One Day You'll Burn

by Joseph Schneider

“But I’m always the one who needs help.”

  “What? No you’re not.”

  “I fucked up dinner the other night with my drama. And the first time we had sex, I was all clingy, and now—”

  “Aleena, gimme an hour, okay? I gotta wrap something up, and it’ll be slow going in the rain.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to. I officially insist.”

  She gave a weak laugh, but there was relief in it. “Okay.”

  “Okay. See you soon.”

  Jarsdel put the phone back on his belt and stared down at the murder book. It was hard to focus. He kept thinking of Aleena in that silent, empty house. He should go to her, just take off and leave this all for tomorrow. There wasn’t anything exciting in the package Morales had given him. They needed probable cause to get a warrant to sic Forensic Sciences on that van, and Stevens hadn’t given them any.

  Jarsdel again went back to the murder book, this time skimming the interview with Ramesh. He was the only one they’d spoken with who’d been at all close to Wolin, and maybe there was another detail in there that could help.

  And there was.

  Ramesh: He also advertised for Fantasy Tours.

  Jarsdel: What’s that? One of those bus tours of celebrities’ homes?

  Ramesh: Yeah. This one is mostly for the Chinese market. He even learned a couple words in Mandarin so he could attract customers. But he didn’t lead the tours, just advertised.

  Jarsdel: Where did he advertise?

  Ramesh: He’d walk the Boulevard, hand out flyers.

  Jarsdel: And how long had he been doing that?

  Ramesh: Only about two weeks. Before that, he worked for another company. I think…maybe…the Hollywood Experience. Something like that.

  Jarsdel called up Morales, unsure about whether he would even answer when he saw Jarsdel’s number come up.

  Three rings. “I’m off duty,” Morales said.

  “The guy I went to see today. Raymond Stevens, owns Cinema Legacy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Turns out he also owns the Hollywood Experience.”

  “What’s the Hollywood Experience? Get your dreams shattered and Greyhound it back to Iowa?”

  “Another tour company. Like Fantasy Tours, but classier.”

  “Okay. I’m trying to care.”

  “Grant Wolin worked for the Hollywood Experience. It’s in the interview with Ramesh.”

  Morales chewed on that a moment. “What else?”

  “A month ago, when I showed Wolin’s picture to Stevens, he said he only knew him as a guy he’d have to hassle out of his doorway every now and then. Never said Wolin worked for him.”

  “I’m not sure that means a whole lot. Maybe they never actually met. My wife works at Williams-Sonoma, but you know, she never actually got to hang out with Chuck Williams.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” said Jarsdel, a little deflated. “But that plus the van. I think it’s suspicious.”

  “Follow up with it tomorrow. If my onions burn ’cause I’m on the phone with you, you’re gonna come over here and apologize to Leticia yourself.”

  “I get it. I’m gone. Have a good night.”

  “Hey, hang on.”

  “What?” Silence stretched over the line for a full ten seconds. “Morales?” Tully checked his phone to see if the call had been disconnected.

  “Look, why don’t you?”

  “Why don’t I what?”

  “Come over. Got a full spread and a twelve-pack of Modelo Negra. Wife wants to meet you.” A voice murmured something in the background. “And apparently my oldest wants to show you his ball python.”

  “Shit, I can’t. I really want to, but I promised my girlfriend I’d go over to her place.”

  “So bring her.”

  “I’ll talk to her about it. She’s having kind of a rough day.”

  “Okay, whatever. I’ll text you the address in case you change your mind. We’re eating at seven.”

  “Thanks. If not tonight, then soon, okay?”

  But Morales had hung up.

  Chapter 22

  Aleena’s face was puffy, her eyes red-rimmed. An empty bottle of wine stood on the counter, and she was halfway through another.

  Jarsdel had declined his own glass, thinking it would be better if one of them remained sober, but she’d insisted, overpouring it nearly to the top. He sipped at it occasionally, but mostly, he listened.

