by Roach Spell
Spencer needed to visit the hospital, Yuki, joined him. From that moment on, she was Spencer’s Hero.
27
“Take Me Home Tonight” – the sound of Eddie Money’s hit supplied Spencer’s home. Terry showed him what a good boss he was after all. He had taken care of all the guests and the busy morning reception while Spencer was in the hospital and for quite some time after his return. Meanwhile, Yuki spoiled Spencer in the best way possible. When the phone rang at the reception, Terry called Spencer, who hobbled down the hall to answer it.
“Detective Miller, how are you?” asked Spencer.
“I’ m not so good, my friend. We lost that case with the syndicate of Scarface’s people again. He is free to walk; they made a bail and he is out. The police officer who was our witness, blackmailed. He must have received a large sum of money to keep his mouth shut, and he probably left the country for a beautiful South American resort. No evidence, no trial, and no conviction.”
Spencer gulped.
“Scarface is out and on his way back to your sweet motel,” said Miller. “He will continue dealing drugs. DEA Jean will come over and sit with you. She will instruct you on how to cope with the situation. You do not have to worry, though; you are not in any danger, because you have not made any formal statements against him. You will be just fine. “I will be back by tomorrow afternoon,” Miller continued. “We are getting close to solving the Miss Rose case, and who knows? We might use Scarface as a bait. Once he smells money under his feet, he will not be able to resist getting his hands on it. Know what I mean…and Spencer, I heard about your adventure, hope you are well, can’t leave you alone, it seems.” Then Miller, with a short bye, hung up the phone.
Spencer turned to Terry and briefly told him about the drug dealers in Room 8. He told him that everything was under control. Terry told Spencer to charge them at a higher rate. Terry had also asked him what kind of drugs they sold.
“White stuff,” was all that Spencer said.
Miller was in Santa Barbara. His wife just loved spending time there, especially during the weekends. They enjoyed the fresh food market, the art stands, strolling along Stearns Wharf, visiting the little zoo, finding shells on the beach, having good dinners, and most of all, spending time together.
The Millers had always been the perfect couple; they had always known what love between a man and a woman was all about. Miller did his best to avoid discussing his work with Gloria, unless she really wanted to know about a certain case. She knew that he would be frustrated about the Scarface case, but he had faced drawbacks like this so many times in his career. Gloria surprised him with an expensive box of Cohiba cigars, Fidel Castro’s favorite brand.
Miller was an expert in cigars, and he was a bit angry about this extravagant gift, although he did his best to hide his true feelings on the subject from Gloria. How could she have spent so much money on ten cigars? His anger made him feel guilty, hence, he kissed his wife for an eternity, or at least until those negative thoughts melted and pure gratitude and enjoyment dominated. The two of them spent the evening sitting outside, with Miller dragging on a Cohiba while he held Gloria in his arms. Nights like these should never end, Miller thought.
156 miles away, at around the same time, someone was digging holes into the ground, right on the Villa’s backyard. A skull appeared, and a silhouette of a person left the scene. Minutes later, the same returned and reached for the skull with glove covered hands. The figure put it in a sack and disappeared once more into the dark, of the cricket sound night.
28
Spencer finally felt well again. Granted, he experienced a little pain here and there, but he was back on coffee – a true sign of good health. Terry came in and handed Spencer an autographed card. “Debby Harry was recently a guest of mine in Vegas,” he explained.
“Gee, thank you, Terry,” said Spencer. “This really makes my day!”
“Ayuda! Ayuda!”
Terry looked at Spencer. “Where did that just come from?” “Outside” said Spencer. The two men started running and looking around.
“Ayuda!”
It was coming from the backyard, and it sounded a great deal like Esperanza. Terry and Spencer came around the corner, as the building was not one long stretch of all forty-eight rooms, but divided into three parts. Between each part was a path that led to the backyard; this had been done intentionally, in case of heavy rain or other situations. This would ensure that the draining, repairs, or for any other emergency, it could be attend to. For example, when the Anderson child abuser fell from the second floor, it was easy to pick him up and put him in a box.
