Traces

by Paul Jr. Logan

  - He's clean, she answered. I gave him a good look around.

  - That's better, Steven waddled duckishly over to the bar and right in front of me broke the world record for the shot-put by throwing his ass on a high stool. It was his favorite spot. Now you and I are gonna talk, Hollywood upstart.

  For the second time today, I've been accosted by the place where I live.

  - I thought we were friends forever, I smiled broadly. What's that face behind you? Or you don't trust fat Karina anymore?

  - I'm fat? the gun jerked in her hands, she almost choked on the gum with indignation.

  - Shut up, Stephen said sharply, and it wasn't clear who he was talking to, Karina or me. Friends forever, Michael? Or did you think I wouldn't know whose fault it was that I spent half a month in jail for those drugs?

  - Oh, that. I smiled apologetically. To tell you the truth, I actually didn't think you'd get wind of it. Besides, I came to you with the noblest of intentions, and you decided to screw me. What was I supposed to do?

  - There's nothing for you to do now, said Karlsen darkly. He never learned how to form English sentences properly. Get closer to him, Ed.

  So his name was Ed.

  - I don't know why you're here, Steven picked his teeth, but I know exactly what I'm gonna talk to you about. You got your rubber truncheon, Ed?

  - You shouldn't have called me fat, Karina hissed.

  - Oh, yeah? I turned to her. Or your fat little heart would melt and betray your boss?

  Ed dug around in the inside of his crumpled jacket and actually pulled out a rubber truncheon. I don't know how it was attached.

  - You asked me, I said thoughtfully, keeping my eye on the muzzle of the gun pointed at my stomach, why you and I we can't, I'll tell you.

  I got up from my chair at a slow pace. The gun in her hand trembled, but she didn't pull the trigger, she didn't dare.

  - It's just that you're stupid, Karina, I said sadly.

  Ed was standing to my right, waiting for his boss's instructions. I turned to him. The rubber truncheon went up, but before it could drop, my right fist slammed into his jaw. Something crunched, and Ed stepped back and rolled onto his side.

  Ignoring Karina standing behind me, I took a step to the side. Ed staggered to get up. He was already on all fours, looking at me sideways when I gently kicked his head with my boot. That was enough to keep him quiet for a few hours. Of course, it's not good to hit people when they're lying down, and that's the first thing I'll announce on camera if the mayor of Los Angeles invited me to be on a TV show with him. But I wanted to finish talking to Ed as soon as possible so I wouldn't offend the rest of the family with my inattention.

  When I turned around, Karina's face was filled with genuine bewilderment. She'd pull the trigger but there were two thoughts running through her head either I was Superman and couldn't take a bullet, or the gun was unloaded.

  The muzzle of the gun was pointing down, which meant she was going to shoot me in the leg. That kind of humanity moved me almost to tears, so I didn't want to ruin her face. My left fist ducked under Karina's arms and went deep into the girl's stomach.

  She groaned and bent in half, desperately gasping for air. The chewing gum fell out of her open mouth, the gun silently hit the parquet. I rubbed her hair and tapped her lightly with the edge of my palm on her neck. She took a step toward me and collapsed with her face down.

  - Karina's not a bad girl, Steven, I explained to the fat man, and she's not a bad bodyguard, either. But it was an unequal fight.

  I bent down and raised my weapon.

  The fat man, who'd been sitting at the counter the whole time, moved slightly.

  - I'll remind you of that, Michael, he hissed. Now get out. Or do you want to hit me, too?

  I smiled broadly.

  - You don't know me very well, Steven. I don't hit people who are weaker than me. I make fun of them.

  My fingers dug into my inside pocket and pulled out a small transparent bag. I rubbed it lightly, giving Steven a chance to listen to the slight crunch of the white powder.

  - Heroin, and a pretty good one, I explained. I'm sorry, but I'm still gonna have to hit you over the head with the butt of my gun. Then I'm gonna stash this Christmas present and call the police. You know how much the D.A. loves you. If he gets a chance to put you behind bars, he'll so be thrilled that he'll donate 50 cents to the Red Cross.

