Once Is Never Enough

by Haris Orkin

  Flynn wore karate pants as he trained in the courtyard. He moved through a complex kata, his muscular torso glistening as he battled an imaginary opponent and executed perfect leaps, kicks, punches, and chops. A pretty young Filipino nurse enjoyed the view as she brought in Wendy and her mom.

  “James. You have some visitors.”

  Flynn grinned when he saw them. He grabbed a towel, wiped his face, and pointed to a patio table. They each took a seat as Flynn draped the towel around his neck and joined them.

  “What a wonderful surprise.”

  “You’re looking good,” Wendy said.

  “Really good,” said Mrs. Zimmerman.

  “As do both of you,” Flynn said with a smile. “You could easily be sisters.” Wendy rolled her eyes at that, but Mrs. Zimmerman ate it up with a spoon. “It must be all that yoga and healthy eating, Mrs. Zimmerman.”

  “Myra. Please.”

  “Myra. Of course.”

  “Mom insisted on coming,” Wendy said.

  “I wanted to thank you for what you did for my daughter. It was very heroic, and I am very, very grateful.”

  “Wendy was just as heroic as me.”

  “I know. I was so proud when I read that article in Rolling Stone.” Tears welled up in Mrs. Zimmerman’s eyes. “I knew she was special, but now the whole world knows.”

  Wendy squeezed her mother’s hand and grinned at Flynn. “Did you see Bettina on the Today Show?”

  Flynn shook his head. “I don’t have much time for television.”

  Wendy looked at Flynn wistfully. “It’s hard seeing you in here.”

  “It’s where I belong. Resting. Training. Readying myself for the next mission.”

  “Would you mind if I kept visiting?”

  “Mind? Are you kidding me? Why would I ever mind seeing your beautiful face?”

  “I told you he likes you,” Mrs. Zimmerman said.

  “Mom, please.”

  “You raised a smart, brave, and beautiful daughter, Mrs. Zimmerman. She obviously takes after her mother.”

  Mrs. Zimmerman blushed and opened a paper bag and pulled out some treats wrapped in waxed paper. “Since you so enjoyed my mock taco pie, I thought I’d bring you some healthy vegan treats.” Flynn traded a glance with Wendy, and she had to cover her mouth not to laugh. “Hemp-crusted crispy tofu nuggets!”

  Flynn opened his mouth to thank her and she jammed one in. He smiled and bit down. It took some effort, but the nugget finally shattered into a crumbly pile of crunchy chunks.

  “Mmm. Crispy.”

  Casa Piedra sat on a bluff overlooking the gleaming white sands of Playa Blanca in Guanacaste, the jewel of Costa Rica’s Gold Coast. Goolardo smoked a Cuban cigar and sipped a Mojito as he lounged on the large shaded patio of his casa grande. He read Rolling Stone Magazine as the sun slowly set on the crystal blue waters of Brasilito Bay.

  Mendoza tried to enjoy the view as he reclined on a chaise lounge just a few feet away. Sailboats and dolphins danced on the horizon. He took a swig from an ice-cold beer and put the frosty bottle to his forehead. This was indeed a paradise, but as perfect as it was…he couldn’t relax. Not as long James Flynn still lived. The lunatic haunted him. Flynn had humiliated him. Shamed him. Dishonored him. The fact that this pendejo was celebrated as some sort of hero was so fucking irritating. Even more infuriating was that Goolardo seemed to agree.

  Goolardo laughed and slapped the magazine with the back of his hand. “You really need to read this!”

  Mendoza shrugged and took another pull on his beer. “According to this I helped save the world! Me? Francisco Goolardo!” He laughed again.

  “What did she say about me?”

  “She didn’t say anything. You weren’t mentioned.”

  “Not mentioned?”

  “Why would she? You didn’t shoot down the helicopter? That was me!” Goolardo stood and took a puff on his Cohiba. “Anika!” he shouted. “You have to read this!”

  Anika Piscotti lounged by the infinity pool. She wore a tiny white micro bikini that barely covered her famous bottom. The straps on top were untied as she lay face down on a large beach towel. “Hmm?” she said.

  “This article in Rolling Stone. You are mentioned many times!”

  “She’s mentioned?” Mendoza looked put out.

