by Dave Daren
“I may know someone,” Sofia replied.
“Also, see what you can dig up on these Reyes Dorados guys,” I added. “We need to figure out how they all link to Matthew Burke.”
“On it,” Sofia declared as she returned to her own office.
I sat in my chair for a moment, staring blankly at the computer screen. Clearly, Burke had done business with at least two different gangs, and for whatever reason, they were still hoping to find him or whatever money he had taken from them. It was possible, even likely, that they didn’t know about the trust or the life insurance policies and had no idea how much money Gloria stood to inherit. It still didn’t explain why they only bothered to show up when Gloria decided to have her husband declared dead. Were they hoping they might be able to draw Burke out of hiding?
I checked the time and decided that even if Gloria left late that morning, she would probably be in Santa Barbara. I called her cell phone, and Gloria answered just before it went to voicemail.
“Mr. Creed,” Gloria said and I could tell she was in full real estate agent mode.
“Sorry to call you while you’re at the conference,” I replied. “I just had some questions about your earlier attempt to have your husband declared dead.”
“Just one moment,” she declared sunnily. “Let me just find a quiet place to talk and then we can take care of any questions you have.”
There was a great deal of noise in the background, mostly people talking, including one person using a microphone. I could hear Gloria excusing herself with something about a very particular client, and then there was the sound of heels clicking across a hard floor. A moment later, the background chatter was gone and I could hear a piano being played.
“Sorry about that,” Gloria apologized. “And thank you for calling. My cheeks are starting to hurt from all the smiling.”
“Glad I could help,” I laughed. “This won’t take long, I promise.”
“Please, keep me on the phone as long as you want,” she urged. “I’m stuck at a table with Debra Clancy. I’ll slit my wrists if I have to hear one more story about her son, her dog, or her million dollar listings.”
“I’ll try,” I replied. “Tell me, when you filed your motion the first time, did you have any trouble with gangs?”
“Gangs?” Gloria asked in puzzlement. “Like, street gangs?”
“Yes,” I agreed, “like street gangs?”
“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever even met someone from a street gang,” Gloria replied. “And we certainly don’t have any in Studio City.”
“But did anyone approach you or threaten you? Maybe tell you to drop your request?” I continued.
“Huh, well, not me,” Gloria hesitated. “But my attorney had some issues around that time. He told me not to worry about it, that it was under control.”
“Did he tell you if it was specifically tied to your case?” I prodded.
“He just said that there had been an encounter, and that they had seemed interested in some of his work, but that was it,” she replied. “Then the FBI stepped into the case, and everyone else seemed to disappear. Mr. Creed, have you had an encounter with a street gang?”
“Two,” I noted. “So far.”
“Two?” she exclaimed. “But I don’t understand. Why are they interested?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I replied. “Though they apparently did business with Matthew.”
There was a long silence from the other end of the line.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” Gloria finally murmured.
“Who was your first attorney?” I asked.
“Patrick Dunleavy,” Gloria replied.
I knew the name. He’d been running commercials for his family law business since I was a kid. I could understand where Perrin’s old codger remark was coming from.
“I need to call him anyway to get his files,” I remarked. “I’ll see what he can tell me about his own encounter.”
“Oh, okay,” Gloria mumbled.
I could tell she was still trying to process the idea that her life might now involve at least two street gangs.
“I’ll let you know if I think there’s anything to worry about,” I tried to reassure her.
“You be careful,” she insisted, switching to her mom voice.
“I will,” I replied.
My next phone call was to the offices of Patrick Dunleavy and sons. Patrick Dunleavy was in court that day, but the helpful assistant took down my name, phone number and reason for calling. There was definitely a reaction to the name Gloria Burke, but I couldn’t quite decipher what it was. The assistant hung up before I had the chance to prod her for any more information.
I tried to push Gloria Burke and her strange case out of my mind so I could focus on some of my other cases, but I kept wondering about Matthew Burke, his ties to at least two street gangs, and the hefty sums of money that would be in play once he was declared dead. And looming over all of that was the question of whether Matthew Burke was really dead.
I was about to give up for the day when an email popped up in my box. I opened it without thinking and realized it was from Perrin. It had three pictures attached, each showing Matthew Burke at different points in his life.
The first one looked like an old wedding photo that someone had scanned in. I recognized Gloria right away, although her hair was brown and her skin still pale. The man standing next to her was smiling broadly as he held his bride in his arms. It was hard to see much detail, but I could pick out thick brown hair that nearly engulfed a square face. The couple looked happy, but there was a hard edge to the man’s eyes.
The second photo showed Burke with Perrin at about ten years old. Both were mugging for the camera, with tongues out and eyes crossed. Burke’s hair was shorter and more neatly trimmed, and lines had appeared around his eyes. He had a small mustache as well, and the beginnings of a second chin.
The final photo showed Burke standing proudly on the Reel Investment. He had a pair of sunglasses on that concealed most of his face, but I could see the wrinkles that lined his brow and the roundness to his chin. The mustache was gone again and the hair had some gray strands, but he looked happy.
