“Meg’s breathing’s improved. It looks like they’ll take her off the machinery very soon.”
“Thank God.”
“The doctor thinks she’ll regain consciousness shortly afterward.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Abby. Thanks for caring enough to call me.”
“I’m not calling for you, Scott. The first thing she’s going to ask when she comes out of it is where’s Justine. I want her to be there, Scott. I want her to be there when Meg opens her eyes.”
“Abby, honest to God…”
“I’m sick of the lies and the stories, Scott. Just bring her back, you hear me!” she screamed. “Bring Justine back!” He heard her burst into tears before slamming the phone down. The receiver went dead in his hands. Then suddenly, he began pounding the small table with it, stopping only when he realized he had broken through the imitation wood and split the table apart.
He shuddered. They were going to win. They would either succeed in getting him convicted or they would drive him mad. What was it the man who called himself Dante had said? “They’ll rectify the situation. Whatever method they choose is best.”
Justine stared out the window of her new room. In the moonlight, she could see where the highway that ran in front of her new house turned and then disappeared behind a clump of trees. Occasionally, car headlights would send a shaft of light through the inky darkness, and then the car would follow quickly, the vehicle sailing silently into the distance.
She had come down that same road. They had brought her miles and miles in what seemed the longest ride of her life. As soon as the house had appeared, she had recognized it from the pictures Grandma had given her to study, but all during the trip, she couldn’t help but gaze back periodically. She sensed she was moving farther and farther away from the life she had known, from her real mother and father.
Her new parents talked incessantly during the trip, especially her new mother. She described the house and the things they had bought in preparation for her arrival.
“The moment we knew what size clothing you wore, I went out on a mad shopping spree. Didn’t I, Mark?”
“That she did,” he said and laughed. “One day she brought home so many packages I couldn’t see her in the car. I don’t know how she drove home or how she didn’t get a ticket from a policeman.”
“Everything’s waiting for you, all the packages. You can spend days opening them, and if there’s anything you really don’t like, we’ll just take it back and exchange it,” Billie promised. “Oh,” she said squeezing Justine’s hand, “I can’t wait until the two of us go shopping together…mother and daughter, just like…so many others,” she added wistfully.
Justine couldn’t help but be intrigued with her new mommy and daddy. Billie laughed and squealed more than any grown-up woman she had met. Her happiness was contagious; it was impossible to be sad sitting beside her. Every time there was a lingering pause, Billie would remember some other wonderful thing she had bought for her.
And then there were the promises of things to come.
“Do you like to roller skate or ice skate?” Billie asked.
“Maybe she likes to do both,” Mark said.
“Oh, yes, do you?”
“I like to roller skate,” Justine admitted. She had never ice skated.
“This weekend we’ll go buy you the prettiest roller skates, then, won’t we, Mark?”
“Maybe she uses those new ‘in-line’ skates,” he said.
“Do you?”
Justine nodded. She had just gotten a pair recently.
“Oh, there’s so much to learn,” Billie said. “I watch children on television all the time, just so I wouldn’t be stupid when you arrived. That’s right, television. What’s your favorite show? Oh, don’t tell me now. Tomorrow, we’ll sit together on the sofa and we’ll go through the T.V. Guide and circle everything you like to watch. You have your own television set, you know.”
“You don’t want her to watch too much television,” Mark said. “She’s going to read and do homework.”
“That’s right. In a couple of days, we’re going to enroll you in your new school where you will meet new children and make new friends. Isn’t that exciting? It was exciting to me whenever I entered a new school.”
“I don’t want to go to a new school,” Justine said. It was the first negative thing she had said since they left Grandma’s. Mark looked back, concerned, but Billie didn’t stop smiling.
“Sure you do, honey. You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll go with you and be sure you have the best teachers and the best classes. I’m going to be an active parent when it comes to my child’s schooling,” Billie pledged.
“Which means a pain in the you-know-what, as far as the teachers are concerned.”
“I don’t care. Justine’s not going to be deprived of anything, especially a good education. You know how important that is, don’t you, honey?”
Justine didn’t reply. She looked down at Little Bit, who was still sleeping soundly in her lap.
When they had settled her in her room, they let her keep the dog there for the time being.
“Until we have his doghouse all set anyway,” Mark said, winking. “I’m going to put a piece of carpet in there for a flooring tomorrow. You can help me do it, okay?”
Justine didn’t like how far back behind the house the dog house had been placed.
“He’s going to be scared,” she complained.
“Maybe for the first night or two and then he’ll get used to it,” Mark said. “I had a lot of dogs in my time. Believe me, I know about dogs.”
“If she wants the puppy in her room…”
“Billie, remember what Doctor Goodfellow said about being firm, about establishing who and what we are as soon as possible.”
“I know,” Billie whined, “but I don’t want her to be unhappy.”
“She won’t be. She’ll understand. She understands already. I can see it in her face. We’ve got ourselves a very bright young lady,” Mark said, squatting down to look Justine directly in the eyes. “Don’t we?”
