by Janis Jones
Chapter 36
Replay
Derek listens to an old phone message from Mara.
He sits at the small desk between his kitchen and living room with his elbows propped up, toying with a half-used tube of Mara’s favorite lip ointment. He turns the little flattened tube over and over in his fingers, staring at it. He unscrews the cap, inhales and holds the applicator tip to his lips, closing his eyes. He rests his forehead on the desk as he plays a phone message left years ago. He punches the Play button, and the recording begins:
“… [BEEP]… Hi, it’s me. I don’t know if you’re too tired after today at work. Oh my God, what a mess that was! … Poor you! You’re more sunburned than I am… Hey, I was thinking I could bring over some stuff and we could barbecue… Let me know, okay? That way we could just stay in if you want… Ummm… so anyway… let me know. ‘Bye. Call me when you get home… God, I am so sunburned! [she laughs]… I hope no one noticed…[BEEP]”
Without changing his position, Derek rolls his head to one side, staring at the little machine. He touches the button again, plays the message twice more and makes himself stop.
Chapter 37
Manny
Manny looks up from his computer screen to see Mara standing there.
“Manny, did you and Jeff check up on the flowers?”
“Good morning to you too, Bays.”
“C’mon, Manny, don’t be like that. Did anyone check out the flower angle?”
“Flowers? What, still hung up on Terranova?” He rolled the r’s extra hard even though he knew the name was Italian, and shuffled through some files on his desk.
“…What about Bateson, Hassler, Gomez-Reyes, Coryell? So there’s only one case? You act like she’s your little sister or something.”
“Look, I’ve already told you. She’s a friend, and I promised her parents I would stay on this.”
Manny looks bored. Mara tries a personal twist – Manny’s wife.
“What if this had happened to Erica, huh? And this bastard is still out there?”
“Oh, alright.”
He taps away at his keyboard, pulling up case notes.
“You know what flowers are?”
He swivels his chair to look up at Mara.
“Beautiful creations of nature?”
Mara knew something stupid or aggravating was on the way.
“Sex organs of plants. Imagine that. Someone cuts off a plant’s snatch and gives it to someone else to stick their face in. You know what pollen is?”
“Okay, enough botany for one day. I get it. You’re afraid of flowers.”
“Me? I love flowers. A bunch of roses is the cheapest way I know to get a girl to spread her legs.”
“Que romantico. So, did you and Jeff even bother to pursue it?”
“No! You think I’d be caught dead traipsing through a flower shop? I got a scan of the gift card but we didn’t follow up on it. Why?”
Manny gets up, makes a point of adjusting himself and takes two pages from the printer. He holds them out to Mara.
“Because it’s a personal connection.”
“Personal, my ass. Flowers are all about sex. You take it from me. Unless homeboy was a faggot, he would have done her right on the floor up against that glass.”
Mara shut her eyes, and walked out. Behind her Manny calls out.
“You’re welcome, Bays! Anytime you want me.”
Chapter 38
The Arrangement
Mara sits at her desk, phone to her ear, furiously scribbling on a legal pad. The remains of her lunch are scattered around her on the desk.
“Thanks for your time. Dana, is it? … Thank you. I want to describe a large bouquet, kind of exotic, and ask if you handle something similar. Agapanthus… uh huh. Yes, I know. So, Lilies of the Nile, huge white China mums and stalks of papyrus for foliage…”
She listens, sneaking a bite of garlic bread and wiping her fingers on a napkin.
“…Yes, a real armload. Yes, I figured. Well, can you think of anyone who might handle a specialty thing like that? … [she listens and writes] Sure, go ahead. Great, I appreciate the help.
Bye.”
She stabs a couple forkfuls of her tired salad and dials the next one on her list.
“Hi, my name is Mara Bays… [She looks up her notes] Is Johnnie Larson there? Oh, okay. Well, perhaps you can help me… Great. Thank you so much. Okay… Egyptian theme - Lilies of the Nile, China mums and papyrus greens.”
