# An LA Crime Story

> Food. Sex. God. Death. LA.


## Posts

- [Ghosts](https://an-la-crime-story.com/ghosts/): LA is BIG. Likes to celebrate. Likes to party. Likes to eat. And drink. They have a lot of bars to do it in, more that twenty-one-hundred. Rhea narrowed her search for Myrna down to twenty-seven. Doubting that a fifty-something year old Mexican woman would be mixing Twinki-tinis at the Skybar or pulling drafts at Barney’s Beanery or pouring it neat at the Frolic Room, or any other similar scene, she eliminated over a thousand. The massive size of LA knocked out another nine hundred. She settled on the 27 bars closest to Domingos. The closest of those was Traxx, […]
- [Landscape Architect](https://an-la-crime-story.com/landscape-architect/): Late afternoon sun streaked across the flattened mound behind Daisy’s back patio where the coyote had laid. Daisy watched as Bernardo, the landscaper, with a survey map in hand, staked out the boundaries of her property. The mound was, indeed, just outside the markers, like Daisy and Travis had thought. “Do you want all succulents?” Bernardo asked her as they discussed the landscaping of the wild, sloping part of her back yard. “Or also some native brush, some rock rose, some agave.” “The agave sounds good.” Daisy told him as she studied the placement of his markers, “And some flowering […]
- [Jim Beam](https://an-la-crime-story.com/jim-beam/): Rhea ran out of words. After writing five hundred and twenty, she hit a wall. She was done. She couldn’t think of another thing to write about cookies and twenty-year-old men or tarts and forty-year-old men. She’d tried her best to imagine it but she couldn’t. What she had wasn’t going to cut it – word-wise and, thus, money-wise. It was time to concentrate on the Domingos case. She entered her LAPD passwords into a department database and waited, fingers crossed. She got in. Soon she was scrolling through the histories of people and buildings – the pages that told […]
- [Pacific Dreams](https://an-la-crime-story.com/pacific-dreams/): At seventeen, Panama Jones was achingly, heartbreakingly beautiful. from his Mexican green eyes to the arch of his feet to the warmth of his smooth, sweet skin.`He didn’t think about it much, all he thought about while working part time as a janitor at the Vasquez senior center on Whittier Boulevard was making enough money to hang on to the studio apartment he shared with his mom.  After work on an August Friday, he cashed a paycheck for $237.12. He gave his mom 200 dollars toward rent. She put it on the TV stand. An hour later, her boyfriend showed up with a […]
- [Tart Man](https://an-la-crime-story.com/tart-man/): Tart man walked another four and a half blocks, up a narrow, winding street to a four-unit stucco building built in the thirties. He entered the garden apartment. Inside, a battered old sky-blue surfboard propped up against the living room wall was the only bit of personality in the cracked plaster interior of the small one bedroom unit. The man went to his kitchenette, got a cold coffee out of his fridge and laced it with milk. He looked at the tart; not really into it. As he put it in the fridge, he heard a key turn in his […]
- [The Last Tart](https://an-la-crime-story.com/the-last-tart/): Rhea left Gallows’ office and walked to her car, parked half a block up, in the department lot. The air was thick with the undertone it gets just before a Santa Ana wind has been freed. It tickled the back of her neck and got under her skin – made her edgy. Angry. Everybody’s rules started exploding in her head: “Fix yourself. Forgive yourself. Date old guys. Don’t drink too much. Don’t eat sugar. Pay your rent. Stop the bad guys. Forgive yourself. Find your sister. Find your sister. Find your sister…” She had a choice: continue to see Gallows […]
- [Glazed](https://an-la-crime-story.com/glazed/): At a little after eight that same morning, Daisy Valentine walked the half mile down from her ridge house to The Beachwood Canyon village, a cluster of five quaintly hip shops cradled just below the Hollywood sign. She picked up a Hollywood Pulse from a stack of already-read newspapers loosely scattered on a front window ledge inside the Village Café. The casually trendy diner was peopled with local mid-scale movie industry peeps who liked their eggs yolk-free, their bacon fat-free, their toast gluten-free and their coffee organic. Daisy took it to a seat at the counter, where she ordered a […]
