Stealing Flowers

by Edward St Amant

  “Una and I are preparing supper,” Susan said at the door, “we’re doing ham and chicken-breast-Dijon, with sweet potatoes, skillet squash, and snow-cap tomatoes with a dessert of strawberry-laced chiffon crumple. Doesn’t that sound good? Una’s a wizard and I’m trying hard not to wreck anything.”

  “Oh good, you’ve brought your swimming wear.” Mary said when she saw Ashe’s apparel.

  We all laughed, and to my great relief, so did Mary. This was a sign that she was slowly recovering. “Later we’ll have a drink on the patio,” she said, “and Bert and his two boys will drop by. It will be fun.”

  “We’ve brought wine,” Peter said.

  Josh and Ashe dutifully retrieved their bottles and Mary put the wine on the large living room wine rack. “Stan is expecting you in the game room,” she said to Peter, Josh, and me. “Ashe, come and visit with Una. She’s doing a one of a kind act in her kitchen.”

  I saw that Ashe was okay with this arrangement, and it told me she had perhaps come here to see Una in the first place. “Excuse us then,” I said and headed to the parlor with Josh and Peter. The glossy pine floors had been recently polished and were partially covered with new East Indian hand-woven carpets. Josh pointed to a small picture of Ronald Reagan. “You like the Teflon man?”

  “It was a gift from Rick Edward’s wife to us after he was killed,” I said.

  “From Rick Edwards? Damn, tell me more.”

  “Rick was a great fan of Reagan,” I said and told them what I knew about it.

  In the parlor, two large slate-billiard tables sat at opposite ends. A fire place on the west wall was offset by a state of the art music-video-television station with CD players, a computer, and other electronic appliances. The television screen took up half the wall. A shuffle board, an area to play darts, a bar, several couches and sofa-chairs took up the rest of the large room. I put on Moonlight Sonata by Tchaikovsky and then served drinks. Peter stepped up to a collection of CD stand-up columns which housed hundreds of discs and immediately began turning them. “I guess you’ve made up your mind that these are going to succeed,” he said to Stan.

  “Mary says so, and so does Una.”

  I came over with mugs of ice-cold beer for everyone and we sat before the unlit fireplace around a marble coffee table surrounded by four sofa-chairs. In the middle of the table stood a matching vase filled with a fresh arrangement of brightly colored carnations. “What do you think?” Dad asked. “Are we making a mistake letting Lloyd walk?”

  “It wasn’t him,” Josh returned resignedly.

  “I agree,” Stan said, “Mary and I think he loved Sally. At the funeral, he was completely broken down.”

  “We’ll start looking elsewhere,” Peter said.

  Una came into the room. “Stan,” she said, “supper is three hours away. Will I serve a fresh vegetable tray up here?”

  “We’ll come down,” he said.

  Peter rose and hugged her. “What do you think we should do next?” he asked.

  “Josh and Ashe did well with Lloyd,” she said. “Even Susan Zucker believes the rapists of Sally’s are the same as her murderers, and she said so to me just last week. You should just round them up and question them. Rick Edwards used to say that they’re operating illegally, but are protected under the laws of religious freedom. He’d the right idea all along. I liked that man, so decent and courageous. They killed him too, and we might get confessions, just like Christian did with Lloyd.”

  “These guys got lucky,” Peter said, “but it wouldn’t have been admissible in any court, and besides, it was three against one.”

  “If you had the police and enough witnesses with you, their testimonies could get into a court room,” Una countered. “Susan Zucker seems to think that it depends on how you do it. If one or all of the four murderers described how they got the fingerprint on the gun or the blood on Christian’s suit-jacket, this too would help.”

  Josh whistled. “We’re all going to prison.”

  We laughed. “Una, what did she say about the police?” Peter asked further.

  “Susan said that your friend, what’s his name? John Ruben. He might go along and then say nothing if it all came to nought.”

  “I don’t know,” Peter said.

  “Rick did it on a full-time basis,” Una returned.

  “You mean break the law?”

  “Ashe is on my side with this,” Una said. “So is your wife, as you will see when she arrives.”