  “If I were you, I’d hire a publicist,” Anika purred. “This is great PR for you.”

  Mendoza drained the rest of his beer. The movie star was beautiful, but so damn annoying. He was shocked when she’d accepted Goolardo’s invitation. They were fugitives on the run and he invited one of the most famous movie stars in the world to stay with them.

  Mrs. Megel walked out on the patio with a plate of lemon meringue pie. “Who wants pie?” Goolardo raised his hand and Mrs. Megel handed him the plate. Mendoza raised his hand as well. “Sorry, that was the last piece.”

  Goolardo took a bite of pie and said with a mouthful, “Delicious!”

  Mrs. Megel bustled back into the casa while Goolardo tucked into his pie. Mendoza sat across from him and posed a question. “So, when are we going after him?”

  “Who?”

  “Flynn.”

  “You want to go after Flynn?”

  “He promised to come after us once Belenki was dealt with. And you told him if he did, you would kill him.”

  “But he hasn’t.”

  “How do we know that?”

  “Because we haven’t seen him.” Goolardo took another big bite of pie.

  “You’re just going to let him get away with what he did to us?”

  “Why are you holding on to this?”

  “He destroyed your plan. He cost you millions. Because of him we spent a year in prison.”

  “That was then.”

  “You can’t let him get away with what he did to you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because everyone will believe you are weak.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “No,” Mendoza backtracked. “I’m not saying I think that. I’m saying others might.”

  “Who?”

  “Competitors. Rivals. Enemies.”

  Goolardo finished his last bite of pie and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So, what do you want to do?”

  “Kill him.”

  “Flynn?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think this hate you have for him is toxic.”

  “What?”

  “That kind of anger is unhealthy. It can lead to health issues. High blood pressure. Even cancer.”

  “He needs to die.”

  “I say let bygones be bygones.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  “And I don’t remember asking you your opinion.”

  A wave of fury overtook Mendoza. At such times, he had tunnel vision and saw only the thing he wanted to destroy. Sound faded away as his concentration focused entirely on the object of his anger. Never before had he felt this way about Goolardo. He knew he had to let it go and breathe. In and out. In and out. Slowly the fury faded and the storm passed.

  Goolardo patted his hand. “Are you okay?”

  Mendoza nodded, but he knew he wasn’t. He knew what he had to do. Flynn had to die.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  As a reward for his loyal service, the first Spanish governor of California deeded a thirty-six-thousand-acre rancho to Corporal Jose Maria Verdugo in 1874. It remained in the Verdugo family for the next hundred years before it was finally broken up and sold in lots. In 1937, Elias Manchester Boddy, purchased 565 acres of the original rancho, built a twenty-two-room mansion and planted extensive gardens. Born in a log cabin, he was the son of a potato farmer and sold encyclopedias door to door on New York’s Lower East Side. He fought in World War I, was gassed in the Argonne and sent home disabled. After spending months in a military hospital, he moved to California with his wife and infant son. Using the money he made selling magazines and books, he bought a bankrupt newspaper and became a crusadi
ng editor who exposed police corruption, gambling, and prostitution. The Los Angeles Daily News became the second most popular paper in Southern California. Boddy was now a wealthy man and in the early 1940s, when the Japanese were forced into internment camps, Boddy purchased one hundred thousand camellia plants from two Japanese-owned nurseries and created North America’s largest camellia collection. He later established large rose and lilac collections and, in 1950, opened his estate, now dubbed Descanso Gardens, to the public.

  It was a beautiful day in the Verdugo Valley; Sancho was glad to be outdoors. Puffy clouds drifted across an azure sky. The view to the San Gabriel Mountains was unobstructed by haze or smog as the autumn air was crisp and clear. He could see those same mountains from City of Roses. Descanso Gardens was only a twenty-minute drive west on the 210. Sancho loved getting out of the hospital for a day even if it meant chaperoning and corralling a chaotic contingent of mental patients.

  City of Roses offered monthly field trips to patients who followed the rules and exhibited good behavior. Dr. Nickelson believed such outings were therapeutic. He often said there was something calming about being in nature and most of the patients seemed to agree as Descanso Gardens was one of their favorite destinations.

