Eats to Die For!

by Michael Mallory

  “Where did this happen?”

  “On the West Side, around Palms.”

  “That’s not our jurisdiction, Mr. Beauchamp,” he said.

  “Yeah, I know, but, I thought maybe you could tell me what to do.”

  Then I heard a voice in the background shout, “Did you say Beauchamp? Gimme that!”

  A few seconds later, my old friend Detective Mendoza came on the line. “Beauchamp, what the hell do you want?”

  “Oh, hi, Hector. Well, my cell phone got stolen, and I thought I’d call in and report it.”

  “Your cell phone? Your goddamned cell phone? Do you know how many cases we have open right now? Your CELL PHONE?”

  After screaming out a suggestion that would have made Lenny Bruce blush, Mendoza slammed down the receiver at the police station, breaking the call, and likely the phone.

  Even though the sound did nothing to help my still-aching head, I had to smile. Now, thanks in large part to Detective Mendoza’s tirade, which could have been heard in Santa Barbara, an alternative explanation for my cell phone turning up in Avery Klemmer’s apartment, other than my having been there, had been established.

  It might not get me off the hook entirely, since I was known to have been inside Avery’s building, but it should raise enough reasonable doubt to knock me down a few places on the suspect list.

  Not bad, kid, Bogie said in my head, you’re learning.

  Now if I could only figure out who had murdered Avery Klemmer.

  It didn’t take Philip Marlowe to figure out that it had been the killer who hit me over the head before fleeing. Nor was it much of a leap of logic to assume that on the way out the killer had made an anonymous call to the police to report the murder, which is why they arrived so quickly. Conclusion number three was that Regina Fontaine was not just the link between Louie and Burger Heaven, but she also connected Burger Heaven and the Temple of Theotologics.

  It was then that I remembered something else, a passing reference made by the inebriated manager of Louie’s apartment building. When I mentioned Burger Heaven, he’d drawled, Goddamn Church owns ’em.

  At the time I assumed he was confused by the pseudo-Biblical terminology and iconography used by the chain, but now I wondered.

  If the Star Stage Center Theatre was owned by the Temple of Theotologics, couldn’t Burger Heaven be as well?

  Opening up my laptop, I powered it up to see what, if anything, I could find online that might confirm that supposition.

  At the same moment, I heard through the window the telltale sound of the mail truck pulling up outside. It’s the mailman putting on the parking break for each stop that makes it so identifiable.

  While my computer went through its prolonged booting process I went downstairs to get the mail in person.

  It was a typical mail day: two bills, an offer from an internet provider, some grocery store fliers, and another missive from Front Row Video, a movie rental chain that had was supposed to have gone out of business, but was somehow still sending me threatening letters over a dispute that had been cleared up years ago.

  But stuck within the fliers was something unexpected: a small padded envelope addressed to me but with no return address. Ripping it open as I walked back to my office, I saw it contained a flash drive.

  “Louie, I love you!” I said excitedly.

  Dashing back inside, I took the flash drive and plugged it into a port in my laptop, and waited. I did not have to wait long.

  It only took a few seconds for all my desktop icons to disappear, followed by my screen saver, which had been a shot of the Hollywood Sign. Everything went black.

  “Oh, no, no no no no no…” I droned, trying to find the curser to shut off the program, but failing because my keyboard no longer worked.

  For all intents and purposes, my laptop was dead.

  Even though it was probably too late, I yanked the flash drive out and threw it across the room. But even without it, words began to appear, scrolling up the screen from the bottom, like the back-story crawl at the beginning of a Star Wars movie:

  Congratulations! it read, You’ve pissed us off! Here’s your reward: we have disabled your computer and erased your hard drive. The only files that remain are the ones we have put on. Care to see what they are…?

  A photo then slowly faded up, eventually filling the screen. It showed an adult man, whose face was carefully hidden, with a girl of about eight, whose face was not. Both of them were naked.

  Suddenly I felt sick. I could only pray for humanity’s sake that it was PhotoShopped, not that the authorities would much care if any of them found it on my machine.

  The words Have a nice day! then appeared, after which they burst into a bouquet of flowers, which animated away, leaving only the picture.

  Clearly, the laptop was gone for good, but given the fact that the keyboard had been disabled, I couldn’t even turn it off. I would have to wait until the battery ran out, or maybe I could simply take a hammer and smash it to bits.

  That seemed like the better idea, but I would first have to get hold of a hammer, since I didn’t keep one at the office.

  My head hurt like the devil. I closed my eyes.

  “Guys?” I said to the empty office, “Bogie? Even you, Mitch? Anyone? Can someone tell me what to do?”

  It was Dana Andrews who drew the short straw. Sorry, we’re out of our league here, he intoned. In our day, all we had to worry about was getting beat up and shot at.

  I couldn’t take the hideous picture any more. I started to close the laptop when I heard a knocking sound at the door, which, because I had run in so quickly with the mail, was standing open.

  Looking up, I actually moaned and closed my eyes.

