by Dan Glover
Chapter 74—Forever and Ever
(Amen)
After dialing 911, Allen stumbled back to the attic above the garage. He didn’t want to be involved in whatever was taking place... not in his condition. The police were liable to run him in just for being there. No... it was better to fade into the background and wait it out.
In just minutes he heard what he assumed was an ambulance screeching to a stop in front of the house, followed by an armada of squad cars. Christ. Did they think the Pope had been assassinated? He should've told them it was only a gay black guy down but then again poor old Reilly'd be sucking on tulip bulbs by the time anyone bothered showing up.
Yep. They were prompt little public servants to be sure. Doubtlessly prim and proper. No drinks for those boys. Oh no. Sober and straight. Speaking of drinks, he picked up the mostly empty bottle of vodka that'd been keeping him company the night before and polished it off. Waste not, want not. Wasn’t that what daddy used to say. Sure it was.
Afraid someone might see him lurking in the window, Allen stepped back and listened as the sound of the front door of the house being bashed in reverberated off the garage walls. The motherfuckers must've brought along their own battering ram with them. Like knights storming the castle. Boy scouts. Always prepared.
Minutes later, someone entered the garage below him... probably the police searching for occupants. He hadn’t thought to lock the outer door but luckily he'd pulled up the stairs and closed the trap door like he usually did when he was hiding out from Paula. The attic room was constructed in such a way that someone below wouldn’t notice it existed unless they knew about it, which of course no one did but for him.
After the sounds below him and inside the house died down he let an hour go by before opening the trap door and lowering the stairs. Going around back he used his key to unlock the door. The house was empty. Someone had nailed plywood over the broken front entry... considerate of them. Yellow crime scene tape still adorned the porch.
He felt like an intruder in his own house. Should he even be there? What if the police showed up again? Would they arrest him? After going to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a double scotch neat and downing it, and then another, he decided the hell with it. He'd take a shower, call the airlines, and schedule a flight to Oklahoma City.
He fought off the urge to dial Reilly Cooper's number, just to see if the man made it. Had they carried him out on a gurney or in a body bag? He didn’t know. And who was that woman with him? He had the feeling he knew her but couldn’t place the name. Maybe once his mind cleared he'd remember.
Paula'd be half way to Oklahoma City by now. What was he thinking, getting drunk last night? He supposed he did it just to spite his wife. She'd been so sanctimonious lately when it came to his drinking. Like one of those holy rollers you'd see on television telling anyone who'd listen how they were damned to hell unless they mended their ways.
Too, he was leery of seeing the twins again. Would they even remember him? And despite McNairy's assurances that it really was the girls, what if it wasn’t? Could he cope with that disappointment? Maybe he'd hold off a day or two before calling and making reservations... they'd been gone twenty years. What would it hurt to wait a bit... perhaps get his feet under him... put the bottle up. Maybe get a haircut and a fresh set of clothes.
The truth was he didn’t want them to see him like he was. Looking at his reflection a haggard visage of an old man stared back at him. His skin looked sallow, his hair too long, thin and receding, and the tremors were more pronounced than he remembered. But then again how long had it been since he had the balls to look into a mirror? Too long... yes, it was better to wait, to get some food inside his stomach, and to see if he really could give up the alcohol... well, at least temper his intake. Ha. Temperance... that was a hoot.
The prospect of actually quitting for good brought a renewed set of tremors to his body so much it hurt. Maybe just one more drink before he quit forever and ever, amen. What would that hurt? Yes... he'd have another drink, take a shower, and lie down for a bit. He never slept well in his attic room... too fucking stuffy, for one thing, and all he had up there was an old army cot and the noise from the street infiltrated the thin walls more easily than it did when he slept inside the house. Yes... just another drink and then a little nap... that was the ticket.
Chapter 75—County
(King Me)
Hell, she'd never even gotten a traffic ticket. Yet here she was, locked up in county with streetwalkers and hookers and a black woman who they said had shot her ex-husband not once but a dozen times. They just let her walk about like she owned the place.
"So you're the one."
She hadn’t been sure how to respond, or even if she should. Maybe if she just kept quiet the murderess would go away. But she didn’t. She stood there glaring at Paula with her shoulders thrown back and her hair standing up and the dark whiskers on her chin shivering... a rabid dog in a rage... a gorilla about to go mad.
"The one?"
"You killed Johm."
"No I didn’t."
Did this woman know Thomas Johm? No... she probably just heard about the crime for which she'd been charged. But then again, Johm was fairly well known around town... a photographer of some renown, from what she heard.
"Doesn't matter. I don’t blame you if you did. But odds are you'll like as not never see the outside again. Name's Greta Jones. You?"
"I'm Paula. Paula Picany. Did you know Johm?"
"That bastard? Damned right I knew him. He... well, now's not the time... let's just say he hurt me once... or rather someone I loved. Thank you for doing him in."
"But I didn’t do it..."
She'd heard of jailhouse snitches... women who'd befriend others, get them to confess to their crimes, and then turn state's evidence against them. Was that what was happening here?
