Murder in the 11th House

by Mitchell Scott Lewis

  She downed the second drink.

  “What the fuck am I going to do? They trashed my whole fucking life.”

  Lowell noticed lottery tickets sticking out of Johnny’s back jeans pocket. He didn’t say anything. But he found it interesting that despite her recent brush with violence she still managed to stop at a bodega and buy those awful things.

  They went back to the townhouse. Melinda agreed to stay over for a few nights to help keep an eye on Johnny. The two were in the den having drinks and snacks. Lowell had gone to bed.

  “Where are you from?”

  “I’m from a little shit town you’ve never heard of. Christ, you wouldn’t even notice if you had passed through it. There’s fewer than a thousand people living there and they got like twelve bars, and they’re full all day and all night long.”

  “What did your father do?”

  “You mean to me? Or for a living?”

  “Was it bad?”

  Johnny sipped her bourbon. “Sometimes. Sometimes it was real bad.”

  Her face tightened.

  “He would hang out in the bars, especially when he wasn’t working. Then he’d come home drunk and beat the crap out of me. He’d say things like ‘I wanted a son. I’m going to make a man out of you if it kills you. Why don’t you have a fucking dick?’ I guess some of it worked its way into me. I call myself Johnny.” She half-smiled.

  “So you came to New York.”

  “When I was eighteen he attacked me for the last time. I took a shovel and smashed him over the head a few times. It didn’t kill him, but I wish it had. I knocked him out and cracked up his face pretty good though. I bet he’s not so handsome anymore. I ran away that day and never looked back.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “What about her? She never did anything to stop him, so what the fuck do I care about her?”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their cocktails.

  “All night long I serve drinks to people who came to New York to become something—a Broadway star, a Wall Street big shot. I came to New York just to be. Just to be me.”

  She looked into Melinda’s eyes.

  “I swore to myself all those years ago that I would live my life, whatever it was, and make the most of it I could. And nobody would ever, ever put their hands on me again if I didn’t want them to.” She gulped the rest. “And now I got stuck in something I got nothing to do with, and they’re still going to get me.”

  “No,” said Melinda, “they’re not.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lowell had the morning news on one of the flat screens in the small downstairs office he maintained in the townhouse.

  “Morning,” said Johnny, as she stuck her head in.

  “You’re in a chipper mood.”

  “Well, I slept great on that amazing bed and hell, I feel terrific.” She walked into the room before he could utter a protest. “Whatcha doing?”

  “I’m looking over the astrology charts of the main characters in our little play.” His desk was littered with several dozen charts and a large pile of perhaps fifty more waiting on the side.

  Johnny picked one up.

  “Hey, this is me. So how does this shi…stuff work?”

  Lowell took the chart from her hand and returned it to the desk. “It’s a little complicated.”

  “Well, can’t you just give me the Cliff Note’s version?”

  Despite himself, the teacher within was forced to answer. “An oversimplification would be to say that astrology is a study of how everything in the universe is connected to everything else and how best to use that knowledge to improve your life. It gives us insight into the personality, and the physical and psychological makeup of the individual.”

  “Okay, so like, what are these numbers?” She picked the chart back up and pointing.

  “Those represent the twelve Houses of the personal zodiac. Each House rules a number of things in our lives.”

  “But there are only twelve Houses, how could that stand for everything?”

  “Many things are more closely related than you think.”

  “Give me an example. What does the 6th House mean?”

  “Well, the 6th House rules health, your place of work, pets.”

  “Oh, and pets are supposed to be good for your health, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Also, if you like your job, that’s probably better for you too, huh?”

  Lowell nodded.

  “Tell me more. What’s the 1st House mean? And what’s it got to do with, say the 2nd House or the 7th House?”

  “The 1st House is you, your personality and the projection of your persona out to the world. The 2nd House is your money and your values. The opposite of the 1st House is the 7th House, which rules your partner, especially in business or marriage. What do you think the 8th House represents?”

  Johnny looked down at the chart. “Your partner’s money?”

  Lowell was just a bit surprised. “That’s right. Okay, if the 10th House rules your career, what would the 11th House rule?”

  “I suppose the money you make from your career. But I know a lot of people who say their career is show business, but they never make any money from it. All they do is slop pigs just like me. So that might not be the money you earn every paycheck, right?”

  “That’s absolutely right.”

  “The money from the 11th House could maybe come from a painting you did twenty years before?”

  Again he was stunned. He had tried to teach that very concept to students of the celestial arts for many months at a time only to meet with blank stares. Lowell smiled. “That’s damn insightful. You’re very bright.”

  “Oh I see, just because I’m a little punked out and I got a lion painted across my tits I must be a stupid bimbo, is that is?”

