BLACK in the Box

by Russell Blake

  The driver moved with easy familiarity to one of the four bedrooms. He swung the door open, and three men looked up at them from where they were crouched on the floor, smoking and playing the Chinese card game Jiăn Hóng Diăn.

  “Gentlemen, this is your new roommate. Fresh off the boat. His name’s Tom.”

  The men nodded, and Daojiong moved through the cigarette haze to the vacant top bunk bed and placed his bag on it. The driver reached into his jacket and extracted an overstuffed envelope, which he handed to Daojiong.

  “Passport, immigration documents, work permit, social security card. Background on your new identity. It’s all there, along with fifty dollars.”

  Daojiong nodded. His needs would be provided for by the triad. Money would come with time and jobs; it had always been that way. Daojiong had been with the group for half of his twenty-six years, and in spite of his slight, youthful appearance, had killed dozens of targets and beaten more than he could count. He didn’t mind the work – it paid far more than he could have ever made doing anything else, and if it hadn’t been him, someone else would have gladly taken his spot. It was the law of the jungle, and he had no qualms about snuffing out a life and then sleeping well. It was just what he did, like being a baker or a builder, only his vocation was enforcement.

  He normally performed two or three contracts a month, most of them involving beatings or the threat of injury. The triads only killed as a last resort, which was a function of pragmatism rather than compassion: it was impossible to extract payment from a dead man. Competitive entities gave the triads a wide berth, because when they did decide to terminate someone, they did so brutally and efficiently.

  Daojiong’s triad controlled everything from Seal Beach through South Central Los Angeles in the Chinese communities, which were flourishing due to their work ethic and their willingness to price competitively. His boss in Beijing had promised him that after a year of loyal work, he would be running his own cell, making incredible amounts of money doing little but posturing and reminding his victims of their obligations. So he could tolerate four to a tiny room filled with an unbreathable cloud of toxins for a while – it was certainly no worse than where he’d come from, where most wore bandanas or masks over their faces, the air so polluted that seeing blue sky was a rarity.

  “I’ll come for you tomorrow at nine p.m.” the driver said, the distaste at the stink of body odor and smoke that hung in the room obvious on his face.

  “What will I be doing for cover?” Daojiong asked.

  The driver grinned. “Working the night shift. Don’t worry. A monkey could do it. But no stealing, no disruptive behavior. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself.”

  “I understand. See you tomorrow at nine.”

  The driver retraced his steps through the house. The aroma of cooking followed him out the entryway, and he sniffed at his jacket and shook his head as he climbed into his car. It would be a week before the odor faded.

  The car started with a throaty roar and he pulled away, leaving the street empty, just another blustery winter day in the bowels of Southern California, another miscreant joining a never-ending collection of predators that were drawn to the prosperous area like cockroaches to garbage.

  Chapter 3

  Yesterday, Long Beach, California

  Alec Strong sighed as he pulled his eleven-year-old Hyundai sedan into the parking lot of the Home World big-box store and drove around the huge building to the rear employee and delivery area, eyeing the burned-out security lights with disgust. The owner of the Southern California franchise was too cheap to do much maintenance in the slow months, which was par for the course since Alec had been working there. Alec switched off his headlights and ignition and stepped from his car. The hot wind blowing from Riverside carried with it the smell of desert and exhaust.

  He strode toward the staff entrance, a dull blue metal door adjacent to three loading docks, and sighed again as he stepped into the store. He hated his job in information technology for the retailer, but in the current environment he knew he was lucky to have anything better than flipping burgers. Still, after four months of mind-numbingly boring work, he dreaded the night shift. He’d pass from eleven p.m. to seven thirty the following morning troubleshooting flawed systems, fine-tuning the database, and generally trying to keep the operation functioning with the cyber-equivalent of bailing wire and spit.

  The interior of the warehouse showroom always struck him as eerie when it was mostly empty, with the day shift gone and the night shift yet to arrive. The soles of his shoes echoed off the hard polished concrete as he passed a long rack of hanging carpets, hundreds of them in all shapes and sizes, some with abstract designs and others with the currently popular kitsch renditions of kittens and ponies. At the far end of the building he slowed, tilting his head, and then continued to the administrative area along one wall on the far side of the empty cash registers.

  Alec sniffed and wiped at his nose with the back of his arm. His eyes were red and scratchy from the pollen and dust, and he was irritable after having gotten far too little sleep. He’d been tossing and turning, weighing what to do about his recent discovery – that he’d been betrayed, and nothing was as it seemed. Normally the one who controlled things, he’d been so stupid that in retrospect it was laughable; only this time he was the punchline.

  And only three more days to Christmas. The perfect gift for a holiday he despised, he thought bitterly.

  He’d resolved to not let the situation get to him, but there was a lump in his throat as he pushed through the door to his shabby little office. The day guy, Alfonso, had left the desk a pigsty, as usual, and Alec shook his head as he surveyed the empty soda cups and fast-food containers. Another angry missive from Alec would await Alfonso in the morning, but he had slim hope the man would change his ways. He was a pig, plain and simple – but decent with data, Alec had to admit.

