by Paul Bishop
“Why?” Fey insisted.
“Fratelli,” Ash said. “It’s Italian for brothers.”
Chapter 58
Kenny had a stack of newspapers spread out in front of him and he was pissed. How in the hell could they let have let JoJo out of jail? JoJo was a murderer, a perverter of boys. How could they let him out?
The battery powered, portable radio to which he’d been listening had just spilled the news. JoJo had been released on bail. Kenny knew, however, that was only the tip of the iceberg. If JoJo’s fancy lawyer could get him released on bail, then he could get JoJo off.
Kenny shuffled the papers around until he came to the transcript of the tape that Devon Wyatt had released to the media. He been keeping up with the news about JoJo every day. It both excited and fascinated him. He’d scanned the article about the transcript earlier, but now the radio said that the tape was what had led to JoJo being given bail.
Kenny didn’t understand how JoJo’s lawyer got the tape, or even why anyone was paying attention to it. So, some bleeding heart, female police detective believed JoJo was innocent and told her shrink about it. So what? So, it made a bunch of people rally round and shout slogans. Again, so what? What the hell was this world coming to when fancy lawyers could make the police department rolled over and played dead?
Kenny just didn’t understand.
The radio said that the detectives were also pursuing other leads. Did that mean they knew about him?
With one arm, he swept the papers off of the cracked counter and onto the floor. He reached over and picked up his basketball and began bouncing it. He was pissed. This wasn’t in the plan. The cops were supposed to be stupid. Everyone was supposed to play by the rules, and the rules said cops were stupid.
The windows of the abandoned restaurant had long been boarded up, but Kenny had removed enough of the plywood to give him the illumination he needed. The Sea Otter had once been a successful ocean front restaurant. Thick wooden pylons, buried into the sea floor, supported the half of the restaurant that jutted out over the gray waters of the Pacific.
Located on a wide turn of Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu, the Sea Otter had been one of California’s preeminent feeding troughs, with top starring in every epicurean guide. It had been a Mecca not only for lovers who wanted the romance of the ocean, but also for the gourmet who wanted the romance of exquisite food.
Huge picture windows had provided Sea Otter diners with a magnificent view of the Pacific Ocean and the rolling sets of waves that provided sustenance for surfers and boogie boarders. The food had been superb, the service excellent, the prices high, the atmosphere wonderful, and the reservations book filled a month in advance.
The parking lot in front of the restaurant was surprisingly generous, due to the fact that half of the restaurant jutted out into thin air. Now it was deserted and crumbling, the asphalt neglected and scarred.
Over the years the Sea Otter had survived many natural disasters. There had been raging storms that sent sets of twenty-foot waves crashing against the huge view windows. Twice, Malibu area brush fires had burnt down to the edge of the Sea Otter parking lot, licking hungrily for the structure but never feasting. Landslides and mudslides from the cliffs on the opposite side of Pacific Coast Highway had failed to do more that disturb business for a few hours at most. Through it all, the Sea Otter had stood as an impervious, almost cocky testament to the endurance of man-made structures.
Mother Nature, however, is a relentless mistress and when the 8.4 Northridge earthquake struck in January of 1994, the Sea Otter took a hit from which it couldn’t recover. The pylons that were sunk into the sea bed crumpled, leaving the restaurant above them to twist and buckle. The restaurant had not been open at the time, and the owners gave blessings for small mercies, but the heart of the Sea Otter had been torn out and crushed.
The owners had wanted to rebuild. They were willing to do whatever it took to give new life to what had become a historical Malibu landmark. The bureaucrats, though, were not as enthusiastic. Try as they, might the owners could not get approval for rebuilding a restaurant that hung into space on a coastline where any second the next Big One could hit.
The battle waged on. Meanwhile, the Sea Otter hung twisted, buckled, abandoned, and condemned – kept off limits by a chain link fence surrounding the property on three sides and the sea on the other. The once warm and thriving restaurant was now nothing more than an empty, rotting carcass in an above ground grave.
