by Alan Cook
Nathan clamped his mouth shut, reminding Tony of a baby Gila monster named Franklin that he had tried to raise when he was young. But Franklin, who may have missed his mother, wouldn’t eat and died of starvation. Reverend Hodgkins had also clammed up when Tony had asked him the same question. They must be pledged to secrecy. Well, what did he care? Let them have their silly little secret. However, he was still curious about other things.
“What are you doing to prepare for this day?” He wasn’t sure Nathan was going to answer this question either. After an embarrassing silence, Tony said, “I mean, are you selling all your things, divesting yourself of your worldly possessions, as it were?”
“Why is this any of your business?”
Nathan was getting hostile. It was too late for Tony to pretend he wanted to join the church. Besides, if he said he did, he would actually have to go to a service, and he figured if he attended a service, the roof of the church would fall in. Retribution from the Lord. It had been a long time since he had attended an actual church service. And the roof had looked pretty shaky anyway. But he shouldn’t have let his skepticism show.
Tony said, “Well, if you have a good car, I might want to buy it from you.” That was a flat-out lie. There was no way he was going to trade his Porsche for any other car on the road.
“I’ll let you know.”
Tony had a more serious reason for his questioning, but when he brought that up, he was sure it would further upset Nathan. However, he felt it was his duty to at least try to warn him. He said, “Are you…that is, are you expected to give your money or your possessions to the Church, by any chance?”
Nathan was glaring at him now, but Tony felt he had better finish what he wanted to say. “Have you at least considered the possibility that this is a scam—a way to get all your money? That the people who are running the church are fleecing the members?”
Nathan’s look was more hostile than ever. Tony figured he had said enough. They finished out the shift in almost complete silence, except when they were on the phones.
CHAPTER 17
It wasn’t until Tony had arrived at the Hotline on Friday and saw Shahla that he remembered that they had sent an e-mail to Paul the Poet from Shahla’s address. Other challenges had crowded that out of his mind.
She was looking as fetching as ever in a skirt and top combination that bared her midriff and a few other things. But he had learned that the girls didn’t dress to look sexy to others. They dressed for themselves.
Before he had a chance to ask her whether she had received a reply to her e-mail, she said, “Can we go to Las Vegas tomorrow?”
“We? Do you have a mouse in your pocket?”
“I have to go. I’m the poet, remember? Or at least I can talk about poetry in a way that he won’t throw me out on my ear.”
“If you received an e-mail, why didn’t you forward it to me?”
Shahla looked calculating. “Because I knew what you’d say about me going.”
“And now I’m saying it.”
“Yes, but at least I can counter it in person. Give me a chance to explain, Tony. Here, I’ll show you the e-mails.”
“Plural? How many are there?”
“Oh, we’ve had quite a conversation.”
And she had done all this behind his back. Of course, he had been doing a few things behind her back, but that was different. Shahla had printouts of the e-mails. Paul had responded to her first one by saying that he would be glad to meet her. He suggested that they meet at his house, which, Tony recalled, was really his parents’ house.
Shahla had very sensibly replied that she would like to meet him in a public place. She had suggested a casino. Paul said that the Tortoise Club was a downtown casino with a nice coffee shop, and that they could meet there. Shahla asked how she would know him. Paul said he was six feet, two inches tall and would wear a T-shirt with a limerick on the front.
Tony finished reading the correspondence and tried to marshal his thoughts. He glanced at Shahla. She was sitting on pins and needles and not looking at him. If he met Paul alone, there was no telling what the man would do. He might bolt. Callers to the Hotline often had very fragile egos and the slightest thing could make them go ballistic. Having Shahla with him would be a big advantage in that respect. No, the whole thing was impossible. He would go by himself. If Paul wouldn’t talk to him, he would do some gambling. He needed a mini-vacation.
“You have to be twenty-one to enter a casino,” Tony said.
Shahla shrugged. “Even to go in a coffee shop?”
