Romeo's Rules

by James Scott Bell

  She rubbed her hands as if trying to get something off them. Then she stood and paced near the fireplace.

  “He was at one the shows, and was right on the runway, and there was no mistaking who he was and who he was looking at. Before the show was even over there were five dozen red roses in the dressing room. And so we met and went out that night, to the rooftop bar at the Peninsula, looking down on New York lights, and he had me. He was charming and educated and good looking and all that, and I moved in with him and he asked me to marry him. He didn’t have to, but he did. I thought everything would be perfect after that. Especially when the children came along. Mark wanted me to give up the modeling and be a mom. I was happy to do that.”

  “A good move?”

  “At first, yes. Brianna and Sam were the light of my life.”

  “What kind of a father was, is, your ex?”

  She didn’t answer right away. She seemed to be formulating her words, as if each one might carry a twinge of pain with it.

  Finally, she said, “He was distant. He was always on the move, and even when he wasn’t he treated the kids as accessories. Something to show off when the cameras were on. Mark David Mayne, complete man. Billionaire, husband, and father.”

  “The American trifecta.”

  “Then he started in on me. Not in ways that would leave marks. At least the ones people could see. The first time it was just a slap across the face. In our bedroom, the kids asleep. I think he did it as a test, Mike. I think he was seeing what I’d do. And what I did was step back and start crying. I hate myself for doing that.”

  “That’s an understandable reaction, Natalia.”

  “And then he insisted we go out to Disney Hall, like always, and that I look my best and act like everything was good between us. Which I did, even mad and confused as I was. Then, a week or so later, he did the exact same thing. This time I tried to hit him back. He was ready. He expected me to! He wanted me to! He just laughed at me. I never felt so low in my whole life. Even going back to … those times when I was a girl.”

  My instinct was to say something to help her at that moment, but I held back to give her room to finish.

  She said, “And then came the night he punched me in the stomach. He did it with such, what’s the word? Premeditation? I crumbled to the floor. He laughed again. And he said if I ever tried to do anything about this, tried to leave, tried to tell cops, anything, he would destroy me. He would make it so I would want to kill myself. And I knew if anyone could do that, he could.”

  Now I felt like a complete intruder and sorry that I’d busted in on her like this.

  “And of course he was cheating on me,” she said. “I knew it right away. Mark is an accomplished liar, but you don’t fool me for long.” A bit of Latin fire in her voice then. I liked that she was showing some strength.

  She put her shoulders back. “And then it started hurting the kids. They picked up the vibes, they cried at night, they asked for their father when he was away, and all the time I knew he was away with whatever concubine he’d selected to serve him on his jet. God help me for waiting so long, but I finally took the children and filed for divorce. And now it’s war, and he’s trying to make good on his threat, Mike. He will not stop until I kill myself.”

  “You think he really wants that?”

  She heaved a huge sigh, closed her eyes. “You don’t know what war is until you’ve got on the wrong side of Mark David Mayne. And the carpet bombing he’s doing to show I’m not a fit mother.”

  A shudder wracked her body.

  “The thing is, he doesn’t want the children because they’re his. He wants them because they’re mine. And it’s not just winning that he wants. I have to lose. He wants to crush me slowly by taking everything from me.”

  She stopped talking and put her hand on the mantel to steady herself.

  “No more,” I said, standing. “I know how hard that was for you. Me being here made it harder.”

  She shook her head. “I’m living in hell right now. You didn’t do anything to make it worse.”

  “You’re right that we shouldn’t be seen together.”

  She took a half step toward me. The unmistakable thrum of desire hit. I knew it and she knew it, and for about a second there it was going to be let’s-forget-everything-and-savage-the-night.

  Then she turned away, shutting off the electricity between us.

  “As far as your kids go,” I said, “keep working with the cops. It’s been over seventy-two hours. They should be all over Mayne. I can be all over people, too. If I wanted to, oh, have a conversation with him, how would I do it?”

  “Mike, really, I don’t—”

  “Humor me.”

  She thought about it. Looked at the floor. “He has an office, downtown. And he has a luxury suite at Staples. A-level. 46-B. It was added just for him. He always has security around him, but less at Staples. Usually one or two, then his guests. That’s the only place he goes publicly on a regular basis.”

  I clicked a few tumblers in my brain.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Just be careful,” she said.

  I TOOK MY time walking back down the canyon road to Sunset. Ira wouldn’t mind. He always had books with him and would be reading.

  I, on the other hand, needed to have a Socratic dialogue with myself.

  Why are you in this, Romeo?

  It had come by chance or fate, depending on your outlook. But I was in it because I’d helped a woman at a crime scene and she turned out to have enemies, her ex-husband and his team of merry thugs. When they put the hurt on me, the old adage took effect: the enemy of my friend is my enemy.

  Natalia wasn’t exactly a friend yet. She’d been vulnerable tonight, trusting me. Which made me want to help her all the more.

  But that wasn’t enough to go on.

