by Jeff Klima
"I amm Caaannddy Traaaannn," she said with a nod. Then she softened to give me a look that showcased her heartbreak. "Howww doo youuuu dooo whhhattt youuu dooo?"
I looked at the super for a moment as if she was putting me on. I'd interacted with Vietnamese people before, and even the ones with pronounced accents had never talked like this. He didn't seem affected by it, so I took her small hand and shook it delicately.
"I'm Jeff. I guess someone has to do it, huh?"
The super led us over to the apartment and unlocked the door, choosing to stay outside. "Poor girl," he muttered once more as he left.
Candy and I entered, and I caught the smell of decomp right away. She'd been in there for a few days all right. The living room set looked brand-new, with the exception of a TV set off to the side. It was a sixty-inch plasma, one of the boxy ones, and it looked great except for the giant hole that had been violently kicked through the center of the screen. Another TV, one that was smaller and much less expensive but still nice, sat in its place between two tower speakers on the entertainment center. With the exception of the rotting smell from the bedroom and the wrecked TV, the place was immaculate.
Candy Tran shook her head, choosing to stay in the living room while I headed into the single bedroom. "Soooo saaaad. Shhheeee a gooood giiirrlll, aaaannndd eyyyyeeee juuust booouuuggghhht herrr aallll thhheeesssseee stttuuuuffff."
The bedroom, like the living room, was beautifully attired, with a large dresser matched to the two nightstands beside the bed. Candy's sister had evidently been sleeping on the right side of the bed when she'd bought it, as the mattress and its linens on that side were a mass of crimson. It was a shame, too, because the queen-size bed frame itself was a beautiful wooden job with a plush velour-covered headboard. My bed didn't have a frame, only a box spring and mattress set on the floor in the frat house.
Clearly the blood had saturated the mattress because the liquid puddled on top could find no place else to go. It was like the formation of a lake—once the soil below is sufficiently hydrated, the moisture begins to accumulate above it. I was seeing that very same effect on the mattress, which meant it had to go. It would also give me good reason to tack on some more cash to the bill.
I lifted the thick mattress and was further impressed to see that the blood had gone through the box spring as well. The victim had done a good job of bleeding. Finally I dropped to my knees, using my flashlight to check beneath the bed. The blood had soaked through there as well and was pooled neatly on the carpeting below, where curious flies were investigating its outer edges.
Whoever had done it had stabbed the hell out of her. That kind of violence was typical of something personal. Someone had either wanted to send a message or was very angry with the young Vietnamese girl.
I returned to the living room, where Candy was perched on the edge of an ornate golden couch, part of a matched set with a loveseat. "Whhhaaaat yoooouuuu thiiinnnnkkk, Jeeeeeeepppphh?"
"Well," I said, still befuddled by the way she was talking, thinking that maybe she had had a stroke or something. "It isn't going to be cheap. I have to cut the mattress apart and then the box spring, take the bed apart, and cut out all the affected carpeting…"
"Howww muccchhh, Jeeeeephhh?"
"Twenty-three hundred dollars." The number almost made me gasp when I said it. I could buy a used car for that much, but the company needed money. This was our first job in months. I didn't think she'd go for it, but desperate times had called for desperate measures.
"Jeeeepppphhhh, thhhaaaatttt eeeessss fiiinnneee. Whhhhennn caaannn yyyoooouuuu start?"
I nodded, smiling. "I'll get my stuff."
While Candy cleaned out the fridge in the front of the apartment, I set to work slicing into the bed. I used a normal box cutter for the work, a miserable tool because it kept getting stuck in the heavy threading that bound the outside of the mattress. I cut the inner coils with a pair of metal snips I had brought knowing there was a bed involved. It was dangerous work because the snipped coil springs with blood-covered jagged edges had the propensity to go flying off. Any one of them could have sliced through my gloves or pierced my skin with ease. The bedding and springs and linens all went into two types of bags, saturated and unsaturated.
