by Alexie Aaron
Calvin waited until the two men walked over to greet them. “Gentlemen, High Court welcomes you. What do you think?”
“It hardly looks like the same place,” Roland had to admit.
“I think your project is going to be a disaster,” Mark said. “Who is going to want to work in a haunted house?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Calvin said. “Before we begin, my security needs to pat you down. I apologize.”
Mark smirked and Roland feigned indignity while the pat down was going on.
“In turn, I ask you to open your shirt,” Roland requested.
Calvin did so.
“Turn around,” Mark ordered.
Mark patted Calvin down, taking his cell phone and turning it off before handing it back to him. “He’s clean.”
“Gentlemen, I think it’s time we had a private conversation. Thank you, Marty, you can leave now.”
“But Mr. Franks…”
“That’s an order,” Calvin said firmly.
The security guard walked away.
“Shall we go someplace where we can be comfortable?” Calvin asked with his hand motioning towards the construction office.
“No. Show us the work that has been done,” Roland said.
“I’d hate to have you walk with that bad leg,” Calvin said, pointing to the cane that Roland was leaning on.
“That’s just for show,” Mark blurted out.
“I don’t understand.”
Roland pulled the cane’s head off, and quickly took the safety off the tiny gun. “It’s small, but I managed to get a tumbler bullet made for it. Why don’t we all just start walking,” Roland said, waving his gun-free hand towards the back cabins.
“You’re not going to find much in the way of studios out this way. We’ve had a few fires and a nasty explosion. Cabin 4 is all but ruins,” Calvin said in a calm voice more akin to a tour guide than a man being force-walked with a pistol to his back.
“Where’s the evidence?” Roland hissed.
“Safe.”
“He means in the safe,” Mark said.
Calvin stopped, turned around, and asked, “What safe?”
“The one in the cellar of Cabin 4. It’s where we used to keep our money. Come to think of it, was there anything in it when you opened it?” Mark asked.
“Sorry, I didn’t open it. I believe it’s setting in lockup until the sheriff can get a safecracker. There’s no safe in Cabin 4’s cellar anymore. There’s no printer or ballots either,” Calvin said, his voice drifting away. He knew he didn’t need to remind the gentlemen about the bodies of Ken Smith and Jason Lake.
“What kind of game are you playing?” Roland asked and warned, “It’s going to get you killed.”
“Why did you come here?” Mark asked. “Why did you put your big city nose into our business?”
“Gentlemen, I would be happy to answer all your questions, but you have to answer mine.”
A tuneful-whistling alerted them that a workman was approaching. It stopped the conversation cold. Roland pulled Calvin back into the pistol.
“And here, gentleman, we will build a wildflower garden,” Calvin said loudly.
Cid walked up and nodded as he passed. He carried a few pieces of trim board.
“How is Cabin 6 coming?” Calvin asked.
Cid stopped and turned around. “All it needs are the walls painted and the floor refinished, sir.”
“Thank you. Is it open?” Calvin asked. “I’d like to show these gentlemen a finished studio.”
“No.” Cid reached in his pocket and drew out a key. “Here, lock up after you leave, and drop the key at security,” he instructed.
“You’re not sticking around?” Mark asked.
Cid looked at the man oddly.
“Sorry, I’m not your boss,” Mark said quickly.
“Go ahead and answer the man, son,” Calvin said quickly.
“We’ve been given the evening off. I was just going to put these back in storage before I go,” he explained.
Roland nudged Calvin in the back with the gun.
“We won’t keep you then,” Calvin said.
Cid left.
“Where to?” Calvin asked.
“Not to Cabin 6,” Roland said, smelling a rat. “Let’s duck in here,” he said, indicating the open courtyard where the office used to be.
Cid watched the hidden camera feeds from the security trailer. He saw the men entering the covered courtyard. “Just as we planned.”
“They were headed for Cabin 6, but you spooked them and herded them into the courtyard where we can film them. You’re either a puppetmaster or a sheepdog,” Jesse commented.