  “Not at all…”

  “Look, I know I got a mouth like a truck driver and I don’t know how to act like a lady. I didn’t get much of a chance. My old man smacked me around pretty good, and I had to leave school before I even got my high school diploma. But I finally did get it here in New York. I was almost thirty but I got it.” The pride in her voice was unmistakable. “So just because I’m a little rough around the edges doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

  “But you misunderstood. I don’t think you’re stupid at all. The last person I taught who could grasp complete concepts in a single explanation was my daughter. Few get it so quickly as she did. You seem to have a bit of a gift for the celestial arts, and I was surprised, that’s all.”

  “Okay, good. What else does the 11th House rule?”

  “It rules many things, including: friends, long term goals, elected government officials.”

  “Tell me more. What does the 9th House rule, and why don’t I have any planets in it?”

  “Well, the 9th House rules higher education, religion, long journeys, foreigners, in-laws, and the higher mind.”

  “Sorry to interrupt, but you got any wine around here?”

  “In that cabinet,” he said, pointing behind her.

  She opened the door and found about two dozen bottles. After selecting one she took a small corkscrew and expertly removed the cork. Then she grabbed a wineglass from the cabinet and poured herself a healthy glassful. “Very nice,” she said, after sampling it. “Can I pour you some?”

  “No, it’s a little early for me.”

  She shrugged and drank some more.

  “You drink a lot, don’t you?”

  “I’m a bartender. It goes with the territory.”

  She pulled up a chair and watched him work for a while. “You’re, like really rich, huh?”

  “I guess so.”

  “How’d you make
it?”

  He decided there was no harm sharing his story. “I began buying oil futures when they were trading $32 a barrel and sold them at $130. Then I bought them back again at $35 a barrel.

  “How did you know to do that?”

  He smiled. “Astrology. Pluto, the ruler of oil, had just entered Sagittarius, the sign of expansion and unrestricted growth, and I knew it would make the price of oil explode. Once Pluto left Sagittarius and entered Capricorn I knew the price of oil would temporarily drop precipitously.”

  “Wow. And you made all this money just from that?”

  “Well, I also traded gold, currencies, soybeans, and more. Once I had a lot of money it was easier to make more. I just continued to enlarge my trades as they made a profit and my wealth increased.”

  “So, money comes to money, as they say.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Wow, cool.”

  She sipped her wine. “Did you always have the ponytail?”

  “I first grew it in my youth, and then cut it short for many years. I grew it back about ten years ago. Hair is an important means of expression for my generation.”

  “I know. You even have a musical about it.”

  He laughed.

  They discussed astrology, philosophy, and rock ‘n’ roll. Johnny knew a lot of the music from the baby-boomer era and, to her surprise, David was a long-time fan of rock music.

  Johnny was getting antsy. “Any chance of going back to my place so I can salvage whatever is left?”

  “I think we can risk it.”

  ***

  He called Andy and together they took Johnny downtown to her apartment on East Third Street off First Avenue. Andy remained by the car while Lowell escorted her up the three flights to her apartment, or what was left of it.

  It was, as she had said, a total mess. Nothing was left unscathed. The furniture was beaten and broken; the clothes were ripped into rags. There was very little left. David had assumed that whoever had done this was searching for something, but as he walked through the rubble and saw the extent of the damage, he thought perhaps this was not just a search mission, but one of intimidation.

  One thing he did notice was the hundreds and hundreds of lottery tickets spewed all over the room. Some were in piles with rubber bands around them, others were mavericks tossed everywhere. He thought about discussing it, but there would be a better time to bring it up.

  Johnny picked up the remains of her clothes, trying to recover what she could. They were about to leave when she spied a small notebook partially buried underneath the debris. She reached under some ripped up sheets and pulled the book out. It was still intact.

  “Well,” she said, flipping through the pages, “at least my poetry survived.”

  “Poetry?”

  “Yeah. Why? I can’t write poetry?”

  Lowell shrugged. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

  Johnny picked up a few more things, tossed them all into a plastic bag, and they left.

  “I have nothing now,” she said, as they walked down the stairs.

  Back in the limo she became uncharacteristically quiet. They rode back to the townhouse in silence.

  When they were home, Lowell went down to the office and called Lieutenant Roland.

  “Someone trashed Johnny Colbert’s apartment and chased her out of the building. They destroyed everything.”

  “We got the warrant day before yesterday and searched it about four-thirty in the afternoon. We left it more or less as we found it. Nothing was damaged. A few things may have been out of place, but nothing like you’re describing.”

  “Well, somebody tore it to shreds.”

  “I was going to call you anyway today. I thought you’d like to know that when we searched her place we did find a detonator just like the one used to kill the judge.”

  “Where did you find it?”

  “In a shoebox on a shelf in her closet.”