  Dr. Nickelson rarely joined them on outings, but this day was an exception. Instead of his usual suit, he wore chinos, sneakers, a light blue guayabera shirt, and a straw Panama hat. Flynn was no less stylish in his faded jeans, dark blue Polo shirt, and straw Fedora. Skinny, seventy-eight-year-old Q wore his favorite Tommy Bahama Hawaiian number and twenty-one-year-old Ty wore his Air Jordan’s, a black 4XL-size tank top, and elastic-waist cargo shorts large enough to accommodate all two hundred and seventy-five pounds of him.

  Nurse Durkin was there along with her ability to inspire fear and kill all levity and joy. While Nickelson was fine letting patients wander, Durkin kept a tight leash on them. She brought a newer nurse along to help monitor the patients. Jilly was a petite redhead and a recent graduate of Cal State. Sancho could see that she was already somewhat smitten with Flynn, much to Nurse Durkin’s dismay.

  There were eight patients along for the day and Sancho kept an eye on them to make sure no one wandered too far. Like Nickelson, he wanted to give them a little freedom, but he didn’t want to lose one and suffer Durkin’s wrath. Flynn, Q, and Ty were joined by Flynn’s half-way house roommate, Rodney, his big white Santa beard bigger than ever. Unlike Saint Nick, he didn’t seem very jolly. Instead he exhibited the cranky demeanor of an addict trying to white-knuckle it. Bob was bipolar, pale and anonymous-looking with beady eyes and a nervous giggle. Mary Alice suffered from intermittent explosive disorder. Big-boned, middle-aged, and freckle-faced, she had dyed red hair, a southern accent, and a raspy smoker’s voice. She also had the hots for Flynn.

  Zipper, a shy schizophrenic in his early thirties was so heavily medicated he’d doze off if he stood in one place too long. Doris Frawley, a ninety-one-year-old former beauty queen from Arkansas, rounded out the procession. Her dementia was getting worse along with her delusions, but Sancho enjoyed her company and all her Hollywood stories. Even though she needed a walker, she still moved faster than Zipper.

  Nickelson led the parade. Sancho kept the middle moving while Durkin brought up the rear, prodding along the stragglers. The Rose Garden was in full bloom and Nickelson delighted in smelling every blossom he could get his nose on.

  “Oh, this pink Royal Highness Hybrid is delicious.”

  Rodney leaned in to smell it and Ty bumped him out of the way so he could bury his nose in the large, pink rose.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s nice,” Ty said. “Smells like candy.”

  Doris Frawley sniffed another nearby blossom. “Such a beautiful fragrance. Reminds me of Grace Kelly’s favorite scent. Fleurissimo. She and I both had a fling with William Holden back in the day. In fact, Bill brought me to this very place for a picnic in 1953 and had his way with me under a gazebo.”

  Nurse Jilly smiled at that and glanced at Flynn who held a large pink rose petal.

  “Feel how soft this is.” He brushed it against her cheek and held it up to her nose. “It has a very subtle fragrance.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she said.

  “From the time of the Romans, roses have symbolized romance. Especially red ones. While bright red roses signify love, a burgundy rose portends of a love that is yet to be.”

  Jilly stumbled on a brick and Flynn caught her by the arm. For a moment Sancho thought she might swoon. He saw Nurse Durkin looking stern, but Mary Alice beat her to the punch, inserting herself between Jilly and Flynn, offering him a gap-toothed grin.

  “I think flowers are hot as hell.” Her voice was three octaves lower than Flynn’s. “Sex organs is what they are. They attract those little bees by how they look and how they smell.” She closed both her hands into fists. “Give a rose what it needs and it will open right up for you.” She unclenched her hands and spread her fingers wide, sticking out her tongue as she grinned.

  Flynn looked deep into Mary Alice’s eyes. “Treat a woman right and she will bloom. What’s the quote from Shelly? ‘And the Spring arose on the garden fair, like the spirit of love felt everywhere.’”

  “Keep moving, Mary Alice,” Nurse Durkin grabbed her by the arm and pulled her along. “We’re only here for two hours and we have a lot more to see.”

  Sancho couldn’t help but notice how much happier the patients were outside the walls of the hospital. They were freer. Lighter. Calmer. More joyful. As they traipsed up the path that overlooked the duck pond, the patients all delighted in watching the waterfowl splash about.

