BLACK in the Box

by Russell Blake

  “My dear, of course it does. The police are now involved. There are possibilities of trails leading back to me from the payments. I think it’s best if we suspend our arrangement until things settle down.”

  “But I have these. Exactly like usual,” she protested, tapping her purse.

  “I’m no longer a buyer.”

  “But…but Rudi, I need the money.”

  “Yes, well, I’m sorry to hear it, but business is business.” He looked her up and down and reached for a bong. “Consolation prize. You want some?”

  “Can’t you do something to help me out?” Bethany asked.

  Rudi shook his head. “If it was me…but it’s not. I have to answer to people, and they want nothing to do with you until things cool off. Hit?”

  Bethany shrugged. Rudi always had the best weed. Even if he was stonewalling her, she could at least get that out of him. “Sure.”

  He tamped down a bud into the bowl and lit it; the bong burbled as he drew in a long pull and handed it to her. He held the lighter in place as she inhaled deeply, and within moments she felt the familiar welcome calm flood through her. They exhaled together and repeated the ritual until she’d had enough.

  “You always have awesome chronic, Rudi.”

  “It is to be expected.”

  And it was. A full member of the Russian mob, Rudi had been in the country for eight years. Tattoos adorned both arms as well as his chest, she knew from prior visits, each symbolizing a key milestone in a career of crime – his first kill, his first stint in prison, his ascension up the mafia hierarchy.

  Bethany had met him at a club in Manhattan Beach a year ago, and while they’d never slept together, he’d shown an interest in her job at Home World. Most men only wanted one thing from her, so she’d been surprised, but willing to come over and get high. Over time he’d made a suggestion to her about an easy way to subsidize her income, and once she heard it, she immediately realized that it would be the simplest way to put some quick cash in her pocket with the least effort. When she’d been made supervisor over the night shift, the final piece had fallen into place, and she’d been able to talk Alec into helping.

  Alec was a sleazeball, but she’d recognized instantly a kindred spirit in the darting eyes and quick wit. He was always on the make, trying to work an angle, and it had been child’s play to suck him into the scheme. The only part she hadn’t liked was that he’d insisted on controlling the payment system, but she’d agreed, and he’d always given her the right cut like clockwork every month.

  But now Alec was dead. And Rudi was wise to it.

  She’d hoped to get one final slug of money before the holidays, but that was clearly a no-go. She debated appealing to Rudi’s generosity, but knew better. The man was charming, but had the soul of a moray eel. He lived in a world of predators and prey, and in that environment there was no pity, only opportunity.

  And she had to stay on his good side.

  “Now, is there anything else?” he asked with a lupine grin.

  “No. I guess I’ll try to find someone else to take these.”

  “That would be best. Again, sorry. We’ll do business again in the New Year. It’s just too hot right now.”

  “I understand, although there’s really no danger. I didn’t kill him. They can’t prove I did something I’m innocent of. I don’t even think they suspect me.”

  “Yes, well, the jails are full of the innocent. But I’m sure you’ll come through fine.” He appraised her with a nod. “You’re like me. A survivor.” He paused. “Do you have any idea who did it?”

  She shook her head. “None at all. It makes no sense.”

  Rudi showed her to the door, and she rode the elevator back down, fuming at the dismissal. He was like all the rest, just using her and discarding her when he was through. But she’d have the last laugh. For all his arrogance, he had no idea what she was capable of, what she’d put into play. Like everyone, he’d badly underestimated her, thinking her a bimbo, an airheaded Barbie with a D-cup and size one jeans. Men never saw past that, which she’d been using to her advantage since she was a teen.

  Ol’ Rudi would get the surprise of his life one day soon, and when he did, he’d lose his smug superiority – along with his freedom.

  She’d see to that.

  Like he said, business was business.

  And like him, she was doing what she had to do to survive. He was right about that part.

  Like the song said, she would survive.

  Chapter 10

  Long Beach, California

  Black read Alec’s file with interest. Twenty-five, Caucasian, decent-looking clean-cut kid, based on his employee identification photo. Born in Anaheim, community college graduate, veteran, no arrest record. Working at the store for four months. IT manager. An address twenty minutes south listed as current. Black made careful notes for future consideration, even though the gig was only one evening – you never knew, and he didn’t want to have to repeat the reading experience, which wasn’t his forte. Roxie generally handled that sort of thing for him, but there was no way he could call her at ten on a Thursday night and ask her to come to work.

  He next pulled up Bethany’s records. Employed for a year, attractive even in the clinical employee ID shot, twenty-three, promoted six months ago to customer relations supervisor, whatever that meant on the night shift when the store was closed. Black smiled – he was willing to bet that old Larry’s romance with the youngster had begun roughly six months earlier, hence the promotion. He wondered whether it could have created any ill will, and made a note to probe for that – it was a long shot, but perhaps she’d been set up in some manner? Although murdering someone with an axe was a trifle drastic, no matter how disgruntled you might be over an unfair promotion for the boss’s new squeeze.