  Why don’t you just leave it to the system, Romeo?

  Because systems are corrupt. The family law system chief among them. And the ones with money are the ones corrupting it. Men like Mayne. Because they can.

  But even that’s not enough. You know why you’re doing it, and you know you should stop.

  Why? What else do I have to do in this life except try to kick the scales and get a little closer to justice? But the scales are too big for one person, you know that.

  What is knowledge, Romeo?

  Knowledge is truth, and truth conquers all things.

  Do you believe that still?

  I have to.

  I stopped the conversation because I’d grown tired of it. It was the same thing over and over with me.

  So I thought of Natalia Mayne and how good she looked for a woman in her circumstance.

  When I got to Ira’s van I found him, as usual, with a book open on his lap. He had a small reading light he attached to his books. It was clipped to a slim volume.

  “What are you reading?” I asked.

  “Whitman,” he said. “Leaves of Grass.”

  “Do I contradict myself?” I quoted. “Very well then I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes.”

  “Very good,” Ira said. “You and Walt, walking contradictions.”

  “Drop me off downtown,” I said.

  He shot me a look.

  “Please,” I said.

  We drove and talked poetry. Ira gave me sixty bucks and told me to come home, that we could face anything together.

  I told him I wasn’t ready yet. There were still some matters to clean up, and I never like to be found when I’m cleaning.

  WHEN I CAME to the shelter, it was Allie who buzzed me in. She asked me to see her in the office.

  “Allie, how’s tricks?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s an old expression.”

  She bit her lower lip.

  “Why are you here so late?” I said.

  She looked at the floor.

  “Allie, what is it?”

  “You have to go,” she said.

&nb
sp; “Go?”

  She nodded.

  “You mean I’m persona non grata?”

  “What?”

  “Not wanted,” I said.

  She nodded again.

  “Who made that decision?” I asked.

  “It’s policy. When the police investigate.”

  “The cops were here?”

  She looked around, as if to see if anyone was listening. Lowering her voice she said, “We are to notify them when you come in.”

  “You sweet thing,” I said.

  That almost snapped her head back.

  “You weren’t supposed to tell me that, were you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “They want to arrest you for assault.”

  “On who? That lummox at the phone?”

  “Mr. Corbett.”

  “You call him Mister?”

  “It’s policy,” she said.

  “To help with the dignity thing?”

  She nodded, then stiffened. “I better go.” She looked like the thicket of the world had closed its vines and branches around her, and she without the chainsaw of experience to get out of it.

  “Allie, listen. You made a decision to help a guy, to go out on a limb for him. Guard that part of you, okay? Guard it for the rest of your life.”

  I WAS HALFWAY down the street when I heard somebody yelling “Phil!” I turned. It was Lyle Thebes. He was practically vibrating when he got to me. “You took care of him for me,” he said. “Thanks, man!”

  “It wasn’t for you,” I said. “I wanted to use the phone.”

  He grinned. “I know, sure, yeah. But you did me a favor and I’m gonna do you one.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “You need anything, you come to me. You need some scratch? Horse? You need to pull a job? Need some papers? Social Security card? Driver’s license? I can get ’em. I know people.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m leaving this place.”

  “You just got here!”

  “Making a U-turn in the cul-de-sac of life.”

  He looked blankly at me, a look I am used to.

  “Give me some money,” I said.

  “Hey …”

  “I need to call somebody.”

  IRA WAS MORE than happy to come pick me up. “Now you’re being sane,” he said.

  “I just want some sleep,” I said.

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Ah, the cops want me for assault.”

  Ira Rosen said nothing. But if eyes rolling made a sound, I’m sure I would have heard it.

  That night I slept. And dreamed. I did not dream of revenge. Or of Mark David Mayne. I did not dream of Natalia.

  No, I dreamed I was playing chess in Reykjavík, Iceland. I was playing the white pieces. Whoever was playing black was good. It was a tough position. I tried to see who it was, but his face was dark and under a hood.

  I think it may have been the devil.

  I WAS OUT in the back yard the next morning, sipping java, when Ira joined me. He was using his forearm crutches today. His forearms would make Popeye jealous.

  Ira said, “The look on your face tells me you are almost content.”

  I was lounging on a chaise. “It’s the almost that gets us,” I said. “Like a thirsty man looking at a cool drink of water over a crevasse.”

  “What are you thinking about?” he said.

  “That’s a loaded question, full of sound and fury,” I said.

  “Most likely you’re thinking about some form of revenge.”

  “What if I told you I was thinking of the brotherhood of man?”

  “I would say you were being mendacious and in need of a long retreat, say by the ocean.”

  I said nothing.

  “You know I have that unit in Paradise Cove?” Ira said.

  “Your beach getaway.”

  “How’d you like to stay there?”

  I took a sip of coffee. “I’ll think about it.”

  “No,” Ira said. “Every time you think about something you clam up.”

  “I’m just a mollusk in disguise.”