  “Look at the size of the turtle,” Ty said. “That’s a big fucking turtle!”

  Bob pointed at a duck. “I like ducks.”

  “I need to sit down,” Rodney said.

  “So, sit your fat ass down,” Mary Alice growled.

  Rodney glared at her. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  “Then who the hell were you talking to?”

  Rodney rolled his eyes and walked away.

  “Don’t be rolling your eyes at me!”

  “Okay, let’s go. Keep moving,” Durkin demanded.

  Bob was already outside the observation center, laughing as he chased a duck in circles around a tree.

  “What’s Bob doing to that duck?” Jilly asked

  Sancho used his stern voice. “Bob! Leave that duck alone!”

  Bob ignored him and kept stalking the quacking duck.

  “Get away from the damn duck!” Durkin barked. “Or I’ll put you right back in that van!”

  “Not a fan of the great outdoors. Too many goddamn bugs,” Rodney complained. “Can I get something to drink? I’m feeling extremely dehydrated.”

  “And I’m feeling extremely irritated by your incessant fucking whining,” Mary Alice replied.

  Mendoza watched them all board the transport van at City of Roses. He shadowed them from the parking lot and kept a good distance behind them as he followed in the Corolla he stole the previous evening. They were only on the freeway for a short time before they exited at Foothill Boulevard in a town just west of Pasadena called La Cañada-Flintridge. He followed the van past multimillion-dollar homes surrounded by towering trees and into a driveway that led to a large parking lot.

  Mendoza parked behind an SUV and waited until the entire contingent from City of Roses headed into the gardens. Mendoza knew stealth wasn’t his strong suit. His size made it difficult to follow anyone unobtrusively. Plus, he knew both Flynn and Sancho would easily recognize him. No, he needed to hang back and strike when they were at their most distracted. He took the time to check his weapon; a 9mm pistol with a modular polymer grip and an extended magazine.

  Once the big nurse herded the last mental patient into the gardens, Mendoza exited his car and crossed the parking lot. He wore chinos and an untucked plaid shirt that hung over his waist, concealing his holster. He waited at the ticket booth behind a lady with two screaming ki
ds and a baby in her arms.

  The toothless, fat-faced infant gawked at Mendoza over her shoulder. Babies always stared at him and he didn’t understand why. He knew that some people smiled at babies or played games with them, but Mendoza had no experience with such tiny humans. They made him nervous. They seemed so fragile. And this one looked at him with such a judgmental glower. It was like he could see directly into Mendoza’s soul. Like he knew exactly what Mendoza planned to do.

  He purchased a ticket with cash and wandered into the gardens. He glanced in the gift shop just in case the mental patients were shopping for souvenirs. He scanned the café area, but none of them were over there either. He continued into the gardens proper and looked at a map. He had no idea the gardens were so large.

  He started in the Rose Garden and searched the trails around the duck pond. He reconnoitered both camellia forests and the lilac garden. Mendoza was too tense to enjoy the scenery. He had a mission and knew he couldn’t concentrate on anything else until he completed it. Goolardo would not be happy with him, but Goolardo was never happy with him. No matter what he accomplished. No matter what he achieved. Goolardo simply had no respect for him. It wasn’t always this way. Goolardo used to respect him. Rely on him. Believe in him. But not since Flynn. The pendejo loco ruined their relationship with his endless insanity and now he had to die.

  Mendoza crossed a bridge at the Japanese Garden and recognized one of the patients from the van. The pale, chubby, little man crept up on a duck. Then he saw two other patients from City of Roses. An elderly woman with a walker sat on a bench next to a young man who seemed to be sleeping.

  Mendoza edged behind a tree and drew his pistol. Peeking out, he watched the large nurse argue with an angry-looking red-haired woman. Probably another one of the patients. Sancho Perez kneeled by a koi pond next to a large, young, black man, fishing a sneaker out of the mud.

  And then he saw Flynn.

  The nut job conversed with a young nurse, clearly charming her. With Flynn distracted, Mendoza knew he had to move. For a big man, he was surprisingly graceful. He crept closer and closer, moving silently from tree to tree. Flynn seemed oblivious. The lady whose baby peered into his soul crossed in front of him, followed by both her toddlers. They laughed and screamed and ran circles around him. All that commotion drew Flynn’s attention.