the ones here in Los Angeles are the strangest of the strange.”
“No problem. Thanks for trying.”
“What will you do now?”
“Hey, I’m a trained professional, practically unstoppable when I get after something. I’ll go to Plan B.”
“Plan B means you don’t have a clue, is that right?”
I arched an eyebrow at him, “Ah-ha, so you’re a trained professional, too.”
**
I sat in Shamu for a while and thought I might try a long shot. I drove from Beverly Hills through downtown Los Angeles and into East LA, heading for the Hotel Camino Real and hoping to find some of my newest acquaintances. Who knows, I might find Elvis too, down for a little visit with Loomis.
I saw them in a vacant lot two blocks west of the hotel. Pretty Boy and Chato were leaning against the fender of a nice looking 77 Ford Fairlane, the big beer bottles hanging from their fingers. I parked Shamu thirty feet away and walked to them.
Pretty Boy looked at my truck, “They fixed the holes in your whale, uh? Looks good, ese.”
I said, “You guys know who Deco Martinez is?”
“Si-mon,” He pronounced it see-moan, “Deco’s a Home-Boy who made it good. He’s a famous painter, Holmes.”
“I kno
w. Is he Maravilla?”
“Damn straight. He used to date my tia.”
“You think you could arrange it so I could talk to him?”
Pretty Boy cocked his head to the side, “What for, Holmes?”
“I think he might have some information I need.”
He took a pull off the bottle and said, “I’ll talk to him. When you want to do it?”
“The sooner the better.”
“Tell me when and where and I’ll have him come by this afternoon.”
“You don’t need to check with him first?”
He shook his head at me like I didn’t understand, “The Maravilla are tight, Holmes. I tell him you saved our lives and he’ll be there.”