  This was classic Una. That was why she ran things without ever running things. “Pitting a daughter against her father, Una,” Peter said, “do you have no shame?”

  “These are basic human right violations by non-family members,” Josh said, “not like the deprogramming thing at all. What we did last week was probably stupid.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to get John Ruben’s opinion,” Peter said.

  “Ashe says Ezekiel Observance is traveling in California under his birth name, George Roger,” Una added, “maybe he’s left the cult.”

  Ezekiel Observance had been the rake-thin assistant to Moses Truth, one of the five rapists, and had, at one time, become the Over-Elder in America. Peter’s eyes widened in surprise. “By God, Una,” he said. “Where did they put you together?”

  “Same place as you,” she said.

  “Don’t kid yourself, Peter,” Stan quipped. “Heaven may have put her together in Jamaica, but she was refined in hell.”

  Peter laughed. “I swear, Una, I don’t believe it.”

  “Heaven and hell are the same places to Mr. Tappet,” she said, “that’s why he wants to be cremated when he’s gone, to get used to where he’s going.”

  We laughed and began to move out of the family room. “I visited hell one time, Una,” Peter said, “on Ashbury Farms.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  That night in bed with Susan, I felt my power returning. We stayed up most of the night making love. Getting Lloyd had helped me, but I didn’t tell her that. As soon as I got out of this nightmare, I was going to ask her to marry me. A week and a half later, I found myself in Los Angeles, California at LA International. The chase was on and I was excited. Although I was with Peter, this time I wasn’t disguised. I noticed that my hand was tapping rapidly against my thigh all morning. I was preoccupied. Some question of my parole had come up from Denzil Burch’s office. We feared they had heard that we were quickly getting to the bottom of the matter and would interfere, but nonetheless, this is how I’d always dreamt it should be.

  I’d come close; it was right there at the doorstep; I just had to seize the opportunity. Intelligence, luck, and experience. It was a lot to ask, but good outcomes were always a combination of some of these things. Just as Stan had always said. I’d decided that The First Law of Life for those born unlucky or orphans, was only something in my head, a figment. What a mistake! We were waiting for Josh, Ashe, Ray and Marshal. Ray would be the easiest to spot, especially since most people in Southwestern California were at least a little tanned compared to New Yorkers, and Ray wasn’t dark like Marshal, and was paler than most. I’d seen him one time nearly pasty. They were coming in from La Guardia on an American jumbo express which had just landed. My eyes flitted back and forth into the crowds. I was right. I spotted Ray first. Marshal, his son was with him. He’d long black hair which he kept in a thick ponytail. His dark complexion and short sturdy body gave him an almost Asian look. Josh and he were a year apart in age, but, where a strong likeness existed between Peter and Josh, only a hint of resemblance could be detected between Marshal and Ray.

  “Thanks for coming so quick,” Peter said when we all met up.

  “What’s happened?” Ray said.

  “Good news all around,” he replied. “I’ve met up with a former member of The Family of Truth’s Hostility Branch, Yan Trefusis, who knew Swift Retribution, Blood Justice, Silent Righteousness, and Proud Punishment. He works presently with FOCUS. He is committed to helping us.”

  �
�How did you do that?” Marshal asked.

  “I’ll tell you on the way,” Peter responded. “I’ve rented two cars.”

  We took the shuttle to a huge parking lot and were able to exit directly in front of the rental cars. “You rented a Mercedes?” Josh asked, laughing.

  “Your deductive powers grow daily,” Peter said to his son. “Here.” He threw him the keys. “Drive.”

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “To pick up Yan in Santa Monica.” Peter passed him a map. “Yan drew this. You can see it’s a breeze. Wait until you meet this guy. He is a balding cheerful thirty-year-old who drinks like a fish, plays sax, and has one real passion?”

  “To avenge Rick Edwards’ murder,” Ray said.

  “That’s right. Clever, partner.”

  I laughed in joy. “Really?”

