Mel’s internet dating had produced other-than-favorable men, and her dates—if you could call them that—were typically disastrous. I feared that one day something bad would happen. That day had arrived.
My stomach convulsed. I swallowed repeatedly against the bile that rose in my throat. “Is he really dead?”
She raised her hands to her face. “I’m not sure.”
I realized the filth that covered her was blood. I reached for her arm, but he pulled away.
“I don’t…maybe.” She took a step away and crossed her arms. “I don’t know.”
“Wait right here,” I said in a comforting tone. “I’ll be right back.”
I scanned the living room. Illuminated by nothing more than the moonlight, Tito was sitting at the breakfast table. He looked in my direction.
“We’ve got a...” I cleared my throat. “We have an issue.”
“Internet dating has it’s downsides,” he said in a dismissive tone. “That’s for sure.”
I’d told him a few funny—and not so funny—stories about Mel’s botched dates. I forced a sigh. “There’s a guy in her house that might be dead,” I blurted. “It sounds like…I think it was an accident.”
“Shit.” He stood. “Who knows about it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he drive there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Apartment complex, or house?”
“Huh?”
“Does she live in an apartment complex or a house?”
“House.”
Seemingly unaffected by the potential presence of a dead man, Tito’s questions continued to come as if they were rehearsed.
“Residential district?” he asked.
“What?”
“Are they any commercial businesses near? Restaurants? Bars? Things like that?”
“No, she lives in the ghetto in El Cajon. Why?”
He pulled his phone from his pocket and made a call. While I stood nervously in wait, he began to pace the floor. After a few seconds he turned away and cleared his throat.
“I’ve got a trip in mind,” he whispered. “Remember Bakersfield? Yeah. You up for another one like that? No. A friend of a friend. Sounds good. Hate to ask, but can you bring the red one? Yeah, bring her. You can pick me up at home. Thanks, Brother.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. The code words and nonchalant attitude toward the situation made me feel uneasy. “Not the first time this has happened, is it?”
“I’ll need her address and her house keys.” He put the phone in his pocket. “And, as much information as you can about what happened—”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll be taking my bike home. Someone’s picking me up there.”
“Braxton?” I asked.
“No.” He stepped in front of me. “Someone else.”
“What are you…” I muttered. “How will you—”
He touched my shoulder. “I’ll tell you as much as you think you want to hear. Reggie. But. It’s best if you know nothing.”
I wondered who was picking him up but knew not to ask. I swallowed against the bile that wouldn’t go away. “What if…what if the guy…if he’s…you know?”
He kissed me. “I need to talk to Mel for a minute and go, Reg. Everything will be just fine.”
“Okay.”
Five minutes later, he kissed me again, on the way out the door.
As the sound of his motorcycle faded into the distance, I realized the man who was on his way to clean up the mess was my father’s archrival.
His nemesis.
At the same time, he was Mel’s savior.
I stood somewhere in the middle, unsure of which way to go. Tito once told me to face my fears.
That’s exactly what I was doing.
24
Tito
Armed with a hand-drawn map depicting the layout of Mel’s home, Goose and I stepped into the kitchen. A congealed pool of blood surrounded what appeared to be the very dead mid-forty’s white male. A few feet from the body a grilled cheese sandwich sat beside the apparent murder weapon.
A cast-iron skillet.
Face-down in his own blood and dressed in a pair of gray slacks and a powder-blue button-down shirt, the corpse wore a brown leather cap toe oxford on one foot. A red sock covered the other.
“Are those candy bars on that sock?” Goose asked.
I gawked at the bloody walls. “Looks like it.”
“Where’s the other shoe?”
I looked at him like he was nuts. “That’s the least of our worries.” I waved my hand toward the kitchen cabinets. Blood splatters were peppered on every cabinet within close proximity of the stove. “There’s blood everywhere.”
He glanced around. “It’s a fucking mess, that’s for sure.”
I felt the well-dressed man’s neck for a pulse. Feeling his clammy skin caused what little hope I held in reserve to vanish.
“This fucker’ dead,” I said. “Has been for a while.”
Goose pushed the heel of his boot against the shoulder of the deceased, causing the body to roll over. Upon seeing the man’s face, I swallowed heavily.
His entire forehead was distorted, indented from what I suspected were multiple impact wounds from the heavy skillet.
Goose put his hands on his hips and stared down at the corpse. “Holy. Fucking. Shit.”
“She smacked the fuck out of this guy,” I said.
“I’m not talking about his head,” Goose said, nodding toward the man’s blood-soaked shirt. “That’s Rick McNown.”
“Rick McNown.”
I spun around. “You know him?”
“Everybody—well, anyone who watches TV—knows him. He’s the evening news anchor for channel five, and he hosts that Sunday evening show about inner city crime, Exposed.”
“Really?”
He looked at McNown and then at me. “No doubt about it. Weird that it’s him.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s married. Has a couple of kids. He’s big in the community.” He waved his hand toward the deceased newscaster. “He hosts that show about shit like this happening. Shows footage of cops arresting the jerks that prey on women. I don’t know. Just strange thinking that he came here and held a knife to her throat. It’s just odd. Didn’t peg him for a weirdo.”
