Unfinished Business - Barbara Seranella

by Barbara Seranella

  Mother and daughter strapped on their seat belts. Munch had to open her door to free the left half of her lap belt. Asia took note.

  "Mom," she said disapprovingly.

  Munch offered no defense. When you're busted, you're busted. As open as Asia was to learning new things, she also had a real cautious side. She insisted on seat belts, knee and elbow pads when skating or biking, and to Munch's disappointment, refused to go on roller-coaster rides. Which meant, of course, that Munch, too, was doomed to endless repetitions of "It's a Small World" when they went to Disneyland.

  "I got you something," Munch said, reaching into the backseat.

  "October?" Asia asked, eyes sparkling.

  "Hot off the presses," Munch said, handing her daughter the latest issue of Brides magazine. Asia also had a private collection of wedding paraphernalia left over from limo runs and kept her Barbie doll permanently decked out in veil and gown, a tiny silk flower bouquet at the ready

  "Cool," she said now, running her small hand over the glossy cover.

  "How was school?"

  "We learned a new song."

  Oh no, Munch thought. Anything but that.

  "It's a Japanese song." Without further encouragement Asia demonstrated. Which wouldn't be so bad except that what the kid lacked in tone and pitch perception she made up for in full-throated projection. Asia wanted to be in show business. She had the confidence for it; now all she needed was some kind of talent. The song had an endless number of verses or so it seemed after two blocks. Munch had no idea if her daughter was pronouncing the words right or just making them up as she went along.

  She interrupted at the light on Wilshire. "We're going to see Mace St. John."

  "Yeah!" Asia responded. "And Sammy and Nicky?"

  "Sure."

  Munch smiled. She knew going to see Mace St. John, and by extension his dogs, would meet with the girl's wholehearted approval. She was at that age when she wanted a dog. She wanted a little brother, too, but Munch explained they would take things one at a time.

  The sun was low in the sky. The brisk snap to the air was quickly turning to a chill. Asia was dressed only in her short-sleeved white cotton shirt and plaid pinafore.

  "Where's your coat?"

  Asia didn't look up from her magazine. "In the back."

  Munch reached behind her and retrieved it. A note had been pinned to the front. "Mind your own business," it read. "If I needed to hurt you, I could."

  Munch's throat went dry "Where did this come from?" she asked as calmly as possible. Heat shot through her. She felt sweat form in her armpits, under her collar.

  "What is it?" Asia asked, reaching for the note.

  Munch held it back, away from her grasp. "Did you see who pinned this on your coat?" What sick, limp-dicked son of a bitch?

  "I didn't even know it was there until just now."

  Munch stuck the note in her shirt pocket and struggled to bring her breathing under control. All she could think of was getting to Mace St. John. He'd know what to do and have the power to do it. God damn it. She looked over at her precious little girl and asked with as light a tone as she could manage, "So, uh, how does the rest of that song go?"

  Chapter 9

  Mace St. John was underneath the Bella Donna when Munch pulled into one of the parking spaces provided for his siding of track. The dogs were with him but romped over to meet the new arrivals.

  "Where's your ball, Nicky?" Asia asked the border collie mix. Nicky understood and went bounding off to retrieve a tennis ball. Sam, the husky-Lab, stayed behind to lavish Asia's willing face with kisses. The new dog, tied by a rope to the train car's ornate platform, whimpered loudly.

  "Always the bridesmaid," Asia said, breaking free from Sam and going over to the tethered hound, "never the bride."

  Munch opened her trunk and retrieved her air-conditioning gauges, a case of Freon, and her evacuator pump. St. John waved to her, smiling around the half-smoked cheroot clamped between his teeth. His shirtsleeves were pushed up past his elbows. He had grease on his hands. She walked over to where he was working. Her composure lessened with every step. By the time she got to him she was breathing hard and fighting back tears of rage.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  She showed him the note. "I found it pinned to Asia's coat when I picked her up today."

  "At school?"

  "Just now."