They showed her around the house, and then Billie unpacked some of the boxes of clothing with her and they hung things up together, and organized things in drawers. Justine wanted her socks and panties in the same drawers they were in back home, but her new mother was ahead of her on that. She seemed to know.
“You like a yellow toothbrush, right? Here’s a new one all ready for you. And I’ve got your favorite bubble bath and soap, all set up in your bathroom. Want to take a bath now? I’d love to help you take your first bath in your new home, Justine.”
Before she could respond, Billie was undressing her and running the water in the tub. She was tight and nervous when this stranger who was to be her new mommy washed behind her ears and then ran the cloth all over her body. Mark came in to help Billie lift her out and stood by watching and talking as Billie dried her.
Afterward, Billie dressed her in her brand-new pajamas. Then she sat with her on the bed and talked and talked until Justine couldn’t keep her eyes open. Little Bit was already asleep on his blanket in the cutdown carton Mark had provided. Billie tucked Justine in and kissed her good night. Very soon after, she poked her head in and looked at her. Justine squinted and waited until Billie closed the door again.
Then she sat up and stared out the window. She was still staring when Mark and Billie came by for their final time. She didn’t hear them because she was thinking, hoping that Mommy or Daddy would suddenly appear on that road; one or both of them would come for her.
“Oh, she’s up!” Billie exclaimed. She flipped on the light and came rushing into the room, Mark right behind her. “Justine, honey. Why are you awake?”
Justine turned slowly and looked up at the stranger who wanted to be her mommy.
“She’s crying, Mark. Look. Real tears running down her cheeks.”
“Easy,” Mark said.
Billie embraced Justine and pulled her head to
her breast. She rocked her gently and kissed her hair.
“It’s all right, honey. You don’t have to be afraid. We love you. We love you more than anyone else, don’t we, Mark?”
“Absolutely.”
“I want Mommy,” Justine cried softly. “I want my mommy.”
“I’m here, darling,” Billie said. “I’m here. You’ll never have to worry ever again about losing your mommy or your daddy.”
Justine swallowed her sorrow and her cries. It was as if there were two of her: one inside and one outside, and the one inside was shrinking and forgetting. The one outside enjoyed the warmth and the love this new woman was showering over her, but the one inside was dying from the loss of love.
“Come on, honey. Try to sleep,” Billie said, lowering her to the bed. She tucked the blanket around her again, and again she kissed her cheek. She petted her hair and smiled. “I can’t wait until morning. We have so many wonderful things to do together…all of us: Mommy, Daddy and Justine. Good night.”
“Good night, princess,” Mark said.
Her real daddy used to call her that.
The Justine inside remembered and cried out for him.
They closed the door and it was dark once more. She sobbed; she buried her face in the pillow, and then fatigue took over and she drifted off to sleep her first night in her new home, the Justine inside growing smaller and smaller with every passing moment.
8
A loud knocking on his door woke him. Scott groaned and scrubbed his face with his dry palms. He had fallen asleep on the sofa after drinking a third of a bottle of Scotch, and the inside of his mouth felt as if someone had been scrubbing it with a Brillo pad while he slept. The knocking got louder.
“Scott!” he heard Dyce call. “Open the fuckin’ door, will ya.”
He hoisted himself up from the soft cushions and waited until the room stopped spinning before he went to greet the insistent detective.
“Jesus, you look like shit, man.”
“Feel worse,” Scott said backing up. “Come in.”
Scott saw Dyce’s gaze fall on the bottle of Scotch on the coffee table.
“It’s the only way I can get myself to sleep,” he explained. “I keep thinking about my daughter forced to stay with strangers.” Dyce nodded and looked around, smiling.
“You’re getting there. Soon, you’ll be a bona fide slob like me.”
“Something to look forward to,” Scott said. “I’ll make some coffee.” He headed for the kitchen.
“Sounds good. You’ll be happy to know I’ve been up spending your money early this morning,” Dyce called to him.
“Oh?” Scott popped his head around the door jamb. “And?”
“I’ve located your mysterious building. You were in the offices of Beezly Enterprises. They’re located downtown about where you thought you were. It’s an engineering firm. Builds bridges mainly, which accounts for that picture you saw.”
“How’d you do it?” Scott asked amazed.
“Went back to your boss, Mr. Miller. I had a feeling he might have looked a little harder and closer at that Mercedes limousine Dante used. The old man was curious, thought you were going with another dealership. Anyway, he remembered enough of the license plate for me and my friends downtown to get a fix on the owner. I checked it out and they’re located in a building on Fourth with an underground garage.”
“What do we do?”
“Let’s go see if it’s the place, first.”
Scott told him about the message from someone who called herself Grandma, and Dyce assured him the police had tapped his line and had it down in their notes.
“Maybe they know where it came from,” Scott said hopefully.
“I doubt it,” Dyce said. “Probably used a pay phone.”
After Scott made the coffee, he and Dyce set out for East Los Angeles. They got caught in the usual freeway traffic jam.
“I read somewhere that people who do this day in and day out have enlarged spleens,” Dyce said, nodding at the cars all around them. “They grind down their teeth, too. I ain’t had a regular nine-to-five job for nearly twenty years and I don’t miss it.”
