Courage Stolen

by R. Scott Mackey

  “Ray?” came the woman’s voice after I picked up.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Jolene. Jolene Gillingwater. From Sacramento Oaks.”

  A pause. “Hi.” I tried to inject enthusiasm into my voice. I’d forgotten she had my phone number from the information sheet I’d filled out at her country club.

  “I don’t mean to sound forward, or at least more forward than you must already think I am, but I was going to be in your part of town around lunchtime and was wondering if we could get together.”

  Crap. Think. Think. “Um, I have a doctor’s appointment at eleven.”

  “That’s okay. I won’t be done with my errands until around twelve or twelve-thirty. Can you meet me at Hana Tsubaki about twelve forty-five?”

  “Sure.”

  We ended the call, and I cursed myself for not anticipating it and having prepared a better excuse. Now I was committed to a lunch date with Danny Cashmore’s girlfriend.

  Rubia called as I sat in the car in front of Dr. Frank Beckly’s office. My appointment with the psychiatrist wasn’t for another ten minutes, so I used the time to fill her in on everything that happened the night before, culminating in the successful return of Monarch.

  “You don’t sound happy about it,” she said.

  “For one thing, I got fired by Granderson’s security chief.”

  “So what? The deal was over.”

  “In a sense, yeah.”

  “What the hell, ‘in a sense’? Over is over.”

  “There’s Chan,” I said.

  “Yeah, and the cops are working that. And I thought you said he was a prick.”

  “Doesn’t mean someone can get away with killing him.”

  “Righteous Ray.”

  “So why’d you call?”

  “You’re not big on small talk today,” she said.

  “I’m a bit cranky. I’ll give you that.”

  “You’re always a bit cranky. Today I’d say you’re freakin’ ornery.”

  I shook my head. If I believed I had a finite number of words to utter in my lifetime, I was wasting a precious bundle in this conversation.

  “Getting back to my question,” I said. “Why did you call?”

  “Thought you’d never ask. First thing, I found out about Benzer’s parents. They live up in Oroville. The dad runs a little liquor store. The mom’s disabled. From what I can tell they don’t have much. The two of them live above the liquor store in a little one-bedroom apartment. They drive a twenty-year-old Corolla.”

  “How’d you find this out?”

  “Got connections in Chico who got connections in Oroville.”

  “Have.”

  “What?”

  “You have connections in Chico who have connections in Oroville.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  There was no hope. “Go on.”

  “That’s it. They’re poor or pretty darn close to it.”

  “Maybe they’ve got millions squirreled away in a mattress,” I said.

  “Not likely. The liquor store is mortgaged to the hilt. They don’t have squat.”

  I started to end the call, when Rubia interrupted me.

  “Hey, I’ve got more. Got the scoop on the chica, Jolene Gilling-whatever.”

  “Gillingwater. Jolene Gillingwater.”

  “Whatever. Anyway, she checks out.” Rubia ran through Jolene’s employment dates at Los Altos Country Club, Pebble Beach, Auburn Hills and Sacramento Oaks. She graduated magna cum laude from Cal State, Monterey Bay and lettered in golf for four years. Her credit ratings were top notch and she owned her home in Sacramento’s Greenhaven neighborhood. She’d been married once, her husband died of cancer ten years ago. No kids.

  I cursed when she’d finished.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked. “She’s about perfect.”

  Perfect. Except she’d hit on me. And now we were going on a date. The question I grappled with now was how to tell Danny Cashmore.

  I got out of the car and walked into the medical building on Scripps Drive. Dr. Beckly’s office was on the third floor. As I waited at the elevator, I thought more about my dreams the night before. The dreams felt different this time, especially the shooting sequence. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I knew it meant something. A bell dinged announcing the arrival of the elevator car. I turned and walked out of the building, giving me a little over an hour and a half to figure out how to handle my date with Jolene.

  twenty-one

  Hana Tsubaki Restaurant’s parking lot, a long narrow strip of asphalt off J Street in east Sacramento, was packed. I squeezed into a spot between a Ferrari and a Tesla and worried whether their owners might insist I relocate until a more suitable car could ease between the two alpha vehicles. When I noted an Accord on the other side of the Tesla and a Jetta next to the Ferrari, I felt relieved vehicular mediocrity still reigned in this part of town.

  My fingers hovered over the keypad on my cell phone. I wanted to call Rubia to see if she had anything more about the Golden Dragons. Thomas Chan’s murder still nagged me. I had tried doing some Internet research, but turned up just a small mention in Wikipedia under Asian Gangs. Though I did want to learn more about the Dragons and their methods of operation, the real reason I wanted to call Rubia was for moral support, maybe even an offer to join Jolene and me for lunch.

  By my watch, I was five minutes early for our appointed date. I spent the time trying to decide whether to confess to working for Danny Cashmore at the start of lunch or at the end. Either way, it would be awkward. Danny wouldn’t like it, and I wouldn’t blame him. But it was more important to be straight up with Jolene and with Danny, as uncomfortable as doing so would be for me.

