Who Killed Rudy Rio?

by Lee Bellamy

  My hunch was right. When I got to Courthouse Park, I spotted Tyler parading in a ragged circle with his anti-war buddies, defiantly waving his sign. The remains of his funeral clothes were gone. He looked himself again, a throw-back flower child of the sixties, in torn jeans, a scroungy blue ski jacket, scruffy Adidas, his long blond hair flying in all directions from beneath the red bandanna knotted around his head.

  I found a parking spot, got out, locked my car and trotted across the street to the ragged line of protestors, Tyler among them. "Hi Tyler," I said brightly.

  "Ho, Holly! Want a sign?" Tyler's expression didn't change. It would have been uncool to show any surprise.

  "Not really." I fell into place beside him, matching his pace, high-heels and all.

  A car full of teens roared by, the driver madly honking. "TRAITOR!" they called. "COWARD! YELLOW BELLY!"

  Tyler broke ranks and ran to the curb. "No blood for oil!" he hollered, stabbing his sign at the retreating car. "Bring our troops back home!"

  I joined him. "That was rotten."

  His jaw tightened. "Happens all the time."

  "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine."

  No he wasn't. I could tell from his drawn face, the way he kept chewing his lip, that he wasn't fine at all. He wasn't about to open up to me, though, so I didn't press. We got in the circle again and continued walking. I asked, "Can I talk to you about Rudy? I know you knew him pretty well."

  "I don't know why anybody would want to kill him. Rudy was a good guy."

  "Tell me about him."

  "There's not much. Dad met Rudy after he and my mom split up. They got real friendly. Rudy used to bring me toys 'n stuff. He'd play with me and take me for rides. He and Dad made porn movies for a while." Tyler managed a half smile. "I'm not supposed to know that. Then they worked in Vegas together, cheating the casinos. I'm not supposed to know that either."

  "Why did Rudy come to Fresno?"

  "Rudy gambled a lot—like in Las Vegas 'n stuff? He was in big trouble over gambling debts so Dad took him in—made him the night watchman, which was a joke. Rudy didn't do zilch. Boy, you should have seen Doris when she took over the office. She really got pissed."

  "She didn't like Rudy?"

  "Not hardly. They clashed, man, they definitely clashed."

  Without noticing, we had slowed our pacing until now we had dropped out of the circle again and stood by the curb. Another honking car came by, and I had to raise my voice. "What's your opinion of Doris?"

  "She's a bitch," Tyler yelled back at me. "Dad gave me that job before he went to Saudi Arabia. I was doing okay. She had no business firing me."

  "Why did she?"

  "She claimed I was lazy, but that wasn't the real reason. She was afraid I would guess she was really Aunt Crystal."

  I think my mouth dropped open. "You knew?"

  "Sure I knew. She wasn't fooling me. The first time I saw her, I guessed Doris was Crystal even though her nose and chin were different, and her hair. But I didn't say anything. Why should I care? It wasn't my business. I think maybe Doris was trying to get rid of Rudy, too, for the same reason. She was rotten to him. Before I got fired, I heard them arguing."

  "What about?"

  "I don't know—she got after him about everything. She wanted him to work, you know? Like sweep the floor 'n stuff." He sniffed. "That'd be the day."

  "Do you think Rudy knew she was really Crystal?"

  "Maybe, but I don't think so. He would have mentioned it. I sure never did."

  "But if he did know, wouldn't that be a good reason for Doris to want to get rid of him?"

  "Yeah, I guess it would. Rudy's a good guy, but he's a little short on high moral character. He would have turned in own mother in if he thought he'd get something out of it." Tyler looked surprised, as if the possibility had not occurred to him. "Maybe it was Aunt Crystal killed Rudy."

  There was lot I had to ask Doris-Crystal. Soon as I left here I'd pay her a visit. "Anything else you can tell me?"

  "Only that..." Tyler bit his lip and shifted his sign. "Rudy was my friend, you know? I confided in him a lot, and he knew...oh, I don't know...oh, shit."

  "What is it, Tyler?"

  He stared at me with mute wretchedness. "Nobody can help," he said, his voice despairing. "I don't know what to do, Holly."