At least the owners believed the Sea Otter was empty, condemned, and abandoned. For a short time, Kenny Kingston had been a cook at the Sea Otter. He hadn’t lasted long, as his culinary talents tended more toward flipping hamburgers than preparing trout almandine. There was also the problem of Kenny getting to work on time, if he came in at all. If he’d had a good day hustling the basketball courts, he saw no reason to hustle his buns all night over a hot stove under the direction of an ill-tempered chef.
However, before Kenny was given his walking papers, he’d made sure he had pilfered the keys to both the restaurant and the alarm system. If times got tough, Kenny knew he could always find an after-hour’s meal and shelter at the Sea Otter.
When the Sea Otter had been condemned, Kenny claimed it as his own personal castle. It had been a long time since he’d had a permanent place to call home – something more permanent than his van anyway – and the Sea Otter was perfect for somebody with Kenny’s dubious habits.
Dribbling the basketball, Kenny moved from the kitchen into what had once been the main dining area. Everything inside of the restaurant, booths, tables, fixtures, lighting, and anything else that was salable, had been removed and auctioned. Even the carpeting had been rolled up and sold, leaving the hard-concrete floor naked. This suited Kenny just fine. Dribbling faster and faster, he turned one way and then another as if moving through imaginary opponents. With a final, fluid movement he jumped, twisted in the air, brought his arms up over his head, and flicked the ball toward a backboard and hoop he’d jerry-rigged to one wall. The ball swished through the hoop and the nylon net below.
“Two!” Kenny yelled. That was another thing Kenny liked about the Sea Otter – there were no other businesses or houses close enough to overhear any noises he, or one of his guests, might make.
Kenny let the ball trickle away until it came to rest against a wall. At 6’5”, his elongated frame was heavily muscled. He wore a sweatshirt with cut-off sleeves over baggy shorts, thick white socks, and high-top Nike’s. He dropped down and cranked out a hundred push-ups, and then flipped over to grind out five hundred crunches of various types. Not needing fancy exercise machines, Kenny used what was left behind in the restaurant to facilitate his work out.
He had removed the plywood from one of the picture windows through which hundreds of diners had once gazed out over the gray Pacific. The floor here was buckled and unstable – at several points there were actually holes that dropped through to the ocean below – but Kenny had learned where to step and where not to step. In front of the window, he moved through a series of stretching exercises. He could feel a need growing within him, but fought to deny it.
He was worried. The woman detective who had been taped said she thought that JoJo was innocent. Kenny had once believed that he was smarter than the cops. He thought he’d covered all the bases. He thought that he’d put JoJo in the frame beyond any question. Kenny hadn’t thought that evidence could be looked at as – what was the term the woman detective had used? Too convenient.
Kenny went back to the kitchen and picked up the papers again. He read through the transcript of Fey’s session with Dr. Winter. Maybe she’s as crazy as me Kenny thought, having to go to a psychiatrist. Kenny knew all about psychiatrists. He’d been to see enough of them. Apparently, hanging cats and dogs from neighborhood trees was not an acceptable childhood pastime. But what the shrinks didn’t realize was that the hanging of cats and dogs was a case of monkey see, monkey do. They didn’t believe Kenny when he
tried to tell them, said he was making it all up.
Nobody would believe that Kenny’s dad would do the things Kenny said he was doing. Kenny’s dad had been something special. Real special. He was a local hero. The basketball coach. Kenny and his brother Jim had been special also. They were the coach’s kids and there was nobody better on the basketball court. How could a man who loved children so much, be capable of doing the things Kenny said he was doing? It wasn’t possible.
Anyway Jim wasn’t saying his dad did these things. Only Kenny – and it was clear there was a lot of sibling rivalry going on between those two. Kenny was a little shorter, a little slower than Jim. He was also a year older than Jim, so it wasn’t a matter of catching up. Everyone could understand how that might make Kenny a little disgruntled. But to say the things he did – well, that was going too far. The kid needed help.