- [Impossible](https://an-la-crime-story.com/impossible/): In a Little Tokyo office, just 2 blocks from LAPD Headquarters, Dr. Elena Gallows was blending a kale and banana smoothie after a morning kickboxing workout. She stayed fit. She had to. Being a cop therapist wasn’t physical, but it may as well have been. Feeling strong, she was ready to take on the day, even ready to take on the surprise of Detective Rhea Porter knocking on her door. Their first and last session nearly two months ago was testy and when Rhea cut it short and left, Gallows didn’t really expect her back. Rhea looked good, though. Calmer. […]
- [Pink Polvorones](https://an-la-crime-story.com/pink-polvorones/): The inauspicious office of The Hollywood Pulse was in a storefront wedged between a lavanderia and a Burger King. Manny Valdez was at his desk, sprinkling a few drops of Tabasco on to each of six Nutter Butter cookies he’d lined up when Rhea walked in. He offered her one. “Nutter Butter?” “Sure.” Not one to turn down a pretty good cookie, she took one and bit into it. She nodded, nominally impressed by the added heat. “I know.” he agreed, “So… ” he continued, scrolling through her submitted text on his PC. “I got your Barragans review.” “And–?” she […]
- [Raspberry Yogurt](https://an-la-crime-story.com/raspberry-yogurt/): Strickland couldn’t sleep. He could not get Rhea out of his mind. He had thought of her almost every day since she was sixteen but not like this. From the night he’d first met her on the border in Tecate up until last night, his thoughts had always been about protecting her. But seeing her in the moonlight brushing crumbs off her breast, gave a jolt to his groin he’d never expected. He shook off those thoughts, got out of bed at five decided to go to work. He grabbed a raspberry yogurt from his fridge and left. He had to walk past Rhea’s […]
- [Princess Cake](https://an-la-crime-story.com/princess-cake/): Fuscia bouganvillea vines crept inside the open arched window of a stone-walled room in the old stucco house on the ridge overlooking the Hollywood reservoir. Twenty-seven-year-old photographer Daisy Valentine dunked a Lorna Doone into an iced coffee and took a bite. She broke off another corner and fed it to a skinny old cat curled up next to her keyboard as she manipulating pixels on a photo of onion rings that she was editing. It was a job for a local burger joint. A coyote cooed. The cat looked up. Daisy grabbed her Pentax and went out to her back […]
- [Night Flight](https://an-la-crime-story.com/night-flight/): After nineteen-year-old Travis Del Rio got out of Rhea’s car, he hurried across Vine to an alley a half-block up from Fountain. Three doors down, he pushed a button next to a steel door with a camera above it. Someone buzzed him in. Inside the cavernous photo studio and lab, Travis approached the woman behind the long white counter that spanned the back wall. She looked up from a lightbox. “It’s ready.” She handed him a round tin film container about three inches in diameter. “Uncut.” “Thanks Jess.” He pocketed the tin, then left. Back outside, on Vine, he checked […]
- [Chili Fries](https://an-la-crime-story.com/chili-fries/): Fifteen minutes later, closing in on four am, Rhea hit Tommy’s. There were still a scant few of the late night boys hanging around. They were the not-so-beautiful. Thank god for that. She was determined to resist the urge and these were easier to ignore than the finer ones who got swooped up before midnight or one. She pulled into the drive-through lane, behind a car full of Stoners. The speaker squawked. “Welcometotommy’swhatchoowant?” Stoner driver yelled back, “Two big motherfucking tacos and a, a–“ The speaker squawked, “We don’t have no tacos–“ “And a couple Chimmichangas–” Stoner carried on. Squawker […]
- [Laurel Avenue](https://an-la-crime-story.com/laurel-avenue/): Rhea eased her LeBaron down the garage ramp under the The Laurel Terrace Apartments on the 1500 block of North Laurel Avenue in Hollywood. She parked, walked a ramp up to the ground level courtyard, walked past the 1960’s aqua blue kidney-shaped pool and went into apartment 114. Rhea had lucked out with this apartment, a one-bedroom with shag carpeting and a big picture window that looked out onto that swimming pool. She’d first moved in sixteen years ago. It was rent-controlled, so even now, at $1875 it was affordable for a single woman on a veteran cop salary. But […]
- [Corn Chips](https://an-la-crime-story.com/corn-chips/): Rhea drove twelve and a half blocks west on Fourth. Once she passed the bulk of the homeless camps that bloated the sidewalks, she pulled into a 24 hr. gas station mini-mart and parked. A billboard loomed above her, advertising a new TV series, Its text presciently tempting her, “You are 141 miles from the border.” She got a bag of Fritos and a Pepsi from the Mart. Back in her car, she looked at the picture she’d taken of the Mexican desk in Hays’s warehouse. She Googled “rustic Mexican desk Ensenada”. Her phone died. She rebooted it. Her notepad […]