“No, not a coffee shop. But you can’t go with me. There’s a law against taking a girl across a state line for immoral purposes.”
“We’re not going for immoral purposes,” Shahla said indignantly. “We’re trying to solve a murder. Remember?”
“Your mother won’t permit you to do it. And you told me you always communicate with your mother.”
Shahla considered that. After spinning herself around on her chair a few times, she said, “I’ll make you a deal. After we finish here, we’ll go talk to my mother and tell her what we’re going to do. I’ll live with her decision. If she says I can’t go, I won’t go. If she says yes, then you’ve got to take me.”
Tony was astonished. “You’re willing to do that? Introduce me to your mother and abide by her decision? There’s no way she is going to say yes.”
“Then you’re off the hook.”
“All right.” Tony found that he was looking forward to meeting Shahla’s mother. And being a mother, of course she wouldn’t let Shahla go. What kind of a mother would she be if she did? So it was settled. Curiously, Tony found that he wasn’t completely happy with the result. While he was wondering about that, the phone rang.
“Central Hotline. Tony speaking.”
“Hi, Tony, this is Rick. I don’t know if I talked to you before. I called about three months ago.”
“I’m not sure, Rick.” Of course he hadn’t been on the line three months ago, but he didn’t want to sound negative.
“Anyway, whoever I talked to helped me. I had just come here from Nebraska and needed a job bad. He told me to go to this place in Santa Monica called Chrysalis. They help homeless people get back in the job market. Well, I wasn’t homeless, but close to it. So, anyway, I went there. I walked in and hadn’t even registered when I met a guy in the lobby. He said he was looking for heavy equipment operators. Man, that’s what I do.”
“So he gave you a job?”
“Yeah. Now I’m making more money than I ever made in my life. I brought my wife and kids here. Now we’re going to take a trip back to Nebraska to visit the family.”
“That’s wonderful, Rick.” It was nice to get positive feedback from a caller.
“My wife said I should show my appreciation by donating some money to a good cause. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Well, you can make a donation to the Hotline. We rely on donations to keep us operating.”
Tony gave the address of the Hotline post office box to Rick. When he hung up, he was elated. He told Shahla, “I’m going to write this up and put it on the board so everyone can see it.”
Several hang ups and several calls later, Shahla signaled that she had the Chameleon on the line. Tony knew from checking the call reports of other listeners that the Chameleon was still calling the Hotline on a regular basis, using different aliases, but nothing new had been learned about him. And as far as Tony knew, Detective Croyden hadn’t been able to track him down.
Shahla put him on the speaker. He was saying, “…step-mom just circumcised me. She’s a doctor.”
“How old are you?” Shahla asked. She was playing along with him.
“Fifteen. But when she did, I got an erection.”
The voice could be that of a teenager. Or of somebody impersonating a teenager. But Shahla was sure it was the Chameleon.
“That must have been embarrassing for you.”
“Yes, of course it was. Sh
e’s married to my dad.”
There was a pause. Tony had discussed the Chameleon with Shahla and she had agreed not to attempt to meet him. She would stick to trying to pinpoint his location. The dead air continued. He wasn’t exactly voluble tonight.
Shahla broke the silence saying, “For our records, could you tell me where you’re calling from?”
More silence. Then, “El Segundo.”
At least he was consistent in that regard. Shahla said, “I love El Segundo. There’s a cute little shop on Main Street that sells imported knickknacks. I bought some dolls there that nest, one inside the other.”
Shahla had probably never stopped in El Segundo in her life. She had just driven through it to points north. El Segundo wasn’t a destination. Tony had told her about it, in case this very situation occurred.
“They’re called matroshka,” the Chameleon said. “That means ‘little mother.’”
“You are so lucky to live in a place like El Segundo. Do you live near that store?”
Silence. Tony and Shahla looked at each other. Tony put his finger to his lips. Outwait him. Maybe he would give something away.
“I pass it on my walks.”
