by Dan Ames
Mary looked at the suitcase, and then at her car, then at the piece of paper in her hand. The address was right on the border with Mexico.
Hmmm, she thought. Driving toward Mexico with a suitcase full of cash.
Sounded like a party.
42
Forty-two
It took her nearly three hours to get to Imperial Beach, a little town south of San Diego, a stone’s throw from the border and Tijuana, Mexico.
Imperial Beach was considered a beach and surfing town, but parts of it were downright dangerous and scary.
Mary followed her navigation to the drop location—a parking lot near a military range.
Maybe they’re going to send a few missiles my way after they get the money, Mary thought.
Or a drone strike.
She parked the car and waited.
There was no question she was being watched. The sensation picked at her, like hints of impending doom. She had no backup. Jake was usually her ace-in-the-hole, but with him not answering her phone calls, she now thought of him as an ass-in-the-hole.
Her cell phone rang.
Mary glanced at the caller’s number. It was one she didn’t recognize.
Mary answered and a highly synthesized voice told her to take the suitcase out of the car.
“Yes sir,” Mary said.
She got out, popped the trunk, lifted out the suitcase and set it on the ground.
A black Chevy Impala with tinted windows and black wheel rims pulled in next to her.
Two men got out.
One was a short, fat, swarthy man in dress slacks and a black T-shirt with prison tats covering every exposed inch of skin, including his neck and half of his face. His hands had been in his pockets when he got out of the car.
The other was Derek Jarvis.
He smiled at Mary.
“I know you’ve got my money,” he said. He shook his head. “I know all of Veronica’s moves. Even hiring that other bitch. So stupid.”
The fat man now took his right hand out of his pocket and along with it came an automatic. An ugly little thing, probably a .38 or maybe even a .22.
“So I think I have it figured out,” Mary said. “Buslipp and Trey Williams must have found out who Nina really was. “
“Apparently she liked to talk during sex.” Jarvis said. “I’m pissed I never got the chance to find out for myself.”
“She probably would’ve just said, ‘that’s not it! That’s not it! That’s not it!’” Mary said. “But seriously, she told one of those two idiots, and they decided they could make more money blackmailing the Baxters than trying to get her a film career.”
Jarvis nodded knowingly.
“It didn’t help that Buslipp’s heroin habit was out of control, and he was in deep debt to these guys,” he said, jerking a thumb at the fat man next to him. “Ever met a member of MS-13 before?”
Mary knew of the legendary gang—if you lived in Los Angeles, you certainly knew.
“I think I met one before,” she said, thinking of the ambush at Lonzo Vega’s address. “Have to say they don’t take kindly meeting new people.”
“Enough talk,” Jarvis said. “Show me the money.”
Mary didn’t move.
“So you tracked down Buslipp and Williams, and rather than busting them, you took over the operation?”
“I can’t stand unprofessionalism,” Jarvis said. “That’s why I immediately disliked you.”
“You took care of Williams at Styx. What about Buslipp?”
Jarvis smiled. “Oh, he’s around.”
“And the ambush at the house?”
“Hey, once you went to Sol Landscaping, we knew you might track down Lonzo, so we put a guy at the house just in case you showed up. Sure enough, you did.”
The rest of it fell into place for Mary.
“So the guy at the landscaping place I chased—”
“Nina’s biological father?” Jarvis said. “Absolutely. I tell you, Veronica really slummed around back then, didn’t she?”
It was a wild guess, but Mary took it anyway.
“Except for you, right? You hit on her, I bet, and she turned you down. You just bided your time, right?”
For once, the smug smile on Jarvis’ face was gone, replaced with gritty rage.
“Those two assholes deserve each other. She’s a bitch and he’s a moron. Fuck both of them,” Jarvis said.
Behind them, an explosion sounded from the artillery range. Jarvis didn’t flinch, but the fat one did.
It was all Mary needed. She drew her .45 and shot the fat one center mass.
Jarvis had his pistol out of his shoulder rig, but Mary was faster and pumped two rounds straight into his heart. Double tap.
He looked at her, his bright-blue eyes wide with surprise. Mary approached the Impala, her gun still at the ready.
There was a shape in the backseat behind the privacy glass. Mary held the .45 ready, squatted down, and pulled open the door.
She glanced up and saw a man whose wrists and ankles were tied, and whose face had been worked over so badly it looked like one giant blood splatter.
Still, Mary recognized what was left.
“Well, if it isn’t Vince Buslipp,” she said.
The body groaned.
“How’s your day going so far?” Mary said.
43
Forty-three
She put him in her passenger seat and got the hell out of Dodge.
It was likely that homeowners in the general area of the military range wouldn’t be calling the cops at the sound of a few gunshots. Still, there was no point in taking chances.
