BLACK in the Box

by Russell Blake

  Black withdrew his wad of cash and peeled off five notes. “There. Satisfied?”

  “I should have had you put it on the night table on the way out.”

  “Can we skip the preamble? Can you do this or not?”

  She stared at him without expression. “I don’t kiss. And no anal.”

  Black’s eye twitched. “Roxie…”

  She smirked. “You stroking out? You smell like the floor of a barroom urinal. Still smoking, I see.”

  “Did I not just hand you five hundred dollars?”

  “You did what?” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Roxie…”

  “I’d love to chat, but I need to check Facebook here. Would you excuse me?”

  “So you can do this?”

  She rolled her eyes and shifted on the seat. “Haven’t you realized by now I can do anything?” She caught sight of the cat carrier. “Why did you bring Mugsy here?”

  Black debated possible answers. “Sylvia and I had a fight. She wouldn’t watch him.”

  “She finally came to her senses?”

  “That’s how she framed it.”

  “You’re better off without her. In L.A., the market for broke, middle-aged throwbacks with a booze and cigarette jones is huge. Just tell the chickies you’re a producer. One out of every three will buy it.”

  “That’s very helpful, Roxie.”

  “World’s your oyster, boss, and it’s pearls all the way.”

  “Very reassuring.”

  “Provided you’re willing to use date-rape drugs.” She studied him for a beat. “And Viagra.”

  “I’m going to go see if I can find Mugsy. Or whoever tried to kill me.”

  “Whatever.” She went back to studying her screen. “So you’re leaving me alone with an axe murderer in the building?”

  “You told me to leave you alone.”

  “No wonder you’re still single.”

  Black sighed again. “I kind of pity the murderer if he tries anything.”

  “I’ll call you when I’m in. Stay off the bottle.”

  Chapter 27

  Black’s footsteps thumped along the concrete floor as he walked along the first aisle and called out.

  “Mugsy. Mugsy! Come on, you porky bastard, where are you?”

  The only response he got for his effort was silence. In the distance he could hear cart wheels rattling as the stockers took the inventory and replenished the bins, and the occasional rev of a forklift. He unconsciously reached his fingers up to his cut and winced.

  “Crap.”

  Black rounded the corner and repeated the cat-calling procedure, trying to keep his voice down.

  “Mugsy, so help me, if you don’t come, I’ll leave you to starve.”

  He stopped at the sight of Tanika staring at him like he was out of his mind. Black felt his face flush and grinned. “Cat got out of the cage.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said before returning to bar-scanning the goods on her cart.

  “Really. His name’s Mugsy. He’s the size of a barn door. If you see him, come to the office and get me. He escaped, and I need to get him back.”

  “Will do, Mr. Black.”

  Black resumed his search, reasoning that he wasn’t there to impress Larry’s employees. “I’ll never see them again. What do I care what they think?” he murmured. When he looked up, Tom was eyeing him through the racks from the next aisle over, his expression impassive, a broom handle in hand. Black sputtered an explanation, hoping he didn’t look embarrassed. “Lost my cat. Name’s Mugsy.”

  “Right,” Tom said.

  “A tabby.”

  “Okay.”

  “Come get me if you see him.”

  “I will.”

  Black decided to call it quits and felt for his cigarettes, wondering whether it was possible his brain was bleeding and he’d soon pass out. The combination of fatigue and caffeine had him on edge, and having the equivalent of a piano land on him hadn’t improved his mood. He made his way to the employee exit, giving the pallet stacks a wide berth. The splintered wood from where he had narrowly escaped being flatted still littered the floor.

  He pushed the steel door wide. His cigarettes looked like they’d been run over by a truck, but he was able to salvage two that weren’t broken. He lit one and surveyed the handful of cars, his mind going over what he had accomplished so far, which he could summarize in a single word: Nothing.

  Bethany hadn’t called yet, but he didn’t want to irritate Larry any more than he clearly already had. It was her funeral if she didn’t cooperate. His last hope was that Roxie would work a miracle and find something to point them in the right direction. Without that, all that remained was a little more questioning and to write up his dismal findings in a report.

  He took a drag, and his cut pulsed with pain. He ignored his body’s protest and leaned against the side of the building, looking out over the lot. A nebulous thought was forming when his phone trilled.

  “Black,” he answered.

  “You still at Home World?”

  “Stan! Yes. Here for the duration. Got something for me?”

  “Maybe. You know someone named Mary Allenston? She’s the manager at the Long Beach store.”

  “Yes. I saw her just a little while ago. She went home early. Wasn’t feeling well.”

  “She won’t be feeling anything ever again.”

  “What?”

  “I told you I caught a homicide? It’s her. I’m at her place in Carson. Apartment.”

  “Damn.”

  “You want to come up? Little coincidental that two people from the same store bought it within twenty-four hours.”

  “Give me the address. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “You can ID her?”

  “Sure.”

  “Not much left of her head, so don’t barf all over me, lightweight.”

  Black wondered how bad it was. “McCarthy never called.”

  “And I pay too much for car insurance. We all have problems.”