  - You won't do that, Steven gritted through his teeth.

  - I did last time, I shrugged. You're not gonna get away with a couple of weeks now. You know, getting re-arrested...

  Steven looked at me with hatred, but I won, and he knew it.

  - What do you want? he asked, and I got the idea that he wasn't going to pray for me tonight.

  - Craig Ruell, I waved the bag in the air. All you know. Steven spat in the ashtray and looked at me sideways.

  - Damn clown, he grumbled. All right. But that's where you pulled tails, buddy I don't know much.

  - Steven, I shook my head reproachfully. I'm disappointed in you.

  - You broke two of my ribs, Karina's husky voice came from the floor. She was exaggerating.

  - I really don't know much, said Karlsen. Craig Ruell is a slippery type. He looks all right, but when you dig a little deeper, he's a crock. I can tell you what all of Hollywood knows, but it wouldn't satisfy you, would it?

  - And you called me fat, too, Karina went on, making no attempt to get up.

  - Shut up, Steven interrupted her. Here's the thing, Michael. All I can tell you I'll tell you. If it's not enough, the hell with you, I'll find your heroin before the cops show up. I haven't had a chance to dig up anything stinking about Ruell. But I will. A couple of days ago, I got an order from Southeast Asia. I can't be more specific. Some guy wants to have a full dossier on Ruell in two days. He wouldn't give me his name, but notice how sincere I am with you my people found out it's some Dr. Bane. I was gonna take a closer look at him, but it turns out I have nothing on Ruell.

  I can't lose my stamp, so for now I'm searching but I'll look into this Asian guy if I have to. It's up to you to decide whether it's enough or not.

  Steven Karlsen is easy to deal with because he's a professional. There was a one-in-a-hundred chance he had something valuable up his sleeve – let’s say, pictures of Ruell raping the first lady. But if he did keep them under his pillow, it's gonna take more than intimidation and I didn't want to overreact.

  - Give Ed my regards, I said, and for you, Karina, I'll send an electric weight loss belt.

  With those words, I turned around and walked out.

  6

  There were three faux-leather folders on my desk. One for "Craig Ruell," other for "Rowan Vaughn," and third for "Warren Vaughn". I frowned at Heidi and asked:

  - What do you think about their lawyer?

  She shrugged.

  - He's not a bad lawyer, if that's what you mean. He's smart enough to know he can't handle it by himself.

  - No honest lawyer could, I nodded. Because we have an unusually messy job to do.

  - What do you mean? she raised her eyebrows in surprise. Did you kill Ruell then buried his body parts all over California?

  - Sometimes I don't understand how I could get mixed up with such a dishonest and completely burnt-out woman, I said with sadness in my voice. Doesn't your heart bleed when you think that we're being paid to save a murderer from the electric chair? Who knows, maybe that money comes from an arms trade somewhere in the Middle East.

  She looked at me over the glasses that she always puts on when she picks up any piece of paper with letters on it.

  - Rowan Vaughn isn't a murderer more than you or I are, she said. Unless, of course, his uncle told us the truth. Do you have any doubts? Or is your heart just starting to bleed because you fool around?

  - My insides were almost bathed in my own blood today, I said, carefully taking Amber friend's gun out of my pocket, because I fooled around. I'd better check that gun, see if there's any
thing on it. The car should be repaired, too.

  I told her what had happened this morning, and then I opened the top file.

  - Martin did a good job, I finally said. He's done enough digging in half a day.

  Though the material in the file wasn't enough to make a big-screen movie about the adventures of my new friend, there was plenty of information.

  Craig Ruell came to the West Coast several years ago. He bought a house in an upscale neighborhood and quickly became part of the circle of wealthy youth. A year or a year and a half later, he was known as a hotshot and everyone's friend. No one knew from where he got his livelihood, but I was sure that Ruell had a roof strong enough for me not to hope for an easy victory in this direction.

  No one had any idea, either, where he had come to our town from or what he had been doing

  before that. Craig's past, about whose concealment he had read a poem to me, still remained a mystery. But the folder contained many names of Ruell's acquaintances and Martin's people were already working on it. I looked through and noticed a couple of familiar names.