- [Peanut Butter Cups](https://an-la-crime-story.com/peanut-butter-cups/): Fifty-four year old Leland Hays felt like he was aging well. After twenty two years of Juvederm, Sculptra, botox, two peels, an eyelid lift and a chin implant, he looked about forty four – still hot enough to get cool girls. Right then on the showroom floor of his furniture warehouse, he was bending a boyish young Thai waitress over the end of an antique platform bed he’d just imported from Mongolia and slamming her from behind. Next he bent her over an Indonesian loveseat, then a Moroccan chaise until he finally came in her over an oversized ottoman sadly […]
- [Cold Tacos by the 101 Freeway](https://an-la-crime-story.com/cold-tacos-by-the-101-freeway/): It was a cheap little tin charm and Strickland knew exactly what it could mean. Everything. Or… “It could be nothing.” He reminded Rhea. “Boom Boom is two doors down from Joe’s–!” Rhea let loose, hating the escaped emotion. “I know where it is.” Strickland reminded her. “But not every kid that goes missing near Boom Boom was snatched—” “One was.” She reminded him back. “We’ll follow the evidence.” “Yes. We.” “As soon as you’re cleared.” “Eighteen, Strickland. The guy was eighteen–!” “He’d been eighteen for four days.” “Still… Legal. I’m not stupid.” She pointed out, calming herself. “And this […]
- [Ice Cream](https://an-la-crime-story.com/ice-cream/): It was Detective Sergeant Matt Strickland’s night off. He’d had Stouffer’s lasagna for dinner, watered the 57 succulents he kept on the screened-in little terrace of his ground-floor one-bedroom Hollywood apartment, watched the nine o’clock news then taken four herbal sleep aids. He woke up fast when his cell phone buzzed. When he heard Rhea’s familiar cadence, “Hey Strickland–” he was fully awake. “Detective– ” he automatically responded, “Are you ok? Where are you?” “Fine. Cesar Chavez, a half block up from Pleasant. Place called Domingos.” She said no more. She didn’t need to. He already had one leg in […]
- [Remains](https://an-la-crime-story.com/remains/): Rhea followed Sheena along the top rim of the cement embankment that cradled the LA river. It was a little after nine, daylight was almost gone. As they neared the Chavez Bridge, Sheena hesitated above a clutter of debris lumped under the bridge. Sheena’s camp. “Stay here.” Rhea told Sheena as she scrambled down the bank where the trickle of river water ambled under the bridge. She walked a few yards to the camp remains: a moldy sleeping bag, some squishy old sweat pants, three empty Cheetos bags and an empty can of Progresso Light Pot Pie soup. A sudden […]
- [Marigold Walls](https://an-la-crime-story.com/marigold-walls/): The marigold colored walls of the main dining room at Barragan’s on Sunset screamed “sunshine!” Rhea hurried through it and headed for the darkness of the bar. It was “Two Buck Taco Tuesday” – her choice for her first review. The tacos were OK – somewhere between the soulful carne asada ones at the Saturday night pop-ups on York and the fast food addictions of Taco Bell. At two bucks a piece she could meet Manny’s ten buck limit. Rhea sat at the end of the bar, near a window where she had a sliver of a view of the […]
- [Hot Sauce](https://an-la-crime-story.com/hot-sauce/): Omelette Man was Manny Valdez, an East LA native and Homeboy graduate who put hot sauce on everything: eggs, donuts, french fries, ice cream – He kept little packets of the stuff in his car and his desk drawer. It’s what he first noticed about Rhea – her double use of verde and Cholula. The second thing was the way she alluded to food and sex. Valdez published a little throwaway rag, “The Hollywood Pulse.” It was one of those freebies stacked at the neighborhood stores and eateries that featured blurbs on local events, local politics and food – covering […]
- [Sugar Substitute](https://an-la-crime-story.com/sugar-substitute/): At the bottom of that forest, the twisted drive heading away from the reservoir was dead quiet. Rhea stopped and put the top down, letting the two AM summer night air curl around her, making her forget the bad vibe that whole tamale debacle was. Almost. And even though she hit some traffic once she turned onto Cahuenga, it still only took her seven minutes to get to the Denny’s on Sunset and Gower and that was something. Rhea went straight for the pancakes: A short stack with butter and fake syrup. She didn’t want to go home; didnt want […]