“When do you walk?”
“In the afternoon.”
“After school?”
“When I…. Listen, I have to go.”
He hung up.
“I think he was about to say, ‘When I go to work.’” Shahla said.
“He broke character,” Tony said. “He forgot who he was today. That may be useful. Write it up and…”
“Pass it on to Detective Croyden.”
“Right.”
“I knew you were going to say that.” Shahla wrinkled her nose. “So far, Croyden has been a big fat zero.”
***
Tony followed Shahla home and parked in the street as she pulled into the garage, which opened as if by magic as she approached, but actually in response to a remote control in her car. Tony saw that half of the two-car garage was full of stuff. He was right in thinking that they only had one car. They met on the front steps as Shahla produced a key to the house and unlocked the front door.
“Mom,” Shahla yelled. “I’m home.”
Shahla led the way into the comfortably furnished living room. They didn’t seem to be hurting for money.
After a minute, Mom appeared through a doorway and said, “You don’t have to shout, Shahla. I heard you drive in.”
Shahla’s mother had an accent and was a slightly darker and shorter-haired version of Shahla. In the dim light of the living room, she could have passed for her sister. She was slim and elegantly dressed, but definitely not like a teenager.
“Mom, this is Tony,” Shahla said. “The one I told you about.”
Shahla had called her mother from the Hotline and told her they were coming.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Lawton,” Tony said. He didn’t know whether it would be proper to shake hands with her or not.
She immediately extended her hand, however, and said, “Please call me Rasa. All my patients do. I appreciate you working with my daughter.”
“You’re a nurse, aren’t you?” Tony asked.
“Yes, I work at Bonita Beach Memorial Hospital.”
“Mom, Tony’s going to drive to Las Vegas as part of Joy’s murder investigation, and I need to go with him.”
Shahla was diving in without testing the water. Tony expected Rasa to hit the ceiling, but she showed an amazing calm.
“Please sit down,” Rasa said to Tony. “Would you like coffee?”
Tony hesitated and Shahla said, “It’s American coffee. The kind you drink.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Tony sat down on a soft couch that had two sections, at a 90-degree angle from each other. Shahla kicked off her shoes and sat down on the other section. She curled one leg up underneath her.
“Your mother speaks English very well,” Tony said.
“She does all right. She has trouble with her articles.”
“Articles?”
“A, an, and the.”
“Where was she born?”
“In Teheran.”
“Iran,” Tony said. “I have a cousin who is married to an Iranian.”
“She prefers to be called Persian.”
“How about your Dad?”
“He was born in Chicago.”
The soft couch made Tony realize that he was tired. He found himself relaxing. Shahla had quit talking. He glanced over and saw that her eyes were closed. At least she didn’t feel she had to entertain him.
They both came to attention when Rasa returned with a tray containing two cups of coffee and a glass of water for Shahla. Tony declined an offer of sugar and cream and took a sip. This would wake him up.
After they were served, Rasa sat in an armchair and said, “Tony, tell me about trip to Las Vegas.”
Shahla started to speak, but Rasa interrupted her saying, “I want to hear it from Tony. You will get your chance after.”
“One of our former callers is a poet,” Tony said. “A few days ago Shahla and I found a poem that had been slipped under the door of the Hotline. Did she show it to you?”
“No,” Rasa said and looked at Shahla, who looked only the tiniest bit contrite. “She does not show me anything.”
“Since it’s evidence, I felt the fewer the number of people who saw it, the better,” Shahla said.
Rasa shrugged and said to Tony, “Go on with your story.”
“It’s a well-written poem, and Shahla felt that the only person she knows who might have written it was this former caller, Paul, who lives in Las Vegas. We sent him an e-mail, and he said he would like to meet us.”
“Me,” Shahla said. “He said he would like to meet me.”
“Okay, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for Shahla to go.”
“Is this not job for police?” Rasa asked.
