THIRTY-NINE
Lundin arrived at Robertson Boulevard much earlier than she normally would. She parked her car and sat and pondered for a while. So many inconsistent things ping-ponged in her mind about what was happening to her husband and why. He did not know either, which forced her mind to boggle even more. The thing that bothered her most was that she had no idea if—better yet, when—unexplained things would begin to happen to her. She had not planned, or thought that she would need a plan, for someone robbing her husband, and then trying to kill him. Moreover, she thought everything was intended to hurt her. Without William her world would collapse, and whoever committed those transgressions knew that.
She got out of the car and slipped into the entryway of the loft. She noticed that the security alarm was not activated. She hoped William had hastily run out that morning and inadvertently neglected to set the alarm. She would hate to have to run into an unwanted goon. They would pay. In my home, she thought. That idea gave her a vicious migraine.
She entered the apartment and started straight up the stairs to the loft. She moved as softly as a kitten. She went right under the bed and retrieved a locked box and pulled out her gun. She put the gun in her waist band and then went down to the living room with the smoothness and grace of a seasoned assassin.
There was no way that she could relax, but she would force herself to until she heard from her husband. She sat on the sofa feeling that she needed someone to talk to. She looked into her beautiful, frightened eyes in the mirror and decided to do it. She hated to do it, but perhaps something good may come out of a call to her mother.
“Hello, Darling,” Diana said, enthusiastically. Her enthusiasm quickly disintegrated. She said, “Now you know this is mother’s story time, so make it quick before Victor fires Mindy.”
“Mother, this is very important, and I need your attention. Turn Victor off.”
“Lundin, Victor can’t be turned off. You’re sure this can’t wait?”
“Will is in trouble. Turn off the soaps mom and listen to me. Now is not the time to be obstinate,” Lundin said, sternly.
“Oh...all right. If you insist.”
“I do!”
“What did he do now?” Diana asked as if her daughter was subjected to regular bouts with domestic violence.
“Nothing, mom. He’s still his loving and charming self, but someone tried to kill him, and they stole all of the money from his account. Whoever is behind it even sent me pics of him with other women, but the pics are not him, though.”
“And you believe him?”
“Believe what?”
“That he is not in the photos?”
“I did not at first. But then all of the other circumstances surrounding the event makes me, mom. I know William, he wouldn’t cheat on his taxes and definitely not me.”
“Lundin...Lundin. Why don’t you come home for a while, until he deals with this mess?”
“What mess? You don’t even know what’s happening.”
“I know he came from out of nowhere. I bet his past is catching up with him. And before my child gets caught up in his mess, I am suggesting you get here before you’re kidnapped or worse.”
“You know what...”
“Watch it young lady, I am not that afraid to fly. He has no goddamn past. No family and I think he is an ex murderer or something. I am sad to say it, but I want you to leave and come to D.C. where you belong and away from that crazy coast.”
“You know mother, I called you for encouragement. A little hope. To console me, but as usual you’re your picayune self. Thanks for kicking me down when I am already in the basement. It’s nothing like your mother assuring that I am burning in the Earth’s core.”
“Lundin, I am not trying to hurt you, but I’ve warned you that he is manipulative and not so damn charming. He’s hiding something, honey, but you’re so blinded by charm. Furthermore—”
“Save it, mommie dearest. I’ll get through this alone. As always. Thanks for giving birth to me. Go back to Victor.”
“Lun—”
The line went dead. And so was Diana Parker in Lundin’s fairy tale. Lundin could not believe that her mother would snow on her after she had been rained on. Lundin’s world crumbled around her a tad too rapidly, and she couldn’t stop it. There’s was nothing left to do but cry. She cupped her hands over her face. Let it all out you tough bitch, she thought. Let them laugh now, but they’ll all die later.
