by Janis Jones
Chapter 41
U-Turn
Mara drives home, music blasting, after a long shift. Next to her on the passenger seat, her cell phone rings. She rolls her eyes and turns the music down. Nothing like breaking the spell. Worse than a DJ who cuts off the end of your favorite song or talks over it.
“Damn it!”
She reaches for her phone, looks to see who’s calling and, puts the caller, Ruben, on speakerphone.
“Mara, it’s Ruben from Homicide.”
“Hey, Ruben. Sorry, I’m driving. What’s up?”
“You put a call out earlier for a perp with a tractor tatt’?”
“It was a Roto-Tiller.”
“Yeah, that. I think we’ve found your boy.”
“That was quick. Where are you?” Don’t get too revved up. This almost had to be a mistake.
Mara makes a sharp U-turn and heads back into town.
Chapter 42
Last Place
Behind the Builders Supply Emporium, Mara joined the crime scene techs and coroner’s personnel at the scene of the shooting. Police vehicles blocked off both ends of the alleyway, and a large bright blue plastic tarp hangs on the chain-link fence near Roto’s muscle car, cinched on with handcuff strips run through the brass grommets. Except for the distortions and punctures in the roof, the beautiful black pearl luster of the car’s finish is untouched.
Two uniformed officers run off young teenagers who have climbed up the hill behind the store and are trying to get a peek at the crime scene from the other side of the fence.
“Look, take off! You just think you want to see this. Trust me, you don’t. Now you better book.”
The three boys start to slowly move away, making complaining noises. One looks green around the gills and happy to leave.
Mara pushes a piece of nicotine gum out of a blister pack and pops it in her mouth, dropping the pack back in her jacket pocket. She pulls on purple latex gloves as she strides over to the fence.
“Boys, he’s right. We’ve got some work to do. You’ll see it later tonight on the news.”
She turns back to the car. A tech named Danny adjusts a light stand so they can get a better look at the interior of the vehicle.
“How long… ballpark?”
“With a core temp like that in weather like this? - I’m gonna give you a tentative two, two-and-a-half hours. Your guys said no shell casings so far, and the piece the vic has hasn’t been fired anytime lately.” Mara carefully hangs onto the doorframe and sticks her head in on the passenger side. The pungent metallic smell of blood is overwhelming. The citrus tang of her gum is helping, but not nearly enough. She sniffs and cranes her head to one side.
“What is that?”
“What, the smell? There are bags of fertilizer and peat moss or something.”
“No, it’s like fries… French Fries or something greasy. Did you find food wrappers or anything?”
“Well, they bagged some ketchup packets and those little pepper things. Oh, and one straw with something like vanilla shake or whatever.”
“But no bag or drink tray?”
“Not that I know of. The little stuff was on the floor. The rest of the interior is meticulous, except for… you know. Dude loved his car and working out I guess.”
Mara opens the glove box and a Zip-loc bag containing white powder flops out. She and Danny exchange puzzled looks. Mara points at an upturned corner of the floor mat.
“What’s that? Can you reach it?”
“Duh! Idiot time. Well, he did get interrupted.”
Danny quickly counts cash in a manila business envelope with Mara as his witness, and then takes a couple flash photos.
“Eight hundred and forty. I’ll have them both tested.”
Something catches her eye, and Mara takes an interest in the victim’s shirt pocket. She walks around to the driver’s side. Using one gloved index finger and a pen tip, she pulls the shirt pocket open and tries to peer down into it. She raises her head and backs up and out of the car.
“Hey, Danny…Let me use a fresh pair of your forceps, please?”
The tech unwraps a pair and hands them to her.
“Thanks, I’m not sure but it looks like a register receipt, but there’s so much blood on it I don’t know if we can get any info here without taking it back to the lab first.”
She hunches over again and slowly pulls the gluey pocket open, trying not to look at the horrible damage to Roto’s face and head this close up. She carefully pulls the register tape away from the fabric and stands up, holding it by the top edge.
“It’s IN-N-OUT. There’s one about a mile-and-a-half down the boulevard… and part of the date stamp looks like today at 18: … something. So, say six o’clock plus.”
She looks off in the direction of the street.
“I need to get back there quick and see if the same shift is on… see if anyone remembers him. Could be all food he ate… you know, young guy, but two drinks seems off. Maybe someone was with him and ran. I sure as hell would.”
She hands the receipt to Danny, who bags and labels it. She strips off her gloves, giving Roto one last look, squinting one eye, pursing her lips and clenching her jaw. She shakes her head slowly.
“Ummm. Jesus! Overkill much? Whoever did this was really pissed off in a personal way.”
“Uh-huh, prob’ly so. Point blank, three or four shots maybe. Ridiculous. Pathetic, cowardly schmuck! I hate these people. At least this dude was gone on the first one… I ‘magine.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Danny. See you back at the ranch. I’m heading over to check the burger place.”
“Okay, see ya, Mars Bar.”
She walks a few paces, when she hears Danny calling her and turns around.
“Hey, Mara?”
“Yes?”
