by Maria Pease
Trying a different approach, I logged on to the fee-based database Frank had made available to me and found plenty of information on old Wally. At twenty-nine years old, he’d seen his share of run-ins with the law. Originally from Las Vegas, he’d left town at twenty-one because he’d been accused of having sex with a minor. Although no charges had been filed, he did have a restraining order out against him. His rap sheet also showed several theft-by-deception charges using a home improvement company, ripping off millions of dollars over the years and resulting in a stint behind bars.
I had to wonder if he’d come here to get a fresh start, but my gut told me not to be so naive. He’d befriended a sixteen-year-old kid and had somehow convinced him to leave his home and come to Temecula. Now, I had to find out why.
Chapter 2
The fax machine began to spit out the file from Michael’s mother, Stacy. There was a note on the cover page that said to call her if I needed any additional information or had any questions. She also asked me to stay in touch. As I read the file, I was shocked at the history of this sixteen-year-old kid. He’d been in and out of therapy since the age of nine and had shown signs of severe depression and anxiety disorders as early as seven. He’d recently been diagnosed as bi-polar, suffered from low self-esteem, and when given the opportunity, he tried desperately to please.
Notes from the therapist said he needed an inpatient program and possible drug therapy, but the insurance company had denied repeated requests, stating that there was no real evidence of any disorder. Further notes suggested he’d fallen through the cracks and until he did something rash, he’d most likely not get the help he needed.
I closed the file and searched for Wally Mason’s last known address. If Michael Carson had come to Temecula to meet with him, he could be in real trouble. I jotted down the results and searched to see where they were located. Once I had an idea where I’d start, I got my files together.
“I’m outta here Frank. I’ll check in later. I’m going to check out Wally Mason’s last known address. Hopefully, I’ll track him down.”
“Hold on, I’m coming with you.” He scrambled to his feet.
Frank drives a big black GMC truck with big wheels and tinted windows. It stands high off the ground like it was made for a giant. It isn’t easy to get into, and with the passenger sideboard missing, I was forced to make a run for it. Unfortunately for me, I tripped and almost knocked myself out on the open door.
“Sammy? What the hell are you doing over there?”
I got to my feet and looked around, thankful that it was too early for anyone to be out and about. “Any chance you can give me a hand?”
He laughed, leaned over the bench seat and grabbed my arms. He then proceeded to pull me into the cab with my legs flailing.
I stared at him. “Why do you feel the need to have this big truck, anyway? Do you have a teeny weeny peeny and feel you have to compensate for it?”
“I’d be happy to show you if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Can I think about it?”
He chuckled and drove out of the lot, drove through Old Town to Temecula Parkway, then turned right onto Pechanga Parkway. The neighborhood looked like it had been there for a while. Most of the houses were identical grey-colored stucco with decorative siding. They sat close together with small front lawns and practically no trees. If it weren’t for the few people who’d planted gardens or palm trees, it would’ve been difficult to tell one house from the other. I wondered how many times a neighbor, after a wild night out, had attempted to get inside the wrong house, wondering why his key didn’t work. I giggled at the thought.
“What’s the address?” Frank asked.
“Up there, on the corner of Huron and Piute.”
“Great. We’ll park down the street and have a great view of the place.”
Frank slowly drove past the house, and I took note of the environment and snapped a photo. There were no cars in the driveway, no sign of kids, and the lawn was well manicured. Frank made a U-turn and parked. We had a clear view of the front of the house and the side gate.
We sat silently for several minutes, both staring at Wally’s house.
“So, how are things going with the kid?” Frank asked, making small talk.
“Good.”
“Yeah?”
“What are you getting at, Frank?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t ask me how things are going. You ask me if I’m doing the nasty with the kid, or if the kid likes being on the top or the bottom. You don’t ask about the relationship, you ask about my sex life. So, what’s up with that?”
Frank turned his attention on me and smiled. “Boy, you do have my number.”
“Yes, I do.” I stared at him. “Well?”
“Okay. You exchange information with Jake on cases, don’t you? He’ll keep you in the loop, you know… if you need information on this.”
“Do we need him to do that?”
“There are a lot of cops looking for Michael Carson. It might help if we’re not duplicating the same efforts.”
“I guess he would. He’s done it before.”
We both put our attention back to the house.
I thought I saw movement on the side of the house behind the fence and touched Frank’s arm. The gate opened, and a man came out, rolling a large black garbage can.
“Is that him?” I took the photo out of the file and showed it to Frank.
“Looks like we’ve got him. Now, we just have to find out where he spends his days and see if we can link him to Michael Carson.”
Wally went back inside the gate and within minutes, the garage door opened, and a metallic blue sports car pulled out.
“Holy shit!” Frank gasped. “That’s a fucking Ferrari California.”