FORTY
Instinctively, William grabbed the steering wheel of his rental more tightly that he normally would have. He swerved in and out of traffic and breathed heavily. He exited the 101 Freeway at the Sunset Boulevard exit and came to the light. He made a right turn on a red. Fuck the traffic laws, too. He was going all out. The Hollywood sights faded in his rearview mirror. He drove through the neighborhood and thought that it was a tad seedy for a PI.
William fused all of the mettle that he could to continue what he had started. He was glad to still be alive after the attempt on his life. But he would risk his life to save his name and ultimately continue living his life.
He arrived at 1580 Sunset and rather than pull in the open space, he continued past it with the rest of the maddening LA drivers. He pulled over on a small street just as the car clock switched to 2:30.
Nothing would sting more if Jose Velasquez was not in his office. He parked the car and hoped that he was wrong. William’s heart hurt like hell. Added to the pain he was more sweaty than usual. Sweat escaped glands from his head to his feet. His heart pounded and forced him to touch his chest. It felt as if his heart had blown into a size mirroring a cantaloupe. He tried to subdue his anticipation and slow his heart rate, but what he planned to resort to controlled his heartbeat.
William sighed as he leaned over and reached in the glove compartment. He retrieved a gold colored pistol that he sat on his lap and placed his finger firmly on the trigger. Would he have to shoot someone that day? Better yet, could he shoot somebody that day? That situation would be squashed, plain and simple. Although, he had written Justice’s story, William knew Justice had no plans on going away. Not without deadly force, anyway.
William sat upright in the driver’s seat and the back passenger door opened. Reflexively, William aimed his gun at the woman. With the barrel of the gun two inches from the elderly woman’s face, William barked, “Who the fuck are you? And you better talk fast old lady; I am having a very bad fucking day.”
“Is that how you talk to—”
William cut her smooth off. “I will splatter your brains all over this car if you do not answer my goddamn question.”
“It’s me, Ms. Grisby,” Justice said in an elderly voice. He switched to his real voice, and asked, “You remember me, right?”
William cocked his gun.
“Wait a minute! What the fuck you wanna kill me for?”
“Do not patronize me, faggot. You know all about it. Before I rid the world of your sorry ass, just tell me where the fuck is my money, and why you have to fuck with Lundin? I warned you on Rodeo not to fuck with my wife!”
“What money? I haven’t stolen any fucking money from you. You’re drunk.”
“I hate liars,” William seethed.
“Noooooooo! Wait! Look at the way I am dressed. I have been warned that the feds are looking for me again. Apparently my case aired on AMW and someone tipped the SS off.”
“Am I supposed to believe you?”
“You do not have too.”
“Of course, I do. I need a reason not to blow your fucking brains out.”
“Listen, the PI you’re going to see knows everything. He took the pics that was given to Lundin. Let’s go have a chat with his ass. If I am lying you can kill me then.”
“I don’t need to wait to kill you, asshole. You have a lot of gall. Besides you’re not going anywhere with me wearing the costume.”
“Sure I am. Let’s go,” Justice said and hopped out the back seat.
Reluctantly
, William pulled himself together and stepped into the street. He scanned his surroundings and there was not a human in sight. Just cars zipping along the busy Sunset. He was prepared to do what he had to do.
With Ms. Grisby in tow dressed in a one piece floral number, William conceived every creative question to ask the PI as he walked toward 1580. The PI would have a real private eye into the interior of a coffin if he obstructed William’s investigation.
* * *
William and Ms. Grisby reached 1580 and it was a store front type of property. Surely, the man had some form of security. Probably a dog that William would send limping to Dog Heaven if he got in the way. Private investigators had the kind of dangerous job that provoked people to kill them. They ruined lives and marriages, which had brought William to 1580. They took responsibility for doing ordinary citizens dirty work. Messing with William Fortune would earn Jose Velasquez his last breath if he did not leave that office with what he wanted to know.
William Fortune was prepared to make the ballsiest move of his life.
