Sandra perches on a barstool, gets Nick’s attention and points at me. It’s obvious from her body language the interrogation has begun. She leans over the bar, her eyes focused on Nick’s face. I see her lips move as she fires questions at him like bullets from a semi-automatic rifle. Nick’s eyes widen in surprise. Finally, he lifts his hands in a hold it, lady, gesture. Sandra takes a breath and leans back. I don’t know what he tells her, but when he’s done, they shake hands.
My mother hops off the barstool and motions to Nick to follow her. She leads him to her table and introduces him to Abel and the others. When Nick walks back to the bar, he looks over at me and gives me a big thumb’s up. I smile my thanks.
Paco and the rest of Los Habaneros stroll in at seven. Once through the door, they stop and scan the place. Let me paint a picture. Fifteen riders; ten of them trailed by their old ladies. Count ’em. That’s twenty-five scruffy, heavily tattooed, scary-looking people entering a neighborhood sports bar in 3 Peaks, Oregon on a Sunday night.
Helen, who’s usually unflappable, lets a tray of food slip from her hands and crash to the floor. I see Nick’s eyebrows shoot up to the stratosphere. I dash over to him realizing, too late, I should have warned him.
“It’s okay, Nick. The big guy with the Fu Manchu? That’s my Uncle Paco. He’ll keep the rest of them in line. Plus, they’ll drink lots of beer and order double everything from the kitchen. Think big bucks.”
I turn to Helen who’s scooping up French fries from the floor. “They’re good tippers, too.”
Nick says, “That’s your uncle? No way he’s related to the guy I just met. Your stepdad.”
“Yep, they’re brothers.”
Before he can question me further, I trot over to Paco. “Follow me, Unc.”
I lead them into the Corral, practically empty on a Sunday night. Before he sits down, Paco clamps his meaty hand around my neck and says, “Hey, little girl, you remember Roxy, my old lady?”
He turns me around. My eyes are at boob level with Roxy’s ample cleavage. Her left breast sports a heart tattoo, inscribed with the words, Mi Amo, Paco. I lift my gaze to the top of her bleached blond head, sporting a half-inch of dark roots, before I glance into her eyes. “Hi Roxy.”
Her eyes are black as sin and she doesn’t look glad to see me. “That’s me,” she says. “And you’re Mel, Paco’s precious little niece. Good for you.”
Paco growls something at her in Spanish. She gives me a phony smile. “So good to see you again.”
Her voice drips with sarcasm but Paco doesn’t get it.
“You too,” I purr. “What can I get you to drink? Maybe a nice Mountain Dew Me?”
Roxy blinks rapidly. Paco erupts with laughter and slaps her butt. “She gotcha good, girl.”
He grabs both of us around the neck and smushes us against his chest. As a result, Roxy and I end up forehead to forehead. I try not to look into her evil eyes. God only knows what lurks in her soul. Probably a burning desire to kill my ass.
Once I’m released from Paco’s powerful grip, I start taking orders. My prediction proves to be right. Fry cook, Sammy, is on duty tonight and Los Habaneros keep him hopping. Helen and I do our best to keep the food and drinks coming.
I’m in the Corral when I hear, “Kid.”…the familiar, welcoming cry from Billy’s fan club. But wait, he’s supposed to be at Kendra’s, doing the family thing before he starts counseling. Gripping the empty tray, I whirl toward the sound and see Billy walking toward me. Even from a distance, I feel the heat of his intense gaze. It swirls through my body like molten fire. Part of me enjoys the sensation. The other part, the thinking part, wonders how this man has the ability to turn my legs into jelly with a single look. Should I be worried about losing myself or just enjoy the feeling?
No brainer. I smile up at him as he approaches. He cups my face in his palms and brushes his lips across mine in a quick kiss. Paco and his gang erupt in whoops of delight peppered with lewd suggestions.
My cheeks are on fire as I take a step away. “Skip out on the family?”
“Ate dinner. Decided to come here. See what’s going on. Maybe we can spend some time together when you get off work.”
As much as I want this man, the presence of my mother looms large. Kind of like an automatic sprinkler system triggered by a flash fire, squelching the flames before they can spread.