- [Bigger Fare](https://an-la-crime-story.com/bigger-fare/): The coyote wasn’t gone. It continued its saunter along the path that surrounded the Hollywood reservoir, stealth eyes darting to the moonlit forest on either side of the path, looking for a snack. Lizards and mice scurrying through the woods were tempting but it was hungry for bigger, more satisfying fare. A few minutes later it reached a familiar spot on the east side of the reservoir. It leapt over a low wall and scrambled up through the brush that angled up to a woody ravine at the base of the hill below the Hollywood sign. It stopped there, under […]
- [After Hours](https://an-la-crime-story.com/after-hours/): About Seven Months Earlier… The Tommy’s Burgers on Hollywood and Bronson was a 24/7 joint. Rhea slowed as she approached it, driving west  on the Boulevard. It was one in the morning and about as dark as it gets in LA. Four guys were hanging out in the parking lot. One of them caught her eye, watching her as she turned up a residential side street, her car disappearing from view. About a half block up, Rhea eyed a parking spot outside a 70’s apartment building, darkened by a broken street light. She inched into it, turned off her car […]
- [Delivery](https://an-la-crime-story.com/delivery/): “I had a craving for cool-weather food last night, for thicker sauces, a deeper carnal connection. I was ready for summer to be over. I ordered the slow braised oxtails from Madame Matisse on Sunset near Lucille and waited for my delivery. My window was open to the warm LA air, thick with nicotine light and the soft thudding flutter of namesake wings. From the corner of Wilcox, I could smell grilled chorizo and onion rings. Two buck tacos. Always an option. But I waited. Forty minutes later, there was a knock on my door. I opened it, hungry for […]
- [Soy Free](https://an-la-crime-story.com/soy-free/): The soft sausage tacos at Guisado’s in Boyle Heights used a chorizo from the meat market next door to the Cesar Chavez eatery. It was good, full of pork and grease and spices. No soy. It was surprising to Panama Jones how much of the commercial chorizo available in LA added soy. He hated soy. And it was everywhere – he was never a food-label reader and loathed being one of those picky pris-pots but he hated the bitter taste that soy added, especially since two weeks earlier a chance internet encounter had scared him sober and his taste buds […]
- [Taquitos](https://an-la-crime-story.com/taquitos-2/): There are more than twenty-one-hundred bars in LA. Rhea narrowed her search down to twenty-seven. Figuring that a fifty-something year old Mexican woman wouldn’t be mixing Twinki-tinis at the Skybar or pulling drafts at Barney’s Beanery or keeping it neat at the Frolic Room eliminated over a thousand. Adding in the geography of LA and transit times, that knocked out another nine hundred. Rhea started at eight at La Golondrina. It was Friday night. The popular place stayed open until eight-thirty. Weird. Especially for a tourist place but that’s the way it was. She knew Myrna probably wouldn’t be there […]
- [Beaudry](https://an-la-crime-story.com/beaudry-2/): Hays cared about those girls alright, he cared about seventy five grand worth. And he was pissed. He waited about twenty minutes, until he was sure the three cops had left, then he got in his Rivian and drove west on Sunset. Just past Chinatown, he turned right on Beaudry, a steep little street lined with little houses and small apartment buildings. Inside apartment number 2 in a four unit 30’s stucco building, 43 year old Panama Jones was not asleep in a small bare bedroom. Twin bed. But he was trying. At six three, his feet hung off the […]
- [After Hours](https://an-la-crime-story.com/after-hours-2/): About Seven Months Earlier The Tommy’s Burgers on Hollywood and Bronson was a 24/7 joint. Rhea slowed as she approached it, driving west on the Boulevard. It was one in the morning and about as dark as it gets in LA. Four guys were hanging out in the parking lot. One of them caught her eye, watching her as she turned up a residential side street, her car disappearing from view.
- [Ice Cream Night](https://an-la-crime-story.com/extra-crispy/): About Seven Months Earlier… “Make it extra crispy.” Panama Jones said into the drive-through squawk box at the Pioneer Chicken on the corner of Soto Street and Whittier Boulevard. Once a prime cruising spot for low-riders and lovers in the sixties, the Boulevard remained a haven for Mexican life in present day LA. The Micky D’s there puts chorizo in their breakfast burritos and still makes their tortillas with lard. But it was the buttered cloud of a biscuit and the spicy crunch of the fried batter at Pioneer that drew Panama to the fast-food window. A complicated man of […]
- [Pan Dulce](https://an-la-crime-story.com/pan-dulce/): there was a silence in this night and it wasn't holy.
