Post Pattern (Burnside Mystery 1)

by Chill, David

  I pondered this as the last vestiges of color vanished from the glass tower. As I began to wonder how the rest of the evening's events would unfold, I saw a familiar face walk into the building. It was Lenny Caputo. I stayed in the truck and waited for him to return. He came out fifteen minutes later carrying what looked like a sack of groceries in a brown paper bag. I smiled. Sometimes you get lucky.

  Chapter 12

  I started the Pathfinder's engine and watched Lenny walk down the sidewalk. Pulling slowly out of my space I eased the truck down the street and followed him around the corner. He stopped three cars down and opened the door to a new Toyota Prius. As he climbed into the vehicle, I drove up and double parked in front of him, blocking any potential escape. Hopping out of the Pathfinder, I drew my gun from the ankle holster and scooted around the back of the truck. Sensing danger, Lenny leaped out of his car empty handed but it was too late. My gun was in his face.

  "Turn around," I shouted. "Hands on top of your head."

  I grabbed him and flung him around for emphasis. Frisking him for weaponry, I found none and spun him back the other way.

  "Get the bag," I said, jerking my head in the direction of his front seat.

  "You're not a cop!" he exclaimed.

  "Call it a citizen's arrest," I snarled. "Get it."

  He reached inside and brought out the bag which said "Target" on it in wide red lettering. I peeked inside without touching the contents. It was a large white zip-lock baggie filled lavishly with white powder and rolled up into a cylinder.

  "Planning on doing some baking, Lenny?"

  His eyes had the look of a frightened animal. His breath was rapid and uneven, and his mouth quivered nervously. For a moment I thought he might start to cry.

  "I dunno where that came from, dude," he started.

  "Give it up, Lenny. I've got pictures of you carrying it out of the building," I lied. "I even know you were in apartment 14G."

  "How... how do you know that?"

  "Radar, kid," I said, starting to enjoy myself. "You were in that apartment for eleven minutes and six seconds. Would you like me to describe the furniture in the apartment, too? I can start with the orange couch."

  He shook his head no. I instructed him to hand me the keys of his car and when he did so I told him to get in on the passenger side. I sat down behind the wheel.

  "Okay, Lenny, here's the deal. You're in a lot of trouble. Big time trouble. With what I have here, you could go away for a couple of years. San Quentin. Some of the boys there might teach you a new definition of what a split end means. It won't be pretty."

  His face was flushed and it held a petrified look. "I’ve never been arrested before," he protested.

  "Doesn't matter," I continued. "First offenders go away all the time. Plus, it'll be very public. The headlines will read "LAU football player goes to jail on drug charges." It'll haunt you for the rest of your life. Everyone you meet will know about your past or else they'll have friends who will. This is probably fun and games now, but believe me it will live with you forever."

  He bit his lip hard. "What do I do?" he whimpered.

  "Cooperate," I said. "Right now I'm the only person in the world who can help you. Just me. I can ruin your life or I can save it."

  He looked helplessly at me. "What do you want?"

  I kept the gun steadied on him, although it probably wasn't necessary. "Tell me about Robbie and Evan. I want it all and I want it now."

  Lenny swallowed and looked down as if he were betraying nobility. "Evan's the source. Robbie was one of his customers. They knew each other from growing up but it's business now."

  "How much does Evan turn?"

  Lenny shook his head. "Don't know. A bunch."

  "He and Robbie ever have a problem?"

  Lenny hesitated. I pointed to the paper bag with my gun and he got the message. "Robbie owed him some money. Lot of money."

  "Enough money to kill him over?"

  "Evan doesn't kill people."

  "When the stakes are high, anything's possible."

  Lenny shook his head. "He might have one of his boys break an arm or something, but he wouldn't finish the job. If a guy's alive he can pay the debt off. Can't do that if he's checked out."

  It was a reasonable thought. If Robbie's life was really in danger he could have gone to his father as his last resort. Borrowed the money from him. Or taken it. But if I recalled, Robbie seemed anything but worried on his last night.

