When Mikey rolled over, he didn't do things by halves. He flipped on three separate addresses, two of which we already had plus a third, and names to go along with all three. His only request of the mafia at this point was that he didn't have to go through detox uncushioned, being provided with at least negligible amounts of China White to help ease him off the drug. The family kept him high, and he provided information.
Monday, July 13, 2015
I stopped and picked up mail before heading to the mansion. Happy news: two of our five distributors had sent checks. Always a nice thing to find. Plus three demo tapes from couples who hoped to be on video, and most certainly wouldn't. I knew what I'd see when I watched the tapes, puffy couples in their forties having it off in front of a tripod camera and acting like they'd both just got off work. Which they probably had. No use to anyone but their friends.
It was after seven when we reached Vinny's. Angel and Vinny were loitering in the driveway, killing time before my arrival with cigarettes and a couple bottles of beer. I had the feeling this was not how they wanted to spend Monday night. I agreed. I wanted to hand over Mikey and go eat dinner with Bekka. At this point I didn't care what they did to Mikey, save killing him.
Three weeks later is when I thought I would die, and welcomed it. A Monday afternoon. Bekka had no performance to do at all that day, so she'd stayed home. I'd gone up to Inana and wrestled with paperwork. We were between full releases and were just knocking out loops. It was shaping up to be a dull week.
Angela and I departed for our motel around midnight. Bekka was happy for the company but finally had to plead exhaustion. No surprise there, given what she'd been through that day. I considered crashing out in one of the chairs, but Bekka called that silly: there was nothing I could accomplish by being there all night, I'd be back in the morning, and hopefully we'd all have had a good night's rest.
The doctors decided to keep Bekka an extra day. Apparently she wasn't absorbing oxygen at the rate they wanted, so they thought getting four days of oxygen panels would indicate if she was at least improving steadily, if not as fast as they hoped. Her new release day was Friday.
On my way back to the hospital, I stopped by the mansion and talked to Angel about what I'd learned: Mikey was holding information again, and I wanted it. Given how it affected Bekka and I, it didn't matter what methods I used to extract the info from Mikey. Just so long as it worked.
I picked up Paul from his house at eleven on Monday. I was driving the Falcon out of sheer superstition. That car had got me out of more tight spaces than anything I'd ever driven, and I was not expecting a joyous time when we arrived at Mikey's place in Hollywood. I'd kept an eye on the rear view, watching for any unmarked police cars or anything else following me, but it was a quiet ride up to Mission Viejo.
Anticipating the need, Paul had extracted his private investigator's license from his wallet before pulling Grant out of the car. When you're marching someone in handcuffs through the doors of a police station, it's best if you can explain yourself.