  "Okay get ahold of yourself."

  For just a moment, her agitation switched to him. The first order of business shouldn't be calming the little lady. Besides, he was only seeing a tip of how she really felt. She was already holding on to herself as hard as she could. Not trusting herself to speak, she glared at him until he continued.

  "Let's call the school. No, better yet, I'll call the watch sergeant over at the station and have him dispatch a unit. What kind of security do they have at the school?"

  Munch thought of the middle-aged woman who presided over day care. "None to speak of. I mean, they don't let kids leave with strangers, but it would be pretty easy for anyone to get in there."

  "I'll have the patrol officer speak to whoever is there and see if anyone unknown to them was around the school today. That's all we can do for now."

  "Should I keep Asia out of school tomorrow?"

  "I'll have to think about that."

  She looked over at her kid. Asia was still happily playing with the dogs. She'd made them all capes out of old beach towels and they were deep into a superhero fantasy She was calling the new dog "Brownie."

  Munch and St. John went inside the Bella Donna to make the calls. As always, she was slightly overwhelmed when she stepped inside the train. It was like being instantly transported to another world, another era. The walls were covered with red velvet flocked wallpaper. Doorknobs and light fixtures were ornate brass affairs. The top halves of the windows were leaded glass. The lime-green satin shades were up, letting in the light but more important, providing a clear view of Asia.

  In the far right corner of the lounge section, behind the small antique practice piano, and across from the bar, was a small mahogany table that came out from the wall. As with most things on the train, this piece of furniture served a dual purpose. The table lifted out and the bench seats on either side slid down and together to form a bed. There were small brass hooks in the ceiling where the porter would hang a curtain for privacy. The phone was on the table amid a mass of paperwork.

  St. John called the police station first and explained the situation to the watch commander. The desk sergeant promised to dispatch a unit immediately and to call back with any news. He would also run patrol checks throughout the day and add the incident to the briefing items at roll call.

  Munch next called the school. The principal, Mrs. Frowein, was still there and was understandably upset when she heard what had happened. Munch didn't reassure her that it was probably nothing, or some kind of stupid prank. Whoever had done this had crossed way over the prank line by bringing Asia into it. Mrs. Frowein promised Munch unceasing vigilance in the school yard from now on.

  "Let's get to work on your AC," Munch told St. John. She wanted to make use of the available light, but even more than that, she needed to retreat to the safety of work. Mechanical problems she knew she could deal with. Unlike the rest of life, where either the same issues kept popping up to haunt her or brand-new shit hit that she didn't even see coming. And only time would tell if she needed to worry about something. By then, of course, it was too late.

  They walked back outside. She checked the AC pump for oil and found it was filled to the proper level. St. John hovered over her with his hands extended, as if he, too, felt the need to do something. "Bring over your air compressor," she said. He wheeled out his portable compressor and plugged it into one of the extension cords he had running from the storage building next door. The spur of track that the Bella Donna rested on was private property. Munch knew St. John had spent many hours following miles of track to find such a locati
on. When he stayed there full-time, he was allowed unlimited access to water and electricity. His presence added security to the industrial park on the V of Exposition and Olympic. Even though it was five minutes from the Brentwood Country Club and the miles of professional buildings on Wilshire, you only had to go a few short miles south to run into serious homeboy territory The flavor of the neighborhoods in L.A. changed just that quickly. Anyone who'd ever gotten lost downtown could tell you that. Even on the West Side you had Marina del Rey sharing boulevards with Venice Beach. Pasta and legumes on one side of the road, spaghetti and beans on the other.

  She knew about both worlds now, she thought, as she hooked up her gauges to the fittings on St. John's air-conditioning unit and attached the outgoing hose to her evacuation pump.

  "What does that thing do?" he asked.

  "Sucks out all the air and moisture. This will also tell me if you have a leak."

  St. John turned on the air compressor, and they waited while it built up enough pressure to operate the evacuator. The compressor's noisy pumping made small talk impractical.

