you’re a sex offender.”
He didn’t have anything on his head. So I handed him the hats, except the one with Knuckle smell on it. He took the hats. Maybe it would help him find a date.
I hoped not.
149
I TOOK KNUCKLES’ hat back to the doctor’s office.
Daryl was glad to see me. “Man, I’m bored! Where you been?”
“Trying to figure out who beat you up. Smell this.” I held the hat up.
Daryl pulled his head back. “You crazy?”
“Just do it.”
He looked at me, eyes narrowing, then grabbed the hat. He gave it a tentative nose. His eyes widened. “Man, I think that’s it. Where’d you get it?”
“You got a place to stay?” I said.
He took in a long breath. “Yeah, sure, a fancy hotel.”
“You on the street?”
“I was gonna sleep at the house tonight.”
“Not a good idea. I’ll get you a room.”
“With TV?”
“Oh yeah. I’ll make sure you got a TV.”
I did. At the Hollywood Motel 6. I prepaid for a week’s stay. Daryl thought it was heaven. He looked like he needed heaven. I gave him twenty bucks and wrote the room phone number down in the margin of a jaunty Welcome to Motel 6 card.
“I’ll check back,” I said.
“Where you goin’?”
“To get some religion,” I said.
150
I DROVE BACK to Hollywood and had to park on Las Palmas, near the church at the end of the street. I walked back to the boulevard and hung out between the Scientology building and the Believe It or Not Museum.
I kept wondering if I believed what I was doing, or not.
Mostly not.
In the same place across the street was Sonny Moon and his hangers-on. Minus Knuckles. Minus the Lincoln. Great. Now I had to make like a real live PI and be bored waiting around for somebody who could be long gone. We had a couple hours of daylight left. This was not my idea of a good time.
My idea of a good time was nailing the scumbag who shot Sister Mary. And I wasn’t too particular about how I’d do it. Various options kept auditioning in my mind. I was leaning toward the ones with the most pain.
A half hour went by. Then a full. I ducked into the Mickey D’s next to the Guinness World Records Museum and used the oval office, snagged a Filet-O-Fish, went back to my post.
Still no sign of Knuckles.
As I was munching, an old man with Fred Mertz pants and two days’ growth of beard came up to me and said, “Wyatt Earp died here.”
His eyes were watery and grasping. Like he needed to talk to somebody. Like he was chiefly known for being ignored.
I wasn’t going anywhere, so I said, “Is that right?”
“Advised the movie business, he did. And one of the Dalton Gang died here, too. Emmett Dalton. He moved to Los Angeles in the 1920s, after serving fifteen years in prison for attempting to rob a Kansas bank. Guess what he did here?”
“Tell me.”
“Became a real estate agent.”
“So he followed the money.”
“Darn tootin’,” the old man said.
I looked across the street and saw Knuckles walking past Frederick’s of Hollywood. It wasn’t hard to spot the ape in front of a window of skimpy lace. He had come from the Las Palmas side, so I had to figure he’d parked his car on the same street.
Now was my shot.
“Where you from, son?” the old man said.
“Been nice talking to you,” I said, turning.
“Wait,” he called out. “John Wayne’s real name was Marion!”
I gave the man a wave, then crossed the boulevard. I started looking for the Lincoln. I walked past the Las Palmas Hotel, not seeing the car. I got to the corner and that’s where I spotted it, parked on Yucca, in front of the community center, with its gaudy orange, red, and turquoise buildings. Four hours’ free parking here. A good spot for a guy wanting to save some quarters.
I thought it fitting that he’d parked right in front of the sign on the fence that read Dog defecation must be removed immediately by owner under penalty of law.
The spot where the car was parked was perfect for me. I could go back and watch the little group pass out their pamphlets. That would be exciting. Then whenever Knuckles decided to leave, I’d have time to get my car, get across the street, and tail him.
It did turn out to be one great snooze-fest. When the highlight of your day is seeing SpongeBob in front of the Kodak Theatre, and Captain Jack