  "That's very perceptive," I said.

  He looked bleak. "What's going to happen to me?"

  "Nothing right now. But I still have a problem with Robbie Freeman's death. Tell me what happened at the bachelor party. In Robbie's room. You were the only one there."

  Lenny shook his head. "I don't know, dude. I was out of it."

  For a guy who talked like a surfer, Lenny was a shrewd one. I decided to play my trump card. "Tell me everything you heard," I said. "And I'll walk away and you're free to drive home. No testifying, no plea bargaining. You're home free."

  Lenny looked me in the eye for the first time. He seemed to be searching, if not within himself, within me. He shrugged, although not in resignation, but more as if he had nothing to lose. "I heard something," he said. "They put me on the bed and there was a scuffle of sorts. I heard someone get whapped. Then I heard conversation. It wasn't very long and it was kinda hushed. The music was playing really loud so I couldn't hear real well."

  "Go on," I said. The kid was my only ears into an event that might otherwise never be known.

  "I think I heard something or someone being dragged across the floor," he said. "I was face down on the bed, mind you, so I couldn't see anything. I heard some commotion on the balcony. And then the next thing I know the police were in my face."

  "How many people were dragging this thing -- and I assume it was Robbie -- across the floor."

  "I dunno."

  "Okay," I said, licking my lips. "Did anyone follow you and Curt and Robbie into the room?"

  Lenny thought hard. "I didn't hear anyone."

  "So how come you didn't tell me this last week?"

  "Didn't have a reason to, dude."

  Shrewd, very shrewd. "You're a free man, Lenny. Not everyone's going to give you the break I am."

  "I'm not going to jail?"

  "Not unless you want to," I said, opening the door and taking the bag with me. "And not unless you're holding out on me. If you had anything to do with Robbie's death you better admit it to me or you'll be in a lot worse trouble."

  He looked me straight in the eye and said he didn't do it. His expression was sincere, but L.A. is home to some mighty fine actors, not to mention a large number of sociopaths.

  As I got out of his car, Lenny climbed over the stick shifter into the driver's seat. "Hey dude, how about giving me back my stuff?"

  I shook my head. "You're out of the business. Don't bother to thank me, I'm used to it," I said, sticking the bag under my arm. The next best thing to taking a dealer's money was to take his product.

  "Evan's gonna be pissed."

  "I think your pal's gonna have other things to worry about. Stay away from him. Go home and forget you were here."

  I climbed back into the Pathfinder and decided to call it a day and go home. I was hot and tired and hungry and my jaw was starting to swell. The freeway had thinned out by this time and it took just eleven minutes to reach home. I cooked some spaghetti, not wanting my jaw to have anything tough to chew on. After consuming a healthy portion, I was about to retire to the evening news when I remembered the bag I removed from Dr. Caputo this evening. I took his stash of white powder and flushed it down the toilet. Evan might not have been pleased but I felt it was the most productive thing I had accomplished since Norman Freeman hired me last week.

  *

  The following morning came too soon and I promised myself to remind the apartment manager that Ms. Linzmeier’s pipes were still howling. It was a little early to start work
so I killed an hour skimming the local fish wrap, also known as the L.A. Times. I lingered over three cups of French Roast and a pair of raisin bran muffins smeared with blackberry jam to mask the taste. By eight o'clock I was ready to start re-reading my Raymond Chandler collection.

  I concentrated my thoughts instead on Lenny Caputo and Evan Wurman and the DVD of the bachelor party. With the exception of Curt, who I knew I would have to deal with at some point, nobody at the party seemed to have the motivation, the culpability or the lack of an alibi necessary to have killed Robbie Freeman. I decided to concentrate on those who were not at the party. Talk about your needle in a haystack.

  My first stop was at Terry Kuhl's dorm room again. It was nine o'clock and I assumed I would be waking the lad up, but to my surprise he wasn't even there. A thin, amber skinned girl wearing little more than a red striped pajama top and a sleepy expression opened the door a crack. She was very pretty and had what might have been large doe eyes when they were fully opened. Her hair was long and billowy, and was slightly disarrayed, probably from hugging a pillow too tightly.

