by R. J. Kaiser
“Would it make any difference if I tell you that I still love you?”
“No, that’s worse! I don’t want to hear it, Ricky! Can’t you get that through your head?”
“But how can I help what I feel? The minute I arrived in town, all I could think about was coming here to see you.”
She glared at him, hating him for this. “You just don’t get it, do you?”
“Jade, I have to tell you this. I confess I drove by your house a few times. I was hoping I might get a glimpse of you.”
Her brows rose with surprise. “So, it was you, after all,” she said, the color rising in her face.
“I drove by, yes.”
“You tried to run down Art and you slashed my tires.”
“No, no, nothing like that, Jade. All I did was drive by your house. That’s all.”
She searched his eyes for the truth. “Ruthie said she thought she saw you last week.”
“Yes, and I saw her in front of your house. But I did nothing. My only sin is to want to see you.”
“Is that true?”
“Why should I damage your car if I love you? Am I not here with love in my heart?”
“Well, you can forget it. I’m not interested, Ricky. Period. End of story.”
He stood looking at her like a wounded child. But it wouldn’t work. She was immune. She was too strong for him. Too wise. Too aware. Her Ricky was dead for good.
Mac pulled into a parking place a couple of doors up the street from the address on Jade’s card. Spotting the house, he saw her at her door, talking to a young man. The conversation appeared to be animated, but he was too far away to see her expression. After several moments, the man turned and left. Jade went back inside, closing the door.
Mac got a good look at the guy. He was handsome, real handsome. And he wasn’t a Fuller Brush salesman. He got in a car and drove off, passing Mac on his way. Mac couldn’t read anything on the guy’s face. There was no way to tell what had just happened. It could have been a friend who’d dropped by, a boyfriend or nobody. At least she didn’t kiss him. Mac found reason in that to take heart.
As he sat there, the absurdity of the situation slowly began to sink in. What was he doing feeling jealous? Jade Morro was not the love of his life; she was in fact just a girl he’d had a few conversations with, as much about business as anything else. Was this what his life had come to? Were things that bad that he was reduced to groundless fantasy, adolescent jealousy? He’d ended a months-long relationship with Bri Lovejoy with hardly any thought, yet here he was at Jade Morro’s door, expecting what? Compassion? Love? Friendship? Help?
Mac started to get out when he spotted a car coming slowly up the street and pull into the spot where the young man’s vehicle had been. The driver, a man, seemed to be checking addresses. It wasn’t until the guy opened the door and got out that Mac realized it was Jaime Caldron. He couldn’t have been more surprised. What was Caldron doing here? Especially at this hour?
His heart sank.
Jade sat on her bed, recalling the pain of the last time she’d sent Ricky Santos packing. His betrayal had been the deepest wound of her life. This was different. The man who’d seemed so perfect, so right, was actually rather pathetic. He had been all along, of course, but she’d been blind to it. When she stopped to think about it, it made her sad to think that a man who might have been so good was, in fact, so undeserving of her love. The lesson was obvious. Ricky had been an illusion, a creation of her imagination. The Ricky she thought she knew didn’t exist.
There was another knock at the door. Mac. The prospect cheered her.
She took a quick look at her face in the bathroom mirror and went to the front room. When she looked out the window, she discovered it wasn’t Mac. It was an older guy in a sport coat, fiftyish, Latino. What now?
He knocked again. Jade opened the door a crack.
“Miss Morro?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Jaime Caldron, L.A.P.D.” He took his badge from his breast pocket and showed her.
Jaime Caldron. The guy who’d been investigating Mac. She opened the door wider. “What can I do for you?”
“Can we talk?”
“About what?”
“Your client, Mac McGowan.”
Jade opened the door wider. “How did you know he was my client?”
“His wife is an acquaintance.”
She smirked at his coyness.
“Can I come in?”
“For a few minutes. I’ve got things to do.”
“All I need’s a minute.”
Caldron stepped in, glanced around as if to assess who and what he was dealing with. Jade told him to sit down. He did.
“I’m working a case involving McGowan,” Caldron said. “Naturally, I’m curious what you’ve got going with him.”
“It’s confidential, Lieutenant.”
He contemplated her. “There are ways to get past that.”
“I work on a confidential basis unless the law says otherwise. In saying that, I’m not trying to be cute. It’s my policy.”
“You’re telling me you aren’t covering anything up.”
“There’s nothing to cover up.”
“Is there any harm in us comparing notes?” Caldron asked.
“What’s your case, Lieutenant?”
“Aubrey St. George.”
“Yeah, and you suspect McGowan of…what, exactly?”
“Killing him, burying the body.”
The bluntness and assurance of Caldron’s words surprised her, even though she’d already been forewarned by Mac. “I can assure you my client hasn’t retained me to do anything connected with a murder, which means we don’t have anything to talk about.”
“Am I detecting a little hostility here, or is it something else?”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Caldron. I’m trying to save us both some time and trouble, that’s all.”
“So, that’s it?”
“Yep, that’s it.”
“You’re new in this business,” he said with a sad but patronizing smile. “You’ll learn it pays to go along to get along.”