FORTY-ONE
The woman’s entire day had been ruined. She had gone to the Mailbox, Etc. in a rush. Never did she expect to deal with making a 911 call and getting the store clerk out of a bind.
As William had rushed past her she had no idea that he had committed a heinous crime. When the door had closed behind William, she proceeded to ring the counter bell ridiculously. Finally, Jerry stumbled out of the office and she called the police. With the police en route the woman, against her better judgment, unbound Jerry. He had a loud bump on his forehead which was covered by his gold mane that was thrown about his head wildly.
Jerry looked around as the LAPD snapped photos of his bruised forehead. Crime Scene Investigators snapped photos and dusted for prints. The VCR had been bagged and tagged to be investigated for latent prints belonging to the perp.
Detective Rocky Bowman looked over his notes from the victims account and the witness. The perps description was consistent, but Detective Bowman did not have anything to rely on to capture him.
Detective Bowman limped over to Jerry. The cop had been shot in the leg in the line of duty, which took him off the streets, but he was back. He was a slim man, with a stocky upper body. One assumed he loved the beach by his burnt-orange complexion. He looked at Jerry then back to his pad.
“Now, son?” Detective Bowman asked fatherly. “You’re positive that you have no idea who the man that attacked you was? Or if he found what he was looking for?”
“No, sir,” Jerry said. “I wish I did. I’d love to see the ass arrested, and save the person that he’s looking for.”
“And you’re sure--”
Jerry cut the detective off. “Yes, I am sure.”
Bowman’s brown eyes rolled skyward hoping that he was interrupted for good reason.
“The man that sent the photos to his wife left his business card.”
“Huh? Where’d he put it?” Detective Bowman asked, thankful for the lead.
“It’s in the fishbowl. At the end of the month there is a drawing to win a free box rental.”
Detective Bowman slid on gloves and emptied the twenty something business cards out. He had a forensics officer bag the bowl as he sifted through the cards. Most of them belonged to people in the movie production trade. Only one card stood out.
The one belonging to Private Investigator Jose Velasquez.
FORTY-TWO
William waited for the door to open, as he wished that he was at the cinema downing nachos and cheese and a Pepsi. It was late in the afternoon and he hoped that he would be out of jail the same time the next day. He was glad that spring had rained on LA. The chilly winter air would have been a bitch.
He looked at Jose Velasquez, who sat at his desk without a care in the world. Jose Velasquez looked up at the door startled. He thought: Here we go. Jose knew that he only had visits from clients and deranged spouses like the one at his door. He swallowed hard and walked to the door dreamily.
William asked Ms. Grisby, “You’re sure this is going to work?” The sage woman simply nodded.
“Hello, Mr. Fortune,” Jose said, nonchalantly.
Jose spoke calmly. His heart never skipped a beat. He was only dealing with an author that wrote about fraud. It was not like he was in front of Mario Puzo, author of the God Father series. If Jose could taste William’s thirst for revenge, he would be breaking a sweat as he stood in the doorway. Ms. Grisby appeared and was ignored by Jose. Not even noticed.
The door swung open a little quickly for William. He stared coldly at Jose and said, “Hello, Jose Velasquez.” William’s voice was business-like as if he had the deal of a life time. He spoke methodically and without a hint of fear.
“I really should not let you in to my office, but you may be here for a little quid pro quo. I may earn a handsome hourly rate to guarantee satisfaction.”
Can you believe this asshole, William thought. He replied, “No, I do not need you to ruin the beautiful image I have of my wife.” William imagined photos of Lundin with another man. The sight sickened him. “I’ll pass.”
“Okay, what do you want?” Jose said and snaked his fingers together behind his head. He was just as relaxed.
“I need you to get some information for me.”
“Sure, no prob-lemmo. Who’s the girl? Or guy?”
“You’re the guy.”
“Whoa! Whoa! Hold ‘em cowboy. I do not go that way.”
“Don’t let him play games with you,” Ms. Grisby hissed in William’s ear.