  He read the rest of the staff’s resumes without much interest – a total of a dozen workers on the night shift, most in their twenties, without any better options than toiling away while the rest of the world slept. Mary Allenston was the exception, in that she also had a college degree. At twenty-nine, she was one of the oldest of the lot, and had been the shift manager and bookkeeper for two years, hired away from a competitive outfit a quarter mile away. Intelligent eyes in a drawn face stared back at Black from the screen – the look of the working poor, earning enough so they didn’t qualify for overtime pay but not enough to leave the night shift for a better life.

  The oldest member of the shift was Kyle Holmes, another Army veteran, who’d been with the company for four years. At thirty-two his position as an ordinary stocker made no sense until Black saw that he only had a GED. His photo showed an imposing man with a chocolate complexion, his head shaved clean and a nose that had obviously been broken several times.

  The rest were unremarkable – Henry Heung, the security man; Nancy Goldman, the woman who’d found Bethany with the axe in hand; Tabitha Roth, Kristen Cho, Paulina Lopez, Lee Tran, and Tanika Abbot, stocking clerks; Tom Lo, janitor; Brent Carter, maintenance man; and Matt Dresslin, another supervisor. Three Asians, one Latina, two African-Americans, and the rest white as snow.

  Black paused at ten fifteen and called his friend Stan’s cell, hopeful that the homicide detective would still be up. Stan answered on the second ring, the sound of conversation in the background.

  “You still at work?” Black asked.

  “Yeah. It’s been a brutal week. Lot of drug shootings. What’s up?”

  “You know a homicide inspector named Sean McCarthy?”

  “Yeah. Down south. Older than dirt. Why?”

  “I picked up a case. I’m investigating a murder that he’s lead on.”

  “You?”

  “It happened last night. Perp hasn’t been caught yet.”

  “So it’s active?”

  “Yup. Crime scene tape’s still up. Whole nine yards.”

  Stan’s tone hardened. “What do you want, Black?”

  “Can’t this be a social call?”

&
nbsp; “Right. Come on, spit it out. I’ve got bad guys to catch. Don’t you watch the news?”

  “It’s an axe murder in Long Beach.”

  “Oh, yeah. I saw that this morning.”

  “McCarthy caught it…”

  “You mentioned that,” Stan said impatiently.

  “What’s your impression of him? Is he thorough?”

  “That’s why you’re calling?” Stan sighed. “He’s at the end of his runway. I heard he’ll retire next year, so he might not have the energy a younger guy might.”

  “Are you telling me he’s sloppy?”

  “I’m telling you that he’s not a whippersnapper. Why, did he miss something?”

  “I heard through the grapevine he’s looking to pin this on a young girl who works at my client’s store. The client says no way.”

  “He banging her?”

  “I’m not going to justify that with a response.”

  “So he is. Doesn’t matter. You got any reason to think she’s innocent?”

  “I haven’t talked to her yet.”

  “What else are you angling for, Black?”

  “I was hoping you might know someone in Long Beach PD you could ask about the case. Or maybe your computers are linked up or something, and you could give it a glance.”

  “Why?”

  “Just to eyeball it and see if it all makes sense.”

  “You going through the motions here, or do you actually give a shit?”

  “Half and half.”

  “I can make a call or two, but it’ll cost you.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing says Christmas like a bottle of Chivas.”

  “Get me something good and I’ll ante up to Glenlivet, my friend.”

  “You do have a way with words, you sly fox. Still dressing like the losingest pimp in Compton?”

  “Sylvia’s trying to get me to let her dress me, but I haven’t changed my stripes yet.”

  “Like water on stone. They win every time.”

  Black was framing a glib response when the door opened and Mary appeared. “Call me when you have something, would you? I’ll be around.”

  “Right now, you mean? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Sounding more like a case of Chivas now.”

  “We can negotiate later.” Black hung up and stood. “Mary Allenston, I’m Black. Nice to meet you,” he said.

  “Right. Mr. Jacobs told me you’d be here. I’ll help you however I can,” she said, shaking his hand.

  Mary seemed jittery, like she was amped on more than just the excitement of meeting him. Black figured it was a fair bet that she was on something to make it through the night – something stronger than coffee. But he wasn’t there to judge her personal habits, which were none of his concern.

  Black did his best to put her at ease. “It’s a terrible tragedy, isn’t it?” he asked as she pulled a chair toward the desk and sat.

  “Oh, horrible. He was such a nice young man. So polite. Very dependable. I only knew him for a short time, but…”

  “It must have everyone on edge.”

  “Of course it does. There’s a murderer among us. Wouldn’t that set your teeth to grating?”

  Black reminded himself that nobody but he knew about Bethany’s impending arrest. “No doubt about it. It must have traumatized the girl that found him, too.”

  “I’m sure. She was barely coherent. Talk about traumatic. Can you imagine?”

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  “Bethany? Oh, she’s a lovely girl. Hard worker; cute. I have nothing bad to say about her,” Mary said, but her eyes darted to the side for a split second.

  “She’s a supervisor?”

  “That’s right.” Mary nodded. “Customer relations.”