“It also pays to respect your client’s privacy, otherwise you won’t have any clients.”
“You turning them away, Morro?”
“I’d like to keep the ones I’ve got.”
Caldron got up. “I’ll let you get back to your busy schedule. Maybe we can talk again later.”
“Maybe.”
He went to the door. Jade followed him. Caldron said goodbye and left.
She watched through the window as he got in his car. The detective pulled away. She followed the vehicle’s departure and, in the process, noticed a Lexus parked a few doors up the street. Her neighborhood certainly wasn’t a slum, but you didn’t see many luxury cars parked around, either. This one looked an awful lot like Mac’s. When Caldron passed by the Lexus, a guy popped up from behind the wheel, obviously having ducked out of sight so he wouldn’t be spotted. It was Mac. With Caldron safely gone, he opened his door and got out of the car. As she waited, he came directly toward her, cutting diagonally across the street and across the lawn.
“Hi,” he said. “Looks like you’re as popular with the L.A.P.D. as I am.”
“Caldron’s obsessed with getting you, Mac.”
“I know. What did he say?”
“He asked what I’m doing for you.”
“And you said?”
“It’s none of his goddamn business.” She smiled. “But I was a little more polite than that. Come on in.”
They stepped inside. Mac glanced around with what looked like genuine curiosity. Her decor was a me´lange of cheery grandmother, budget student and practical working girl. There was not a lot of money in the place, but there was some care.
“Nice place.”
“No, it’s not. As you can see, I’m not a nest builder. No ribbons and bows. Minimal comfort, minimal neatness. But it suits me.”
“I
like it.”
“After your place, that surprises me.”
“Decorator. Real is better, Jade. I grew up with real. Sometimes I think I’ve forgotten who I am. And that, when you think about it, is a very sad thing.”
She found that an interesting comment. Mac, she noticed, often said things that made a lot of sense—at least they did to her.
“Sit down,” she said.
Mac dropped into her oversize love seat with a grand-motherish flower print. Jade took the faux art deco armchair she and Ricky had gotten in a secondhand shop.
“So, Caldron was paying you a get-acquainted call.”
“I’d say more gentle arm-twisting, Mac. He’s looking for help in making a case against you for homicide.”
“He said that?”
“Basically.”
“The sonovabitch.”
“You guys don’t like each other a whole lot.”
“No.”
“Well, I gave him my speech about client dealings being confidential. So, it came to nothing. I think as much as anything he’s giving us a poke.”
“You’re pretty stoic about it,” he said. “Is it your professionalism? Having seen it all before?”
“I’d like to tell you I’m not wondering, Mac, but the truth is I am. It’s none of my business, in a way, but it can’t help but color things.”
“Nobody wants to think they’re doing business with a killer.”
“I wouldn’t quite put it that way.”
“I would,” he said. “And that’s why I wanted to see you. I think it’s time for a little straight talk.”
The soberness of his tone made her wonder whether she really wanted to hear this. “Are you sure?”
“I’m not going to lie to you, Jade. And you may not like what you hear, but we’re at a point where I figure I’ve got to take that chance.”
Mac regarded her and she held his gaze. She nervously tapped her fingertips together. He looked like he was having trouble figuring out how to say it. She decided to make it as easy for him as she could.
“St. George didn’t accidentally drown in the ocean, did he?”
He drew a slow breath through his nose. “Are you asking for Caldron or for yourself?”
“For myself.”
Mac nodded. “Then no, he didn’t drown.”
“What happened?”
He studied her as though trying to gauge the degree of trust he could afford. His hesitation made her afraid of what he might say, but she wanted to know—and not for professional reasons. For herself.
“I killed him, Jade. But it was accidental. He walked in on Stella and me making love. Naturally, he went into a rage. I can’t blame him for that. But he was going to beat her and I just couldn’t allow it. When I stopped him, he turned on me. I shoved him away when he came at me. He fell and hit his head. The blow killed him.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Mac, that could be self-defense or justifiable homicide because you were protecting her. I mean, you didn’t beat him or anything, did you?”
“No, I wasn’t even conscious. Aubrey hit me with a statue just as I was shoving him away. His blow knocked me out. When I came to, he was on the floor next to me, dead.”
“That’s not murder or even manslaughter. You should have gone to the police.”
“I know. And I knew it then. But Stella was sure it would ruin our lives, and especially her career. She said the police would never believe us. I was young and stupid and I let her talk me into covering up Aubrey’s death. I’ve been paying for it ever since. We both have, though she’s never admitted it, I don’t think even to herself.”
“And now you’ve got Caldron trying to open up the case.”
“Yes. And then there’s the notes,” Mac said. “I still don’t know where they’re coming from. The only explanation is either somebody made a good guess or overheard something. Now they see an opportunity to cash in probably.”
“But there’s still been no demand.”
“No.”
“The whole thing is really bizarre, Mac. It just doesn’t add up. Somebody taking a shot at you and Stella. How does that fit in?”
“Beats me. That’s why I hired you,” he said, a smile slowly forming.
