The Late Show (Renée Ballard #1)(29)

Trent’s plan hit a snag when they got on the 405. It was still a virtual parking lot with evening commuters. Ballard said she would get off early at Vanowen. Most of the conversation up until that point had been about the RDX and what Ballard was looking for in a vehicle. She incorporated mention of her wife into a few of the answers to see if she could get a read on whether Trent had an issue with same-sex couples, but he never took the bait.

After exiting on Vanowen, Ballard turned south on Sepulveda. It ran parallel to Van Nuys and would take them right by the Tallyho Lodge without it seeming like she was purposely going out of their way.

The area was lined with cluttered strip malls, gas stations, mini-markets, and cheap hotels. It was prime territory for vice operations. As she drove, Ballard scanned the sidewalks but knew it was too early in the night to catch street prostitutes out and about. After they crossed Victory Boulevard, they caught a light and she used the time to survey the area and comment.

“I didn’t realize it was so sketchy over this way,” she said.

Trent looked about as if seeing it for the first time himself before commenting.

“Yeah, I hear it gets pretty bad over here at night,” he said. “Pimps, drug pushers. Streetwalkers of all kinds.”

Ballard faked a laugh.

“Like what?” she asked.

“You’d be surprised,” Trent said. “Men who dress up as women, women who used to be men. Every variety of disgusting thing you can imagine.”

Ballard was silent and Trent seemed to realize that he might have endangered his sale.

“Not that I make any judgments on anybody,” he said. “I say, to each his own, live and let live.”

“Me too,” Ballard said.

After the test-drive, Ballard told Trent she wanted to think about the purchase and would call him in a day or two. He asked her to come into the showroom and go to his desk so he could fill out a customer information sheet. She declined, saying she was already late for dinner. She offered her hand again and when he shook it, she clinched her thumb and index finger sharply, causing an involuntary flinch from Trent. She turned his wrist slightly and looked down at his hand, acting as if she saw the bruising for the first time.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you were hurt.”

“It’s okay. Just a bruise.”

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story and not worth the time. I’d rather talk about how we can get you into a new RDX.”

“Well, I’ll think about it and give you a call.”

“Hey, do you mind, I got a boss who’s a stickler for documenting our leads. It goes into the performance evaluations, to tell you the truth. Any chance I can get you to give me your number so I can show I took the car out on a valid lead? Otherwise, he’ll ding me for not verifying license and insurance.”

“Uh...”

Ballard thought about it and decided it would not be an issue. He would not be able to trace the number to her real name.

“Sure.”

She gave him the number and he wrote it down on the back of one of his own business cards. He then gave a clean one to her.

“Have a great date night, Stella.”

“Thanks, Tom.”

As Ballard backed her Ford out of its parking space, Trent stood in the lot and watched her go, sending her off with a friendly wave. She drove up Van Nuys Boulevard and back to the same street and spot where she had parked before. She pulled out a notebook and wrote down as many quotes from her conversation with Trent as she could remember. Extemporaneous notes written just moments after a conversation were given greater weight in court than those written much later. She had no idea if her undercover encounter with Trent would eventually become part of a case but she knew it was the smart thing to do.

After putting her notebook away, she climbed into the rear of the van again to retrieve her gun, badge, and rover. She decided she would change back into her work suit when she got to Hollywood Station. Her phone buzzed as she was climbing into the driver’s seat. It was an 818 number and she took the call. It was Trent.

“Just looking at the computer here, Stella,” he said. “We can get you a white one. They have them all over the place— Bakersfield, Modesto, Downey, plenty of choices. All of them fully loaded, backup camera, everything.”

Ballard guessed that he was only calling to see if she had stiffed him with a phony number. The fact that she had not seemed to energize him.

“All right, well, let me think about it,” Ballard said.

“You sure I can’t pull the trigger on one of these right now?” Trent asked. “You would qualify for our end-of-the-day discount. That’s a five-hundred-dollar credit on your down payment, Stella. You could take that money and order custom door mats or upgrade the headliner, if you want. There’s a lot of—”

“No, Tom, not yet,” Ballard said decisively. “I told you I was going to think about it and I will call you tomorrow or Sunday.”

“Okay, Stella,” Trent said. “Then I’ll wait to hear from you.”

The line went dead. Ballard started the engine and pulled away from the curb. She started heading south toward the mountains. She checked the dashboard clock. If Trent was working at the dealership until the ten p.m. closing, then it would be two hours before he got home. That was plenty of time for what she had planned.