  "Help you?" she managed in a soft voice.

  "I'm looking for Terry Kuhl."

  "Terry? He ain't here."

  "Early class?" I wondered, perhaps a tad cynically.

  "No. He's at his mother's place over near Crenshaw," she said and peered at me. "What's your name?"

  "Burnside. I'm a private investigator."

  Her eyes finally widened. "Is Terry in some kinda trouble?"

  "To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure. Do you know Terry well?"

  "Well as anyone, I guess."

  I looked around the hallway. "Can I come in?" I asked.

  She nodded and opened the door for me. I entered a ten by fifteen foot room that contained a simple bed, desk and dresser that smacked of institutional quality, and an entertainment center that was probably finished by a Danish carpenter. The multi-tiered walnut piece held a small flat screen TV, DVD player and a stereo with enough knobs and switches to confuse an engineer. This was a lot different from my dorm room. I admired it briefly, and wondered if I had been born too soon.

  "What's your name?" I asked.

  "LeTanya," she said, pulling on the same burgundy silk robe Terry Kuhl was wearing last week.

  "Well LeTanya, how long have you known Terry?"

  "We met over a year ago. They were recruiting some athletes and I was part of the orientation tour. That's how we met."

  "Orientation tour?"

  "Yeah, you know. High school recruits come through here and the coaches have us take them around and let them see the campus."

  I nodded. Show them a good time. At least some things hadn't changed in twenty years. "Did you volunteer for this?"

  She shrugged. "I was asked to. Some of the girls volunteer but the coaches don't take everyone. They want to make a good impression on the recruits."

  "Apparently you succeeded."

  She smiled faintly and looked down. "Some of us do all right."

  I nodded. "What can you tell me about Terry?" I asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Has he been acting any differently lately? Nervous about anything?"

  "No, not really. Terry's Terry. He's always been a little high strung. Exceptional people sometimes are."

  "Did Terry know Robbie Freeman real well?"

  "I guess. Robbie came over now and again. They were friends, but not real tight. Know what I mean?"

  "Casual friends?" I offered.

  "Casual, that's it."

  "Did they get along okay?"

  "Yeah, sure."

  "Any hassles between the two?" I inquired breezily.

  "No. In fact Robbie helped Terry out a few times with studying."

  "I didn't think Robbie was much into school work."

  "I dunno. But he helped Terry do well on a few tests. He was flunking a couple classes and Robbie helped him pull through."

  "Was Terry into drugs?" I asked, watching her reaction carefully.

  "He was at one time. Not any more. And not like the others."

  "Others?"

  "Other players. I don't wanna name names."

  "How about if I name some. Evan Wurman?"

  "Never heard that one."

  "Lenny Caputo?"

  She nodded. "He was really into it."

  "Did you know if Lenny and Robbie ever had any problems with each other?"

  "I dunno 'bout that. But I do know Terry used to say that if he had wide receivers who could block, he'd of made Freshman All-American last year. He was a little mad about their playing. Nothing personal, mind you. Off the field he seemed to like both of them."

  I digested this and decided Terry and I needed another conversation. LeTanya gave me Terry's mother's address and I thanked her and gave her my card in return.

  *

  I walked back to the Pathfinder and took a glance down at my watch. It was only half past nine and I was already perspiring. My shirt was stuck to my lower back and beads of sweat were forming on my brow and temples. I climbed into the truck and lowered the windows rather than turn on the air. It was twenty minutes to my office by surface streets and only ten by freeway so I took the latter to save a few minutes. Either way I'd reach my destination before the interior ever really cooled off.