  I touched his arm. "There's something really bothering you, isn't there?" He nodded. "Why don't you tell me about it? You can trust me. Whatever it is, I promise I'll keep it confidential. And who knows? Maybe I can help."

  The remains of Tyler's teenage aloofness crumbled. He looked at me as if he were drowning and I held the only life line in my hands. "I've got to tell someone. Dad was—" Tyler gasped and clutched at his chest. His eyes widened with surprise. He began to sag. I grabbed his shoulders.

  "Tyler, what's wrong?"

  "I don't know," he whispered. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell forward into my arms. We sank together to our knees, me hanging on to him tight. I yelled for help. His buddies came running. We eased Tyler the rest of the way to the pavement and laid him on his back. Then I saw the hole in the front of his blue ski jacket that hadn't been there before. I unzipped the jacket and opened it. A widening red stain covered the front of Tyler's white T-shirt. It came from a gaping bullet wound centered close to his heart.

  on a white stone bench under a weeping willow tree, not far from the statue. It felt good to sit down. For twelve hours I'd been in my pointy-toed shoes. I looked a mess, my Elie Tahari outfit rumpled, the skirt streaked with Tyler's blood.

  "Will Tyler live?" asked Perez.

  "They don't know. The bullet just missed his heart. It tore an artery. They're operating now."

  "Did you see who did it?"

  "No, I was facing away from the curb. That's a wild corner. The police think it might have been a random, drive-by shooting."

  "Maybe. Fresno has enough of them. We're getting as bad as L.A." Perez regarded me quizzically. "But you don't really think that, do you?"

  "No. I think the shot was meant for Tyler, or…"

  "Or you?"

  "I don't know." Perez's question echoed the same one I'd been asking myself ever since it happened. It was making me increasingly leery. I reached in my purse and pulled out my notebook. "Can you read it in the moonlight? I copied this from my voice mail. It's the second threat I've received. I didn't take it seriously at first, but now I'm not so sure. There was a lot of noise on that corner. Tyler and I were standing close so we could hear each other. That shot could easily have been meant for me."

  Perez read the note. "Did you show the police this?"

  "No. Why cloud the issue?"

  "You could at least have told me." Exasperated, he raised his eyes to the stars for a moment, then leveled his gaze at me. "You're in big trouble."

  "Maybe. Probably. But I needed the money." After a pause I added firmly, "I need the money."

  "Tell me all that's happened."

  I told him everything—finding the truth about Bill and Jay, the funeral, Doris-Crystal, my conversation with Jay and how the reward was still good if I found Rudy's murderer. "And then there's Tyler. He was about to tell me something, right when he got shot."

  "Do you have a clue what he was going to say?"

  "No, except whatever it was, it was really upsetting him."

  Perez reached into his pocket, retrieved a roll of Life Savers and offered me one. "So what do you think?"

  "What do you mean, what do I think? These aren't good for your teeth."

  "Take one."

  I took a Life Saver and popped it into my mouth. I hadn't had my dinner and I was starving.

  "Fifty thousand is a lot of money," Perez said. "Can you trust Jay?"

  "Before I met him, he sounded too good to be true. Now that I've talked to him, I think maybe he's reformed. He's truly as great as everybody said he was. Also, I've a hunch fifty thousand dollars is small change to him. He made a bundle in Las Vegas,
back in his gambling days, and he's invested it well."

  "Then go for it. Find Rudy's murderer." In a fair imitation of Barnicut's nasal voice, Perez mimicked, "You can do it, a smart Berkeley grad like you."

  "Oh, sure. It's not that easy, though. Basically, I've got several crimes here—a trailer theft, a fake death in a fake snuff movie, a murder, and a murder attempt maybe aimed at me, but then again maybe not." I was talking to clear my thoughts, but instead, it all got muddier. I flung my hands out. "Everything's so scattered. Basically I've got a mess."

  Perez carefully rewrapped his Life Savers and tucked them back in his pocket. "So you're stuck. Can't find a connection."

  "I've quit looking for a connection."

  "Ah!" Perez nodded his approval. "You only wanted a connection to satisfy that neat and tidy brain of yours."

  I ignored his jibe. "I was hoping I could link the crimes together, cause and effect, nice and tidy. Well, maybe they won't link. Maybe this isn't your average mystery where one event causes another."

  "You're saying they could be isolated incidents, unconnected?"

