The Color of Sin

by Paul Westwood

  Chapter 5

  After Leo made his cursory examination of Pauline and left, I went to the living room and stood in front of the television to make my announcement.

  “Get up,” I told her. “We’re getting out of here.”

  She looked momentarily annoyed for the interruption but the passive expression quickly returned. “Where are we going?”

  “To my place. You’ll have to pack enough clothes for a week and any makeup you want to bring with. We’re clearing out.”

  Instead of looking scared, Pauline let out a sigh of relief. “I’ve been scared that Keith could come back at any moment.”

  “He’s got the keys to this place?”

  She nodded. “I’ve been scared stiff thinking of him coming through that door again.”

  That has been a fear of mine too but I had thought that Pauline needed a familiar place to stay while she recovered, not a kidnapping job to stay at an unknown apartment with a complete stranger. Now that we had gotten to know each other – just a little – she would feel safe, especially since my intentions, at least so far, had been honorable.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I can handle Keith.”

  “You look strong enough, but he is awful mean. I’ve seen him knock out a club bouncer with only one punch. Keith was in the army doing secret work. He never was too clear on the matter.”

  “Green Beret,” I said. “That would mean plenty of martial arts trickery, good with blades, and an expert marksman. But trust me, I can handle him.” At least that’s the lie I told myself. You could never be too sure until the day came when you ran into someone better.

  Pauline didn’t look very convinced, but got up from the sofa, the blue gown whispering of untold secrets as she stepped by. As I tidied up in the kitchen, I could hear her rummage through the closet in the bedroom. Fifteen minutes later, she came back pulling a piece of wheeled luggage. She was wearing a zipped gray sweatshirt with a white t-shirt peeking out underneath and a pair of skintight black exercise pants. On her feet was a pair of light brown boots that looked barely durable enough for climbing the stairs of the local mall. Her red hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail.

  Before exiting, I turned off the air conditioning and the various lights. We left the BMW in the parking ramp since it was more noticeable than my anonymous sedan. I loaded the luggage into the trunk and then opened the passenger door for her. I got behind the wheel, started the engine, and drove. I was feeling paranoid enough that I took a long circuitous route back to my apartment. It seemed impossible that Keith Miller knew that I was on his trail, but Pauline was an obvious target who could lead him to me.

  The sky was dark with the paintbrush of night. The neon signs glimmered and rolled, a cascade of brilliant light. The traffic moved on, a flow of cars filled with seekers of pleasure no matter how fleeting. It was a hypnotic motion of gaudy thrills. I hated this town. I loved this town. It brought out the worst in people, exploiting their weaknesses for flesh and money, but there was still a kernel of redemption in this sea of sin. Not everyone fell under the spell; instead they lived their lives like anyone else: working to survive, falling in love, raising families, and trying to make sense of it all. That possibility of normality – for those who wanted it – was always available, even to those souls who had fallen through the cracks of society.

  My thoughts were interrupted by Pauline. She was staring out of the windshield, looking at nothing. She began to speak; her voice low enough it was barely audible over the thrum of the tires.

  She said, “It was a Friday night. I decided to go to the Luxor casino because I had never been there before. It was crowded with gamblers and men and women looking for a good time. I managed to get a seat at the bar. I was feeling unhappy so I started drinking hard, something I normally don’t do. I had a few gin & tonics which always make me feel cleverer than I really am. There is something about red hair that draws men to me like a magnet, like they are expecting some fiery red demon in bed. I’m afraid they are usually disappointed, at least my husband was. He wanted a trophy wife and that’s what he got.

  “So by the time I was on drink number four, I was also on man number four. They kept coming up, all trying to impressive me with their little jokes and innuendo. This last one was a real doozy, a businessman visiting Vegas for some manufacturing convention. He was fat and smelled of cheap cigars. He let it slip that he was married with two kids, an all American dad looking for a good night on the town. It made me sick to my stomach, not so much for him but myself. I felt like I had sunk to a new low in life.