“Esperanza,” called Spencer, still not seeing her.
“Ayuda,” she cried, and Spencer finally found her. Esperanza was dirty and covered in mud. She was stuck in a large hole, surrounded by bones and planks of wood. Spencer reached down to grab her hands and help her come out of the hole. He could not hide his amusement and said, while looking at Terry, “Pirates. I am sure this is a pirate-made hole, and it probably dates back to a long time ago. I mean, look around the region here. I am sure it was perfect for pirates in Mexico and California. Maybe we should start digging, we’ll find gold in masses.” Esperanza was not amused at all. She had light abrasions on her knees and elbows. Terry said, “This hole wasn’t made by a pirate, Spencer. Someone dug this hole just last night. The person must have heard about Bernadette Rose’s treasure story.”
“Didn’t we all hear about it?” Spencer said.
He and Terry lifted Esperanza out of the hole, and the three of them walked back to the reception so they could tend to her wounds. Jim and Harper came around to check on the others, as did Mary and Stan. Bertha came down as well. Everybody took a seat in the reception area. Spencer said, “What a nice gathering. Now that we’re all here, let’s have some coffee or tea.”
Right then, a Peugeot with a bad muffler pulled into the lot outside. Miller had arrived at the scene just in time. He got out of his car and dropped some papers. Spencer welcomed him back and helped him pick the forms up off the ground.
He handed them back to Miller. “I’m so glad that you are here,” he said.
Miller had saved part of his first cigar from the evening before. He appeared surprised by the impromptu gathering. “Somebody was digging for gold in the backyard,” explained Spencer. “It must have been last night, and Esperanza fell into the hole. We need to revisit the Bernadette Rose case.”
“Could I have a cup of black coffee?” asked Miller. Spencer went off to fix it, since he made the tastiest coffee out of all the motel staff.
Coffee, according to Spencer, was an art – an art that not everyone had mastered.
Miller turned to Mary. “We haven’t yet discussed your whereabouts the night of Miss Rose’s death,” he said. “Is there anything you can tell me, Miss Mary Fratel? Keep in mind that I will find out the truth over at the city council no matter what you say.” Mary’s lips sank into a frown, which reminded Spencer of the Goonies again.
“I was with my brother,” she said. “As always, we were sitting outside, playing cards and smoking. We usually drink a bottle of wine, so we were probably doing that. We never go far from home.”
“Did you know about the treasure that Miss Rose disclosed?”
When she did not reply, Miller paused and said, “Thank you, Miss Fratel. I have no more questions for you.”
Miller turned to everybody else. “If I have any further questions, I will surely approach each and every one of you.” He then took a sip of his very black and tasty coffee and expressed how good it was.
As soon as the crew began retreating to their rooms, Miller pointed his finger at Mary and Stan. “Please allow me one more question before you two go,” he said.
Everyone turned around and stared.
“When did you become siblings?”
Rather than wait for an answer, Miller disappeared behind the reception door. Everybody else looked at the siblings, their e
xpressions both concerned and confused.
29
Spencer and Miller took a walk by the Pilgrim and sat down near an open bar. From there you could look to the left and watch the surfers waiting for a good wave. Spencer ordered two Coronas and handed one to Miller.
With his cigar slowly dwindling down, he said, “Something is not right about the treasure story. Let us assume that the original Pilgrim was transporting these goods sometimes. Maybe offloaded here on those shores. The same goes for the Doherty story, but they are not related and we would end up with two treasures.” Miller smiled and continued, “Rose must have had an affair with the man who gave her the necklace. Maybe at the end of his own life, he gave her the key to wealth, which he kept hidden at the Villa.
Rose knew it was too late anyhow, so she just started spreading the news to everyone when she moved, and then she saw her lost son on the second day and knew he would give her trouble. The treasure that we are talking about could actually be much more extensive than we first thought.
