by M. Z. Kelly
I saw Charlie look over at Earl Conners. The head of security stood near the guard shack talking to Mo and Natalie. “How do you suppose he got a moustache like that?” he asked.
“And you would be asking me because?”
He turned back to me. “Just asking. Didn’t mean to imply you have a stash or anything.”
“Well, thanks for that.” I’d called my brother and made an evening appointment for him to see what he could do with my hair. Maybe I also needed to have my lip waxed.
Charlie went on, “It’s just that I’ve been noticing my hair and even my moustache is getting thinner.” He looked at me. “Maybe I should get some of that hair fertilizer.”
“You mean like, Miracle Grow.”
“Something like that, only I probably need to get a prescription. They’ve got a bunch of stuff on the Internet, but I don’t trust it.”
“Why all the concern?” We stopped at our cars.
“I’m not getting any younger and I’ve been thinking about asking that clerk out.”
“You mean, Dorothy, your friend who works in administration?”
He shook his head. “No, the one I met when we stopped by the records division the other day and you gave her that birthday card.”
“Wilma?” I asked, not believing what he’d said.
Wilma Bibby was a records clerk who had helped me out on our last case. She’d had an emotional break-down, dyed her short, spiky hair red, and started wearing tons of makeup. The makeover had left her looking like a scary, middle-aged clown—she might even give Vee a run for her money.
“Yeah, Wilma,” Charlie said. “I think maybe she liked me.”
“Charlie, go kiss some chocolate. Go try to regrow your hair. Go home to your daughter. Go eat a box of donuts.” Of course, I didn’t say any of those things. I just walked away, thinking about how some of us spend our lives looking for love, some of us find it, and some of us wonder if we can hold onto it.
Chapter Thirteen
When Myra arrives the deep shadows of afternoon have reached the park. Her two sisters approach her on the sidewalk.
“We saw her,” Rose says, trying to catch her breath.
“Chloe’s near the trees that border the other side of the park,” Henna adds, pointing in that direction. “She didn’t see us.”
Myra’s anger shifts into high gear. The burning desire to kill pushes everything else from her mind. She moves out, a hunter stalking its prey. “Let’s get her now. She must die.”
Myra imagines she’s soaring above the park, her dark eyes sweeping over the fields below. Her anger and rage are now channeled and locked in, ready to deliver a death sentence.
Her vision narrows. There are children tossing rocks into a stream. A dog strains on his leash, pulling a man down a path. There’s a couple lying on a blanket that’s spread out on the grass sharing a laugh. A kite soars overhead. Then she sees a lone figure in the shadow of the trees. It’s Chloe.
The traitor is sitting on a bench. She looks vulnerable, almost childlike. Her hair is unkempt and she’s wearing the same clothes she had on last night. Myra knows the park is home to Chloe, the place where they’ve spent hours together. Now it will be the place where she dies.
Myra, the hunter, closes in, moving swiftly and silently toward her victim. Chloe’s eyes come up to her. It’s a moment that Myra knows well. That instant when predator and prey become one, joined in the awareness this is a fight for survival. A beat later, Chloe is off sprinting away from her.
Rose and Henna move along the park’s perimeter, flanking Chloe. They also begin to hone in on their target. Myra’s adrenaline surges. She and her sisters are the lionesses, Chloe is the antelope.
Suddenly, up ahead, she sees that Chloe has slowed down and then stops. What’s happening?
Myra’s gaze moves over to the street where she sees the police car. It stops and the officers are getting out. Chloe is walking now, moving closer to the car, closer to the cops. Is she going to tell the officers what’s happening, ask them for help? The hunter stops abruptly and turns away, nodding to Rose and Henna to do the same.
Chloe turns and moves off, walking past the police officers who are now doing a foot patrol through the park. This doesn’t surprise Myra. She and her sisters have encountered the police here before. They always take care to avoid them, leaving the area until they are gone. Myra gives the cops a wide berth, watches them from the sidewalk as they do their sweep through the park.
