The canyon retains a lot of bohemian-type charm-the Country Store, where everyone shops for munchies, still sports a hippie-style psychedelic sign-but the main canyon road, originally designed to handle only Sunday cruising, has become a primary artery for the burgeoning Valley population that travels into Hollywood. As a result, the road turns into a parking lot at least three times a day.
Luckily, we’d missed the morning-drive slog and Bailey made it into West Hollywood in less than twenty minutes. Brian’s apartment was in one of those typical nondescript buildings-a box with square windows in the heart of Hollywood on North Vista Street. The building across the road had tiny balconies where tenants grew plants and stored kids’ toys and bicycles, evidence that humans lived there. Brian’s building didn’t have any of that. The only visible signs of individuality were the differing curtains, and one hanging crystal ornament. It probably made a nice rainbow when the sun hit it. I miss unicorns.
Brian’s landlord was frowning suspiciously at the uniformed officers who’d shown up to secure the place. He was short, and his wifebeater T-shirt strained to cover a paunch that looked like a second-trimester pregnancy. The plaid Bermuda shorts and black socks with slippers completed the look nicely.
“If Drew knew about the hunks you ran into on the job, he’d go out of his mind,” I said.
“Yeah, I’ll bet Graden would lose a lot of sleep too.”
Bailey introduced herself to the landlord and held out her badge. He took it and squinted for a moment, then pulled a pair of filthy glasses out of his shorts pocket, put them on, and scrutinized the identification before handing it back to her.
“And you? Who are you?” he asked me in a heavy Middle Eastern accent.
“Rachel Knight, deputy district attorney. I’m a prosecutor in the Special Trials Unit.”
“Easy to say. Let’s see some ID, Ms. Special Attorney.”
“Look, Mr.-,” Bailey began, her voice showing the strain of holding back words she’d regret.
“Gardanian. And I own the building, so I have the right-”
In no great mood to begin with, and out of patience, I brandished my badge and held it under his nose, just to shut him up. He took it and gave it the once-over, then handed it back to me.
“Okay.” He waved us in, then shuffled back into his apartment.
A uni who was a classic mesomorph with bulging biceps-the type I used to think was dreamy back in high school-gestured for us to follow him down the hall to Brian’s apartment. He flashed us an amused look as we fell in behind him.
