Falafel Jones - Max Fried 01 - Life's a Beach Then You Die

by Falafel Jones

  I lifted my shirt chest high and then the pain prevented me from lift my arms any higher. The doctor helped me with it and started fingering and probing my cuts and bruises. When he got to my left shoulder, he asked, “This gunshot wound. About hmm… one year old?”

  “Nine months.”

  “It seems to be healing well. You can put your shirt on, now.” He helped me get it back on and then used his flashlight to examine my eyes. “OK. Can you stand now?”

  He helped me stand up and then said, “Now, close your eyes and touch your finger to the tip of your nose.”

  I did so.

  “Yes. I see no signs of serious damage. I’d like you to rest here a little while, see if you have any new symptoms. Then you can go home, but for the next 24 hours, I don’t want you to sleep more than two hours at a time. You may have a concussion. We want to be careful.”

  He smiled, patted my right shoulder and left. I lay down, closed my eyes and slept.

  “Fried.”

  My rest was too brief. “Detective Torres. What are you doing here?”

  “Heard it on the radio and recognized the address. Neighbor says he found you on the driveway. What happened?”

  “Someone came running out of my side yard. Knocked me down.”

  “Know who?”

  “Never saw him before, but he looked familiar. Maybe like some actor or someone I might have seen in a TV commercial. He was wearing a hard-hat and wraparound sunglasses.”

  “Sounds like one of the Village People. Maybe you saw him at the Y.” He smiled. I didn’t join him. “Too bad you didn’t have a hard-hat too. This connected to the Kenwood case? To your break-in? To anything?”

  As he talked, I heard the rapid clicking of high heels on tile. “I don’t know.” I said.

  Torres turned to his left. I couldn’t see who was approaching from behind the curtain, but I had a good guess.

  Torres looked at Mariel’s disapproving expression then said, “OK. Call me if there’s a crime,” and quickly left. I guess he’s not as tough as I thought.

  Mariel came over to the bed and took my hand. “Max, what happened?”

  “I got knocked down. How did you know I was here?”

  “Karl called my cell right after he called the ambulance.”

  “Karl found me?”

  She nodded. “I spoke to the doctor. You can go home but you have to take it easy. You also need to wake up every two hours. You’ll come with me to my sister’s.”

  “No, I’ll go home.”

  “No, it’s not safe there.”

  “If someone is after me, it’s not safe anywhere. Besides, if someone wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be here now. I mean I’d be here now, but in the basement, not in the ER.”

  “You can’t go home alone. Someone has to be there in case you can’t wake up. I’m not going home. I don’t feel safe there.” She let go of my hand and stepped back. “Why won’t you come with me?”

  I said nothing.

  She stared at me for a few moments. In the past, she said she could tell how I felt or what was on my mind just by looking at me. Good or bad, history has supported her claim.

  “I know why you won’t come. You’re in danger. You don’t want anyone to follow you to my sister’s. You’re worried about me.”

  Silence wasn’t helping my cause, but I didn’t think speaking at this point would help me either.

  “Max, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. We’re supposed to be having fun. You never should have taken this job.”

  There it was. I was waiting for that. I didn’t remind her that it was a joint decision. It would have been pointless. Instead, I offered a compromise.

  “You can phone me every two hours. If I don’t answer, you can call 911. That way, you can stay at your sister’s. I can stay home and no one will follow me where they can hurt somebody else.”

  Mariel nodded her agreement, leaned over the bed and hugged me. I hugged her back. It felt good to hold her again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  We checked out of the hospital. A nurse wheeled me to Mariel’s car, gave me my iPod, a printed sheet of care instructions and a dose of Tylenol for the road. With one arm around Mariel, I climbed into her passenger seat. It was worth the pain and losing consciousness just to be able to hold her again but I discovered new pains when I bent and twisted to get in. Mariel drove me home in silence. I think there were things she wanted to say but she said nothing.

  On the way, I thought about the man who knocked me down. From the way he hit me, he must have come from my side yard. He wore a white hard hat, work boots and some type of line worker uniform with a tool belt. The hat and large wraparound sunglasses covered most of his face. I couldn’t see enough of it or see it long enough to identify him. He didn’t hurt me after knocking me down, so I surmised he only hit me so he could get away and I wouldn’t have time to recognize him.

  I’d only been living here a few months and this was my first case. I only knew a handful of people, yet since Ray’s murder, someone robbed me and now someone sent me to the hospital. There had to be some connection, but it didn’t make sense. If Ray’s killer attacked me, why did he let me live? Then I remembered the break-in. Someone searched my home even though the stolen items were in plain sight. The burglar must have wanted something he didn’t get. Something he thought I had. Something that’s kept me alive. I had to find it before he did.

  It took me a while to get out of the car. Mariel stayed inside so I walked around to the driver’s side to say goodbye. Through the open window, she gave me a perfunctory kiss as if to indicate that she still loved me but wasn’t happy with me right now. I thanked her, turned and slowly walked inside the house.

