CHAPTER 11

"Houston! How the hell are ya?" Frankie DiCenzo walked out of the dispatch office at the cab company. "I haven't seen you since – what – the year Novelli was shot?"

Matt shook his hand. "I believe you're right. How are things going?"

"Oh, you know how it is. Ex-wives, alimony, child support, the usual." DiCenzo shook his head and smiled. "But maybe you don't know how it is. I heard you and your lady lawyer friend got married. Is that right?"

"Yep, smartest move I've ever made." Houston smiled. "Look, Frankie, I need to ask you for some help. A good friend of mine has been accused of murder and he was a passenger in one of your cabs last night. It would sure be a big help if I could talk to the driver and see the security camera footage."

"Sure. Do you know where he was picked up?" The tubby former-cop turned and walked back into the office.

"Yeah, right in front of my office." Matt followed him.

DiCenzo hammered at the keyboard. "Yeah, here it is. Cab #713 picked up there about 8:00 pm last night. Sound about right?"

"Yeah, that should be him." Matt watched over the man's shoulder as he continued pounding on the keyboard.

"Well, you're in luck my friend. That cab happens to be here right now. It's in for an oil change and tire rotation. But as for the driver – no. He's gone to Mexico on a fishing trip." He got up and waddled out into the garage, looking to the right hand side of the building. "Hey, Ricky! Ricky!" He looked at Matt and rolled his eyes. "These damn kids nowadays. Always gotta have those earplugs stuck in their heads."

Matt smiled and followed him across to where a young man was jacking up the right front side of the cab. DiCenzo tapped the boy on the shoulder, causing him to jump.

"What the hell! Man, you shouldn't sneak up on somebody like that!" Ricky gripped his chest.

"If you didn't have that crap that you listen to turned up to ten jillion decibels you wouldn't get scared so easy." Frankie pushed the mechanic out of the way and opened the front door of the cab. He reached for the security camera and removed the card from it.

"Turn that stuff down kid, it ain't good for ya! Might give ya a heart attack." He slammed the car door and turned back toward the office. "C'mon, Houston, let's see what's on here."

Matt followed him back inside and watched as he popped the card into his computer then pounded on the keyboard some more. "Here ya go. Bald headed dude, is that him?" He glanced around at Matt.

"Yep, that's him." Matt watched as Murray got into the cab with a red head that he assumed was Natasha. The woman leaned forward and gave the address to the cab driver, then proceeded to kiss Murray.

DiCenzo wasn't impressed. "Humph. This guy looks like an accountant."

"He is - or was. He's now the CEO of Houston Industries." He leaned closer to the screen.

"I hate accountants. My third wife ran off with one. Or was it the fourth one?" Frankie pondered on that for a minute as Matt continued to watch the video. "Wow, this chick was really playing tonsil hockey, hey?"

Matt just looked down at him. "How many times have you been married Frankie?" He gave the dispatcher a reproachful look.

"Too many. Guess you need this card, huh?" He made a copy of it, then gave Matt the original along with the address of the drop off.

"Thanks, Frankie. I owe you one." Matt shook his hand and turned to leave the office.

"Congrats on the marriage, Houston. Don't make the same mistakes I did: be sure to treat her right, hear me?" DiCenzo leaned forward in his chair.

"Always have, always will, Frankie. Thanks, again." Matt left the garage and headed to the address of the restaurant that Murray had gone to last night.

As he headed north toward Santa Monica Boulevard, he called CJ. "How are y'all doing?"

"Pretty good. He's gone past the shock stage and is starting to get mad about what happened." CJ poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Well, that's good. Maybe that will shake some of the cobwebs loose and he'll remember more about what happened." Matt stopped at an intersection and, out of habit, glanced up in the rearview mirror. There was a blue Chrysler three cars back. It had been behind him for several miles now. "Gotta go, babe. Love you." He hung up the phone. As the light turned green, Matt hit the gas and made a quick left turn onto the next street. He then made another quick left, then another. One more left turn and this strategy put him following the Chrysler that had been following him. "Much better to be the hunter than the hunted." He jotted down the license number and continued to follow the car. Just then the driver apparently spotted him and took off in an effort to loose Matt, who decided that since he had the plate number, he would be able to find out about the driver without a confrontation. Right now he needed to concentrate on clearing Murray.

He hit Hoyt's number on the speed dial. "Hey. I've got a plate number for you. Somebody was tailing me."

"Please tell me this one didn't run off the road and explode, too." Hoyt sounded like it had been a long day.

"Nope, they just got played. I ended up following them." Matt grinned.

"And now you're sitting there smiling about the whole thing, is that right, PI?" The lieutenant shook his head and couldn't help but smile himself. Houston really was something else.

"Naw, not me. Look, I'm just pulling up to the restaurant that Murray and Natasha went to last night. I'll call you back in a little bit." Matt was ready to hang up.

"Just so I can feel like I've got a little bit of information on this case, what is the name and address?" Hoyt took it down. "Alright, call me when you get out of there and let me know if you got anything. I'll have some info about the plate number by then."

Both men hung up. Hoyt pulled his keyboard in front of him and typed in the plate number that Houston had given him. It came back as being registered to Alexander Rossovich. Hoyt looked to see if they had a file on Rossovich. He gave a low whistle as the information popped up on his screen. "Houston, what have you and Murray gotten into?" Hoyt continued to read the laundry list of offenses, then decided to have the file pulled. As he called down to records to make the request, he continued to read about Rossovich. Suddenly, he froze. The restaurant that Houston had just told him about belonged to the Russian immigrant. He tried to call Matt. There was no answer. He jumped up, grabbed his jacket and headed off to the elevator at a run.