Bad Moon Rising

by Billy Kring

  “Yes, and I told them you were coming to inform me what occurred. They said they would also come here and tell me their findings. I told them that would be fine, but I trusted you two to tell me what I needed to know.”

  “They may have additional information. It wouldn’t hurt to hear what they have to say.”

  “I told them to go through you two. For everything.”

  “Are you sure you want it that way?”

  “Ronny, The one thing I have because of my business success in this city, is power. I can’t even control my own daughter, but I have power to do other things, do you understand?”

  We nodded.

  Sylvia continued, “The Sheriff’s Office will go to you first, with anything they find. Then you can tell me.”

  I said, “If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do. Did they give you a contact person?”

  “Yes, a Sergeant Best. By the way, he’s highly complimentary of both of you. He also said there would be no problem carrying out my wishes.” She leaned forward, still holding Derek’s hand, and he also leaned forward, not wanting to break the touch. She said, “Tell me what happened, and don’t leave anything out.”

  We told them all of it, and she stopped us occasionally to ask questions, but otherwise we told it straight through. When we finished, Sylvia and Derek leaned back to their former positions, still holding hands. It was easy to see they drew strength from each other, and reminded me of the saying by Lao Tzu: Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.

  Franco’s flushed face, on the other hand, looked like it would explode any moment from the blood pressure. He jabbed his finger at us, “You were seconds behind Bodhi, and you couldn’t catch her?”

  “Minutes,” I said, “Not seconds. Cars can go a long way in five minutes.”

  He sneered so hard that his pencil-thin moustache quivered like a tuning fork, “You…inept, bumbling amateurs. She was right there in your grasp. And you let those kidnappers waltz away with her.”

  I wagged my index finger side to side at him and said, “Nope, nope, you’re wrong again.” He waited. I said, “They didn’t waltz, it was a tango.”

  Franco’s nostrils flared and his eyes bugged. “How dare you be so impertinent.”

  “Or you’ll have us flogged?” Hondo said. My buddy was in the game now.

  Troy put a hand on Franco’s shoulder to calm him, then said, “I think it’s a stressful time for all of us.” He looked at Sylvia, “Especially my fiancé.” He stood, walked to Hondo and me and extended his hand. We hesitated before shaking it as he said, “I want to commend you for your efforts. I understand how hard it is to do what you do, because I’ve portrayed several private eyes.”

  Hondo, without smiling said, “So it’s like you actually did it.”

  “Yes. I think I’d make an excellent P. I., probably an outstanding one. Well, either that or a professional soldier. I played men in combat, too, in some very intense scenes with explosions and loud guns, just like the real thing.”

  Hondo, still not smiling, “The real thing, you bet.”

  Sylvia said, “Troy, please sit down.” He looked at her, and at Derek still holding her hand. He nodded, bowed at the waist and said, “As you wish,” and sat like an obedient cocker spaniel.

  Now he’s quoting The Princess Bride, I thought. I said, “Ms. Artell–”

  She stopped me and said, “Call me Sylvia.”

  “Sylvia, then. Unless you have more questions, we are staying on this.”

  Wilson pushed off the wall and Hondo and I stood. Hondo said, “We’ll let you know everything we find.”

  She said, “That’s the way we want it,” and she patted Derek’s hand.

  Derek said, “If you need anything, let Sylvia or I know.”

  Troy raised his hand like a second grader with the right answer, “Or me, I can help with the investigation.”

  Hondo said, “I know. We’ll keep the offer in mind.”

  I couldn’t resist and said to Franco, “Can we count on your help, too?”

  He clenched his jaws so the knots bulged below his ears. With a small, stiff movement Franco nodded his head a half-inch for his Yes.

  “Much appreciated, Frankie Boy,” I said.

  Wilson got us out of there before Franco pulled a gun.

  I asked Wilson, “What’s with Franco being so angry?”

  “He’s in love with Bodhi.”

  I stopped. “What?”