“I need to go to a hospital,” Buslipp said through his mangled lips.
“That’s for sure,” Mary said. “Your face looks like someone puked up a few cans of Spam.”
“Are you taking me to an emergency room?” he said.
“Fuck no, you worthless piece of shit,” she said. “I’m taking you out into the desert where I’m going to shoot you and bury you.”
Buslipp’s lopsided head lolled forward.
“Please,” he said.
Mary thought back to the first time she met him—what an arrogant prick he’d been at ExtReam Productions.
“Look, asshole,” she said. “I know that you know where Nina Ramirez is.”
“Awwww,” Buslipp groaned.
Mary drove with one hand. With the other, she put the muzzle of her gun against Buslipp’s temple.
“Where. Is. She.”
”I . . . we . . . sold her,” Buslipp said.
“To who?”
“They did. The MS-13 guys.”
“So you were never going to give Nina back to her mother?”
“I wanted to, but they said they could make more money selling her to . . .”
“To who?” Mary said. She pressed the gun even harder into Buslipp’s face.
“Some horrible people,” Buslipp said.
“Unlike you?”
“I think they’re doing it tonight, out in the desert. Sometime tonight,” he said. “They wanted to wait until the money was in hand, just in case.”
“What are they doing tonight?” Mary said.
Buslipp groaned.
“They’re filming,” he said.
“What are they filming?” Mary said, expecting porn to be the answer.
“Her murder,” Buslipp said.
44
Forty-four
The Salton Sea is the largest lake in California, and it is a disaster. Originally created by the flooding of the Colorado River, it has seen various attempts at rehabilitation over the past one hundred years, at least.
All to no avail.
It is a huge body of water that has a higher salt content than the Pacific Ocean. Most of the fish are dead, and the birds are worried.
Mary drove through the desert, circling the lake, following Buslipp’s directions and trying to restrain herself from putting a bullet through his head and feeding
him to the coyotes.
“I didn’t know,” Buslipp said.
“Fuck you,” Mary said. “You knew goddamn well who you were selling her to. You are a filthy, sick bastard.”
He had told her they were probably making the snuff film at a place the illegal pornographers used for their illegal productions. If you wanted to make kiddie porn, film violence, and maybe even shoot a snuff film every year or so, this was the place you went.
The little porn complex was a series of aluminum farm buildings and trailers that represented the only signs of human habitation in the area.
It took her nearly a half hour to find it.
“Well, we’re here,” Mary said, and whipped the barrel of her .45 against Buslipp’s temple. He flopped forward and fell against the dashboard like a tree limb that had been freed by a chainsaw.
She got out of the car and circled the biggest and most centrally located warehouse, although it looked like little more than an overgrown metal garage.
There were no windows, and two doors, one on what was probably the front and another in the back corner.
She figured the front would be locked so she tried the back door.
It was locked.
A generator sat behind the building, with thick cables running through a temporary patch in the side of the building.
Mary found her way to a hinged panel next to the part of the generator that had the cables attached.
She unclasped the lid, lifted it, and saw a vast array of switches.
In the dark, she couldn’t make out any identifying marks, so she turned each one in the opposite direction.
Immediately, the generator stopped and started making strange noises.
She repositioned herself by the back door.
In a matter of minutes, the door opened, and a man wearing jeans and a T-shirt emerged. He headed straight for the generator, cursing under his breath. Mary clocked him on the head with her .45, went back to the door, and slipped inside the building.
45
Forty-five
It was an image she instantly knew she would never forget.
A camera on a tripod, two large stands with giant lights on them, and a bed.
On the bare mattress was Nina Ramirez, her legs spread and tied to the corners of the bedposts, her arms also bound, behind her head.
To the right of the camera, propped up against equipment crates was another person with his arms tied behind his back and a strip of duct tape across his mouth. She recognized this person.
Jake.
Two men stood next to the camera. One looked like a security guard. And the second man was tiny, couldn’t have been more than five feet tall.
“Freeze!” she yelled out.
The security guard spun toward Mary, reaching for the gun that was holstered on his hip.
He stopped when he saw the muzzle of Mary’s gun pointing at him.
She kept her gun on the big man, went to Jake, and pulled the duct tape from his mouth.
“Congrats on landing the part,” Mary said. “Lend me a hand here?”
“There’s a utility knife right there,” he said, pointing with his chin toward a metal table off to the side of the stage.
Mary kept her gun trained on the two men as she grabbed the knife and cut the ropes on Jake’s hands.
She carefully handed him her gun and pulled the small pistol from her ankle holster. While Jake covered the two near the camera, she went to Nina.
Mary cut the girl’s restraints and pulled the gag from the girl’s mouth.
“It’s going to be okay,” Mary said.
Nina whimpered something Mary couldn’t understand. She saw a blanket on the floor next to the bed, picked it up, and helped Nina cover herself with it.