People knew that Kenny’s dad loved him. Loved his brother Jim as well. Loved JoJo, the little nigger he brought home to live with them. Also, Kenny’s dad sure was admired for taking in JoJo and teaching him how to play b-ball. Kenny’s dad sure loved kids. Knew what was good for them too – hard work and discipline.
Kenny’s dad had loved him alright. Loved him nearly to death when he found out that Kenny had told the shrinks about their special training sessions – the ones that would make Kenny a better basketball player.
The special training had begun when Kenny’s dad had been coaching their YMCA team. Kenny and Jim had been the stars even then at eight years old. But in the championship game, Kenny had missed two critical free throws that had given the game away.
In the vernacular, Kenny had choked. His heart had filled his throat in response to the pressure and he’d been unable to do what needed to be done to win.
Jim had never choked.
Kenny’s dad worried about Kenny choking. He couldn’t have his kid blowing games because he choked under pressure. Something had to be done to teach the little turd – excuse me – kid not to choke.
The special training had started later that night when Kenny was getting out of the shower. Jim was out in the front yard, still practicing – had to do those hundred free throws for dad.
Dad had grabbed Kenny and demanded to know why he wasn’t out practicing with his brother. Kenny had started to cry. He could smell the beer on his father’s breath, knew something bad was going to happen. Kenny’s mom had been at church that night. It seemed as if she was always at church.
Kenny was naked and his dad laughed at him. The big man spun him around held him tight. He told Kenny he was going to teach him how not to choke, how he better never choke again.
Dad mounted Kenny like a dog, hurt him, made him scream. And to cut out the screams, Dad had put his hands around Kenny’s throat. Dad said that if Kenny was going to choke, then he was going to give him something to choke about.
The special training had been practiced again many times. Kenny’s dad had to make sure Kenny never choked in a game again. It was about conquering fear and pain so you didn’t choke. You always had to make the other guy choke.
Kenny hated the training, but it was the one way he knew he was more special than his brother. If he could conquer the fear and the pain, if he didn’t choke, then he made his dad proud – and that was all that Kenny had ever wanted.
So Kenny had suffered the special training almost without complaint. That was until daddy had brought home JoJo. Then everything had changed. Kenny’s mom had left them because dad’s obsession with basketball had become too much for her to deal with, but nobody seemed to miss her, least of all Kenny’s dad. And wasn’t it wonderful how Kenny’s dad soldiered on as a single parent? How could that woman leave such a fine man?
Even the special training had changed. It got worse and worse once mom wasn’t around and Kenny’s dad didn’t have to worry so much about being caught. Kenny was forced to dig holes in the backyard and lie there while his dad covered him up with earth. He had to lie, buried, trying not to suffocate and choke, holding still while his dad played with himself. He couldn’t choke – had to lie there until dad was finished and told him he could claw his way out.
Even today, he could still taste the grave in his mouth.
Kenny could have put up with it though, could have lived through it if it hadn’t been for JoJo. JoJo didn’t have to do the things that Kenny had to do in order to be a better basketball player. Kenny’s dad had promised Kenny if he did the things he was told to do, he’d be a better player, the best player, but it wasn’t true. He could never beat JoJo. And JoJo got all the praise, while Kenny got all the fear and pain.
JoJo had stolen his father, had stolen his childhood, and had stolen the fame and glory that would have been Kenny’s if his father had only had the time to spend with him instead of JoJo. His father had time to coach JoJo. All he had time to do with Kenny was the special training, the scary things, the painful things.
Kenny felt the anger rising inside of him. Like JoJo, Jim had never had to do the special training. Jim had just played basketball. He’d also been better than Kenny. Dad had said that was why Jim didn’t have to do the special training. Jim didn’t choke when the pressure was on.
Dad had been wrong.
Jim may have been a better basketball player than Kenny, but he wasn’t stronger and he wasn’t smarter. Kenny learned a lot about choking from the special training sessions.