  They were at her kitchen table. She had a tissue knotted around her fingers, and she worried at it while she spoke. She told Jarsdel the story of how she and her husband met and how even though his family was wealthy, he worked for everything they had. Her narrative meandered as it got closer to their wedding day, and then her voice began to break.

  “I have to tell somebody. I can’t live with this…fucking…I can’t live with this…” She brought the sodden tissue to her face and began to cry.

  Jarsdel got up, hunting for the tissue box, and settled for a roll of toilet paper from the hall closet. He returned, putting his arm around her shoulders. When he offered her the toilet paper, she gave an exhausted laugh.

  “How appropriate. Good for cleaning up bullshit.”

  “What’re you talking about? Why’re you being so hard on yourself?”

  “Because I deserve it.”

  “Why do you say that? Because the marriage didn’t work out?” When she reached for her wine glass again, Jarsdel took her hand. “Hey,” he said. “Leave it just a minute, okay? Let me tell you something. What happened with you and your husband was this terrible, crazy thing you had absolutely no control over. You do not—listen to me—you do not have a single thing to feel bad about.”

  Aleena tore off a few squares of toilet paper and blew her nose. She then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she looked at him again, her expression had cleared somewhat, and she seemed more composed.

  “I’m sloshed.”

  “You are.”

  She smiled. “Want me to go down on you? I give good head when I’m drunk. Most girls don’t, but it relaxes my throat and I can—”

  “Aleena.”

  “What?”

  “Come on. Let’s talk this through.”

  “You’re no fun.” The smile went away, and she lowered her eyes. “It’s my fault David’s dog died.”

  “No.”

  “It is. You don’t know. I hated that fucking dog. He had Abby before we met, right? So from the beginning, I was always a little bit like the other woman. I know that sounds stupid, but…” Aleena blew a strand of hair out of her face. “We’d be cuddling on the couch, and yap-yap-yap. Or we’d laugh about something, and more yapping. These awful, piercing yaps, and every time, he’d have to pick her up to calm her down, and it was always ‘Ooh, Abby, ooh, sweetie.’ When we had sex, David actually had to lock her in a room at the other end of the house, because she’d yap the entire…fucking…time.”

  Aleena took her wine glass before Jarsdel could stop her and put away a long gulp before setting it down. “But the best part was the way she’d piss on the floor to make a point. She especially loved doing it whenever David and I went out together, her way of punishing us—mostly me—for having a good time without her. Her way of saying ‘Okay, bitch, you want a night out with my man? This is what it costs.’”

  She shot Jarsdel an annoyed look. “And she had pee-pee pads in her box in the laundry room, so don’t think it’s like she couldn’t hold it in and that I’m just being paranoid.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that.”

  “Sorry. I’m just…so yeah, I hated her. I’ve actually—wow, I’ve never said this out loud—I’ve actually never hated a human person as much as I hated that dog.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re to blame,” Jarsdel said, his voice
low and soothing. “It’s not as if your hatred acted as some kind of prayer, you know, summoning the sick asshole who poisoned her.”

  “You’re defending me. It’s sweet. Check it out, though.” She gestured to the house around them. “See any doggie doors?”

  He gave a quick scan of the room. “I don’t.”

  Aleena nodded. “Never got around to putting them in. David would just let her out when she wanted, and while we were gone, we’d keep her inside. That’s why we had the litter box with the pee-pee pads. Ah! But, you see, on my wedding day, I did not feel like coming home to a nice puddle of piss drying on the living room floor. I was firm about it. I was…forceful. I gave him my little speech about avoidable delay. So David, even though he didn’t want to, and even though he knew how much she hated being locked outside, agreed. We put out her water and her food and closed the doors, and I was…I was just happy. Triumphant. On the most important day of my life, I’d won, and she’d lost. Yeah. Well, I won all right.” Aleena took another swig of wine. “Moral luck, huh?”

  * * *

  Jarsdel said everything he could think to say, but Aleena wouldn’t be consoled. The wine and the misery had put her firmly beyond his reach.

