by Mike Monson
There was no else in the room.
“What’s Paige doing?” Jessica said.
She finished the last of the toast and jam and drank a gulp of orange juice.
“Don’t you worry about what Paige is up to. Paige is fine. Paige is happy.”
Jessica looked up. Jeff studied her face. Then he took his pistol out of his waistband, set it on the counter, sat in a bar stool next to her, and gazed directly into her eyes.
“When I was seventeen, my uncle Dale brought home some girl he’d found out on the street in Modesto. You know, down there off of South Ninth?”
Jessica knew the area because one of her father’s pawnshops was on that street. She rarely went down there.
“He was always bringing these runaways home. He’d give them drugs, let them stay at his place. He’d fuck them awhile and then sell them to his friends. See what I mean?”
Jessica nodded, but she wasn’t sure what he was getting at.
“But this one girl, this one girl he brought home was special. She was fucking beautiful. Her name was Mary. She was seventeen, just like me. She was the sweetest and best-looking girl I’d ever met. I fell in love right away. The weird thing is—you look just like her. Tall, curvy, blonde, blue-eyed. Gorgeous. ”
Jessica blushed. The rhythmic sound from the basement got louder.
“Anyway, Dale’s trailer was right next to the one I lived in with my sister and my mom. I went over there all the time to talk to Mary, to hang out with Mary. Pretty soon we were having sex. She wasn’t my first lover, of course, but with her it was the first time I felt like I was making love, you know? I mean, I was totally into this girl.
“I knew that Uncle Dale planned on pimping her out and I wanted to stop him. But I was still just a kid; I didn’t know what to do.
“One day, after we made love, I asked her to marry me. At first she laughed, but when I promised her I’d run off with her and take her away from my uncle, she agreed. We made plans to meet that night and make our escape.
“When I came to get her, she was gone. Turns out Dale took her to a party at the Vagabond Inn where he filmed her pulling a train with about two dozen asshole friends of his. When they finally got back at about five a.m., she wouldn’t talk to me, said all she wanted was to go to bed.”
Jeff paused. The noise from the dungeon had stopped, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“The next morning I found her dead in a bathtub full of blood. She’d slit her wrists. Apparently, right after we’d talked. Dale made me help him get rid of her body and you do not want to know what that entailed. Anyway, he told me I learned a good lesson that morning, that it was never a good idea to count on a woman, that they always let you down one way or another.”
Jeff looked at her for several moments. The house had gotten very quiet. He leaned in and kissed her on the lips. Jessica felt excited. He seemed so vulnerable now, not at all like the man who she’d seen commit those terrible acts. She was confused. She wanted to give in to the kiss, but something stopped her. She stiffened. Jeff pulled back.
“That’s okay,” Jeff said, “there’s no hurry.”
He looked at her and smiled. Jessica tried to smile back, but instead she started to cry.
“Shit,” he said, cocking one ear toward the hallway. “What’s going on down there?
Jeff listened intently. Still no sound from the dungeon. Jeff straightened up and grabbed his gun. “We better go check it out. Come on.”
Jeff made Jessica go down the stairs first. It was dark. When they reached the basement, Jeff flicked on the lights. Paige was shackled in the chair. Her throat was cut and blood streamed down her chest. Her eyes were closed. She smelled like piss and shit. Marlene was gone. The backdoor was wide open.
Jessica collapsed to the floor.
Jeff walked up to Paige. Reached out and stroked her cheeks.
“Goodbye, baby,” he whispered. Put his gun in his waistband, grabbed a knife from his pocket and cut off Paige’s braid. He wrapped it around the back of his neck, both ends hanging past his chest.
“Come on,” he said to Jessica, pulling her up by her arm. She shook and sobbed. He pointed to the stairs. “You first.”
Phil watched as Jessica Schmitz, and then Jeff Sweet, appeared at the end of the hall. He sat on the couch. In his right hand he held the Colt .45. It was pointed directly at Jeff. On the floor between his legs was the bag. It contained all of the cash Jeff and Paige had stolen from Phil and all the gold and diamonds from the Schmitz house.
Phil saw Jeff begin to pull Jessica toward him to use as a shield. He shot his former driver in the center of the chest before Jeff had a chance to raise his gun. Jeff fell onto his back, firing a wild shot that hit the wall next to the television. His head hit the hardwood floor with a loud thud.
Marlene, her face and breasts a mass of cuts and welts, came out of hiding from the kitchen. She reached out and hugged Jessica, who fell into her arms and began to cry in heaving sobs.