  “Yep. I went into his office yesterday and saw some writing on a lined pad on his desk. It was a list of all the reasons he loved Bodhi. Like some school kid might write in eighth grade.”

  “I’ll be.”

  “He never sent them to her. I found them torn up in the trash basket the next day. He did it again this morning. No one else knows.”

  Wilson shook his head and looked at us, “I did some quick background checks on everyone when I first started here, and Torelli stood out. He went to UCLA when he was fifteen, graduated in three years, then got his Master’s in Business Finance and went to work for a Fortune 100 company in the Valley. He boosted the company’s profits and made an excellent salary, plus big bonuses, and I mean big, like six figures. Funny thing though, he lived in a one-room efficiency and never socialized unless it was mandatory.”

  Wilson scratched his jaw and said, “Then he met Sylvia and Bodhi at a function. Three months later he quit the firm and went to work for Sylvia, for less money.”

  I said, “Just to be around Bodhi?”

  “That’s what I think. Anyhow, he’s been here five years, and from what I can tell has made Sylvia’s company significantly more prosperous.”

  Hondo said, “Does he ever bother Bodhi?”

  “Not that I’ve seen. He likes to see her, be in a room with her, but in my presence he’s never physically touched her. I guess you’d say he adores her from afar.”

  “Cyrano,” I said.

  Wilson nodded, “Maybe so.”

  Hondo said, “And he has no friends?”

  “Franco is about the loneliest person I’ve ever met. I’ve observed him and the others, but Franco stands out. He has nobody, he never dates, and when away from the mansion he’s a shy, almost reclusive man. His only pleasure seems to be eating at fine restaurants…well that, and mooning over Bodhi. I feel sorry for him. I don’t like him because he’s an ass, but I pity the guy.”

  As we continued to the truck, I said, “What’s the deal with Troy not sitting with Sylvia?”

  “She cut his monthly allowance because he’s spending all of it and more. Troy got upset about it, so he’s pouty now. Sylvia called Derek to talk and he came over, so Troy’s trying to worm his way back to her side.”

  Hondo said, “He doesn’t want to lose access to all her money.”

  “And influence,” Wilson said. “He uses her name to push his personal projects to other studios.”

  I said, “Because Sylvia won’t produce them?”

  “Pretty much.”

  We reached Shamu and I slipped behind the wheel to start it up. “Out of curiosity, what was Troy’s allowance before Sylvia cut it?”

  Wilson said, “Hundred-thousand a month, and he’s had that for two years. Problem was, he spent more than that each month.”

  “On what?”

  I don’t know everything, but I remember he once went into a store on Rodeo and bought seven Tiffany Chronograph watches so he could wear a different one every day of the week.”

  “How much do they run?”

  “About fifteen thousand.”

  I said, “For all of them?”

  Wilson grinned, “Apiece.”

  Hondo asked, “What’s his allowance now?”

  “Ten thousand a month.”

  Hondo smiled.

  Wilson opened the gate and we drove into light traffic on South Mapleton Drive, working our way through the city to Venice and our office, dreading all the way what we wo
uld hear on the identity of the woman in the car.

  Hondo said, “I know we’ve never even met Bodhi, only seen photos and talked to Amber and a few others about her, but I feel like we know her.”

  “I hope that body isn’t her. I feel bad for whoever it is, but I’m not wanting to hear that it’s Bodhi.”

  We pulled into the parking area in front of our office and I spotted something near the door. I picked it up and showed it to Hondo. I said, “It’s an Afghanistan Campaign Medal.”

  Hondo said, “Nobody’s picked up the Marine Corp insignia pin from the gym you found the other day, and now this. What do you think?”

  “Beats me. If it’s a message, I have no clue what it is. I’ll put this one with the other and see if anyone claims it. At this point, that’ll have to do.”

  We went inside. Archie spun his chair around to face us. “Vick’s on his way, should be here any time.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘I’ll be there in a few minutes’.”

  “Nothing about the identity of the body?”

  “He’s waiting to tell you two.”

  “Okay.”

  Archie said, “The waiting is the hard part.”

