"As always, Slade, nice doing business with you. I'll have her boyfriend call you. I'll make sure she's okay. See to it myself."
“Thanks, Jimmie. You tell your son that Slade says hi and if he needs anything, he can count on me. Check’ll be in the mail tomorrow." Two minutes later Slade's cell phone rang. "Slade Kelly. Is this Jordan Kramer?"
"Yes. Deputy Letz told me to call you. What’s this about?"
"I'm a friend of Darya Rahimi's. She asked me to help Maria. Here's what I've done. I’ve talked to an attorney by the name of Brian Meeks who’s agreed to take Maria’s case. He's the best lawyer money can buy. Don't take many cases these days, but he agreed to represent Maria.”
“I don’t know who you are, but you must be somebody important to get Brian Meeks to take a case. I’m a detective, LAPD, and he’s a legend around headquarters. How did you get him to take the case?”
“Trade secret, my friend. Let's jes’ say we go back a ways. Anyways, he's got a bail bondsman he works with who'll see that she's out of jail in record time. Looks like the judge who's gonna be arraignin’ her never grants bail. She's gonna spend the time before her trial in jail. The head of jail operations, Deputy Letz, is an old friend of mine and I twisted his arm a little. Talked him into makin' sure she's in isolation so them people who’d like to make her their bitch can't get their hands on her. He's doin' me a special favor for three weeks. Need to come up with sumpin' after that. Here's the lawyer's number. Ya’ got a piece of paper on ya’? Maria needs to talk to him tomorrow. Any questions?"
"Why are you helping Maria?"
"I'm just an ol' gumshoe who's done a little work for Darya Rahimi. She called and asked me to help Maria. Talk to ya' later." He didn't tell Jordan he'd do everything in his power to help Maria if it meant a repeat of the last ten minutes he'd spent with Darya earlier that evening.
CHAPTER 5
After Slade got off the phone with Jordan, he started pacing the length of the great room in his condominium. Darya was affecting his ability to think straight. This assignment had nothing to do with detective work. And were the risks involved worth it? He wasn’t doing it for the money. It was one of the few times in his life he didn’t know what to do. He needed some help and guidance. He wished he had someone to talk to, someone who could advise him and tell him if he should do more than he’d done tonight, or make up some excuse why he shouldn’t take this any farther. He slipped into a deep whiskey induced sleep with one dream following another.
When he woke up the next morning the only thing he could remember from his elusive dreams was seeing Tucker. Just thinking of Tucker made Slade smile. Where was that little fucker? He needed to find him quickly. Tucker would have the answers he needed, at least some vital clues. He knew from past experiences that finding Tucker wasn’t always easy. Slade had a feeling this was going to be one of those times, but Tucker had to be found, whatever it took.
Slade called his cell phone and promptly heard the message, "This number has been switched off. Please try again later." That was so like Tucker. He didn’t live like normal people. Slade got dressed and backed his car out of the garage. The only person who knew where Tucker would be lived so close to skid row that on any other occasion he would have thought twice before approaching her. Today he didn’t have a choice. He needed to talk to Tucker, the sooner the better.
He spotted the gas station where a person could get gas and just about anything else, provided one had the resources. As soon as he walked through the door, Shannon greeted him, her large breasts spilling over the low cut T-shirt she wore. "Well, well, look who's here. If it ain't the famous detective himself."
"Hey, Doll, hows it goin?"
"You like my new tits? Paid a fuckin’ fortune for these babies," Shannon said as she jiggled them. Slade took a long look at her. She hadn’t changed since the last time he’d seen her. Her peroxide blond hair was tightly permed and she was still a makeup artist’s worst nightmare with her garish red lipstick, over-rouged cheeks, and thinly plucked painted-in eyebrows.
"Doll, I’ve always considered your tits and ass to be two of my best friends," Slade said, trying to sound genuine. Before she could answer him, he put a fat envelope on the table. Her eyes lit up.
