“Wow. I thought he was forty, forty-five. Another baby-faced Asian.”
We chuckle. Chen says, “Yeah, we’ll be happy about that when we’re older. But Felix is really fit. You know, I think he could outrun both of us.”
I grin. “Or outfight us.”
“Well, that’s your department.” Chen taps my eagle, globe, and anchor tattoo, visible between buckshot bandages. “I see where you got your training. My uncle was in The Corps. By the way, wasn’t this tattoo painful to get on your shin?”
“Not as painful as this buckshot.”
Detectives arrive to take statements. As I answer their questions I start to shake, especially my knees. My body always does this after action. Especially in debrief when, like now, I talk about it and let myself think how things could have gone way worse. Like in that bank in Kirkuk.
Satisfaction is a relative thing. Three new faces flash in to haunt my mind’s eye. Snaps. Bristle. Jet-Black. Lifelong company. But the faces of Kim, Felix, and the rest of these folks won’t be joining them.
Kim and I walk toward our vehicles, but we both stop in the parking lot. We face each other. We both jangle our keys.
Kim’s face is flushed. She shuffles her feet.
My heart is beating fast again, my mouth is dry, and I feel myself blushing. Again. I take a deep breath in and push it out. “Want to get that coffee right now?”
“Don’t need any caffeine after this.” She dismisses the bank with her hand, sees my disappointment, and grins. “How about lunch? I’m starving.”
“Cool beans. You know any restaurants in DB?”
Kim chuckles. “No, I don’t know places here either, but I bet we can find a lunch special nearby. Oh, too late for lunch.”
I feel disappointed again.
Kim slides her arm inside mine and bumps shoulders. “Cheer up. We’ll figure it out.”
I do feel good. We stroll away from the cars, toward the street. “For sure. We can always get boba.” I cover her hand with mine. “Or see a matinee. Just not an action movie, okay?”
Back to TOC
The End Justifies the Means
Tony Chiarchiaro
I hated my boss; resented everything about her…her arrogance, her rudeness, the total lack of compassion toward her employees. I admit I was jealous. She had achieved so much in a relatively short span of time. And to boot, she hadn’t even graduated from high school, yet she ordered me around like I was some dummy. After all, I was a college graduate. I had struggled to put myself through college, but somehow wound up working for a damned high school dropout.
Dorothy Halladay had taken the small company she had inherited, Gallery Metal Stamping, Inc., and built it into one of the most successful metal stamping businesses in Los Angeles County. She had done it essentially by shrewdness, by taking advantage of her employees, and by using any other unscrupulous means necessary to further her goals. Everybody knew her motto was “The end justifies the means.”
“Arthur, I need to talk to you,” she rattled off one day, in front of the whole management team. “Damn it, Arthur, production is way down. You’re the general manager, I hold you responsible. If you can’t get these employees to put out more, I’ll get somebody who can, comprende?” she said, her dark hair framing a face full of venom.
It wasn’t just what she said, but how she said it. There was something about her that was vile, nasty, almost evil. Her shrill voice made my skin crawl. I hate to admit it, but she intimidated me.
Especially frustrating was that this humiliation was being delivered by a woman, when women were always supposed to be respectful to men in my culture. How could this be happening to me, a sophisticated, Mexican-American man?
“Sure, Dorothy,” I said, “I…I’ll try my best. We…we’ll have a meeting today and I’ll go over our production goals again. It’s just that Sophia’s been out sick. Her machine has been down.”
“Well, then I guess that means the rest of the operators are just going to have to work that much harder, doesn’t it?” she spat out, causing my stomach to churn.
Trembling with anger, I could feel the rage rising within me, the rush of adrenalin pounding through every fiber of my being. I felt like she had taken my pride and eviscerated it with her razor-sharp tongue.
That’s when I realized it had to be done. I had to kill her. I didn’t care what could happen as a consequence.
Once I made the decision, a sense of calm came over me.