  She waited until the AC gauges showed fourteen inches of vacuum, then she closed the valves. She drew a finger across her throat and pointed at the compressor.

  He shut it off and the air was filled with an abrupt silence. She looked for Asia, feeling a sudden, terrible panic. Asia was still where she had been moments earlier when Munch looked. But isn't that what they always say? I only looked away for an instant.

  "Now what?" St. John asked, meaning his AC.

  Without turning to him she said, "I want to wait about five minutes, make sure the system holds a vacuum." Asia wandered over and sat near them on the platform steps. The big dogs lay panting at her feet. Brownie was in her lap. Munch thought about Diane Bergman, still not quite believing her death was real, that she'd never see her again. Then she thought about Robin Davies and how shitty it felt to have your peace of mind ripped off. Also, how relatively easily somebody could do that to you. "I need your help with something else."

  "Oh?"

  "A woman who lives near the station, a customer actually. She was assaulted." Munch looked at Asia. The little girl didn't appear to be paying attention to the conversation, but Munch knew from long experience that little ears never closed. "She was personally assaulted. Guy told her he'd come back. She's living like a prisoner in her own home. I told her we could help her. "

  "You mean like provide protection?"

  "I was thinking more along the lines of getting involved in the case."

  "You were, huh?"

  "Yeah. I mean, you could put in a word, right? Make sure she doesn't just get swept aside."

  "What's your part in this?" he asked.

  "I like her and she's really hurting. Just let me introduce you to her. And you're going to need me there when you guys talk. At least at first. I told her to call me tomorrow morning at work."

  "Did she make a police report?"

  "Oh yeah, she got assigned a case number and everything."

  "Who's the detective?"

  "Peter Owen/'

  St. John made a noise through his teeth, like steam escaping.

  "Do you know him?"

  "Yeah," he said with a disgusted tone, "I know him."

  "What? Isn't he any good?"

  "He's about to retire. I tell you, once these guys pick a date, they should just pack their shit and go." He cast a guilty glance over to where Asia was sitting, but the little girl hadn't reacted. She was too engrossed in her mission to teach her new best friend Brownie to shake hands. "Most of these old-timers don't have a life outside of the department. They don't know what they're going to do with themselves. All they do all day once they know they're leaving is talk to other retirees."

  "Kind of like an inmate fearing his release date?" she asked.

  "Exactly. Guys get institutionalized. They start running scared, too, like getting superstitious, even if they never were before. Half of them die within five years of leaving the job. That's why I'm never going to quit."

  "Where does this leave Robin?"

  "Probably not in very good shape. I doubt if there's been any follow-through. It's like this: 'Big case, big headache; small case, small headache; no case, you figure it out.' "

  "Great."

  "I'll make some time tomorrow to swing by and talk to her."

  "Thanks. I know she's feeling pretty desperate."

  "I'll meet with her, but there might not be anything I can do. I hope you didn't promise her anything."

  "Only that you were a great guy."

  "Yeah, I'm a sweetheart," he said, his lips puckering in distaste.

  "You are," she said.

  St. John climbed aboard the Bella Donna and fired up the diesel generator. It belched out black smoke from its exhaust and then leveled out to a steady knocking idle. Diesel engines always sounded like they had a rod knock. They smelled bad, too, like oil and gas burning at the same time. Diesel-engined automobiles had been another reaction to the so-called gas shortage, and she hated the things.

  Charging the AC system took another ten minutes. Miraculously everything seemed to work.

  "There you go," Munch said, picking up her tools. She turned in Asia's direction. "C'mon, honey. It's getting dark. Come inside."

  "I'm hungry," Asia said.

  "I ordered us a pizza," St. John said. "Should be here soon."

  "You did?" Munch asked. "Is Caroline coming over?"

  "Not tonight. She had meetings at work."