  “What’s the matter, Dave,” the man standing in my doorway said. “You don’t look happy to see me.”

  Happy? At this particular moment in time the sight of Detective Dane Colfax in my office was causing my life to pass before my eyes.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “You look like you just swallowed a rock,” Colfax said. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” I croaked. “How are you, Detective?”

  “Can’t kick.”

  “I hear you’re with Robbery and Homicide now.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “I ran into Mendoza a day or so back.”

  “How is he? Still limping?”

  “Physically, no. Emotionally, I think he needs a crutch.”

  “Oh, Hector’s all right. Maybe a little uptight.”

  Saying Mendoza was maybe a little uptight was like saying Marilyn Monroe was maybe a little sexy.

  “Why are you here, Detective?”

  “Know anyone named Avery Klemmer?” he asked.

  Play it cool, kid, Bogie told me.

  “Avery Klemmer…I’ve met him. Why?”

  “How did you meet him?”

  “A client of mine lived in his apartment building.”

  “Really? Hmm. That might explain it.”

  “Explain what?”

  “Why your cell phone was found in Avery Klemmer’s apartment.”

  “My cell phone? Really?”

  You’re over…acting, Gary Cooper cautioned.

  “But my cell phone was stolen a day or so back, at least I thought it was. I wonder if it fell out of my pocket inside the building? I already reported it as stolen.”

  “Are you leveling with me, Beauchamp?”

  “Why would I not level with you?”

  “I can’t imagine, but if you don’t mind my saying so, you look a little like a dog who made a puddle on the carpet when he knows he’s not supposed to. You hiding something?”

  I sighed. What I was contemplating was pretty counterintuitive, and probably a huge risk, but Colfax had always treated me fairly, and let
ting him in my problem might be a good thing in the long run.

  Don’t do it, kid, Bogart advised.

  On the other hand, honesty is the best policy, Clifton Webb countered, though it was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

  I had to make the decision myself, so…

  “Are you here alone, Detective Colfax?”

  He looked around. “I’m the only one I can see outside of you.”

  “What I mean is, shouldn’t you be with a partner?”

  “Oh, yeah, but she’s trying to find a place to park the car. Why? What’s so important about me being here alone?”

  “Because I like to think that we had established a pretty good relationship on that last case we were on,” I said.

  “I like to think I look like George Clooney,” he deadpanned. “Where is this going?”

  “I have a problem, a potentially big one. I think I might be able to explain it to you, but maybe not someone else whom I’ve never met before.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Whatever it is, Dave, don’t forget that I’m still a cop.”

  I sighed again, then said, “Come over here and look at this.”

  I stepped away from my desk as he walked over and looked at the photo on my laptop.

  “Jesus jumping baldheaded Christ on a pogo stick!” he cried, with uncharacteristic force. “Why the hell are you showing this to me?”

  “Because I think it’s the only way I can prove to you that I’m being set up. Over in the corner there you’ll find a flash drive. It was sent to me in the mail, and I thought it was some material from a client, but when I put it in my machine, it ate all my files and put on this picture. It also disabled the whole system, so I can’t get rid of it or even shut it down.”

  Colfax hit the Escape key a couple times, to no avail.

  “You believe I’m telling the truth, right?” I asked.

  “Either that or you’ve become a 33rd degree moron. You have any idea who’s doing the setting up?”

  “No.” And that was the truth, since I did not know, even though I suspected.

  “You think it was the same person who stole your phone and put it in the murdered man’s apartment?”

  “I don’t know, it might—”

  You don’t know he’s dead, you don’t know he’s dead, YOU DON’T KNOW HE’S DEAD! Laurence Olivier shouted maniacally in my head.

  “—Wait, what did you say?” I blurted, and thank you Sir Larry! “Avery’s been murdered?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Colfax said. “Robbery and homicide, remember? What, you think he was stolen like your cell phone?”

  “I…I’m shocked.”

  Oooh, you’re such a liar! Joe Besser whined inside my head.

  “You said that flash drive came in the mail,” Colfax said. “You still have the envelope?”

  “Right here.” I handed him the envelope, from which he appeared to deduce nothing.

  “Is there anything you’re not telling me?”

  “I’ve told you all I know. I’m on a case, and I’m starting to get the distinct impression that someone, somewhere, doesn’t want me to be pursuing this case. That’s about it.”

  At that moment a young woman entered the office. She was short, African-American and attractive.

  “Beauchamp, you were asking about my partner, well here she is, Detective Waters,” Colfax said. “What took so long, Angie?”

  “You don’t know what it’s like to park around here!” she declared.

  “Actually, I do,” I acknowledged, “so on behalf of Sherman Oaks, let me apologize.”

  Colfax closed my laptop.

  “Thanks for the use of your computer, Beauchamp, I got what I needed,” he said, and at that moment I could have kissed him.

  “Angie, it appears that Mr. Beauchamp’s cell phone was stolen a day or so back, so we’re at a bit of a dead end.”

  “Did you know Avery Klemmer?” she asked.