“No, just smarter than most.”
“Evidently, not humble,” Jesse commented.
Roland looked around and was pleased. They would have privacy here. There were no security cameras that he could see and no workmen. He walked over to the center and looked at the odd sculpture in the middle.
Mark shook his head in disgust. He hated modern art. “What the fuck is it supposed to be?”
“It’s not finished,” Calvin said, more surprised by the ebony sculpture than the others. On one side of what appeared to be rock were the face and shoulders of a woman.
“My god, it looks like Luminosa!” Roland exclaimed.
“That’s right,” Calvin said and explained, “I ordered a sculpture of her and her family to be put here. This is going to be a memorial courtyard. I’m hoping this will please her so she will leave the property. I’ve hired a priest. We’ll soon be rid of her.”
“You mean she isn’t gone, and you’ve still managed to do all this reconstruction?” Mark asked.
“Yes,” Calvin answered. “The workers aren’t afraid of ghosts. Are you?”
Mark didn’t answer. He walked away from the sculpture and put Roland and Calvin between it and him.
“Where’s the evidence, and how much do you want for it?” Roland asked.
“I don’t want money. I just want your story,” Calvin answered.
“Story?” Roland asked for clarification.
“Yes. I want you to tell me why you killed a whole family. I can’t control what the sheriff is going to do with his evidence, but mine is much more damaging,” Calvin warned.
Roland looked around him. “Check the place for microphones.”
Mark took out his cell phone and used the light to shine it into the dark corners. He walked around until he was satisfied there weren’t any recording devices.
“You’ll hand over the evidence without strings?” Roland asked.
“As long as you tell me what happened here. You see, I have two of the Bautista children - well, they are adults now - at home who want to know why their mother and siblings were killed.”
“You spent all this money to satisfy two wetbacks?” Mark asked crudely.
“They’re Mexican Americans, and yes, after all, it’s just money,” Calvin said.
Roland took another look around before he said, “Bring the evidence here, and I’ll tell you my part of it.”
“I want Mark’s explanation too.”
“Oh, that’s going to cost you,” Mark said.
Calvin nodded. “How much?”
“I’ll take that Jasper Johns painting you have in your gallery.”
“That’s worth twenty thousand dollars,” Calvin said, outraged.
“It’s only money,” Mark parroted.
“Fine,” Calvin said, irritated. He pulled out his cell and turned it on. As soon as he could, he dialed the gallery. “Barry, bring over that large basket I have in the Mid-Africa suite. Yes, the one with the lid. And crate up the Jasper Johns. Drive them over and ask security to take them to the courtyard for me. I’ve sold them. Yes, it seems like a very profitable day. Thank you.”
Calvin was about to pocket the phone when Mark said, “Hand it over.”
Calvin did so. Mark checked the last number dialed to make sure Calvin had actually called Barry Bonne bef
ore he turned the phone off. This time, he didn’t return it to Calvin. He dropped it in his deep pocket. It rattled before it came to rest beside Mark’s phone.
“While we wait, why don’t you tell us how you became acquainted with the surviving Bautista brats,” Roland suggested.
“Very well. I came here looking to honor a promise I made to my friend Pedro Bautista. He and I were in the same unit in Nam. He asked me to deliver a letter to his family. The letter was lost, and I arrived too late to care for the family. I inquired into where the family had gone and heard about the death of Pedro’s wife and children. I found out that two of the children had survived and were in the foster care system. It took me a while, but I managed to adopt them. It was my way of fulfilling a promise, and in turn, they have given me so much happiness. Silvia and Raúl are okay now. It took years of therapy, but they have become strong adults.”
“You did well by them,” Roland said through his teeth.
“I hope so, but I still knew that I had failed my friend. I happened to be this way on art business and drove by this motel. That’s when I decided that I would make a place to honor the fallen Bautistas.”
“Luminosa was in on the drug trafficking. You spent all this money to honor a dishonorable woman,” Roland said.
