One Hot Mess

by Lois Greiman

E STARED AT EACH OTHER, barely breathing.

  “What does it mean?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Does it mean she’s going to kill him?”

  “Not before I do.” His voice was a growl. He was already punching numbers on his cell. I heard it ring on the other end, then roll over to voice mail. Thea’s recorded voice sounded chirpy. He hung up and hit REDIAL, but this time she answered on the third ring.

  “Hello?” Her voice was foggy with sleep.

  “Thea?” Rivera’s tone had lost its hard edge.

  “Who is this?”

  “Lieutenant Rivera.”

  “Jack?” Her voice was kitten-soft, feminine.

  He stiffened like a boy who’s seen his mother’s undergarments. “Were you sleeping?”

  “Yeah. I think so. What time is it?”

  “Listen, honey…”

  Honey? Had he ever called me honey? Under any conditions?

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but you haven’t seen…” His jaw flexed. “The senator’s not there, is he?”

  “The senator?” I could almost hear her blink. Could imagine her shoving back her supermodel hair.

  He closed his eyes. I could see him deciding not to kill his old man—yet. “Yeah,” he said.

  “In my apartment!”

  “Listen, I was just looking for him and thought—”

  “Jack?” The bedsprings sang softly under her nonexistent weight. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. I—” he began, but my gasp interrupted him.

  He shot his dark gaze toward me like a javelin.

  “Her father!” My voice was raspy.

  His brows lowered.

  “Theo Altove,” I said. “He must know.”

  His jaw bunched and flexed. “Hey, your dad didn’t say anything about meeting with my old man, did he?”

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jack, why—”

  “Listen, Thea, this is pretty important. Do you know where your father is?”

  She delayed an instant. “He’s out of town,” she said. “San Diego, I think. For the weekend.”

  “Do you know where you can get a hold of him?”

  “I could try his cell phone, but—”

  “What service does he have?”

  She told him.

  “Number?”

  Her voice faded, but I knew she complied, ‘cuz he was scribbling indecipherable numerals onto his fathers blotter.

  “Does he keep it on at night?” he asked.

  “Usually. He likes to stay in touch with—”

  “Call him,” he ordered. “Use the land line. I’ll hold.” He turned to me, not bothering to cover the receiver. “McMullen.” Using the same pen, he wrote another phone number on the nearly blank sheet. “Call the captain.”

  I flipped open my phone, punched in the number.

  “Ask for Kindred.”

  I did, then waited while Thea came back on the line.

  “He’s not answering,” she said.

  “Have you noticed anything strange lately?” Rivera asked.

  “Strange?”

  “Any unusual behavior?”

  “Jack.” She sounded foggy, scared. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure. Listen, I have to go. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”

  “Just—” she said, but he was already hanging up.

  “Captain Kindred here.”

  Rivera took the phone from me. “This is Lieutenant Rivera. I need a favor,” he said.

  “Do you know what fucking time it is?” His voice was little more than a ground-level rumble from the other end of the line. “There better be a life hanging by a fucking thread, Rivera.”

  “I think there is, sir.”

  There was a pause, a sigh, deep and long-suffering. “Well, it damn well better be someone I like.”

  The muscle ground in Riveras jaw. “It’s the senator.”

  “The hell—” he began, then softened his voice, speaking to someone in the room with him before redirecting his attention to the phone. “What do you need?”

  “A trace. T-Mobile,” Rivera said, and rattled off the number.

  He hung up in a minute. His eyes were black-granite dark and getting darker. “Any idea who the old man’s been cozying up to?” he asked. “Besides you?”

  I shook my head. Out of ideas and too nervous to take offense.

  Rivera turned away to rummage through the rest of the drawers. I rambled through the house, looking for something, anything that might shed light on the senator’s whereabouts, but everything seemed perfectly in its place. No SOS messages written in seashells. No clothing strewn about the house in some strategic manner. Shoes perfectly aligned in the closet. Caps hanging in a row.