  “It was then that Keith sat down on the other side of me. He said a few words to the man, something about leaving a poor woman like me alone. There must have been something in Keith’s eyes, for the convention goer decided to tackle an easier target. I was relieved and felt some gratitude toward my rescuer. Unlike the previous men, Keith didn’t seem to be on the make. Instead we talked of Vegas and how phony everyone here was. He seemed pleasant enough and a gentleman too. I didn’t get a glimpse of the real man until a few days later.

  My first impression of him was of someone who never completed college, but still had been successful as an entrepreneur. He had money but no taste. He spoke of his career in the military and some hush-hush missions he did in Afghanistan. It certainly improved his standing in my eyes since he is not particularly impressive to look at – like a feral cat, not well groomed and lacking in manners. But there was still an honest gruffness that was a change from the usual gigolos circling around me.

  “By the time I was on my sixth drink, I wasn’t feeling too good. I decided to call it a night. I was expecting him to try and go home with me. Instead all he asked for was my phone number. I eagerly gave it to him, thinking I had met someone who, at the very least, could be a friend. I got a message from him the next night, and even though I was still recovering from one hell of a hangover, I went out. We met at the Luxor again. He was courteous as ever, all compliments and small talk. I didn’t have as much to drink that night and began to notice some flaws that indicated trouble.”

  “Like what?” I murmured, afraid of breaking the spell.

  “Keith was rude to the waitress. When we made a tour of the gambling tables, he walked with his jaw stuck out as if ready to pick a fight with anyone who bumped into him. But at least when it came to me, it was all smiles and asking if I was happy. It was a warning that I should have taken to heart. Instead I let him kiss me goodnight. I know now that he was stringing me along, letting my guard drop so he could go in for the kill. He got what he wanted, that’s for sure.”

  That was all Pauline had to say for now. She fell into silence again. I did not push her, fearing she would clam up forever. Instead I finished the drive to my apartment and parked in the garage. By the expression on her face, I could tell she wasn’t too impressed by the digs. I wheeled her suitcase to the elevator and we waited together as it came down. Once inside, I inserted the special key into the lock, automatically bypassing the rest of the floors. We rode up to the top and got out.

  I checked the alarms in the hallway and everything was still set as I had left it. Of course I would have been notified via my cellphone, but I still didn’t have full trust in any technology, no matter how proven. I then went to the door and opened it, letting Pauline go first. Like the few others who have visited my inner sanctum, she let out a little gasp when she saw the expensive furnishings, gleaming kitchen, towering speakers, the stash of stereo gear, and the extensive music collection.

  She glanced my way, reanalyzing what she knew of me. She finally blurted out, “What exactly do you do for a living, Dev?”

  “A little of this and a little of that. I’m an investor. For example, I own this building. It’s divided into apartments below us. The security you saw was installed by me. Living here gives me plenty of breathing room from the outside world. I also do jobs for certain indivi
duals, mostly friends, who need help.”

  “I see. Is part of your so-called investing have to do with damsels in distress? I mean what’s the return in helping me out?”

  “That’s easy enough. I told you I was trying to track this Keith Miller down. He stole something.”

  “From the mob?”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions. I would never get involved with those boys. First of all, they’re too damn stupid for letting the Feds on to them. Sure, we both deal with money that was made under the table, but what I do isn’t illegal – at least for the most part. And secondly, they’re nothing but goons.”

  “What did Keith steal?”

  “I’m still trying to figure that out,” I admitted. “He sold or is still selling something that was stolen from my client, a young single mother. He used to be a bouncer at a strip club and now he’s buying luxury cars with cash and taking high class women like you out. I was hoping you could help me.”

  “Me?”

  I could sense that I was moving her along to fast. She was still weak and confused. I said, “Why don’t you have a seat. I’ll fire up the stereo and we can listen to some records before we go to sleep. This is a bachelor pad, so there’s only one bedroom. I’ll let you have it.”