The wooden bed frame indeed had suffered some of the assault. Part of the right side had sloppy splashes of blood trailing down the inside edge, and two of the slats supporting the mattress had been hit, one of them soaked. I removed the saturated slat and cleaned the other one, along with the side of the brown frame. It was still a nice piece of furniture, though, and I disassembled it carefully, figuring that someone somewhere could make use of it. It would be a shame to toss something so elegant.
The carpeting came up quickly, and with the concrete base floor in the cheap apartment, I was able to lay some enzyme on that and call it a day. By the time I dragged the mattress, now missing a large, square chunk out of the right side, out to the truck, the last of the reporters were long gone.
I threw the black bags in the back of the trunk. I hadn't designated which was which, because really it didn't matter. Rather than paying a biohazard disposal company to take the oozy bags away, Dirk would typically throw them all in whichever local landfill was closest. Or if it was still early enough in the day and he was still at work, I would do it. It was a big no-no to do that, so we had to be discreet.
I walked back into the apartment to collect the rest of my supplies and to say good-bye to Mrs. Candy Tran.
"Jeeeepphhh, wwwhhhhattt hhhaaapppeeen tooo bbaaaaagggsss?" she asked.
"We take them to a biohazard disposal station, where they are incinerated at a high temperature," I said, my stock answer, which was complete bullshit. I knew the bags were really all headed to the dump.
"Caaaannnn I haaaaavvvvvee yooouuuurrrr caaarrrrd?"
I pulled out a business card and handed it over to her. She studied the business card as if it were a menu. She pocketed my card and smiled broadly at me. "Thhhaaannnkkk yooouuuu, Jeeeeppphh."
Fortunately for me, by the time I left the scene the dumps were closed for the day, and my boss would have to do a little work after all. I swapped the truck for the Red Rocket and went home.
* * *
That night, Kerry and I went out to dinner with some friends to celebrate my return to business. We had just been served at the restaurant when my phone rang. I didn't recognize the number, but that wasn't unusual, as Dirk had about eight different numbers that he would call me from, and it was too late in the evening to be bothered by bill collectors.
"This is Jeff," I answered, my standard greeting, now that my personal phone was also a business phone.
"Jeeeepppphhhh, hoooowwwww arrrrreeeee yooouuuu?" the familiar voice drawled.
"Hello, Candy…I'm fine," I said, silently apologizing to my dinner companions.
"Jeeeepppphhhhh, wooooouuulllllddd yooooouuuu waaaannnnnt sooooommmmmeee offff thhheee fuuuurrrrnnnnittttuuuureee I haaaaavvvvee? I haaaavvvveeee tooooo geeeettt riiiidddd offfff itttt."
I instantly thought of that bed frame. "Yeah, Candy. That would be great. I'll come by tomorrow, if that's okay?"
"Thaaaannnkkkk yooooouuuu, Jeeeepphhhh."
We went back to the frat house, where we all sat on the couches I had donated to the house when I had to move out of my apartment. They were ratty now, full of cigarette burns and slices from when frat morons had randomly decided to stick a knife or other sharp object into the fabric. One side of the bigger couch was even shredded by a crazed dog that had lived in the frat for a month. It was a shame, because Chris and I had been planning on taking the couches back when we finally escaped the frat house, but they were ruined.
At around 11:00 p.m., I was lighting up a cigar when my phone rang again. I answered without looking at the number, anticipating a frat bro calling about my interest in a game of beer pong.
"Hi, this is Jeff."
"Jeeeepppphhhhh, iiiittt's Cannnnddddyy. Caaaannnnndyyyyy Trrraaaannn."<
br />
"I remember you," I said rolling my eyes.
"I juuuusssstt waaannnttted tooo reeeemmmmiiiinnnddd yooouuu tooo brrriiiinnngg a truuuuccckkkk toooommmmoooorrrroooowww."
"I will, Candy."
"Thhhhhhaaaaannnnnnkkkk yooooouuuuuu, Jeeeepppphhhh."
I suddenly regretted giving her my card.
The next morning, I woke Chris early and convinced him to go with me to pick up the bed frame. He was grumpy but excited to see what kind of furniture was being thrown away.
