[Sign Behind the Crime 01.0] Gemini

by Ronnie Allen

  “Damn! What that woman has done to me? I should have killed her when I had the chance. I’ll find her. She’ll be sorry she was there that night. Dancin’ and carryin’ on, that whore.”

  While he threw on some filthy clothes--green army-print jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt that used to be white but was now a dingy gray, and a jacket that matched his pants--he stared at the Oscar statue on the shelf.

  Melissa! Why d’ya go? Why d’ya leave me? Damn, Melissa. I want you so bad. I want our SaraLynn so bad. We had it so good, so great. God, please take me, so we can be together again.

  Memories flooded him. Once an Oscar-winning cinematographer, here and abroad, he was in very high demand. The movie producers lapped up his skill, especially in animations. He’d had a long roster of A-List clients wanting him. Commanding seven grand a day on the set, he’d been living the Life of Riley. Everything was wonderful for him and his family, his wife of ten years, Melissa, and his precious six-year old daughter, SaraLynn, living in that fantasy dream house in LA. Then that dream was shattered in one split second when Melissa was driving SaraLynn to school and an uninsured motorist hit them sideways in an intersection. All three died at the scene.

  The guilt still haunted him. In a shoot in Europe at the time, Clancy couldn’t get home for almost a week. He’d had a mental breakdown, spent a year in a mental hospital, and devoured his savings. Then he lost the dream house. He couldn’t live there, anyway, not with the memories. The drugs--coke; amphetamines, to keep him going; and then the valium with booze to help him sleep at night, became his daily consolation. Then all of the money disappeared from supporting a thousand-dollar-a-week habit, and no producer wanted anyone on the set with that monkey on his back. He came to New York with what was left of his money, but now everything was gone, including his dignity.

  It was too late for his appointment, so what the hell? He stumbled out of the apartment onto the icy steps, padlocking the door behind him. The hazy gray clouds mimicked his mood.

  He meandered to the newspaper stand on the corner. He saw a picture on the front page of a woman helping a child into an ambulance.

  That’s her! That’s her! Now I know where to find you, Barbara. You’ll be dancing for me for your life! Barbara? She didn’t look like a Barbara. Not at all like a Barbara. That name is too serious for a whore. Sure looks like her, the same legs. But the hair, the makeup is all different. Is it her? I don’t know now. Doesn’t look like a whore. Makeup and hair could make her look different. The eyes, the eyes could be the same. Same shape. Different color? Can’t tell in black and white. She was on a stage, can’t tell her height. And those boots she wore, they added about five inches. No boots here. Photos make ya look ten pounds heavier. Was she that skinny? I don’t remember. How fat does this one look?

  In his hangover, he twisted and turned the paper into different angles.

  I just don’t know.

  ***

  John lay stark naked on his back in bed on the top of the designer gray silk bedspread, every muscle in his gleaming body defined and, with a BMI of about sixteen, he kept himself in the best shape he could. He thought about Vicki all day. He just didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of him calling her first. He was still shocked that she’d left and given up their beautiful relationship out of her own selfish needs. He’d never tried to put his needs above hers--or had he?

  She didn’t call him either and she’d promised. His glamorous California King bed seemed gigantic and now, in the 24K gold trimmed mirrored ceiling, he only saw his own lonely reflection. This once protective, loving haven now felt cold and unwelcoming, with the black lacquered night tables attached to the sides of the bed flowing into a dresser for her and, on the other side, an armoire for him. He grabbed her soft pillow and held it across his chest putting his face into it to inhale the remnants of any fragrance that she had left behind. It was only two days and he doubted he could get along with her being 1200 miles away. Wanting to hold her close he caved, picked up the phone on the nightstand, and dialed.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, babe. Expected to hear from you. How did it go at school today?” Was it his parental attitude that had turned her away? Or maybe she just didn’t want any added responsibilities. He’d fought with himself all day.

  “I didn’t go.”