“Thanks for the pix,” I emailed to Perrin.
A moment later, her reply popped up.
“I had fun picking them out,” she wrote. “Helped me remember the good times with my dad.”
“He looks happy in them,” I wrote back.
“He was happy when he wasn’t thinking about money,” she replied.
“That’s true for most people,” I agreed.
She didn’t respond to that and I figured that was the end of our conversation. I printed out the pictures and added them to the file. Sofia stuck her head around the door and announced her departure and I promised I was right behind her.
Ten minutes later as I was about to step out of the office for the day, the phone rang. I thought about letting it go to voicemail, but I walked back to Sofia’s desk and picked up the phone.
“Creed and Associates,” I said automatically.
“So who are these associates of yours?” Perrin laughed.
“I have quite a few associates,” I assured her. “They just don’t all happen to be lawyers.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied. “So, Mr. Big Shot Lawyer with lots of associates, what are you doing for dinner tonight?”
“Tonight?” I fumbled.
“Tonight,” she agreed.
“Um, well, I was going home,” I replied.
“Boring,” she declared. “Have dinner with me.”
“With you?” I repeated as I tried to sort through my ricocheting thoughts. I kept picturing her on that surfboard, and very much loving the sight, but my analytical self was reminding me this was my client’s daughter. And I seriously doubted that the client would approve a private meeting between the two of us.
“Don’t worry,” she said quickly, “Mom will never know.”
“Um, I’m not sure
this is a good idea,” I hedged though part of me very much wanted to see her again.
“I’m not the client,” Perrin pointed out. “If I happen to decide that I’d like to go on a date with you, it’s perfectly okay.”
“Really?” I remarked. “And you know this because --?”
“I checked,” she admitted. “There was an entire article devoted to the topic on the bar website.”
“Okay,” I conceded. “Where should we eat?”
“You’re in Van Nuys, right?” she asked.
“I am,” I agreed.
“Then how about PizzaRev,” she suggested. “I think there’s one near you.”
“There is and that sounds good,” I noted. “Though I’ll definitely have to hit the gym tomorrow.”
“We’ll see about that,” she replied and I could picture the smirk on her face as she said it. “See you in, like, half an hour?”
“Half an hour,” I agreed.
I took my time getting to PizzaRev and I still spent twenty minutes staring at the menu board while I waited for Perrin. She finally pulled up, in a dark blue Volvo station wagon, and sauntered inside. She’d traded her sundress for jeans and a pink t-shirt dotted with llamas. She smiled at me and wrapped me in a hug as we stepped up to place our orders.
After designing all sorts of options in my head, I finally ended up with my usual, the fennel and sausage on the regular crust with extra sausage. I thought for sure that Perrin would order one of the salads, but to my surprise, she went with the Mediterranean pizza instead.
We chatted idly about the local football and baseball teams, and our favorite places to hit the waves until our pizzas were ready. We found a quiet table in the back and devoured our pizzas with only the occasional break for a sip of coke. I know not everyone is a fan of fennel, but on a pizza loaded with sausage, it is a perfect meal at the end of a long day.
“I think you look even more beat up than before,” Perrin said as she took a last sip of her coke.
“I was in another fight today,” I replied.
“Really?” she laughed and I could tell that she thought I was joking.
“Really,” I insisted.
“Oh,” she finally mumbled. “So, is that a regular thing with you?”
“No,” I replied, but then added, “Well, it depends on my clients. Some of them seem to attract trouble.”
“Like Anna Bernardi,” Perrin guessed.
“You have been doing your research,” I said in surprise.
“I think I know why mom picked you,” she added. “She wanted someone who would be willing to fight the FBI for her. She probably figured if you were willing to take on the yakuza, you’d be willing to take them on, too.”
“That’s what she said,” I agreed.
“So, who’s the client with the bad connections this time?” she asked.
“Your mother,” I replied.
Perrin started laughing again until she realized I was serious.
“My mom?” Perrin asked dubiously. “Gloria Burke?”
“That’s the one,” I agreed.
“But… who on earth does my mom know?” she demanded.
“I don’t think she knows them, per se,” I replied. “But your father seems to have done business with some rough characters. A gang called the Chuchos Locos and another one called the Reyes Dorados. They’re looking for the money they gave your father. At least, that’s what I think they want.”
Perrin’s brow furrowed as she contemplated my words. Her cute little nose scrunched up as she thought, and I had to admit, she looked adorable.
“So, my dad was, what? Laundering money for gangs?” Perrin finally asked.
“Maybe, but it could even have been honest investing of clean money for gang leaders,” I said. “I don’t have any evidence of anything, and it’s not really relevant to what your mom asked me to do. But her action has drawn them out of the woodwork.”
“Should we be worried?” she demanded.
“I wouldn’t rush out and buy a gun,” I noted, “but you might want to keep an eye open for any strangers hanging around.”
“Why didn’t mom tell me any of this?” she asked angrily.
“Well, they’ve only just popped up,” I assured her, “and I only mentioned the gangs to her today. I didn’t tell her about our confrontations.”