"Where's Tucker, Doll?"
"I’d never opened up the gas station if it had been someone else, but I know Tucker’s fond of you. It's a shame you don’t keep in touch with the old man."
Slade had felt guilty for a long time about not going to see Tucker. Hearing Shannon’s reminder made him feel twice as bad. He knew he’d been insensitive and should have had better sense than to treat someone like Tucker so casually. He promised himself not to make that mistake again.
"Shannon, I feel ashamed of it myself. I really do."
"Yeah, I can see it on your face," she said, enjoying the moment.
"Well? Where is he?"
"Miami Beach, Florida."
"What the fuck? Why’d he go to Florida?"
"Good question. You might want to ask him. Gimme a call when you get to Miami Beach and I'll tell you where to find him."
Swell. I’ll have to travel 6,000 miles for a half hour conversation. Tucker better deliver, but there’s no one else who can tell me what dangers I’m lookin’ at if I go through with this.
Hours later as Slade was driving from the Miami International airport to Miami Beach, he called Shannon and asked her where he could find Tucker.
"There's a small bar that looks more like a shack in the Everglades on Collins Avenue between Miami and Hollywood. It’s called 'Palomaras.' They’re known for serving the best tequilas and margaritas in Miami. It's easy to spot. He’s expecting you. Good luck!"
"Thanks, Shannon."
It had been several years since he’d been to Miami and he’d forgotten how much he liked it. If it wasn’t for this case, I’d enjoy it a lot more, he thought as he eyed the seemingly endless parade of gorgeous women in varying degrees of semi-nudity.
It didn't take him long to find Tucker. Deeply tanned, he wore a cream colored guayabera shirt and looked like he’d lived in Miami his entire life. Tucker spotted him when he walked in and grinned at Slade as he held up two margaritas. They went way back.
"Fucker Tucker,” he said, the old childhood nickname easily rolling off his tongue. He took the margarita Tucker handed him. “How come your sweet ass is in Miami? Ain't there beaches in LA good enuf for ya’?"
"Tut, tut, my man… harsh words for someone in love," replied Tucker. Slade sat on his barstool stunned, but then he remembered who he was talking to, and in a way, he was relieved. If Tucker knew he was in love, Tucker probably knew a lot more and the turn-around trip to see him would be well worth his time.
"Thanks for seein’ me. My apologies for not keeping in touch, and now when I need you, I come running to ya’ like a cat who wants to be fed."
"No hard feelings on my end, but somebody else might not be quite so forgiving,” Tucker replied. Slade nodded, acknowledging that he’d screwed-up.
"Tucker, I got this case which has very little to do with detective work and more to do with saving someone’s sweet ass, not my usual line of work. I don't know what to do. Ain’t got no delusions of being superman and don't want to play hero."
"Hmm… well Slade, I see dark clouds and rivers of blood and I see a white dove meeting a black magpie.” They sat there for a few minutes in silence before Slade spoke.
"Who's going to die?" Slade asked, his face ashen.
"I don't know, just know that people are going to lose their lives, but you'll survive, barely!" Well, it was worth the trip to hear that, Slade thought.
"Your heart's already made the decision Slade, so let your brain catch up to it. Go ahead with this, but be very careful, and only do something if it’s absolutely necessary."
"Thanks. Got another question for you. Do you remember a senator by the name of O’Shaughnessy from Los Angeles whose wife was murdered about twenty years ago?" Slade asked.
> “Vaguely.”
“He had a daughter. I searched the internet this morning for her name and I can’t find anything. Everything I read said he had a daughter, but he must want to keep her out of the spotlight, because her name was never mentioned. Anything come to you?”
Tucker closed his eyes and opened them after several minutes. "All I can see are mangoes in front of me." They both burst out laughing. "It might point you in the right direction."
"Well, Tucker, I can't thank you enough. I feel a lot better. At least I know what lies ahead and that’s a great gift in itself. Gotta catch a plane, but let’s eat first. My treat and I promise it won’t be this long next time.”
