Hillside Stranglers by Darcy O'Brien Page B

rabbits in the darkness, with Sparky barking jealously at his feet.
    Inside, they rehearsed again the inadequacies of Lissa Kastin. Sheltered by the house that had now concealed two successful murders, they grew agitated. Angelo floated about, straightening, dusting, checking the fish, as Bianchi talked. They had the perfect setup. It would be a crime not to take better advantage of it. How many other guys had a chance like this? There had never been such a scam. As long as they were careful, it could work again. And again.
    “Yeah, there’s got to be a limit,” Angelo said. “We go too far, we’re gonna slip up. We can’t do every girl in town. Keep your lid on, Kenny.”
    “Right,” Bianchi said, “but I tell you, we got it made. I can taste it, Tony, I can taste it.”
    “Let me get my jacket,” Angelo said.
    “We going now? Tonight?”
    “You got it. But calm down, will you, asshole? This time, it’s perfect, understand me? And one other thing. We don’t find the right one, we don’t go for just anything, see what I mean? We forget it this time. We come back here and we figure this just wasn’t the night. Right?”
    “I got a feeling this is going to be it.”
    “That’s real nice. But if I say it’s no go, it’s no go. Understand? I say it’s no good, we scrub the mission. I ain’t even gonna lay out the stuff this time. Maybe that was bad luck. Sometimes you plan everything, it puts a jinx. Sometimes you just gotta see how it goes down, follow me?”
    “I follow you. You’re the boss, Angelo. You’re the captain.”
    “Don’t forget it.”
    Bianchi drove his Cadillac. In Hollywood, they cruised slowly, down the Boulevard, along the Strip. There were plenty of whores. None appealed.
    “I feel like some fresh pussy,” Angelo said.

    “Maybe we should try another area. Maybe we should try Westwood. We could get some UCLA cheerleader. A blonde.”
    “Too far.”
    “Let’s try around my place again. It’s after ten. There’s girls around there, always are. We could get somebody coming out of a movie.”
    “Go ahead.”
    Back in his own neighborhood, Bianchi checked the parking area of his apartment building on Tamarind to make sure Kelli’s Mazda was there. It was. He didn’t want her going out at night without his knowing it, even if she was pregnant. She was into her sixth month.
    On Franklin they passed two young girls walking together, considered them, passed them up. And then, in front of the Mayfair Market at the corner of Franklin and Bronson, they observed a girl standing alone next to a bus bench. She was slim and blond, wearing tight jeans rolled at the bottoms. Bianchi slowed. They took a good look, cruising past.
    “Do you see what I see?” Buono asked.
    “You bet I do.”
    “What do you want to do?”
    Bianchi headed around the block. They agreed that this one looked prime, at first glance anyway. But Angelo wanted another look. He told Bianchi to approach the bus bench on Franklin again. A block or so east of the bus stop, they pulled up to the curb, stopped, and looked.
    She was sitting on the bench now, apparently waiting for the bus. She had her long legs out in front of her, crossed at the ankles.
    “Super shoes,” Bianchi said. “High heels.”
    “She ain’t no slob, I can see that much. What do you want to do? She won’t go with two guys. Right out there in the open, we got to get her easy. She’s got to want to go. Tell you what. I’ll go talk to her. Then you come back. I’ll think of something. Sit here a minute. See if she’s getting a ride.”
    “Let me rap with her,” Bianchi said.
    “Yeah. Okay. What’re you gonna use?”
    “You know me,” Bianchi said. “I can bullshit anyone.”

    “Look at her. She’s choice. Look at that.”
    “I’ll go talk to her. You drive around for a few minutes. Give me some time. Then you come back. And . . . I know. You offer me a ride. We know each other, okay? You offer me a ride and I offer her a ride,