  Rivera’s cell rang. By the time I reached him, he was already striding out of the kitchen. Someone was rambling off numbers too fast to understand, but I thought I caught the word “century” before he snapped the phone shut.

  I barely avoided colliding with him. He caught my arms to steady me.

  “What’d they say? He’s here, isn’t he? In Century City. Theo Altove.”

  He stared down into my eyes. “It looks like you were right, McMullen.”

  No one was more surprised than I. “What’s going on?”

  “He used to keep a gun in here. Check that middle cabinet.”

  “Altove’s not in San Diego, is he?” I asked, and turned shakily away, but something snapped around my wrist. I jerked. Rivera was already attaching the other end of the cuffs to the cupboard handle.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Stay here!” he growled as he strode out. “And stay the hell out of trouble.”

  “Rivera!” I screamed after him, but he didn’t stop. The door slammed in his wake. I yanked the cabinet open, but it did little good.

  Outside, I heard his Jeep roar to life.

  I strained at the cupboard, stepping into the doorway and screaming his name again, but he was already squealing onto the street.

  The house lay quiet around me. Everything in its place. Everything… And then I saw it. The hat rack with the antler prongs. Minus the cowboy hat. Only the two caps remained.

  Holy crap! The senator was at his ranch. I reached for my phone, but I’d given it to Rivera.

  I swore then, long and unimaginative, but I was already stretching toward the drawers. There were no screwdrivers within reach. But I finally managed to snag a butter knife.

  Five minutes later I found my phone on the senator’s desk. I snatched it up and ran to my Saturn, already dialing, but Riveras line rolled over to voice mail. I swore and dialed again.

  “Babekins.” Solberg’s voice didn’t even sound sleepy.

  “I need directions to the senators ranch.”

  “Oh, babe, I don’t think—”

  “Alba Rojo. Now!” I snapped, and screeched onto the 27 heading north.

  I don’t know how long it took me to reach my destination. It seemed like a lifetime, but I was finally there. I turned into the driveway, heart pounding, and there was the senator’s car. The house was absolutely dark. I had made it in time. Altove was still in Century City. All I had to do was get the senator out of there and all would be well.

  I slammed out of my car, galloped up the veranda stairs, and pounded on the door.

  “Senator! Senator!”

  No one answered.

  “Miguel, wake up! Please.”

  A light switched on inside. Footsteps padded across the floor. I held my breath in my throat, my Mace in my right hand, but the senator finally answered.

  “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Chrissy. I need to talk to you.”

  “Now?”

  “Immediately.”

  He opened the door. Light streamed out. The senator was fully dressed. So was Theo Altove. He stood with his legs slightly spread, a pistol extended at arms’ length and
pointed directly at Miguel’s back.

  “Come in. Close the door,” Altove said.

  For one panicked moment I considered bolting, but he spoke again.

  “Come in or the good senator dies where he stands.”

  I stepped inside, heart hiccuping in my chest.

  “Who are you?” Altove asked.

  I tried to speak, but my mouth failed.

  “She’s got nothing to do with—” the senator began, but Altove stopped him.

  “You will sit and you will be silent.”

  The two men stared at each other, but finally the senator took a seat on the nearby couch. He looked worn and old.

  “The police know,” I said, forcing my lips to perform.

  Altove turned back to me. He wore glasses. His hair was thin, his skin pale. But his hands were steady on the pistol. “What is it they know?”

  I tried to breathe, but it was hard. “Thea’s not your daughter.”

  His mouth twitched, but he didn’t move.

  “She’s his,” I said, and nodded toward the senator. My neck barely moved. “Rivera knows you—”

  “Yes.” Altove’s voice was steady. “My wife—she was beautiful.” His voice had gone dreamy. “Lips like scarlet cord, but she was…” He paused, cleared his throat, seemed to come back to himself. “He seduced her. I knew that. But it ended. She said it ended months before the pregnancy. And she gave me a daughter. A daughter that was everything her mother wasn’t. So devout. So decent. She adored me. ‘Daddy, may I. Daddy please.’” He smiled. The expression made me shiver. “Do you have any idea what’s it’s like to learn it’s all a lie? That she had sprung from another man’s loins?”