“Were you going to?” she pressed.
“If I thought you were in danger, I would tell you,” I replied. “But they haven’t gone after either of you since your father disappeared and I don’t see any reason why they would do so now.”
“Then why did they go after you?” she demanded.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted, “but I think they believe your father is alive and that your mother will lead them either to him or to the money. I think they’re worried that if she succeeds in having him declared dead, then they’ll lose their shot at finding your father.”
“This is just so… surreal,” she finally declared.
“Tell me about your father,” I suggested. “I know he was good with numbers and statistics, and he made some serious money for people, but I haven’t heard about the other side. Like those pictures you sent. He looked really happy in those.”
“That was the man I knew,” Perrin sighed. “He was never cross with me or said an angry word to me. I know he could be mean. I’ve seen him chew out everybody from a cabana boy to a company CEO, but never me.”
“I understand his own childhood wasn’t so good,” I added.
“That’s true,” Perrin acknowledged. “He never told me much about it, but sometimes he would mention his own parents or talk about things they would do to him. I think he was determined to be everything they were not.”
“You seem certain that he’s still alive,” I noted.
“He is,” she insisted.
“But you won’t tell me why you believe that,” I added.
“Not yet,” she said after a moment. “Maybe if I need to.”
“That sounds very mysterious,” I replied with a grin that I hoped would dissipate some seriousness that had enveloped our table.
“I promise to keep you updated,” she laughed. “You know, in case your status changes from possible good fuck to confessor.”
“Can’t I be both?” I protested. “I’m not sure I like the sound of confessor.”
“What,” she chided, “you worried you might miss out on some benefits?”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” I replied. “I mean, you did do all that research.”
“Well, it seems to me that you should be more worried about your status after tonight,” she teased.
“I just assumed you would drop the word possible,” I mused.
“Aren’t you cocky?” she commented.
“Self-assured,” I replied. “With good cause.”
“Oh, my,” she said with a Southern drawl. “I do declare, Mr. Creed.”
“I could just go back to my apartment and finish my work for the day,” I sighed. “I mean, if I’m just going to be your confessor.”
“Hmmm,” she murmured as she eyed me speculatively. “I would suggest that you follow me to my apartment. It’s a nice little place in K-Town, away from prying eyes. And then we can get to work on updating your status.”
“You have a deal,” I replied as I stood up.
“Very cocky,” she murmured as she stretched her back, giving me a lovely view of her breasts. She stood up slowly and walked slowly towards the door, stopping to thank the guy who’d made our pizzas.
“Aren’t you the tease,” I whispered in her ear.
“You’ll find out,” she said with a smile as we finally stepped into the parking lot.
Lucky for me, she wasn’t a tease behind the wheel of the Volvo. I probably would have lost her if it hadn’t been for a string of red lights. We made it to K-Town in good time and we pulled into the lot for a 1970s era apartment building. It wasn’t exactly charming, but what her mother would
call probably call retro chic. It still had a 70s look, but it had clearly been renovated within the last couple of years.
Perrin’s apartment was on the first floor in a building at the back. I didn’t get much chance to study it though. As soon as she opened the door, we tumbled inside, hands groping each other while we tried to pull off our clothing. I managed to close the door and Perrin turned the lock, and then she was pulling me down a very short hallway to a bedroom just big enough for the bed and one nightstand.
We left a trail of clothing behind us and by the time we fell onto the bed, we were both naked. She was golden, just as I knew she would be, from the tip of her big toe to the edge of her hairline. She was also well-muscled, in the way surfer girls tend to be, and I ran a teasing hand across her abdomen as I took in the view. Her breasts were already hard, the nipples erect, and I squeezed them until she started to moan.
She reached up and started to stroke my shaft with her long, nimble fingers and it was my turn to groan. I dropped down to the cat position, my chest near her shoulders and just to one side. Perrin grinned at me, clearly familiar with the technique. She bent her legs, exposing her pussy and the slick wetness that was already there.
“I am so ready for you,” she said as she played with the tip of my penis. “I’ve been ready since I saw you at the house.”
“You’re amazing,” was all I could manage as she pulled me inside of her.
She was hot and moist and absolutely perfect. As soon as I found her clit, I started to grind my pelvis, slowly at first, then picking up pace as she grabbed the brass headboard and moaned in pleasure. When I heard her breath quicken, I started to rock back and forth, drawing out her orgasm as long as I could.
“Do it!” she begged as her body started to quiver.
“Just hold on,” I urged her. “Just a bit longer.”
I was deep inside her, moving just enough to keep the pressure on her clit. She definitely had an e-zone there and she was writhing with the ecstasy of it. When I was sure that her body was finally on the very edge, I let myself go, spilling my seed inside her in one very long stream. She opened her legs even wider, welcoming me for a deeper dive that I took with every last bit of strength I had.
When I was finally empty, I felt her tight grip release me as she sank into the mattress. A line of sweat had formed just across her forehead and she watched me from a pair of drowsy eyes.