This towns development were optimistic at one point, but in 1929, the Great Depression came and put that corner with those big dreams of development right back to sleep for decades. The Villa was not that glamorous at all, but it had a gas station, the restaurant and powerful people visiting all the time. Did you know that many boats offloading drugs in exchange for money visited the coast, especially in the seventies?
The Villa, as we presently experience with Scarface, is in the perfect location for such trading activity.” “I found out that Rose was indeed having an affair with a Mafia-related Capone,” continued Miller. “It is very likely that he is Stan’s father. Stan found himself in Nevada after he left the university after using many experimental pills. He then met Mary, who helped him financially until they moved to Reno.
Mary was very talented in playing poker, so she always had enough of a lucky hand to keep them both above the ground, financially. Unfortunately, Stan was on all kinds of chemical drugs, and so he became unconscious one night and fell from the twelfth floor.
He fell from the bar roof at the Mapes Hotel, smashing his face and surviving it most probably because of all the pills he had taken. He got ahold of the huge advertising ‘skyroom’ construction on his way down and nearly lost his arm. The police report mentions that the man who fell hit the roof of a 1960 Oldsmobile Dynamic 88, which saved his life due to its comfortable size. Stan went through a great deal of surgery while Mary won the poker rounds and financed everything.”
Spencer said “oh” and “ah” over the story; he was very impressed with how Miller had reconstructed it all. After ordering more beers, Spencer closed his eyes and thought about the server. What a nice, sweet ass. Look at those legs they are heaven. He turned to Miller, who also seemed to have enjoyed the nice view. Man, Spencer thought while the bar played some Marvin Gaye tunes in the background.
“Let’s continue,” he said, holding his Corona clinking bottles with Miller.
“Well, Rose was a beautiful girl back then,” said Miller, “and even you, as an admirer of women, could see the beauty in her. Right, Spencer? Anyhow, looking so sweet and young will make many powerful, demanding and ugly characters want you. Rose was full of regrets over her failed career in Hollywood, and she was an easy bait for every scumbag who showed up around here. Most of them were from L.A. and other places around here.
“So, did the Mafia find some business here?” Spencer asked. “
“Of course, they did. Money laundered with lots of drug traffic and the gambling, which went on in all kinds of forms. On the golf course, hidden chamber card games, hooking up with weekend girlfriends, and early human trafficking with boats from Mexico were very popular.
There was lots of money, and one man got Rose pregnant. He finally gave her that treasure information before his life ended. Rose never moved far from here. She always lived in Orange County, in Anaheim – she worked for a family that offered her a job as a live-in housekeeper. After she gave birth to her son, she moved out of that family’s home and they supported her with a small apartment. She raised her son, Stan, until he was five. He was a great kid.” Miller stopped and pointed his hand into the sky. Both looking up seeing a flying saucer. Looking at each other and cheering with their beers, then Miller continued.
“Then one day, two men stood at her door. They were associates of the father’s. Mobsters, they were. They came to take the boy away, and so he grew up with his father knowing nothing else but brutality. Yet, in his heart he carried the soul of a five-year-old, which for a fact, does have more impact on the human development, than the entire rest of life. This made him growth, leave, and work toward a career in medicine. Rose always tried to trace her son and keep a relationship with him as much as possible. Several times the father lectured her, but she never gave up on her only child. Just like any decent mother would do. Stan, however, torn between good and evil. A girl he had fallen in love with at the university once rejected him. Eventually, he ended up in the newspaper because he physically abused her, then he was suspended from his medical pursuits. Then, already under the influence of lots of drugs, he was picked up by Mary, who came up with a perfidious plan.”
Spencer interrupted, and handed a dollar to the boy, letting the flying saucer circle. “Cute model, boy, here buy an ice”. Miller smiled, Spencer signaled to continue. “Rose lost track of him, of course, and so did the Mafia father, who actually tracked him down through his mobster connection in Reno. Then, after he fell out of that hotel, no one could track him because Mary immediately arranged for a new identity, a new face for Stan. She wanted to ensure that she was the only one that owned Stan. In other words, she wanted to officially make them siblings.”