Ahead, Myra sees that Rose and Henna are picking up their pace again, leaving the park, and following Chloe down the street. She also moves ahead, walking faster, until she catches up with the two women still stalking their prey.
Myra watches as Chloe turns off La Brea onto Sunset and crosses the street. The sidewalk is crowded when she and her sisters reach the intersection. In the distance they see Chloe weaving through the crowd, running up the steps into a church, and disappearing inside.
“Wait here,” Myra says to her sisters.
The hunter moves down the street, following the path Chloe has taken, moving up the steps into the nave of the church. Her eyes move over the sanctuary, seeing there is a scattering of parishioners. She is aware of a musty, ancient odor and the scent of incense. She turns, seeing a woman in the shadows. It’s not Chloe.
***
“I’m Dr. Renner,” the woman says. Myra’s mind tumbles back in time. She sees the psychiatrist talking to her younger self. “I’ve been assigned to your case, Lenore.”
“I don’t understand,” a young Myra says. She is stronger than before, her voice clear and even.
“I’m afraid Dr. Thurston passed away,” the psychiatrist says. “It was unexpected and quite sudden.”
Myra moves her hand up, hiding a smile. It’s been two months since Dr. Thurston began raping her. During that time, Azazel had visited her at the hospital. Myra told him what had been happening. Her beloved took care of the doctor, killing him while he slept in his bed one night. The psychiatrist’s death had been slow and painful, something that pleased Myra immensely.
Myra feels relaxed and comfortable in the presence of the middle-aged psychiatrist. For the first time in weeks she feels the tension in her neck and shoulders beginning to ease.
“Dr. Thurston left some notes,” Dr. Renner says, studying the file on her desk. Her eyes come up to Myra. “He indicated that you never discussed your crime. He said you weren’t cooperative.”
Myra studies the woman for a moment. She knows this is a turning point. If she is to ever leave the hospital, if she is to someday regain her freedom, she needs the psychiatrist’s support. It’s time to talk, time for the truth to come out—at least some of it.
“I never felt comfortable talking about this before,” Myra begins. Her hollow eyes meet the psychiatrist’s and then fall away. She wants Dr. Renner to see her as a victim. “I think I’m ready to talk now.”
Dr. Renner nods, lowers her voice. “I’m ready to listen.”
Myra brushes a tear. “The crime I committed. It was a mistake. I was angry with my foster father for abusing me when I was a child. I think I transferred that anger to my mother because she abandoned me when I was a baby. I was using drugs at the time and just lost control. I wanted to explain that to Dr. Thurston, but…” Myra brings her hands up to her face. She is sobbing.
“Tell me about your foster father,” Dr. Renner says, handing her a tissue.
She takes a moment, composes herself. “He was an angry, violent man who didn’t approve of anything I did. One night he’d been drinking and…” Her words dissolve into tears again.
The psychiatrist comes around her desk, hands her patient another tissue. She pulls up a chair and sits next to her. “Go ahead. Whenever you’re ready.”
The words now come in spasms, between racking sobs. “He took advantage of me…I…I was attacked…then he got angry…put his hands around my neck…I lost consciousness.”
Myra calms herself and looks
at the psychiatrist. “He tried to strangle me.” The tears come again, harder now.
Dr. Renner reaches over, touches Myra’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. But it’s very promising that you’ve finally talked about what happened. This is a major milestone in your recovery.”
Myra composes herself, dabs her tears. She smiles at the psychiatrist. “Thank you for listening and helping me.”
What she’s told the psychiatrist is only a partial version of what really happened, a twisted fabrication of a truth so dark and haunting that it would shock the therapist. There’s more, a great deal more, that she’s holding back. If the shrink learned the whole story, Myra knows that she would never be released from the hospital.
***
The shadows recede. Myra’s mind surfaces and she moves toward the front of the church. She scans the faces of the parishioners, but realizes Chloe is not here. The young woman is gone, somehow escaped.