“We don’t really have any evidence that he wrote the poem,” Tony said. “It’s probably what my grandmother would have called a wild goose chase.”
“I see,” Rasa said. “Okay, Shahla, tell your side of story.”
“Tony’s a good guy,” Shahla said, “but he’s not a poet. He doesn’t know how to talk to poets. He won’t be able to get anything out of Paul. That is, if Paul will even talk to him. Because he has one other problem. He’s not—a girl.”
“Is it dangerous, meeting this person Paul?” Rasa asked.
“Not if Tony’s with me,” Shahla said. “We’re going to meet him in a coffee shop in the middle of Las Vegas.”
“Do you agree?” Rasa asked Tony.
“Er, well, no, it shouldn’t be dangerous. As Shahla says, it will be in a public place. But I still don’t think she should go.”
“I don’t think so either,” Rasa said.
Shahla started to protest. Rasa held up her hand.
“Tony, let me tell you little history,” Rasa said. “Five years ago Shahla lost her father. She is my only daughter. I have one younger son who is asleep, that is if Shahla did not wake him by shouting when she came in. Shahla was very shook up by her father’s death. It is taking her long time to recover.”
Rasa paused and took a sip of coffee. “Tony, don’t let anybody tell you it is easier to raise girls than boys. As a nurse, I see problems every day, not just with my own family. Girls are harder. Just look at clothes they wear.”
Shahla again looked ready to say something, but Rasa continued, “It is difficult to be single mom. I try my best with children, but it is hard. Shahla misses out by not having father figure. She looks up to you. I know because she told me some things about you, and she doesn’t talk about many of her friends. You are not old enough to be father figure, but you are man, much more mature than crazy teenage boys.”
Tony wondered where this was going. He glanced at Shahla. She had a look of expectation on her face.
“I do not want Shahla to go, but I do not want her to hate me, eithe
r. And I don’t want her doing things behind my back. It is tough decision. I trust you, Tony, perhaps more than I trust Shahla. I trust you not to hurt her and to keep her safe. If I give permission, will you take Shahla with you?”
Now he knew why Shahla was willing to leave the decision to her mother. She had her mother where she wanted her. But Rasa had made some good points. And from the trust that she placed in him, he knew that he would never be able to do anything to hurt Shahla.
He looked at Shahla. She was nodding her head vigorously. Tony swallowed his doubts and said, “All right, you can go. But you have to go to bed right now. Because I’m picking you up at seven o’clock tomorrow morning. Sharp.”
CHAPTER 18
Tony upshifted smoothly as he merged onto the 105 Freeway eastbound from the 405 northbound. The 105 was a godsend to the commuter who lived near the coast and commuted inland—or vice versa. It was the newest of the L.A. freeways, and Tony drove it constantly for his work. Only infrequently did he think about the hundreds of people who had once lived along here and had been displaced during its protracted period of construction.
He glanced at Shahla, sacked out on the seat beside him. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as he had backed out of her driveway. So much for companionship. Remembering his own days as a teenager, he knew that they often didn’t get enough sleep. But he couldn’t play his radio or his CDs, which he would have been doing if he had been alone. Maybe she was more trouble than she was worth.
She was wearing her hair down, not in a ponytail. Her jeans were cut higher than usual on her hips and her top lower, closing the gap. The changes made her look older, and Tony knew enough about women to realize that this was a calculated look, to impress Paul. He admitted to himself that the more mature Shahla was more appealing. But he must not get carried away. She was still only seventeen.
***
“Where are we?”
Shahla’s sleepy voice jolted Tony out of his reverie. The Porsche had been humming along on Interstate 15, and he had been humming under his breath, in perfect synch with it. How much better than the stop-and-go driving in town. He was only going a few miles-per-hour over the speed limit. Speed wasn’t the issue. It was—freedom. Besides, he felt responsible for Shahla’s safety, especially after talking to Rasa. He felt very protective of her. Almost like a father. Almost. He would have been going faster if she weren’t with him.