Derek taps lightly on the door and enters. Seeing Mara on the phone, he tiptoes to the chair in front of the desk and sits.
“…Yep, so I’m told. That’s where I usually see them, in people’s yards or L.A. City landscaping. No, these were the blue-purple variety. No white…. I mean the chrysanthemums were white. The Agapanthus was the blue kind… Okay, well thank you for talking to me. ‘Bye… Sure, call me if you think of something.”
She hangs up, rubs her neck and stretches her stiffened limbs.
“Hey, I wondered where you were all morning. Bit late for Valentine’s Day, isn’t it?”
He flexes his fingers and smiles.
“Neck rub? I’m available.”
“No time, but thanks… Flowers. Manny and Jeff never followed up.”
“So?”
“Derek, it was a custom-made arrangement, not some supermarket job.”
“And?”
“Why would this guy go to all the trouble of getting an expensive bouquet made up for someone he’s about to beat to death? It doesn’t stack up.”
“Big, right? Tall. So, he’s hiding behind them because she knows him, right? Maybe it’s his own sick joke. Not everything has to make sense. This is real life…”
The phone rings, and Mara pounces on it.
“Hello? … Oh yes, from… [She rifles through her yellow pad] ‘Gino’s Floral’? …Yes, I was… He does? …Yes, can you? …Mm-hmm. Okay, yes I can…Yes, thank you. Thank you so much.”
“What are you beaming about?” He enjoyed her avid look. She was onto the scent now.
“I just got a lead. Someone remembers making up that order. I’m going there now. You want to come?”
“No, we’re due in court in thirty minutes, or did you forget that?”
Mara starts gathering her things.
“Huh? Oh, could you cover for me? This could be a really important lead.”
Derek feels deflated but knows she’s right.
She heads for the door, thanking him over her shoulder.
“Thanks, D.! Wish me luck.”
“Luck. Go get ‘em.”
Chapter 39
Gino’s
Mara enters the shop with her scans of the gift card. It’s a small, high-end flower business with an accent on custom designs. A young employee, Sandrine, approaches her.
“Hello, how may I help you today?” She pushes her lank white-blonde hair back from her face.
Mara flips her shield case open.
“My name is Mara Bays, and I’d like to ask you some questions about an arrangement that was apparently purchased here.”
“Oh, let me get the owner. One moment please.”
She leaves and returns shortly from the back room with Gino Carrera, the owner. He wears black Levi’s and a deep brown velour hoodie over a white tank top. He looks early forties and very fit with a deep tan and a salt and pepper flattop.
“Hello, I’m the owner. What may I help you with, Detective?”
Mara hands him the two pages of print-outs.
“Anything you can tell me about this would be helpful.”
“Well, this is my card alright. See, these are my notations on the back: AGP, CM, PPYRS… Oh, that was the Egyptian theme arrangement.”
“Papyrus, giant white China mums and…” Mara tr
ied to hold down her excitement and focus.
“He wanted Lilies of the Nile! Now that was different but hey…”
“Do you recall anything about the buyer?”
“Oh my God, yes. What a pair!”
He turns to Sandrine and rolls his eyes dramatically.
“Remember them, Honey?”
She nods and smiles. Gino launches into his spirited description.
“The Little Stud and The Sugar Daddy. He was cute, too… except for all those tattoos. Gawd! The older guy was kind of scrawny, maybe fifty, with this godawful immense watch and, if you can imagine a backwards cap. I mean, Hello?! We know he ain’t your son, Mr. Daddy!”
“Could you tell me about the tattoo, or tattoos is it?”
Gino laughs and winks.
“I sure could, Sister. I spent some time looking, too. Tight, smooth little physique all jellied up that way. Ugh! On his right forearm, he had some kind of black and yellow… thing with red spots around the edge.” He fluttered his fingers to indicate the spots.
Sandrine volunteered.
“It looked like a Garden Weasel…” She looked at her boss.