  I walked through the doors at precisely twelve forty-five. Though not large, the restaurant packed in a good-sized crowd whose amiable chatter filled the space. Several light box sculptures served as both art and light source in the center of the room, while the dark wood paneling and shoji screens completed an Asian ambience. Jolene sat at one of the simple wooden tables set for two.

  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” I said upon reaching the table.

  “You’re right on time.” She had a glass of white wine in front of her. I liked her confidence, ordering alcohol without worrying what I would think. She wore a simple black silk blouse with a loose collar parted slightly above her sternum. The sparkle from her diamond stud earrings contrasted with the blouse. In the six days since we’d seen each other, I’d obsessed so much about breaking things to Danny I’d forgotten how attractive Jolene was.

  “You’re a woman after my own heart.” I pointed at her wine, immediately regretting the comment. I needed to create distance not connection with this woman.

  “How’ve you been?” she asked once I settled in my seat.

  “Good.” So much had happened since our last meeting. The story about delivering the money to the extortionist could fill up two lunch dates. Then there was the earlier Thomas Chan murder I could regale her with. But I wasn’t here to impress. Polite small talk would be the strategy. “How about you?”

  She reached across the table and put her hand over mine. It felt good, even better than the roving hand Anne had placed on my thigh the night before. “I hope you don’t think it was forward of me to call you. I normally wouldn’t do that. Giving you my number the other day wasn’t usual for me either. You probably don’t believe me, but it’s true.” She looked at me with those clear blue eyes, and I felt myself getting drawn in.

  I smiled. “I don’t think it’s forward at all. I’m flattered you think enough of me to want to have lunch. Thank you.”

  The waitress arrived, a petite Japanese woman with a heavy but cute accent. I ordered a Sapporo beer and asked for another minute on the menu before deciding on lunch.

  “Now that the awkwardness is over, do you mind if I ask a little bit more about you?”

  I did mind, but what could I say? “Of course.”

&nb
sp; “You’re a private investigator. You didn’t mention it the other day.”

  I could feel my face heat up, and I hoped I didn’t redden. “You’re good with a web browser.”

  “I saw the article in the Sac State student newspaper about your retirement. Three-time winner of the school’s teacher-of-the-year award during your career. Not bad.”

  “I had my moments.” I wanted my beer to arrive.

  “If you were such a good teacher, why did you retire? You’re not that old.”

  I smiled at her, a goofy “I don’t know how to say this” smile. “I was accused of sexual harassment.”

  “Oh.” She sat back in her chair and put her hands in her lap.

  “I suppose I should explain.”

  “If you’re comfortable doing so.” Realizing her instinctive reaction to my earlier statement, she moved forward again, resting one forearm on the table as she took hold of the stem of her wine glass.

  “I don’t want to bore you with all the specifics, so I’ll give you the summary version. A student of mine was getting an F in one of my classes. She asked if performing a certain sexual act on me would earn her an A. The proposition shocked me. I told her no and then failed her in the course because she hadn’t done the work. She then went to the communications department chair and told him I had groped her after class one night and asked her to have sex.”

  “So it was a he said, she said thing.”

  “Very much so. The university launched a full investigation. Under careful scrutiny, she couldn’t get her story straight and kept contradicting herself. What’s more, the student had a history of less than stellar behavior. She’d been suspended from two previous colleges for plagiarism and cheating. In the end, they found me innocent of the accusation.”

  “Must have been stressful for you.”

  “It was. I hope you don’t think I’m some sort of deviant or something.”

  She laughed. “What was the sex act she offered?” She took a sip of wine.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “No, that’s okay, I’ll save you the embarrassment.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Oral sex, right?”

  “You’re something else.” I nodded my head and laughed.

  “At least you can laugh about it now.”

  My beer arrived, and I took a long sip. How had I allowed the conversation to go to my sexual harassment case?

  “Is that why you retired? The accusations?”

  “Pretty much. Even though I was exonerated, students talked. My colleagues were even worse. Whispering behind my back. That kind of thing. I didn’t want to deal with it anymore, so I took my pension and left.”

  “Which brings us back to you now being a private investigator. Why didn’t you say something about it?”

  “I don’t know.” Though I did. I didn’t want her to put in her mind I might be investigating her as marriage material for Danny. “I’ve only been at it a year and have just a handful of clients. I’d call myself more of a dabbler at this point than a professional.”

  She smiled. “You’re modest. I saw you were in a shootout. That sounded amazing. And I read about the case you worked on for Lionel Stroud. It’s all pretty impressive stuff.”

  “Again with the Internet, huh?” I drank half my beer.

  “I know. It sounds like I’m stalking you or something. Just curious is all. A girl can’t be too careful when she asks someone to lunch.”

  I refrained from telling her I knew all her employment start and stop dates, when she earned her college degree, her credit scores, how much she owed on her house in Greenhaven, and that she was widowed ten years earlier.

  “Have you been married?” she asked. “Or is that too personal of a question to ask on a first lunch date?”

  “Once. My wife died a little over thirteen years ago. Our daughter Sara is in her second year at UCLA Law School. I miss them both.”

  “I lost my husband ten years ago. To cancer. I know what you mean. I still miss him, too.”

