If it wasn’t a criteria of my job I’d be happy with no press. I wasn’t doing this to get on Entertainment Tonight. And while it was great, I wasn’t doing it for the money. I was doing this because I loved telling stories.
I was back to where I started swimming, almost. I turned left and almost body surfed back to the beach. My towels and flip-flops were where I had left them. I pulled the towel over my shoulders and carried the flip-flops as I walked back across the sand. Emily and Henry would be cooking up a storm. Hopefully they kept a table for me.
As I passed the fence backing the skate-park I was assaulted by the vermin who made everybody’s life miserable. As if appearing from nowhere, at least fifteen assholes with cameras jumped in front of my face yelling things I couldn’t make out, even if I wanted to. And trust me, I didn’t want to. One of them, a middle-aged, fat and greasy son of a bitch I’d run into on more than one occasion stuck his foot out and tried to trip me. Nothing like a picture of me falling flat on my face under a “Drunk at 7:00 in the morning” headline.
I wasn’t an idiot. I stepped over the foot, giving him a kick as I did. ‘Watch yourself mate. You’re going to hurt yourself.’ I wasn’t going to pull a Sean Penn. Just below the falling down drunk picture, from a value perspective, was the “Britney pounding on a car with an umbrella” picture. I wouldn’t give them anything.
They didn’t like that.
The cameras pressed closer. I started making out sentence fragments. ‘Sweeney out of jail - fucking him? - What are you going to do? - Comment on the story - what about the dead kid? - Are you fucking him again?’
I clenched my jaw. I tried to ignore the comments and pressed through the crowd. I’m skinny, but I’m strong. The most exercise these guys ever got was reattaching lenses to their cameras. I just spent a year in weapons training and unarmed combat training with some very tough guys.
Then it went over the line.
‘So if Sweeney didn’t kill the faggot, he must have killed himself then, right? Why’d you try to set up Sweeney?’
I popped.
‘Who said that?’ I picked out the questioner. A younger slime-ball, shaggy hair, a shaggy beard and really foul body odor. I reached out and grabbed a fist full of beard and immediately regretted it. It was greasy. I had to wrap my fingers around it to keep a grip.
But a grip I kept.
I yanked hard and pulled his face close to mine, regretting that also. He clearly couldn’t afford any oral hygiene. ‘Listen, you smelly, half-assed piece of shit. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I swear to God, if I see you anywhere near me again, I will pop you in the fucking eye. You like Sweeney so much, go ask him what I fight like.’ I gave the beard an extra hard yank and released him. ‘You smell worse than the bag lady on the beach. Have you no pride?’
That only seemed to spur them on. I tried to push through them, but the beard yanking seemed to have triggered some sort of bloodlust, like chum to a shark. It was frightening. I was getting manhandled.
I snugged the towel tighter. Hands tugged at it, trying to pull it from around me. ’Back off. Let me through before I call the police.’
‘You don’t have a phone, bitch.’
I was looking for the owner of that voice, to deliver a punch to the neck when some of the paps on the east side of the group started dropping. A couple more dropped before anyone noticed. I pushed through in that direction and met Henry taking a swing at the kidneys of the really fat greasy guy.
To the rescue.
I had to stifle a laugh. As frightening as that experience was, the sight of a middle-aged Asian man in a cook’s apron wielding a rolling pin was classic. Five of the paps were on the ground holding a leg or their back. I tucked in behind him like he was my bodyguard
The fat guy looked up at the two of us and started yelling. ‘That asshole hit me with his stick.’ Murmurs of painful agreement followed from the others on the ground. Those remaining on their feet backed off a bit but had their cameras at the ready.
‘Pics or it didn’t happen boys.’ Henry looked around. ‘But I’ve got video of you assaulting Ellie and if any pictures of this encounter show up anywhere, I’m sending the clip to Perez, TMZ, Entertainment Tonight and every TV station in the LA area. I got most of it. Don’t try me.’
‘Who gives a fuck what you do with the video?’