  "Maybe it's just coincidence that Rudy got shot and then Tyler. Maybe Crystal's snuff movie is out in left field somewhere."

  "That leaves you out in left field somewhere too, doesn't it?

  "No, not really. What I need is a basic premise more than a connection."

  "Ah! You need the root from which these evil events have flowered." Perez arched his eyebrows mischievously, attempting, I deduced, to make light of the fact he'd said something pretty smart.

  I sat back and feigned amazement. "Wow. That's pretty fancy language. I am so impressed. Actually you hit on it. That's what I meant. What's your favorite book?"

  "Ummm, I read a lot of spy stuff. Tom Clancy's my favorite author, like The Hunt for Red October."

  "So what's the book telling us? What's the basic premise?"

  Perez got a devilish look in his eye. "If you're Sean Connery, you can successfully steal a Russian submarine."

  "Get serious."

  "How about, the evil menace of a Russian submarine may not be what it seems?"

  "Better. Now see what I'm getting at? If I assume my case is a mystery novel, I can give it a premise."

  "Ah, you're doing good, Keene. What's your premise?" I started to answer, but he still wanted to play. "How about, Rudy Rio's life of crime was bound to catch up with him?"

  "Won't work. Too narrow."

  "Don't fake your death in a snuff movie or sooner or later you will be discovered."

  "Cut it out. Go deeper. What event ties everything together?"

  "That's easy, the war in Afghanistan."

  "Of course," I replied. "The war because if Jay hadn't been sent to Afghanistan, then he'd have kept an eye on Rudy, and Rudy wouldn't have started gambling again. And if Rudy hadn't started gambling again, he wouldn't have gotten himself in debt. And if he hadn't been in debt he wouldn't have had to steal the trailers, and—we don't know for sure yet—he wouldn't have had to blackmail whomever he blackmailed. And if he hadn't done all that, he wouldn't have ended up with a hole in his head. Maybe."

  Perez looked impressed. "Not bad logic. Tell me more."

  "Same with Crystal. If Jay hadn't gone to Afghanistan, then Crystal wouldn't have moved back from Santa Barbara. If she hadn't come back—we've got sub-plots here. Maybe she pushed Rudy into drinking and gambling again. Maybe Rudy recognized her—although it would have been right before he was killed because he sure wasn't aware of it the day of the polygraph. If he did, she had a fine reason for killing him. Either way, I wouldn't have gotten into the picture, stirring things up, discovering who Doris really was. And another thing. If Doris-Crystal hadn't been there, she would not have fired Tyler. Then there's the little matter of some Las Vegas mobster being after her. As for anything else she's done—"

  "We don't know yet, do we? But go on."

  "If Jay hadn't gone to Afghanistan, I'll bet Tyler wouldn't have gotten shot. I don't know exactly why yet, but Jay said Tyler changed while he'd been gone." I brightened. The tangle of events had unraveled, just a little. "So our basic premise should be..."

  "The war in Afghanistan caused a lot of shit."

  "Oh, well done, Perez. You have such a beautiful way of expressing yourself."

  "Yeah, Mexico's answer to Wolf Blitzer. But hey! Your luck has changed. Have you heard me say the F-word lately?"

  It occurred to me I hadn't. Could it possibly be that he'd cleaned up his act for my benefit? Nooooo...not Perez. He was not a soft and pliable man. I still didn't know what to make of him. "Actually you've been very helpful," I said, deliberately prim. Safety lay in clichéd phrases.

  "Thanks." One side of his mouth pulled into a sardonic little quirk. "Not bad for a wetback, eh?"

  I drew back. "Come on, I'm not playing into that."

  "Okay, okay!" He laughed and switched gears. "So, lady P.I., you're going with the premise?"

  "The war in Afghanistan caused a lot of shit," I repeated ponderously. "Ah, the magic of those words! A little crude, perhaps, but yes, I can be comfortable with that. I'm thinking about it." I got off the bench and smoothed my skirt. "Know where I'm going now?"

  "Only you and God know."

  "To Denny's to get something to eat. Want to come? We won't know about Tyler for hours yet. I'm starving."

  "Sure." He stood and took my hands, looking serious again. "You're okay now?"