“I forgot to ask you… and I finally got my nerve up.”
“Yeah?”
“How come you won’t go out with me?”
“Because you’re married?”
So that’s it.”
“Yeah, that and I think it would make Michael very upset.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Tell him ’Hi’ for me, okay?”
“Will do.” This long-standing private joke between them would probably seem silly to anyone else, but it took the edge off the basic despair of the job.
Mara smiles and heads toward her truck. She pitches her gum and her inside-out gloves into a dumpster as she passes and speed-dials her cell as she walks. Hopefully just one more stop, preferably productive, a quick check-in at the station and she could go home and take a hot shower. It seemed wrong to go from this hellish scene to their hot tub.
Chapter 43
IN-N-OUT Again
Mara questions an employee, David, a buff young blond kid with a buzz cut, after he shows her the security camera footage.
“I’m really sorry, Ma’am. We clean them all the time.”
“So that’s why the image is so bad?”
“Yes, Ma’am. It’s bird shi… um, bird droppings. That’s why you can’t see part of it. The little ones build nests in the housing. We even get seagulls because of the dumpsters. Wanna look at it again?”
“Please, just one more time. I know they want you back at the grill.”
“For realz. Thanks.”
They view the same footage. Half of the lens is occluded. Roto’s arm and shoulder are visible as he takes the bag of food and cardboard drink tray from the drive-up window.
“Do you remember who was in the car or did someone else serve him?”
“I didn’t serve them, but I saw them in the lot. I definitely know the car. Awesome wheels!”
“You’re saying them?”
“Yeah, I was changing trash bags and sweeping back there, and he, the d
river, had an older guy in the car, too.”
“Can you give me any description?”
“Not exactly. I was mostly checking out the car. But the guy was older, like forty or fifty or something. He had this humongous honkin’ watch on.”
“Like a dress watch… bling?”
“Bling for sure. Gold all day. I noticed ‘cause the asshole threw a tomato slice out the window. He was wearin’ some kind of baseball cap too, I think. Sorry.”
“No, that’s good. I don’t need made-up stuff. Thank you. I appreciate your help. If you think of anything later, give me a call. Here’s my card.”
“Ma’am, could I shake hands with you? Would that be okay?”
“Of course.”
They shakes hands and heads swivel inside the little drive-up building.
“I just think it’s so cool that you’re a lady detective, if it’s like okay to call you that.”
“Thank you, David. I think I see your boss looking nervous in there.”
“Oh, yeah. ‘Bye, Ma’am. Good luck or whatever.”
Chapter 44
Gloria
Mara is working hard at her desk, deep in thought, when Gloria Maestas pops in with a white paper bag and a message. She is a lively, slightly plump police secretary with two missing joints on her right index finger. Mara has never asked about it, but Gloria has dozens of made-up stories, each more freaky, hilarious and probably less true than the last. She favors wild-patterned blouses and baked goods.
“Chica! Just the girl I was looking for.”
“You were looking for me? It looks like you’re holding. What’s in the bag? I’m starving.”
Gloria fishes two big almond cookies out of her bag and hands them to Mara, who starts on one immediately. She talks while munching.
“Mmm, you had Chinese food? Why was I not invited?”
“No food, just cookies. Sorry, no napkins either, but I see those aren’t gonna live long. Did you pick up your messages?”
“I’ve been busy, but I think I’m up to date. Why, did I miss something exciting?”
Gloria flutters her eyelashes.
“David called. About a half hour ago.”
“David?”
“Burger Boy. Oooh, he likes you.”
Mara groans and laughs.
“Anything good?”
“Maybe. He said he found something and he hoped it would help.”
“Wow, that is good.”
“And so helpful.” They both laugh.
“I think he expects you to drop by IN-N-OUT so he can show you off… Maybe he’ll spring for a strawberry shake with two straws.” More eyelash fluttering.
“Oi, Gloria, stop! He’s younger than your son.”
“Exactly! That’s how I know he has the hots for you. Nineteen is a dangerous age, Miss B. I thanked him profusely and told him I’d give you his number.” She hands Mara a yellow phone memo.
“I’ll give him a call. Thanks for the cookies. You saved me.”
“Anytime, Boo.”
Gloria walks off in a gale of laughter.
Mara takes a couple swallows of cold coffee and punches up David’s cell number.
“Hi, Ma’am. I found out my friend’s brother worked out at the same gym as the guy with the car.”
This was going to be like pulling teeth, but she promised herself she would work every single lead, no matter how tedious or unproductive.
“How does this help me?” There was silence on the other end, and she realized she had sounded curt.
“Sorry, I mean is there a connection, do you think, David?”
“I think so. He got a tattoo at the same place. We were talking about the car, and it turns out that they both work out at the Gold’s on Laurel Canyon. The car guy gave my friend’s bro the business card. It’s called ‘Satan’s Coffee’. I didn’t get it, but he said it’s like a joke on ink. It’s in NoHo by that bike repair garage.”
“North Hollywood…The Arts District?”