- [Depth of Field](https://an-la-crime-story.com/depth-of-field-2/): Daisy Valentine pressed her finger into the last crumbs on her plate left from a cheddar cranberry scone. She licked her finger and finished editing a photo of onion rings she’d taken for a local burger joint’s window poster. She topped up her iced coffee, grabbed her ever-ready Pentax and took it and the coffee out onto her back patio. She slipped her legs over the low wall and let her bare feet dangle as she scanned the dark forest below. She played a little Nick Cave on her Moto phone and Moonlight Mile by the Stones: “Oh I am […]
- [Moonlight Mile](https://an-la-crime-story.com/depth-of-field/): Just across the river from Domingo’s back door, Daisy walked along the railroad tracks that ran alongside the cement LA River bank. She stopped and looked around, looked up, just above the skyline one last time, near to where she’d seen the puff of light rise. Her Pentax was strung around her neck. She held it in her hand, supporting the old zoom lens. The lens cap was off. As the rising moon brightened, a bit of its light reflected off of her lens and bounced across the river bed, pooling its way across the crack in Domingos’ bolted back […]
- [A Path](https://an-la-crime-story.com/a-path/): When Aggie was tossed over that Reservoir fence, she landed face-up on a bed of twigs and moss. She thought about Poo and the Christmas cookies she’d get to eat soon, as she waited for Rhea to find her. It was cold lying there; the green jacket with kittens embroidered on the pockets clung to only one of her arms. She repeated her whispered prayer, “Please God, help Rhea find me. I want to go home.” She heard the rustle of footsteps on leaves, coming closer. “Rhea!” she called out, as loud as she could but she could barely hear […]
- [Skinny Dipping](https://an-la-crime-story.com/skinny-dipping/): “What was that about?” Dawson asked Strickland as they walked to his car, parked half a block down, in front of an upholstery fabric warehouse.” “You know, Porter’s sister was kidnapped by someone taking some furniture up from Baja.” Strickland informed him. Like most cops, Dawson knew her history, “Long time ago, yeah?” “Yeah–” Strickland acknowledged, “Hays’s been here longer, though.” Dawson looked around at two other furniture import warehouses. “Still a long shot, though.” “Prob’ly.” “I’ll get a rush from Wisnevitz and arson on the cause then, depending, we can try and track down that Myrna.” “Sounds good.” Strickland […]
- [Lake Hollywood](https://an-la-crime-story.com/lake-hollywood/): Six miles north across the city and slightly west, Ozrin backed his Camry out of his garage and eased onto Barham Boulevard. Usually the thoroughfare that slices between the valley and the Hollywood hills was busy. But it was late, almost midnight. Ozrin opened his window to a mist that muted the late night sounds of the city’s Christmas Eve. He didn’t mind Christmas. The lights were nice and he had a party to go to tomorrow, an un-Christmas breakfast for those away from their families. He was bringing bagels from Sam’s on Larchmont, and a bottle of Trader Joes champagne.   Ozrin eased […]
- [Paradise Motel](https://an-la-crime-story.com/paradise/): Almost two hours later and six city blocks away, Rhea’s train slid into Union Station. It was three in the morning and almost busy. She followed fellow travelers through the cavernous hall; hurried past a gloriously huge Christmas tree and slipped through the front doors into the night. It was cool in LA. And misty. Rhea stopped dead in front of the station, mouth agape at what she saw: Blocks of high rises mixed with Deco buildings, wide streets and Our Lady Queen of Angels church – all asleep for the night. But the streets were alive with cars. The […]
- [Imagination](https://an-la-crime-story.com/imagination/): A rustic little mock tudor house with leaded windows and drought-mandated desert landscaping sat between two mid century modern flips on North Beachwood Drive. Forty steps led up to the Tudor and another sixteen led around to the tiny back yard where a one room guest house snuggled against a stone retaining wall that held back part of the hill below the Hollywood sign. A tortoise named josefina lived in a little bunker built into the wall. A grate covered the opening. The bunker was big and safe and she had plenty of flowers and celery to eat. But she […]
- [Salad Nicoise](https://an-la-crime-story.com/salad-nicoise/): Anna Sakuri was sixty-nine inches of hedonistic glee packed into forty four years of ruthless will. She sold real estate in Beverly Hills… a young man’s game but she ate young men for lunch. Which is where Rhea found her: at the Polo Lounge, at her usual table with a thirty dollar tuna salad and a blow dried junior agent to munch. “You’re a long way from Cinco Puntos.” Sakuri snickered as Rhea approached. “About nine miles and a million bucks.” Rhea shot back, then added: “I need a favor.” Sakuri kicked junior out. He went to the bar. Rhea […]
- [Homework](https://an-la-crime-story.com/homework/): Gallows was just closing up but she had about twenty minutes she could give to Rhea. “You calmed down?” Gallows asked as she gave Rhea a bottle of Figi water and gestured her to sit. “You have anything besides water?” Rhea asked, deciding not to sit. Gallows didn’t. Rhea gave her the water back. “No, I haven’t calmed down. I’m freaking out a little. I got a job to make a little money but I’m not making enough to live on, so–” “I’m going to tell you right now, “Gallows interrupted, “This is going to take awhile.” “I’m not going […]
