by M. Z. Kelly
We heard voices as the front door closed. In a moment Tex came into the family room with a young woman.
“This is my confrere, George,” Tex said, introducing me to his friend who had organized his bachelor party scavenger hunt.
“It’s actually, Georgette,” she said coming over and working my hand like it was a pump handle. Tex’s friend was pudgy with long brown hair that was parted in the middle. She wore glasses with black frames that magnified her diaphanous blue eyes, giving the impression she was in a perpetual state of amazement even in the presence of ordinary events. “My given name is a variation on the male forename which in ancient times stood for earth-worker.” She gave Tex a toothy smile. “My colleague occasionally takes liberties with idioms.”
Mo looked at me, unpinned the hair that had been under her wig and motioned to Tex and his friend. “Wonder if these two got anything in common?”
“Should we tell them?” George asked Tex, tugging on his sleeve.
“My party was a rousing success,” Tex announced, his legs spasmodically crossing and uncrossing in excitement, or maybe he just had to pee. “George and I were able to scavenge an Odyssey, an Atari, and we even found a Mr. Krusty.”
“Sounds like some kinda donut,” Natalie said.
“Or something a lot worse than that,” Mo offered.
Tex explained, “Mr. Krusty is actually a prototypical analogic device involving the primitive use of switches and tubes to manipulate various cephalopod-like extra-terrestrial appendages. It was quite revolutionary for its era.”
We all looked at Tex, then George who apparently was well versed in nerd-translation. “It’s an animatronic alien from the 1960’s.” She titled her head, smiling at Tex. “He’s so amazing.” She then looked at Natalie. “You’re so lucky.”
Natalie’s brow knitted together but she didn’t respond. Maybe it was her way of telling George to stay away from her man.
Tex went on, “Actually, the creation of alien beings in television, movies, and video games such as Mr. Krusty is indicative of our species preoccupation with procreation.”
“Huh?” I said.
“He’s trying to tell you that aliens are sexy,” George explained.
Mo scratched her head. “They look like a bunch of reptiles with cockroach antennas to me. I don’t get it.”
Tex shook his head. “If you closely examine our cultural conception of what constitutes an alien being you will realize they are modeled after the reproductive organs of our species. They are veritable walking, talking versions of that which we obsess over.”
“Aliens are just a bunch of penises,” George explained.
“Or vaginas,” Tex agreed. “Symbolically, all aliens are simply a primal, rather grotesque version of the human sexual anatomy attempting to breed.”
“So your Mr. Krusty’s just a big ugly dick,” Mo said.
“In your rather crude vernacular way of expressing it, precisely,” Tex agreed.
“He’s so amazing,” George said, her huge eyes fixing on Tex. The thought crossed my mind that George might be from another planet.
I’d had enough. I got up and called Bernie and Bubba in from the backyard. I yawned, thinking that life with my roommates was like living with extraterrestrials—they were uniquely odd and obsessed with sex. Maybe someday they would take pity on me and announce they were all returning to their home planet.
As the dogs came inside, we all heard moaning from upstairs. Mo turned to me before I headed to bed and said, “I think Elvis just got attacked by an alien with dentures.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
“We believe The Artist is coming back to this area,” I said, looking into Chief East’s big poker face. Pearl and I sat across from him in his sixth floor office with Bernie at our feet. “If he follows his past pattern, he’ll kidnap a victim and send a letter to one of the local papers announcing his exhibition. We’ll then have just a few hours to stop him.”
“I’m willing to continue to work with Detective Sexton and provide security,” Pearl added. “If you’d like you can add additional manpower at the same time we work the case with the feds. I don’t have to tell you what will be coming our way when the press gets his letter. This is one way to show that we’re being proactive and head off some of the media fallout.”
The chief stood up, moved away from his big mahogany desk, and walked over to a window overlooking Los Angeles. It was late in the day. I’d spent the morning nursing a headache from Natalie’s bachelorette party. Lieutenant Edna had set up the meeting with the chief after going through Commander Nelson at Media Relations but couldn’t attend because of family issues. We’d spent a half hour filling him in on the case I’d been working with the feds.
I glanced around the office. It was spacious with lots of awards and photographs. In the corner there was both the American and state flags, directly behind a set of expensive golf clubs. It was the first time I’d been in the chief’s office. I hoped it was the last.
East turned back to us after a moment. His size and rough facial features reminded me of a football lineman who had played a few games without his helmet. Then I had the thought that maybe his features weren’t the only thing that had been affected.
“As you know, Detective Sexton, I’m not happy with the way you’ve handled the press in the past.” I started to defend myself but he went on. “You were rude to the reporter the night of the shooting at the hotel, and you further inflamed things at the press conference about your father’s murder.”
I couldn’t hold off a second longer. “I was trying to control an active shooter situation at the hotel. As for the press conference, I was defending my father’s honor and integrity. Anyone else would have done the same thing.”