“That, you will have to explain,” Calvin insisted.
“Luminosa knew what we were up to. She said she wouldn’t go to the cops if we gave her a cut of the profits. We did. It really wasn’t a problem. There was plenty of money to go around.”
Calvin could have sworn the unfinished statue shivered. He looked away and back at the men. “Is that why you killed her? Because she could connect you two to a small drug empire?” Calvin asked.
“No,” Roland said simply. “It was because of her brat.”
They heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
“Mr. Franks!” Barry called out. “Where are you?”
“In the courtyard!” Calvin called.
“I have the pieces,” Barry said, directing two laborers to set the boxed basket and crated painting down. “Would you like me to display them. I have an easel in the car…”
“No, you can go now.”
“Sir, is everything okay?” Barry asked.
“Yes, son. You can lock up the gallery. I’m going home after this meeting,” Calvin said.
“Yes, sir.”
Barry and the two men left the courtyard followed by Mark. He tailed them to Barry’s car and made sure that the kid left the premises. The two male guards returned to the security trailer. He noticed that, aside from a female guard walking the perimeter, they seemed to be alone. Even the trailers were dark. He smiled and walked over to Roland’s car, reached under the seat, pulled out his .38 Special, and put it in the deep pocket of his black cashmere coat.
The parking and security lights started to turn on as the sun settled in the west. Mark grabbed a phone out of his pocket and turned it on to use it as a flashlight. In his haste, he realized it was Calvin’s phone. He shrugged. “It’s not like he’ll be alive long enough to need it,” he said.
In the security trailer, Cid’s laptop’s monitor lit up. The familiar eyeball appeared for a moment, followed by the small Martian.
Download of Mark Lamb’s phone contents complete. Download of his home computer files commencing.
“We got lucky there,” Cid said. Calvin never got close enough to Lamb for Jake to make the jump. It was just pure luck the man turned it back on.”
Sheriff Grady didn’t exactly know how Cid’s computer man was doing all of this. But if he got results, he didn’t really care.
Be advised, there is a weapon in Mark Lamb’s pocket.
The monitor showed something dark that knocked against Lamb’s pocketed phone that Jake had used to film the contents with.
Grady studied the feed. “I think that’s a .38 Special. I wonder if it’s the .38 Special.”
“The missing gun,” Cid said to remind the others in the room.
Grady took out his phone and texted the information of the second weapon and sent it to his deputies who were already in place.
Mark arrived to find a very agitated Roland. He had Calvin sit down with his hands on his head.
“Did you look at the stuff?” Mark asked.
“I’m only one person,” Roland said. “Would you like me to turn my back on this guy to check out your painting?”
“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” Mark admitted.
“Gentlemen, I’ve done my part. It’s time for you to do yours. Why did you kill Luminosa and her family?” Calvin asked.
Roland knew he was going to kill Calvin, so he didn’t see any reason to hold back. “That fucking kid started it. He tossed stones at us. Hit me in the head. I don’t do well with pain. I never have.”
“Okay, I can see teaching the child not to throw stones, but killing him and his mother?” Calvin challenged.
“Do you want me to stop talking? Because I will,” Roland said.
“No, please continue.”
“It’s just the lack of respect that bothered me the most. Here I was a soon-to-be-elected senator’s son, and someone was chucking rocks at me as if I were an animal. I killed him and his family for being disrespectful.”
“Why didn’t you stop him?” Calvin asked Mark.
“It was fun. I felt so powerful. There I was, a messenger from Death, sending the wetbacks to hell,” Mark said smugly. “You’re a military man; you must have killed many foreigners yourself. The high of watching the fear and then the shock on their faces when you pull the trigger. Miguel was a tough little fucker. He kept up a tirade of insults, even after we had filled his belly with lead. Roland got bored and put a bullet in his forehead to complete our spree. I honestly thought we had all the kids. I mean who has six kids!”
“So, you didn’t spare the little ones,” Calvin prodded.