It’ll be easy. I know her daily routine. I’ll make it look like a robbery gone bad. She always works late on Tuesday evenings. I could wait for her in the darkness of the parking garage while she goes to her car, the new Lexus SUV. (I drove a beat up old Toyota Corolla with a hundred and eighty-five thousand miles on it.)
I’d always disliked the parking garage. The huge concrete pillars, the grayness of it all. Now it was perfectly appropriate…so accommodating. The massive cement walls and support columns created lots of shadowy areas where one could hide…and wait.
On the following Tuesday night, I made my way to the parking structure and secreted myself near her Lexus. I had purchased a long butcher knife from the local swap meet using cash so it couldn’t be traced. I wore rubber gloves so fingerprints wouldn’t be an issue. I’d covered all the bases.
Alone in the dimly lit structure at eight o’clock sharp, I waited patiently. At eight-fifteen, the last car, other than Dorothy’s, left the location. I crouched down low in the darkness so nobody could see me. It was perfect.
At eight-twenty-five, I heard the clickety-clack of her high heels and saw her approach the Lexus parked only ten feet away from my place of concealment. When I recognized the jingle of her keys and the sound of the car door opening I made my move. Like a predator pouncing upon an unwary prey, there was never a question of whether I would do it or not. I was actually surprised by my boldness.
Eight-inch blade in hand, it was my intention to grab her from behind and thrust the sharpened knife into her back, just below the rib cage, then upward into her heart. But somehow, she must have sensed my presence. At the last second, she turned around and faced me, letting out a gasp. I had no choice but to look into her eyes as I thrust the steel blade deep into her midsection. She managed to blurt out, “Arthur…what are you…doing? Are you crazy?”
“I’ll show you how crazy I am,” I answered as she fell backward against the driver’s seat of the Lexus. I continued to thrust the knife again and again under her rib cage and into her heart, that cold, cold heart, until her initial cry became a whimper; until her body was limp and lifeless.
Looking through her prescription glasses into her eyes, I saw her stare out into space. Her hateful eyes, dull, lifeless. Even in death, she still seemed to mock me, her mouth contorted in a kind of sneering expression…still reflecting disdain. Damn, I detested her.
“You won’t hurt my feelings anymore. You won’t hurt anybody’s feelings anymore,” I spat out at her, saliva spraying her hateful face. The face that caused so much pain to so many.
I rifled through her purse to create the illusion of a robbery. I placed her lifeless body prone on the concrete floor in the empty space adjacent to her car, facedown resting on an oil stain.
Removing eighty dollars in cash from her purse, I tossed the empty bag along with the rest of its contents into a trash container about a hundred feet away. I deposited the knife there, too.
At home later that evening, I sat back and reflected upon what I had accomplished. No remorse. Dorothy Halladay would bring no more sorrow to anyone. I felt as though I’d committed the perfect crime, and that the world had been relieved of a real burden.
Several months went by uneventfully. Work was much less stressful. The business had been taken over by Dorothy’s nephew, Edward Borischolski, who was a people-oriented manager. Employee morale was up and so was production. I was proud of the turnaround from what I attributed to my own courageous activity.
That’s why I was completely surprised when I answered my door one evening and saw two uniformed deputies and several detectives waiting there.
“Are you Arthur W. Martinez?” the officer closest to me asked.
I nodded my head ever so slightly. “Maybe. Who are you?”
“Mr. Martinez, I’m Detective Bell and this is Detective Chopak. We’re here to place you under arrest for the murder of Dorothy Halladay.”
I felt my mouth drop. I sensed my freedom evaporating like so many clouds on a windy day. After listening to the detective recite my Miranda rights, I asked in a slightly arrogant tone, “On what basis are you making these outrageous accusations?”
“Well, Mr. Martinez, you know we live in a highly technical society these days. Our forensic analysis has evolved over the years in keeping with the advances in technology.
