by Ray Banks
"Momma, this is Detective Stark."
"Um, call me John, Mrs. O’Shay."
"We’ll save first names until we know each other better."
"Fine," he didn’t like her firm, cold eyes. Eyes that looked like they could see through any snow job he wanted to run.
"Detective Stark?"
"Yes ma’am?"
"You take care of my baby girl. You keep her safe out there."
"Don’t worry, I’m packing, I’ll keep her safe."
"There is a bad man wants to–"
"Momma, no." Sunshine silenced her. "Sorry John, she is a worrier. Now good night, Momma, I love you."
Stark waited until they were in the Firebird before he spoke. "Where would you like me to take you? I know a steak joint up on Sunset."
"Older white cop with a younger Black girl? We better stay down here."
"I’m not that much older."
"Relax. I like it."
"You are eighteen, aren’t you?" He tried to sound casual.
"Are you planning to sleep with me? Bit forward, Detective." She stared at him, her face flat of emotion. He stammered and started to blush. She left him hanging then finally let out a laugh. "I’m eighteen, turned a few months back. So if, IF, you get lucky you won’t wind up in the pokey. Now why don’t you take me to Bertha’s Soul Food on West Century. Feed me and we’ll see where the night takes us."
"Sounds good." Stark was glad to have it all out. His face cooled. From the corner of his eye, he saw that she was scanning for a tail. She was subtle, but it was clear she was afraid someone might be following them.
"Sunshine, you know you can trust me, if you’re into some kind of trouble."
"I like you, John, no, really. But I have a past. If you knew …"
"Girl, I, well we all have secrets. I’ve done some stuff I wish I hadn’t."
"My mother can’t work." Sunshine looked out the window. "I was fifteen when she had the accident. We needed money. He said he was a good man and he’d never make me do anything I didn’t want to."
"Who, who hurt you?"
"King Charles. He is a … he will… he gets girls for, you know."
"He’s a pimp."
"Yes. Two months ago I turned eighteen and went legit. I started dancing at Pussycats. I don’t work the cribs, just dance, you have to believe me." Stark passed her a starched white handkerchief. She dabbed at the tears running down her face. She slowed her breathing. She leaned her head on his shoulder.
"I’m sorry, John, really I am. He’s still looking for me. If he finds me, who knows what he might do. I know he’s killed more than one girl. Had one of them drink Drano, another he ODed on smack and pushed her off the San Pedro Bridge. If you want to take me home and forget we never met, I’ll understand."
"Never happen. I got a feeling you are going to change my life. Now let’s get to the eating; I am starving."
Bertha’s was a small house converted into a restaurant in the ’60s, the name spelled out on the roof in ruby neon. With yellow and purple paint, it was anything but subtle. Sunshine ordered chitlins, oxtails and gravy, mac and cheese. Stark teased her about how skinny she was. He ordered the fried chicken, greens, rice and beans. Bertha’s didn’t have a liquor license, but there was a bucket of ice stuffed with bottles of beer under the counter, not for sale. You took them and tipped accordingly.
In between bites Sunshine gave Stark an idyllic picture of her growing up. Her mother and father had been the perfect couple. Dad worked helping to build airplanes in Santa Monica. Her mother had been a nurse. Sunshine wanted to go to college, be a teacher. "That dream died when I took my first trick. And all that destruction because a drunk driver missed a corner. Killed my dad, crippled my mother …. Shoot, here I am crying again. Sorry." She dabbed her eyes, looking down at the handkerchief. "I covered it in eye make-up. Sorry, I’ll wash it."
"Don’t worry about it."
"But I do." Reflected in the glass covering a print on the wall, she saw King Charles enter. He was resplendent in his purple crushed-velvet trench coat and matching slacks. Alligator shoes. A fur-lined fedora. He even carried a gold-handled walking stick. Ray-Ray held the door for him, he was in a simple pinstriped suit and a bowler.
Sunshine waited for them to sit. Then with a clumsy elbow, she dumped a bowl of red beans and rice onto Stark’s lap. "Oh, I’m so sorry!" Jenny May came out from behind the counter with a large white towel and a bottle of club soda.
Sunshine watched the detective disappear into the rest room. Then she was up and moving fast. Straight up to King’s table, she moved the waiter out of the way. "They won’t be staying."