Tucker put his hand on Slade’s shoulder. "There's a hole in the wall joint a few blocks from here that serves the best damn Cuban food I've ever eaten. Got a lot to learn from them. This Cuban shirt I’m wearing is just a start.”
On the flight back to Los Angeles, Slade couldn't stop thinking about Tucker and why he’d mentioned mangoes. As he looked out the window at the clouds below, colored by the soft yellow of the evening sun, he drifted off. He had a dream where a beautiful redhead was standing in front of him. As soon as he started walking towards her, she started running away. He started shouting, “Maureen, Maureen.” A passenger sitting on his right nudged him and woke him up. Slade apologized for his outburst, but he couldn’t help smiling to himself. Her name started with an M and she sure had big, all natural mangoes, as far as he could recall.
CHAPTER 6
It was late when he got home from Florida. Night had fallen and the full moon lit up the breaking waves, making them sparkle like diamonds. Every time he looked at the ocean he was reminded of the power and force of Mother Nature. And we think we’re so goddamned important. She changes lives in the blink of an eye.
The three fingers of the amber colored Maker’s Mark bourbon glistened as he poured it over ice. He stood for a long time looking down at the lights of the slow moving traffic on Pacific Coast Highway, thinking how it resembled a super long lightning bug with brake lights, turn signals, and headlights blinking on and off.
He picked up his cell phone. “Brad, sorry to do this again, but I need you to find out everything you can about Senator O’Shaughnessy’s daughter. Her name is Maureen. You know the drill. Want to know everything. If she's married, I want to know her married name, the name of her husband, and what he does. If she works, I want to know who she works for, and where she works. Find out where she lives, what she drives, if she has children, legal problems, loans. I want it all.”
Slade was still wrestling with the problem of Maria and how he could keep her safe once the three weeks were up. Three weeks wasn't much time for him to find a solution. Even if Brian asked for a speedy trial, which she was entitled to according to the law, she was still going to be in jail for several months. Although he’d vowed never to see him again, knowing how dangerous it could be for him, there was only one person who could help Maria… Chico Ruiz. Last night he’d come up with a plan that would involve Chico, but he was reluctant to implement it. After talking to Tucker, it had come together on the long plane ride back to California.
He finished his drink and admitted how much he dreaded revisiting his past. If he was to keep Maria safe he was going to have to go all the way back to… Chicago. Reminiscing about those times still caused a lot of heartache. He and his parents lived in a small little house in the inner city. It was a mixed neighborhood of various ethnicities. Survival was the key word. He remembered the day his life changed – the day he went to his uncle’s house with his mother. It seemed like it was yesterday.
“Slade, time to get dressed. I’ve got a special day planned. First of all we’re going to walk along Michigan Avenue and look in the windows of all the shops. It’s called the Magnificent Mile. When you’re all grown up, that’s where you’ll shop. I think you should be a doctor or lawyer. You’re smart. You can do it. When we’re finished, we’ll take the bus and visit my brother. He called yesterday and wants to see us. He won’t believe how much you’ve grown.”
It was one of the best days of his life and also one of the worst. They spent hours window shopping. Slade had never seen stores or people like the ones he saw that day. They even smelled different. The women wore thick coats which his mother told him were made of real fur and the men were dressed in smart suits. He saw dog walkers holding onto leashes that held several dogs, some even wearing jeweled collars and sweaters. They looked so different from the pit bulls he saw in his neighborhood, often chained to a post because there were holes in the fences. He didn’t think these dogs were fighters like the ones Julio had in his garage. On Saturday nights, the sounds of men cheering the dogs on and the barking, growling dogs would keep him awake.
“Slade, what are you looking at?”
“Mom, why do they have flowers in the middle of the street?” he asked, staring at the median that was manicured with brightly colored blooms.
