True Detectives

Aaron was a clone of his father.

Moe was built heavier and thicker than his father, and his fine, symmetrical features were Maddy's. But the coloring was there… maybe something around the eyes. The ears, too.

Officer Darius Fox, RIP.

Officer John Jasper Reed, RIP.

Dr. Stanley Edgar Guistone, D.D.S., M.P.H., M.B.A., ditto.

The woman was bad news for the morbidity/mortality stats.

Three husbands, two kids. If she'd had a child with Dr. G, the poor thing might've ended up looking like a depressed raccoon.

Now curiosity about Moe's family history was nibbling her brain even harder, but she resolved to take it slow. Pushing issues didn't work with most men and it sure wouldn't work with Moe.

Between her travel and the open-ended schedule of a homicide detective, the two of them needed to use their time together wisely. No sense dashing good times with the emotional ice resulting from mention of Aaron's name.

Still, that level of sibling hostility did intrigue her. She had two brothers and adored them both. Sean and Jay had suffered through some friction but they got along great now. Played golf together, for God's sake.

Moses and Aaron, on the other hand… a stupid person might assume race was the problem, because stupid people always jumped on “the obvious solution” to explain complex problems.

The Little-Person Fallacy, she called it, in honor of a case during her internship. The corpse of a three-foot-eight woman had been found moldering in a Menlo Park apartment, too decayed for an obvious COD. Post-autopsy, Dr. Lieber, the medical examiner, had asked everyone to guess. Those brave enough to venture opted for spondyloepi-physeal dwarfism and the health issues that went along with that.

Truth was, the woman had smoked three packs a day and died of throat cancer.

Liz had spent enough time with Moe to know that he really was that rare color-blind American. And now maybe, she understood why.

Whatever her effect upon male longevity, Maddy must have been an independent thinker, marrying a black man back when that was still a big deal.

Then a white man from the Deep South…

Maybe growing up with Aaron had made Moe comfortable enough to resent Aaron with no fear of the R word coming up.

But still not comfortable enough with Liz to talk about why he couldn't stand his brother.

Maddy's house up in the hills teemed with ghosts, but as far as Liz could see, the woman didn't feel haunted.

Unlike her younger son.

One day, Liz would figure it out.

CHAPTER 12

Twenty minutes after Aaron found a watch spot across the street from ColdSnake, Rory Stoltz was still in the club.

The line in front hadn't moved much though desperate types clung to false hope behind the black rope. The white-suited ape in the bowler did his best to pretend they didn't exist.

Not a paparazzo in sight, but that didn't account for Stoltz being allowed to park up front and saunter past the bouncer.

Kid was obviously meeting someone inside, but a Hyundai?

Aaron checked his cell for messages. A couple of trash calls and a text from Liana.

back home safe call tmrw

Motion in front of the club. Rory Stoltz emerged.

All by himself.

Keeping his eyes on the Hyundai, Aaron pulled away from the curb.

Stoltz drove east to Highland Avenue, traveled south to Santa Monica Boulevard, where he headed west.

Making a big loop that seemed pointless… unless he was interested in cruising the heart of the gay hooker stroll.

So maybe this had something to do with alternative lifestyle. But what did that have to do with nearly half an hour in a hetero dive like ColdSnake?

Aaron followed Stoltz as the Hyundai sailed by languid young men and he-she's in various states of camouflage. Stoltz never even slowed to look at the goods, just kept driving all the way to La Cienega, where he hooked north and got back on Sunset. The Hyundai continued until it was one block east of ColdSnake, then turned left.

One big useless circuit.

This time Stoltz bypassed the scene out front and parked just shy of the alley that ran behind the club. Switching off his lights, but keeping his engine ru

Kid's playing some kind of game.

The logical guess was dope: Rory's initial stop had been meeting with customers, taking orders. Problem was, the kid had just driven around, not stopping to pick anything up. So maybe the goods had been in the car all the time and Stoltz had spun a yarn about taking a special trip to pick up premium product. Which, of course, would cost a wee bit more…

Was All-American boy that clever of a marketing consultant?

Whatever the details, he wasn't what he seemed.

Moe had missed the boat completely by dismissing the kid so quickly.

Aaron drove two blocks past the Hyundai, circled back with his own lights off. Positioning the Opel in a cozy spot three houses north, he waited for Stoltz to get out of the car.

Kid just sat there.

Five minutes, ten, fifteen.

At seventeen, two figures emerged from the alley and made their way toward the Hyundai.

Two men, tallish. From the shaggy outline of their breeze-blown hair, and the way they walked, white guys.

As they got closer, Aaron saw that one was real ski

Checking for the cops? Stoltz's clients came to him?

Easier to rabbit if things got complicated.

Virgin, indeed.

Aaron bounced his eyes between the Hyundai and the two men. Ten feet from the car, Ski

Looks like someone doesn't need any more controlled substance… as the men approached, the Hyundai's lights switched on and the brights flashed. Twice.

The signal for Come and get it, pathetic addicts.

Beefy walked Ski

It took a while to tuck Ski

Put your hand on his head and press down, dude. That's how we do it on the job.

Used to do it…

Once Beefy had Ski

On-site smoke-up?

Nope, Stoltz drove away.

This time the Hyundai sped north into the heart of Hollywood, turned left on Selma.

Another gay pickup zone. So maybe this was a sex thing. Rory with two guys still pretending they were straight?

Aaron's head spun with possibilities as, once again, Stoltz bypassed corner loiterers, drove to Laurel Canyon, hooked right at the first opportunity, up a narrow, winding side road.

Once the Opel turned onto the quiet street, Aaron squelched his lights. Hoping some random Hollywood Division cruiser wasn't out trolling for traffic money.

The road turned steep and the Hyundai stressed its four cylinders climbing, zipping around curves, making frequent turns, chugging up brief, obscure lanes lined with darkened hillside houses. No street-lamps; all Aaron needed was a head-on with some idiot on a cell phone descending obliviously.

Rory Stoltz knew exactly where he was going, putting on maximum speed as he spurted along a series of ski

Swinging abruptly onto what at first appeared to be a driveway but turned out to be Swallowsong Lane.

A yellow sign warned No Outlet.

Aaron parked just short of Swallowsong's mouth, cut his engine, jumped out quickly, continued on foot.

Even steeper; it paid to stay in shape.