"Who the hell are you?"
"Me? I’m the one knows why your partners got smoked. Now you still want this man standing here while we talk?"
King waved the waiter away angrily, "Get the fuck out of here. When I want food, I’ll come see you."
"Certainly, Mr King." The waiter disappeared, probably checking his underwear.
"Outside." Sunshine stood and walked out. King had to move to keep up.
"Not him." Sunshine pointed at Ray-Ray. "He stays in the restaurant."
"Nope. He goes or I go home."
"Boss, I’ll be a hundred feet away, max." Ray-Ray said, turning away.
"Okay. Keep your damn eyes open and off the waitresses." King watched Sunshine walking toward his Cadillac Brougham. He knew her from some place but couldn’t place her.
Detective Jones was running full lights and sirens. Last he heard, Stark was going to a soul food joint. Somewhere on West Century Blvd. He was with Sunshine and had no idea what he was into. It had taken the guys from the gang unit to piece it all together, but they had. Sunshine was anything but a civilian. She was a combatant. Blowing across Hawthorn he traded paint with a UPS truck. The driver called him a "stupid nigger." Would have upset him, might even have used his .38 to knock out a few of the cracker’s teeth, but his partner was on the line so he kept blasting.
In the Caddy, King looked her over like he was deciding whether or not to eat her. "You a brave, little girl. You know who I am?"
"Yes, I do, Chucky, I do."
"Chucky? No one … not since school … oh mother fu—you are."
"Yes, I am."
King’s mind raced. This girl could have been Kendra nineteen years ago. But Kendra was in a chair, no way she could have …
"Do you know why I’m here?"
"I—we didn’t mean to hurt her. We were just messing around and she stumbled …. Really it was an accident. Ask …
"Who? Jimmy G? He didn’t have any good answers. Caesar begged, told me it was all your idea. He did say my mother was asking for it. Well, he almost said it. Couldn’t finish with his face all over the pier."
King closed his eyes. The night flooded in, drowning out the present.
It was on a deserted road up behind the Griffith observatory. After the prom, they had failed to hook up with any bitches. So King, Jimmy G, and Caesar, they headed up to the overlook, to drink some beer and fuck with some kids.
Kendra had decided on the dance floor that tonight was the night she would give herself to Otis. He was a good man. She loved him like no other. He made her feel shy when he came around.
Otis had been gentle when he unbuttoned her gown. He touched her body like it was precious. She arched her back, pressing her near naked body against his. Their lips met. The kiss wasn’t gentle; it was hungry. He pulled her legs apart. She guided him into her. She screamed his name, told him how much she loved him. He held her close, echoing her words of love. He’d thought she was the one for him since the fourth grade, but now he knew. He really knew. When the release finally came, he let out a howling scream.
That was the sound that attracted the three football players. They ripped the Ford’s door open. The naked couple tumbled out onto the dirt. They circled around them. "Well, well, Otis Four Eyes. How the hell did you get this fine woman into your car?"
"You get her dru
nk? That it, ese?" Caesar asked.
"Nah, bet he hit her with a shovel."
"Jimmy right about that? He hurt you?" King moved in closer.
Otis stood, facing the bigger man. "Let her go."
"Four Eyes, you giving orders?" King drove his fist into Otis’s gut, doubling him over. On the way down, Caesar hit his face, spraying blood into the dust.
Kendra threw her body over him.
"Kendra, time you was with some real men." She spat up at King. A good glob hung off his chin.
Caesar laughed. "Hey, King you gots some on your chin."
"I know what the hell I have and where. Get that bitch."
Otis whispered, "Now, don’t look back."
And he was up, his fists were full of loose dirt. He threw it in the two nearest faces. He threw wild unfocused punches. One caught Jimmy G off guard; he stumbled back, his nose bleeding. Caesar nailed Otis in the back of the skull with a baseball bat he used as a walking stick. Otis crumpled. King laid his boots into Otis.
Kendra was running around the car to get in the driver’s side. She tripped on a tree root. For a brief moment she thought she was flying. Then she landed hard and tumbled. When she stopped moving, she had lost all feeling below her neck.