  This time, there were no signs of entry or attempted entry. In the kitchen, I bent to take a bottle of water from the pantry and my back started to stiffen. My left elbow began to feel sore, the old gunshot wound in my left shoulder throbbed and I wondered if there was any other damage. When I got into the bedroom, I looked in the mirror to find out. A pattern of scratches decorated my left side where I fell and the face of an achy old man with a bald spot in his short, silver and black hair stared back. That seemed to be the extent of it.

  When I took a closer look, all I saw was a lined face with my grandfather’s high forehead and his crooked tooth. He didn’t give me the lines. They came from experience. Maybe that’s why my mouth turned down at the sides. I don’t know why Mariel thinks I’m good looking. I’m just glad she does.

  I lied down on my bed and took inventory. Nothing felt broken. I had scratches, bruises, and a bump on my head but I wasn’t bleeding and the headache was starting to become dull. I wasn’t dizzy. Well, I wasn’t dizzy as long as I didn’t make any sudden movements. I guess I was lucky, I didn’t hit my head too hard on the concrete driveway or lose consciousness for too long. I was just sore and I probably would be for a while. After resting a bit, I got up and left the bedroom.

  I put the paper Karl gave me with the plate number down on the nightstand and headed for the shower. The hot water felt good and soothed my sore spots, but I was starting to get annoyed. It was getting to the point where something happened every time I left the house to run.

  I toweled dry, put on clean swim trunks, and went out the back sliding door. I knew I was going to run the plate number Karl gave me, but after that, I had no idea what to do next. Maybe a little aimless floating in the pool would help my mind. If nothing else, the warm water should ease my body. I swam a few laps to work out the muscle kinks from the fall. Then I dripped dry on one of the patio chaises. I rested from my ordeal and thought about what just happened.

  The man who knocked me down came to my house for a reason. His attire indicated he wanted people to think he belonged where he was. A hardhat, boots and tool belt are things you might wear if you worked in construction or as a lineman of some type. My assailant didn’t have a ladder, but some utility poles have rungs and trees can be climbed. I looked around my yard.
Not a single utility pole, but I had plenty of trees.

  When I looked up into one of them, I saw something shiny. It reflected the fading sunlight, but I couldn’t tell what it was. Whatever it was, I was sure it didn’t grow there. I dried off a bit, went into the house, and got my binoculars. You can’t live near the beach and not have binoculars. Between the boats, the birds and the porpoises, there’s just too much to see.

  The bright spot on the tree was a glass lens inside of a small black tube about three inches long. I recognized it immediately. It was a weatherproof bullet camera. I had seen one like it at the Spy Shack. Someone was interested enough in my activities to spend a couple of hundred bucks, but the location of the camera violated privacy restrictions. Without a warrant authorizing the camera, I doubted the video would be admissible in court. I started to wonder who would want to watch my house and why.

  They positioned their camera so it had a view of the front yard. What were they hoping to see? The police had no reason to watch me. Did they? Who would install a camera without caring if they could use the video in court? The only purpose this camera could serve was recording who came to the house and who left the house. I began to think Mariel’s concerns might be well grounded and I had better do something. This latest incident renewed my motivation. I started to develop a plan. First, I’d check for listening devices and then try to find who was watching me.

  I ran around the house turning off any thing that could transmit a radio signal that might confuse my bug sweeper. This included the cable box, my computer, my wireless network router, and my cordless telephone. I put a Bruce Springsteen CD in the stereo and turned it up enough that I could hear the lyrics throughout the house. If I could hear the music, it would be loud enough to activate any voice activated listening devices.

  Starting in the foyer, I swept from the kitchen to the great room, covering the dining and living room areas. No signals. I moved to the hall and then to each of the three bedrooms. Still no signals. I even ran the bug detector in the bathrooms and on the pool deck. Except for the proximity of the tree, there were no other signals anywhere. All the camera could do is watch who came and who left my house. I began to realize that watching me was all they wanted.

  It seemed each of the bugs we encountered were very specific in their purpose. They must have planted Ed’s to learn what he knew. They must have planted mine to learn when my house is empty. All I could surmise was someone expected Ed to learn something he might eventually bring to me. Perhaps they’d also want to know when they could come and get it. Maybe that’s why I was still alive. Now, if I could get a handle on whom they were and what they wanted. I didn’t know what they expected to see, but I did have a license plate number that might tell who was watching.

  One nice thing about having a private investigator license is the legitimate access you get to things most people can’t legally acquire. For instance, The Driver Privacy Protection Act protects against most people obtaining your name and address from your license plate. However, the act states there are exceptions. For example, “For use by any licensed private investigative agency or licensed security service for any purpose permitted under this paragraph.”

  Luckily, one of the purposes listed under this paragraph is “Investigation in anticipation of litigation by an attorney licensed to practice law in this state or the agent of the attorney;” I anticipated I would sue this guy for something eventually, so I figured I was on safe enough ground. Since I didn’t have time to wait days for a response to a DMV form, I sprang for $25 and used one of the online services, which promised same day service.

  As I was finishing the online transaction, my phone rang. I picked it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Max Fine?”

  Close enough. “Yes.”

  “This is Amanda Finch, Ms. Eastwood’s Personal Assistant. Ms. Eastwood will be available to meet with you tomorrow at the EFH office at 2:00 pm.”

