Finally, driver Eli said, “He ain’t in Hollywood.” Cazo mumbled, “Naw, I guess not. Let’s try the ghetto.” Eli grunted, abruptly pulled the van to the curb, and parked on North Western Avenue. “Say, man, why you stop here?” Cazo exclaimed. Eli said, “ ’Cause you gonna drive some.” He slid from the van to the street. Cazo moved over to take the wheel. He pulled away when Eli got in and sandwiched Tuta between them. Cazo drove south on Western toward South Central L.A. At Western and Sunset, several of Tuta’s stablemates gave a finger-to-the-chin signal to the troubleshooting twins that they were okay. Several blocks south, Tuta shouted, “There’s his ride!” She excitedly pointed at Leon’s car, parked in a grocery-market lot. Cazo turned into it and parked next to Leon’s Caddie. Tuta pointed toward a group of telephone booths. “There he is, using the phone.” Eli took a blackjack and a wide roll of masking tape from beneath the seat as Tuta scrambled over the seat to conceal herself.
