by Sharon Sala
“I’m overwhelmed. I’ve spent most of life in hiding, only to have most of my ghosts show up all at once.”
“I can only imagine how you feel. I don’t think I can grasp the immensity of what it means to you.”
She looked down at the tiny print on the coverlet, absently rubbing her fingers over the slightly raised designs.
“You used to do that when you were little,” Sam said.
She looked up. “Do what?”
“Feel textures and shapes. Your mother had a pale blue chenille robe that you used to love. She wore it most nights when she was putting you to bed. You used to run your fingers over and over it.”
Jade smiled. Even though she didn’t remember doing that, it was comforting to think she had a history with this man. Then her thoughts shifted as she sat up straight and looked—really looked—at her dad.
“You know something, Daddy? You’re very handsome.”
Sam was a bit taken aback. “Why, thank you, honey.”
“I’ll bet you had lots of opportunities over the years to remarry. Why didn’t you?”
He took her hand then, unaware that his smile was as sad as, if not sadder than the expression in his eyes.
“I guess because I loved your mother.”
“Do you still?”
He thought about it, then frowned. “I love the memories of the times we had, but since your return, my feelings for her have certainly gone through a transformation.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Sam said. “All those years, I consoled myself with the thought that you two were alive and well and, if not living together, were in constant contact as parents and children should be. What she did to you was so careless…so thoughtless…and brought you to such unimaginable harm, that I can never think of her the same way again.” Then he patted her hand to soften the blow. “Having said that, I must congratulate you on growing into such a marvelous woman. She would have been proud of you, as I am.”
“Oh, Daddy, I wish I was as proud of myself as you are.”
“You will be,” Sam said.
She glanced at him quickly, then looked away. The silence grew between them until she finally spoke.
“There was a large free-standing mirror in Solomon’s room in the house we lived in last…before Raphael and I ran. He used to take us, one by one, into that room and stand us naked before it. We couldn’t look away from our own image or get away from his voice. And he would tell us over and over as we looked that we were ugly and that no one loved us but him.” Jade looked up then, managing a smile to soften what she was saying. “But even then, I knew he was wrong. You know why?”
Too upset by what she was saying, he could only shake his head.
“Because someone else did love me.”
Understanding dawned. “Raphael.”
She nodded. “Yes, Raphael. My Rafie. He was my brother, my family, my best friend. He never knew where he came from, but we suspected later, when we were older, that he was someone like me…someone whose mother had fallen in with the People, then died, or maybe just left, leaving him behind without caring what might happen. He didn’t even have a last name. At least I knew that much about myself.”
“I’m so sorry he’s gone,” Sam said. “I know what a hole that left in your heart.”
Tears welled but didn’t fall. “I want you to know how wonderful he was and how much he cared, because the more people who know about him, the less likely it is that he’ll be forgotten. I don’t think I could bear that.” Then she laughed softly. “There were times all through our lives when I thought he might have wished he’d left me behind when he ran.”
“Why?”
“Think about it,” she said. “I was barely twelve when we got away from Solomon. My body was changing, both inside and out.” Then she laughed aloud. “Oh, I knew about what would happen when I reached puberty. One of the women with the People had taken it upon herself to tell me that. But I didn’t know how to go about doing anything for it. When I started my period, somehow Rafie came up with the necessary goods, but neither of us really knew what to do with them. You should have seen us reading those instructions, then trying to figure it out. Oh Lord, he was red in the face for days afterward.” Her smile ended. “But he never quit on me. Somehow I got through that, as well as first bras and learning how to shave my legs…and, well, the memories go on and on. Always him. Always there.”
Sam felt sick, but he made himself smile with her. His baby girl had literally grown up without him. Then he amended the thought. Thank God she’d lived to grow up.
“When did you first know you could draw?” he asked.
“Oh, way back. When I was still with the People. There was a man who called himself Love Bug. Can you believe it? Anyway, he was always painting whatever vehicles we drove…you know, those horrible bright colors with the flowers and psychedelic designs? One day he caught me painting the fender of the van, but instead of getting me in trouble, he encouraged me. Said it was good. After that, they let me decorate the walls inside the houses, at least, as far up as I could reach.”
“Amazing.”
“No. What was amazing was that it kept Raphael and me alive.”
“There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you, but—”
“Ask,” she said. “It makes it easier for me if you know what I know.”
“You have a scar. I didn’t know.”
Her expression went flat, but she didn’t look away.
“I don’t remember much about being cut, only knowing afterward that it had happened. I was almost unconscious from the beating before Raphael stopped…Uncle Frank. If he hadn’t, I don’t think I would have survived.”
“Did Solomon take you to the hospital?”
Jade rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding. Someone would have asked him how it happened, then someone else would have wanted to know if he was my father, and he knew that I wouldn’t lie for him.”