“People from all over the world come here to shop. Those in charge of the city want to make sure everything looks nice and presentable.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. Why don’t we have flowers like that in our yard? They’re pretty.”
“Of course we will. Maybe in a year or so.”
When he was older, he realized there had been no money for extras like flowers. He also realized how expensive it must have been to have blooming flowers out of season. His beautiful mother with her jet black hair and smooth olive complexion never said they couldn’t afford something. At the time he didn’t feel poor, but looking back he knew his family had struggled to keep a roof over their heads. This was in sharp contrast to what he saw later that day at his uncle’s home.
“Mom, I’m hungry. Can we get something to eat?”
“Of course. Let’s get a brat from that corner stand. That’ll be fun. We’ll tell your father we ate a brat while we sat on a bench in the Water Tower Place. It will be just as good as what the people are getting in those high priced restaurants in there.”
“Okay, it’s time to go see my brother,” she said when they finished eating. I don’t think you’ll remember him. Everyone calls him Papa. There’s the bus we need to get on.”
Papa lived in Kenilworth, a wealthy area north of Chicago. Slade and his mother had to transfer buses three times to get there. It was a long trip and Slade was tired. They had to walk two more blocks after the bus let them off.
“There’s Papa’s house. I’ve only been to it once before. It’s the one at the end of the street, the one with all the cars parked in front of it.”
His mother rang the doorbell which was quickly answered by a large man wearing a sports coat. Slade remembered thinking it was strange for a man to be wearing a coat when he was inside a house. Little did he know that the sport coat concealed a gun.
“I’m Papa’s sister and this is his nephew. He called yesterday and asked us to come,” she said to the large man.
“Come in. Papa’s waiting for you. He’s out by the swimming pool. Even though it’s cold, he wanted to get a little sun. Follow me.”
Slade looked around. He’d never seen a house like this, even on television. To his young eyes, it was as big as the stores he’d seen on Michigan Avenue. It seemed like it took forever to walk across the hall and through the living room, where massive French doors opened onto a patio and a huge swimming pool. Several people were seated around the pool. Slade noticed some men standing in front of the shrubbery that surrounded the back yard, not doing anything, but just standing there.
When he spotted them, a large man with a mustache and a full beard stood, walked over to them, and hugged his mother. “Josie, I’m so glad you came. And this must be Slade. I haven’t seen him for years. Let’s go into the den where we can talk.”
“Papa, it’s good to see you. You’re looking well. I’m glad you called. Our visit will give you a chance to get to know your nephew a little better.”
“Come here, S
lade. How do you like school?”
Before he could answer his mother interrupted, “Slade’s at the top of his class in school. He started reading before he went to kindergarten. We take the bus and go to the library so he can get books, but he reads them almost before we get home. I’m sure he has the brains to be a lawyer or a doctor.”
“Tell me, Slade. Do you want to be a lawyer or a doctor?”
“I don’t know. I like to read and I like school, but I don’t really know what doctors and lawyers do. I’ve never been to a doctor or a lawyer.”
Papa turned and looked at Josie with raised eyebrows, and then he looked back at Slade. “You’ve never been to a doctor, Slade?”
“No, I don’t get sick and if I don’t feel real good, Mom says to just wait and I’ll feel better soon.”
In the years that followed Slade often thought about that room, remembering every detail, because it was the last time his mother and his uncle ever spoke to one another. A large roll-top oak desk with a brightly colored Tiffany lamp hanging over it was against one wall. Multicolored Indian rugs covered the floor. There was a bar with leather stools in front of it and a beveled glass back bar with bottles full of colored liquids. An imposing stone fireplace was at one end of the room separating bookcases filled with books and colored glass pieces. A large black leather couch and matching black leather armchairs ringed the fireplace. Paned windows looked out on the patio with tubs filled with red, orange, and purple flowers in full bloom. Only years later was Slade able to identify what he’d seen in the room that day.
“Excuse me, but I have to go to the bathroom. Could you tell me where it is?” Slade asked.
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