  “I’m sorry.” I cast my eyes to the table in front of me, an image of my wife Pam forming in my mind. As usual, she was smiling, the full of life smile that had drawn me to her in the first place, long ago during our undergraduate days at San Jose State. When I raised my eyes from the table, Jolene’s eyes seemed a bit distant, as if she too had evoked a memory of her spouse.

  The waitress arrived and we ordered. Jolene ordered teriyaki chicken, and I ordered the sesame beef and California roll bento box. When I ordered another beer, Jolene hemmed and hawed about a second glass of wine before deciding to join me.

  “Are you seeing anyone now?” she asked.

  “You do get to the point. I will say that.”

  “I figure at my age, I’m through being coy, playing games, or beating around the bush.”

  I nodded. “No. My last relationship ended a year ago.” I saw no need to elaborate, deciding months ago to never bare the details of my last romance. “How about you?”

  She looked down at her lap and then started to reach for her wine, but the waitress had already removed her empty glass. “I am seeing someone.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” She looked up at me, and we locked eyes. “He’s a nice guy, but he sees more in the relationship than I do. We’ve gone out a couple of months now. I have a good time with him. He’s funny, smart, and likes to do fun things. But I can’t see myself with him long term. I’m planning on breaking it off with him later this week as a matter of fact. He’s hinted at us maybe getting married, so it’s not fair to keep things going the way they are.”

  “You don’t see a future with this guy?” This was my chance to bring up my connection to Danny, to come clean about how I really ended up meeting her at Sacramento Oaks. I started to speak, but Jolene spoke first.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t see a future with him.”

  Again, it was time for me to tell her the truth. “I should probably—”

  The arrival of our waitress with our food and drinks interrupted me. She placed Jolene’s order in front of me, and mine in front of Jolene. By the time we sorted it all out, I’d lost my inclination to bring up Danny, and Jolene appeared to have forgotten I’d started to say something moments before.

  A silence set in as we ate. A minute or two passed, the silence on the verge of awkward. We both reached for our drinks and took long sips. When we saw each other doing so, we laughed.

  “Sorry, Ray. When I invited you to lunch I was thinking some light conversation, maybe talk a little golf, a little weather, and a bit of ‘what about those Kings?’ sprinkled in, but there’s something about you.”

  “What about those Kings?” I said. We laughed again.

  For the next half hour, we enjoyed our food and stayed away from serious topics. Once I decided not to talk about Danny and to simply enjoy being with this attractive and engaging woman, the lunch became a pleasure, albeit a guilty one. I knew this wasn’t a good idea. I knew nothing good would come from Jolene falling for me. I just couldn’t help myself; I was having a good time and didn’t want to ruin it. After our plates were cleared, we finished our drinks and ordered coffee. By now, most of the restaurant had emptied.

  “You’re kind of intriguing, Ray. I can’t figure out if you’re shy, or modest, or what. But I get the sense there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

  “You’re overthinking this. I’m pretty much a simpleton.” I wasn’t referring to my inability to be forthcoming about Danny, but I probably should have been.

  “Oh, I doubt that.”

  She offered to pay the bill because she had invited me to lunch. Call me sexist or old school, but I insisted on paying. Besides, I had a wonderful time. Too wonderful. Jolene was, after all, dating my friend. At least for the moment. For that reason alone, I told myself, I had to keep a respectful distance.

  We walked out to the parking lot, the Ferrari and Tesla long gone. The Jetta I’d spotted ea
rlier was hers.

  “I had a good time,” she said. “Let’s do this again.” She hesitated a beat before she leaned in and kissed me on the lips. And I kissed her back, a kiss that lasted too long and brought too much enjoyment.

  So much for my keeping a respectful distance.

  twenty-two

  No one answered the phone at Chan International. I punched in the number for Benzer’s cell phone Langford had given me earlier. Langford. Though a gasbag, he deserved an apology. Looking back on the past week, things had moved so fast and the Monarch team had been steadfast about keeping a lid on the extortion. Still, Langford had hired me and asked to be kept in the loop. I’d call him once he cooled off in a day or two to explain and apologize.

  Benzer’s phone rang seven times before going to voicemail. I wondered if he recognized my number and was avoiding my call. I had called him before on his cell, so even if caller ID didn’t pop my name, he might recognize the number.

  With the Granderson job completed, and with no other paying gigs, I had time on my hands. I should have let go of Chan, SCS, and everything else related to Granderson. I just couldn’t. A dead young man. A twenty-million-dollar ransom. An angry client in Langford. More questions than answers. Nothing about where things stood satisfied me.

  First, I tried Benzer’s apartment without success. During the ten-minute drive to Chan International, my mind kept returning to my lunch with Jolene. I tried to rationalize my returning her kiss, knowing full well I was kidding myself. She had kissed me first, I told myself. No, I could have stopped it, making it a peck on the mouth instead of a romantic lip lock. She was planning on breaking up with Danny. So what? She was still dating my friend, and I owed it to him to keep my lips off his girlfriend. I liked her. That was irrelevant. Even though I liked her, Danny had hired me to investigate her, not kiss her. I shook my head and sighed a dozen times as I drove and, somehow, I sensed the whole Danny-Jolene business would not turn out well for any of us.