  John expected an excuse from her. Why should things be different now? She’d gotten into the habit of never carrying through, or maybe he pampered her too much. “Why not?”

  “Had so much to do around the house and the fridge was empty. And--”

  He cut her off, not really wanting to hear any more excuses and tried to tantalize her with a seductive tone. “I need you to go into bed now.”

  “John, I can’t now,” she whispered. “I have company.”

  “Company?”

  Then he heard the cute voice on the other end of the phone.

  “Hi, Uncle John. It’s me, Amanda.”

  Relief. “Hi, sweetheart.” He’d fallen in love with her when he first met her three years ago. The precocious, then five-year-old with her blonde curls in a ponytail and light blue eyes knew how to get right through him with her warm smile and giggles.

  “When are you getting your butt down here?” she asked.

  “Excuse me? Since when do you speak to your uncle like that?”

  “Someone has to knock some sense into that little bit of brain you have! Your wife needs you.”

  I sure need my wife, too.

  “Are you eight going on twenty-one? How long will you be there?”

  “Over night. Mommy and Daddy went to a wedding. Why?”

  “Oh, uh, you’ll do your favorite uncle a favor, right?”

  “You’re not my favorite, anymore. But give it your best shot.”

  Knowing he deserved that, he just laughed. “When are you going to bed?”

  “It’s only five o’clock. What kind of a question is that?”

  “Well, go in the bedroom and read a book. I really need to speak with your Aunt Vicki in private.”

  “You can speak in private. Here.”

  “Amanda, go into the den for a minute. John, we can’t now,” Vicki said into the phone.

  “Why not?”

  “This house isn’t soundproofed like yours and...”

  “All right. I get it. You know, in all honesty, I’m glad we didn’t have any kids to interfere.” He meant this, even if it was just to get back at her for leaving him, even if it was the selfish child within him who always wanted all of her undivided attention, even if just for the moment.

  She started sobbing, “Then I’m not coming back. Ever. I’ll speak to my principal about a position tomorrow when I take Amanda in. Got to go. Bye.” She hung up without letting him respond.

  His mind reeled. He thought about what he just said. He couldn’t believe those words had left his mouth. That stung, a cruel blow below the belt, the cruelest he could give to her since she wanted children more than anything else. He went along and they hadn’t used anything to prevent it. They had been trying to conceive for two years, had seen the top fertility doctors in New York City, and everything between them had been fine. Stress was to blame. She hadn’t been able to cope with the momentum and fast-paced energy of Manhattan. Every day had been a struggle for her to walk the crowded and well-lit streets, take public transportation and the trains. The odor-ridden stench of the overcrowded trains made her a nervous wreck. He’d hired a private driver and a limo, but hearing the loud horns of the cabbies, buses, and other cars on the crowded avenues just gave her such stomach pains she had to see a specialist. Living with a top New York City psychiatrist, such as himself, who got high on the action of the city and craved its energy, made it all seem worse.

  He wouldn’t prescribe anything for Vicki, not even a small dose of Valium. He realized all of this came, not out of fear, but from the mere fact that she didn’t like city life. She was a country girl, through and through.

  The parties, s
hows, upscale restaurants were so intimidating. She felt out of place, not comfortable in her own skin, having to wear high heels and even that staple, that little black dress. Being his wife came with a price. He was well aware of it. Vicki always had to look perfect with her hair and makeup and trendy designer outfits. They never knew when the paparazzi would invade their privacy and start snapping their cameras. He had turned her into a fashion icon over the last two years, and she was now recognized as one of New York’s Best Dressed Women. He was so proud to be seen with his gorgeous wife, but deep down he knew that she longed for her flip-flops, shorts, and tank tops, even in the dead of winter.

  It was clear to him, the only ones she felt comfortable with were Tony, Sal, and the other cops. After all, Vicki came from a family of them, the only girl with two brothers, and the only one who left to go to the big city, one of the biggest of them all, New York.