“Oh, yeah, a rotary tiller, if you can believe that?”
This was sounding a little strange to Mara but she pressed ahead. You just never know.
“A rotary…?”
“Yes, for breaking up hard soil.”
“Can you remember anything else?”
“Nice buns. Cute young man, maybe twenty…two? Well, legal anyway!”
“If I showed you photos, could you ID them, do you think?”
Gino immediately brightened.
“You have photos?”
“No, but if I bring some in, you could?”
“Sure, happy to help. Just let me know.” He looks over at his young employee.
“Just let us know.” Sandrine blushes.
“Thanks for your help. Both of you. And I have your card.”
Mara walks to her truck and takes out her cell phone.
“D.? Guess what? I got a lead! …Yeah, from the florist. Guy remembers the flowers… [She listens.] … No, but our guy has a tattoo on his arm, with a Roto-Tiller on it. Can’t be too many guys out there who fit that profile… Yeah, spread the word. Ask everyone if that rings any bells. Yes, thanks. You, too. ‘Bye.”
Chapter 40
IN-N-OUT
Larry and Denny ‘Roto’ Tiller sit in Denny’s muscle car in the back corner of the parking lot, facing the street. Roto is a young, buff gangsta wannabe with a spring-loaded temper. He is also the flower delivery guy who tried to beat Casey to death.
The self-nicknamed ‘Roto’ makes sure that the tattoo on his forearm shows - a five-inch tall bright yellow and black Roto-Tiller with claw-blades, surrounded by bright red splats and flying drops of blood. The legend ‘ONSLAUGHT’ appears in black Gothic lettering in a curve above the neck of his ‘wife-beater’.
Both men wear ball caps. Roto fidgets with his sports-style shades. He is on edge. Larry crams French Fries in his mouth several at a time and slurps from a huge soda cup, shaking the crushed ice. He talks with his mouth half-full.
“I get it, you’re scared. Keep suckin’ up that shake though.”
Roto cuts a look Larry’s way. Even scared, he bristles at being ‘dissed’. He speaks in a low, insistent tone.
“I ain’t no punk-ass bitch! I can handle it. I just need a little backup.”
Larry whacks Roto on the arm, shaking his head.
“Sorry, man, sorry. Bad choice of words. We’d both be nuts if we weren’t worried.”
“I know I fucked up with the cell and the baton, but…”
“Hey, if the stuff hasn’t turned up by now… it’s o-vah! No worries, mate!”
Roto is agitated and seems confused and disappointed with himself.
“I don’t get it! I pitch the shit over the rail, and it’s gone in the next five fuckin’ minutes.”
The tide wasn’t even that high. He had gone over this in his mind dozens of times, and it still didn’t make sense. The sand, the dark. Oh, well.
“We got bigger worries, my man.”
Roto shields the side of his face with his hand and Larry pretends to adjust his cap as two uniformed Highway Patrol officers walk by with food orders and coffee, headed for a nearby table.
“Let’s go. This place is too busy. Drive over behind the building supply place down by the freeway. This is ridiculous. Just start it up all leisurely-like, and we’ll go there and map out our stra-tee-gery.”
George W. Bush, what an idiot! Roto didn’t give a damn about politics but even hearing a bad imitation griped him.
“Good deal. Thanks for the dinner.”
“Gotta keep those muscles fed!”
Larry crushes his drink cup and jams it into the paper bag. The register tape flutters to the floor under Roto’s feet. He picks it up and stuffs it in his shirt pocket.
Larry tries to stifle a smirk.
“What… expense account records?”
Roto is offended and speaks up.
“No, man. I just like to keep my ride clean and tight.”
Roto looks at Larry’s arm and gestures with his chin. Now, it’s my turn.
“You got ketchup on your watch.”
Larry looks, licks the ketchup off and buffs the watch face with his sleeve.
“Nothin’ gets by you!”
