“Yeah, I enjoyed fucking your wife. Have a good day.”
He slammed the door. I could hear him swearing as we left. I wondered why he even cared. Then again, it’ll give him and Jeremy something to reminisce about. Jones didn’t say anything. We collected Martisse and got to our cars. I thanked her for helping and we followed her out of the neighborhood and onto the freeway. It was only after we were enjoying the always rapturous highway crawl that Jones chose to speak.
“You really fucking that man’s wife?”
“Yeah, but it was before Agnes if that’s what you’re driving at.”
“Good looking woman?”
“Yeah, revenge sex, and I was the lucky recipient. Sometimes it pays to be a nobody.”
“Damn!”
Yeah, they all say damn!
Agnes was more than a little surprised to see me stride through the front door of JD Financial. I sat in the chair by the window.
“I’m gonna need a key and what are we doing for dinner?”
38
We decided to celebrate at the bar. While not getting into specifics, we admitted to both Johnny and Rey that things between us were good and we were happy together. They both seemed genuinely pleased. We had steak sandwiches, some wine, and danced the night away. The only odd moment came when I pulled Johnny aside to tell him we’d found Desiree. His face darkened for a second before he thanked me for taking care of it. He didn’t ask where she was. It was as if he didn’t care, but before I could ask, Agnes grabbed me and we were back to dancing.
The next morning followed our usual pattern. I rose first while Agnes hid under the sheets. I took stock of the house. If I was going to be spending more time here, I’d have to find places for my stuff. On the plus side, Agnes wasn’t a slob, but wasn’t organized either. To my surprise, there was quite a bit of storage in the house. As I wandered around I found the house filled with this and that. In truth, it just needed to be culled and organized. That would be the price of having me live here.
I rousted her out of bed once I had breakfast cooking. She tried to get me back into bed. It was tempting.
Mockingly, I asked her if she ever got enough.
“That’s a joke, right?” She mocked back.
“Come on, beautiful, we got work to do.”
“Work?” She seemed surprised.
“You heard me. It can’t be all loving and dancing. If I’m going to live here, we need to make some room. So get your cute butt out of bed.”
The following hour was a romp through closets, cupboards, shelves; anyplace where knick-knacks and the dross of a lifetime accumulate. She grumbled about having to get to work. I told her that was wonderful, but she wasn’t getting out of it. Our plans for the weekend were set. She grumbled some more before leaving. I shook my head and went back in the house. It felt odd to be here without Agnes. I did what I could to ignore the feeling and carved out a small space in the bedroom closet. I made a list of things I would need and congratulated myself for not freaking out and running for the hills. I attached her key to mine and locked the door. I had a few stops to make before meeting Joanie for lunch.
The first stop was Bernie’s. Bernie wasn’t there, but Javier called him and retrieved the tablet from his office. I wondered if Javier had any advice. The next stop was the store for toiletries and the like. For a while I’d need two of everything, just in case. Finally, I was back at the bungalow. I kept an eye out for the unfamiliar. I knocked on Joanie’s door. I was early. She opened the door groggy-eyed and admonished me for waking her up early.
“We’re burning daylight,” I told her. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
She said something nasty under her breath and closed the door. I had to smile. Every woman I’ve ever known did not like to get up early, except my mother and Meredith. Astral had to be conditioned by the other women when we first got to Virginia. Joanie wouldn’t have it. We’d see about Agnes. I unlocked the door and took the gun out of my pocket.
You never know.
I was alone. I moved through the rooms, resetting the items my recent visitors had fondled. Once I had everything in its place, I checked the fridge for any funky smells and took out a bottle of water. I returned to the living room and my modest chair. I put the water on the table next to the chair and pulled the 45 out of my pocket. I knew I wasn’t finished with Martin and Desiree. There was more, I just didn’t know when or where. I removed the magazine and counted the rounds. Next, I disassembled the piece and inspected it. Having it with me made me feel better. It didn’t matter that I’d never fired it in anger. It didn’t matter that if I did I would most likely shoot myself. For the moment, it was a nice heavy pacifier. I cleaned it, put it back together, and set it on the table. Joanie came in just as I set it down.
“What’s that for?”
“It makes me feel like a real man.”
She laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me. However for my own peace of mind would you please put it away?”
“Sure,” I tucked it into my pocket, “Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah, do we walk or drive?”
“We need the exercise.” I got up and gestured towards the door. “Shall we?”
“What the hell.”
It was a pleasant enough walk. I commented on the shops while Joanie continued her questions about the gun in my pocket. Why? Why now? Aren’t you worried you might hurt yourself? Please don’t shot me, ha, ha. In order to change the subject, I brought up Mikal and her problems. She could talk about that for a while. Not much new though which, of course, turned the tables on me.
“So?”
“So what?” I preferred to play dumb.
“Oh, for Chrissakes, Monk, it’s like pulling teeth.”
We had reached the diner. The same happy woman from before seated us. I ordered a club and Joanie a hoagie. I decided to confess.
