by M. Z. Kelly
Wilson breathed heavily, slouched back in the stretcher. After a few more threats, he became a little more cooperative, possibly because he realized that he’d be able to keep his manhood.
“We’re going to need to transport,” the ambulance attendant said to me.
After he agreed to give me five minutes, I asked Wilson what he knew about the Jezzie Rose case.
“She dumped my ass,” Wilson complained, at the same time moaning that he was in pain. “Cost me a bundle and the business of a bunch of other athletes. She ruined me.”
“That must have made you angry.”
“I didn’t touch her if that what’s your getting at.” He began sobbing, moaning that he was in pain. I imagined the agony of nearly having one’s penis severed was probably intense. It was one of those moments when I was happy I was a woman.
“Jezzie was pregnant,” I said. “Were you the father?”
“What?” Wilson groaned in agony again. “You musta fallen out of a tree on your head, lady. I had nothing to do with that bitch.”
“But you represented her. You had a close relationship with Jezzie. You must have known all her secrets.
Another moan. “She was real close to that trainer of hers. You need to talk to him.”
“Shane Mumford?”
“A real big shot with the ladies,” Wilson said through teeth that were clenched in pain. “He’s the one who probably knocked her up.”
“And you would know that because?”
“Owww…” Wilson called over to the attendant. “Can I get some morphine here? I’m in serious pain.”
I held a hand up to the attendant. “One minute. How do you know that Mumford and Jezzie were involved?”
“I’m not gonna say…”
“You want the morphine, you talk to me,” I spat. “Or I’ll see to it that you spend the afternoon without drugs, waiting for surgery.”
“Okay.” After another yelp, he said, “Barry Ralston came around one day wanting money he said I owed Jezzie. I told him I had nothing for him, that she dumped me as her agent. He finally calmed down and we had a few beers together. He then told me that Jezzie was pregnant and he thought Mumford might be the father. He was mad as hell and said he was gonna hire somebody to cap both their sorry asses.”
CHAPTER TEN
“They beat the poor guy’s ass for no good reason,” an angry man told the FID investigator. “And the dog nearly bit his dick off. The cops were outta control. I got the video on my phone to prove it. I’m giving it to the press.”
I heard the comment being made to the Force Investigation Division detective in the driveway of Chucky Wilson’s house as I was planning to retrieve a change of clothes from my equipment bag in the car.
I turned and walked over to the witness who looked like he’d stopped dealing drugs just long enough to report the afternoon’s proceedings. “Did it ever occur to you that the poor guy you’re defending was high on drugs, it appeared he was holding a woman hostage, and he was resisting arrest?”
“You pigs are just trying to justify unreasonable force,” the man spat at me. “You got no business coming ‘round our neighborhood, doing a beat down on good people for no reason.”
I took a step toward him and started to respond, when Pearl came between me, the witness, and the FID detective. He gently led me away from the confrontation. “Let it go, Kate. Nothing good will come of it.”
We stopped near my car. I huffed out a couple of breaths. “Sorry. I’m just getting tired of the good guys always being second guessed.”
Pearl looked down at me and smiled, exposing the gap in his front teeth. “Comes with the territory. I’ve got a few war stories I’ll share with you one of these days.”
I thanked him and asked if earlier in the day he and the brothers had any luck locating Jezzie’s former trainer, Shane Mumford.
“He’s no longer connected to the university. We think he might be working out of a gym, so we’re in the process of contacting all the local clubs.”
I told Pearl that I’d check in with him later and got my bag from the car. I was able to wash up and change in a gas station restroom down the street from Wilson’s house. As I was returning to the scene a satellite van came around the corner. I realized the uniforms were already doing crowd control while the press was setting up behind the crime scene tape on the sidewalk.
Haley Tristan called over to me as I arrived back at Wilson’s house. “Detective Sexton, what can you tell us about Judge Johnson’s involvement in this matter?”
