Jamaican Karma

by T S Paul

  “Weird. Can you help us look behind the cabinet?” Winston motioned to the entertainment center along the wall.

  “Dude, I can do better than that. All you need to do it look, I’ve got this!” Reaching down I clutched the bottom of the console with both hands and lifted. It might weight a couple hundred pounds but to a Bear, that was child’s play.

  Both Winston and Hina checked under and around the thing before I set it down, “thanks. I just wanted to be sure before I gave you a name.”

  “Do you know who yet?” Winston asked.

  I shook my head, “I need to research a couple of things and re-interview one of the guests, but it won’t be much longer. Trust me.”

  “Thanks buddy. Hina’s parents will be devastated if we lose the thing,” Winston replied.

  “Jamaican Karma,” I said with a smile.

  Winston gave me a funny look, “what?”

  “The band. You should call it Jamaican Karma. It’s what happens when you fake it for so long and a Polar Bear catches you,” I explained even as I stepped out of the house. “I’ll call you.”

  Chapter 10

  Getting back home early, I sat down with my family for dinner. While Mom might be more modern and adaptive to American foods and traditions, Dad was a traditionalist. He wanted something from the ‘old country’ at least twice a week and insisted on hot fat to drink instead of tea or soda.

  “Ugh, how can you drink that stuff,” the steaming glass of hot seal oil sat on the ceramic tile I’d made in elementary school. I can still remember painting the old Russian flag on the tile instead of the stars and stripes like the other kids. As a family we didn’t have a stitch of loyalty to the old world, but dad treasured his own childhood memories and I wanted to help him even then.

  “It’s tradition. Look it up. Natural bears gorge themselves on seal fat all the time. I’m connecting with our past,” my dad explained. It was all I could do to not throw up as he tossed back the big glass of goo.

  Looking to my mom I complained. “Why do you encourage him like this? I have looked it up. They eat that stuff to stay warm in the freezing cold. This is Alabama. It doesn’t get that cold here. When was the last time we swam in the ocean?”

  “Mongo, let your father be. He is how he is. Eat your dinner, it’s getting cold,” my mom placed a plate in front of me, rubbing my shoulder as she stepped away.

  “You should partake as I do. It’ll put hair on chest. Umka, fix the boy some fat,” my dad yelled at me mom.

  Spinning in my chair I motioned to no, waving my hands like a construction worker trying to stop a bulldozer. Please no. He’d tried this before when I was a child. I still can’t have milkshakes because of it. Visions of the thick mucus like material sliding down my throat gives me nightmares.

  “Leave the boy be Beorn. He’s old enough to make his own choices in life,” my mom retorted. She sat a plate down for dad and took her chair across from me. “Eat your food, the both of you.”

  Dad grumbled a bit but did as she asked. Tonight, it was fried fish with beans and greens. Living in a barbecue world got old after a while and my mom liked to mix things up by feeding us stuff dad didn’t sell. I’d tried to get them to change the menu at the restaurant more than once. “Don’t fix it if it isn’t broken,” is what both of them always said.

  “How’s your case going,” my mother asked me.

  Looking up from my dinner I glanced at my father then her, “it’s ok. I looked into all the suspects, ran some interviews, and checked out their houses. I still need to look back into one of them though. If I lay everything out and compare it all, I should be able to see what happened.”

  My mother nodded, “that sounds complete. Is this something criminal, could they go to jail over it?”

  I cocked my head and considered that bit. “Maybe? The item is a family heirloom but more of a religious nature. To value it, I’d have to take its historical value into question. I doubt the local PD would care. Petty crime most likely.”

  Dad grunted laying his fork down, “give us the details. Paint a picture for us.”

  “Ok… So, there was this party,” I explained the whole crazy thing to my parents laying out the who and the where for them. After a couple of minutes, they had questions.

  “Why don’t you suspect these... leather girls? Is that right?” Mom asked me.