- [Sandwich Cookie](https://an-la-crime-story.com/sandwich-cookie/): Manny Valdez was carefully sprinkling two drops of tabasco on to each of six Nutter Butter cookies he’d lined up on his desk for a late afternoon snack when Rhea walked in, in need of her check. He offered her one. “Nutter Butter?” “Sure.” She ate it and nodded, nominally impressed by the added heat. “I know.” he agreed, “Stuff is magic, right?.” He handed her a check and asked if she had anything in mind for the following week. “Possibly going sweet.” she told him as she opened the envelope with the check. “Someone’s doing polenta donuts in Grand […]
- [Almost](https://an-la-crime-story.com/almost/): Rhea woke. A homeless man was clawing at the bread in her pocket. Her scream muffled into the damp of his dirty clothes but it scared him off. She untangled herself from the straw and made her way back across Alameda. She walked east on Cesar Chavez, up a little hill and over an old gothic bridge. The only sound was the numbing whoosh of cars on the freeways below and the sputtering hiss of an old neon sign on a shuttered, rundown bar across the street called Domingos. As she started to cross Pleasant Street, a sudden, loud THWAP! […]
- [Petunia Print](https://an-la-crime-story.com/show-reel/): On Christmas Eve, Aggie woke up on the floor of a partitioned two-car garage. She was still wrapped in the blanket. There was a band of fading light at the bottom of the garage door. The day was ending. A door in the partition was open. A man walked by wearing a bathrobe, smoking a cigarette. “Can we get this going, Ozrin? I have a dinner–” he asked someone. Aggie could see another man, behind a video camera that was on a tripod. Larry Ozrin. “Just let me set the exposure here–” he answered. “You’re not gonna show my face–” […]
- [Frankincense](https://an-la-crime-story.com/pan-dulce-2/): Rhea woke up in room twenty-seven at the Paradise Motel, a little before six on that same Christmas Eve. She turned on the tv and watched the news while she peed, washed, brushed her hair and ate the two packs of peanut butter stuffed cheese crackers that were in a little basket on the night stand. There was no news on tv of Aggie. She left her room and went to the payphone. She called home. Stel answered. “Mom!?” Rhea cried, so happy to hear her voice. “Did you find her?” Stel asked, her voice like a raspy knife. “No, […]
- [Rustic Imports](https://an-la-crime-story.com/rustic-imports-2/): One hour before Rhea got on the train, twenty-six miles north, in an alley behind Palmetto Street, Leland Hays stood on the loading ramp of his downtown LA furniture warehouse and peeled off three hundred dollars from a roll of bills and handed the money to Panama Jones. “You told me five or six—“ Panama reminded him. “I had to take out for gas, insurance, wear and tear—” Leland explained. Panama wasn’t happy. “I gotta pay for that too?” Hays went on, “You only got one girl. Don’t get me wrong, one’s OK but—five or six hundred for one? We’re […]
- [Night Train](https://an-la-crime-story.com/midnight-train-2/): Rhea didn’t want Strickland to leave. She needed his power, his confidence, his calm. She willed her mind to remember something, anything – some perfect and stunning tidbit that would lead him straight to Aggie. But nothing came. And he left. She kept staring at the closed door. She was on one side, and Aggie was somewhere outside, lost in the night. She hung on to that unbearable thought as though following it through the dark labyrinth of her imagination would lead her to her sister. But she couldn’t follow the path in her mind. She was tired. She shouldn’t […]
- [Notepad](https://an-la-crime-story.com/notepad/): The Porter house was a fifties tract house papered in faded wallpaper and jammed full of thick silence pierced by the steady beat of Steve’s sobs as he sat in a lumpy chair, looking out the front window at the night. Strickland knew he didn’t see the neighbors’ twinkling Christmas lights and he didn’t see the full moon. He doubted he saw anything but the dark. It’s all he had left. He’d told Donnelly, Nava and Canon everything he remembered about that day, then he shut down. Strickland turned to Rhea. “Anything else you remember?” he asked the panicked, gangly […]
- [A Tremble](https://an-la-crime-story.com/a-tremble-2/): The moment Aggie got taken, Detective Matt Strickland was starting his second cup of coffee after a late lunch at The Pantry – eggs over medium, rye toast, sliced tomatoes. When he set the cup down after a sip, his coffee trembled – rippled like when a small earthquake aftershock rolls through. He looked up. No one else noticed anything. He knew this was internal; an instinct he almost wished he didn’t have – it had happened twice before. He finished the coffee, paid the bill and went back to LAPD Central and waited for the call he knew would […]