  Vick’s car parked outside and he came in without knocking.

  I said, “Have you ID’d the body?”

  “Yes. Bodhi wasn’t in the car.”

  I felt a great, invisible weight lift off me. I was almost giddy with relief.

  Vick continued, “It was a young woman named Rachel Powter. About the same age and build as Bodhi. She was one of the group that hung out on the beach and around town panhandling and rummaging through garbage cans.”

  Hondo said, “What aren’t you telling us?”

  “She was shot in the head with a .22. That’s the cause of death. Someone put her in the car after they killed her. We’re scouring that area for any people who might be witnesses.”

  I said, “Two of your prime suspects are big black men. The others are mostly women, with a few men.”

  Vick said, “How do you know that?”

  “I’m psychic.”

  Vick’s eyes bulged, “I swear, Ronny, I’m–“

  “I’m kidding, Vick. We ran into an undocumented guy while we looked around the area. He told us of visiting the people there and what they looked like.”

  “What’s his name and where does he live?”

  “Juan Luna. He’s staying in a day labor camp in that area.”

  “Did he see Bodhi?”

  “Earlier, yes. But not when we met him. He’s looking for her because of the big reward.”

  Vick clicked his front teeth together a few times, “Yeah, half the people in L.A. are looking for her.”

  Archie said, “You two call Sylvia, tell her.”

  Hondo walked away as he dialed.

  Vick turned on me and put his face about an inch from mine and said in a low voice, “My chips and salsa, Mr. Smartass Psychic.”

  “Got them right here,” I said, and went into the storage room, coming back with the unopened box. “Here you go Officer Best. Kudos and congrats on your work.”

  He hugged the box to his chest the way I imagined the doctor in Nome hugged the medicine when Balto the Husky made his run carrying diphtheria serum through a blizzard to the snowed-in Alaskan town.

  Vick left, and I watched him through the window as he drove away, chomping on a handful of chips.

  Hondo turned to Archie and me, “I told her. She’s grateful for the news, but asked that we keep trying to find Bodhi.”

  “We plan to,” I said.

  “We will,” Hondo said.

  ~*~

  Later that evening I drove to Amber’s apartment and as I approached her door I heard music coming from inside. Linda Ronstadt, singing Desperado. I knocked, and after a second, Ronstadt’s voice faded, then the door opened. Amber wore an old, faded green tee shirt cut off above her navel. On the front were two shamrocks and a smiling leprechaun between them. She had on gray cotton sweatpants cut up high like short shorts, and no shoes.

  She threw her arms around my neck and said, “Hey sailor,” then she kissed me for a second before hurrying into the kitchen to stir something in a pot. She called out, “You okay with salmon and wild rice?”

  “You bet.”

  She pointed at a bottle of wine as she lifted a half-full glass to her lips, took a sip, then winked at me and said, “It’s good.”

  I got a glass from the cabinet and filled it halfway before moving behind her. I told her about our day while she squeezed a blood orange in the pan. She turned to hug me. “I’m sorry you have to see things like that, Ronny.”

  “Part of the work.”

  “I understand. But I hate that you have to experience it.”

  “A bite of that salmon will heal me right up.” I kissed her neck.

  She turned to the stove and said, “I don’t have a table, are you all right with eating at the bar?”

  “I’d eat on the floor if we need to.”

  She flashed me that wide, white smile and said, “It’s ready.”

  After we ate, we sat on the couch and talked about things. She grew up in Oxnard, and moved to L.A. when she was eighteen to become an actor. She had been in a half-dozen feature films, small parts, and some Indie shorts, but no big roles yet.

  I asked her if she was SAG-AFTRA, and she said yes. “Would you like to meet Sylvia Artell?” I asked.

  She said, a little sad, “I’ll wait until Bodhi is back. She’d said she wanted to take me to Sylvia, she told me I had that intangible something that producers love.” She blushed.

  “Bodhi’s right.” I put my hand on her arm, “We’re going to find her, and I know Sylvia will be crazy about you.”

