Flower Girl: A Burton Family Mystery

by David Marshall Hunt

  Call it kismet or karma or serendipity, or simply recognize that the same news appears across the nation on TV screens, iPads, and smart-phones everywhere, including on the 60-inch screen over the Beastro Coffee House bar.

  "We have the same news item on the plasma screen as you speak," I told Matte. While she was winding down, Angie and I watched and listened. The headline read: “30 April 2012-Prominent Korean Doctor assassinated!” The announcer followed:

  Sources in the picturesque honeymoon resort of Cheju-do Island report that police are searching for at least two gunmen suspected of killing Dr. Evel Park Senior who is the CEO of Parks’ Clinics. These Asian clinics are renowned for their charitable works and services to obstetrics and their worldwide adoption services.

  There are no suspects at this time. Two American partners and a Saudi partner of Dr. Park are known to have been at the Cheju-do clinic that morning for a business meeting ostensibly to expand and open a fifth clinic in Dubai. The Americans are Professor Edvard Grey and Courtney Blaine Grey, prominent members of the Grey Oil family clan and an unnamed Saudi, thought to be a son of one of Saudi Arabia's richest oil billionaires. The partners were celebrating the announcement of the Dubai opening of their new clinic and planning to fly there together later this same day to make the announcement public. Professor Grey was interviewed by the local police who told this reporter that, "The world has lost a great humanitarian today, and the perpetrators of this vile deed must be brought to justice."

  Angie asked, "Who is Dr. Evel Park Senior?"

  "He’s the doctor who pronounced my mother and me dead," I answered. Angie went silent while my thoughts turned immediately to wondering if this assassination was Reddy's handiwork. After all, I just learned that he was a sniper and that he did work for the CIA; however, was this a sanctioned hit, or was it revenge?

  Matte’s voice broke my chain of thought, coming through the phone in a softer tone. "Sorry Shannon, I know how you worry about Reddy's absences. Please ignore my outburst. Besides, my friend Princess Zubaida urgently needs Reddy’s help on another matter, as soon as you locate him."

  All my thoughts about what my father does for a living and whether I need a father who is in the business of assassination came to a crescendo in my brain.

  I feel stunned and afraid for Reddy at the same time. My confusion over the concept and reality of family that I have borne mostly alone roars back. I was four when I was told by the Doctors and nurses at the Park's Clinic and Home for Girls on Cheju-do Island, South Korea, that my father and mother had died in a traffic accident in Seoul. I think it was that very year or the next that I began to be haunted by what I think of as the dream. Then I was rescued from a life as a child bride by the man in black.

  After our summer at Skeleton Lake, just as I was feeling that we were bonding as father and daughter, Reddy again went absent and now Matte calls with the news of Park’s assassination. I can think of nothing else for days.

  I have tried to get to know this daunting and haunting character; however, maybe I don't need a father who is more absent than present and is so secretive and in such a violent occupation.

  The hit on Dr. Evel Park, Sr. continues to disturb me; however, strange as it may be to others, if they knew, to me it seems justified, if Reddy was the shooter.

  From that day forward every time there was an item in the news about anyone being assassinated anywhere in the world, my thoughts turned to Reddy.

  One morning Matte called. "Hi Shannon! Is Reddy there? I need to speak with him." I flinched, half expecting that Rhyly was shot for a third time, or maybe another assassination in the news.

  "To be honest, we haven’t been able to get in contact with Reddy for several weeks, not since returning from Skeleton Lake. Angie and I have one clue; that he may be tracking someone with the initials 'S-C.' Any idea who or what that is?"

  "It's Sara-Clare O'Callahan, the reporter. I introduced Reddy to her because she's down in Central America doing a series on child brides." Matte's voice had a worried tone as she added, "Please have him call me when you find him. It's urgent he make contact with my friend Princess Zubaida."

  "I'll leave him a text to get in touch with you ASAP."

  "Hey, I'm late for my date," Angie said, heading for the showers before her breakfast date with Agent Clemson Rapier, her latest beau.

  Most of the time, Angie and I were both wrong about Reddy’s whereabouts. When he reappeared a few weeks later, he said, "I’ve been on the trail of Rhyly’s shooter."