  I met his gaze. Instantly, a kind of chemistry started flowing between us, like a Harlequin, Joy would say. We were eye-to-eye, almost. In my three-inch heels I had to look down on him, just a little, but a little was too much. How disappointing, and why was I even considering such trivia at a time like this? I couldn't help but think, though, that without the heels on I would be shorter than he. Barefooted? I could easily have flowed into his arms and tilted back my head to kiss him. The moment was there. I felt that pull. Was he aware of it? I wasn't sure. What was I doing? Why should I care if Guillermo Rivera Perez didn't tower over me? He was not my style. He was not my type. He simply was not. "I'm fine now," I answered stiffly, pulling away. "You coming with me? I'll drive."

  "No, Holly," Perez answered softly, almost regretfully, as if he'd read my thoughts. "I won't leave the Harley behind. I'll meet you there. Denny's—the one on Herndon. I'm in the west lot. You in the east?" I nodded. "Come on, I'll walk you to your car."

  "That's okay."

  "Those threats—"

  "No one's going to attack me in the parking lot of St. Agnes Hospital. If they do, believe me, I can handle it."

  He shrugged and answered, "Meet you there," and turned away, disappearing towards the west parking lot.

  I looked down the curving moonlit sidewalk, past the statue, towards the east lot. A little Mazda whipped into the near-empty lot and swung, tires squealing, into a parking space. Seconds later, a big, black Lincoln with tinted windows appeared. The driver doused the lights immediately. Silently, he cruised into a parking spot not far from my Camaro. Something about that car struck me as strange, and rather eerie.

  I forgot about it, though, when I saw a woman in slacks climb out of the Mazda, slam the door, and come clumping up the sidewalk towards me. Her long, unbuttoned coat flapped open every step she took. Her hair flew every which way. Obviously, she'd thrown herself together in a hurry. She was almost upon me before I recognized her.

  "So it's you," Crystal exclaimed through gritted teeth when she got abreast of me. She stopped and shook her fist at me. "God damn you!"

  "And a pleasant evening to you, too."

  She was taken aback by my answer and lowered her fist. "How is Tyler?" she demanded.

  "They don't know yet. He's still in surgery." Diplomacy was almost beyond me, but I would try. "I know you're upset, but don't take it out on me. I was only doing my job. Look, I'm sorry about all this. Your family has had more than its share of—"

  "This is your fault. If you hadn't started digging...snooping...and
you know, don't you? You know!"

  "If you mean, do I know you're Crystal, yes I know."

  I could feel her pent-up fury as she glared at me. "Do you know what you've done?" she screeched.

  "Shhh." I pressed a finger to my lips. "Not so loud. You're standing in front of a hospital, so tone it down. I'm not going to tell on you. Jay must have told you that."

  "Liar!" she said, but not as loudly. Tears started rolling down her cheeks. "I just got a phone call from Sereno Ghimenti. God help me, he knows where I am. He knows who I am. That slimy bastard! Do you know what he's going to do to me?"

  "Not really." I didn't want to hear this.

  "He's sending his boys after me. They're going to break my legs with a baseball bat. Then they'll go to work on my fingers, then the rest of me." She was working her way towards hysteria. "After they shatter me, they're going to take me for a one-way helicopter ride." She dropped onto the bench where Perez and I had been sitting and gazed up at me. Even in the moonlight I saw the glazed look of despair in her eyes. "I knew I was taking a chance when I came back from Santa Barbara. But I couldn't stand the isolation anymore. I wanted to be there for him when he got back from the war." In an anguished voice, she asked, "Who told on me, Holly? Was it you?"

  I dropped down beside her. "It was someone else. It wasn't me."

  "Then who?" she demanded, extending pleading hands. They were shaking.

  "A lot of people knew who you really were. Jay and Velia, of course, and Gussie, Joy, even Tyler caught on. It's possible Rudy recognized you before he got shot. And what about Bill Hatcher? Did he—?"

  "No, no, no," she said hastily, "Bill never caught on."

  She was still angry, still thinking I was the one who snitched but beginning to doubt. I pressed my advantage. "What would you have done to keep them silent, Crystal?"

  Bewildered, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and stared at me. "What do you mean?"

  "Would you have killed Rudy to keep him silent? What about Tyler? Maybe he threatened to tell. Maybe you're the one who shot him."