  Alec reluctantly began his cleanup, frowning at the trail of ants that labored up one leg of the metal desk. Every night was the same – spray some Raid after cleaning the detritus from the surface, and begin plowing through that day’s stack of problem slips – all for peanuts, he reminded himself. When he was done, he coughed from the lingering aroma of the bug spray and took his seat, resigned to another night in purgatory.

  ~ ~ ~

  A pair of work shoes shifted behind the hanging carpets, invisible from the aisle. One of them made a soft squeak against the floor and froze, only moving again once Alec had pulled the administrative area door wide and disappeared from the showroom.

  ~ ~ ~

  Bethany checked the time and rubbed a hand over her face – the sudden temperature change from typically mild Southern California winter to uncomfortably warm that had been brought by the winds had caught her by surprise, and she was wearing her usual sweatshirt and jeans instead of something lighter. Her shift had started a few minutes earlier, but she was usually late and wasn’t worried about anyone saying anything. The crew seemed to understand that she was the boss’s favorite, and she’d done nothing to dispel the impression.

  She wiped a wisp of blonde hair from her forehead and made her way to the office area. She’d been having problems with one of the terminals the prior day, and wanted to see if it had been fixed or whether the data she’d spent hours entering had gotten corrupted, as she feared. Bethany pulled the sweatshirt lower over her jeans, covering her ass – a habit she’d gotten into whenever she was around male members of the staff. It wasn’t that she hated the attention her body drew, but rather that she disliked having to say things two or three times in order for them to register her words.

  Her brow scrunched as she approached Alec’s office. There was a sound coming from the partially open door that she couldn’t place. Her mind flitted to any of several nasty possibilities that would account for the noise, but she dismissed them and knocked lightly. “Alec? It’s Bethany. Got a minute?”

  A low moan emanated from inside, and a chill ran up her
spine. She should have trusted her instincts and come back later. But now that she’d announced herself, she was committed. After waiting a few more seconds so he could spare them both the embarrassment of catching him in the act, she pushed the door open.

  “Sorry to disturb your important–” she said as she took a step inside, and then screamed, the shriek as piercing as a siren.

  Seconds later running footsteps arrived, and Nancy, Alec’s girlfriend, appeared in the doorway, her expression concerned. She stopped dead at the sight of Bethany’s face, a look of horror on it, crimson dripping from the blade of the fire axe in her hand. Alec lay face down on the floor behind his desk, blood burbling from a gaping wound in his back.

  Bethany tried to form words, but none came, the only sound the irregular sucking noise from the gash. She dropped the axe and buried her head in her hands.

  Nancy backed away from the nightmare scene, shaking her head in disbelief as Alec struggled to gasp his last breaths from the center of the red pool spreading beneath him on the cold cement floor.

  Chapter 4

  Long Beach, California

  Inspector Sean McCarthy read the lines he’d scribbled in his notebook as he emerged from the office he’d commandeered at Home World, and nodded at one of the uniformed police officers standing nearby. Yellow crime scene tape hung across the doorway of the IT room, where the victim had expired from blood loss before the first squad car arrived. He noted the time and glared around him before his eyes settled on the fire hose and empty bracket on the nearby wall.

  “Tape that. Forensics will want to dust it, too,” McCarthy ordered, his voice gruff from a lifetime of strong cigarettes and hard liquor.

  “Yes, sir,” one of the men said.

  Another plainclothes detective approached from down the hall, a worried look on his face. Michael Trout was the polar opposite of McCarthy: young, tall, and ruggedly handsome. “What do you think, McCarthy?” he asked as he neared.

  “Pretty straightforward. Chick lost it and decided to take him out,” McCarthy snapped.

  “But why?”

  The older man shrugged. “Who the hell knows? Maybe she’s high. Or nuts. Or both. Maybe he was banging her. Or wouldn’t bang her – although I can’t see that as a possibility. She’s a little hottie.” McCarthy paused. “The job’s not to figure out why these lowlifes off each other, it’s to find the perp and put another case to bed.”

  “Then she admitted it?”

  McCarthy laughed drily. “Of course not. She claims it’s all a big mistake. That she found him with the axe sticking out of his back, and pulled it free to try to help.”

  “You don’t believe her?”

  “I’ll lay even money that her prints are the only ones on the handle.”

  “Do we have enough to hold her?”

  McCarthy scowled. “Not yet. For now, we’re playing like we believe her. But this is about as open and shut as they get.”

  Trout’s face darkened. “I don’t know. I mean, she sounded pretty freaked out. She might be telling the truth.”

  McCarthy rolled his eyes. “How often have you heard a perp swear it wasn’t them? It goes with the territory. Deny everything, demand proof, keep your game face on, and bluff your way through.”

  “How long until the techs arrive?”

  “Another hour or two. The holidays are a busy time for murder. You’ll see what I mean when you’ve been doing this long enough.”

  “Yeah? Why is that?”

  “Booze, drugs, tense situations, money problems – you name it. A lot of times it’s something that goes way back – someone hates someone else, has one too many, and decides it’s time to plant the bastard. Ho, ho, ho.”

  “I questioned the workers you assigned to me.”