I started to say no comment when the department’s on-scene supervisor said that the Media Relations Office would be holding a news conference soon. It was probably a good thing because after my run-in with Chucky Wilson and his neighbor I was in no mood to make nice to the press, especially Tristan. I had no idea how she’d learned of the judge’s involvement in the day’s events, but I knew it would likely prove the end of the jurist’s career.
It was almost dark by the time we finished our FID interviews. Charlie drove me back to Hollywood Station to get my car. We were both exhausted after the day’s events.
“Remind me why I haven’t filed my retirement papers,” Charlie said as we pulled off the freeway in Hollywood. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair and glanced at me.
“A certain party gets half your pension.”
His cheeks puffed up as he blew out a breath. “Oh, yeah. Maybe I’ll just keep working until I drop dead or someone like Hannibal eats me for lunch.”
“I doubt that he’d find you appetizing.”
I looked out the window, processing the events of the past few days, as we passed the Walk of Fame. It felt to me like we were getting closer to the truth about Jezzie’s murder but the pieces of the puzzle were still not quite fitting together.
“Do you think the ponytailed guy who was hanging around Jezzie’s practices was the man hired by Ralston to kill her?” I asked Charlie.
My partner shook his head. “Doubt it. Why would he make his presence known to Jezzie beforehand? Why not just walk up behind his mark and put a bullet in her head.”
“Maybe he was pressuring Jezzie to take Wilson back as her agent?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Or it could be that Shane Mumford’s involved. He gets Jezzie pregnant, can’t see himself as a baby daddy, and kills her before he finds out that she miscarried.” Charlie turned onto Wilcox Avenue. “Once we find him, maybe we’ll have some answers.”
“If,” I said. “According to Pearl he’s moved on from his job at the university.”
Charlie pulled into the station parking lot and said, “See you in the morning.”
I shook my head. “You forgot. I’m going to Vegas for the day and trying to find my mom.” I opened the rear door and got Bernie from the backseat. I closed the door, bent down to the open passenger window, and said, “Let’s work on finding Mumford. Wilson said he was popular with the ladies. Maybe there’s someone at the university who can give us some information on where he’s living.”
“I’ll put the brothers on it tomorrow.”
“That makes me feel a whole lot better.”
***
I felt like something out of a Hollywood movie about zombies by the time I got home. I went straight to my room to shower and change clothes. After twenty minutes under hot water I began to think I might live. I dressed in sweats and a ratty old t-shirt, then dragged a brush through my recalcitrant locks. I scribbled myself a note to make an appointment at Sinclar’s Salon and then met up with my roommates in the family room. Mo and Natalie had someone on speaker phone, while Tex, Nana, and Prissy listened in.
“Mo and me are teachin’ that class over at the university that I mentioned to you the other day,” Natalie said into her iPhone. “We got an open segment and need an expert in your field, Dr. Ludmilla.”
I heard a woman with a heavy Russian accent say, “I can do the class provid-ink you give me props.”
“Oh, you’ll get lots o
f props,” Mo said. “We got loads of horny students and they’re gonna appreciate all your advice.”
There was a hesitation before the woman came back over the speaker, “I do not think you are understand-ink me. I will need some, how you say, veez-u-all aids.”
“I can assist,” Tex said to Natalie, nodding his head rapidly. He bent over and said into the phone, “I’m Natalie’s significant other, doctor. I’m excellent with developing bioengineered components, including variants of marital devices, some of which can be quite interactive and stimulating.”
“Vat are you talk-ink about?”
“Tex can bring dildos and stuff like that,” Natalie explained.
I heard a sigh on the line. “I will give to you more in-for-ma-shun later. We are need-ink some-think special for the class.”
After the call ended, I said to Natalie, “Who was that?”
“Dr. Ludmilla.” She clapped her hands. “Our sex and relationships class is gonna be the bomb. Sure you don’t wanna do a segment?”
“Maybe you could take one of them date rape drugs during class,” Mo suggested. “You can talk about dating safety and demonstrate the effects of going bonkers.”
“No thanks,” I said. “And who the hell is Dr. Ludmilla?”