  “Abbie, Jen, and Crystal, I called them that because of what they wear all the time. They all share an apartment over near the base. I suspect they’re all in a relationship together and have a sort of streaming service they run out of the house,” I explained. “While I haven’t seen the actual cameras, I do know how to disguise them and as far as I can tell none of them have traditional jobs.”

  “So, no jobs and they dress provocatively, and you go straight to tawdry? Mongo I raised you better than that!” My mom exclaimed.

  Holding up my hands in protest I explained, “I ran background checks on all of them using some of my FBI contacts. All three girls haven’t been employed in any sort of traditional job for over five years but are still reporting income earned in the mid five figure rang to the IRS. And before you say it, I checked to see if they were independently wealthy or had family money of some kind. The camera-based job idea comes from a purchasing record I found on Crystal’s credit card. She bought enough camera equipment to outfit a small school just last year. Jen and Abigail both are recent graduates in tech careers and have the know how to set something up like this. As to their relationship, I’m just going off something Hina said to me once. That the girls were tight knit and really didn’t date outside their trio.”

  “Hmmpt! You still shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts about innocent girls,” my mom stated as she stood up. Grabbing our plates, she quickly cleared the table off.

  My dad looked over his shoulder watching as mom went into the kitchen. Looking back at me and keeping his voice low he spoke, “there are a lot of Packs like that. Loose structure, lots of hot women, if I was thirty years younger and your mother was in a coma… you get the picture son.”

  I shook my head, “ugh. Now I need mind bleach. Thanks dad.”

  Mom stepped back into the room popping my dad on the back of his head in a classic Gibbs maneuver, “I heard that you old goat!”

  Sitting down she glared at me father until he said “I love you” to her. My parents were a hoot sometimes.

  “Moving on, I still need to re-interview Mrs. Penrod and if possible get a look into her house,” I explained.

  “Why,” my dad asked.

  “Why what?” I responded.

  “Get into her house, what does that help with,” dad asked me.

  I waggled my hand, “economics and a bit of psychology. Take Gabriel as an example. A few years ago, he’d have been my number one suspect with his job loss and drug issues. But he obviously is trying to clean himself up. Yes, his apartment leaves something to be desired but by talking to him I can see that is more is exes issue than his. He’s trying, and that’s all that matters. Getting into theft now would exile him from the only support group he has, his friends. It’s just not his style. The girls are the same. They have nice things. Doing something to have it all taken away and exposing whatever quasi-legal income stream that they may have isn’t in the cards for them. They like Gabe need good friends.”

  Dad nodded. “So that leaves the pizza kid and the only lady.”

  “Just the old lady. Joe never came out and said it, but I suspect his family is like my friend Agatha’s. Just the fact they’re keeping it secret tells me he doesn’t want any sort of legal trouble. His family wouldn’t be pleased with him,” I explained. “It has to be Mrs. Penrod. She’s the only one with prior knowledge of the item and lots of experience with the layout of the condo. Hers is a mirror opposite of it after all.”

  “And she’s the one that told you about Carnival glass?” Mom asked me.

  “She was. According to Hina, Shirley knows her antiques. I guess that shoul
d have been a clue right there since the tiki is supposed to be a family heirloom after all,” I replied.

  “Well don’t scare her too much, she is an old woman after all,” my dad stated. “She might call the police on you.”

  I frowned. “Yeah, I’m trying to avoid that bit. My license will hold up, but the locals don’t care for me all that much. If she’s got it, I think I can get it back without involving them. Winston’s got pictures after all.”

  Chapter 11

  I had a whole conversation laid out in my head as I knocked on the door. What she would say, what I would say back. It was like theatre in my mind. All of that went right out the window as she opened the door.

  “Oh, Mr. Mongo you’re back. Did you catch your thief?” Shirley asked. Her hair was still the same, but the outfit was much different, more modern.

  “I did. What you told me helped, thanks,” I replied to her.

  Shirley’s eyes widened just a bit, “which one of the kids was it?”