“Most of them don’t have a neon sign over their heads.”
“Suppose not.”
A quick search of the body produced several hundred dollars in cash, keys to a Mercedes-Benz, positive identification, and a cheap throw-away flip phone.
Goose tossed me the phone. “Looks like a burner.” He handed me the wallet and keys. “You said he rode here with her?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Where’d they come from?”
“Some bar. Bart’s Lounge.”
Goose gave the dead man a lingering look. “Of all the people she could have beat to death, it had to be some celebrity.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” I asked. “If he was holding a knife to her throat, he deserved what he got.”
“Not disputing that, Brother. Just saying if this guy was some doper, nobody would come looking for him. But. Rick McNown? I’m guessing people will be looking for this guy. There’ll be a formal investigation. Surveillance footage searched. It could be traced back to her pretty damned easily if they’ve got any footage.” He looked at me. “How well is this chick going to hold up in an interview for a murder charge?”
I began to feel uneasy about everything, especially disposing of the body. If Rick McNown was as big of a deal as Goose portrayed him to be, he was right. People would be looking for him. People who knew what to look for.
It wouldn’t be a simple, damn this guy got murdered exclamation from the detectives in charge. A no-holds-barred investigation would be demanded by the victim’s family, the television station, and the producers of the news show he hosted.
“I’m not sure she’d hold up well under pressure,” I admitted. “But I don’t know her too well.”
“Perfect,” Goose said in a sarcastic tone. He glanced around the kitchen. “Where the fuck do we start?”
I took a step away from the body and glanced around the kitchen. It looked like a mass murder had taken place. There was no way Goose and I could correct the mess in a manner that would prevent police from later finding forensic clues as to what had happened.
I faced Goose. “You opposed to me calling someone outside the club?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
“You’ve met Braxton,” I said. “Rumor has it that he might be better suited to take care of situations like this than we are.”
He coughed out a laugh. “You’re shittin’ me. That fine-dressed motherfucker cleans up messes like this?”
“I don’t have any concrete information to support my thoughts,” I said. “But there’s speculation on that subject. I just. I haven’t asked specifics.”
He stared blankly. “What makes you think—”
“I’ve got a hunch,” I said.
“You’re prepared to call him and ask?”
I scanned the kitchen cabinets. I had no idea how we’d clean the mess even if we had a year to do so. “I think so.”
“If you trust him, I trust him,” he said. “Call him.”
Using my burner phone, I called Braxton’s number. After four rings, he anwered.
“Braxton Rourke. How can I help you?”
“Remember that TV show we were talking about on Sunday?” I asked, not bothering to identify myself or the television show by name.
He cleared his throat. “I do.”
Cautious not to say too much over an unsecure phone line, I proceeded with caution. “I need to talk to someone like the star of the show.”
“Keep talking,” he said. “He’s listening.”
* * *
The white shirt Braxton wore beneath his tailored sport coat was crisp, as if it had just been pressed. His jeans were dark enough that I mistook them for navy-colored slacks. I couldn’t see his shoes because they were covered in Tyvek booties, but I suspected they were fine Italian dress shoes. They always were.
Shaking his head while he surveyed the mess, he stepped into the kitchen. He studied the deceased newscaster while rubbing the salt-and-pepper stubble of his neatly trimmed beard
“Whose handiwork is this?” he asked without looking up.
“Friend of Reggie’s.” I nodded at the corpse. “He tried to rape her.”
“Have you searched the body?”
“Goose did,” I replied. “He had car keys, a burner phone, loose cash, and a wallet.”
“Leave all of it with me.” Following a quick study of the pool of blood, he glanced at Goose’s feet and then at mine. “I’ll need each of you to leave your boots, too.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I’m not leaving my—”
“You sure as fuck are,” he insisted, pointing at the bloody footprints on the outskirts of the ocean of blood. “Both of you two geniuses tracked your feet through this blood. His DNA is all over the soles of your boots. I don’t do anything half-assed. You’re leaving the boots. No loose ends. When I walk away, this didn’t happen. Not here, anyway.”
Goose handed Braxton the dead man’s possessions.
Braxton looked at the key. “Didn’t see a Benz outside. Where’s the car?”
“At the bar where these two met,” I replied. “Bart’s Lounge, over on West Covina.”
He flipped the phone open and scrolled through the menu. “No other cell phone?”
“I didn’t see one, no.”
“Where is the party responsible for this clusterfuck?”
“At Reggie’s.”
He glanced around. “She needs to stay there for about six more hours.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
He pinned me in place with a glare.
Most would describe Braxton as a nice-looking man who possessed an obvious air of confidence. At least that’s what they’d say until he glared a them. Describing his stare as intimidating was a grotesque understatement.
I cleared my throat. “I’ll make sure she stays there.”