"No one cares if you did or you didn’t. Look around you, hun. Do you honestly thing any of these girls are guilty? Ask them."
"What about you, Greta?"
"Me, I'm guilty as a priest. I shot that motherfucker dead as hell, only he didn’t know it. Least not at first. The asshole kept coming so I kept on shooting. The coroner said my first shot killed him. He wasn’t there, though. He didn’t see what I saw. That man kept right on after me. Bath salts. That's what did it. Got my man all crazy in the head. Came home all goofy. Thought he'd make me cook up something to eat and then he started looking at my daughter. Oh no you don’t. So, yeah... I shot him. And you know what? I'd do it again."
"Who'd you shoot?"
"My husband. Well, my ex. We were married ten years. Good man too. Till he started in messing with those salts. Changed him. Hell, I didn’t know who he even was any more. Had to divorce his ass. Say... do you like checkers, Paula?"
"I used to play when I was a kid."
"Come on, then. Let's have us a game. These loony tunes in here don’t even know how to play. So you got a lawyer?"
"Goldstein. Something Goldstein. He's supposed to be in later to talk with me."
"That's one expensive motherfucker. You must have money."
"No, not really. I'm not sure I can afford him. My friend called him. We're supposed to discuss his retainer."
"Well, whatever you do, Paula, get a good attorney. Don't go with those public defenders pieces of shit. They hire 'em straight out of law school. That's what happened to me. Got twenty five years to life. Now I'm up for a retrial. I've done fourteen years in the penitentiary already. Facing eleven more and that's if I'm lucky. Unless I can get the verdict reversed. New evidence surfaced, or so they say. King me."
"Who are you using, Greta?"
"Oh, some youngsters. It's the best I can hope for. They take cases like mine pro bono. That means for free. Sometimes they actually win one. When they contacted me, I figured I had nothing to lose anyway, so why not let them have at it. Them fuckers done got me a retrial. That's why I'm here in county. Supposed to start next week."
> "Wow. Good luck."
"I'll need it. Sad part is, even if I win I lose. Got nowhere to go. Never had much anyhow and what I did have is gone."
"What about your daughter?"
"Done grown up and married. Used to come visit from time to time but I ain't seen her for a year... maybe two. Or has it been five? Time tends to get away from me these days. Paula... I thought you said you could play checkers."
"I'm sorry, Greta. I can't seem to concentrate."
"Say... if you can't get Goldstein to represent you, maybe my law school kids will help. They like cases like yours."
"Do you really think so?"
"I can ask. Go on and talk to your big time attorney first, though. Maybe he won't be as expensive as I think. Now... how about another game?"
Chapter 76—Cabaret
(And the Fraud of the Meek)
It seemed as if everything back home had gone and turned to shit while they were away. Hank Lupo had clammed up, or at least he refused to talk to Liza when she called him about Paula Picany being arrested. And Allen Picany was useless... drunk mostly. Reilly Cooper was still in intensive care. The doctors were hoping to bring him out of the coma once the swelling in his brain subsided but so far things didn’t look promising.
"How many times have you seen this movie, Danners?"
"Maybe a hundred... why... don't you like Cabaret, Liza? It always makes me think of you."
"When I was a kid, maybe... but it got old fast even back then."
"Come on, Liza... it's a classic... and your namesake is so sexy in it."
"Drop it, sweetie. We need to refocus on this case, Danners. We've been holed up here for three days watching stupid ass movies. Take me out tomorrow?"
"You know I will... "
He knew that request was coming... the way she'd been so restless all day. It was his fault. He didn’t have what it took to keep a woman like Liza McNairy satisfied... or a man, for that matter. He could see it now... he'd die alone in a house full of a hundred cats—his only friends—who'd eat his dead body for sustenance after he passed away and no one would even miss him.
Marry me, Liza. Be my wife. Stay with me forever and ever and I promise to make you happy. You know no one has ever treated you better. Say you will. We'll drive to Vegas right now, baby. This instant...
"I'm going to take a long hot bath, sweetie. Stay here and watch your movie."
"You go ahead, lover. Just holler if you need your back scrubbed."
She was going to shoot up. Why didn’t she just say it? Because she knew how he felt about her drug use. And that was precisely the reason she'd never consent to be his wife, if he ever grew the balls to ask her, which he wouldn’t. No... she'd only laugh at him... thinking he was joking. Christ, there were times when he hated being Danners Forthright.
"Oh... do me a favor, sweetie. Call Allen Picany. I tried talking with him but maybe you'll have more luck. Come tell me what he says if you do get hold of him."
He wondered if she knew how excited he was at the prospect of seeing her languishing in a hot tub of water... those luscious breasts... that taut stomach... stop it, you old queer. What's gotten into you? He was actually getting a chubby just thinking about it.
"Allen? This is Danners Forthright. How are you?'
"Drunk. What do you want, Danners."
"We're back in Los Angeles, Allen.... hoping we can discuss some things with you."
"What's there to discuss? Paula's been arrested."
"Yes, we know... but we thought you'd like to know about your girls."
There was a long silence... Danners wondered if the man had passed out on him. His voice was slurred to the extent that he was nearly unintelligible. Drunk? Allen had to be nearly comatose.