“To make a long story short, in the course of our investigation, we discovered there were some spots on the victim’s glasses. Based upon an educated guess, we hypothesized that the spots may have come from the killer who we concluded was facing the victim as he murdered her. We carefully examined the spots, removed the glasses for safekeeping under very precise guidelines for evidence gathering and storage. Once that was done, we began our interviews with each and every employee of Gallery Metal Stamping, among others.
“As you may recall, it was a very hot day when you had your interview at our headquarters. We offered, and you accepted a can of Coca Cola. We in fact offered cans of Coke or other soft drinks to all of our potential suspects. If they declined the drink, we obtained subpoenas and court orders for samples of their saliva. In your case that wasn’t necessary. From the can of Coke you drank, we obtained your saliva sample.
“We had the spots from Ms. Halladay’s glasses analyzed in our laboratory and confirmed the spots were saliva. So, we next compared the DNA gathered from the saliva collected from Ms. Halladay’s glasses to that which was obtained from the Coke can from which you drank.
“And, lo and behold, there was a perfect match with the DNA from the can, to the DNA gathered from the saliva sprayed upon Ms. Halladay’s glasses during the course of her murder.
“You erred, Mr. Martinez, when you somehow managed to get your spit all over the deceased’s face and prescription glasses. Thus, I repeat, Mr. Martinez, the DNA match between the saliva found on Ms. Halladay and upon her glasses is exactly the same as yours. In conclusion, you are the killer, Mr. Martinez.”
After contemplating the detective’s statement for a fleeting moment, I realized that my life as I knew it was over, and that the possibility of the death penalty was very real. Yet, I couldn’t restrain myself.
“You know what, Detective, I hated that woman. I’d do it all over again, and if you would have known her the way I knew her, maybe you’d understand. She had to go. Oh, yeah, she had to go…anyway, anyhow. Like she used to say, ‘The end justifies the means.’”
Back to TOC
Shifting Reflections
Julie G. Beers
“Cut it off.”
“Are you sure?” Fiona was hesitant.
Kelly nodded. “I need to be free of her.”
Snip. Snip. Snip. With each cut, Kelly felt lighter, freer. The long dark curls fell to the floor, creating a huge pile. A shampoo girl swept the hair up then disappeared into the back of the crowded West Hollywood salon.
Fiona raised her scissors. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? It’s a drastic change.”
“I’m sure,” Kelly ran her hands through the newly cut hair. “I love it already.”
Fiona smiled, “I always say that a new style can change your life.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for. It’s time to shake things up…live a little. I’ve been living in the past for too long.”
Fiona patted Kelly’s shoulder sympathetically. “Any news about your sister?”
Kelly shook her head. “It’s as if Jill stepped off the edge of the earth.” Her eyes suddenly teared up and Fiona handed her a tissue. “I thought that maybe she went on a vacation or something, but…” Kelly paused for a long moment. “I’ve got to admit to myself that Jill is a hopeless cause. It’s the drugs. It’s always been the drugs.”
“From what you’ve told me, it’s hard to believe she’s your twin,” Fiona murmured.
“We may be twins but we’ve always been complete opposites, even before we were born. My mother swore we fought each other in the womb.”
“The good twin and the evil one.”
“Not evil. No matter how bad it got, I’ll never say that about Jill. But she was always so irresponsible that I felt I had to be the opposite. I suppose I’ve been a bit obsessed with building a secure future.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” stated Fiona.
“I wish my sister felt that way. Our parents left us each a sizeable sum. I invested my inheritance carefully and it paid off.”
“What about your sister? Is she rich, too?”
“Not anymore. Jill went through her money quickly and then she asked me to buy out her share of our parents’ home. I did, of course. On the condition that she enter rehab—which I also paid for.”
Fiona nodded, “You were really there for her.”
“Stupidly, I thought I could save her. Rehab after rehab. I thought the last one worked, but…”
“Sounds like she’s not ready to change,” Fiona declared as she set the scissors aside.