  After complaining of a headache, she stood up and immediately began swaying. Jarsdel got to her before she could fall and led her down the hall to the bedroom. He helped her lie down, tucking a pillow beneath her head, and left to get her a glass of water. She’d soon be miserable if she didn’t start hydrating.

  When he returned, she was already passed out. Jarsdel set the water on the nightstand and gave Aleena a light kiss above her brow. Her flesh was clammy.

  In the drawer of the nightstand was a pen and a pad of paper. “Please call me when you get up, no matter what time. I love you.” He considered, then tore the page off and stuffed it in his pocket. “Please call me when you get up. Let me know if you want me to bring you anything.” He drew a heart and set the note next to the water glass.

  The rain had abated a little, and it took Jarsdel only a half hour to get home. He opened the door to his apartment and was as usual greeted by overwhelming silence. He hesitated in the doorway.

  Aleena might be down for the night, but that didn’t mean he had to suffer. He could go across the street. If Becca was in the food court, he’d go to one of the restaurants—Monsieur Marcel, or maybe even Du-par’s for some of their famous pancakes.

  Then he remembered Morales’s invitation and checked his watch. Ten to seven. He’d be late but not terribly so. The thought of going to the Morales house, warm with food and laughter and the vitality of children, seemed at once not merely appealing to Jarsdel but essential. Urgent.

  He brought out his phone and fired off a text. I’ll be there ASAP. Forty-five tops. Cool?

  Morales’s response was immediate—Fine.

  His spirits renewed, Jarsdel jogged across the street and ducked into Monsieur Marcel’s adjacent gourmet market just as the rain picked up again. He selected some milk chocolate bars for the kids and a bottle of Burgundy for Morales and his wife. The cashier wrapped the purchases in tissue paper, set them into gift bags, and tied the handles together with shimmering purple ribbon.

  Jarsdel was soon back at Park La Brea and about to strip off his rain-spattered clothes and rinse off when he saw he had just over twenty minutes before his promised arrival time. He’d spent too much time agonizing over which bottle of wine to get his partner. He stood there, uncertain what to do, then decided it would be more embarrassing to be late than to arrive looking a little haggard. He grabbed his keys and locked up, making it all the way to his car before realizing he’d left the gifts behind.

  “Shit.” He ran back down the block, nearly wiping out on the wet sidewalk, and hurried inside his apartment. He flicked on the lights, but the presents weren’t on the kitchen counter where he thought he’d left them. Then he remembered how he’d almost taken a shower and raced into the bedroom to find the Monsieur Marcel bags on his dresser.

  He was just about to turn off the lights in the front hall when his phone buzzed.

  It’s Morales, Jarsdel thought. It’s Morales, and he’s canceling. They’re tired, and the kids want to hit the sack.

  He pulled the phone from his belt, already resigned to another night alone.

  But it wasn’t Morales.

  Hey.

  Aleena. Jarsdel blinked. He was sure she was going to be out cold until late morning at the earliest. Maybe she’d woken to throw up and that had sobered her a little.

  How are you feeling? he wrote back.

  Not so great.

  Yeah, but at least you’re okay. I’ll come by after work tomorrow.

  Actually I need your help. Can you come outside?

  Jarsdel frowned. You’re here?

  He opened the front door and looked upon an empty street. He texted, I don’t see anything. A moment passed, and there was no response.

  He checked the time. Fewer than ten minutes to make it to Morales’s on time. Annoyed, Jarsdel slipped the phone back onto his belt and picked up the gift bags.

  He had his key in the lock when his phone buzzed. “Come on, Aleena,” he said. He checked the screen.

  I don’t feel good. Please help.

  Alarmed, Jarsdel set down the bags and looked around. It was dark, but the streetlights showed the block was deserted. Everyone was inside where it was warm and dry.

  What the hell was she up to? He hoped to God she hadn’t somehow driven over here in that condition. She could hardly stand up.

  He was about to text that he still didn’t see her when a new message appeared.

  To your right.