East’s big shoulders went up and came down, the lines on his forehead deepening. “You are not just anyone, Detective.” He came closer until his massive frame was within a couple of feet from where I sat. “You are a member of one of the elite police departments in the world. You have a responsibility to both me and the department to conduct yourself in a professional manner at all times. What you did…”
“What I did was tell the truth,” I spat, angry that he couldn’t understand my feelings. Bernie came up to his feet as I stood and my voice pitched higher. “Sometimes that doesn’t seem to count for anything around here.”
Chief East held up a finger. “Enough.” He released a breath, went back to his chair, and sat down. “I’m going to assign other detectives to work The Artist case. I want you off the streets until both that case and your father’s murder is resolved.”
I took my seat again but my anger and irritation were reaching meltdown proportions. “I don’t understand. I’ve done everything this department has ever asked of me. I’ve worked high profile cases, put my life on the line. I’ve even had the press along with me on a past assignment to improve community relations.” Now, it was East’s turn to try and interrupt, but I was on a roll. “And I’ve continued to work for a department that still hasn’t bothered to honor my father by putting his badge in a display case along with other cops who have been killed in the line of duty.”
The chief stood up again. “For your information, the matter is under review…”
“Under review simply isn’t good enough. And why the hell didn’t someone bother to tell me that?” I came around the desk until we were a foot apart, Bernie at my side. “I’m reaching the point where I’m ready to…” I stopped talking as I turned and realized that Pearl was at my side, tugging on my sleeve.
“Ready to do what?” East demanded.
Pearl now had me firmly in his grasp, pulling me back. We exchanged a look before he turned to the chief. “All we ask is that you give the matter a little further consideration, call Detective Sexton if you change your mind.” He glanced at me again, back at East. “I’m sure you understand that emotions are running high with everything that’s happened.”
I glared at Pearl. What the hell di
d he think he was doing? He still had me firmly by the arm. I noticed that the fur on Bernie’s back had lifted, my big dog sensing the tension in the room.
The chief released a long breath, maybe glad that the confrontation had been headed off. “If anything changes I’ll let you know.”
If anything changes? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
I continued to shoot daggers at Pearl as East escorted us across his expansive office to the door. Pearl stopped for a moment, commenting on his many photographs and awards. I noticed that some of the pictures were of East with several Hollywood stars. It only further irritated the hell out of me.
“It looks like you’ve made a lot of friends in a short time,” Pearl said to East.
The chief gave him one of his trademark fake smiles. “Los Angeles can be a friendly place.” He momentarily cut his eyes to me. “You just have to work at it.”
Pearl nodded and smiled, exposing the gap between his teeth. He pointed to a photograph of East with Barry Gosling, who I recognized as a producer with lots of A-list stars to his credit. “I hope Barry enjoyed the good times while they lasted.”
East’s dark eyes narrowed on Pearl. “I’m not sure what you mean?”
“Heard the feds are looking into indicting him. The case has something to do with that state senator taking bribes to influence legislation…”
“Are you talking about Simpson?”
“Yes, Alan Simpson, that’s him.” Pearl smiled at East again. “Gosling’s on the board of directors for Century Hospital. The case has something to do with him and the hospital’s CEO paying kickbacks to Simpson for pushing legislation through that favored their interests.” Pearl held on the chief’s eyes that were suddenly as large as those of a deer, or maybe a moose, caught in headlights. “Isn’t Gosling a big supporter of yours?” East didn’t answer. Pearl went on. “Be a shame if the press made that connection.”
Pearl didn’t wait for a response, pulling me with Bernie in tow over to the door. He turned back to the chief before we left. “Detective Sexton will be waiting for your call.”
By the time we got to the elevator I’d calmed down. Pearl smiled at me, his placid demeanor unwavering.
“You really think East is going to cave and let me work the case behind Gosling’s contributions to his election fund?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Let’s wait and see. Sometimes it takes a little time for a seed to sprout.”
“That’s the problem, Pearl. I don’t have much time.”
***
“So the big idiot is keeping me on the sidelines until both cases are settled,” I fumed to Jack. We’d gone to dinner and returned to his apartment, sharing a glass of wine in the living room. Bernie was in the corner, getting his beauty sleep. I hadn’t heard anything further since my meeting with Chief East earlier in the day. “I’m thinking about going to the press, maybe even talking to Haley Tristan, if he doesn’t change his mind.”
Jack set his glass down, met my eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The press will put their own spin on things. If you talk to them, there’s no telling how it will play.”
I stood up, took a step back, and regarded him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know how East is always trying to work the press. He’ll do damage control behind everything you say and the fallout will come your way.” He came over and tried to take me in his arms.
I pulled away. “I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”
He pulled me back to him. “At least this way we know that you’re safe.”
I pulled away again, my anger over the day’s events ready to erupt like a volcano. “Why is it that everybody thinks they have to babysit me?”
“I’m just worried about you, Kate. You’ve had two close calls with Cooper in the last few weeks. I don’t want…”
“Stop.” I grabbed my coat, Bernie’s leash. I turned to him before I left. “I’m just a cop who wants to be left alone to do her job. You, of all people, should know that.”