  Pauline nodded. After kicking off her shoes, she sat on the sofa with her legs folded underneath her butt.

  I turned on the electronics, cleaned the stylus and then began sorting through my collection, looking for the perfect record for the moment. I did a quick search and found an Emeralds album, a relaxing mix of vintage synthesizer and driving guitar. As the first notes streamed out of the speakers, I noticed an initial look of skepticism from Pauline. I went and lowered the temperature on the thermostat and then went and stuffed the bottles of booze from the top of the bar into the lockable cupboards underneath. By the time I was finished, her eyes were closed and it was obvious by the soft contours of her jaw that she was enjoying the music.

  I sat down on the other side of the sofa. She opened her eyes and stared at me, looking as if she was trying to read my mind.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I can’t help but feel that I am being used. Like you are only taking care of me for your own selfish reasons.”

  “That’s understandable. Perhaps you are, since I hope to fill in some gaps using your knowledge of Keith. But you can rest assured that I would gladly help you, no matter what your situation was. I’m just a sucker for a pretty face. Right now I just want you to get well. You can tell me the rest of your story later.”

  Pauline seemed to accept my explanation. Stretching the length of her body out on the sofa, she rested her head, face up, on my lap. Her crimson hair cascaded over my thighs and stomach. I traced the edges of my fingertips against her pale, soft skin. She closed her eyes and relaxed. In between songs, I could hear her quiet breathing. By the time the record had finished, she was sound asleep. I was feeling tired myself but managed to extricate myself without waking her. I then lifted her up, cradling that warm body against mine, and carried her into my bedroom. When I was finished making her comfortable, I returned to the sofa with a blanket. I was going to have a restless night thinking of her.

  I woke up the next morning to the sound of my cellphone, which was on the coffee table, going off. I looked at the screen and saw it was ten in the morning. I had slept in. Melodie was calling.

  “Morning,” I said, trying not to sound groggy.

  “I haven’t heard from you for a while and neither has Cleora. She’s wondering if you gave up on her.”

  “Of course not. I just ran into a little unexpected business.”

  “Like what?”

  “I believe the lady in question said I was rescuing a damsel in distress.”

  “Another woman in your life? It hardly seems to be the time and place for a new romance.”

  “This one is special. Remember the rich red-head that was seen with Keith? Her name is Pauline. That bastard left her with a drinking habit and a number of lessons that no one woman should learn. I’m hoping she has a line on his location.”

  “She hasn’t told you yet?”

  “No, she’s in a bad way. But she’ll get there in the end. Tell Cleora not to worry, okay? I have some other leads that I’m going to follow up on.”

  “Okay, Dev. But I want you to be careful.”

  “I will be. And thanks again for the wakeup call.”

  I hung up the phone and forced myself to stand up. I went to the kitchen and put fresh grounds into the coffee maker. Once it was bubbling away, I went to the bathroom and took a shower. When I was finished, I wrapped the towel around my waist and went to my bedroom. The door was open. I could see Pauline lying on the bed, her head turned to face the row of windows. The sky was blue and the light of the morning sun was almost blinding.

  “Are you awake?” I ventured.

  “Yes,” she answered softly.

  “Sorry for my lack of modesty, but last night I forgot to lay out some clothes.”

  Pauline turned over to face me. She only lingered on my body for a brief second. She said formally, “We’ve already seen each other in our birthday suits. But I applaud you for your discretion.”

  “You’re not making it easy on me,” I said as I began rummaging through the dresser.

  “I just wanted to apologize for yesterday when I tried to force myself on you. This sounds silly but I feel ugly now. Perhaps tainted would be a better word. I need to know if men still find me attractive.”

  “A man would be a damn fool not to,” I said. I was in the walk-in closet now, picking out a light gray suit and a clean white shirt. When I was done, I walked out with a bundle of clothes in hand. I gave her a friendly leer. “We’ll discuss your sexual hang ups when I’m done dressing.”

  Pauline made a face at me and stuck out her tongue. She must be feeling better.