“It’s really nice.” I watched as he dropped the convertible top.
“Nice? Sam, that’s a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car.”
I gulped. “Are you serious?”
“Damn right, I’m serious.” He started the truck. “Now, I really want to know where he spends his days. If he can afford a car like that, he’s doing something right.”
“Or something very wrong.”
Frank followed Wally out of the neighborhood onto Pechanga Parkway, keeping one car length between them. Wally swerved in and out of traffic but, ironically, didn’t get very far ahead of us. He pulled into the parking structure, took up two spots and went into the casino as Frank and I followed behind.
“A little early to be hitting the tables isn’t it?”
“Are you kidding? This place is like its own universe,” Frank said. “Spend a little time here and you won’t know if its day or night… and you won’t care.”
We stayed on Wally’s tail. As we moved through the slot machines, I was surprised so many people were sitting with a drink in hand and cigarettes hanging from their lips as they shoved money in the slots, pulling the lever over and over. Along with the sound of bells and flashing lights, the whole scene felt like a zombie movie.
“The smoke will kill you,” I said, as I tried to hold my breath to avoid taking in second-hand smoke.
“You’re going to pass out, Sam.”
“Huh?”
“If you keep holding your breath, you’re going to pass out.” He nudged me.
We watched Wally enter a high roller room. Frank continued past the entrance and stopped just around the corner.
“We need to separate. I think there’s a way out on the other side.”
“Why don’t we just go in? Wouldn’t that be easier?”
“You’re not much of a gambler, are you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Let me put it this way. Do you see anyone else holding their breath here?”
I looked around. “No, I guess not.”
“Just to enter the high roller rooms, you need be able to pay your debt. That’s why we’re not going in.”
“Okay. I g
et it. You actually have to have money, something we don’t have.”
“Bingo.”
“You want me to head around and check the other side?”
“Why don’t you sit over there? Just order a drink and keep your eyes on this entrance. Let me know if you see him leave and I’ll go around to the other side and check it out.”
I took a seat at the bar across from the entrance and ordered a drink. As I watched the room, I sipped my drink and observed the action around me. The smoke-filled environment was beginning to irritate my eyes and I kept trying not to breathe in. It must have been half an hour before Frank appeared on the stool next to me.
“What are you drinking?”
“A greyhound.”
“Sam, you do realize it’s still morning, don’t you?”
“I was trying to fit in. Any sign of Wally?”
“No. He didn’t come out on the other side. To be honest, he could be in there all day. Let’s get out of here.”
I sucked down my drink as Frank eyed me.
“It’s got juice in it. You drink juice for breakfast, don’t you?”
We walked through the casino and exited into the fresh air and sunlight. I took in a deep breath, trying to clean out the smoke that I was sure was trapped inside my lungs as I searched in my bag for my sunglasses.
“See what I mean about it being its own universe?” Frank said as he boosted me into the truck.
“I think I understand the allure of it now,” I said as I buckled in.
As we drove back to the office, I noticed the smell of smoke in my hair and clothes; it was beginning to make my stomach turn. Once in the lot, I headed up to the office but stopped midway.
“I have to go home and take a shower or I’m going to be sick.” I turned quickly and retreated to the Jeep.
“You shouldn’t be boozing it up so early, Sam,” he called after me.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I called back.
Arriving home, I saw Mrs. Bennett, my landlord, watering the flowers on the side of the house. Mrs. Bennett and I didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, so I tried to avoid her at all costs. Her usual gripes consisted of not keeping the gardens looking perfect at all times and not bringing the garbage cans in five minutes after pick-up. I, on the other hand, had a life.
In her early seventies, Mrs. Bennett was always well groomed and dressed smartly but, unfortunately, she’d made it her mission to make my life miserable. She’d lost her husband several years ago and had a grown son who kept finding reasons not to move to California to be closer to her. I couldn’t imagine why.
I knew if Mrs. Bennett got a whiff of me, she’d have a hissy fit about the no smoking in the house rule that had taken up an enormous amount of time during our first meeting when she decided whether I was rent worthy. Even after explaining to her that I did not smoke and I’m a bit obsessive about my health and environment. But one whiff of me now would surely result in eviction.
I took a loop around the neighborhood and when I returned, she was gone. I went straight to the laundry room and stripped down to my birthday suit then proceeded upstairs to the shower. The hot water felt great on my back and I was happy to smell like soap and strawberry shampoo instead of an ashtray.
As I rinsed my hair, I thought I heard something. I hoped I’d locked the front door behind me in my rush to get inside. Listening for a minute, I convinced myself I’d let my imagination get the best of me and I finished shaving my legs before hopping out. Wrapping myself in a towel, I brushed my teeth and searched my closet for something to wear. As I walked out of the closet, I noticed Jake, lying on my bed watching me.