  Reddy picked up the kitchen phone and turned on the speaker so I could add my two cents. He dialed Matte at Professor Craft's but got his voice message, “I’m out walking the dogs."

  Reddy left the following text message: "Hi, Craft. Tell Matte I'm back at Shannon's. Meanwhile, I located a guy by the name of Purcell in Berkeley, and I have him safely on ice. After a bit of persuasion he indicated that he was the shooter the second time Rhyly was targeted. He says he doesn't know the first shooter and so far he hasn't divulged the name of the punter. He needs some more persuasion. I’ll tell you more when we see you and head for the lake. Give my regards to Matte and Rhyly. Comet and Shy are acclimatizing and Shannon sends her love. Cheers! Reddy P.S. Ask Matte to call me from a secure phone."

  The next morning, the phone rang. "Hey, Reddy, there's a call for you on the secure line in the kitchen," I shouted down the basement stairs."

  "I'll be right up," he replied.

  Reddy came up the stairs two at a time, punched the speaker button on my kitchen phone and got right down to business as was his style. "Hi, Craft. Shannon, the dogs, and I will meet Rhyly at Lambert Field. See you and Matte in River View before we head for the Lake. Tell Matte I'll contact Princess Zubaida shortly," Reddy said. "Hope you have an extra bunk at the cabin for our guest shooter."

  When Reddy and I arrived in St. Louis at Lambert Field, Comet and Shy were anxiously waiting in the Northwest baggage area, eager to get out of their cages after the five hour flight from Oakland in the cargo bay of a NW Air Boeing jet. However, this would be their second annual Bear family reunion and they were getting adjusted to flying.

  We had a surprise guest with us. "Sorry about this extra baggage, Rhyly, but we just captured this creep and we couldn't leave him behind with only Angie to watch over him," Reddy said. "Meet 'Critter' Purcell." Critter took this all in, with a look of total disinterest.

  "Sounds like a plan, Reddy, but he'll have to ride in the back with the dogs," Rhyly said. This time Critter twitched, noticeably. "He seems awfully nervous around the dogs," Rhyly said. "What do you think of my new toy? We call her 'Streak.’ Check out the neat black lettering on the silver paint job, compliments of Sarge's son."

  We oohed and aahed our appreciation, loaded Critter, then the dogs, and Rhyly said, "Everyone buckle up, and double check the dogs’ harnesses, please."

  During our flight to River View I told Rhyly the tale of how Comet and Shy sniffed out and captured Critter.

  "I was home alone, Angie was out partying, and I hadn't seen nor heard from Reddy for a few weeks. I was reading some Sufi poetry, you know, that beautiful stuff by Rumi that Matte and you recommended last time we talked. Anyway, it was a quiet and peaceful evening when suddenly I heard the crunch of footsteps out back on the gravel that encircled the house. Comet's and Shy's ears went straight up. Comet was growling a soft low rumble while Shy hunkered down as if about to pounce. The hackles went up on her back, then his, and they both were growling in soft but menacing tones. They went totally silent as I stepped to the screen door and peered out into the blackness. I turned off the night lights to get a better look at whatever was out there in the dark.

  "At that moment, Reddy drove into the driveway and lit the place up with the high beams of his Silverado. The truck headlights startled the creature that was hiding in the dark and it began to run, sort of a shuffle. Reddy yelled out, ‘Let the dogs loose.’

  "I unlatched the screen door and Comet and Shy took o
ff in the dark in the direction of the creature, up the hill trail and off to the south towards the stadium. Reddy grabbed a couple of big flashlights from his truck, tossed one to me, and hollered, ‘Let's follow them.’ I had my running shoes on from my evening workout, so the two of us took off up the hill, flashlights dancing and lighting up the trail. We could only hope that the home-fort was secure, in case the creature doubled back.

  "A mile down the trail we caught up with the dogs who were sitting at the base of a large windswept cypress tree, staring up and growling menacingly. We panned the tree with our flashlights and spotted the quarry, a bedraggled homeless person. Reddy said, ‘Better get your ass down from that tree.’ But the man in the tree said, ‘Not while those dogs are here.’

  "Anyway, to shorten the story, that was my introduction to Critter, the man Reddy has been tracking for the past few months," I said.