  Black took her through a description of what that meant, hoping she’d grow calmer with the familiar subject, but it didn’t work. She did her best, but was obviously uncomfortable with the questions. After ten minutes of largely fruitless inquiry on the backgrounds of the employees, about all of whom Mary spoke glowingly, he switched gears. “Who was the last person to see Alec alive?”

  Mary cleared her throat. “I already answered all these questions with the police, Mr. Black.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it’s tiring to repeat them again, but it’s part of the process. If you’d entertain me a little longer, I’d really appreciate it.”

  That seemed to appease her. “Henry was the last to see him before the attack.”

  “Henry Heung.” Black looked at the list of names. “The security guard.”

  “His title is security supervisor. He gets touchy if you call him a guard,” Mary corrected.

  “I see.” Black looked at his watch. “Think he’d be in yet?”

  “Oh, probably. He’s one of those that always shows up early, you know?”

  “Sure. Where does he hang out?”

  “Mostly in the back, near the loading area. He’s got an office there.”

  Black stood just as his phone vibrated. He checked the screen.

  Sylvia.

  Mary gave him an impatient look, and he slid the cell back into his jacket pocket, making a mental note to call her back when he was done with Mary and Henry. He expected her to be furious, but now wasn’t the time for an extended phone battle.

  “Sorry. Can you show me where that is?” Black asked.

  “Sure. You want to go right now?”

  “Yes. Lead the way.”

  Mary walked like a much older woman, and Black had a sudden surge of sympathy for her. She’d been interrogated by the police for hours, had probably been unable to sleep from worry over who’d killed Alec, and now was being subjected to Black’s third degree.

  “Long one last night, huh?”

  She threw him a dark look over her shoulder as they walked down one of the aisles, past the carpets and flooring. “You have no idea what it was like.”

  Black nodded.

  He definitely knew the feeling.

  Chapter 11

  Sylvia slammed the phone down after her second attempt to reach Black, fuming over his not picking up. There was no way he had the phone off. He had to know it was her calling, and he was doing what he always did – avoiding her until she cooled down, or till he’d had a chance to get a few shots of liquid courage into his system.

  She moved back to the computer and slid the mouse to the side. A travel agency website blinked at her. The date in the selection window was tomorrow morning; the trip she’d been checking: one-way to Zurich, Switzerland.

  The tension between them had been building for months, and she’d steeled herself for the breakup. They’d gone back and forth over what they both wanted, and while he’d said all the right words, she was finally having to admit to herself that none of it was true. She eventually wanted a family, whereas it was clear that he viewed that as too much responsibility, particularly financially. Sylvia understood his point, but she also recognized that people all over the world with far less than they had managed to raise children, albeit with some sacrifice.

  Because they thought it was worth it.

  Obviously, he didn’t.

  She had gently reminded him that nobody was getting any younger, but he’d shrugged it off, arguing that he was still in his prime. It never seemed to occur to him that she might have been referring to herself.

  The question was how long she was prepared to wait for what seemed now like a foregone conclusion. Perhaps leaving was the right decision. She could always return if she felt like she’d made a mistake, but at this point she didn’t see any point in remaining in an untenable situation. Her art would sell whether she was in town or not, so the only reason to stay was Black.

  Who couldn’t even be bothered to answer the phone, and was doing precisely what he knew had started this round of fighting in the first place.

  Her finger hovered over the mouse as she thought through her move.
After a long exhalation, she selected the fare and pressed enter. The computer churned for the longest seconds in her life, flashed blue, and then congratulated her on her purchase.

  It was done.

  Her time in Los Angeles was over, and she’d be returning home for the holidays.

  The truth was that she’d been contemplating it for weeks, but the last-minute deep discount fare had made it an easier decision. The airlines were trying to fill empty seats, to her benefit.

  She tried to imagine how Black would feel when she was gone in the morning, and realized with a sinking heart that he might not even be back by the time she took off. Which was somehow fitting – a metaphor applicable to their entire relationship, with him oblivious while she planned for a future that was in reality nothing but a fiction.

  Sylvia walked slowly to the bedroom and began packing her things. Fortunately, she lived like she traveled, with a minimum of clutter, all of her measly possessions easily fitting into a suitcase and a carry-on. She stopped halfway through and her shoulders heaved as she sobbed quietly, a part of her still hoping the phone would ring, another hating herself for the thought. After a few moments of self-pity, she pulled herself together and resumed gathering her belongings, forcing herself to ignore Black’s collection of suits hanging in the closet beside her tops.

  What had she been thinking? It now seemed all too clear. He would never change, would continue fighting internal skirmishes over his parents’ role in his life, and simply grow into an older version of the same man. Her hope that he’d mature into a decent human being had been a delusion, as silly as waiting for Mugsy to learn to play chess.

  The smell of his cologne and the musky odor of the cigarettes she knew he sneaked in spite of his assurances he’d quit for good hit her like a brick as she pushed his clothes aside to retrieve hers, and another wave of despair washed over her. This time she refused to give in to the urge to cry, and with a shudder, finished with the closet and moved to the bathroom. She refused to look at her phone on the breakfast bar, squared her shoulders, and continued packing. Her decision was made: there was only one direction for her from here.