  I returned to the bathroom and put on the suit. I styled my hair with a touch of Brylcreem, trying to look like an earnest, creative type. When I looked in the mirror, I saw someone who needed a vacation, preferably at the beach with a six pack of beer. I lied to myself that day would be coming soon enough.

  Pauline was at the bar, looking plaintively over the line of remaining mixers. It was obvious that she was still thinking of alcohol. There was a mug of coffee in her hand. She was wearing a bathrobe of mine. When she turned her head and saw me, she let out a whistle. “You do clean up nicely.”

  “Only when I want to. I have to go run some errands now. I hope you can be good while I’m gone.”

  “But what am I supposed to do all day? There’s no television and I want to get outside.”

  “Get some sun and read a book,” I suggested. “I don’t want to leave you here all by yourself but I don’t have much choice in the matter. Just a warning, I’ll be setting the alarms and will be notified if you break your way out.”

  “So I’m a prisoner?”

  “Of course not, but you’ll be safer here - safer from the temptation of the bottle and the odd chance that Keith decides to go looking for you.”

  “You said something about getting some sun. Is there a balcony I can use?”

  “I’ve got something better than that. Come and follow me.”

  We went out the front and up the stairs. There was a metal door here that I unlocked. I opened it and let Pauline go first. This was the roof of the building. I had built a patio here with an awning of white sailcloth to keep the sun out. There was a pair of cedar Adirondack chairs with matching footstools and a low table to hold drinks. Beyond that was a raised hot tub, the base covered in slate. Surrounding this little oasis were rows and rows of potted plants, mostly cactus since they didn’t require constant watering in the heat of the desert sun.

  “Dev, it’s beautiful!” Pauline exclaimed.

  “Just a little escape from the troubles of the world.”

 
There were no nearby buildings of the same height or higher, so the privacy was enough that I could enjoy myself. Of course a curious enough person could use a telescope from the one of the downtown skyscrapers and get a good view. I had often wondered how many times Melodie has been spied on; she had no compunctions for stripping down to do a little nude sunbathing or hot tubbing.

  “Well I have to get going,” I said. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Now don’t forget what I said: the doors leading to the floors below will be locked and the alarm will be set. The elevator can only be used if you have the passkey.”

  “Why would I want to go anywhere when I have all of this to enjoy?”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Pauline stopped taking in the sights and turned her attention to me. She took a step forward and tilted her head upward. I kissed her lightly on the mouth.

  “That’s a down payment for coming attractions,” I said.

  Before she could say or do anything in return, I headed for the door, taking the steps down three at a time. On my way down I set the alarms on the two stairway doors, locking each one as I went. Down in the garage, I took the Impala again and hit the streets, heading to the northern part of the valley. In a half hour I was in the suburban jungle of strip malls, SUVs, and soccer moms ferrying their kids around. At night dad would come home and drink his beer and bitch about the boss. Welcome to America, the land of the eternal gripe.

  After a minor traffic jam and a few zigzag detours, I found myself in a post-war development of tract housing, back in the days when they made the lots small and the homes even smaller. The garages were usually an afterthought, detached and tucked in the back. I checked the address I had scribbled down and then stopped when I saw I had reached the right one, the residence of Bob Peabody, a former Green Beret colonel.

  The home was made of red brick with white shingles and white wood trim. The front was dominated by a bay window with drawn curtains. A short flight of stairs with a white-painted metal railing led to the front door. The driveway was gravel and some scraggly bushes, which would have done better further north, sat amongst a thin layer of graying bark. The yard, like so many others in this town, was scraggly. It seems that no one learns that growing grass in the desert was a futile gesture. But there was something about suburbia that made it necessary.

  I got out of the Impala. In my hand was a legal notepad. Out of practice, I looked the area over to see if anyone was paying any attention to me. Except for some kids a few houses down, no one was braving the summer heat. I marched up to the front door and gave it a few hard raps.