  “Seems a bit fortuitous, doesn’t it?” asked Lowell. “I assume you dusted it for fingerprints. Did you find any?”

  “No.”

  “None at all?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t you find that a little strange?”

  “Not really. She was afraid we might find it and could tie it to her.”

  “But you did find it. In fact, you found it in her apartment. Why would she wipe off her fingerprints but leave it right where you could find it?”

  “It was hidden,” said the policeman.

  “It was in a shoebox on a closet shelf where anyone could have found it. How long did it take your men to uncover this mastermind’s hiding place?”

  “Maybe she was planning to get rid of it and didn’t expect us to catch up to her so fast.”

  “Maybe. And maybe someone else left it there just in case you looked. It just seems funny to me that someone would make and plant a bomb, avoid getting caught in the act, and then leave an extra detonator for anyone to find. Did you find any of the explosives in her apartment?”

  “No, we didn’t.”

  “And didn’t that seem a bit odd to you that she would have a detonator and no explosives?”

  “We assume she kept the plastique somewhere else.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe for safety purposes.”

  “Maybe.”

  “We sent the box to the lab for further analysis,” said Roland. “If you like, I’ll have someone email you a copy of the report.”

  “Thank you, I would appreciate that.”

  “Well, I just thought you’d like to know.”

  Lowell hung up just as Mort entered.

  “That sounded interesting.”

  “That was Lieutenant Roland. They found a detonator in Johnny’s apartment in a shoebox on a shelf in her closet.”

  “Wasn’t that thoughtful of her to leave it there for them to find?”

  Lowell nodded.

  “Still, she is a little strange,” said Mort, as he flapped his arms up and down.

  “Yes, she is a little strange,” said Lowell, as he watched his friend and tried hard not to laugh.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rush hour was in full swing that evening as Melinda walked out of the courthouse. She was about to head uptown when Lowell walked up and took her arm.

  “I thought I’d come down and escort you.”

  “Don’t surprise me like that. Where’s Andy?”

  “Why don’t we walk for a while,” said Lowell. “I can call him anytime. He’s in the neighborhood somewhere.”

  They strolled up Lafayette Street, an older, quieter part of the city, pretty much untouched by the recent massive wave of urban renewal and expansion that had taken over the consciousness of New York. Lowell liked it down here. There was something comforting about buildings that had been there for a hundred years or more.

  “How is your investigation going?”

  “Not so good. I spoke to Lieutenant Roland. They found a detonator when they searched her place.”

  “What?”

  “It was left more or less out in the open so they could find it. It looks like it was planted.”

  “I’m worried. I really don’t believe she did it, but I might not be able to prove it.”

  She took her dad’s arm in hers and leaned against him as they walked uptown.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll find a way out of this. It’s just a matter of being prepared for what life can throw at you.”

  “I know. That’s the same lesson you’ve been trying to teach me since I was a little girl.”

  “It’s one of the few lessons that really count.”

  They walked a few blocks when they heard a voice behind them.
/>   “Hey, buddy, got a light?”

  Lowell and Melinda turned and faced a man with a short-nosed gun in his right hand.

  “All right, just give me your wallet and nobody gets hurt.”

  “Sure pal,” said Lowell, “just don’t get crazy.”

  He took a wallet out of his coat pocket and started to hand it to the man.

  “Dad, what are you doing?”

  “Teaching you the same lesson again.”

  “Hey,” said the gunman, “shut the fuck up and give me the wallet.”

  Lowell handed it to the man. He looked through it, saw a bunch of bills and credit cards, and smiled a satisfied grin. Then he ran down the street, clutching his prize like a street mongrel with a pilfered bone.

  “Why did you give it to him?” asked Melinda, when the man had disappeared.

  “It’s all about being prepared. That was a wallet I bought on the street for five dollars. It has a few bucks, some phony mock-up paper credit cards and some false documents to give it the illusion of purpose.”

  “You had a decoy wallet with you? Why on earth would you?”

  Lowell looked at her and smiled. “If you understood, I wouldn’t have to keep teaching you the same lesson.”

  “You know, dad, you never cease to amaze me.”

  “And I hope I never do.”

  They continued walking up Lafayette Street, until they came to a small bistro housed on the bottom floor of an old building. Lowell stopped.

  “This is where I first took your mother for coffee.” He laughed. “I was so broke that when she ordered a cappuccino I had to count my change to make sure I could afford to pay.” He looked up at the grand old structure for a few minutes. “I wonder how long it’ll take them to tear this down.” Nostalgia washed over him like a warm summer rain. “Oh, well,” he finally said, “let’s move on.”

  About a block further north the same man came out of the side street.

  “Hey,” he shouted.

  Lowell stopped and sighed. “What do you want now?”

  “I want the real wallet. You think I’m stupid or blind?”

  “Which question do you want answered first.”