  “I met him once,” I said.

  “I have his story,” Colfax said, “I’ll fill you in on the way back.”

  Turning to me he said, “Good to see you again, Beauchamp.”

  “Good to see you too, and thank you.”

  “If you think of anything that might be pertinent to this case, you’ll contact me, right? Right?”

  His eyes bored into mine.

  “Give me a card and I’ll keep it handy,” I said.

  “Oh, right, my new number.”

  He fished out a business card and handed it over. “If you talk to Hector again, give him my regards. I still keep tabs on him.”

  “I will.”

  The two detectives started to leave, but then Colfax stopped and turned back.

  “When did you say you saw Mendoza?” he asked.

  “A day or so back.”

  “Right. And when did you lose your phone?”

  “A day or so—” I instinctively shut up.

  “A day or so back was a pretty eventful day, wasn’t it?” Colfax asked. “So eventful I’m surprised you can’t remember it more clearly.”

  “Um, well, days all kind of run together when you work alone,” I uttered.

  “Mm-hmm, and rocks go down hard when they’re swallowed. See you, Beauchamp, we’ll be in touch.”

  They filed out of my office and as soon as they were gone I had a decision to make: do I faint, or do I simply vomit?

  I did neither. I simply sat down at my desk, gazing at my now-dead, now dangerous laptop. I could get another computer, of course. I even had the money to do it. And there was really nothing on the laptop that couldn’t be reloaded. Even the loss of my email address book wasn’t that big a crisis.

  Oh, you think not, huh? Robert Mitchum chimed in, cynically.

  Okay, Mitch, I’ll bite; why is the loss of my email…“Oh, jeez,” I muttered aloud.

  What if the virus had also sent copies of that horrific photo to everyone on my email list?

  I would have to go to the library to check my email on the one of the public computers, but I would have to do it very, very carefully.

  Better yet, I could drive down to the Independent Journal offices and ask to use one there, since if anybody understood what might pop up, it would be Zareh Zarian, who would be less than thrilled that I was involving him in Theotologics shenanigans yet again.

  But that was the chance I had to take. I switched off the lights and locked the door behind me.

  It felt strange leaving without my laptop.

  My office is one of those with a parking court in the back, underneath the building, which someone at some point in time had labeled “dingbat” architecture. Usually it applied only to apartment buildings and not commercial structures, but I guess I just got lucky. What one forfeits in any sense of security that your building will not tumble like a Jenga tower in an earthquake, one gains in having a place to park in the city of Los Angeles.

  All of this was somewhat academic, however, since I never made it to my car. A hand was suddenly clapped on my shoulder from behind, which caused me to jump nearly to the second floor.

  Spinning around, I saw Ricky Sandoval.

  “Good lord, you scared me half to death,” I moaned. “What are you doing here, Ricky? How did you find me?”

  “You gave me a card, remember?” he said. “Look, can we go inside?”

  “Well, I was actually on my way out—”

  “This is more important! I’ve got a problem! C’mon, man.”

  “Fine, we’ll go inside.”

  “Hurry, man!”

  “Why, is someone chasing you?”

  “No, I really have to take a crap!”

  “Great.”

  I rushed him inside and he practically ran up the stairs, and then danced in th
e hallway until I unlocked my door, after which he ran to the bathroom and stayed there for several minutes. When he came back out, a look of relief was on his face.

  “You were almost out of paper,” he said. “I had to get another roll from the cabinet.”

  “Does this sort of thing happen to you often?”

  “Sometimes I get surprised. It’s my high-fiber diet.”

  “Everything’s okay now, though?”

  “I wish it were,” he said, flopping himself down in my guest chair. “I think I’m in trouble, Mr. Beauchamp.”

  He pronounced it BEE-chump.”

  “It’s Bee-chum,” I corrected. “No P.”

  “No pee? Shouldn’t I have done that when I was in the bathroom? I thought it would be okay, even if I didn’t specifically ask.”

  I rubbed my forehead.

  “Why are you in trouble, Ricky.”

  “The police, they think I killed the Klemmer guy.”

  “How do you know they think that?”

  “Because they told me.”

  “They told you? Ricky, if the police really think you’ve killed someone, they usually take you into custody.”

  “I know, and they probably would have if I hadn’t run away.”

  “You ran away from the police?”

  “It was all I could think to do! See, I went to Louie’s apartment and there was this commotion next door, and then I saw the police, and they wanted to know why I was there, and I said it was none of their business why I was there, and then they got aggressive, and said that maybe I should come down to headquarters, and I said screw you and pushed the policeman who was talking to me and turned around and ran. Since I knew the building better than they did I was able to outrun them to my car, and then I drove here.”

  “Ricky, this is important. Did they at any point start reading you your rights?”

  “You mean about remaining silent and all that? They started to, but that’s when I ran out.”

  “Oh, jeez.”

  “I figured that it didn’t really count until they got all the way through and then asked if you understood and agreed. You know, like a ‘cancel’ button on a computer if you change your mind. Is that wrong?”