  "Is he the one who shot me?" Rhyly asked with an icy tone.

  "Reddy says he is; he just uses the homeless man bit as a disguise. He's a former dropout from Marine sniper training. Makes a living at contract killing for anyone who has a need, but he's expensive."

  "So what's next?" Rhyly asked.

  "You'll have to ask Reddy."

  "Thought we'd take Critter to Skeleton Lake and introduce him to some really deep cold water. Might find out who the first shooter was and who hired him and Critter. That is, if it's okay with Craft. If not, I'll find a suitable disposal site," Reddy said in a matter-of-fact tone. Critter's eyes never left the dogs.

  "Speaking of the dogs, let's walk them out behind the cargo hangar and back. They need to take a pee break," I said while cringing a bit as Rhyly gave me a big hug. I'm getting better with my no hugging phobia, at least with close friends. "Damn, it's good to see you. How are Matte and Craft and mother KC, Rogue and Wolf?"

  "Matte's in DC lecturing on child slavery. She said to tell you it’s urgent she talks with you about Princess Zubaida. She'll be back in town tonight. Meanwhile she sends her love," Rhyly said. "KC and the pups and Craft will join us for dinner at his home on the river. We should be there in an hour."

  Reddy asked, "I don't want to keep Critter at Craft's place. Any ideas where else we might store him until we leave for the lake?"

  "How about the RVPD’s drunk tank?" Rhyly said. "I'll call Sgt. DeRosa."

  Rhyly taxied up to the dock and we tied down the Streak in the slip next to Craft's Caravan. I soon found myself entangled with a restless gang of four dogs who were none too sure they were family. KC, matriarch of the Bear clan, kept a discreet distance ready to referee when called on.

  A scruffy looking figure emerged slowly from the Porter, not sure whether to run or jump in the river and risk swimming for it, even with his hands handcuffed.

  "I do believe they'd make a great fur coat," Critter said with a feeble chuckle. As if in response, KC sashayed over and gave him a thorough inspection, so intimidating that Critter peed in his pants when the big dog growled before returning to her role as a protective barrier between the stranger and Craft.

  "This here is Critter Purcell," Reddy said. "I'll tell you about him as soon as we get settled in and have a pot of that favorite tea of yours, if you please. You've converted Shannon and me to hojicha."

  Reddy removed the handcuffs so Critter could change his pants in the shed. Meanwhile, Reddy informed Craft that he has been trying to break "Critter" with a few months of kindness torture.

  Critter isn't used to being treated humanely, much less respected for his sniper skills and ability to disguise and hide in the midst of any scene. Shannon and I plied him with kindness and sympathetic understanding for a few weeks after we captured him. It was hi-tech torture to a dude like him. He has started to look a bit more human. He even bathes once a week, cropped his beard and got a GI haircut just a couple of weeks ago, and even had his teeth cleaned. That was all around the time that I last called Craft. He finally caved and blurted out that he was hired only for the second shooting. He didn't know the name of the client and frankly he couldn't care less since he got paid half up front.

  Craft asked, "Did you gather any evidence we can use to legally prosecute this bastard?"

  "Now here's the evidence part," Reddy said. "The bank transfer to his account in the Cayman Islands went through and that was the only clue I needed. Critter still wants to collect the project completion bonus of £100,000, but we kept him under-wraps and persuaded him that Rhyly was under our protection. It was more than a veiled threat and he knows it."

  "Not much hard evidence. Anything about who hired him?" Craft asked.

  Reddy replied, "I asked Critter if he still has the deposit records from his two earlier contracts-hit attempts. Critter lives like a slob amidst dirty dishes piled in the kitchen sink and slipping over onto the counter tops, soiled clothes and piles of unwashed linens and towels strewn about the garage we found him living in. However, in stark contrast to his living quarters, he itemizes his firearms and ammo expenses, and his workshop is immaculate. His financial bookkeeping is as meticulous as the colonial Spaniards. His Cayman Island numbered bank account was only a funnel for his three numbered Swiss Bank accounts with three separate Swiss banks where he had amassed a sum of £1.8 million."

  I said, "He's a freak. He's meticulous yet a slob to look at. I think it's all part of his disguise. He looks like a homeless person just in case someone arrests him or comes after him or recognizes him when he's on an assignment."