“Looks like my timing is impeccable.”
I glanced down at my short towel with undies in hand and smiled.
“What are you doing here?”
“Enjoying the view,” he said, as he moved in close and kissed my neck.
As he slowly moved his lips to my mouth, I felt my knees buckle. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call this work.” He pulled me in and kissed me deeply.
“How about you? Are you working today?” He moved his lips back to my neck.
“Uh, huh.”
“Can you go in a little later?”
“Uh huh.”
“Good.” He slid the towel off my damp body.
Chapter 3
I arrived back at the office with a smile on my face and a bounce in my step. Frank watched me as I went to my desk and logged on to my computer. I glanced at him.
“Yes?”
“Oh, Sammy. You look like you have a glow about you!”
I kept my eyes on my computer and attempted to wipe the grin off my face.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” How does he always know when I get lucky?
“I’d bet the kid would be disappointed to hear that.”
I eyed him. “I’m going to go grab a burger at Mad Madeline’s. Want to join me? My treat,” I asked.
“Your treat? How can I pass that up?”
We walked down the street, put our orders in at the window and took a seat outside.
“I’m going to head back over to Wally’s and stakeout his place,” I said.
“Sounds like a plan, since we don’t have much else to go on.”
“I wanted to get a look inside to see if there are any signs of Michael.”
“Oh, now I understand why you invited me to lunch.” He moved to fetch our order.
“I need back up. What if he comes home and finds me snooping around?”
“You’re planning on going in? Like breaking in?” Not only is that a bad idea, but it’s also illegal. It’s called breaking and entering.”
“How else can I confirm Michael has been there? He could be in there right now!”
“How about just snooping around outside? Nothing illegal about that, as long as you don’t get caught.”
“Well, I guess I can do that first.”
“All right. I’ll go with you. I can’t afford to have you tossed in the tank.”
We ate quickly then headed back to Frank’s truck. In a few short minutes, we found ourselves parked down the street from Wally’s, searching for any movement.
“I’m going to see if the car’s in the garage,” I gingerly jumped out of the truck.
“I’ll keep watch. Stay out of trouble.”
I went to the other side of the street and casually walked to the corner, looking for any sign that someone was home. The blinds were closed on the front windows, so I walked up the driveway and attempted to see inside the garage through the small windows.
Being five foot five is not an advantage in this job. To see into the garage, I’d have to be tall… I’m talking basketball player tall. I was pretty sure that wouldn’t happen to me in this lifetime, so I had to find another way. I went through the gate to see if the door that led into the garage was open. I turned the knob slowly and pushed open the door. The car was gone, so I hurried inside to check for any evidence of a teenager. As I looked around, I spotted the door that led to the house. The knob turned easily, and as I opened the door, I could almost hear Frank telling me not to do it. Remember, it’s called breaking and entering.” I shook it off and went inside.
The house was a small one story with three bedrooms and two full bathrooms. Dark brown leather couches and a huge television with a lot of gaming equipment filled the living area. A ceiling fan with a big light in the center went around and around, providing a slight breeze. There was a tall lamp between a couch and easy chair and aside from an oversized clock on the wall, it was void of any decorations. The gaming setup made me wonder if this was the norm for a twenty-nine-year-old single guy, or if it was just a great way to bait sixteen-year-old kids. The games all seemed to have the theme of fast cars, guns, and violence. What kid wouldn’t find that fun?
I walked back to the bedrooms and took a quick inventory, looking for any signs of a teenager. The furniture
in each room was sparse - a mattress on the floor and a cheap old dresser in some type of dark wood. The makeshift bed was unmade with sheets and blankets intertwined. The spare bathroom was disgusting. Mildew coated the shower and toilet and smelly towels sat on the floor - which didn’t tell me much except that whoever was staying here had a strong stomach to be able to live in this filth.
Moving back through the living room, I had noticed a dark green backpack between the couch and easy chair. I eased the zipper down and found a change of clothes, swim trunks, and a piece of paper with Wally’s name, address, and phone number stashed in a copy of The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger. I slipped the paper in my pocket and with my heart beating fast, I flipped the book open. Inside of the front cover, in block letters it said, Property of Michael Carson.
I couldn’t believe it. With the book in hand, I zipped up the backpack, set it back where I’d found it, and headed for the door. Once outside, I carefully closed the gate and walked across the neighbor’s front yard and back to the sidewalk. I quickly slipped into the truck with Frank’s help.
“We’ve got him!”
“Where the hell were you? I was about to come looking for you.”
“Frank, look at this.” I opened the book.
“Where’d you find that?”
I glanced at Frank’s face. “I can’t tell you.”
“You didn’t…”
“No. I did not break in.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Then where’d you find this?”
“In a backpack.”
“Where was the backpack?”
“On the floor.”
“Outside?”
“No.”