There are worse places in town, we were told. Why settle for the Monterey when we could go to the place where a cop reporter we know met a prostitute who showed her a scar from where a john had cut off a hunk of her flesh and cooked it on a hot plate while she was tied up?
Yes, that would be preferable by far. And more advice poured in.
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We reached the string of Westside motels at 6 p. Which, as it turned out, has a pool.
The owner just keeps it to lure in customers. We asked him as delicately as we could if his establishment was a good place to run into some trouble, such as getting killed.
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We keep a good eye on the place. The good eye came into play an hour or two later when Dave gave a tenant the heave-ho. The ousted tenant had broken rule No. Dave also has an unwritten Rule No. Because they decorate the rooms. Sometimes they paint big murals on the walls.
The walls are painted in festive marigold with Spanish motif trim. The air-conditioner worked, though someone had busted off the control knob, so you got what you got. There had been two art prints on the wall, but one of the works had been pried off by someone who either overly loved or overly hated it.
We only saw two cockroachs. Most of your motel experts will advise you to not climb under the covers. He invited us into his room where we met his girlfriend Debbie who was staying at the motel by the week.
Dave heard about our hunger for peril. We moved here to get away from that place. A few blocks west of our motel was a little beer bar, the Pit Stop, where Christine was bartending.
We watched the Dodgers win in the bottom of the ninth inning and told Christine we were looking to get our head handed to us. We checked out some of the other hotels on the stretch of PCH. They were all as quiet as El Capitan.
Back at El Capitan we sat in a plastic chair for a few hours watching the passing groups of youngsters, old guys, your regular old street people. A little after midnight, a guy with eyes as big as pocketwatches walked off the street and asked us if we had anything. I got a place lined up, just thought I could maybe save myself a walk.
In terms of getting beat up, robbed, shot, knifed, propositioned or even worried, the evening was a bleak failure. By Tim Grobaty tgrobaty scng. More in News.