  “Just saying.”

  “I’ll give him another try while you’re on the road. He’s now in the mix, even though it’s a different jurisdiction. These have got to be linked.”

  “I’d say. But I’m not sure how.”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about. Put that big brain of yours to work, Black. There’s a common thread – we’re just missing it.”

  “You mean other than the obvious.”

  “Right.”

  “See you soon.”

  Black tossed his half-smoked cigarette and trotted back to the entrance. He was out of breath by the time he reached Roxie, and made a mental note to try to lose a few pounds. Starting tomorrow.

  She didn’t look up from the screen when he opened the office door.

  “Did you find him?” she asked.

  “No. But I have to go for a little bit.”

  “Leaving me with the axe murderer. Nice, boss. You should put that in the job description on the ad for my replacement.”

  “Mary, the night manager, was killed after she left here. So this might actually be the safest place around right now.”

  “That logic makes my head hurt.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Yes. Or maybe it’s a fainting spell coming on. The vapors.”

  “Weren’t they a band?”

  “Fine. Leave me be. I’m making progress. I found his file, but it requires a different password. So I’m working through some hacks.”

  “What about the multiplex?”

  “I made that up.”

  Black nodded. “I’ll leave my phone on.”

  “I’ll call if I recognize whoever’s swinging the axe at my head.”

  “Do that.”

  “If anything bad happens to Mugsy, it’s on you.”

  “Like what? He burns a few calories? Not like he’s going to go far.”

  “No wonder he hates you. How was the cigarette?”r />
  Black sighed. “It’s that obvious?”

  “Really? You’re so oblivious you can’t tell?”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “Fifty percent chance of being right. You’re totally busted.”

  “I was kidding.”

  She finally made eye contact. “It really is obvious.”

  “Damn.”

  Chapter 28

  Bethany padded on bare feet to the bar and poured herself a healthy slug of Larry’s expensive tequila – Jose Cuervo Reserva de la Familia, which she knew from working at the store cost a hundred twenty-something dollars a bottle. She mixed in the last of the grapefruit juice and moved to the Viking freezer for ice. Two cubes dropped into the liquid with a splash and a few drops spilled on the floor. She swore and took a long sip, and then tugged on the paper towel roll, giggling to herself when she got six sheets.

  “Whoops,” she whispered and knelt to clean the spill. When she stood, she realized she felt a little dizzy. She held the counter for balance and blinked several times. The spell passed, and she slurped her concoction. Bethany was used to eight-dollar tequila, not premium rocket fuel, and this stuff tasted like liquid velvet. One of the fringe benefits to dating an older man, she thought. A very rich older man.

  Bethany had decided years ago that she was destined for better things than life in a tract house married to a plumber, and she’d set her sights on Larry when she caught him staring at her with obvious hunger. She knew that look, and she knew what it meant. She’d been waiting for a Larry for a long time – especially in Southern California, the young men were either broke losers, arrogant heirs to daddy’s fortune who wouldn’t even stay the night, much less consider marrying someone like her, or winners who were already hooked up.

  Of course they all had stories. This was the world capital of pretending to be something you weren’t, and money was worshipped as the only God that mattered. Her gag reflex triggered now whenever some stud told her he was an actor; or, as the more ambitious liars did, a director or producer. That might have been the future for most of her peers, but she was going to do better.

  Larry had told her that he was going to separate from his wife shortly, and that the only reason they were still together was because of the kids. She knew that was a common lie, but she believed him – he seemed completely sincere, and he really had feelings for her. One of those was clearly lust, but she could work with that. She might not have been school learned, but she was savvy and canny, and that went farther in the real world than a college diploma.

  A vision of Alec in a lake of crimson forced thoughts of Larry aside, and she sucked at her drink like it was the antidote. Which it was, in a way. The only thing that had kept her sane was the weed she’d been smoking since she’d gotten home, a couple of Percocet she’d been saving, and the liquor. And even that had barely been enough.

  Maybe another bowl was a good idea. She strode to her purse, naked as the day she was born, and removed a small pipe and a baggie of good green she’d gotten from one of the dudes next door. A much smaller baggie than she’d started the day with, she noted ruefully. She’d need to get a few bucks from Larry in the morning. He had no problem sharing the wealth – one of the things she liked about him. Or truthfully, about the only thing. In bed he was more along the lines of an ox trying to escape quicksand than a skilled lover, but she pretended she’d never had anything like him. It seemed to work, and there was no point in poisoning the well when she was this close to the finish line. Once they were married, she’d look for a more accomplished boy toy to scratch her itch. Money might not buy happiness, but it would certainly pay for a condo near the beach for a little diversion while Larry was out slaying dragons.

  The house phone rang, startling her. She looked over at it, and the line beeped. After several seconds, a woman’s voice left a message. Bethany stood frozen as she listened, holding her breath.

  “Honey, it’s me. Oh, you must be asleep by now. You poor thing. I wanted to say thanks again for the necklace. I’ve gotten nothing but compliments on it. Although it must have cost you a fortune – the diamonds are the size of golf balls! Anyway, call me in the morning. I’m going to bed. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Love you.”