Breathing deeply in and out, Miller suggested that he and Spencer drink some good single malt whisky. He wanted Spencer, as a Scotsman, to tell him about the selection.
Spencer thinking. What about the treasure? Something is not right.
He asked the server, Sandy according her nametag that she pinned to her uniform above her big chest, to bring them the beverage menu. “Let’s have a look here,” said Spencer. “They’ve got all kinds of single malts, but you are aware that a single shot could be quite expensive.”
“Don't worry, Spencer,” said Miller. “My wife got me extremely high-class cigars, so I need to match that taste with something luxurious.” Miller made it sound so Broadway and Spencer realized what a good friend the cop had become – a very special one. The Long Beach original Columbo!
“All right, let’s see this,” said Spencer. “Now, I would say that if we smoke cigars – and by the way, Detective, I would need one too –we shouldn’t choose a too smoky kind of whisky. There is Laphroaig, eighteen years I see they have here. It is excellent, strong in flavor and oak sweetness, and it will pair nicely with that cigar. That is, unless you want to enhance the overall taste.
“Nice, look here,” Spencer went on. “They’ve got an Oban of fourteen years – my hometown and my father’s proud work.
“Well then should honor that,” said Miller, smiling and choosing to follow Spencer’s advice.
“Let’s do that,” replied Spencer. Just as he would have avoided talking more about his home, he looked at Miller and wondered aloud, “What about the treasure? You explained that it is all actually drug and crime money instead of gold and jewelry. Or…?”
“I don't know. I do know Mary is on it. I even started to be suspicious about Reagan, interjected Miller, with a smile. “But we will find out very soon.”
Both men sat at ease, with their expensive cigars and expensive whisky, looking out toward the sea. Night was falling, and some girls were smiling at them, ready for a drink. Life’s moments can be amazing, Spencer thought, Reagan? Na….hey sweet girl.
30
It was a sunny, bright morning. Spencer poured himself some coffee and began reading the L.A. Times, his day having begun in an unusually harmonic way. Jim and Harper were in good moods and Esperanza w
alked in and took a seat with her short legs and big feet not even reaching the floor.
Spencer brought her a coffee and put a small wooden bench beneath her. “Now you will be much more comfortable,” he said.
Everybody smiled.
Jim, who was reading the newspapers, shook his head swanky and said, “The riots are over, and now LAPD is introducing some changes. I just wonder why people of different races cannot get along. Look at us here – we all look like we have come out of a box of crayons, and yet we get along and distribute work evenly among us. Everyone has a duty; one cannot do without the other. Why is that so difficult?”
Spencer took a sip of his coffee, eying that Miller had been standing there for a while already, not wanting to disturb the open talk among the motel staff. Spencer said to Jim, “I agree. In addition, for me as a musician, good music is good music, and there is no race attached to it. From every angle possible, there is no bad music as long as it has soul, love, reflection, and a positive message that will bring people together.
Here we are, and I see no race but people, good people.”
Miller clapped his hands and smiled.
“Your coffee, Detective,” said Spencer, handing Miller a cup. All eyes were on Miller, since they were fully aware that he had to speak on behalf of the LAPD. The detective, however, was a homicide expert rather than a regular cop.
“Things are tough at the moment,” said Miller. “Those riots were not the first ones; something similar happened with Watts back in time. The one difference is. Now it is all on camera, though. Technology is advancing very quickly around us and we must adapt the smartness and change with it. Our behavior, personalities, perceptions and backgrounds, however, do not follow the changes that quickly. All I can say is that we shall respect each other, and most importantly, support one another at every level with education.
Today, I must go downtown to headquarter and will be briefed, then I will have to sign some new ‘code of conduct’, or whatever it’s called.”
