Green Monster by Rick Shefchik

Author:Rick Shefchik [Shefchik, Rick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction / Mystery & Detective / General
ISBN: 9781615951963
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press
Published: 2011-03-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

It was not quite nine when they got back to the BMW, illuminated to a shiny gleam under the arc lights in the Dodger parking lot. Sam slid in behind the wheel before Heather could and held out his hand for the keys. Heather shrugged and handed them over.

Sam called directory assistance on his phone and got the number for Laswell’s Gym. The gum-chewing girl who answered the phone at the gym said they were open till two a.m., and once Sam deciphered her Valley Girl accent, the directions weren’t hard to follow: Pick up the Golden State Freeway just north of the stadium, go north on the Glendale Freeway, and exit on Colorado Boulevard.

He found the game on the radio. The Dodgers were now up by three in the bottom of the sixth. According to Vin Scully, Alberto Miranda had just hit a two-run homer to pad the lead—and a steady stream of cars was already leaving the lot. Dodger fans were famous for leading all of major league baseball when it came to beating the traffic home. Scully went through the American League scores. The Sox had beaten the Blue Jays for the third straight game, while the Yankees lost to the Orioles again. It looked like the Sox were crawling back into the A.L. East race.

The drive to Laswell’s took about fifteen minutes. On the way, Sam told Heather about Daly’s description of the gym. He assumed Laswell would be a character similar to Kenny, the owner of Club Earache—tightly wound and protective of his famous clientele. Sam told her they would tour the gym as prospective customers, and see if they could strike up conversations with some of the regulars.

The gym was on a wide commercial street where hot cars cruised back and forth, the drivers looking for excitement in the sultry coastal darkness. Sam parked in the gym’s adjoining lot, and they walked in to find a brightly lit, spacious main exercise room decorated primarily in blue with orange and yellow accents, with unseen fans forcing fresh air currents through the dense aroma of sweat and body oil. There were both free weights and resistance machines near the main entrance, with stair-climbers, treadmills, and elliptical machines farther back. Apparently Roy Laswell thought it was good advertising to put the oil-slicked hardbodies out front, and let the blubbery treadmill types slave away in the farther reaches of the big room.

Sam went to the reception desk and spoke to a young woman who wore a plastic nametag that said “Kaylee.” She was thumbing through a Muscle & Fitness magazine. She had teased-up hair and wore a blue sleeveless workout suit—calculated to show off the definition in her biceps—that matched her eye shadow. When Sam said hello to her, she glanced up at him and revealed her yellow chewing gum when she smiled. She removed one of the ear buds attached to her MP3 player.

“My wife and I are thinking of joining. Is there someone who can give us a tour?”

“Not tonight.

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