  The folder devoted to Rowan Vaughn was less interesting. He was an undergrad at City University, studying economy. He worked at a small bank, but he wasn't very successful there. If his habit of killing young girls while drunk was documented in any medical or other document, Martin's people haven't gotten to it yet.

  The third folder contained information I already knew about the great Vaughn family, and a list of banks and other corporations that would benefit from being able to put pressure on Warren.

  - Martin asked me if he should attach psychological profiles of the leading figures of each of the corporations, Heidi explained, to find out who among them is willing to go that far in illegal machinations. Whoever that person is, he's involved in murder.

  - So?

  - I said no. It's too long. There's more than one person at the head of any major corporation... there's not just one man, there's always a few, sometimes as many as a dozen. There's a couple of them who are willing to cut Warren Vaughn's throat if it would be to their advantage.

  I nodded.

  - What did the lawyer say?

  - He's willing to represent Rowan if necessary. But the way things are going, we can't go to trial.

  - I think I'll talk to Inspector Deshler in Homicide. I said thoughtfully. I'll see what old Herrmann's been up to. When a case involves people like Warren Vaughn, relying on newspaper reports is like crossing a bridge by the habdrails.

  - Do you think he'll help us?

  I shrugged.

  - Deshler could always tell the difference between a guilty person and set up, but I'm not sure

  about this case. Did you notice the list of old Craig's acquaintances? Do you know any of them?

  - A few. They're mostly kids from rich families. I don't think there's anything they can do for us.

  The door opened and Donald Martin appeared on the doorstep.

  When they call me a private investigator, I always say I'm not. He does all the real detective work, his people follow the suspects, find out where they were when the minister of justice got

  a golden tooth, and do other similar tasks.

  - We got Ruell's fingerprints, Michael, Martin announced, uninvited, plopping down in his chair.

  - Did you call FBI? How did you manage to do that? Heidi asked, pushing the phone towards him.

  Martin shrugged his shoulders.

  - Ruell called for a mechanic this morning. One of my guys paid him not to do his job. We checked the car as well, nothing to snag on in the car.

  - Nice work, Donald, I nodded.

  - It's you, Ashley. Heidi's voice always changes a little when she's talking to someone on the phone. How's it going. I'm fine.

  I winked at Martin, and he winked at me. We winked at each other while Heidi poured soy into the phone and faxed the fingerprints. We had time to discuss the results of the presidential election when she finally hung up and said that the results would be in tonight. Martin promised to do some more digging, like bribing Ruell's hairdresser and getting a piece of his hair so we could send that somewhere, too. I told him to get some casts of his feet and compare them to the fossilized dinosaur footprints in the museum of natural history, and I got Martin all excited. He was still laughing as he walked out of the office.

  - How's old Ashley doing? I asked him when he left.

  - You sound as if you really cared, Heidi replied. We have an appointment with Rowan Vaughn.

  7

  That bastard killed her.

  Ethan Burns's right fist pressed firmly into the elastic leather side of a punching bag. That scumbag, daddy's damn son Vaughn killed her.

  A punch from the left, then right. The punching bag shakes gently, jammed with tinkling

  springs. Take that, Vaughn. That's for Amber. And this. And this.

  Sweat dripped from Ethan Burns’ forehead, drenching his face. He didn't notice that. He didn't need his eyes, he needed them to see her. And that was all he wanted.

  Amber. That bastard killed you.

  Of course, to a rich playboy, you were nothing more than a whore --a girl with whom you could do anything you wanted. You could even kill her if you desired. Cause daddy's got money, and he'll pay for everything.

  Burns’ breathing remained steady, as a professional boxer who was knocking out his opponent. And with every punch he was dealing with the man who killed Amber.

  She should have left Daddy's boy, Burns told her to. She didn't want to. She thought the playboy was attracted to her. Poor thing… a hit from the left, then right. Vaughn's face is covered in bruises, he goes down. Get up, you bastard. Another punch.

