"LA."
"Can you give me the address?"
"I think — wait a minute." Reggie dug around in his bag and pulled out a piece of paper. He handed it to me. "That’s the address."
"Thanks, Reggie."
"No problem, Nick. I got get movin’," Reggie said, as he walked away to continue his route. "Hey, Nick!" he shouted. "Come around the way sometime."
"I’ll do that. Hey, Reggie. Thanks for reminding me of what I should already know."
As I drove back to the office, I looked at the picture of Pamela Hendricks and Felicia Hardy. I didn’t think her having to go to LA right away was a coincidence. I gave some thought to what was going on around me. If there was no drug paraphernalia found in the apartment, how did Pamela die? Kirk had to be thinking murder. In an ex-cops apartment.
Once I was back in the office, I left another message for Mrs. Childers that I would be out of town for a couple of days. Then, I called Chésará, but she wasn’t home either. Next I called Jett to let him and Monika know what I had found out, which wasn’t much, and told him I was going to LA. With that taken care of, I called to make airline reservations and got a room at the Marriott Courtyard near the airport.
* * *
Chapter Fourteen
While I was on the plane, I thought about the fact that I had been around the world a few times, but I’d never been to LA. So in addition to the case, I decided to do a little site seeing, play tourist. It was late when I arrived at LAX too late to try to see Felicia Hardy. So I rented a car, blue Mustang convertible, bought a map and rolled around to get the feel of the place.
Friday July 17: 8:59 AM
By nine o’clock the next morning, I pulled up in front of the Victoria Aveune address that I had gotten from Reggie. I walked up to the door and rang the bell. It wasn’t too long before the door opened. But just a crack.
"Felicia Hardy?" When she didn’t respond, I continued. "Miss Hardy, my name is Nick Simmons and I’d like to talk to you about Pamela Hendricks."
"Just a minute. I gotta put something on," she said and closed the door. I stood there thinking that she didn’t have to go to any trouble on my account.
"Come on in." She opened the door a little wider and I stepped inside. I heard the door close and felt the barrel of what felt like a 44-magnum stuck in my back.
Naturally I raised my hands.
"Just keep walking toward that wall and assume the position." I complied with her request. Felicia proceeded to search me, a very thorough search at that. Not the kind of pat down you’d get from a man. With her gun in her right hand, she ran her left hand over every inch of my body. Which included a handful of groin.
"Huh," she mumbled as she continued.
When she was finished, Felicia had relieved me of my ID and all three of my guns. Most people miss the holster that hangs midway down my back.
Felicia slowly backed away from me. "Now turn around. Nice and slow."
I complied.
Without breaking eye contact, she carefully picked up a set of handcuffs. I watched her move. Her picture didn’t do her justice, even in a big tee shirt and sweats; she was much prettier in person.
"Hold out your hands."
Once again I complied with her request. I was impressed as she put the handcuffs on me. Still staring into my eyes. Still pointing that big ass gun in my face. "Sit down over there."
&nb
sp; "Thank you," I said, remembering my manners. I sat down in the chair closest to me, and Felicia sat across from me.
"Give me a reason not to shoot you and call the police."
"Believe me, Ms Hardy, I mean you no harm. I’m a private investigator. I’m looking into a missing persons case and I believe there is some connection to Pamela Hendricks."
"Who are you looking for?"