  “Let me tell you more,” Peter continued. “George Rogers, that’s Moses Truth’s assistant, formerly Ezekiel Observance, is in California with two of our suspects: Proud Punishment and Silent Righteousness.” I whistled through my teeth. “John Ruben has agreed to help. He’s here with Yan. After Yan and John met, John said he’d do whatever he could, and that’s still not all the good news. He has friends with the Force down here and they have been keeping their eyes on Harmony Ranch for years. It’s The Family of Truth’s LA version of Ashbury Farms. They’ve an ongoing murder investigation of Barry Wall, an ex-member of the cult who died mysteriously of a poisonous rattlesnake bite. The snake attacked him from inside his mailbox.”

  We arrived in Santa Monica and pulled in at 216 Catalina Boulevard, a residential street with lots of palms, just east of the bay. Ray and Marshal followed us. It was a flat ranch-style three-bedroom home, nothing special, and Peter rang the bell with us all standing behind him. Yan answered the door dressed in fashionable Hawaiian shorts with a trim haircut and a thinned-out moustache. He was just as Peter described. Peter made the introductions. I immediately like Yan and realized he was nearly as excited as me.

  Fresh-cut roses in a large crystal vase stood on the dining room table. The sparse and clean kitchen looked new and the stark white walls of the living room were decorated only with prints of John Pitre and other American conceptualist painters. One Monet print, The Waterlilies Pond, leaned up against a window frame, being used perhaps for some privacy. The few pieces of modern furniture gave the house the appearance of a bachelor just starting out on his own. This made me feel sorry for Yan and all people sucked into cults or ideological-movements when they’re too young to deal with it. When they leave the movements years later, they leave empty-handed and have to start over. He served lemonade and iced tea in thick highball glasses with lots of ice. We sat on his canvass furniture in the living room. Abstract paintings hung on these walls too, all of which had a soft warm quality to them. “I was Spiritual Awakener, in the family,” he said to me with a soft laugh.

  “Where’s John Ruben?” Peter asked.

  “As I understand it,” Yan said. “Ezekiel Observance, George Rogers, left without Silent Righteousness and Proud Punishment. He’s trailing Ezekiel.”

  “Peter told me that you were with the Hostility Branch?” I asked.

  “The Elder at the Woodlands Compound ordered me to join,” he said. “I’d a couple of years of military experience with the army and . . .” He let his sentence taper off.

  “Was it after the death of Rick Edwards?” I asked.

  He nodded again. “The Family spread the rumor that members of FOCUS killed Rick Edwards. What a joke.” Yan finished his iced tea. “Swift Retribution, the leader of The Hostility Branch when I first joined, took his orders directly from his former associate at Woodlands, George Rogers, back then, Ezekiel Observance, assistant to the then exiled David Moses. Swift Retribution was formerly Thought Jacob, the head elder at Denver. Back in those days, he spoke completely and openly about what he’d done to Rick Edwards. After I left, I called on the police and they demanded my sworn testimony and videotaped my statements. Several different detectives interviewed me. They became interested. I filled out an affidavit and signed summaries, the whole thing, but that’s all they had. However, if you are going to pick up Silent Righteousness and Proud Punishment, and question them, my presence will entice them to talk. They know that I know what they did to Rick Edwards, and I can tell you for sure, Proud Punishment is anything but proud of it.”

  “That sounds so good I could kiss you,” I said.

  “Be my guest,” Yan said cheerfully, “but I have to warn you, I haven’t had sex in months.”

  Everyone laughed. “If we can get their testimony together with yours,” Peter said, “we could have warrants issued for Swift Retribution and Blood Justice and break their bond of silence.”

  “The Feds already have nationwide warrants out for Ezekiel Observance under the name George Rogers,” Ray said.

  “Let’s head for Collingdale Avenue in the West End,” Peter suggested, “that’s where they’re staying.”

  We piled into the rented Mercedes and soon wound in and out of the traffic with Josh at the wheel. With every passing mile, my heartbeat quickened, it was bursting in anticipation. “The Los Angeles Police Force is giving us tactical support,” Peter said at some point. “That is how I received the address here so fast. They have been aware of his career in violence for some time.”