When I got to the street I saw that Arnold Murphy was in his car. I stopped, took a couple of deep breaths and tried to regain my composure. Murphy came over and I explained to him that I was going home for the night.
“Trouble in paradise?” the gruff cop asked.
I huffed out a breath. “You might say that.”
I was already starting to feel guilty about the way I’d handled things with Jack. My phone rang. I thought it might be Jack but saw that the call was from the department’s Media Relations Section.
I took the call, hearing Commander Rob Nelson’s deep voice on the line. “You’ve been cleared to work with the FBI, Detective. The chief wants Kramer, Winkler, and Murphy on the case with you.”
I thanked the commander, then thought about Jack. “What about Bautista?”
“He and Duncan stay in their current assignments.”
After the call ended, I said to Murphy, “Let’s take a walk. I need to tell you about a guy who calls himself, The Artist.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
“I think this might be the place,” Loretta Martin says. She turns to the young man she met on the bus. “What do you think?”
Zach rubs the back of his neck. “I guess so but…” His eyes sweep over the pathways leading to the displays, the modern steel and glass museum buildings perched on the hill above Los Angeles. “I’m no expert, but I think most of the artwork here is pretty rare.” He looks back at the pretty blonde woman. “I’m still not sure what kind of exhibit you have in mind.”
She giggles, taking his hand. “You’ll see soon enough.”
They move on, strolling through one of the galleries. She’s grateful for the silence, the freedom of no longer being monitored with Internet cameras and listening devices. It’s been over a week since she’s heard Ellian’s voice in her ears, the constant screaming…the terrible names he calls her. Loretta feels an overwhelming sense of liberation.
She stops at a display of Victorian life by the artist, Jacques Tissot. She turns back to Zach. “Have you ever heard of an artist named, Pablo de Gaul?”
“No, but I’m more into photography. Do they have his work here at the museum?”
Loretta shakes her head and they walk on. “No. His most famous work is with a private collector in Spain. It’s called, The Maidens of Eternal Sorrow.”
“It sounds a little depressing.”
Loretta stops and looks into his blue eyes. “It represents how the loss of innocence blinds us to the beauty of this world. It also expresses how artists are often ridiculed and misunderstood during their lives.” She turns away from him, brushing a tear.
Zach comes over to her side. She turns to him, her watery eyes finding him. “You’re pretty amazing,” he says. He comes closer, his lips finding hers. Loretta hesitates, thinking about Jason, but then gives into the moment, kissing him harder as her tongue gently probes his.
When they move apart, his voice is softer. “Would you like to stop by my apartment later? We could have a drink.”
Loretta’s lips turn up, a distant memory surfacing. She remembers how Jason had cheated on her during their trip to Europe so many years ago. When they got home he told her about how he’d gone too far with Joanne Vreeland one night. He’d said that she planned to tell her parents she’d been raped. After hearing what happened she remembers telling him that she would help him take care of Joanne, while at the same time honoring the artist that Ellian had learned about on the trip. They were together after that night until…
“If you’ve got other plans, it’s okay,” Zach says.
Her mind surfaces and she pushes the memories of Jason away. “I’m not busy. I’d love to stop by.”
***
Night is falling by the time Loretta places her handbag on Zach’s kitchen counter. She looks around the small, cluttered apartment. “This is nice.”
“It’s nothing fancy,” Zach says, handing her a glass of wine. “It has to serve
as both my bedroom and my studio until I can afford something larger.”
Loretta sees the camera equipment in the corner of the room and walks over. There’s a stack of photographs on the table. She turns to him. “May I?”
“Sure but they’re…”
“Beautiful,” she says, picking up one of the eight by ten prints. It’s an alpine landscape captured at sunset, the sun filtering through a stand of Aspens. After a moment she turns, finding his eyes. “You’re very talented.”
Zach comes closer, taking her in his arms. She resists at first, but then begins to weaken, giving in to the passion of the moment. They kiss, this time more passionately. His tongue and lips move down her neck, before his hands find the buttons on her blouse.
“No.” Loretta breathes, her gaze drifting away from him. “The lights. Can we…”
“Of course.” In a moment the room is darkened and Zach pulls her over to the sofa. They kiss again, their hands probing, exploring one another. Loretta lets her mind tumble back to those moments when she and Jason made love. As much as she wants to pull back now, she finds herself being swept up in the emotion and heat of the moment. They continue to kiss, more urgently now, Zach pressing his hardness against her.
“I want you,” Zach says, working on her blouse again.
This time she makes no attempt to stop him. The excitement she feels, the heat swirling through her body, overwhelms her thoughts. His lips move down, kissing her neck again before moving lower. His hands move over her bra and begin working on the strap. She moves his hand away, but at the same time kisses him again, this time even more deeply, more urgently.
In a moment her bra and skirt are off. Even though she knows what’s happening—that she should stop him and try to explain—the passion overtakes her. She feels his hand moving lower, touching and probing.
Her panties come off, his hand finding that place she never touches. She moans with excitement, losing herself in the memories of Jason and the sensation of being touched again. “Oh God, yes…Jason…”