Roto starts the car, eases out slowly and rolls out onto the boulevard, flipping his shades up onto his head. A block away, Larry tosses his food trash out the car window. Roto looks disgusted but says nothing.
Roto’s car cruises slowly through the building supply lot and turns down the alleyway behind the huge warehouse. The digital clock on the dash reads 7:11. The store has been closed for more than an hour.
Trash and plastic sheeting blows and twirls between the concrete block structure and the high chain-link fence. Broken bags of mortar, sand, planter mix and lawn products litter the alleyway. There is a wash of traffic sound from the busy freeway overpass nearby.
“Damn! That really stinks. Woof! Man, I’d fire employees who left a mess like this!”
“Bullshit!”
“What, man? What’d I say?”
Roto was getting fed up with these little digs at him.
Larry cracks up laughing.
“It’s steer manure, man! Bullshit. You need to lighten up. We’re gonna get you out from under this.”
“Hey, it ain’t that funny! And if you don’t take care of me, you’re going down with me.” He didn’t care if Larry was older. He had done the dirty work. The car was nice, but now he felt like a slave. He was paying back the loan, and then he wouldn’t have to deal with this jerk.
Larry squints and pinches his nose. He sounds resigned.
“You’re right. Sorry, Bud. Attempt’ Murder gets you heavy time.”
Larry claps his left hand on Roto’s shoulder and looks at him. He wrinkles up his nose.
“Wow, it really does stink. Roll it down to the far end. We’ll catch some fresh air and figure out our next move.”
Roto drives slowly along the back of the store with just his running lights, and Larry indicates a spot.
“Whee-ooh! Much better. Okay, turn it off. I got something I think you’ll like.”
Larry reaches inside his warm-up jacket and pulls out something wrapped in a red bandana. He holds it out on the flat of his hand.
“Peel the petals, man.” Roto unfolds the four corners and stares down at a small beaten-up pistol.
“What the hell happened to that one? It’s all taped together. I thought you guys had…”
“Ever heard the term ‘throwaway’, Denny?”
“Oh wow, you think I need it? I don’t really like guns all that much. �
�Onslaught’. Up close and personal… That’s more my style.” He had never told anyone how afraid he was of guns.
“I know, but this is perfect for ya. Did I mention it’s a ‘throwaway’?”
“Yeah, you just said that… so, untraceable, right?” What the fuck was wrong with this guy? Was he getting senile? He was trying to be patient, but the gym would close in two hours and he would miss his workout.
Larry bobs his head up and down and rotates the pistol, handing the banged-up gun to Roto, grip first. He reverses his ball cap and settles it on his head, bill facing backward.
“Here ya go. Take good care of it. I really don’t think you’re gonna need it, but better to be safe than sorry.”
Larry takes off his ball cap again, this time facing the visor forward.
“I guess. Thanks. So, do I need to get extra shells or whatever?”
As Roto gingerly handles the pistol, Larry whips a 9 mm out of his ankle holster, pushes it under Roto’s jaw and fires three quick taps upward and back, shielding his face with his baseball cap.
Roto’s head slams into the driver’s side doorframe – and then lolls back against the headrest, his muscular arms and chest straining against the seat belt harness. The blood spatter tattoo designs on his arm are speckled with his own fresh blood. Part of his shattered sports shades still rest on top of his head.
“Now, there’s a mess for ya, Denny. Let’s see… who was going down with who, again? You’ve got some ketchup on your… everything.”
He laughs at his own joke. Larry is still softly talking aloud to Roto. He holds up two fingers and asks a question.
“How many fingers do you see, dumbshit? Did you think there was only one ‘throwaway’ in the whole round world?”
Larry puts his hand to his left ear, squinting his left eye hard, opening and shutting his mouth and shaking his head.
“Damn! ... Son of a bitch, that was loud! My ears’ll be ringin’ for days, man.”
The bandana is still in his hand. He had been careful. Door handles, inside and out, and then ‘Gone with the Wind’.