Kelly nodded. “I’ve been stuck in the rut of cleaning up Jill’s messes my whole life. Our last fight before she took off was…brutal.” Kelly wiped away another tear. “That’s why I bought the condo on the Westside. Just too many memories in the Los Feliz house.”
“I completely understand.” The hairdresser turned to mix Kelly’s color.
“I pray that my sister’s okay, but if I’m being honest—”
“You want her to stay out of your life.”
“Exactly. I’m learning that we can’t change others, we can only change ourselves.”
“Too true,” agreed Fiona.
“But every time I look in the mirror, I’m haunted by her.”
“Well, I can take care of that,” grinned Fiona. She began to apply the color to Kelly’s short hair. “Let’s look to the future. Your future. And a whole new makeover.”
“Thanks for being so understanding, Fi. I’m so happy that I moved here and discovered you.”
“My pleasure.” Fiona eyed her client in the mirror. “Let’s turn you into a rock star.”
A couple of hours later, Kelly, rocking a blonde pixie, was all smiles as she left the salon. She decided it was time to get the wardrobe to match the new hair and headed for the Beverly Center. She was surprised to find a parking space so easily. Things were changing for the better every second.
Inside the mall, the sparkles of a jewelry store immediately caught her attention. She studied the effervescent assortment and asked to see several pieces. As she tried on a stunning diamond tennis bracelet, a familiar face and cascade of brown curls reflected in the mirror backing the counter. Kelly spun around, but her sister wasn’t there. She raced to the store’s entrance and scanned the crowd.
A strong hand clamped on her shoulder. “Miss, are you planning on purchasing that bracelet?” The burly security guard was polite but he meant business.
Kelly nodded. “Of course. I’m so sorry, I just thought I saw someone…” She looked toward the crowd again. “But it can’t be.”
The guard firmly steered her back into the store before releasing his grip. Kelly knew he thought she was going to steal the jewelry and it irked her. She didn’t need to steal anything. She was rich. Returning to the counter, Kelly smiled at the sales clerk. “Let’s see how much damage I can do with my credit card today.”
She returned home to her penthouse condo with two diamond bracelets, a pair of earrings, a stunning leather jacket, and a week’s worth of new clot
hes. The sleek condo was a sharp contrast to the old-world elegance of the Los Feliz mansion. Even though she’d barely started to furnish it, Kelly loved this place in the heart of the Sunset Strip action, so near to Beverly Hills and only a short drive from the beach. She dropped her purchases on the counter, poured a glass of pinot grigio, and stood on her balcony to watch the hazy California sun slowly set. She ran her hands through her newly shorn hair and smiled. Cutting ties to the past felt good. She felt free.
As dusk settled, she returned inside for more wine and noticed that a packing box in the corner had fallen over, partially spilling its contents on the floor. She hadn’t brought much from the house—couldn’t the movers have stacked things better? As Kelly approached the box, her glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the marble tile. A photo album had fallen from the box and lay open to a childhood picture of Kelly and her twin sister. Identical dark curls blew in the wind as the twins rode their bikes in the mountains.
She didn’t remember packing the photo album. Why would she bring it here? She slammed the album shut, shoved it back into the box, and then poured another glass of wine. The maid could sweep up the mess in the morning.
For the next few days, Kelly couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched. Several times she was sure she glimpsed the reflection of her sister in store windows. But, of course, her sister was never there. One afternoon, when she entered her car to drive to the salon for a manicure appointment, Kelly smelled her sister’s favorite perfume, Opium. The scent was almost imperceptible, but there.
Kelly’s hands shook a bit as she sat down for her manicure with Amber. Fiona rushed over to greet her, “I love your new outfit, and those shoes—” The stylist stopped short. “Are you okay? You look really pale.”
“I think I’m being haunted.” Kelly couldn’t stop herself from blurting it out.
“Really?” Amber, the manicurist, paused.
Fiona sat down next to Kelly. “It’s your sister, isn’t it? I’ve heard about that twin sense thing.”
Fatally Haunted Page 11