Dirk let us use his truck for the move. Chris and I drove over to Stanton, just shooting the shit and laughing. Since moving into the frat house, we hadn't been as close as we had been, the two of us working different schedules.
Candy was waiting out in front for us, this time wearing an electric blue tracksuit. She beckoned us to park in her sister's parking spot behind the building.
"Jeeeeeppppphhhh, whhhhhoooo issss thhhhhiiiiissss wiiiiithhhh yoooouuuu?" she asked by way of introduction.
"This is my brother, Chris," I said, and Chris shook her hand.
"Yoooouuuu booootthhhh loooook sooooo stttttrrrrroooonggg," she gushed.
When we got into the apartment, Candy spread her hands before her. "Taaaakkkkkeeee annnnyyyyyttttiiiiinnnng yooooouuuu waaaannnnnt."
I tried to play it cool, but I was like the kid in the candy store (no pun intended). "I guess we'll take the tower speakers, the entertainment center, the TV…" I listed, indicating the smaller, working one. If they caught the creep who had kicked in the big plasma, which was allegedly the victim's violent boyfriend, I would kill him myself.
Chris also suggested a nice lamp and a throw rug that looked expensive. The couches were too nice to leave behind, so we agreed we'd take those as well. And, of course, I told her that I was certain I could find someone who could use that elegant bed frame.
Though it took us two trips to do it, we got everything from Stanton to the frat house in Fullerton, a thirty-minute trip each way. We were both exhausted by the end of packing up the final load and were all set to leave when Candy approached us.
"Jeeepppphhhh, I haaavvveee beeeen goooodd toooo yooouuu?"
"You've been very nice," I said, incredulous at our good fortune.
"Jeeeeeppppphhhh, coooooullllddd yooouuu dooo sooommmeeeettttinnnggg fooorrr meee?"
"What is it, Candy?"
She had to get rid of all of her sister's things and be out of the apartment ASAP, though the super claimed it wasn't his edict. Basically, as a way of getting free movers, she had culled us over to take what we wanted and then guilted us into taking everything else over to a Buddhist monastery, where she was donating it to the local monks. Chris and I couldn't figure out a way to politely refuse, and so we did what she asked. Besides, we'd never been to a Buddhist monastery before.
We had to drive back home, unload the stuff, and then drive back once more to do it. And in the frustration of now being Candy's pawn, I pulled the bed frame out of the back of the truck, feeling an odd tinge in my back. It was quick and painful, but the sharpness of the pain faded quickly. I had felt familiar tweaks before when schlepping kegs at BevMo and thought little of it.
It was nightfall by the time I dropped my boss's truck off at his house, and the multiple trips had cost me in gas. But I'd gotten a bed frame, entertainment center, huge speakers, TV, CD player, amplifier, couch, loveseat, lamp, and rug out of the deal. All in all, it was a pretty good day.
I wasn't prepared for the reaction at the frat house that night, though.
I had done a lot of nutty things in my life, like stealing a newspaper dispenser that I put in our frat bathroom so visitors could read my journalism editorials on the can. But my frat bros and their litany of guests couldn't believe that I'd come home from work with a bed that a girl had been murdered in. It was quickly dubbed the Murder Bed and became a mandatory stop on tours being given through the house.
Most bros accepted it as "Klima being Klima," but one guy in particular got really bad feelings about it and was certain the bed and all the possessions from the girl's house were cursed. That night, Kerry's hamster, which had been living at the frat for over a year, died. The brother gave us the evil eye.
* * *
The next day, my phone rang. This time I recognized the number.
"Hello, Candy," I answered, not excited.
"Jeeeepppppphhhhh, caaaannnn I assssskkkk a favvvvvooorrrr offff youuuu?"
"I'm pretty busy, Candy," I said, putting my new TV on mute.
"Ohhhh, Jeeeeeppppphhhhh, I wiiiiilllll paaaayyyyy yooouuuu."
"What is it, Candy?"
"Jeeeeeepppppphhhhh…ittttt issss mmyyyyy siiiisssstttteeerrr. Shhhheeee wiiiilllll beeee naakkkkkedddd innnn heeeeaaavvvven ifff I doooo nottt seeeeennnndddd herrrrr cllloooottthhhess."