  The dial tone assaulted Bethany’s ears with the fury of a harpy’s screech. The sound of breaking glass jarred her, and she only then realized she’d dropped the glass and it had shattered against the marble. She looked down at the drink spreading at her feet and carefully stepped away from it, pipe still in hand. She walked halfway to the kitchen and stopped.

  “Diamonds the size of golf balls? You lowlife scumbag lying piece of shit,” she hissed. Reality came crashing in, and she realized that while she believed she was putting one over on Larry, in reality, he’d been stringing her along. He had no intention of leaving his wife.

  Bethany stalked back into the bedroom and stuffed the bowl full of marijuana. She lit it and inhaled deeply, holding the fragrant smoke in as long as she could before blowing a stream at the overhead fan. She took another long hit, and then another, and soon the bowl was ashes.

  Her lips felt dry, and she realized that she was parched. She stumbled to her clothes and pulled on her skintight jeans and frilly blouse, thoughts churning. How could she have been such a fool? He was just an old letch tapping young stuff that cost him what he spent on gas every week to keep happy. And she’d deluded herself into fantasizing about a life of luxury? She was nothing more than the hired help giving the master of the house a little something-something.

  Bethany slipped on her black wedge flip-flops and weaved unsteadily to retrieve her purse. The party was over. She’d exact her revenge one way or another, but there was no way she was going to stay in that house for another second. A crystal vase caught her eye on the way out and she impulsively hefted it and hurled it across the room. It hit the TV, and both exploded in a shower of glass. For a brief instant she was shocked by what she’d done, and then she laughed and moved to the stereo – Larry was an audiophile, and he’d boasted to her that the turntable alone cost more than her car.

  She inspected the gear and smiled as she returned to the bar and grabbed the heavy tequila bottle. She uncorked it, chugged two mouthfuls, and then staggered to the stereo equipment and poured the remainder of the bottle all over the gear. She stood, unaware for a second that she’d emptied the container, and then slammed it down on the turntable as hard as she could.

  “Bastard,” she hissed, and gave the room a middle-finger farewell salute before heading for the front door, which she left standing open. She spotted the garage doors that housed Larry’s most treasured possessions, and an evil grin transformed her face into a mask of hate. “Let’s see how you like this,” she growled deep in her throat, and stormed back into the house to the connecting door that led to the cars.

  She stood swaying before the Bentley, her keys in her hand, and almost turned to leave when the memory of Larry’s wife’s voice rang in her ears. “Golf balls?” she whispered, looking around for something to use…and spotted Larry’s golf clubs in the corner. She laughed to herself and withdrew a nine iron, and then spun and swung it at the Bentley’s windshield. The glass frosted white when the club struck it, and she next broke the headlights before moving around the car and methodically breaking every piece of glass she could see.

  Bethany stopped, stunned by the damage she’d done, and then tossed the club onto the hood and held her hand over her mouth. “Oh shit,” she managed, and then teetered back into the house, the magnitude of her actions dawning on her through the drug and alcohol haze.

  Chapter 29

  Black parked in front of Mary’s apartment block, three police cars, Stan’s unmarked cruiser, and the forensics van confirming he had the right place, and walked slowly along the sidewalk to the entry gate. The complex was a two-story horseshoe shape with separate long buildings for garages on either side of the living area. Black climbed the stairs to where three uniformed officer
s were standing nervously, hands on their pistols.

  “Sorry, buddy. Crime scene. That’s as far as you go,” one of them warned.

  “I’m here to see Stan. He called me.”

  “And you are?”

  “Black.”

  The African-American officer near the door glowered at him. “You could get capped in this neighborhood with that sense of humor.”

  “It’s my name. Just tell Stan that Black is here.”

  A minute later, Stan appeared in the doorway and handed Black a pair of plastic booties to slip over his shoes. He followed Stan to the kitchen, where Mary was staring into eternity, the cause of death clearly at least one powerful blow to the head by something hard.

  “What happened to you?” Stan asked, taking in Black’s wound.

  Black told him about the pallets.

  Stan grunted. “Sounds like you might have a live one there.”

  “What’s time of death?”

  “Couple of hours. So about the time you got bonked.”

  “Then it can’t be the same guy.”

  “Not unless he’s got a wormhole he can use to defeat time and space.”

  “Been watching reruns of Star Trek again?”

  Stan frowned. “At least I don’t go to the conventions. So what do you think?”

  “I’m no expert, but I’d say she’s dead. How did you discover her?”

  “Neighbor called it in. Heard a scream.”

  “Anyone see anything?”

  “A woman in the complex said she saw a guy in a hoodie running from the apartment.”

  “Nothing more? Age? Race?”

  “Nope. You saw the amount of light out there. Nobody’s wasting any money on wattage.”

  “Vehicle?”

  “Just a guy in a hoodie. Maybe six feet tall. Or five. Or seven, with antlers.”

  “You gotta love your job.”

  “Tell me about your investigation at Home World.”

  “Still no McCarthy.”

  “Right. And?”

  “I’ve got zip.”