  Reddy added, "Essentially he has taken on the persona of a street person for the past several years. It makes him easy to overlook, sort of invisible, like a servant or slave."

  Craft said, "I know what you mean. Servants are like part of the woodwork. No one looks directly at a street person; instead they quickly look away, in part, out of shame and guilt. Viet-Nam war veterans living under the causeway near the entrance to LAX International airport being a case in point."

  "Basically, no one bothers these street people and that works for Critter," Reddy said. "Meanwhile, I traced two deposits back to a bank in downtown Highland Park, Illinois."

  "Damn, isn't that sweet. The Greys’ family bank. That can't be mere coincidence. Nonetheless, wasn't that stupid of them?" Craft replied. "Two deposits, you said. He only admitted to one shooting for which he got paid half up front."

  "The two deposits make me think Critter might be playing us about the other shooter; however, then there should be three deposits. We'll get the truth out of him in the lake, I mean, at the lake," Reddy replied.

  "Not stupid, careless. The acts of people who are arrogant to the point of being falsely sure they would never be discovered, or for that matter, no one would dare come after them," I said as Matte entered the room almost unnoticed, arriving for dinner. Shy and Comet milled around her and sniffed until they were satisfied she was a friendly.

  Matte nodded in agreement, "Good psychological assessment, Shannon. I could use an assistant shrink."

  I smiled and replied, "I'm busy at the moment, but I could be available for select projects."

  "What's our next move?" Craft asked.

  "I'm getting a head start on a plan as we speak. Basically, Critter is going to collect the £100,000 bonus," Reddy said. "The evidence we have isn't sufficient to take to court but at least we know whom we are dealing with."

  As promised, the second Bear family get together at Skeleton Lake was a feature event of summer 2. We were again keeping the promise made when we adopted the pups the year before. This summer visit was to be only a month as we all had business to attend to in early August.

  July was full of sniper training and six directions recon training, Reddy’s Rules instruction, and some significant father and daughter bonding. Morning runs around the lake had to be done in shifts of KC plus two pups at a time. We actually caught some bass and trout and Reddy cooked them on the gas outdoor grill. My mouth starts to water whenever I recall the delicious odor of parmesan and butter basted trout frying. He's a damn good
chef. Why am I surprised?

  The summer moved along peacefully enough until during our last week at the lake. Abruptly, our idyllic summer was shattered by events that centered on our cabin guest, Critter Purcell. Reddy's and my burgeoning sense of family was interrupted and put on hold when, on a visit to Mugzy's Coffee House in Huntsville for espressos and the morning news, a startling news headline splashed across the big screen: “WWN News 28 July 2012. Saudi ambassador and Russian representative shot at G-8 sub-committee meeting.”

  "Oh, no," Matte said. "Craft told me last night that there is a meeting at the Deersville Resort this morning. Craft and Laz’s Uncle Sergei as well as other members of the G-8 are there discussing the increasing global panic over an oncoming Comet Swarm." The meeting was being held at the Deersville Resort because of the excellent security the year before at the G-8 summit.

  The newscaster came back on screen: A witness to the shootings reported that the G-8 representative from Russia, Sergei Lazerov, suddenly slumped over in his seat at the conference table, face first into his salad plate, with a crimson crease parting his black hair. A second or two later, Prince Ahmad Khamal, the Saudi representative, screamed as blood began spurting from his neck.

  I was actually shaking. Another assassination, two targets this time. Was this Reddy's handiwork?

  Suddenly, Reddy appeared out of nowhere, like an apparition with a huge grin on his face. "Good morning folks; thought I might find you here."

  "Reddy!" I shouted with glee as I jumped up from the booth and hugged him. We never had called each other daddy and baby girl. I was so relieved that I totally forgot my hugging phobia and my premonition about Reddy's latest activity. When the reporter used the word sniper, I flip-flopped back to my premonition and glared at Reddy who was nonchalantly sipping an espresso with an angelic look of innocence plastered all over his face. Then I thought, Reddy doesn't miss. This can't be his work.

  "Why the Russian? Why was Sergei Lazerov, Laz's uncle, a target of an assassin, or was he collateral damage? Was the Saudi representative the real target?" I rattled off these questions.