“Well, I’ve got a few mysteries of my own to contend with. Turns out whoever slashed my tires and tried to run down Art wasn’t my former boyfriend. At least I don’t think it was.” She shook her head. “There seem to be a lot of random, inexplicable events. We definitely are missing pieces to the puzzle.”
Mac looked at her with an awareness that was more frank than before, a questioning. She felt his intensity.
“I guess I should have asked you this first,” he said, “but how does this information about Aubrey affect your position? Do you have an obligation to go to the police?”
“Well, I’m not going to.”
“How do you feel about what I’ve said, then?”
“I’m relieved, to tell you the truth. I knew something happened. I’m glad it was this. I couldn’t see you doing anything truly evil.”
“Why’s that?”
“Intuition.”
He seemed pleased by her response. “I take that as a compliment.”
“It is, I guess.”
“So, where do we stand, Jade? What happens now?”
“I’m not so much in the dark. That’s a plus. But we have more questions than answers. I have a feeling we won’t have long to wait, though. Whoever’s sending notes and taking shots isn’t through. My gut instinct is all this has been a prelude.”
He chuckled sadly. “You certainly know how to raise a guy’s spirits.”
“My job isn’t to be cheerful.”
“Yeah, I know. But I’ve got to tell you, Jade, I feel better for having had this conversation. A lot better. You’re the first person in twenty years I’ve talked to about Aubrey. I may have enemies, and there’s no question I’m in danger, but I feel like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders.”
“I just hope I can help.”
“You’ve done a lot already. More than you fully appreciate, I’m sure.”
The warmth of his tone, his sincerity, embarrassed her. She wasn’t a superwoman, but Mac made her feel good, made her want to help him.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry,” he said. “You eaten yet?”
She shook her head.
“How about I take you out for a bite?”
“It’s late and I’m not really dressed.”
“We can go someplace informal. A hamburger joint. Anything.”
“Mac, I can make something. A bowl of soup, a sandwich. Of course, it’d probably have to be peanut butter and jelly. I don’t keep a very well-stocked pantry.”
He laughed with genuine gusto.
“So, I’m not very domestic,” she said with a shrug. “What can I say?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“What then?”
“You probably won’t believe this, but recently I’ve had this terrible craving for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
Burbank
When Manuela left the stage, her body glistening with perspiration, the drunks in the audience were standing and applauding. Blowing them a final kiss, she disappeared behind the curtain and headed for her dressing room.
“Assholes,” she muttered, eliciting a smile from the next girl waiting to go on.
Of course, the bastards paid her bills.
The Bottoms Up Club was definitely jumping even though it was ten on a Monday night. Eight to eleven was prime time, when the biggest stars were on—“the front line” as Mike called his best girls. Plus, on Monday nights cover and drinks were half price, though, as Manuela recalled, tips could be half price, too. But at least the place wasn’t dead. There was nothing worse than dancing to an empty house, knowing you might get a buck in tips if you were lucky.
At least Mike had put her back on the fr
ont line, much to the chagrin of some of the girl’s who’d been around a while. But as Mike told her, “You got the tits, the moves and the attitude I want in my A team. If they don’t like it, fuck ’em.”
It had been seven years since Manuela had been a front liner for Mike O’Gill and his former partner, Jumbo Jimmy Higgins—who didn’t get that name because of the size of his nose—shaking her butt in the faces of a bunch of rowdy drunks six nights a week, taking home a grand or two for her trouble. She’d forgotten how exhausting dancing could be. Of course, she’d only been twenty when she’d left Mike and Jumbo for Mule Creek as a reluctant guest of the state of California. Jumbo himself was in Quentin now, and Mike was the man. Manuela was no longer the firm twenty-year-old she’d once been, but, as Mike said, she had “a mature sexuality” that sold well. “Besides, the crowds are older these days.”
Maybe all that was true, but she also knew Mike had talked to his brother, and they were definitely intrigued by the prospects of a threesome. Arnold had dropped by her dressing room Sunday night “for a closer look at her wares,” as he put it, and he’d asked a couple of questions to see just how kinky she was willing to be. Seeing the delight on his face at her answers, she wondered if maybe at ten thousand she hadn’t sold out too cheap. Of course, they still hadn’t settled on how many times she’d have to do them for that. Hatred could only make a girl do so much.
Manuela entered her room, dumped her tips on the dressing table and mopped herself with a towel. People had no idea what hard work it was to dance under hot lights. One girl who’d done a little professional wrestling said it was a toss-up which was worse. Sitting, she began to smooth out the bills that had been thrust upon her by her adoring fans, when there was a knock on her door. “Who is it?”
“It’s Arnold.”
Manuela rolled her eyes. “God, not again,” she muttered under her breath. “Just a second,” she called.
Grabbing the little silk dressing gown lying on the chair, she slipped it on, cinching it around her waist nice and tight. Then she stashed her tip money in her drawer and opened the door. Arnold O’Gill, who the girls called “Dumbo,” stood there, filling the door and half the hallway. Arnold had one of those kid haircuts, shaved on the sides and long on the top with a little blond pigtail down the back. It looked ridiculous considering two girls holding hands could barely reach around his belly. At least Mike looked like a normal fat guy.