  “None, you know perfectly well who took the tiki. Now we can do this a couple of ways. I can call the local cops and lay it all out for them or you can give it back to me along with an explanation. I doubt Winston and Hina will press charges. Which do you prefer it to be?” I asked her. I was taking a chance here. She could clam up and force me to call the cops.

  The old woman froze in the doorway her jaw dropping open, “what? What?” She repeated herself a few times more.

  “It was pretty obvious you were lying. May I come in now?” I asked her.

  “Fine, whatever. Just take it,” Shirley cried. Opening the door, she ushered me inside.

  The first thing I saw as I entered the house was a blue grid with nine faces staring at me. Five women and four men. As I looked a bit closer, I recognized them. Every kid on the planet should recognize them. “Uh, I guess you like the Brady Bunch.”

  Posters, pictures, cardboard cutout people, lunchboxes, and toys were everywhere. And not just the Brady’s. I saw things related to half my childhood of television. Unlike most kids I didn’t have time for afternoon or morning tv. Most of my waking hours were spent inside the restaurant. There was always something for me to do even if it meant I had to do my homework in dad’s tiny office. The only television we owned at that time was the one up high in the corner of the dining room. Dad had bought it when he figured out he could get the World Cup on satellite.

  “I told you I collected antiques. This is just part of my collection. I’ve written books about all this,” Shirley explained. “If you’d gone to the library like I told you to you might already know this.”

  Carefully following her into the condo I had to dodge around more than one large store display for television merchandise. Scratching my head, I wondered why someone would buy a Brady Bunch dollhouse or action figure. Centered in the room was a sort of shrine with Hina’s family tiki at the center of it all. On one side stood an orange shirted Alice cardboard cutout, the other Greg on a surfboard.

  As I reached for the tiny idol, I heard a click behind me. If my sniffer had worked the way it was supposed to, I might’ve smelled the gun oil. As it was, she’d gotten the drop on me.

  “Bobby should never have picked up that thing to begin with. It was pure dumb luck that he gave it to Greg. He could’ve been killed during that surfing contest. That little thing has a curse on it! I took it to protect Hina and Winston. Poor Alice, she threw her back out because of that thing. And on vacation too!” Shirley stepped around me slowly. “You may be big, but this baby will take you down. It belonged to my poor Sam. That hussy Alice tried to seduce him you know. Stupid movie whore.”

  Making a calming motion with my hands I pitched my voice low like I’d been trained at the Academy, “why don’t you put the gun down Shirley. Please?”

  “The moment I saw it I knew. It was a danger to those kids just like last time. Did you know they don’t make spider traps like they do for ants? That man at the hardware story said I was crazy when I showed him the pictures of Peter and the tarantula. Those things could hurt a child!” Shirley waved the gun as she motioned at the shrine.

  Remembering long lost television episodes wasn’t really my thing. I did know a tiny unicorn that could answer just about any tv trivia, but he wasn’t here. I vaguely remember something about a curse but in typical Brady fashion they survived it without a scratch or a visit to the bathroom. Taking a gun from an old woman should be pretty easy. I was much bigger than she was. But speed was the issue. In my human form I might be stronger but faster wasn’t there. Only my warrior or natural form had that skill.

  “You know too much now Mongo. I have to get rid of you now,” Shirley pointed the gun at me.

  All my worries of flew out the window the moment the gun barrel came up. Never ever point a gun at someone unless you mean to kill them. There’s no crying in baseball and there’s no playing games with cops. Instantly I transformed from a chunky human seeming person to a five hundred pound Polar Bear Warrior. My roar shook the entire building as I launched myself at her!

  With a scream the old woman pulled the trigger even as my paws connected with her. Falling backwards she fired not once but twice. The first bullet whizzed past me hitting the opposite wall, taking out a row of restaurant commemorative glasses. Round two burned its way down my flank embedding itself in my hip. At first the pain was like a bad sunburn.

  Standing over her prone body I battered the gun from her hands with a single swipe of my paw, “do it again and I’ll kill you.”