“Then how—”
“When Raphael took me away, we stole one of the People’s vans. He also stole some of Solomon’s money. I have a vague memory of being treated at some emergency room in a huge hospital. The waiting area was so crowded that some people were standing, while others were sitting on the floor. Rafie told me that when he came running in with me, they snatched me out of his hands and took me away. He followed, told them he was my brother and that our father had done this while he was drunk. They had seen worse. They sewed me up, treated the bruising and abrasions, and told him to wait with me, that a policeman was on the way to take our story. Then they got busy, and as soon as he could, he stuffed his pockets with all the antibiotic ointments he could find, pocketed some syringes and some penicillin, and carried me out without anyone noticing.”
Sam’s shoulders slumped. “I am so sorry that his life had to end as it did, but I want you to know. Had he been well, I would have been proud to have him as a member of our family.”
Jade threw her arms around Sam’s neck and then just held on. There were no words for what she was feeling—only love and pride. Despite the hardships she had endured, she considered herself very blessed for the three remarkable men in her life. Her father, then Raphael, and now Luke.
One had given her life, then loved her enough to never quit looking for her. The second had loved her and kept her alive at the expense of himself. And Luke had looked beyond her emotional scars to the woman beneath and was teaching her how to live again.
Now it was up to her to do her part. Tomorrow was her first session with Antonia DiMatto, and no matter how painful it was, she was holding nothing back.
It was nearing sunset when Fred Drury and Amelia Ruiz pulled up in front of a building down on the Sunset Strip. The faint lettering on the brick above the doorway told them it had once been a tailoring shop. But from the look of it now, it was, at best, a flop-house.
Otis Jacks’ phone records had turned up an interesting coincidence that they couldn’t ignore. It w
as the phone number for a man who called himself Leonardo Da Vinci. Forger by name and by trade, since his given name was Truman Hollowell. The address that coincided with the phone number was on the third floor of this building.
“Don’t touch the walls,” Ruiz warned, as she and Drury started up the stairs to the third floor landing.
“Shit…don’t breathe the air,” Drury countered.
Ruiz grinned. “Sissy. This is nothing. You should have started out in Vice, like me.”
“Just knock on the damned door,” Drury whispered. “I’ve got you covered.”
Ruiz doubled up her fist and then pounded on the door.
“Who is it?” a man called.
She shifted her voice to a higher pitch and let her speech flow back into a streetwise cadence.
“Señor…you let me in. I need some papers…the INS…they on my tail.”
Due to a lack of physical exercise, given both his job and his love of food, Truman Hollowell was a very obese man. It took him a couple of minutes to get up from his chair and to the door. He wasn’t expecting the badges Ruiz and Drury shoved in his face.
“We need to talk,” Drury said, as he pushed his way past Truman and into the room.
“You got a search warrant? You need a search warrant!” Truman shouted.
“Why?” Ruiz asked. “We don’t want to search you. We just need to ask you some questions.”
“I ain’t talkin’ to no cops,” Truman said.
“You either talk here or down at the station. It’s your call,” Drury said.
Truman cursed. He hadn’t left his apartment in years and wasn’t even sure he could get through the door.
“What the hell do you want, then?” he asked.
“You know a man named Otis Jacks?”
“No.”
“That’s strange. According to his phone records, he called you three times last week.”
“Maybe it was a wrong number,” Truman said.
“Look, Da Vinci, tell us what we need to know and we’ll forget we were here. Fuck with us, and we’ll get that search warrant, and I’m willing to bet you’ll be spending the next few years in another kind of cell.”
Truman glared. He hated mouthy women, but she had a point.
“So what if I know Jacks?”
“What do you think, Drury? Do you think he’s trying to be helpful, or do you think we oughta call for that warrant?”
“I’m not hearing anything helpful,” Drury said.
“Fuck!” Truman yelled. “Quit playing with me and ask me the goddamned questions.”
Drury leaned forward, getting in Truman’s space.
“You did a job for Otis Jacks. We need to know the name of his new identity, and we need it now.”
Truman frowned. “What do I get if I tell you?”
“Peace and quiet,” Ruiz said.
“Truth?” Truman asked.
She shrugged. “If you tell us what we want to know…truth.”
He turned back to his worktable, holding on to the back of his sofa until he reached it. Then he pulled out a stack of papers, shuffled through it and then removed a single sheet.
“Myron Handleman. Credit cards. Driver’s license. Passport.”
“No social security card?” Drury asked.
“Social security doesn’t exist where he’s going,” Truman said.
The moment Ruiz heard the name, she was back on the phone to LAX. It didn’t take her long to get the info she needed. She gave Drury the thumbs-up.
Drury eyed the stack of papers in Truman Hollowell’s hand. Truman saw the look and stuffed them back underneath the desk.
“You promised,” he warned.
“Come on, Drury, let’s get out of here,” Ruiz said.
Drury shrugged, then took a handful of the pens Truman used to perform his craft and dropped them in the floor at Truman’s feet.
Truman started to curse. Drury was still grinning as he shut the door behind him, knowing how difficult it would be for a man Hollowell’s size to pick up anything off the floor.
“Did you have to do that?” Ruiz asked as they hurried down the stairs.
“He’s lucky we didn’t arrest him,” Drury said.
“We’re the lucky ones,” Ruiz said. “I don’t think we could have gotten him out of the door.”