  Munch felt a little thrill. So it would be just the three of them. Playing house. Down, girl, she told herself, he's not the one. Fifteen minutes later the delivery guy showed up with the food. He didn't seem to have any problem finding the place. St. John had probably used the service a lot in the last year when he had been separated from Caroline. He paid the guy and must have given him a generous tip, judging from the bounce in the kid's step as he left.

  They carried the pizza inside.

  Munch brought out three plates from the kitchen and as many paper towels. She poured Asia a glass of milk and got a Coke for herself. St. John popped himself a beer.

  Munch tore off a slice for Asia and set it down in front of her.

  "Ah," Asia said, raising her right hand with her slim, brown forefinger pointing skyward. "Domo arigato."

  St. John raised an eyebrow.

  "Don't ask," Munch warned.

  He ate two slices before broaching the subject of the threat Munch received. "Have you, uh, come up with any likely candidates for your situation?"

  "I've thought of a few, but they're all pretty thin."

  He made each of the dogs sit and then rewarded them with pizza crust. "I'll see what impressions the lab can get off the paper."

  Asia banged her milk glass down on the table. "You're acting like I'm not even here. What are you guys talking about?"

  "Rescuing fair damsels in distress, m'lady" St. John told her. Then he grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it with a flourish.

  "Yeah, right," Asia said, rolling her eyes, an expression she had begun using before she could speak. Munch wasn't fooled for a minute. Asia positively glowed when St. John turned his full attention on her. It was hard not to. Munch wondered once more what would have happened if St. John had stayed separated from Caroline. In matters of romance, timing was everything. Still holding the little girl's hand, he said, "Honey you know you're not supposed to talk to strangers."

  "Yeah," she said, the seriousness of his tone making her drop her usual attitude.

  "Even if that stranger has a cute little puppy, or a bunny, you don't go with him or near him if your mommy isn't around. Even if he or she says he knows your mommy you go tell a teacher. "

  Asia nodded solemnly. Munch felt a deep resentment that this conversation had to take place. She didn't want Asia growing up any faster than she had to.

  "Draw me a picture in school tomorrow," he said, letting Munch know he'd made the decision that Asia
should attend her classes.

  "And with that, we should be on our way." She shrugged at St. John and made the universal hand symbol for "I'll call you tomorrow."

  * * *

  Munch was exhausted when they finally got home. She made Asia wake up and walk under her own power. The little girl weighed fifty pounds now, too much to be carrying anymore. But Munch did bring in Asia's lunch box and knapsack of school supplies. The front porch was dark.

  "I have to pee," Asia whined.

  "All right, we're almost there." Munch shifted her load to her left hand and brought the key to the door with her right. Typically, the phone started to ring.

  "Shi-oot," Munch said out loud when the key wouldn't go in the door. Even though this act of separating the door key from the rest on the ring was a rote task she performed nightly tonight she had selected the wrong key. By the time she got the door open, the phone stopped ringing and whoever it was didn't leave a message. She found that more disquieting than she wanted to admit.

  The phone rang again. Asia reached for it.

  "No," Munch said, with more force than she intended. Asia jumped back. Munch picked up the receiver, tried to give Asia a comforting smile, and said, "Hello?"

  "You have a nice house," the strangely distorted voice said. It vibrated, sounding like the voice of that robot in that old television show Lost in Space. The cadence was slow, as if the speaker needed an extra moment to prepare each word. "But you really shouldn't take the same route home every day."

  She felt confused. Her mind grasped for a face, an identity to attach to this person. "Garret?" she asked, knowing immediately that she was wrong. Now the fear was setting in. She flashed to a quick image of one of those cop shows where some mob informant was being interviewed. You could only see the guy's silhouette. He was always in a dark room, with a baseball cap pulled low, and his voice electronically altered so none of the guys he was snitching on could identify him.

  "Not Garret," the voice said. "Not the guy you fuck once a week."

  "Who is this? What do you want?"

  "Love. Understanding." He made a noise that sounded like someone humming on helium. She interpreted it as a sigh, especially when he added, "I'm doing the best that I can here. You, of all people, should understand that. So back off, bitch."