He’d also learned a lot from roping and choking the animals in the neighborhood. That was until he’d got caught. He’d been sent to see a psychiatrist. Eventually, he told the shrink about the special training sessions, but nobody believed him.
And when dad found out he’d told – whoo whee! Dad told him he’d choked again, big time. You didn’t tell people about the special training. That was secret. Now he’d have to teach Kenny about choking all over again.
So Kenny learned some more about choking. He also learned about being sly. Jim and JoJo didn’t know these things. As he got older and became sexually aware on his own terms, Kenny began to see that it was up to him to teach them. He figured he’d start out with Jim. Practice, after all, made perfect.
He and Jim had been playing hoops in the dark one night down at the high school. They were alone in the gym. They could get in using Dad’s keys. Moonlight filtered in through the high windows, giving them just enough light to play by. They could have turned on the lights, but that wouldn’t have been as much fun.
It was Jim’s senior year, the year after Jim and Kenny and JoJo had led Mission Bay High to the state championship. It was almost time for graduation, and Jim was getting ready to go to University on a basketball scholarship. A full ride. Kenny had to admit, he was jealous.
Kenny had graduated a year earlier, but there had been no full scholarship offer. He wasn’t as good at the game as his brother or JoJo. He was good, better than many others, but only good enough to rate a place leading the local Jr. College.
The special training session had stopped several years earlier. Kenny was both relieved and upset. With JoJo around, the special training session were the only real connection with his father he had left.
Kenny wasn’t sure why the sessions had stopped. He figured it was something he’d done. And then one night he looked in his father’s bedroom window and saw JoJo naked on the bed with his dad. And what they were doing were things that his dad had never done with him.
Kenny was angry then, more angry than he’d ever been. He began to watch his father, spy on him, and he discovered other dirty little secrets. Dad choked also, only he did it to himself with a big, black leather mask over his head while tied to a door handle.
Kenny guessed his father didn’t need him anymore. Kenny guessed he’d been cured of choking.
That night at the gym, Kenny and Jim were playing one-on-one, using the darkness to hone their instincts. You had to know where your opponent was and where the basket was at all times.
Jim never comprehended what was happening when Kenny threw a rope ar
ound his neck and strung him up over the backboard. Kenny hadn’t done anything like this since he’d strung up cats and dogs as a kid, and it excited him in incredible ways.
Kenny had danced around in joy watching Jim kick and scrabble, fighting against the rope that choked him. Kenny figured he now knew all about choking. He even kind of like it. It burned him in its power to arouse – especially when it was somebody else doing the choking. Watching his brother Jim undergoing special training for the first time, Kenny got so excited he spent himself all over the floor.
After Jim had done the ultimate choke, as Kenny like to think of it, Kenny had carried the body out to his blue van. Calmly, he drove away from the school and out to the local cemetery.
He’d been there earlier in the day. He’d been planning ahead. And things were as he needed them. Two new graves had been dug, six foot deep holes waiting for caskets to be lowered into them the following day.
That night it didn’t take Kenny long to dig the grave a little deeper, lay Jim down, and cover him up with earth. Jim’s arm had popped out, and for a second Kenny thought his brother was trying to claw his way out. Once he’d recovered his wits, he quickly reburied the arm.
Kenny knew that the following day a coffin would be dropped on top of his brother along with another six feet of earth. Let’s see him claw his way out of that, Kenny thought.
Moving quickly and surely, he dug down in the next grave and buried a suitcase full of Jim’s clothing and personal items. A new coffin on top would keep that lot well-hidden also.
Kenny didn’t give much thought to what he had done. It had been fun. It had been revenge.
The cops looked for Jim, of course. Kenny, dad, and JoJo were really worried. But Jim had just turned eighteen. He was an adult. He could do whatever he wanted. If he wanted to take off without telling anybody, that was his right. If he had choked and wanted to run away from the pressure of big time college basketball, it was up to him.