“Fuck no, we just didn’t know they were there,” Mark said, irritated.
“It would have been a mercy if we did kill them. It must have been a nightmare for them,” Roland said.
Calvin was shocked. It almost seemed like the psychopath was concerned.
“What happened after?” Calvin prodded.
“We went home and helped my father fill out the ballots. About that time, his paid flunky Dodd arrived, demanding that we be taken into custody. Mark’s father was livid, no child of his would be incarcerated. He took Mark personally to the rehab center. Me, I got sent to a boarding school in another state. My father won the election, and then he allowed me to come home. I had a minder for a few years until my father became too busy to remember why I was under house arrest in the first place. He had his run in Washington and then started to groom me. I fell into place, inheriting his seat in the Senate. Aside from the blackmail money the Dodds demanded, first from our parents and then from us, life went on. High Court fell into ruin. Eventually, all would have been forgotten if you hadn’t shown up.”
“Why didn’t you destroy the evidence in Cabin 4’s cellar sooner?” Calvin asked.
“We tried once. That horrible night when Luminosa Bautista’s ghost showed up. I could tell she was going to kill us,” Roland said.
“How would she know who killed her?” Calvin said. “You shot her in the back.”
“That’s right, she wouldn’t,” Roland said, smiling.
“When you started renovating this place, Dodd remembered what his father had left in the cellar of Cabin 4. I think his father left Ken and Jason’s bodies there as insurance. More evidence to keep us paying his bills,” Mark sneered.
“What I don’t get is why a cop’s kid hung out with you?” Calvin asked, buying time.
“Hank always thought he was one of us. He didn’t seem to realize he was being used from the beginning.”
“That ended when you told him otherwise,” Roland said. “It’s your fault we’re in this mess.”
“My fault? You killed our friends and then started in on the wetbacks.
You’re fucking nuts, Roland. It was your father’s need to be important, to get himself a piece of the fucking Washington pie that got us into trouble. We were making a lot of money selling drugs. You cowed down to him. It’s all your fault.”
Calvin slowly inched his way behind the sculpture as the men were engaged in a verbal battle of who was at fault. He needed to make a run for it, but aside from the massive piece of black stone in front of him, there was no cover. Calvin didn’t know why he looked up at the sculpture. It could have been his primal senses kicking in. The ones that let ancient humans know when something was staring at them, sizing them up for a meal.
Calvin looked up, and the carving of the woman had changed. She now looked down at him. Her hand reached down and touched his head tenderly before she gently pushed him away.
“Is that rock moving?” Grady asked, staring at the monitor.
“What rock?” Cid asked.
“That one in the middle of the room. It looks like someone has been working on a sculpture…”
“There’s no sculpture there. Shit! That’s Luminosa. How could I have not seen this sooner?” Cid asked himself. He dialed his phone. “Father Santos, we’ve got a problem.”
Chapter Thirty-three
Roland stopped yelling at Mark. “Where’s Franks?” he asked him, looking around.
“He must have snuck out. He can’t have gone far. Want me to go fetch him?” Mark asked.
“No. Let’s just get the evidence and get the hell out of here.”
Mark walked over and picked up his crated painting.
“Put that down and open the basket,” Roland ordered.
Mark put it down. He opened the box and pulled off the lid. He stared down. “Looks like some envelopes and some evidence bags. And I bet this is Inspector Dodd’s ledger,” he said, lifting out the black book. He opened the book and frowned.
“What’s the matter, is it empty?”
“No. It has all these artists listed and paintings… Fucking hell!” he exclaimed. He grabbed an envelope and ripped it open, not to find Dodd’s notes but blank printer paper. The bags were next, and paint thinner fumes assaulted his nostrils as he unsealed them. “Fucking rags. This isn’t evidence. We’ve been had.” Mark looked down at the crate. He dropped his gun and pried the crate open. There was a painting inside. He used his light to shine in and found it was a cheap velvet painting of Elvis. Mark picked up his gun. “That guy is a dead man!”