“Let’s make some arrests,” Mary said to Jake, who was already moving toward the two men still standing by the camera.
“Put down the gun, Paolo,” Jake said.
“Fucking Drag Ass is a cop,” the little man said.
“Shut up, Morrison, you little piece of shit,” Jake said.
The back door banged open, and Vince Buslipp stumbled inside.
“Cops!” he shouted.
The man Jake had called Paolo lunged forward with his gun in his hand, but Jake was faster and shot him. The bullet hit the big man high, taking out most of his forehead and causing him to spin, his finger pulling the trigger and spraying bullets around the warehouse.
Mary ducked and watched as a round caught Buslipp in the throat. He dropped to his knees, blood spraying from his neck. The little man raced for the door, but Jake tripped him with his hand, causing him to fall on his face.
Jake got to his feet and kicked the little man in the ribs.
“And that’s a wrap,” he said, giving Morrison another kick, this time in the belly.
The door burst open again and cops filled the room, with Jake meeting them at the door.
Mary caught a glimpse of Lieutenant Arianna Davies’s pale face. Typical, she thought. A day late and a dollar short.
She went back to Nina, who was trying to sit up and hugged the girl. “It’s over, Nina,” Mary said. The girl’s face was pale and disoriented, she had obviously been drugged.
“It’s okay,” Mary repeated.
“Where am I?” Nina said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Mary said. “You’re going home.”
46
Forty-six
From the television set in Alice’s living room, a news announcer described the affair that had resulted in a child the mayor of Los Angeles apparently knew nothing about. The freshly deceased Derek Jarvis was taking center stage in the scandal, with reporters speculating on the political fallout.
The public-relations machine that was the LAPD also made some pretty interesting comments, at least from Mary’s perspective. It seemed they were taking credit for breaking up a ring of illegal pornographers, thanks to the work of an especially brave undercover officer.
“I can’t believe no one is talking about the Vice cop who became a porn star during this whole ordeal,” Mary said. “That’s a great news angle. Officer Goes Down is the title, I believe.”
“I like it,” Jake said.
“Oh, I know you do,” Mary said.
Alice came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with two beers and two martinis.
“Jake, I always knew you would end up in porn,” Alice said. “I see you as the young student seduced by the nasty old anatomy teacher. Played by Mary.”
She handed a beer each to Jake and Mary, then a martini to Sanji. Alice set the tray down and took the last martini for herself.
“Thank you, Delicate Flower,” Sanji said to Alice, then slapped her on the ass.
“My pleasure, Long Cobra.”
Mary rolled her eyes, while noticing that Jake was trying not to giggle.
Alice plopped down next to Sanji and put her hand on his thigh. The yoga instructor stroked Alice’s hand.
“So what happens to the girl now?” Alice asked Mary.
“She’s with her mother. Her real, honest-to-goodness mother,” Mary said. “For now.”
It really wasn’t over, in a sense. Mary still had the suitcase of money in the trunk of her car. She figured someone would come looking for it eventually, but until then, she would hold onto it.
“So what about you two?” Alice asked.
Jake looked at Mary with a question in his eyes.
“Yeah, what about us?” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “I think my next role will be boyfriend of Mary Cooper.”
“Maybe,” Mary said. She resisted the urge to snuggle up against him. “First, let’s see how you do on my casting couch.”
THE END
Gross Sarcastic Homicide
(Mary Cooper Mystery #3)
by
Dan Ames
GROSS SARCASTIC HOMICIDE is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or ar
e used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author.
Copyright ©2014 by Dan Ames
All rights reserved.
“It’s never funny until someone gets hurt.”
-Unknown
Chapter One
The man staggered down the street. Set against the pitch black of the night, the streetlights caused his blubbery, pale skin to glow. He crashed into a parked car and let out a moan as tears streamed down his face. A large pacifier hung from a thin band that had been stapled directly into the skin on his chest and blood oozed from around the wounds.
He was naked, except for a giant white diaper.
More blood gushed from a deep gash in his midsection that spanned the entire width of his belly. He had pressed one of his forearms against it, in an attempt to staunch the wound and possibly hold back his insides, but the attempt was not successful.
“Help me…someone…” the man cried out, the words pushed from his mouth with a gasp.
His bare feet made slapping sounds on the asphalt and then stopped as his legs gave out and he fell on his side. He rolled over onto his back and his arms fell to his sides. Blood gushed from the wounds on his stomach.
A car approached, slowed, and then sped up once the occupants took in the man’s condition.
It took several more cars to pass before someone called 911.
The first cops arrived on the scene twenty minutes later.
By then, the man was dead.
The two cops stood and looked down at the deceased. One of them knelt down beside the man to check for a pulse. He looked up at his partner.