  Amber blushed again, then kissed my cheek. “My gorgesome guy.”

  We kissed some more. Things were getting heated up when a knock on the door stopped us. “Ignore it,” I said.

  “I can’t do that,” Amber said. She pecked me on the lips and said, “Keep your motor running.”

  It was Hondo. Amber squealed with delight and hugged his neck. I said, “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

  Hondo said, “Juan Luna called. We need to go, he’s in trouble.”

  Amber didn’t give me a chance to say anything before she said, “You have to go.” I stood and she came to me, melting her amazing body against mine as she gave me a kiss that put everything she had in it. When she pulled back, she said, “I’ll be here when you finish saving people. Now go.”

  Then she slapped me on the butt as I passed her on the way to the door.

  Hondo filled me in as we left in his Mercedes, “Juan said those black guys are after him.”

  “What for?”

  “He said they must have seen him right before the crap hit the fan. He’s on the run because they tore the wires from under the hood of his pickup. He saw of them terrorizing his other friends at the day labor camp. So he ran into the brush and is moving away from there as quickly on foot as he can.”

  I asked Hondo, “You carrying?”

  “Two, and I brought you a second.” He pointed at the glove compartment. I opened it and saw my Kimber. So now I had both my Sig and the Kimber loaded to the gills with big fat rounds. I was ready. I didn’t have to ask Hondo, because he’s always ready.

  The full moon glowed in a cloudless night sky. The landscape had the color of a new nickel, and we could make out rocks and brush. Juan’s last call said he was near a big cemetery, hiding in a cluster of boulders on a low ridge south of it. The two black guys weren’t far away, and they used flashlights to stay on his tracks.

  I used Google Maps to figure out where he might be and saw the Oakwood Memorial Park and Cemetery. A small draw ran southwest of it and the southern bank rose in a high, rock and boulder covered ridge.

  We took a road that snaked through the rocks. Hondo drove with the lights out and the windows open for sound.

  “There,” Hondo p
ointed. A flashlight beam winked on and off a hundred yards ahead of us, near the edge of the boulders. Hondo eased forward, keeping the Mercedes idling quietly.

  We stopped fifty yards later and eased out of the car, making sure to kill the overhead light before we opened the doors. We crept forward, looking for movement and stopped a short distance later. Flashlight beams flickered again, and two of the beams moved up and down as if someone held them while running.

  Hondo yelled, “Juan!” I flinched because he scared the heck out of me. Hondo’s voice is loud when he wants it to be.

  A few second later I said, “Listen, someone’s running this way.”

  We waited until the person was close and we could see him in the silver light, then Hondo used his indoor voice and said, “Juan, over here.”

  The figure changed direction and came our way. That’s when I saw two more figures thirty yards behind the solo runner, coming fast.

  Juan reached us and Hondo motioned him to move behind. We waited side by side as the men advanced. When they were ten yards away and had slowed to a walk, Hondo said, “You want to do the honors, tell them we’re here?”

  “Love to.” I had a pistol in each hand, and Hondo held one, and his flashlight. Hondo flicked on the beam and bathed them in light. They stopped and squinted. I stepped forward so they could see me, and I pointed both pistols at them as I said in my best Scarface accent, “Say hallo to my leetle friends.”

  That stopped them. Their pistols were in their holsters. I said, “You can’t have him.”

  The biggest one, and I mean like three hundred pounds big, said “Your ass is gonna be in big trouble for this, Baca. You and that psycho Hondo Wells, too.”

  How did he know our names? It was dark and we surprised them. I said, “You guys want an autograph or something? What are your names by the way? We can exchange phone numbers and friend each other on Facebook, maybe Snapchat. You know, stay in touch.”

  “You’re not funny, but you and your friend are targets now, along with the wetback.”

  Hondo spoke up, “Remember that I’m psycho? Get out of here before I go all Travis Bickle on your asses. You’ve got five seconds.”

  The big one almost stayed too long, because I knew Hondo wasn’t fooling. Hondo’s finger rested on the trigger, not beside it.