“Um,” I say. “My mom and stepdad are staying here tonight.”
Billy cocks his head to one side and narrows his eyes “In your room?”
“Well, no. But, knowing my mom, she’ll want some girl talk later.”
He grins. “I get it. You can’t do it if your mom’s close by…right?”
I give a little snort of disdain to mask my surprise at his intuitiveness. “I need to get back to work.”
He’s still grinning when he joins Paco and his group. Apparently he’s decided to hang around in case I get the hots for his big sexy bod in spite of Sandra. Who am I kidding? It could happen.
At nine, Sandra seeks me out. “Abel’s doing his thing.” She points to their table where a throng has gathered. “I’m bushed and he wants to leave at o dark thirty tomorrow. Can I crash in your room for a while?”
“Sure.” I hand over the key to Number Twelve.
I’d just delivered a loaded tray of food to the Corral when my mother bursts through the door, her face the color of wallpaper paste. Her eyes are wild and frantic as she gazes around the restaurant. When she spots me, she lifts a hand, staggers to a chair and collapses. The room goes silent as Abel and I race over to her. Nick joins us.
I crouch next to her, “What is it? What happened?”
She takes a deep, shuddering breath, unable to speak. Abel kneels in front of her and takes both her hands in his. “Tell us what happened, love.”
“Blood,” she whispers. “All over the bed. On the floor too.” She pulls free of Abel’s grip and points at her white sandals, now streaked with red. “I stepped in it.”
Abel’s face tightens. “Whose blood? Yours? Are you hurt?”
She covers her face with her hands and rocks back and forth. “No, no,” she moans. “Not my blood. Just—just blood—everywhere. And that thing on the bed…it looked so real.”
Filled with dread, I ask, “What thing?”
She lifts her head and swipes at her eyes with the tail of her shirt. “It’s—It’s a dummy or manikin—whatever you call it. And she has a knife buried in her chest.”
I clap a hand over my mouth, unable to speak.
I feel the presence of others and look up to see Billy standing next to Nick. Billy’s eyes glitter with anger. A grim faced Nick says, “I’ll go check it out.”
I pop up. “I’m going with you.”
Abel says he’ll stay with Sandra. Helen assures us she can handle the restaurant. Paco joins us as Nick, Billy and I dash out through the kitchen and cross the courtyard to Number Twelve. The door is ajar. The lights are on. Followed by Billy, Nick pushes the door open, steps in and curses. “Son of a bitch.”
Billy turns to me and barks, “Don’t come in here, Mel.”
I don’t listen and dart past the men. Billy makes a grab for me but misses. The images slam into me like a punch in the face. I gasp and double over. For a brief second, colors are all I can take in. The grisly picture painted in crimson and beige somehow seems more obscene in the soft glow of lamplight. A naked female dummy is sprawled on my bed, a large hunting knife embedded in her chest. I close my eyes, open them again, take a deep breath and try to make sense of what I’m seeing. At some level I’m aware Paco is cussing a blue streak, Nick is muttering under his breath and Billy is clenching and unclenching his fists.
I force myself to look and see a scarlet river of dried blood where it streamed across the beige coverlet topping my bed and dripped onto the floor. A cry escapes my lips and I bury my face in my hands. Number Twelve, my very first home, my cozy refuge, has become a scene from a horror movie.
; Nick says, “Wait for us outside.”
“No.” I cry. “This is my home. I’m staying.”
Paco slips an arm around me and presses me against his massive chest. His words rumble like thunder in my ear. “Don’t you worry, little girl. Uncle Paco’s here. I’ll find out who did this. I promise.”
I nod and pull away from him. Billy’s standing in the open doorway, using his cell phone to call 911. Nick is assessing the damage. I force myself to look around, try to see if anything is missing. Taking care not to step into the pool of blood on the carpet, I walk to the bathroom. When I flip on the light, the message on the mirror leaps out at me. Scrawled in big black letters are the words, “You’re next, bitch.”