King looked at Sunshine sadly. "You killed Caesar and Jimmy G over a mistake? We never meant to hurt your mother."
"But you did mean to kill my father. Nobody beats a man to death by accident." Before he could speak again, she raked his face with her long nails, drawing blood. He yowled and slapped her. Blood came from her lips. She scratched the other side of his face. This time he punched her nose. It flattened in to a bloody pulp. Her blood splattered the windshield.
Sunshine kicked the car door open just as Stark cleared the diner’s door. She fell back screaming, "No, King, don’t shoot me …. No, please. Stark, help."
Stark’s .44 Magnum exploded into the night. He punched two fist-sized holes into the windshield. The first shot took King’s neck out, the second shattered his chest.
The siren filled the air as Jones bounced into the lot. He jumped out shotgun in hand. He searched for a threat, saw none. He leaned into King’s car. "He’s still breathing."
"Get his gun before he plugs you."
"He ain’t got no gun, Stark. Way you hit him he couldn’t move far. No gun. Did you see a gun?"
"Hell yes, I saw a gun. He was trying to kill Sunshine."
Jones moved around the Caddy and helped Sunshine up. "He didn’t have no gun, did he?"
"I’m sure I saw one. Detective Stark wouldn’t have shot him if he didn’t, would he?"
"And that’s how it will have to play. I read the file on your mother’s accident. And what happened to her date. Odd that all three dead men went to that same prom."
"Quite a coincidence, isn’t it?" She gave him a subtle wink.
Jones dropped an untraceable throw-down pistol into the Caddy. Stark would get a commendation for bravery for saving the young woman’s life. Their being on a date would never be mentioned.
Ray-Ray called on Sunshine late one night. He brought her a briefcase. They stood on the front porch like two old friends chatting. "I have to know, Sunshine, what made you believe you could trust me."
"Well Ray-Ray, greed and fear. You wanted King’s empire. And you know if you screwed me, I would find you."
"And what if the cop hadn’t shot King?"
"I would have used the .32 in my jacket pocket. Same one I got pointed at you."
Ray-Ray looked at her hand. It was in her jacket pocket, aiming at him. He started to laugh. "Nothing gets past you."
"Not much."
It wasn’t until she was in her mother’s room that she counted the money in the briefcase: $30,000. Her mother smiled at her. It was done. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, the sleep of the righteous. Sunshine watched her mother sleeping for a time, then slipped from the room.
Thinking it all over, Sunshine finally felt relief. Killing one man is hard. Killing two is near impossible. But after three, it just started to come naturally.
THE END
Beautiful, Naked & Dead, Josh Stallings’ first novel, is garnering great notice from readers and reviewers alike. Its sequel, Out There Bad, has met with equally stunning reviews. He is busy working on the third Moses McGuire crime novel, One More Body. In addition to his fiction, his noir memoir All The Wild Children will be published by Snubnose Press. He lives in Los Angeles with his wife Erika, two dogs and a cat named Riddle.
From the Publisher
Well, whether this is your first kick at B&T or you're back for more, thank you. I'm extremely pleased to be bringing you the high calibre pulpy creamy goodness you may have been missing for the last, oh, 40 years or so. Thanks again to Johnny Shaw for agreeing to take on this project, or talking me into it, whichever. And to Roxanne Patruznick for another fantastic cover, and the many authors and reviewers whose work I'm getting to know.
I've been promising Johnny I'd deliver a column or some-such, so look for the impending "Cooking Like a Man" in future issues, and please, if there are any potential reviewers out there interested in some good old fashioned fiction from the day, I've heard Johnny can be enticed to send you a random copy of something fun in exchange for a review - don't be shy, we'd love to hear your thoughts.
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Table of Contents
Welcome Back!
DEAD EYE in: End of the Renaissance
THE PEACEMAKER: The Xander Pursuit
A.R.V.N. WAR CHRONICLES: Never Say Good Night in Saigon
THEY CALL HIM CRUEL: Burn In
SNIPER! Blast Out in Lebanon
BASTARD MERCENARY: Operation Scorpion Sting
FROM AMERICAN VIKING TO ZANE: A Brace Godfrey Chrestomathy
SUNSHINE, STRIPPER ASSASSIN: The G-String Gundown
From the Publisher