  Vicki had begun to isolate herself from their friends and any friend she made on her own and spent her time alone in the condo reading, cooking, and baking, which was her forte. She made lunch for him every day. She packed it with loving notes and baked enough cookies and pastries for the doctors’ lounge and police precinct. John’s treats grew to be expected. Everyone would stay after hours to indulge in Vicki’s delights. Oh, man, was he going to miss that!

  John stared into the closet. He saw that the knob on her jewelry safe was in the same position and she’d left most of her clothes. All of the exquisite Tiffany diamond jewelry, the ten-karat necklace, with hearts in diamonds and platinum, and the matching bracelet and ring he bought her--not necessarily for special occasions, but for just because--and the designer six-thousand-dollar bags and high-priced clothing were all left behind. She wouldn’t need them back home.

  John let the tears flow at the thought she’d be leaving him for good.

  CHAPTER 14

  Three Years Earlier:

  John’s parents had moved to Sun County, on the west coast of Florida, at the beginning of June, the day after his forty-second birthday. It had been three months since he had seen them. In New York, he would see them at least once a week. He’d thought he cut the umbilical cord. But what he was about to find out was that the cord was still wrapped just as tight and stretched over 1200 miles.

  “Let us have a car pick you up at the airport. It’s a long drive.”

  “No, Mom, I want to rent a car. I’ll need it during the week anyway.”

  “You’re coming down to spend time with us. Aren’t you?”

  “Yes, but you have your new friends. I don’t want to disrupt your schedules. And I just want to vegetate by the pool. I’m not going to stop you and Dad from doing your thing.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you. Pack your Tallit and bring a few sports jackets and ties.”

  “Mom, I know how to dress for Temple.”

  “On Rosh Hashanah people get a little more dressed up. Even down here. Do you have the directions?”

  “Yes. Dad gave them to me and I put them into my GPS. Mom, stop worrying, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Call us from the plane when you land.”

  “Yes, Mom, I will. Let me go finish packing.”

  “Have a great flight. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Mom.” He hung up, amazed at how she still treated him like a little boy.

  He laughed to himself.

  What did she mean? Even down here?

  ***

  The pilot came on over the loudspeaker. “Welcome to Tampa. The temperature is currently ninety-three degrees. We’ll be getting to the gate in approximately five minutes and will disembark at gate three. Follow the signs to the shuttle and then to the luggage carrier A1 for pick up and ground transportation. Hope you had a pleasant flight and thank you for jetting Jet Blue Airways.”

  ***

  In his reserved black Cadillac Escalade, dressed in a jeans and a polo, already feeling the heat, but loving it, even with beads of perspiration on his neck dampening his shirt collar, John put the Garmin on the dash. He drove out of the lot onto Veterans Parkway North, heading toward Crystal River. He was eager to leave the chilliness and early change of season in New York behind for the warmer weather.

  Getting to the first toll, his first surprise came from the tollbooth attendant, a woman in her sixties as she greeted him. “How are you, sir?”

  He handed her a buck twenty-five for the toll. “Fine. Thank you. How far is it to Serento?”

  “All the way to last exit, sir, about seventy-two miles. Then follow the signs.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Have a great day, sir. And make sure to stay on the highway. Keep to the right.”

  “Will do.” Pulling out, he smiled. This doesn’t happen in New York! She would have had a conversation if I wanted.

  He received the same greeting at the next five tollbooths. He enjoyed the friendliness, for a change, and it relaxed him. The drive took longer than he expected but he’d never driven on such a barren highway. He mellowed out, went into his own thoughts, and focused on where he was going at the same time.

  Finally, I can relax. I need this week badly. I hope they don’t embarrass me by introducing me to all their friends. No fix ups, Mom, please, no fix ups. Ah hell, when did she ever listen to me? And her Mahjongg group, definitely not that, not her Mahjongg group. No rain, just no rain. I want sun, swimming, and relaxation. No cops. No work. No phone calls from Carlson or the team. No hospital emergencies. Nothing. Just “me time.”