My quivering legs collapse and I slump against the wall. Gulping air, I try to fight off the blackness closing in on me. When my vision clears, I grab the doorframe to steady myself. Paco peers over the top of my head, spots the message on the mirror and yells, “Hijueputa. Cara de monda. Percanta.”
I’m not sure what the words mean. It’s probably better I don’t.
Billy shoulders his way around Paco, wraps his arms around me and braces my body with his. For a brief moment, I let him hold me. The strong beat of his heart is like an infusion of much-needed courage.
When the cops arrive, I’m standing outside the room, still reeling from the shock. They take pictures of the scene and use their radio to call for a tech to dust for fingerprints and collect blood samples. One of the cops is a woman, an Officer C. Talbot, who exchanges a few words with Billy and then questions me gently about disgruntled boyfriends, spurned suitors, people I may have pissed off at the bar. My answer is no to all of the above.
“Is anything missing?” she asks.
I’ve already checked the dresser drawer where I stash my money in a sock hidden beneath my panties and it was untouched. It’s really all I have of value.
“My money’s still there,” I tell her. “Maybe I better take another look around.”
Then I discover the intruder has taken only two things from my room. My newly purchased thrift store bike, Blazing Saddles and the letter and pictures from Dani.
Chapter Twenty
Sandra pulls herself together and appears shortly after. She and Nick take charge. She scoops up my personal belongings while Nick leads me to my new home, Number Ten. It is laid out exactly like Number Twelve except the coverlet and carpet are blue instead of beige. I perch on the end of the bed while Sandra fusses around. Nick goes out to talk to the cops. Billy hangs around until my mother runs him off, saying, “Thanks for your help, Billy, we’ve got it covered now.”
Although I try to fight it, my mind keeps flashing back to the gruesome scene. The blood-splattered female manikin positioned for maximum shock value. Blotches of crimson splashed on the neutral coverlet like some grotesque work of modern art. The hateful words scrawled on the mirror. The fact some sick perv is capable of creating such a scene as a warning scares the crap out of me. It also makes me damn mad. Yep, scared and mad pretty much sums up my feelings at the moment.
But, underlying those emotions, runs a powerful river of resolve. I may be scared, but I’m not leaving. I come from strong stock. Sandra, younger than I am now, gave birth to twin baby girls and managed on her own for years. As for my damn Spaniard father, it’s possible he has some good qualities too. A long time ago, I decided not to hate someone I’ve never met.
Nick pops back into the room. “The cops think whoever did it brought along containers of blood to splash around, you know, make a stronger statement. The lab will test the blood and let us know if it’s human or animal.”
“Sick,” Sandra mutters.
“Majorly,” I add.
Nick rubs his eyes. I’ve never seen him look so tired. Suddenly, I’m consumed with guilt. He’s been a rock and now, one of his motel rooms is now completely trashed.
I jump up and give him a quick hug. “Nick, I’m so sorry. Do you want me to move out? Looks like I’ve brought you a shitload of trouble.”
He pats my cheek. “No way. I’ve got a stake in this too.”
Sandra bustles over. “Abel and I would be glad to pay for the damages.”
Nick waves her away. “Forget about it. Your daughter didn’t cause this mess. We’ll throw out the mattress, put in new carpet and Number Twelve will be ready to go.”
He turns to leave, then pauses. “Almost forgot, Mel, they found your bike. It’s in the dumpster all smashed up. Looks like somebody ran over it.”
“Well, damn,” I murmur. “I just got that bike.”
Now I had one more thing to add to my revenge list. No more Blazing Saddles.
Fortunately it’s Sunday night and the motel is mostly empty. The police presence only attracts a few of the guests. A patrol officer stands outside Number Twelve to keep them from peeking in. No sense in scaring off the remaining clientele.
After the cops leave, we troop over to the restaurant. Since everyone’s gone but Paco and crew, Nick decides to close up early. While Helen and I finish cleaning up, Sandra and Abel’s whispered conversation grows louder and blossoms into a major fight over—guess who?
Sandra: “I can’t believe you still want to leave at five a.m. after what happened. I can’t leave Mel here by herself.”
Abel: “You underestimate your daughter.”