  “Anyone confess?”

  “Negative.”

  “I’d say we’re about done here, then. Forensics will do their thing, and once we’ve got all the facts, we’ll come down hard on her.”

  “Aren’t you afraid she might be a flight risk?”

  “Nah. I didn’t let on. She thinks she got away with it. You can see it in her eyes. The relief when I got done with her. Not the smartest, obviously.”

  “Looking at the body…is she right- or left-handed?”

  “What is this – amateur night? She’s right-handed. Wound’s consistent with a right-handed perp. Case closed.”

  “It doesn’t strike you as convenient that she was caught with the murder weapon?”

  McCarthy exhaled in seeming pain. “Son, when you’ve seen as many as I have, you won’t question when Santa gives you a hall pass. Sometimes you get lucky. If what’s her name, Nancy, hadn’t happened to walk in on them, she might have wiped the handle off and gotten away with it. But it wasn’t her night. What can I say?”

  “Shame about the security cams.”

  “Yeah, well, nothing’s perfect. Let’s let the techs finish up, give us the green light, and we’ll swear out a warrant and rake her over the coals.”

  “Might take a while with the backlog,” Trout said. This was the second murder they’d drawn that night – the first a disastrous drunken brawl outside a bar, where one of the fighters had slammed the other’s head into a brick wall a half-dozen times.

  “Nothing we can do about it. Patience is a virtue, right?” McCarthy coughed. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. I need a smoke.”

  “Right. Back to HQ?”

  “Yep. Let’s get a jump on filing the reports. And hope we don’t catch another one tonight.”

  Trout eyed the door. “Where did you leave it with her?”

  “I thanked her for her statement, got her details, and told her we might be back in touch to fill in any blanks. The usual.” McCarthy squinted at the younger man. “What is it? Spit it out.”

  “I don’t know. It’s just hard to imagine her doing it, is all.”

  “I ever tell you about the seventy-three-year-old granny who hacked her son-in-law to pieces and tried putting him down the garbage disposal? Only reason we got her is because the damned thing broke halfway through and she didn’t know what else to do, so she tossed the rest of him in the garbage. Bag broke open as the garbage men were loading the truck. Old lady looked like a cookie commercial, offered me a slice of fresh apple pie while she tisked about what a shame it all was.” He coughed again. “When I drilled her, she denied everything until we found the saw she used to cut him into puzzle pieces. Swore up and down she had no idea what any of it was doing in her basement.”

  Trout turned away. “Who knew people lie?”

  “Especially to us. Everything we hear is a lie, kid. Lying to the cops is the national pastime in this city.”

  Trout laughed. “Not just to the cops.”

  “Good one. Ya got me there.”

  McCarthy briefed the uniform in charge of securing the scene, and he and Trout walked to the exit. “Not going to be a very merry one for our little lady, is it?” Trout asked.

  “Nope. But it is what it is. On to the next one. They’re like buses: another coming along soon.”

  Trout studied McCarthy’s weathered face. “You going to miss it?”

  “Hell no. The hours, the bureaucracy, the endless stream of ugliness? Not a chance.”

  “You’ll be bored.”

  “I’ll be drinking rum out of a jug on a beach somewhere. I’ll do just fine.”

  “Won’t be the same without you.”

  McCarthy lit his cigarette and offered his young partner a yellowed grin. “You going to blow me now, or just kiss?”

  Chapter 5

  Los Angeles, California

  Artemus Black stood facing Sylvia, who was as annoyed as he’d ever seen her since they’d moved in together seven months earlier. He ran his fingers through his slicked-back ebony hair and studied her face. Though it wasn’t actually possible for smoke to blow from her ears, he could still envision it. The thought made him smile, which infuriated her more.

  “Something ab
out this is funny?” she asked.

  “No. It’s not that at all,” he tried, his tone consoling.

  “What’s the most humorous part? Because I’m missing it.”

  “Sweetheart…” he said, taking a step to close the gap between them.

  “Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me. I haven’t seen you for two weeks, except when you come in at all hours and drop into bed. It’s like living with a roommate. This isn’t what I signed up for,” she said. “It’s never going to change. I should have known better.”

  “I’ve been on a stakeout. I can’t help the hours. The guy’s a bartender. What am I supposed to do?”

  She glared holes through him. “You could try prioritizing us, for starters.” She stopped herself and took a calming breath. “Make us the priority instead of you.”

  “You think I want to do this? Besides, it’s over. I closed the case today, met with the client, got a check. He was cheating on his boyfriend, just like we suspected. Turning tricks, the whole works. But it’s done, so I’ll be around.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “Is it my fault that all my recent cases have had me out at night? It was just a string of them, honey…”

  “I’ve bent over backwards to make this work. Gave up my apartment, got used to crazy hours. But I’m telling you I’ve had enough. You need to decide whether you’d rather have me…or your job.” Sylvia stalked into the kitchen.

  “Look, Sylvia, I swear–”

  The ringing of Black’s cell phone interrupted him. He fumbled it from his shirt pocket and eyed the screen before looking sheepishly at Sylvia. “I have to take this. It’s Bobby.”