As Myra leaves the church, there’s only one thing on her mind. The portal, the entrance to the Forbidden World—it must be closed.
Chapter Fourteen
The morning after my meeting with Karma and Harley Porter, there was a knock on the door of my apartment.
After Robin did what he could with my hair and assured me that I didn’t have a moustache, I’d spent a quiet night home alone with Bernie. I watched television and did triage with my bills, paying those I was most delinquent on.
Jack had called on his way to the airport and promised to check in with me when he got back. Despite being exhausted, I had a restless night unsure if our relationship was going anywhere.
I opened the door and Natalie said, “Thought you might like a little chin wag and cup of tea.” Her hazel eyes swept down, taking in my sweatpants and tee shirt. “Hope you didn’t wear them nun-jammies around Jack.”
“He’s out of town.” I showed her into the apartment, knowing that a “chin wag” was Natalie’s way of telling me that she had something on her mind.
Bernie came over and did a tail wag and three twirls. There’s something about guys being around Natalie that makes them all do the horny rooster dance.
“You had any poodle pie lately?” Natalie asked Bernie.
He whined in response.
“I think that means he’s about ready to break into the dog pound,” I said.
I put some water on as Natalie consoled Bernie and settled in. “So Jack’s gone?”
“Has an interview in Washington for a job with Homeland Security.” I couldn’t hide my unhappiness. “I’m a little worried what it might mean for our relationship.”
“You never know. Sometimes a little distance can do wonders.”
I knew she was talking about her and Clyde being separated but still seeing one another. I didn’t want to hear the particulars. She told me anyway.
“Tell ya the truth, I’d be happy as Larry if Clyde would pack up the lunchbox for a few days. Had me enough of that love monkey business.”
I had no idea who Larry was and didn’t want to think about Clyde and his lunchbox, so I changed the subject. “How’s the bodyguard work going?”
“I’m spending some time with Karma, getting to know her. Mo’s been using the zeppelins to work her magic on Earl. They’ve even started working out together.”
“You mean, as in exercising?” I worried that Mo and Earl might become involved, but couldn’t imagine Mo lifting weights.
“Yeah, but Mo’s just on a fish’n mission, spending time with the juice head. Trying to see what he knows about the comings and goings ‘round the estate.”
Yesterday’s meeting with Karma and her FFF came to mind as I poured hot water over tea bags. “I met Barbara Collins, Karma’s business manager. She seems pretty nice. I’m not sure how she fits in with the others, though.”
“She’s married to Karma’s driver, Bobby. Vee’s jealous of her, so she’s not around much.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Vee seems immature and overprotective.”
Natalie sipped her tea. “Just a guess on my part, but I think she likes the lady pie.”
I hadn’t realized that Vee might be a lesbian. I wasn’t sure what, if anything, that meant for my case.
“Had me an idea about doing some undercover work,” Natalie said, after taking a bite of her biscuit. “I talked to Karma and she gave me the thumbs up, but I wanna get your take on it.”
I sipped my tea, worried where this might be headed. “Please don’t tell me this involves guns or an acting class.”
Natalie had convinced me to dress up as the late Cuban crooner and sit-com star Desi Arnaz recently and go with her to an actor’s workshop, something I vowed never to do again.
She smiled in a way that always means trouble. “It’s just a little work with vampires, nuth’n more.” I rolled my eyes as she went on. “I’ve been thinking ‘bout this Myra person who was dick’n the Dawg. She’s into the whole vampire look, so I was thinking ‘bout getting me an outfit, doing some undercover snoop’n.”
“What kind of snooping?”
“There’s this store on Melrose called, Voodoo Mama. It’s where all the heavy metal punks and goth-types hang out, buy their clothes and jewelry. Thought I might see ‘bout getting me a part-time job there.”
“You’re hardly the vampire type.”
“I can change me look quicker than you can drive a stake through a vamps’ heart. Actually, it might be kinda fun to put on a little leather and lace, see what develops. Besides, Halloween’s only a few days away.”