- [All There Is](https://an-la-crime-story.com/all-there-is/): A cold, dark wind had kicked up at the border. Tumbleweed rolled across the two-lane road and stopped up against Steve’s Chrysler as he slammed to a stop in the middle of the road, half a dozen yards from the guard booth. He opened the door but didn’t get out; he was afraid to step on the pavement as though doing so, he would take another step into this nightmare and he just didn’t want to. He hung tight to Aggie’s kitten, Poo as Rhea jumped out and hurried up to Nava, Donnelly and Nava’s partner who were standing by […]
- [Night Fallen](https://an-la-crime-story.com/night-fallen/): By a little after six, the streets had cleared somewhat outside Joe’s. Rhea and Steve had checked every doorway, shadow and face three and four times over; their ragged voices still pleading Aggie’s name. They stopped when they saw two cops walking toward them, from the end of the block. The sky was black behind them and filled with hazy stars veiled behind the heavy seaside mist. As the cops got closer, the one named Nava started shaking his head “no”. Steve crumpled. Rhea tried to hold him up but she couldn’t. “Nothing?” she asked Nava as she kneeled down […]
- [Tecate](https://an-la-crime-story.com/tecate-2/): Four dusty miles from the US border in the beer town of Tecate, Panama pulled over again. He waited thirty-some minutes for night. No one else was on the road. He opened the side door to the van and pushed aside four carved wooden rustic Mexican dining chairs. Behind them was a small wooden sideboard. He opened the cabinet doors and told Aggie to get inside. “The road’s gonna get bumpy.” He told her. “Inside there, you won’t get sick.” Aggie got inside. Panama rolled up his jacket to make a pillow for her then gave her another churro. “Keep […]
- [Over](https://an-la-crime-story.com/over/): Back in Joe’s, the Yellowtail burned. Lard-filled smoke veiled the air as Joe looked everywhere for Aggie, hoping she was somewhere inside. The door was still open a crack and through it came the wails of Steve and Rhea calling Aggie’s name over and over and over until their voices cracked. The fat man turned the stove off. No one found Aggie. It was nearing three o’clock. Panama drove slow on the partially paved bumpy desert road that led Northeast, toward the border. He didn’t want to rush things, didn’t want to get to the crossing until it was dark; […]
- [Bye Bye Birdie](https://an-la-crime-story.com/bye-bye-baby-2/): A gray mist filled the December sky, saturating the colors of the busy street at Christmastime… saturating the bright blue of the parakeets flying away. Aggie wove through the throngs of people in the street. She kept her eyes up, on the one bird in the sky who seemed to linger a bit, letting her keep up. She approached Boom Boom Carnerceria just as Panama Jones came outside. He was holding two churros and a soda. He was a little nervous but a couple puffs had calmed him down. He concentrated on following the directions of Leland Hays who had […]
- [Gone](https://an-la-crime-story.com/gone-2/): Joe gave Rhea a taste of the Yellowtail straight out of the pan – man that made her smile. For a sixteen year old SoCal girl, she had eclectic taste in food. Sure she liked Taco Town tacquitos and the potato wedges at the Arco am pm mini-mart but she could also taste the distinct edge of sweetness in the lime Joe used and was curious where it came from. Impressed, he told her it came from a tree in his mother’s backyard. She lived by the sea and the salty air brought out the lime’s sugars. She had goats, […]
- [Asombroso](https://an-la-crime-story.com/asombroso-2/): Rhea held tight to Aggie’s hand as they made their way through Christmas shoppers to Joe’s café four doors down. The only vacant table in the tiny café was right by the front door. Rhea sat Aggie down at the table and told her to “Stay right here and don’t move. I’m gonna go order us some lunch.” “OK.” Spritely Joe Leybas was cooking in a battered old frying pan on a two burner stove in the back of the unadorned room. He looked up as Rhea approached. A smile creased his eyes. “Rhea! Hola. Back so soon!” “We ran […]
- [Uncaged](https://an-la-crime-story.com/uncaged-2/): “Maybe I didn’t love you quite exactly as I should have…” Steve’s favorite CD played as the three Porters headed south down Interstate Five. Aggie had her little pink sunglasses on, looking cool, singing along. By the time they reached the border, the Willie CD had played almost nine times and Aggie had taught Poo to meow along with the chorus, “You were always on my mind. You were always on my mind…” Poo was pretty good. It cracked Steve and Rhea up. Sprawled lazily around a the Port of Ensenada, the low-rise city neither welcomed nor refused anyone. Steve […]
- [Bedtime Story](https://an-la-crime-story.com/bedtime-story-2/): Five hours later, just before dawn, Aggie was still sleeping as Rhea, clenching the spider loosely in her hand, snuck back into her bedroom through the window. She tiptoed over to Aggie, whose sleeping body was twisted in dream. She pulled a Kleenex from a box by the bed and settled the spider into it. “Stay there.” she whispered, “Stay there until my sister wakes up.” Realizing she was talking to a spider, she shook her head and folded the tissue over the spider and tucked it next to Aggie’s pillow. She went to bed. She fell right asleep. The […]