  The last time they met, Amber was particularly beautiful. She was always beautiful. Amber was a real lady, no matter what they say about her.

  They met in a little hotel by the ocean. She never brought Burns to her bungalow, didn't want him to run into Vaughn or that other prick, Ruell. That's why they were meeting at the hotel.

  The next day, Burns had to leave for Las Vegas. In that city of fortune, he was going to meet Renny Logan and their skill, not luck, had to decide which of the two of them would stay in the ring and which would be taken out.

  Burns won. And that same night, Vaughn killed his Amber.

  The punching bag shook under the measured blows. The same will happen to you, Vaughn. You just have to calm down.

  That night he arrived at the hotel before her. He stood at the window for a long time, staring out at the ocean. If he won the match in Las Vegas, he thought, he might be able to offer

  Amber something. Not as much as Vaughn had, of course.

  After all, he loved her, and Vaughn was only using her.

  He recognized her footsteps. He turned, staring as the door slowly opened and she appeared.

  The light carved slippers were tight around her feet – he gave them to her. Does she wear them when she meets Vaughn? Amber's long, slender legs were covered with a delicate layer of tan-she loved the ocean and the beach.

  Burns took a step in her direction, admiring his queen.

  The short, dark skirt swung open as she walked, revealing the gently swinging elastic thighs. The light white blouse was see-through, a hint of the color of sand bra- a little darker than it should have been in order to be invisible. Amber’s full breasts swayed slightly as she walked in rhythm with the movement of her hips.

  There was a sly smile on her full lips, that bordered the row of pearly teeth. Marianne Davis was a real lady, no matter what people said about her.

  Burns took another step, and her elastic nipples dug into his chest. The girl’s hot flesh burned him through the light shirt.

  - I'm here, my champion," she said softly.

  He didn't answer.

  Their hands met, their fingers crossed. He leaned toward her and found her lips. Amber pressed herself closer to him, and a passionate, burning, voluptuous, exhausting desire penetrated his body. He let her hands go and
put his arm around her waist.

  His Amber. Soon he would have a lot of money and go with her far, far away where no rich pricks with fat purses and stringy souls will try to get her. There will be just the ocean. And the two of them.

  Amber threw her head back, slightly moving away from him.

  - Are you leaving tomorrow, Ethan? she asked.

  - Yes, baby, he answered hoarsely. There was nothing he could do about his voice, although he gave himself the word of a professional boxer a hundred times to watch the way words are being born in his throat.

  - I’ll win this fight, he said. I will get a lot of money and we will leave. Will we, Amber?

  She laughed. Her laugh was warm, it directly calmed Danby and at the same time got him insanely excited. He wanted to hear that laugh every day for the rest of his life.

  - Even if you don’t win, my champion, she said, we will leave anyways.

  - Without money? his fingers caressed her back. My queen must live in luxury.

  -We will have money, Ethan. -she laughed again. -Lots of money. And we will go far away.

  What did she mean by that? He had to ask her, he should have. Amber's hot fingers slid down Burns’ neck. The girl's lips pressed against his.

  - And I'll be only yours, Ethan, she whispered softly, forever.

  The boxer's strong hands wandered gently down her back. He's strong, stronger than Rowan. But he could make a girl happy too. Burns moved slightly away from Amber, his short, rough fingers accustomed to clasp in a fist beneath his boxing glove, awkwardly grasped the top button of her blouse. He could feel her breasts rising through the textile. He unbuttoned the first button and began working on the second. Silly boy... That's where Rowan never had a problem. He knew how to undress her freely, gracefully, and in those moments it seemed as he took off her colored rags, he was at the same time dressing her in the velvety foam of the ocean.

  She was happy with Rowan but she was fully aware that this condition would not last beyond the bed in the bungalow bought with Craig Ruell's money.

  She could count on Ethan. He would never leave her. Furthermore, he's so strong. Burns handled the second button and moved on to the third. He was in a hurry, it made his strong, thick, rough fingers look even more awkward. He felt her firm breasts beneath his hands, and his soul was filled with a warm puppy joy.