‘I’ve got close ups of all of you. The public distaste for the shit you guys peddle is high, and now they’ll have faces to put to your work.’ Henry smiled. ‘Such as it is. This is just the beginning, weasel faces. You’ll be as well-known as the people you photograph. Fucking pariahs.’
‘What, like the fish?’ The bearded wonder was also a moron.
‘Get lost assholes.’ Henry poked the closest one in the sternum with a roller pin jab hard enough to thunk. ‘Or I’ll finish a couple more of you.’
He took me by the arm and escorted me out of the mob. ‘You okay?’
I nodded. ‘More frightened than anything else. Thanks for stepping in. I could have taken out a couple of them, but fifteen is a bit more than even I could handle.’ I took a deep breath and looked back at the beach. The paps had disappeared to whence they came. The homeless lady was standing halfway between the surf and the skate park, watching me. ‘Who is she?’
‘Huh?’ Henry looked in the direction I was pointing. ‘Oh. That’s Ann. A pretty regular fixture around here for a couple of years now. We help her out from time to time, but it’s not often. Very independent. Why?’
‘She always gives me a wave. From a distance, though. Whenever I try to talk to her she mutters something, laughs, and walks away.’
‘At least she waves at you. She ignores me. Emily manages to elicit a smile once in a while. Mostly she just grabs whatever food we give her and waddles off down the beach.’ He stopped near the entrance to their cafe. ‘Hungry?’
‘I’m starving. Hold a table and I’ll be back in a minute. I need to rinse the salt off and I’ll be damned if I do it in front of those ass-hats with cameras.’
Henry smiled. ‘I understand. Usual?’
‘Usual dress-fitting day food. Fruit, wheat toast and some pink grapefruit juice.’
‘And no strawberries. Once of these days I’ll get you to taste my cooking. Inside table I think.’
‘Unfortunately. It’s a beautiful day. Those guys had to ruin it.’
‘Tonight’s a big night. I’m sure you’ve got a long day ahead of you. Go shower and relax. Don’t let them dictate your mood. Take a deep breath and be one with the universe.’ His eyes smiled when he said this.
‘Okay Master Po. But you better let Emily know about this.’
‘I usually do. Why?’
‘You’re going to be on the cover of half the tabloids in town identified as my new boyfriend.’ I smiled and gave him a hug and went back to my apartment.
I stepped out on the balcony. The gray sky and vacant beach had transformed to a hot blue sky and a bustling marketplace. The vendors had set up, ready to foist t-shirts and sunglasses and hats on unsuspecting tourists. Muscle-bound narcissists applied liberal coats of oil before their flex-fest. Roller-skaters, and roller bladers, already populated the boardwalk. It was going to be one of those Southern California days Katy Perry sings about.
I showered off the salt and pulled on some Capri’s and a golf shirt. Tied my hair in a pony-tail and once again thought about getting it cut. After all the publicity, of course. The part of the job I liked the least. But the studio insisted on it. They invested the money in the movie so I guess it was their right to parade me like a trained chimp trying to flog the movie.
Henry had a table reserved for me inside, away from the window. My chilled crystal bowl of sliced fruit - no strawberries - was waiting for me. The crystal bowl wasn’t my idea, honest. Henry thought it was a nice touch and I had to agree, but it made me look a diva.
Emily sat across from me. ‘Henry told me what happened. That’s terrible. You used to be anon
ymous around here.’ She placed a hand on my arm. ‘In a good way of course. If you ever need refuge, come on in. We reserve the right to turn away anyone and all of those paparazzi assholes will get turned away.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m upsetting you. I’m upsetting myself. Enjoy your breakfast. It’s going to be the last peaceful one you get for some time.’
‘You’re a champ Emily. I’ll try to keep you and Henry out of the messes I get myself in. I appreciate the offer of refuge, even though my apartment is only ten feet from here.’ I smiled. ‘Maybe I should be offering you two refuge. Those guys are going to haunt this place.’