"Yeah... the girls... you found them, I heard."
"We did. We were waiting in Oklahoma for you and your wife when we found out what happened."
"Those asshole cops... they couldn’t find a pile of shit if they stepped right in it. They say Paula killed two men."
"I know, Allen. Can we do anything to help?"
"If you're a fucking psychic, tell me who really murdered those men... maybe then they'll let Paula go."
"It doesn’t work like that, Allen."
"You're a fraud. That's what you're telling me... right Danners?"
"Well, yeah... does that surprise you, Allen?"
Chapter 77—Murder
(On the Beach)
The stares felt good for a change... not at all like they used to feel. She shunned the beach for years because of the fat-shaming that went along with exposing so much of her body to the sight of others. Now, even though she was older, at least she looked good. Sometimes walking along the sand she'd catch a glimpse of a shadow in front of her and wonder: who is that slender woman? And then she'd realize all over again that it was her.
Men were paying attention to her like she could never recall them doing before, even in her younger days. Of course she'd been fat since the age of twelve so that probably had a lot to do with it. Still, there were lots of obese men around. Christ, they looked like they were expecting any day now. Did they really think they were all that? Apparently they did.
Hank's call surprised her. Normally he was so busy either working or screwing his whores that he didn’t have the time for niceties like calling his wife at noon, just to say hello. Today, though, he did... but he also had something to tell her.
"The homicide unit arrested Paula Picany, Sally."
Hank seemed to think it was news, as if she hadn’t already heard all about it from a hundred different sources... as if she hadn’t talked to the woman herself only this morning. Still, she feigned surprise and threw in a little indignant snort just to make it seem more plausible.
"For what, Hank? What on earth could that poor woman have possibly done that the homicide unit would arrest her? Like they don’t have anything better to do..."
"Two counts of murder... and those guys are just doing their jobs, Sally."
"Like they did their jobs when the twins vanished... right?"
She sounded so sincere she nearly convinced herself. Inside though, she was all shits and giggles. Good. I'm happy they arrested that pretentious bitch. High time those worthless assholes you call your friends did something meaningful. Now, if they can only make it stick...
"I just thought you'd want to know. I noticed how the two of you've been hanging out again lately."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing... I just thought..."
"Look, Hank... Paula called me a few weeks ago wanting to have drinks. So I thought why not. We hadn’t seen each other in ages. Remember how the four of us used to get together all the time?"
"Sure, Sally... like I said, I didn’t mean anything by what I said."
"So who'd she murder?"
"Allegedly her own doctor... that's what put them on to her... the physician's assistant who worked for him remembered Paula calling about getting her prescription renewed and how angry she became when she got turned down. Three days later the good doctor turned up dead."
"I think I read about that, Hank... what was his name?"
"Oscar Olay... the man was into some heavy shit... under investigation for drug fraud along with a dozen other violations."
"Jesus... I never even suspected she could do anything like that."
"The man was tortured too. So was the other victim, a man using the identity of Thomas Johm. That's what helped the detectives working the case. They were looking for any old accomplices of Johm and lo and behold, the Picany twins come up. He was actually brought in and interviewed when those girls disappeared, well... under his old identity, Jonathan Baker."
"Why wasn’t he arrested back then?"
"Not enough evidence. They decided to watch him. And then he up and died in a traffic accident not a month later. Only it never came out that it was Thomas Johm who really died. Jonathan Baker assumed Johm's identity, so everyone thought it was Bak
er who died in that accident. We're guessing he might have set the guy up to do just that... to take the heat off himself."
"Why would anyone think Paula had anything to do with those murders, Hank?"
"She was the last one to see them both alive, for one thing. Plus she had motive... apparently Johm and Olay were colluding somehow... whenever the police went to Johm's residence after one of his clients showed up and found him dead, they discovered a girl there, completely out of it, like she was on drugs. Only come to find out someone had done surgery on her... they'd given her a frontal lobotomy. That's the link with Olay... he was what you'd call a closet surgeon... been arrested for running an unlicensed clinic. Johm and him were cohorts in it."
"Oh my God... "
"Anyway, the investigators think Paula found out about those two wackos and paid them each a visit. She apparently asked a number of questions and when she didn’t like the answers, she hurt them... not to kill, but to maim. They were both stabbed and shot at least nine times before the final blow to the head. The responding officers said those were some of the bloodiest murder scenes they ever witnessed."
"But if Paula did it, why would she leave evidence that she'd been there, Hank?"
"She probably didn’t know that the appointments were recorded online... say, darling... care to meet up for lunch today? We can do the Commodore again..."
"I'd love to, Hank... I'll meet you there in an hour?"
She walked back to the car still wearing her bikini and reveling in the attention it garnered. Even teenagers were opening gawking at her. Of course it might have helped that her boobs were spilling out her top leaving little to the imagination. Ah... to be sixteen and in love again... with Hank predisposed to waiting for her at the Commodore she had just enough time to get home and finish her packing before anyone suspected she was leaving town for good.
Chapter 78—Danger
(Hank Lupo, Danger)