“I’m sorta moving in with Agnes. Sadly, that means you’ll have to do without my exquisite company, but if, as you say, you and Mikal are on the same road, it’s all for the best.”
“The best. Are you happy about this? Think about it; we’ve been such loners for so long, it seems a little scary.” Yeah.
“I ‘spose. If I’m honest, I really don’t mind. Agnes doesn’t grate on my nerves. She’s fun, the sex is good, and she’s a fuckup like me. I don’t care for the word happy; kids are happy, but I enjoy being with her. And living with her is fun, oddly enough. In some ways, it weirds me out because we haven’t known each other very long, maybe a month, but nothing comes up to make me think I’m making a serious mistake. As Mr. Jones said to me, it doesn’t have to take a long time. I’ll hold on to the bungalow just in case, but a part of me hopes it works out. I’m tired of being by myself.”
Joanie smiled, but as before it struck me as wistful. I was always around if she needed me. Now, I was bailing. That guy Mikal had better not fuck this up.
“It’s nice to hear you’ve found someone you like. When I met Agnes and her daughter, she seemed a little out of sorts.”
“She was. It was an interesting day to say the least. Agnes and Anna have struggled lately and the fence mending was so-so. That and she gets a bit insecure around my previous conquests.” I knew that would get a rise out of her.
Joanie frowned. “I refuse to be known as one of your conquests or a torrid affair.”
“Jeez, what a killjoy…”
“You got that right!” I was going to miss this.
The food arrived and we ate in relative silence. The diner was half full, the conversations ebbing and flowing. Joanie talked a little more about Mikal. She also worried about whether something was up with the bungalows. She
didn’t want to contemplate moving before she was ready. I told her not to worry about that. You’re already out the door, she countered. I laughed. We have a spare room at Agnes’s house. She could stay with us. She threw a piece of lettuce at me. I retaliated with a fry. I asked about the old folks, I needed Joanie to keep me informed; never mind that I was leaving. We shared a piece of apple pie, I paid the bill and we walked back home.
“You know, there won’t be much of this anymore.”
She had to bring that up.
“True, but that’s what happens when you chose not to marry me.”
“It’s always on me isn’t it, Buttman?”
“It is, it really is.” We both laughed. I was going to miss Joanie.
She invited me into her place, and we shared a glass of iced tea. I asked her to sing a little something. I closed my eyes as she sang Embraceable You, the old Nat King Cole standard. I could hear a buzzing in my head, on and off. It was messing up the song.
It was the phone.
If only I had turned off that fucking phone or ignored it, but no, I had to answer. Maybe I could have avoided it all. Maybe, but the little voice in my head said no.
I could barely hear her.
“Mr. Buttman?” It was Dahlia, something was wrong.
“Yes?”
“Desiree wants to talk to you. Could you come out?”
“Why, so your goons can work me over again?”
“No, no, I promise, nothing will happen. Please, Mr. Buttman. It’s important.” I sat there. “Please.”
I should say no. I should! But I knew I had to go.
“Alright, I’ll be there.”
Joanie was watching me, noting the change in my expression. All the joy was gone. I called Jones. I would need him. He didn’t want to go either, but I whined and cried and cajoled him into it. I’d be by to pick him up. I said goodbye to Joanie, thanking her for the beautiful song. I was hoping I’d get to see her again, Agnes too. The ride was too easy, too quick. Where was all the traffic when I needed it? Jones was waiting outside his house, armed. We both were. There was nothing to say. Before long we were back in South Laguna on the quiet street in front of Todd Boyer’s beach house. A car was in the driveway. Dahlia was nowhere to be found. We got out and approached the car. We pulled out our guns. I felt completely out of place.
Artie and Gordy were dead, just like Wilmer and Brent up in San Fran, shot through the head. Neither saw it coming, just like Wilmer and Brent. Two pairs with a thing for a tattooed woman they’d found on the Internet. Jones looked at me. He wasn’t happy. Neither was I. Scared shitless described it better. I gestured towards the front door.
“Let’s check out the house. We’ll call the cops after that. ”
“I don’t like this, Buttman!” Like I did. Jones reached in his pocket and took out two pairs of black latex gloves, “Put these on.”
“Where’d you get these?”
“Part of the job, just do it!” he ordered.
I did as I was told.
Only three days ago, I was up north with a little girl, helping her in the herb garden. It was a million miles from here. Now I was standing at the door of a house with two guys dead outside and possibly more inside. All I could hear was the ocean off to my right. The front door was partially open. I looked in, nothing. I slowly opened it the rest of the way. The house was an old beach bungalow, biding its time before swallowing us whole.
We looked around.
The living room and kitchen were empty. The bedrooms were down a short hallway. We looked in the first bedroom. The blood was splattered against the wall on the other side of the room. Lunch wanted to come up. It started barking when we came upon the dinks in the car. It was howling now. I put my left sleeve in my mouth. Jones had no color in his face either.
