The Museum of Desire: An Alex Delaware Novel(14)

“Yesterday, a house in Bel Air.”

“Bel Air? Like a Manson thing? Where in Bel Air? I used to drive there. Mrs. Meldock, Mrs. Davis, Mrs. Robertson, I was the guy for the ladies who lunched.”

Milo said, “Off Benedict Canyon.”

“Not that big one, looks like an office building, you have to take off your shoes even in the motor court—the agent…Mort Medvedev?”

“No, sir.”

“Where, then?”

“Sorry, can’t give out details just yet, Mr. Creech. When’s the last time you saw Mr. Roget?”

“The last time.” Creech tapped his lower lip. “The last time would have to be…couple of years ago? Yeah, two summers ago, some violinist. At the Bowl. We were both doing a drive-and-wait, got put in parking spots right next to each other.”

“In your Town Cars.”

“What else?”

“Yesterday, Mr. Roget was driving a white stretch—”

“That monstrosity? Oh, boy.” Creech’s palm slapped his own cheek lightly. “Piece of garbage, you can’t get axle stability in something that big. Unless you build it like a semi and then it’s too stiff for livery. No resale value, Solly picked it up cheap a long time ago. I told him don’t go there, my friend, the kind of people want to ride something like that you don’t want to know. Guess I was right. Who were the customers? They the ones who did it?”

Milo said, “Doesn’t look like they were.”

“What then, a robbery?”

“It’s complicated, sir. We’re just starting out and trying to get to know Mr. Roget.”

“Been two years but I don’t see Solly changing from the way he was when I knew him. A sweeter guy you’d never meet. You ask me, that was part of his problem. Too nice. Got taken advantage of.”

“By who?”

“Customers passing bad checks—him taking checks, period, was naive. Not getting everything up front.”

“You know all this because—”

“He told me. At the Bowl. We had plenty of time to talk. I brought snacks, he also did. We snacked and talked. So were they lowlifes, the passengers?”

“We’re still gathering information, Mr. Creech.”

“You want, Lieutenant, you can give me names, I’ll see if they ring a bell.”

“You and Solly shared clients?”

“No, but people who use drivers use drivers.”

“Okay,” said Milo, “but please keep the names to yourself.”

“Promise. Shoot.”

“Richard Gurnsey.”

“Nope.”

“Benson Alvarez.”

“Nope. We talking gay guys?”

“Don’t seem to be.”

“Just two guys in the back of a super-stretch,” said Creech. “Doing what?”

“There was a woman, too, we don’t know who she is.”

“A hooker?” said Creech. “An orgy?”

“No, sir. Like I said we’re just starting out, Mr.—”

“Sorry, sorry, Lieutenant, I’m just upset.” Creech patted his chest again. The precise spot that roofed his heart. He winced.

“You okay, sir?”

“Me? I’m fine. I’m just…this is hard to hear, guy like Solly. Easygoing—what the kids call laid-back. Nothing bothered him. His snacks were Haitian. He made them himself, didn’t have a woman to cook for him. Cornbread, that I liked. Some kind of meatball, frankly, too spicy. I gave him potato chips and apple slices. We had a pleasant time and could hear the music in the parking lot.”

I said, “Do you know anything about his family?”

“I know he had one,” said Creech. “Couple of kids, living in Florida. One’s some kind of doctor, the other’s…I think also. Son and daughter, he was proud of them. Whole family came from Haiti on boats, worked their way up, Solly’s wife cleaned rooms. Then she died.”

Creech’s voice caught. “He had it rough. But you’d never know it, always smiling.”

“How did he get clients?”

“What do you mean?”

“We haven’t found a website.”

“I have one,” said Creech, with sudden pride. “Did it last year, move into the new age. But it’s a half-half deal. You get more clients but not always high-quality and then they rate you. The kids, they don’t even know how to tip, to them it’s Uber.” Uttering the last word as if it were a disease. “Nowadays you sell a cookie at a counter, you get a tip. You drive idjits all night, you don’t. That make sense?”

I shook my head. “So if Solly had no website—”

“I asked him that, he told me he did the tear-offs. Those things on bulletin boards, little fringies with flaps? You tear them off, they’ve got a phone number.”

Milo said, “That’s it?”

“When we were at the Bowl, that’s what he had.”

“Where did he hang his tear-offs?”

“Beats me,” said Creech. “My opinion was, not smart. I told him at the time. Anyone can rip off a free piece of paper, you don’t know who you’re dealing with. Am I right? You’re here, so obviously I am.”