“There, there,” Marlene said. “It’s over now, it’s all over, I promise. I promise.”
Phil dumped all of the gold and jewelry from the bag onto the coffee table until all that was left was his own money. He picked up the bag, stood up, and walked over to look down at Jeff. His former partner was on his back, a thick stream of blood flowed from the large hole in his chest. His eyes were wide open, but the brilliance of their blue had turned dull and opaque. Paige’s braided hair was under his neck and spread out on each side of his face. He was gasping for air. Phil looked down at him for several minutes, his gun ready, until Jeff took his last ragged breath. Phil waited another thirty seconds to be sure Jeff’s lungs were empty.
Still staring at Jeff’s body, he took a long deep in-breath of his own, followed by a powerful shuddering exhalation that left him relaxed and clear. He could hear birds singing outside. He took out his cell phone and dialed.
“I need to talk with Detective Murphy right away. Huh? Oh … Tell him it’s David Collins.”
Murphy called the Berkeley Police Department, who immediately sent several squad cars to Marlene Huggley’s house. They found a very quiet Jessica Schmitz sitting on the couch in the arms of Marlene. David Collins was gone.
An hour later, Detective Murphy arrived with Blatt. They found the body of the illusive Jeff Sweet upstairs. Downstairs, they discovered the bizarre death scene in the dungeon that would shock even the experienced homicide detective. He was surprised that seeing both Jeff and Paige dead gave him no satisfaction.
Murphy kept thinking about his brief phone conversation with Collins. He was struck by the man’s clarity and calmness, both of which seemed unlikely from someone who had just slit his wife’s throat and then shot his partner to death.
Also odd was the fact that Collins had left behind all of the gold and diamonds from the Schmitz house. Very strange behavior for a long-time career thief.
Before sending her away in an ambulance, they interviewed Marlene Huggley and told her they would be back the next day for follow-up. Then, they drove Jessica back to Modesto. The detectives kept quiet on the way, planning an extensive interview with her when they got to the Modesto Police Station.
They drove over the Altamont Pass and down into the hot, flat Central Valley. Murphy studied the young woman in the rearview mirror. She appeared to be without emotion. No tears, no nervous shaking. She only spoke once, to ask if it would be okay if she stayed with her friend Leann until she moved into the dorms at UC Berkeley.
Later that day, Collins’ abandoned Jeep was discovered and identified using the manufacturer’s vehicle identification number stamped inside the driver’s side door. It was empty and void of evidence.
Despite a long and relentless search, David Collins was never found.
Epilogue
Two days after the rescue of Jessica Schmitz, a middle-aged man, dressed in black and toting a large backpack, showed up at the San Francisco Zen Center. In time for evening zazen, he joined the oth
ers in the basement zendo. Afterwards, he ate dinner with the resident monks and students and then helped clean up in the kitchen.
One of the Center’s guest rooms was available that night. The man took it for a week, paying cash. He continued to participate in their daily activities. He sat zazen twice a day and bowed and chanted along with the others at the twice-a-day services. He helped to prepare the vegetarian meals in the kitchen and swept the walkways outside. He never spoke unless it was absolutely necessary.
When his week was up, the Center’s leaders invited the quiet man to stay indefinitely, as a guest student. He paid for six months room and board in advance with his supply of cash. The teachers were impressed by the powerful steadiness of his sitting and by his constant calm and helpful presence. Highly competent at all the various work assignments, he flowed from one task to another without leaving a trace of stress or drama behind. The teachers were especially struck by the fact that he never attended lectures or classes, or asked to speak about his practice with any of them. Unlike the other students, he seemed utterly indifferent to the teachings of the Buddha and never expressed any interest in enlightenment.
Slowly, the Center’s Abbot and the senior teachers realized the visitor’s Zen practice and understanding were quite advanced. The purity and sincerity of his actions were seen as valuable teachings that had a profound effect on all of the Center’s residents and guests.
That winter, he was invited to practice at the Center’s monastery at Tassajara. The monastery was located in a nearly inaccessible part of the Los Padres National Forest, just east of the California coastal town of Big Sur—16 miles from the nearest paved road.
Eventually, he took the vows to become a Soto Zen monk. He shaved his head and donned a simple black robe. From then on, he was known only by his new Japanese name: Jikan, or, in English, “the silent one.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mike Monson is the Associate Editor of the crime fiction journal All Due Respect. He is the author of the short story collection Criminal Love and Other Stories, and the noir novella What Happens in Reno. After living in Modesto for nearly twenty years, he recently relocated to Kailua-Kona on the Big Island of Hawaii.