“You’re kidd’n me,” Mo said. I gave her a blank stare. She looked over at Natalie and slowly shook her head.
“You gotta get out more, Kate,” Natalie said. “Dr. Ludmilla Pushkin is an internationally known expert. She’s got her own show and even lectures at UCLA.”
“An expert on what?”
Mo did a giant eye roll. “Human sexuality. You have heard of sex, haven’t you?”
“Yes, well at least in concept.”
“Ludmilla’s a YouTube sensation,” Natalie said. “She’s even got her own channel.”
“She’s one of the founders of CHAOS theory,” Tex said.
“Huh?”
“Cerebral Humanoid Autonomic Orgasmic Stimulation.
“Huh?” I repeated.
“Her theory involves the activation and stimulation of deep synaptic structures in the brain that are responsible for sexual arousal.”
“It’s like having a nuclear orgasm,” Natalie added, her eyes widening.
Nana spoke up. “Now I’m sure I want to go to that class. I could even do a show and tell segment. I’ve got some pictures I could share that I took with Roy, my old boyfriend.”
“Last time I’m gonna say this, Nana,” Mo said. “The class ain’t for the senior pop.”
“Maybe I could do a segment for your class on BDSM,” Prissy offered. He then referenced the sex paraphernalia store he owned on Melrose. “I’ve got a wide assortment of show and tell items at Voodoo Mama that I could bring.”
“Great idea,” Natalie said. “Maybe you could tie up Kate, hang her like a side of beef from a hook in the ceiling, and do a live demonstration.”
I dragged a hand through my damp hair and shook my head. “I’m not a side of beef and I’m not wearing leather, chains, masks, or demonstrating any restraint devices.”
“I look pretty good in leather and lace,” Nana offered. “I’d even let somebody tie me up and use a whip.”
Mo’s brow furrowed and her eyes came together like something I’d once seen in a movie about alien life forms. “You fart when you’re standing around doing nuth’n. I can’t even imagine…” She shook her head and made a sound like she was gargling swamp water. “Last time I’m gonna say it, Nana. Stay away!”
Natalie turned back to me and said, “You must be pretty beat down, Kate. I saw on TV you were there when Chucky Wilson was arrested.”
I exhaled. “It’s been a long day.”
Natalie’s voice grew more animated. “According to the reporters, Chucky was hold’n a judge in some kinda torture chamber.”
“It was just sex play,” I said, thinking I really shouldn’t be getting into the details but my exhaustion had lowered my defenses. “It got a little out of hand.”
“Hey, that gives me an idea,” Mo said. “Since you refuse to show the class your own kinky side, Kate, you could teach a session on freaks and pervs—talk about all the crazy sex stuff that the Hollywood psychos do.”
“That’s not going to happen.” My thoughts then drifted back to Jezzie’s murder, how my roommates were in touch with what was going on at the university. “Have either of you heard of a guy named Shane Mumford from your contacts at the school? He was Jezzie’s personal trainer.”
“Somebody did mention the bloke,” Natalie said. “I think he might have even been friends with our yoga instructor. I can ask him and some of the students about him if you’d like.”
“Maybe he’s the one who got Jezzie pregnant,” Mo said.
I couldn’t believe what I’d heard. “What? How did you…”
“Rumors,” Natalie said, cocking her head as she regarded me. “It’s true, ain’t it?”
“Yes, but you can’t say anything.” All I needed was for these two to open their big mouths and the press getting wind of Jezzie’s pregnancy and miscarriage.
“Our lips are sealed,” Mo said, smiling over at Natalie.
They went on for a few minutes, continuing to speculate that Shane Mumford might have gotten Jezzie pregnant. After exacting another promise that they would keep quiet about the pregnancy I agreed to let Natalie discretely ask around about Jezzie and Mumford’s relationship.
I released a long breath when our discussion finally ended, beginning to feel the fatigue of the day’s events catching up with me. Bernie continued to beg for some of Prissy’s potato chips and was rewarded each time.