  “Why did you kill the others?”

  “They also sinned.”

  “Dear God!” Rivera jerked to his feet. “I thought you were my friend, Theodore. A man of God, a—”

  “One move and her death will be on your conscience, Miguel.” The world ticked in silence. “If you have a conscience.”

  “You killed Kathy” The senators voice was hoarse. “Rebecca. You bastard.”

  “Sit down,” Altove ordered.

  He sat. I felt faint, but I spoke again. Keep him talking. Keep breathing.

  “You called the governor,” I said. “Told him to make sure Kathy’s death went uninvestigated.”

  “In fact, I reminded him that she had worked with the good senator here. We certainly didn’t want to muddy the waters when Miguel would soon be announcing his bid for the presidency, for he would surely remember his friends when he entered the Oval Office. Kathleens death had already been determined an unfortunate accident, after all.”

  “She broke a commandment,” I said.

  He didn’t respond.

  “They all broke commandments,” I said. “But how did you do it? There was never a sign of struggle. Never—”

  “No man builds granaries without first figuring the cost.”

  “What—”

  “I planned, Ms. McMullen. I planned for years. Oh…” He shook his head. “I didn’t truly intend to follow through, but it was soothing to think about laboring in the Lord’s fields. I dreamed of reaping one death on each day of the week according to their sins, then resting on the seventh day after Miguel’s demise.” He smiled wistfully. “It was naught but a dream. But then Thea…” His lips twitched again. “Thea felt she was being called to work in Los Angeles. And I knew—all those months, ago, even before she told me she’d met Miguel—I knew their paths would cross.” He shook his head, eyes somber. “It was a sign from the Almighty. A sign that I must not let him corrupt others. Corrupt her.”

  “Theo.” The senator shook his head, eyes beseeching. “Surely you don’t believe I would touch her. Not my own daughter.”

  In the distance, I heard sirens.

  Altove pursed his lips. Resignation showed in his eyes. “No. You won’t,” he said, and twisting toward Rivera, he snapped off a shot.

  “Don’t!” I screamed, and lifted the Mace.

  Altove swung the gun back toward me. I could feel his intent, could see him pull the trigger. Thunder echoed in the room. Something struck me. I was slammed to the floor. Pain tore through my shoulder. The senator grunted and rolled aside, smearing blood across the hardwood, but he dragged himself upright, sitting brokenly in front of me, shielding me.

  “Kill me, then,” he rasped. “But spare her, for God’s sake.”

  Emotions streaked through Altove’s eyes. Confusion, fear, remorse. He stood, frozen, horrified, and then he placed the muzzle in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

  33

  Dating is my second-favorite hobby. My first is being audited.

  —Donald Archer,

  rich and single

  WOULD LIKE to take this moment…” The room fell silent, faces turned expectantly. Senator Rivera stood surrounded by a hundred or so of his closest friends. The Sapphire Room of the Mandarin was filled to overflowing. “… to extend my heartfelt appreciation to each and every one of you.” He smiled, charismatic, calm, controlled. The left sleeve of his charcoal Armani suit looked a bit tight, doubtless because of the bandages, but there were no other indicators to suggest that, less than twenty-four hours before, a bullet had plowed a path through his upper arm, missing his aorta by a handbreadth. “My family, my friends…” He paused again and glanced around the room. His eyes gleamed with sincerity, and suddenly it seemed that the room was smaller, more intimate. As if he spoke to me alone. “You have supported me when I needed it most. Guided me when I lost my way and made me proud in more ways than I can mention. But today…” He lifted his eyes from mine. “Today I have called you here to announce that I will be leaving the political arena.”

  There were gasps of shock and disappointment.

  He raised a calming hand. “I realize that many of you had hoped for different news. For better news, perhaps. But in light of recent events, I feel it is time for me to focus exclusively on personal issues.