“Uh-huh, North Hollywood, I think. I haven’t been there. Nick Bustos… my friend, said his brother’s tatt is full-color wicked awesome. A whole sleeve. I’m saving up.”
“That’s great. Good job. I appreciate your attention to detail, David.” Life is made of little pieces, and you never know what will eventually fit where.
“You’re welcome. No biggie. I hope it helps.”
Chapter 45
Satan’s Coffee
After a modest amount of explanation, the tattoo artist-owner and his friend are off to the races, recalling the job in question. Mara listens intently, waiting for a spot to interject any more questions, and taking notes.
Boney G. is a huge, good-natured blimp of a man in a laced eyelet black leather vest, Springsteen T-shirt and beaten-up carpenter denims. Sharpies sprout from the pockets like hedgehog spines, and his reddish full beard is bleached lighter around his mouth. His friend Siefert is skinny with ratty-looking blond dreads and round wire-rim glasses with amber lenses.
“Well, I wasn’t tryin’ to be rude. I just couldn’t read it. It looked like something with ‘light’ or ‘laugh’ in it… not very good lettering. Right up here.” He points to his collarbone and makes a downward arc with his huge index finger.
“Dude got all incensed.”
Siefert chimes in.
“That black squeezy Gothic shit is always like that, even when it’s good. Everybody’s just embarrassed to say they can’t read it.”
“That, my friend, is a stone truism. Anyway, he explains it’s ‘ONSLAUGHT’ and I say, ‘Oh, I get it! Cool!’ What bullshit. I just knew I could make a fast two or three hundred.”
“So, what’d he have you do?” Siefert hung out most of most days, so it pained him that he had missed this one.
“HAHA! I almost messed up again. He shows me a catalog picture of a lawn-edger. Damn! It turns out it’s this Roto-Tiller thing, and his nickname is ‘Roto’ or some shit.”
“He a banger?”
“No way! Straight up white boy wannabe. Big pants romance.”
“We’re white.” Siefert crosses his arms and rocks back and forth on his motorcycle boots.
“Yeah, but we bad!” Mara laughs along with them.
“That’s okay, hell of a build on this cat. Looked kinda like Eminem. I don’t think he smiled once. And a wad of bills like this.” Boney G. curls his hands around an imaginary Foster’s can.
“You shoulda took a shot of it.” Siefert turns to Mara.
“My friend here is a very fine artist.”
The big man touches fist to his chest.
“Thanks, Bro’. Here, I can sketch it out for you.” He uncaps two Sharpies and talks while he draws. He sketches the machine with black and yellow.
“And check this… He says ‘What else can he put on there?’- So I give him this idea for blood drops flyin’ out, you know, because the thing had curved blades like...” He caps the two markers, sticks them back in his pocket and curls both his hands into claws.
“Better than Wolverine got! More grabby-like.” Siefert fanned his fingers straight out and then dropped them into tighter curves.
Boney G. selects a red Sharpie.
“Dude thought of splats.”
He adds blood spots around the margin of the machine.
“He dug it so much, he tipped me another hundred! Came out good.”
Siefert asks Mara a question.
“Ma’am, you got any tattoos?”
“I might. You never know.” She didn’t, although way back Casey once suggested a small design of two cherries with stems. They both decided it wouldn’t have looked as good on darker skin, and Mara was relieved when Casey had said she was just kidding.
“Any cop ones? Like on your ankle?”
Oh my God,
do I seem like a secret Neo-Nazi white supremacist?, Mara thought, laughing to herself. I must have some seriously good cover.
Boney G. handed Mara his sketch and shot Siefert a look.
“Shut up, man!”
“Well, thanks gentlemen. As a friend of mine says, ‘You do good work’ ”
She holds up the sketch and shakes hands with both of them.
“Thanks for this. I appreciate it.”
“My pleasure.”
“You wish, man!”
“Shut up, Siefert!”
Chapter 46
Simpatico
Casey lounges on the deck enjoying the breeze. She looks up as she hears the front door close.
She shades her eyes and squints as a very subdued Mara comes out the sliding glass door and leans on the rail, looking out at the ocean. She’s holding a folder.
“Hey, Baby. You’re early.”
“Yeah, kind of. How are you?”
“Oh, I’m okay...” Casey picks up on Mara’s mood. Something was wrong, but what? She felt a small chill.
“… But you’re not.” She sits up and asks cautiously.
“What’s going on with you? Is it a case?”
“Um… yeah. A case.”
Casey gets up and comes over to lean next to Mara. She touches her lower back and leaves her hand there.
“Oh, Sweetie, what’s wrong? I’m sorry. What can I do… anything?” Nothing. Oh, this must be bad.
Casey waits a little longer, giving Mara some time, and then tries again.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
“It’s your case.”
Casey claps her hand over her mouth.
“They found someone? Did they? Did you figure it out?” A bad mixture of exciting and horrible but she had to go on. She wanted to be calm and ready, but she could already feel that she was breathing faster.
Mara hands Casey the folder. She opens it to see Roto’s mugshot and arrest forms.