“You keep feeding that dog junk food and he’s gonna need to go on a diet,” Mo said. “And I’m an expert on diets. Potato chips are the devil’s desert.”
“Your figure is fine, Mo,” Natalie said, at the same time nuzzling up to Tex on the loveseat across from us.
“If you’re interested in weight loss, it’s simply a matter of reducing your caloric level below the threshold of your physical activity,” Tex said. “I can provide a simple algebraic formula, if you’re interested.”
“Thanks but no thanks,” Mo said. “I flunked algebra and I don’t need some brainiac formula to help me drop a pound or two.”
I popped a chip into my mouth. A pound or two? Mo looked like she was pushing somewhere into the dark regions of two bills.
“Maybe you should increase your physical activity,” Nana suggested, coming back into the family room with a glass of Chica Loca. She clicked her dentures. “I once heard that if you have vigorous sex you can burn a thousand calories.”
“Actually, what you’re suggesting would require a veritable sexual marathon,” Tex said. “You would have to engage in hearty coital copulation for at least a twenty-four hour period to burn that many calories.” He looked over at Natalie. “Maybe we should consider giving it a try?”
“I once had sex for a week,” Nana said before Natalie could respond.
Mo shook her head. “Maybe that explains why you weigh ‘bout seventy-eight pounds.”
Nana grinned, pushed her dentures in and out of her mouth a couple of times. “You know the old saying: if you wanna stay in shape, bend over and do it like Rover. Use your mouth and the pounds go south.”
The groans rose up before Nana did another denture click and her tone became more confidential, “I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but since you’re all like family now you should probably know that I’m involved in a trial.”
“Did you commit a crime?” Natalie asked. “Like maybe whack your husband ‘cause he was cheating on you?”
“It’s not that kind of trial. I’m part of a drug study. I’m taking something called, Xandiva. It’s supposed to enhance sexual desire in post-menopausal women.”
Mo gave her a hard stare. “Explains a lot ‘bout what’s been going on with you lately.”
“I’ve been having some side effects related to the medication,” Nana said.
“No shit,” Mo said.
Nana nodded. “Constipation can be one of the side effects, along with tongue swelling, hives, and EFS.”
I probably should have kept my mouth shut but took the bait. “EFS?”
“Enhanced Flatulence Syndrome.”
“That explains why you’re a fart machine,” Mo said.
“Yes, but my sexual energy is off the scale,” Nana said. She turned to Tex. “If you know anyone else who wants to engage in a marathon keep me in mind when I get back from Vegas.”
For once Tex seemed lost for words. I’d almost forgotten Nana was going to be on our flight to Vegas in the morning. Her elderly boyfriend, Ace, probably wouldn’t survive the encounter.
“Holy shit,” I said, standing up as something suddenly occurred to me.
“What’s the matter?” Nana asked.
“Maybe she’s upset ‘cause her past sexual activity only lasted ‘bout ten minutes,” Mo suggested with a chuckle.
No sooner had I said the words than the doorbell rang. “Shit…shit…shit…somebody get the door. I’ve gotta run to the bathroom.”
Mo shrugged. “Kate’s definitely not taking Nana’s meds—no sex and no constipation. But when the urge hits you I guess there are some things you just can’t put off.”
“It’s Mack,” I said, turning back to them for a moment before I hurried off to my room. I called out over my shoulder, “I forgot that he’s coming over tonight. Somebody get the door.”
I took five minutes, threw on some decent clothes, dragged a brush through hair that looked like it had been in Super-storm Sandy, and used some eyeliner and lipstick. I rushed back to the family room knowing that I was probably too late. Mack had been at the mercy of my roommates!
“She’s been that way for as long as we’ve known her,” I heard Mo saying. She and the others were in the living room, surrounding Mack like he was an exotic specimen that they’d cornered and might get away if given any space.
“Maybe it’s cause of her childhood trauma,” Natalie suggested. “It might explain a lot about what’s been going on with her.”
“Or it could just be a medical condition,” Nana said. “One of those weird psychological disorders that no one really knows what to do about.”