  It wasn’t long until the knock was answered. The door swung open, revealing a man in the latter stretch of middle-age. But you would never guessed it based on his physique – all lean muscle and upright posture – but instead by the worn faces and nearly black eyes that had seen too much death. He was wearing khaki shorts, sandals, and a plain black t-shirt, but somehow his past military bearing was unmistakable.

  “I’m not buying anything,” he growled.

  “That’s good, because I’m not selling.”

  “What do you want then? To read the gas meter?” His manners weren’t getting much better; it was all bluff designed to keep the troops in on their toes.

  I wasn’t having any of it. “I’m here to ask you some questions. That’s if your name is Robert Peabody.”

  “It is. What do you want to ask me?”

  “I’m working on a book about the Special Forces, specifically the most recent wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I was hoping to collect stories from the men who served there.”

  It was obvious that my answer has taken Robert by surprise. His eyes rose momentarily and his lips twisted together with some forgotten memory that had come flooding back. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he eventually spat out.

  I nodded. “I’ve talked to other veterans and they’ve had the same reaction. I know the situation out there was tough. I know you lost some good men. This book is supposed to be a history of those days, so the future generation won’t ever forget.” I thought I was laying it on thick, but these old soldiers can be quite sentimental.

  Instead of saying no, he asked, “Why didn’t you call or email me instead of showing up on my doorstep?”

  “It’s been my experience that it is easier to turn someone down unless you meet them face to face.”

  “I suppose that is true. What is your name?”

  I thought about giving him my real one, but decided against it. This was a man who most likely still had contacts inside the CIA. Once he found out that I really wasn’t writing a book, he may want to retaliate. As far as I was concerned, I didn’t want to be on anyone’s list of enemies.

  “I’m Vincent Poole, but you can call me Vince,” I lied, trying to keep my expression as pleasant as possible.

  “Have you published any other works?”

  “Nothing that you would have read,” I replied. “I mean I’m still trying to break into this business. I’ve done some magazine work and I’ve written articles for online sites.”

  Peabody seemed to accept my story. The door opened further and he took a step back to let me pass. “Why don’t you come in and we can talk a little. If I like you, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  “Thanks,” I said brightly.

  The front door led to a living room. The furniture was old-fashioned and the green carpeting was threadbare. An old tube television was tucked into the corner and there was a smell of old age in the air. The painting on the mantle would have looked better hanging at the Salvation Army.

  “This used to be my parent’s house,” Peabody explained. “When I retired from the service, I started living here. They died a few years ago but I never had the chance to redecorate the place.”

  “I see,” I said as I took a seat on the sofa.

  He took a seat in an old armchair and stretched his legs out. “So how did you get my name?”

  “From someone who used to serve with you,” I replied. I pretended to look through the notebook on my lap. “He’s a source that I promised complete confidentiality. He said you knew something illegal that Bill Kinney was doing. Kinney is dead so I thought I would come and ask you.”

  The mention of that name made him freeze. The only part that moved was his jaw as it opened and closed with the sound of teeth clinking together. His cheeks then flushed red with anger. “Who told you that? Give me his name!”

  “I can’t reveal my source.”

  “Just what kind of story are you writing? I don’t want to be involved in anything that will dishonor my old unit. Maybe you had better leave.”

  I gave him the most understanding smile I could muster. “I’m not here to in any official capacity. I’m not a policeman or any kind of government agent. All I want is an accurate history, one with warts and everything. I won’t mention any names specifically in my book, but there will be a chapter on the drug trade and the effect it had on the men. It is my understanding that some soldiers got rich dealing. If you could explain how and why, then perhaps there would be some understanding by the reader. I’ll also add that I’m not accusing you of any improprieties, but I just want to really hear what life was like out there, and what the men did to survive.”

  Looking deep in thought, Peabody slouched back in his chair. He nodded a few times to himself as if struggling to reach a decision. He finally said, “I’ll tell you, but this is off the record. You can use this story in your book, but I don’t want my name or anyone else mentioned.”

  “You have my promise.”