- [Front seat](https://an-la-crime-story.com/front-seat/): Javier Adelente’s old battered ’79 Toyota truck sat low to the ground. The cab seats were shredded from wear and the front windshield steamed from the breath of Rhea and Javier, locked in the singular passion of young love in a front seat. “No no no no no… Rhea mumbled as he kissed her over and over… His warm brown skin smelled like Dial soap. His hands slid down her body– “Oh. Oh. Oh. OK…” she panted as Javier shoved his hands under her ass and lifted her onto him. They’d been there before. He was her first love and […]
- [A Karmic Web](https://an-la-crime-story.com/a-karmic-web/): Aggie kept Tamarind for one hundred and sixty eight days. They played Candyland and Hide and Seek with Poo. They ate a lot of Nutter Butters and saltine cracker sandwiches. Aggie fed Tamarind nectar from a honeysuckle plant so she wouldn’t have to eat bugs (which made Aggie cry). Instead of spinning her webs for traps, Tam spun them for fun. Over six days in November, she spun a kid-sized badminton net between a clothes line pole and a jacaranda tree. Tamarind would sit on the top edge of the web-net and watch Poo and Aggie play. Eight days before Christmas, while […]
- [Normal Road](https://an-la-crime-story.com/real-estate-2/): Aggie Day Porter loved cake. Every normal Kid loves cake and Aggie was born on Normal Road – 606 Normal Road, in a little stucco house with a little front yard that had a lemon tree and a blow-up pool. Birds sang in the Spring, she had a kitten named Poo and her big sister Rhea would ride them on her bike to the Lucky Market for Moon Pies and Fritos after school. Their back yard tucked into a thicket of wild raspberry vines that crept down to a muddy river that ran alongside the Santa Fe Railroad tracks. They […]
- [Piece of Cake](https://an-la-crime-story.com/piece-of-cake/): Rhea had been using paper to take notes ever since she got her first notepad from Strickland when she was sixteen, a terrified kid looking to him for hope on the darkest night of her life. “…write down anything you remember.” He’d told her as he wrote his phone number on the pad, “Anything at all, then call me. Anytime.” She wished she could call him now, she thought as she snuck past his apartment. She wished she could call and tell him how sorry she was for letting him down. He’d tell her “You can do better.” She’d try […]
- [Two Bits a Word](https://an-la-crime-story.com/two-bits-a-word-2/): Rhea leaned in the doorway of Manny’s office, eating a strawberry swirl ice cream sandwich. She was watching him as he finished reading her Toolong review. She was nervous, hoping he liked it. He blushed as he got to the part where she’d written “… I licked the last bit of peanut sauce off his left ball, trying to cool us both down. The hint of sesame oil in that salty butter eased us into the eve’s last hour. As his hands slipped from my head, I left him there, sated by fat noodles of buckwheat flour.” “Poetic.” he glanced […]
- [Semi Dark](https://an-la-crime-story.com/semi-dark/): The food was getting cold and they were getting hungrier as Rhea drove past the third in a row of her favorite dark parking places… but it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet and there were too many people around. “The alley behind IHOP is pretty good–” Andy offered. “They closed it off.” she let him know, “Construction” “The streets around Michelortenia?” “Zero parking.” “Pico?” They both shook their head. “Your place…?” He asked, casually. Hopefully. “No.” Though she and Kevin had gotten busted in her car and it clearly wasn’t a good idea to fuck in it anymore and they […]
- [Photo I.D.](https://an-la-crime-story.com/photo-i-d/): It was a green curry wan that beckoned Rhea hardest. ‘Toolong’ on Hollywood Boulevard was a tiny, cheap joint wedged between a used appliance store and Mel Pierce Camera. She had always thought they had a so-so Kee Mao but a pretty decent Pad See Ew. But she’d never tried their Wan. She found a parking spot only a half block away – a miracle in LA. As she approached, she passed by three young men hanging around outside. “You shouldn’t eat alone.” the one with olive skin and a careless vibe whispered as she opened Toolong’s decaled door, around […]
- [Exit Strategy](https://an-la-crime-story.com/exit-strategy-2/): LAPD Exploited Kids Division was housed at Headquarters, Downtown but Rhea had sometimes worked out of Hollywood division on Wilcox. It was nestled in a homey little block of ’60’s apartments and Jacaranda trees, two blocks south of a Popeye’s Chicken on Sunset Boulevard. The lighting was bad and there was an actors’ union ATM machine in the lobby. Rhea kept a spare notepad in the desk there that she shared with Strickland. It was one of those little rainbow pads that come in a four pack. She went there later that day, after she’d left Dr. Gallows, had some […]
- [Hour of the Wolf](https://an-la-crime-story.com/hour-of-the-wolf/): At that moment, in the moonlit tangle of brush that edged a wooded ravine, a skinny coyote lay, listening. His ears perked up as a car whispered by. When he heard a soft thud in the brush below, he moved toward it. On a ridge above the ravine was a cracked old house with a stone patio that kind of crumbled down the hill below the first O of the Hollywood sign. On the edge of that patio sat a barefoot young woman looking down past the ravine at the dark little forest that grew around the Hollywood Reservoir. She […]

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