Chapter Six
The nineteen-year-old kid hammered on the front door again. ‘Breakfast. Mister, it’s getting cold and if you try to stiff me because it’s late I’ll be really pissed.’ He knocked once more and rattled the doorknob. It turned and the door opened. The kid took a step in. ‘Buddy, if you don’t pay for this I have to, and I’m trying to save money for stunt school. You in here?’ He slid the thermal carrier onto a table and looked around. The floor down the hallway was wet. The sound of running water in the back of the house seemed to indicate someone was home. He tip-toed through the water and knocked on the bathroom door. ‘Mister, can you hear me? Food’s here and I need to get paid.’ He looked down. Water slowly seeped across the floor. The door swung open to a body floating in the overflowing tub. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
He stumbled backwards and reached for his mobile phone in his back pocket. He punched 9-1-1 and backed out of the front door.
‘9-1-1 operator. What is your emergency?’
‘I - I - I just found a dead dude in a tub.’
‘Is he breathing?’
‘He’s dead. Didn’t you hear me? D-e-a-d.’
‘What is your location?’
The delivery guy gave the operator the address in the Valley. ‘You gotta get out here.’
‘An ambulance has been dispatched. How are you certain he’s dead?’
‘There’s a fucking hole in his head and he’s face down in an overflowing bathtub. Trust me, the ambulance will have nothing to do. Send the cops.’
‘Dispatching police. What is your name sir?’
‘Rod Worthington. Look, I’ve gotta deliver breakfasts. It’s my job.’
‘The police will be there shortly. They will want to ask you questions. I suggest you call your boss and tell him you’ll be detained.’
‘I could just leave.’
‘We have your mobile number and name. I wouldn’t.’
Rod heard sirens approaching. ‘Yeah, okay. They’re almost here.’
He sat on the front step and waited for the cops to arrive.
The ambulance got there first.
He hiked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘In the bathroom guys. Take your time.’ He slid to one side to let them through. ‘It’s not pretty.’
A plainclothes car pulled up to the curb, stripped of all decoration. ‘Obvious cop car. Why do they bother?’
A suit got out of the driver’s seat and approached him. ‘My name is Detective Jacob Sampson. You discovered the body?’
‘Um, yeah. I’m Rod Worthington.’ He rubbed his hands on his pants and shook the Detective’s. ‘Delivering breakfast for the guy. I knocked three times and the door was unlocked. I just wanted to get paid, man. I wasn’t trespassing or anything.’
Detective Sampson smiled. ‘Relax. You’re not going to be charged with anything. What time did you arrive?’
Rod looked at his watch. ‘Oh, about ten minutes ago. A few minutes after 8:00.’
‘Is this the first time he’s ordered breakfast from your company?’
Rod shrugged. ‘First time I delivered here. Maybe he ordered before and someone else delivered.’
‘You got a menu?’
Rod pulled one out of his pocket. ‘Yeah, sure. Hungry? This guy’s not going to need his food.’
‘No, son. I want the company name, phone number and address. This is the easiest way for both of us.’ He took the tri-fold and slipped it in the back of his notebook. ‘Do you know what time this morning he ordered?’
Rod scratched his head. ‘It wasn’t this morning. Look, if you call the number on the menu and ask for a guy named Rick, he’s the manager, he can tell you. It was late yesterday afternoon sometime. Pre-ordered for a morning delivery. A lot of people do it. Delivery can take up to an hour on some mornings. Makes better sense to order it ahead of time and have it delivered when you wake up.’
‘How many deliveries do you do in a morning?’
‘It’s a Tuesday. Pretty slow. Maybe ten all up. I’ve got two more in the car getting cold.’
Detective Sampson handed Rod a business card. ‘I’ll let you get back to work. Call me if you think of anything else.’ He handed Rod his pen and his notebook. ‘Write your address and phone number here, just in case I need to talk to you.’ He smiled when Rod hesitated. ‘Scout’s honor, you’re not going to be charged with anything.’
Rod scribbled his details and handed the pad and pen back to the detective. ‘I can go?’
‘Go. Hungry people need their food. Thanks for hanging around.’
‘Yeah, well the dispatcher kinda intimated I’d be arrested if I didn’t. Gotta go man.’
Sampson walked in the house and back to the bath. ‘What ya got?’
One of the paramedics looked up from her clipboard. ‘Dead. Have you called the ME? Nothing for us to do.’