  After an hour and fifteen minutes, he reached the end and the female Garmin voice startled him, jerking him from his thoughts. “Turn right onto Highway 98.” And then, three miles later. “Turn left onto Highway 491.”

  All he saw were trees and more trees--big oaks mixed with palm trees, so many different ones he couldn’t name them--lining the roads. And then some farms with cows and horses, lots of them. He saw many calves with their mothers and smiled to himself at how innocent they looked, so free, just grazing at their will. It was a calm and peaceful area.

  All the greenery overwhelmed him. Some homes were in desperate need of repair. Some were abandoned run-down shacks. Then the trailer parks appeared at the edge of the road. Their laundry hung on lines outside the trailers, next to charcoal barbeque pits, while the smokehouse odors contaminated the supposedly clean clothes.

  Where the hell did Mom and Dad move to?

  He passed a community college, a high school complex, and some privately owned businesses, then trees and more trees lining this six-lane highway.

  He’d had no idea that this trip he was taking was going to alter his life forever, turning it upside down and inside out. He would be kissing his playboy lifestyle goodbye for a monogamous one. His late-night partying would be over, except with the same woman in his own bedroom. His living his life only on his terms would be nonexistent. There would be a new person he worshipped and held high on a pedestal. He’d had no idea that tonight, Friday, a little before midnight, on Erev Rosh Hashanah, September eighteenth, he would be meeting the woman who would become his wife, Victoria Elizabeth Marin.

  The Garmin spoke again fifteen miles later. “Turn right onto Highway 486 and drive seven miles.”

  Where the heck am I going? It’s farther into woods? This is like the Adirondacks with palm trees.

  About three miles on, he got one of the finest amusements of his adult life. A mature black and white cow broke through a farm’s fence and found its way onto the now two-lane highway right in front of his SUV. He quickly came to a halt, just in time, and looked at this massive 1220-pound creature standing in front of his car, looking straight at him. A “Moo,” came from the cow’s mouth.

  Laughing out-loud and not believing his own eyes, he squinted to make sure it was what it was in front of him. He’d always welcomed a new adventure, so he got out of the car and approached the cow that plodded toward him. Right before the cow licked him, the farm owner came through the fence and secured the cow wit
h a rope around her neck.

  In his mid-fifties, wearing overalls, with a haggard beard, baseball cap and a few missing teeth, the farmer laughed at John’s amazement. “I got her, fella. The storm last night probly tore down this here plank.” He sneered at John and the car. “You’re not from around these parts, are ya?”

  “No I’m visiting from New York.” Like the guy couldn’t tell.

  Leading the cow back to the field, the farmer said, “Ah city folk,” almost mocking John, “Come on, girl.” Then he turned to John, “The next time ya see her, she’ll be on your plate,” he said.

  “What?” John was stunned, not expecting that kind of remark.

  “Yes sir, she’s goin’ to market next month. Just needs to gain a few more pounds in her gut here.” He patted the cow on her belly. “Have a great stay in Sun County, sir.”

  John stood there, bewildered. He knew raising cattle was a business, but now it had become personal.

  I’m becoming a vegetarian, definitely a vegetarian.

  Getting in the car, still shaken by the guy’s comment, he sat there contemplating the matter-of-factness of life.

  Wow, that’s not something I could do, but I do love my steak. Just never thought about it before I ate it, though. Wow. Maybe I ought to.

  That was humbling and would stay with him for a while. Sitting in the car, reflecting, he let the traffic build up behind him with at least four cars, but no one beeped their horn. He checked the rear view mirror, saw the traffic, registered the silence, and resumed driving, while his analytical self realized this was a different style of living down here. No one was in a hurry to do anything or get anywhere. Good for his parents but not good for him.

  Five miles later, he came to Bueno Terrace.