  “And you irritate me, your humble host.”

  He wanted me to talk, needed me to, and I should have. But I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready.

  “Why don’t you start by telling me where you received your lethal training,” Ira said.

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Of course you are. You just don’t have the desire. Which cuts me to the quick. You know all about me. I guess I entertained the quaint notion that if I trusted you with information, you would return the favor.”

  “I’m not like you. You have Yaweh to answer to. I don’t.”

  “Oh but you do. You just don’t know it yet.”

  “Maybe, when I’ve finished my business, I should just get out of here,” I said.

  Ira shook his head. “You’d be lost without my influence. You’re trying to live by the wisdom of Satchel Paige—don’t look back, something may be gaining on you. What is it that’s chasing you, Michael?”

  “Maybe I should go right now.”

  “You’re not ready to. Take the beach. And my trust.”

  There was a slight move inside me, toward letting it all out. But the wall I’d built was eight feet thick and had barbed wire on the top.

  Before I could come up with another clever avoidance, a guy appeared from the side yard.

  “Am I interrupting anything?” Detective John Davis said.

  IRA SAID, “Is this trouble coming to visit?”

  I didn’t know if he was talking to me or the cop.

  “No trouble,” Davis said. “I’d like to have a few words with Mr. Romeo here.”

  “What have you done now?” Ira said, this time directly to me.

  “I think I offended this police officer,” I said.

  “No offense taken,” Davis said.

  “I’m Ira Rosen, Mr. Romeo’s friend and lawyer.”

  “Do I need a lawyer?” I said.

  “Not at all,” Davis said. “Though you could be a little nicer to your local police authorities.”

  “Was he rude to you?” Ira said to Davis.

  “Maybe a little reluctant,” Davis said.

  “Perhaps brusque,” I said.

  “It’s his way,” Ira said. “And that’s no excuse. Is he a suspect or person of interest in anything I should know about?”

  “Not at all,” Davis said. “He was a witness at a homicide scene.”

  “Talk to the man,” Ira said to me. “I’ll be inside if you need any help.”

  “I won’t need any help,” I said.

  “I was talking to the detective,” Ira said. He made his way back to the house.

  “SEEMS LIKE AN interesting man,” Davis said.

  “One of the few good men I’ve ever known,” I said. “You want some coffee?”

  “No thanks. Just some answers.”

  “Have a seat.”

  Davis sat on a wooden lawn chair next to the chaise.

  “Let me go back to the beginning,” Davis said. “You witnessed the explosion?”

  “No.”

  “You just happened to come along right after it happened?”

  “I was running. I do that. I was around the corner when it happened. I heard it. I ran over to see what was going on.”

  “And what was this thing about an encounter with a black vehicle?”

  “Encounter? Not what I’d call it.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “Almost getting my eggs scrambled,” I said. “It almost hit me.”

  “Why did it almost hit you?”

  “Because I ran in front of it.”

  “Did you see anybody inside the car?”

  “No. I saw the grill, got out of the way, and the car drove on.”

  “The amazing thing,” Davis said, “is that you and Mrs. Mayne ended up at the home of the owner o
f the car, Mr. Yance Perry, and found his body.”

  “It was not a good day all around.”

  “I’m just trying to piece this all together, Mr. Romeo. You get to the explosion site and contact Mrs. Mayne, and while you’re there you discover another body, a Mr. Juan Gomez.”

  “Just lucky, I guess.”

  “Can you understand my curiosity?” Davis said.

  “So you do think I know something.”

  “I know that from the start you’ve made things hard. I’d just like to know why.”

  “It’s my personality. I can be hard to take.”

  “That appears to be the case,” Davis said. “You look like you were in a fight recently.”

  “It was an IRS audit,” I said. “Those guys are tough.”

  “There, see? I’m just a cop trying to do my job.”

  “The killing of this Juan Gomez, right?”

  He nodded.

  “You know everything I’ve got. I went inside the church to look for the kids. Mrs. Mayne asked me to do that. I saw the body then. That’s all.”

  “Did you touch anything?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You seemed intent on helping Mrs. Mayne.”

  “She wanted her children,” I said.

  “You went to some trouble.”

  “What does any of that have to do with your homicide?”

  “When did you come to Los Angeles, Mr. Romeo?” Davis said.

  “Now that is certainly irrelevant,” I said.

  “Curiosity, again.”

  “Privacy, again.”

  “Very private, apparently.” Davis leaned back in the lawn chair. “I couldn’t find out much about you. You did some professional fighting quite a while ago, then stopped.”

  I said nothing.

  “You sort of dropped out of the picture, as they say.”

  “Anything wrong with that?” I said.

  “Not against the law,” Davis said.

  “Then why are you still here?”

  “I just have a bad feeling about all this,” Davis said. “I don’t think you killed anybody, but you make me very uncomfortable. I don’t like feeling uncomfortable.”

  “Wish I could help.”

  “Do you?”

  “Not really.”