Drury’s eyes widened; then he grinned. “Damn. I didn’t think of that.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Ruiz said. “Someone has to have the brains.”
“Where to?” Drury asked, as he slid behind the wheel.
“LAX,” Ruiz said. “And you’ll never guess what. Our man is already in custody, awaiting the arrival of the Feds.”
“Why?”
“Caused a ruckus when he found out his flight had been canceled, and then it turned out his ID was phoney.”
Drury’s grin widened. “And got himself arrested?”
“The term they used was ‘detained.”’
“Call Captain Warren,” Drury said.
Ruiz took her cell phone back out of her pocket and called the station.
“Captain, it’s Ruiz. We’ve located Otis Jacks.”
“Great. Are you bringing him in?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “He’s at LAX, being detained by security. The Feds are on their way to interrogate him.”
“Why?” Warren asked.
“He threw some kind of fit when his flight was canceled, then gave them a phony ID.”
Warren chuckled. “I’ll bet he did. Go to LAX. Stay with him. Luke Kelly will be there soon. Have security meet him and take him in. Don’t leave Kelly alone with him. He has a personal interest in seeing this man come to justice, and he might not want to wait for the judicial system to do its thing.”
“Yes, sir,” Ruiz said. “What about the Feds?”
“I’ll make some calls.”
“Yes, sir,” then she disconnected.
“What?” Drury asked.
“Keep driving. Kelly is going to meet us there, and the Captain is trying to delay the Feds.”
Drury nodded and stomped on the accelerator.
Sam’s jet was on the ground and had taxied to a stop when Luke’s cell phone rang.
“Luke Kelly.”
“Mr. Kelly…Captain Warren here. We have some good news for you. Airport security has Otis Jacks in custody.”
Luke couldn’t believe it could be this easy. “What? Why?”
“He lost his cool when all flights were delayed due to weather. The Feds are on their way to interrogate him, but so are two of my people. Detectives Ruiz and Drury will be meeting you at the security office.”
“Thank you, Captain Warren. More than you can know.”
“No problem,” Warren said. “Happy we could help get filth like that off the streets.”
Luke hurried through the plane to the cockpit. The pilot turned around.
“Do you need something, sir?”
“Fuel up and then get some rest. I want to get out of here as soon as we can.”
“Yes, sir. But…we were one of the last planes allowed to land, because of the storm. We may be delayed in leaving.”
Luke glanced up at the sky and frowned. “Do what you can,” he said.
The pilot nodded. “I’ll file the flight plans now. We’ll be ready to leave when you say.”
“Thanks,” Luke said, and then headed for the terminal.
Twenty-Three
Otis was convinced his luck couldn’t get much worse, and then the door opened. He looked up. He didn’t recognize the trio that came in, but he assumed they were FBI.
“Sorry I can’t offer you any refreshments, but I’m otherwise occupied,” he drawled, and then showed him his handcuffs, as if they were a joke.
Luke stayed where he was, staring intently at the man, as Ruiz and Drury moved forward. Jade’s drawing might be of a much younger man, but the resemblance was unmistakable. The hate that came with that knowledge was startling. He could h
ave killed him where he sat and never looked back. But that wasn’t going to happen.
Ruiz and Drury got to the table, flashed their badges and identified themselves, then pulled out two chairs and sat down.
“Otis, you’re a hard man to run down,” Ruiz said.
Otis was relieved to see that they were LAPD, rather than Feds. Given this situation, he wasn’t ready to admit to being Otis Jacks, since he had a wad of identification that said otherwise. He frowned, then leaned forward, putting himself in their space.
“I’m sorry, my name is Myron Handleman. You have me confused with someone else.”
“That’s not what Truman said.”
Otis frowned. “Who?”
“Oh…sorry…maybe you call him Leonardo. He’s such a faker.”
Otis blanched. Leonardo had double-crossed him.
“I still don’t—”
Luke moved into Otis’s view.
“Save it,” he said, then slapped Jade’s drawing on the table before him.
Otis stared at the picture in disbelief. “Where did you get that?”
“From the artist.”
“I never sat for any artist,” Otis said.
“Then you admit that’s you,” Ruiz said.
Otis gasped. He’d just screwed himself.
“I—”
“Save it, Mr. Jacks. You’re not going anywhere, and we all know it. My suggestion would be to start thinking of your best way out of this mess, and lying isn’t going to do it.”
Otis shuddered. He had a sudden need to pee.
“I need a bathroom,” he mumbled.
“We don’t always get what we need, do we?” Luke asked.
“What do you mean?” Otis asked.
“Remember a little girl named Jade?”
Otis felt sick. Black hair, blue eyes. Tiny, fragile body. “Never heard of her.”
“That’s strange,” Luke said. “She remembers you very well. So well that she drew that picture of you as you were during your years with the People of Joy.”
Now nausea was warring with his need to urinate.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled. “I need to go to the bathroom now.”
“How many times did Jade and all those other children beg you for mercy? How many times did they plead with you not to take them to the purple room?”