  Traffic was light but as I approached the Cloverfield exit ramp, a car charged up behind me. I was in the fast lane and going sixty-five but my new friend tailgated for half a mile. I decided to apply that wonderful touch of class I learned from my seasoned driver's ed teacher. When someone is right on your tail, simply go slower. I took my foot off the gas and slowed to fifty, but when that didn't dislodge him I initiated a trick I learned on my own. I jammed my finger against the windshield washer button and held it there for five seconds. One glance in my rear view mirror told me I had hit pay dirt. The car’s wiper blades worked furiously and were followed by flashing headlights. Usually the other car slows down a smidgeon but this fellow was intent on riding my backside. After another thirty seconds of playing road hog, I decided I had inflicted enough ill will for the morning and moved my truck one lane over. Big mistake.

  The car zoomed up beside me and began cruising at parallel speed. I looked over and saw an angry pair of male faces. They were familiar but I couldn't place where. My body tensed up. It was a maroon BMW. The passenger side window opened and I saw the barrel of a shotgun emerge. The gun was aimed directly at my head. I slammed my foot onto the brakes at the same moment that a puff of smoke and a loud bang were emitted from the gun. I heard a pop where the load smacked into the truck's A-pillar just before the windshield. A shard of metal came flying off and it was plainly horrifying that I had just come within inches of being shot in the head. I forced my foot down harder on the brakes, but the BMW slowed also, as Curt Salvo tried to steady his aim for a better shot. I then released the brakes and floored the accelerator as I heard another pop followed by the banging sound of a clump of buckshot crashing into the rear door.

  The Pathfinder's V6 engine responded after a moment’s hesitation and surged forward strongly. But the sheer weight of a truck would always offset the amount of horsepower. These vehicles were made for hauling and camping and ruggedness. Quick response was out of the question. I tried to outrace the BMW but it roared up besides me once again. More drastic measures would need to be implemented.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Curt lean out of the window, his arm extended as he tried to steady his aim. I responded by swinging the steering wheel hard to the left. The Pathfinder lurched across the lane and my body shifted across the interior of the cab, restrained only by the snugness of the seat belt.

  The truck smashed directly into the BMW, forcing it against the center divider. This was followed by the deafening sound of metal crunching and glass shattering. My vehicle caromed off of the car like a tailback bouncing off a middle linebacker, and the truck spun off into the empty third lane. It wobbled unsteadily in the same direction of tra
ffic before finally coming to a slow halt. The BMW did not have a lane to skid into and thus had no such luxury of movement.

  On certain freeways there is a shoulder on either the extreme right or left side of the road for disabled cars to pull off. This was inserted to prevent cars from bottling up an entire freeway lane if a breakdown occurred. The enormity of traffic congestion in Los Angeles was such that these shoulders were often turned into an extra lane of traffic to incorporate the additional volume of cars that materialized over the years. The primary victims of this maneuver were those whose cars stopped in traffic and could not get off the road. A secondary casualty was Curt Salvo's once stylish maroon BMW, which now had nowhere to go but into an unforgiving wall.

  By virtue of the collision with the Pathfinder, Curt's car skidded to the left and crashed into the cement divider with a horrifying force. Careening back into the number one lane the vehicle spun completely around and plowed into the barricade once more, with almost as much ferocity. It skidded back into the freeway again and finally came to a helpless stop in the third lane, leaving a trail of broken auto parts and leaking fluids behind it.

  A few drivers behind us stopped to watch the debacle, gazing with horrified expressions at the twisted sight. A young couple in a white Audi pulled over onto the right shoulder just before the next exit ramp and began running over to see the damage first hand.

  I surveyed my face in the rear view, and to my surprise, observed no visible marks. My heart rate however had escalated immeasurably and my breathing was erratic. My clothes were drenched in sweat and my ribs ached from the sudden lurching and braking of my Pathfinder.

  The couple reached the BMW first and tried to look inside the shattered windshield. The glass had crackled into spider webs, an eerie sea green color that blocked any view of the compartment. The man, wearing little more than shorts and flip flops walked around to the side and glanced at the driver. He turned away immediately. The girl was about to look as well, when her boyfriend took her arm and spared her whatever repugnant vision lay inside. They walked around the BMW with amazement, shaking their heads, awestruck.