  “Do we want their involvement?” Josh asked.

  “We’ve never dealt with this kind of thing before. We need lots of support.”

  Josh knotted his eyebrows to show his leeriness. “I’m happy about it for Christian’s sake.”

  “You’d be surprised how little it all means if we don’t get the hard facts,” Peter said. “I feel that George Rogers, a.k.a., Ezekiel Observance will leave the state soon and maybe get off the continent through Mexico.”

  The car took a turn onto Collingdale Avenue, a quiet treed street of middle-class homes. We stepped out within sight of 1261, the address we’d been given. Peter put his hand on my shoulder. “Ray, Josh, and I, will case the place,” he continued. “Do you see the rusted out white Camero about two hundred yards straight ahead?” I nodded. “That’s The Family of Truth’s, so, they’re here. Stay close to me.”

  We made our way around the dull white house, while staying clear of the property itself. I saw the backyard had gone to weeds and the orange and apricot trees bore what looked like dried shriveled flowers. “There are two other exits,” Peter whispered. “Josh, Marshal, stay here at the back. Ray will cover the side door.”

  We returned to the front and saw two men across the street, several houses over. I guessed these were LAPD detectives, although the tall one looked too young for the role. We crossed over to the Mercedes to talk to Yan. “Can you hold pat for a few more minutes?” Peter asked him. He nodded.

  We stepped up to the two men. The lanky youthful one looked away, distracted, but the short older man with him smiled and spoke with a mild Italian accent. “You’re Peter Burgess, that detective friend of Ruben’s?” Peter nodded. “I’m Tony Kray and this is Detective Nick Hannan.”

  “You’re watching1261 Collingdale Avenue?” Peter asked, shaking their hands. They both nodded. “This is Christian Tappet. Those two men inside murdered his sister with the help of two others from The Family of Truth.” I shook their hands as well.

  “We haven’t seen the two suspects all morning,” Tony said. “The other one left and John has followed him. He’s a weird-looking one that George Rogers, who use to be–”

  “Their names are so stupid,” Nick said plaintively.

  Peter nodded. “We’re going to invite ourselves in,” he said. “Give us five minutes and we’ll slip you in through the back when we’re all set up.”

  “I’ve brought the high-tech shit,” Nick said, “and it’ll pick up everything, so, be cool.”

  Peter knocked on the front door with Yan and me behind him. After a moment, Proud Punishment answered. He was the former Goodness Tranquility, the enf
orcer, the one who meted out all the physical punishment inside the Family at Denver – a brawny appearance and clean-shaven military-look, gave him a stark contrast to how he looked back in the seventies, at least compared to the photos, but he still had cruel eyes. Peter stepped right in and seized him by his t-shirt, bringing his handgun to his face. “Where’s Silent Righteousness?” he whispered.

  Proud Punishment glanced from Peter to me and recognition and fear came to his eyes. He tried to twist away, but Peter forced him into a chair and pushed the gun harder into his face. “Where?”

  He indicated to the back of the house and Peter taped him to the chair and gagged him. He smelled of body odor. I guessed that he hadn’t bathed in weeks. Like the early Christians, The Family of Truth didn’t believe in it. “That will keep him still,” Peter whispered and made his way into the kitchen.

  We checked three bedrooms, not a single bed frame, only stained mattresses on soiled carpeted floors. Dark dirty sheets covered the widows and the house itself stunk of body odor. I heard commotion from the back and then Josh shouted and a shot rang out. I sped to the back door to find Silent Righteousness on the ground with Josh’s gun pointed at his head. Marshal was tying him up. He was formerly Holy Truth, the fat elder. He was only a hundred and twenty-five pounds now, a starving man. I realized that he might have an eating disorder or perhaps he followed The Family of Truth’s rigid fasts to the letter. But I remembered him back in 1979 being three hundred or so pounds, then only two years ago or so, one hundred and a half, now he was only one and a quarter, if that. He was a vanishing man and he currently looked spindly, especially with his timid eyes. Ray and Peter both came running from different directions. “I’d have preferred no gunfire,” Peter said to Josh.