  “My family, for instance.” He glanced toward Rivera, smiling gently with his ever-wise eyes. “Lieutenant Gerald Rivera—thank you, my son. You are my greatest accomplishment.”

  Ten feet away, Rivera showed no emotion whatsoever but for, perhaps, a slight stiffening of his musculature.

  “And his inamorata, Ms. Christina McMullen.” He clenched his fist against his well-dressed chest. “You shall forever be in my heart. You are like the daughter I always wished to have.

  “And you others …” He lifted both arms like a benevolent demigod. I couldn’t help but wonder what it cost him in pain and dry-cleaning bills. Surely the wound was seeping. “You have cheered for me in the good times, mourned for me in the bad, and, perhaps most important, forgiven me my mistakes. Of which, sadly, there have been many.” He looked solemn and earnest.

  “But good comes even from mistakes.” He drew a deep breath. “As you may have heard, there was a terrible tragedy at my ranch. My good friend and longtime confidant, Theodore Altove, who had been battling depression for some time, took his life.” He paused again. The crowd murmured, bubbling with the need to gossip. He lifted his hand and Thea slipped out of the crowd, graceful and solemn. How he had convinced her to be there so soon after Theo’s death was beyond my imagination. But there she was. “His beautiful daughter, Thea, will have to carry on without him. And for that I feel terrible sorrow. But together…” He took her hand, lifting it high. “She and I will be founding a broad-reaching charity in East L.A., a wonderful program that will help end the suffering of our fair city’s urban poor.”

  There was enthusiastic clapping, perhaps initiated by shills, and he smiled. “I am thrilled with your response,” he said, “for I shall certainly appeal for your individual support when the time is ripe. But until then, please—enjoy the hospitality of this fine establishment. Eat, drink, and remember to live life to the fullest, for only God knows the number of our days.”

  With that, he turned and disappeared, taking Thea with
him.

  I slipped outside a few minutes later. The parking lot was well lit and my Saturn stood close to the door. I popped the locks and reached for the handle.

  “I suppose I should thank you.”

  I glanced up with a gasp. Rivera stood on the far side of my car.

  “For saving the bastard,” he said.

  I shrugged. The last twenty-four hours had been rather trying. The senator had been rushed to the hospital. Altove had been declared dead, and Rivera hadn’t said more than ten words to me.

  “Shouldn’t you be in there answering questions?” I asked.

  “I’m sure the good senator can explain everything away. He’s an expert at talking while saying nothing at all.”

  I couldn’t argue. It seemed as if I’d had endless conversations with him, each one leaving me more confused than the last.

  “Besides,” Rivera said. “I don’t think they want to hear that the old man’s an ass.”

  The night air felt soft against my face. Strange how a near-death experience can make one appreciate even the feel of the air. “He apologized.”

  “Six people are dead,” he said. Despite the darkness and our distance, I could feel the anger in him. “Because of him, because he can’t keep his dick in his pants.”

  “Why didn’t you out him, then?” I asked. “Tell them the truth.”

  He shook his head, jaw set. “Thea’s life is going to be hell enough without having to admit she’s the old bastard’s illegitimate daughter.”

  He looked tense and hard. But it was a tension I had missed. A hardness that touched me in ways I couldn’t explain. “At least she knows,” I said.

  He snorted. “The senator gracefully agreed to tell her that much.”

  I wondered if that meant there had been no bloodshed.

  He drew a deep breath, rounded the bumper. “What about you?” he asked.

  I could feel his approach like the advance of a storm and lifted my chin against the onslaught. “What about me what?”

  “You okay?”

  “Sure.”

  He glanced away close now. “I’m sorry.”

  I savored his words for a moment, knowing it might be the last time he ever said them. “For… ?”

  He stared into the distance, then shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and propped the heel of his shoe on my hubcap behind him. “My temper.” He exhaled, making the apology seem physically painful. “My bad judgment. My genetics.”