“Games. I see you adore games, Jose,” William said, and shook his head. “Let me be frank, someone sent photos to my wife.”
“That would be me, but you must know that.”
“The pics are not me, asshole.”
“Suuuurrreeeee, Fortune,” Jose said. “That’s what they all say,” he said, and wondered how William knew to find him. “If that’s all, you can leave now.” Jose leaned back and lit a cigarette.
“Oh, really. I can’t leave until you tell me who hired you to fabricate photos of me!”
“You will leave,” Jose said, and reached for his drawer.
“Shoot him!” Ms. Grisby said easily.
The blast had startled everyone, but Ms. Grisby. William listened to the echo of the gunshot that he cashiered to Jose’s right hand. The cigarette laid on the floor and smoke bellowed into the air. William had imagined money talking to better motivate the conversation, but Jose desired to push his weight around. Bullshit, William thought. William was past upset.
“No way, Jose,” William joked with a wicked sneer on his face.
Jose grabbed his right hand with his left and yelled murderously.
“Go take the gun out the drawer,” Ms. Grisby ordered William.
“You won’t be needing this,” William said as he tossed the gun in his own pocket.
“Usted puto negro de los neumáticos!” You fucking black tire, Jose screamed in Spanish, and frowned his face in that way that Mexicans that hated Blacks did.
“Your mother, faggot!” William replied. “Through your little investigation did you learn that I was fluent in five languages. No, I’m sure you did not because you were simply out to hurt my wife.”
The office phone rang interrupting William’s rant. With his gun trained on Jose, William picked up the receiver himself. “Velasquez...he’s on his way here...police are on the way...yes, I have a weapon...I’m locking the door and pulling the shades...thanks for the heads up.”
William hung up and told Jose, “That was a detective warning you that someone was en route to your office to possibly kill you. What a pity. Now let’s get down to business.” William spoke in a mocking Spanish drawl. “Who hired you to send those photos to my wife?” William was genuine with his demeanor, but he was definitely showing off for Ms. Grisby.
“Fuck you asshole,” Jose yelled.
“Now that’s what you ain’t going to do,” William said and raised from his seat.
He walked around the desk mumbling, “Think you’re going to talk to me like some punk bitch? You got me fucked up!”
“Nooooooo,” Jose pleaded as he watched William’s gun go up in the air and pointed at him.
“Overruled,” Ms. Grisby said. She then turned to William and said, “Continue.”
William shot Jose in the thigh, piercing a neat hole that forced Jose’s leg to kick the bottom of the desk. His reflexes checked out to be good. William then sank a hand around Jose’s throat, and then placed the gun up against Jose’s eye socket.
He glared monstrously into Jose’s eyes. He held his gaze, and looked twisted into the PI’s dark brown eyes. He ignored the pool of blood that swam on the hard wood floor, and put out the cigarette. Jose’s face morphed to Pepsi-blue. “Go ahead and pass out you fucking immigrant,” William said looking at Ms. Grisby for approval. “I may choke you until you pass out anyway. Or you can die from the loss of blood.”
Jose said nothing and that angered William.
“Dig this, damn it!” William shouted, a tad shocked by the rogue fury in his voice. He felt as if he lacked control. As if an out of body force controlled him like a puppet. “There has been an attempt on my life. Someone has stolen all of my money and you was an accomplice to trying to ruin my marriage. Who sent the fuckin’ pics?”
“I do not know, you...”
“You do not understand English very well and you ought too. Here’s another lesson,” William said and slammed the gun into Jose’s mandible. Blood oozed from the side of his face and slipped out of his mouth. “That’ll learn you.”
“Woo-who!” Ms. Grisby raved excitedly.
“Okay,” Jose screeched as droplets of blood shot out of his mouth onto William’s shirt. “Some woman called me and asked me to send the pics to your wife. That is all I did. I did not take them.”
CON TEST: Double Life Page 17