“Why did you stop being a city detective?”
“Difference of opinion concerning investigative techniques.”
“Huh?”
“That was before people ran around with video cameras and recorded the Gestapo in action. I could tell you stories…”
“Oh.”
“Seems a lot of people like to take the law into their own hands these days,” Dyce said. “Some are sincerely fed up with a court system as clogged as my cholesterol-lined arteries, and some are just damn vigilantes. They like what they do. From the way you described them,” he continued, “this Solomon Organization is a combination of both.”
In the morning’s hazy sunshine, the streets of downtown L.A. looked in desperate need of a good washing. The madness of the evening before revealed itself in the articles of clothing strewn over sidewalks, pieces of cardboard boxes used as makeshift bedrooms, and broken bottles of cheap wine glittering in alley entrances and curbside. Here and there, homeless stood or sat with their backs against buildings staring out at the traffic, their eyes glassy, their faces masks over hollow bodies. They were urban scarecrows, Scott thought, frightening off gentle folk and turning once busy boulevards and shopping areas into fallow blocks of vacuous stores with windows soaped and dark, their signs, billboards, and posters dangling like flags of defeat.
A turn here and a turn there took them into a livelier and more upbeat business district where office buildings still had washed and cared-for frontage and the homeless were waved along by security personnel. Well-dressed men and women traveled the narrow but protected corridors in this part of the city.
Dyce slowed down and then pulled to the side.
“This is it,” he said, nodding. Scott gazed out at the building.
“Yes,” Scott said, noting the driveway that dipped down under the building. “This could be it. There’s the underground garage.”
“Okay. Let’s go see what we can find out and what you remember,” Dyce said, shutting the engine.
“What are we going to do? I mean, how are we going to go about investigating them?”
“Let’s go into the Beezly Enterprise offices and see if it’s what you remember. You might recognize the picture again and the carpeting, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, if this is the place, we’ll go head-on and see what sort of reaction we get. Sometimes, that brings things to a climax fast.” He got out of the car.
“You just going to leave your car here?”
“We get a ticket, I just add that to expenses,” Dyce replied smiling.
“Great.” Scott got out and they walked through the front entrance and stopped to look at the directory on the lobby wall.
“Beezly Enterprises, top floor,” Dyce noted. They got into the elevator.
Scott closed his eyes when the elevator began to rise, just to see if he could remember the feeling, the sense of time it took to stop. He hesitated when the doors opened again.
“We went to the right,” he said.
“That’s it,” Dyce replied. Scott opened his eyes to confront the large wooden doors with the inscription: BEEZLY ENTERPRISES, J. BEEZLY, PRESIDENT.
They entered and stepped over the maroon rug in the lobby of the company. Scott turned and saw the picture of the bridge.
“This is definitely it, isn’t it?” Dyce asked Scott.
“They took me to a conference room right down that corridor,” he replied, nodding. “Yes,” Scott said.
Dyce smiled and approached the receptionist.
“Can I help you?” she asked. She was a good-looking brunette with dark brown eyes. She gave Scott a little something extra when she smiled.
“Can we speak to Mr. Beezly, J. Beezly,” Dyce asked.
“Who wishes to see him?” she asked, still flirting with Scott.
“My name’s Henry Dyce,” Dyce said, flipping out one of his cards. The secretary read it without taking it from his hand. “This here’s Mr. Lester, Scott Lester, an old friend of his.”
“I see. Just a moment, please.” She took Dyce’s card, but instead of calling J. Beezly on the phone, she rose from her seat and walked down the corridor to the first office door. She was a tall woman whose body didn’t match her good facial features.
“Ain’t that a shame,” Dyce said as she slipped into the office. “A woman with a face like that lets herself get so hefty in the hips. Oughta be a law, a fine against doing that.”
“It’s probably genetic,” Scott said with vague interest. His heart was pounding so hard he had trouble taking deep breaths.
“She liked what she saw when she looked at you,” Dyce said and winked.
A few moments later, the receptionist returned.
“Just a moment,” she said, “and he’ll see you.”
“Great,” Dyce replied. “How many employees work here?” he asked.
“Fourteen, not counting Mr. Beezly.”
“How can you not count Mr. Beezly?” Dyce teased. He looked around the lobby. On the walls were placed photos and drawings of bridges Beezly Enterprises had designed and built. “Looks like a pretty old and well-established firm,” he remarked. “I’ve driven over some of these bridges. Ain’t it amazing, the things you take for granted.”
“They’ve been at it over fifty years,” the receptionist said proudly. “And Mr. Beezly’s been running the show ever since they started.”
“No kiddin’,” Dyce said and whistled. “Must be along in his years, eh?”
“He’s seventy-six but he doesn’t look or act anywhere near that,” she said.
“He’s not your daddy now, is he?” Dyce asked, tilting his head and smiling.
She laughed.
“No. I’m only twenty-two.”
“That’s nothin’. I got a granddaddy who fathered a baby when he was eighty-one.”
The Solomon Organization Page 14