  In this form I could speak but every word was tinged with growls.

  Triggering the shift, I could feel my body roll back into itself. Still mostly dressed I blessed my mother’s foresight in getting me stretch pants and shirts with a bit of elastic to them. Blowing out of your clothing was very embarrassing for a Were.

  “Here’s how this is going to work. I’m calling the police and reporting the gunshot. As far as they know it will be accidental. Firing as you picked it up to show me. Alabama is an open carry state, so it’s not illegal. Neither of us will mention the tiki. Understand me?” I growled at her.

  Shirley, still on the floor nodded. “Why?”

  Ignoring her question, I continued, “I’ll be filling Winston and Hina in on this. All of it. It’s only a suggestion but I think you should take your collections and move. Go somewhere else.”

  Still lying down Shirley whimpered but nodded again.

  Chapter 12

  “It was her all along?” Winston asked me as I laid out all my findings and the missing tiki.

  Laying my hand on his arm I stopped him from standing up, “she tried to kill me at one point. Leave her be. I haven’t involved the local PD yet, but the threat is there. Just let it go for now.”

  Hina picked up the tiki and gave it a rub, “did she say why?”

  “You’re going to laugh. She was under the impression it was cursed,” I started to explain before Hina cut me off.

  “Cursed! My family does not deal in stolen things,” Hina glared at me with fire in her eyes.

  “Whoa, dudette, you need to chill just a bit. I’m not accusing you one bit,” I said making a stop motion with my hands. “That chick next door was nuts. She somehow got it into her head that the Brady Bunch show was real, and your tiki is the one that Peter found at the construction site. In her mind she was saving the both of you from tarantulas, crazy surf boards, and Vincent Price. The very moment she saw it she intended to steal from you.”

  “That bitch! I don’t even watch that stupid show. I’m calling my parents right now,” Hina yelled. Grabbing her phone, she ran into the kitchen.

  “You see what I have to deal with sometimes? I can’t believe I didn’t see the crazy next door. We spent a lot of time with her. She was in our house more than once too,” Winston protested.

  “You didn’t know. The funniest things set people off sometimes. For Shirley it was seeing your soon to be father-in-law in a Hawaiian shirt that looked like one from the
episode and when you add in the statue? She went right over the edge and thought she had to save you,” I explained to Winston.

  Suddenly my phone started buzzing and Perry Gripp’s song Space Unicorn started blaring out. Both Winston and I could only stare at it for a moment before I grabbed it. “I need to get that.”

  Picking up the phone I hit answer. “Yo Agatha. How’s life on the road this week?”

  The Witch on the other end was all business for a change. “Busy. So, I’ve got a question for you, a private eye question.”

  Agatha and her team were some of my best friends in the world. Catherine, Chuck, and Agatha had formed a mini-Pack at the Academy and had accepted me a trial member. I didn’t get the perks they shared, but I did get the acceptance and the legal powers it came with. Weres without a Pack were considered rogue by most. My parents possessed a waiver from the local area leaders, but they still had to notify someone if they needed to travel. My being in the FBI gave me a pass nationwide but not after I quit.

  “Then I’m the guy you need to talk to. What’s the question?” I asked.

  “If you were a Vampire on the run from the FBI, where would you hide?” Agatha asked me.

  “What sort of resources do I have?” I replied.

  “Unknown. Assume unlimited,” Agatha stated.

  “May I ask who this poor creature is that is on the run? Most of the Vamps I’ve encountered have been, for the most part, law-abiding. They don’t want another purge, you know.”

  Agatha grunted. “Be serious, Mongo. You know as well as I do that was a complete accident on the part of the Allied magicians.”

  “You may say that, but we weren’t there. We both know that history is written by the victors. It might have been a whole lot different if America had entered the war,” I replied.

  “Not this argument again. Mongo, I’m serious here. History just happens. Ask my grandmother. She’s pushing two hundred and can tell you stories that will curl your hair. And it’s all true! Now please answer the question.”