‘Thanks for stopping by.’ He walked out on the front porch and called the dispatcher to send the meat wagon. An unmarked car rolled up at the curb and plainclothes police got out.
‘Hey boys. We got a floater in a tub. ME is on the way.’ Sampson looked closer at the older of the two. ‘Perkins? Long time, pal. When did you get the sergeant stripes?’
‘Almost a year now.’ He checked some notes in his ever-present notepad. ‘I’ve been here before.’
‘As have I, my friend. Bart Sweeney’s place. It’s been almost year and a half.’
‘I’m really pissed he got let off. What’s her name,’ he snapped his fingers.
‘Ellie Bourke?’
‘Yeah. She dropped the evidence on my desk.’
Sampson smiled. ‘I was there, Perkins. Remember?’
Perkins nodded. ‘I do. He was as guilty as sin. Shouldn’t have been let go. Goddamn lefty-lawyers. And judges.’ He adjusted his shoulder holster. ‘So the deceased - is it Bart himself?’
‘Couldn’t say. I haven’t been here long and just finished first responder duties. What took you so long, frozen yogurt sale?’
The Medical Examiner wagon stopped in the driveway interrupting their conversation.
‘Where’s the body?’ The portly, young ME levered himself from the front seat. ‘Paras said they thought suicide. Have you had a look yet?’
‘Gerry, I’m surprised. No conclusions without evidence, right? You tell us. And no I haven’t had a look yet. Perkins and I were just about to go in.’
The police followed the ME. Forensic techs had also just arrived and the photographer took shots of the body in situ.
‘What do you see, Sergeant?’ Sampson crossed his arms and surveyed the scene.
‘Can’t tell how long the water’s been running, what with the drain in the floor. Could be an hour or it could be a day.’ He looked to the ME. ‘You got a time of death, Gerry?’
‘This is going to be tough to judge, boys. The water is warm. Check what kind of water heater he’s got, will you? If it’s a tank, it can help set the time. The running water was still hot. If it was one of those infinity ones, it’s no good to us at all.’
Sampson nodded to one of the techs who went in search of the source.
‘The death was most definitely caused by this close range shot to the head, right temple. Small calibre, probably .22. No exit wound, so the bullet is in there somewhere, among the scrambled brains. The body has bloated and there’s rigor. My bet - and it’s a really rough estimate until we can
look at stomach contents and internal organ decay - is 12 hours. 8:00 last night. Give or take a broad three hours.’
Samson checked his notes. ‘Last night he called in a food delivery for this morning. The restaurant will have the time.’
‘If he made the call.’
‘Always the conspiracy theorist, Perkins.’
Sergeant Perkins smiled. ‘Love a good conspiracy. Any sign of the weapon?’
The ME pointed in the tub under the body. ‘In the water. Probably no prints after being in there, but that’s not my problem.’ He stood. ‘I’m finished with him if you want to drain the water. I’ll have him in the morgue in an hour or so and tell you what I find.’
Sampson leaned over and reached for the chain attached to the stopper.
Perkins grabbed his arm. ‘Hang on. There might be something in there. Wait until the body’s out.’
‘Good point. I’m taking a look around. Let me know when it’s all clear.’ He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and moved into the kitchen. Two old pizza boxes sat on the counter. He lifted the lids and looked. A slice of Hawaiian and two of a pepperoni and cheese mess. ‘Christ. If he hadn’t shot himself his heart would have done itself in within the year.’ The number of plates indicated either four people were there the night before or he was a very sloppy person. ‘Perkins?’
The Sergeant wandered into the kitchen from the living room, notepad in hand, penciling notes. ‘Yeah?’
‘Find anything? Looks like maybe he had visitors here last night. We’ll need prints off the bottles.’ He button-holed one of the younger crime scene techs. ‘Make sure you check these. Looks like there may have been someone here last night.’
Perkins flipped his notepad closed. ‘The place was recently scrubbed clean. Looks like the guy killed himself though. Not sure why the prints have any bearing on this.’ He stopped as if he just realized something. ‘Why is the dog squad here anyway?’
G'Day USA Page 5