“Both of you. Listen up,” Braxton demanded. “When you got here, he was gone. The only three people that will know otherwise are standing in this room, and that won’t change.” He glanced at Goose and then at me. “Ever. Make sure Reggie’s friend stays where she is. You two need to find something else to do until about eight, then show up like you just got done cleaning this place up. When you talk to her, downplay the condition of the scene. Explain that it wasn’t that bad. Tell her you cleaned up the mess and threw the skillet in the San Diego Bay.”
I gawked at him in disbelief.
His eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem?”
“No. I’m just wondering what your plan is.”
His stare lingered. Upon making me feel uncomfortable for asking, he looked away. “Don’t let her return until eight o’clock,” he said dryly. He tilted his head toward the front of the house. “Leave your boots at the door.”
25
Reggie
Shocked by Tito’s statement, Mel’s eyes bulged in disbelief. “He didn’t leave a note, or anything? He just left?”
“Considering the blood loss, I’m guessing he wasn’t in a very talkative mood,” Tito said with a laugh. “He was probably in a hurry to get his head wrapped with some gauze. From what you said, you smacked him pretty good. I’m guessing he was a little embarrassed, too.”
“He looked dead,” Mel said.
“I’m sure he did.” Tito poured a cup of coffee. He faced Mel and took a sip. “Unconscious and covered in blood is a close resemblance of death.”
Mel glanced in her coffee cup, and then looked at Tito. She let out a sigh. “Everything’s cleaned up? No blood on my floor or anything?”
“As good as brand new,” Tito assured her.
I feared the three of us would be conspirators in a murder charge. Furthermore, I was sure Mel wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut regarding what happened. A huge gossip and an open book when alcohol is added, Mel’s ability to keep a secret was nil. Thankful that the man in question was alive—and gone—I released a mental sigh of relief.
Mel stood and turned toward the coffee pot. “I can’t believe you got everything cleaned up. Thank you.”
Tito sauntered past her. He leaned over and kissed me before taking his seat. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Not that bad?” She coughed in opposition. “There was blood everywhere.”
“I’m sure it seemed bad to you. It really wasn’t,” he claimed. “We drove around for a few hours trying to find cleaning products. It was five in the morning or so before we got the things we needed. By that time, Goose was hungry, so we stopped at IHOP for breakfast. I bet we didn’t spend an hour cleaning up.”
Mel poured a cup of coffee and took her seat beside me. “Well, I’m glad he’s gone, and I’m glad there’s not a mess. That guy was creepy as fuck.”
Tito looked up from his cup of coffee. “Who was he?”
“I don’t know,” Mel replied. “Some weirdo from the bar.”
I looked at her like she was nuts. “You need to stop dragging those creeps out of the bar. One of these days you’re going to get hurt. Or killed.”
“Believe me.” She raised her cup of coffee in toast. “I’m done.”
I scowled. “I sure hope so.”
“You didn’t know him?” Tito asked, seeming surprised by Mel’s claim. “He was just some random guy from the bar?”
Mel leveled her eyes at Tito. “Don’t you start in on me, too. I don’t want to hear it.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I was just asking.”
“No,” she responded in a snide tone. “I didn’t know him. He bought me a drink. All I know was that his name
was Griff or Biff or something. Fuck, I don’t remember.”
“I was just wondering if there was a possibility of you running into him again.” Tito sipped his coffee. “Might be awkward.”
Mel shook her head. “I’m never going back to that bar again I can tell you that much. That guy was gross. He asked me if he could take a dump on my chest.”
“What?!” I turned to face her. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“I just thought of it. He started talking about it on the way to my house. Just, like, oh, I’ve got some friends that like to shit on girl’s chests. I said that’s fucking gross. He said it wasn’t a big deal, and that some guys get off on it. I said, Some guys? Like you? He just shrugged and gave me this weird look, like, are you sure you think it’s gross? He was nasty.”
I gave her a look. “What’s really gross is that after all that, you took him in your house.”
“Yeah. That should have been my first clue,” she said. “Note to self. If your date wants to take a shit between your tits, prepare for a bad night.”
“I wonder about you, sometimes,” I said.
“I wonder about me, too,” she admitted. “I’ve had a string of bad luck when it comes to men.”
I rolled my eyes. “Luck has nothing to do with it. You make bad decisions.”
She glared at each of us. “I feel like I’m being attacked. Again. The only difference is that you two don’t have knives at my throat. Give it a rest.”
Regardless of how she got into the predicament she was in she didn’t deserve to have a knife held to her throat. She needed to learn from her mistakes and move forward. Being verbally attacked by Tito and me wasn’t doing her any good.
“I won’t say another word,” I said. “I’m sure you learned your lesson.”
Tito pinched his index finger and thumb together and zipped his lips closed.
Mel finished her cup of coffee in one gulp and then stood. “I’m just glad it wasn’t a murder scene. The last thing I need is your dad coming after me. That guy’s relentless.”
“True. He’s like a Mountie. He always gets his man.” I raised my brows. “Or woman.”
Tito Page 15