  “That’s great. Thank you very much.”

  “Do you need directions?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Very well, sir. We will see you then.” She hung up.

  Hmm, I guess old Ed must still have it, whatever it was he had. I sat there planning my discussion with Corky in my head when I noticed that while I was on the phone an email arrived. It was a DMV report and contained the registrant’s name and address, the vehicle VIN, and type. The owner of the Taurus was A. V. Designs, the company that employed Ray.

  I couldn’t imagine a big outfit like A. V. Designs watching me with any criminal intent, at least not when they were so easy to trace. Considering the use of a company car, the surveillance Karl detected seemed more like corporate security at work than criminal enterprise, so I decided to approach this head on. I called A. V. Designs to make an appointment. If I had to get dressed for Corky tomorrow, I might as well go see A.V. Designs too.

  “Good afternoon, A. V. Designs. How may I direct your call?”

  “Hi, I’d like to speak with your Security Director.”

  “Regarding what, sir?”

  Hmm, what I can say to get him or her to see me? “It’s confidential. I’m a private investigator and can only discuss this matter with the appropriate corporate security folks.”

  “Yes, sir. Please hold while I connect you.”

  “A. V. Designs, Corporate Security Office. How may I direct your call?” Deja Vue all over again.

  “My name is Max Fried. I’m a private investigator and I have a confidential matter to discuss with your Security Chief.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. The Chief is in a meeting now. I can’t connect you. Would you like to leave a message?”

  “Actually, I’d like to make an appointment. It’s better we discuss this matter in person. Is the Chief free tomorrow morning?”

  “Very good sir, let me check…, his only available time tomorrow would be 4:00.”

  I thought that might be cutting it close as I was seeing Corky at two, but I really didn’t expect her to give me much of her time. “OK, Fine,” I agreed.

  “Is that Mack Reed?”

  “No, Max Fried. M-a-x F-r-i-e-d”

  “I’m sorry sir.”

  “No problem, I’ll be there then. Bye.”

  When it rained, it poured. Tomorrow, I would be a busy boy.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I woke in a stupor to the sounds of pounding and ringing. I sat up in bed and assessed what I heard. Was it was real or was it from a dream? I decided it was a real person who was determined to get my attention no matter what the damage to my bell, the banger’s fist or my door. Based on their persistence and the volume of noise, my first thought was fire.

  I grabbed my glasses, put on my running shorts and bolted for the front door. When I opened it, I almost ran into a uniformed police officer.

  “Where’s the fire?” I asked. “I don’t smell any smoke.”

  The officer was one I hadn’t seen before. He looked like a High School senior. “Mr. Fried?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Detective Torres wants to see you. You’re to come with me, sir.” He pointed inside my house, “but first, let’s go in and get you dressed.”

  I turned and went back into the house. The officer followed me.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Just after midnight, sir.”

  “Where’re we going?”

  “The hospital, sir.”

  When he said “hospital,” I must have turned white. I turned on him and grabbed his shoulder. “Mariel? My wife?”

  “Oh, no sir. The Detective wants to see you about a case. Sorry if I shook you up. Let’s get you dressed now. The Detective doesn’t like to wait.”

  I went to my bedroom to dress but the sudden awakening and the possibility of Mariel being hurt left me shaky. I had to sit a moment. The soreness in my arm and side from being knocked to the ground didn’t help any. Somehow, I managed to put in my contact lenses and get dressed. I stepped back into
my living room where the officer had been waiting on my couch.

  “OK. I’m ready.” By now, I was alert enough to ask, “What case?”

  “Sorry, I can’t say. sir.”

  “You don’t know or you can’t tell me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He was young, but I could see I wasn’t going to get any more information until I got to Torres. The officer got up and we walked to his cruiser in my driveway. He had to wait a moment to back out while a blue car drove down the street. I watched it pull into Ralph’s garage and then we were on our way. Except for periodic squawks from the police radio, we rode in silence up Saxon Drive to Third Avenue.

  A left turn over the South Causeway and we were on the mainland. At the foot of the bridge, he pulled into the lot at the Bert Fish Medical Center. I always thought Bert Fish was an odd thing for a hospital on the water. I eventually got curious enough to learn they named the place for a philanthropic Judge.

  The officer pulled up in front of the main door and parked at the curb. He locked the car and we entered the building, navigating the maze of halls and the islands of nurse’s stations. I followed him for about five minutes until we came to a waiting area. He pointed to the assembled chairs and sofas. “Have a seat. I’ll tell the Detective you’re here.”

  It was a typical waiting room complete with places to sit, magazine covered coffee tables, and coffee covered magazines, so I sat down and waited. Across the room, alcove really, a thirty something woman sat on one of the couches. She read a paperback while a young girl faced her and danced from side to side with her hands on the woman’s crossed knee.

  I examined the magazines but none appealed to me. CNN ran silently on a TV hanging from the ceiling, while the closed captioning fought the screen-bottom news scroll for clarity. If she were awake, Mariel was probably watching now, flipping back and forth to MSNBC or maybe to the local channel 13 news.