Sandra: “What the hell does that mean? She needs me.”
I know better than to interfere, trusting Abel will talk sense into my mother. But, it’s Paco who saves the day.
He clamps one hand around the back of Sandra’s neck, the other around Abel’s. “Hey, you two. Knock it off.” He tilts his head toward me. “There’s a kid in the room.”
Despite the grimness of the evening, I have to smile.
Paco gently bumps their foreheads together. “Now, here’s the plan. You both go on home tomorrow. I’ve got business in Idaho, but the boys can take care of it. Roxy and I will stay in 3 Peaks until we find out who did this and I beat the crap outta him. Mel will be safe. I promise.”
Unless Roxy kills me. The thought remains unspoken.
Abel agrees immediately. Sandra is harder to convince. “Dammit, Paco, I’m her mother. I should be staying here, not you.” Paco keeps his big paw clamped on her neck until she gives in. Reluctantly. Paco releases her. She rubs the back of her neck and shoots daggers at him with her eyes.
Sandra insists on staying with me until morning. I breathe a sigh of relief knowing she’ll be leaving early. Why? Because I have an agenda.
I sleep very little that night. First off, I try to fend off my mother’s interrogation. I tell her (truthfully) the incident probably has something to do with Dani and Destiny, but omit a few pertinent details, like the bizarre situation with Aida and her sister, Larissa. Sandra is far from satisfied with my answers but finally, completely exhausted, falls asleep gripping my hand.
Later, listening to Sandra’s gentle snores, I stare at the ceiling and try to make sense out of the chaos in Number Twelve. Once the shock and fear subsides, my wits return. I begin to see a clearer picture. Basically, it was an act of terror. Nothing of value was taken. The person (or persons) wanted to scare the hell out of me and chase me out of 3 Peaks. The destruction of my bike was an afterthought. A simple act of meanness.
The fact they took Dani’s letter and photos is significant. Dani poured out her heart in the letter, clearly stating her worries and suspicions. She’d followed Eddie and taken photos of the places he went. She must have thought it was important. Whoever made off with her things now knows I know at least as much as Dani did. And look what happened to her. Obviously, somebody doesn’t want me snooping around. All the more reason why I should. Fatigue finally gets the best of me and I drift into a brief but dreamless slumber.
The next morning, Sandra’s already gone when I hop on the bus in front of Nick’s. Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing inside a three story brick building on Bond Street. The directory tells me private practice doctors
occupy the first floor, everything from cosmetic surgery to psychiatric counseling. Floor number two holds the legal offices of Rockwell, Smyth and Verstrate. Various and sundry small businesses, including an actuarial, are located on the third floor. This strikes me as very convenient. It’s one-stop shopping. If your plastic surgery is botched, the shrink is right next door. Counseling doesn’t help? Make an appointment with the boys on the second floor to sue the surgeon. After you collect your dough, the actuarial can tell you how many years you have left to spend it. Sweet.
But now, I’m hoping to get a look at the couple from California and their baby. I’m not sure why, but it seems like the next logical step.
There’s a small waiting area tucked into one corner of the lobby. I plop down in a chair and wait. The door creaks open and a tall, dark-haired man wearing mirrored sunglasses enters. He gives me a brief glance and walks to the directory. The hair on my arms bristles with alarm. I’m still spooked from last night. I grip the arms of the chair, ready to spring up and dash out the door.
The man turns to face me and lowers his glasses. He stares at me with a penetrating blue gaze. “Guess I’m in the wrong place. I’m looking for Dr. Johnston, not Dr. Johnson.” His voice is deep and carries a slight accent. He makes no move toward me. I’m too far away to read his soul.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m unable to form words. My gaze swings over to the door as I estimate the time and distance it would take for me to dash outside. If I run really fast, can I get out of the building before he grabs me? I slide to the edge of the chair, poised for flight.
He looks like he’s waiting for me to respond. When I don’t, he pushes his sunglasses up, pivots on his heel and exits the building. I resume breathing and watch through the window as he strides away. I take a shaky breath and wonder how long it will be before I feel safe again.
Affliction Page 11