"Wait, what?"
"Wiiillll yyyooooouuuu taaaakkkkkeee herrrr clllottthhheesss annnndddd innnnccccinnneeeerrratttteeee theeeemmmm?"
"You want me to incinerate her clothes?"
"Yessss, Jeeeepppphhhh. Wiiiitttthhhhh thhheeee baaagsss offff heeeer blllllooooddd."
It suddenly made sense what she wanted me to do.
"Oh, Candy, uh, the bags of biohazard have already been processed at the disposal station," I said, picturing them sitting beneath the decimated mattress at the landfill near Dirk's house.
"Plllleeeeeaaasssseee, Jeeeepppphhhh, shhhheeeee iiissss naaaakkkkeeed in heeeaaaavennn. Itttt issss myyy cuuulllttttuuuurrrreeee."
"Well, that disposal station charges three hundred dollars per load…" I said, grinning like a crook.
"Jeeeppppphhhh, moooonnnneeeey issss noooo obbbbjjjjeeeeect."
"All right then. I'm at a crime scene right now, but I'll be over later to pick up what you want me to take. Just make sure you have it bagged and ready to go.
"I wiiiiilllll, Jeeeeeppppphhhhh. Yooooouuuu arrrreeeee soooo strrrrroooonnng. Thhhhhannnnkkkk yooouuuuu."
I hung up the phone and turned the TV back on, loving my life.
That evening, I interrupted my date with Kerry to talk her into driving over to the apartment in Stanton. Kerry was repulsed by the idea but still drove me. I changed back into my work polo, now crunchy from sweat and a faded gray from so many washings.
Candy was waiting outside for us, wearing a violet tracksuit. Seven large trash bags full of shoes and handbags and clothes were piled up next to her. I thought about pressing my luck and telling her it would be three hundred dollars a bag, but that seemed a little mean even by my new standards.
She paid me, and I loaded up Kerry's backseat and trunk, with Kerry glaring daggers at me the whole time. I swore to Candy that I would burn them all and that her sister would be well-stocked in heaven and no longer naked. Candy handed me a check and I thanked her, offering her once more my condolences.
We drove back to the frat house. Refusing to be a part of it, Kerry went inside, leaving me to deal with a car full of contemporary clothing. Part of me wanted to try to sell it, but I could just imagine the phone calls I'd get if Candy saw people all over town wearing clothing and carrying purses that once belonged to her sister.
Instead, I threw all the bags into the dumpster of a rival fraternity. To keep my karma in line, I took a purse and a pair of white pumps from one of the bags and threw them into a metal barrel we used for burning trash when it got cold around the house. Someone would set a fire in the barrel someday, I figured, and at least the sister would have stylish shoes and a nice purse. That was how women would be dressed in my version of heaven, anyway.
I figured it was the last I'd heard of Candy Tran, but no. She called several days later to check on my progress, probably noting that I'd cashed the check.
"They got taken care of," I assured her. "They're headed to the same place the mattress and all her sheets went." It wasn't exactly lying…
CHAPTER 12
back, back, back…and it's gone!
Every human is the author of his own health or disease. —Buddha
&nbs
p; Dirk's motivations were always in the right place with the business. He wanted to get a truck for me, one that I could take home so I wouldn't have to go see him every time I had a crime scene. He wanted company vacations, and he wanted health care. It was a new business, still finding its legs. It wasn't easy that 50 percent of what we were making was instantly being shipped up north to Schmitty.
Dirk had even gone so far as to scrap the splitting of the net profit into thirds. He knew I was struggling, and he also complained that the money coming in from his take was just extra money for his wife to spend. He didn't need that. So he eliminated the rule of thirds and began splitting the pot down the middle, half to me, half to him.
It was good of him; he had a full-time job as a cop, making decent cop money. His wife had worked for the same company for more than twenty years, so she was making good money, and the crime scene cash was extra for him. On the other hand, I was living and dying on the crime scene money. The supplemental income I made bouncing for a few hours on the weekends wasn't anything real, food money mostly.