I thought about Natalie being dressed as a vampire. No matter what she wore, Natalie always looked gorgeous. She’d probably have every vampire or vampiress, for that matter, in Hollywood stalking her.
“I don’t know, Natalie. It could be dangerous.”
“Not to worry. It’s the perfect place to hang out, see if anybody knows this Myra girl.”
Natalie was probably right, but the thought of her putting herself in any kind of danger didn’t sit well with me. Then I remembered, Natalie was already acting as Karma’s bodyguard. She might be safer in a vampire store.
“Just be careful.” I said, checking the clock on my counter and realizing I was running behind schedule. “I’ve got to jump in the shower and head for work.”
Natalie ambled to the door. “By the way, Robin called last night. He wants me to introduce him to Karma.”
“What?”
“He’s coming by her place this afternoon. Wants a job as a wig-weaver.” She lowered her voice. “Did you know that Karma has an entire room just for her wigs?”
I didn’t know and I was angry as hell that Robin had gone behind my back.
“See you later, Nat,” I said, closing the door behind her.
***
I was still trying to get over my anger at Robin and my unhappiness over the outfit I’d chosen, when Bernie and I arrived at the station. My navy pinstripe pantsuit was cut wrong and had a baggy fit. The outfit probably made me look like Hillary Clinton. I tried to console myself, thinking that, at least, I wasn’t wearing a green dress that made me feel like I belonged on a lily pad.
I stowed my Gucci handbag in my desk drawer and settled in across from Charlie. Due to budget cutbacks and staffing issues, we’d been allowed to remain in the Hollywood Division station on a temporary basis, even though we’d been officially reassigned to HSS, the Homicide Special Section, stationed in downtown Los Angeles. The crowded, noisy squad room felt like home.
I started to check my messages when I heard a shriek from the break room. I looked up in time to see Jessica Barlow, a shark of a woman who I despise, swim into the squad room.
“You ate my Brown Cow,” Jessica said to Charlie.
My partner looked up at her, wiped his mouth, and smiled. “You’re the first cow I’ve seen in here all morning, Jessica.”
Charlie hated Jessica almost more than me after they were forced to work as partners for a few days while I was on suspension. Jessica and I went to high scho
ol together before she decided to also become a cop and try to ruin my life. The carnivore had a habit of following in my footsteps and had been promoted to RHD at the same time as Charlie and me.
“Funny, fat boy,” Jessica said. “I’m talking about my yogurt. I put it in the fridge when I got here this morning. Now it’s gone.” She took a step closer to him. “Let me see your trash can.”
“Get a warrant.” Charlie kept his legs under his desk blocking any access, where I assumed he had his trash can and the evidence of his crime.
Jessica put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, apparently thinking she could move a couple hundred pounds of what donuts, candy, and a Brown Cow had produced. He pushed her hand away.
“Jessica, why don’t you just let it go,” I said, trying to deflect the confrontation.
“Why don’t you stay out of this,” she fumed.
I found a couple of dollars in my drawer and tossed the bills across the desk to her. “Here, go by yourself another cow. Maybe they’ve got one with a secret ingredient that will give you a personality.”
She snatched up the money and stomped off.
“That woman oughta be locked up,” Charlie said.
I shook my head. “Better sneak what’s left of that cow out of here when no one’s looking.”
“It was just a cup of yogurt. It’s not like I committed a felony.” He pushed back from his desk a bit, slipped a hand down into his trash can, and put the empty container in a drawer. “It’s my damn diet. I’m always hungry.”
I changed the subject because Charlie is always dieting and he’s always hungry. “How’s Irma doing?” Charlie’s sixteen year-old daughter had just moved back home after living with a boyfriend because she said there were too many restrictions at home.
“We’re actually getting along better now. I’m not home as much. I think she likes that.”
“Why is that?” I asked, looking up at him. He had a smile on his face. Charlie almost never smiles.
“Oh, I’ve just been busy with work and everything.”
He still had the smile. “What’s so funny?”