  He snapped his head in that direction. A few dozen yards away was the pedestrian gate opening onto South Fairfax. He caught a flash of movement, something in the shadows, but then it disappeared from view. Jarsdel hurried to the gate and looked around. Hesitant, though not certain why, Jarsdel turned the knob and stepped through. He lingered there, listening.

  “Aleena?”

  Nothing. It occurred to him she might be on medication of some kind and that it was reacting with the alcohol. That would explain the unusual behavior. He sent her another text.

  Aleena, come on. What are we doing here?

  He waited, but there was no answer. The security gate was flanked by high, green bushes, so Jarsdel’s line of sight was limited. He took off his jacket, bunched it up, and shoved it between the jamb and the gate itself. It would swing shut otherwise, and he’d left his keys in his front door. Then he stepped past the bushes, first looking north up Fairfax, then south.

  The white van rolled up beside him. The passenger window was down, and Brayden leaned across the seat, giving Jarsdel a broad grin. He wore a brown porkpie hat. The Popeye Doyle hat.

  “What up, Detective?”

  Jarsdel stared at him, then down at his phone. Aleena hadn’t answered his last text.

  “Oh, hey,” said Brayden. “Check this out.” He picked a cell phone out of his drink holder, tapped at the screen a few times, then looked at Jarsdel expectantly.

  The phone buzzed in Jarsdel’s hand—Eat shit, followed by a smiley face.

  The van had stopped in a red zone, and cars were already stacking up behind it. There was a long and indignant honk from the lead car before it swerved angrily around. Brayden didn’t appear to notice.

  “Hop in. Mr. Stevens wants to talk to you.”

  “Where’s Aleena?”

  “Now that,” said Brayden, “is kinda the whole point.” He seemed charged with barely contained excitement, his head bobbing in quick little nods as he spoke. “And if that’s not enough, we got this…”

  He reached over and opened the glove compartment. Glinting dully back at Jarsdel was a snub nose .38. He felt an icy stab in his chest, reflexively dropping his hand to his own weapon, but he
caught only air. He’d taken it off to go to dinner.

  “Hope you have a permit for that.”

  Brayden shook his head. “But that’s what’s cool. I don’t even need to use it. You’ll come with me anyway. If you’re still interested in where your girlfriend is, and I believe you are. So here’s what I’m gonna need you to do. Take your gun and hand it to me, butt first. Once you’ve done that—”

  “Wait, wait.”

  “No wait-wait.” Brayden snapped his fingers and held out his hand. “Pronto.” There was another long honk from behind the van. Someone yelled “Come on!” Brayden stuck his head out the driver’s side window. “It’s cool. Just gimme a minute. Just a rinky-dink little minute.”

  Jarsdel looked up and down the street, hoping for a traffic cop to come along.

  Brayden turned back to him. “Don’t try and stall me out. Anyone shows up, and I’m gone. Gone and you don’t know what happens to her.” Brayden leaned closer. “Or maybe you do know, right? Only you can stop it. But we gotta get going.”

  Jarsdel thought of Aleena, her smooth, tender flesh browning and crisping like parchment, her agonized screams, her fists beating helplessly at the thing that imprisoned her.

  “How do I know you have her?”

  “Well,” said Brayden, “I’d say call her, but as you can see, I’ve got her phone. What do you think, she just decided to lend it to me?”

  Jarsdel needed time to develop a strategy. If he could just talk to Brayden for a little while, he could convince him this was absurd. No one kidnapped police officers on Fairfax at eight o’clock on a Sunday. It just wasn’t possible.

  “So long then,” said Brayden. “You get to live with this. Enjoy.”

  “Okay, wait.”

  “Your gun, then,” said Brayden. “Nice and easy. Butt first, just how I like my girls.”

  “I don’t have it. It’s in my apartment.”

  “Back up. Let me see.”

  Jarsdel obeyed, lifting his arms and turning around.

  “Put your fuckin’ arms down, man,” Brayden snarled. “Get back over here. You got anything on you ’sides that phone? Anything weird? Panic buttons or anything that’ll let the boys back in the precinct know you’re in trouble? I read a lot, so don’t fuck with me.”