Desiree and the man next to her on the floor were dead. The blood, congealed and darkening, was at the height you’d expect if they’d been standing when they were killed. At first, I thought the man was Martin. He and Jeremy had similar builds, but the dead man was not Martin. Jeremy had a small hole in his forehead atop the anguished expression on his face. I wondered how many shooters had been here, certainly more than one.
Desiree was on her back. She, too, had a small hole in her forehead. Her blouse had been cut open and her breast was exposed. That climbing tattoo was there for all the world to see. There didn’t appear to be any signs of sexual violence; the rest of her clothes were undisturbed. Evidently, the killers wanted to make sure she was the one. How many other women could possibly have that tattoo? I looked at Jones. He bent down to look a little closer. He just shook his head. We checked the other rooms expecting to find Dahlia, but the house was empty. There was no reason to stay. The only question was whether to call the cops. Neither of us had any appetite for spending the rest of the day answering questions along with a possible trip to the police station.
“There’s a phone in town. We’ll call from there,” I said.
“Yeah, let’s get the hell out of here.”
We tiptoed out of the house and headed back to the car, straining our necks this way and that to see if anyone had seen us. I said a small prayer and assumed Jones had as well. Once in the car, we drove away as normally as we could. It was hard to breathe. For once, being on the highway sounded really fucking good to me.
Jones shouted.
Dahlia had jumped out of the bushes and was wildly waving her arms. I nearly hit her. Jones had to brace himself against the dashboard as I slammed on the brakes. Bizarrely, I congratulated myself on having Bernie replace the old drums with disc brakes. Dahlia came running towards us. She was in terrible shape. Tears, snot, and based on how she smelled, shit were all over her.
“Please get me out of here. Please.”
She could barely stand up. It was bringing up a lot of bad memories.
“You set us up. You knew she was dead, Desiree, and the rest,” I shouted.
“I didn’t know, I didn’t know, I was outside, I heard something and saw them shooting … I just ran. I’m so scared. Please, please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please get me out of here.”
“This is your mess, honey-bunch. They’re probably looking for you right fucking now. I don’t want to be killed like those in the house…” She was hanging on the door, having lost her strength. “Or the two in San Francisco.”
She was sobbing, shaking on the side of the car; crying please, please over and over again. Fuck, why me? I opened the door and let her crawl in the back. She did stink. I considered opening the top, but thought better of it.
“I expect some fucking answers!” I couldn’t stop shouting.
She made some kind of noise between sobs. Jones was not happy.
“You’re gonna get us killed over this stupid bitch, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, roll down your window.” I knew.
With nothing further to say, we taxied down the road with the wind in our hair and the sobs of the hysterical woman in our ears.
39
The convenience store was at the end of the street. Gas pumps outside, a phone booth just off the entrance, and restrooms in the back. I went in and gave the kid behind the counter twenty bucks for gas and got the restroom key. I told Dahlia she had five minutes to get cleaned up, otherwise she could walk home. I checked to make sure the phone worked and called 911. I gave them the address and told them to get the cops over there now. There were four dead. I hung up before they could ask me anything more. I gassed up the car. Jones had gotten out and was leaning against the right front fender.
“What now?”
“We find a place to talk.”
“Talk?” Mr. Jones did not want to talk.
There was a park nearby. Dahlia finally came out of the restroom. She still looked terrible, but was now a better class of terrible. She returned the key and got in the car. We drove over to the park. I found a place to park. Dahlia looked around.
“Why are we here?” She started shouting, “Are you going to kill me? Why are we here?”
“Oh, for the love of God,” I snapped, “we’re gonna talk. If we were going to kill you we’d have just shot you by the side of the fucking road. Get out of the car.”
“I’m afraid,” she continued whining.
“We all are. Get out of the fucking car.”
A short distance away was a picnic bench. Close enough to watch for unsavory characters, but far enough from the others to speak in private. Dahlia was shaking and Jones and I wanted to be doing anything other than this.
“Alright, time to talk. No bullshit, no attitude, just talk. What the fuck were you guys up to? Was Desiree even alive when you called?”
“Yes.” She looked at the two of us. “She was! She said you could help her.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, something.”
“Then tell me what you do know. How did it start?”
It took her a few minutes to get going. She tried making eye contact, looking for sympathy, but Jones and I had none.
“Desiree owed me money, about ten grand. She kept putting me off, to the point where I didn’t want to have anything to do with her anymore. Then about a month or so ago, she said she’d have the money, but she needed my help. I told her to fuck off. She’d done that before. She said this time was different. She made me a proposition: two thousand now, a hundred grand later. A hundred thousand dollars! I let it get into my head. I met her and she had the two grand. I was supposed to help her deal with Boyer. She said he was getting in the way with her and Martin. She was tired of fucking him. Then it all blew up when she killed him. So we had to deal with you. She said you had something she wanted, and wanted me to help frighten you so you’d give it to her.”
Where Fools Dare to Tread Page 31