CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
After the LAPD supervisor arrived at my building, he told the first responding officers to transport me to Hollywood Station and to hold me for the detectives. When we arrived, they left me in a corridor handcuffed to a steel bench I shared with a hooker with rotten teeth and an older obese drunk guy wearing only a Santa hat and a pair of leopard print thong underwear. I think the hooker found me attractive, and she was pleasant enough. But the drunk wasn’t much of a conversationalist. He just repeated, “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry f*****g Christmas!” whenever anyone passed by our bench, even though it was still months until the Yuletide season. After close to a two-hour wait, a cop retrieved me and escorted me to an interview room where two homicide detectives from West Bureau aw
