Who Needs Justice?

by Rex Bolt

  29 - Quick Salute

  Allison and Monica tried to talk Floyd into coming to California with them. Floyd said the idea had potential, but he couldn't right now. They were out front, the car packed, a perfect blue-sky morning.

  Christian said to Floyd, "Next time I come visit, I'll give you more notice. I feel like we kind of turned you upside down there."

  Floyd said, "Yeah you did, but it was good for me."

  Christian gave him a quick salute and got in the car. No hug or handshake or big thank you, he didn't feel like going there, even though he might not see his brother again.

  They stopped for coffee at a rest area on I-10 an hour into the trip, and then pretty much drove straight through. As they approached the Ashby Avenue exit for Berkeley, Christian said to Allison, "You haven't said squat since about Needles."

  "She thinks she's lovesick," Monica said. "Give her until Wednesday."

  Christian said, "You notice how my brother was less animated as the weekend wore on?"

  "Al does that to people," Monica said.

  Allison said, "It happened so fast. I'm not sure I'll meet anyone as interesting, or fun."

  "You mean cute," Monica said.

  "You think what you want," she said. "But Chris? Thank you for taking us. I mean it."

  "Well, I guess it wasn't the worst way to spend ten days," he said. "There won't be a part two though."

  "Hey, it's not even nine yet," Monica said. "Why don't we go into the city and do something?"

  "Yeah, right," Christian said.

  +++

  When he got to his apartment there was a piece of binder paper under the door which said:

  I look for fucker Christian Seely.

  He turned it over, and there was no other information. He put it on the table and walked over to Weatherby's.

  "Yo, my long-lost brethren," Shep said. "You've been on my mind."

  "I have?"

  "Oh yeah." Lowering his voice. "They must be liberating, your adventures . . . While the rest of us are in our rut."

  "Haven't been putting them in that light, honestly. You see certain things that need to happen, is the extent of it."

  Shep looked around. "But nothing, when you strip it down to its core, you say damn, that felt good?"

  Christian said, "I guess you could apply that to the first one. The second one, the beneficiary has mixed feelings, it turns out. The third was a waste of time."

  "Wow . . . So three."

  "Yeah but really just two. The third had the wrong guy."

  "You're shitting me . . . Wrong guy as in a mistake, or in the way?"

  "Both. A mistake on my part and then becoming in the way. A guy driving."

  "Jesus."

  "Thing was, the correct guy, his routine didn't give me much. I have to go back, which I'm not looking forward to."

  "Does he ever go anywhere better?"

  "I don't know . . . But you mean find out if he's taking a trip or something, and meet him there? I hadn't thought of that."

  Shep cleared his throat. "Anyhow. Besides that business, what's next?"

  "Well one unfortunate development is I think I got someone looking for me."

  "Oh boy. Regarding your . . . list?"

  "Sort of. It's probably harmless but even so, I need this type of thing right now like a hole in the head."

  +++

  Tuesday morning Christian took his normal run from the Marina Safeway to Fort Point. He did the same thing on Wednesday, and this time he was pretty sure there was a guy following him.

  He'd been feeling the guy's presence, a steady ten yards behind him, starting at the Marina Green. So at Chrissy Field he stopped to tie his shoe, and the guy stopped to tie his. When he started running again, the guy didn't follow, but when he got back to the yacht harbor on the return trip the guy was there waiting for him on a bench. The guy followed ten yards behind him back to Safeway and continued on when Christian stopped near his car. Little dude, looked real fit, shaved head, wearing a shiny tracksuit.

  Christian went home, took a shower and called Birgitte. "I had dinner with Ray when you were out of town," she said. "Word had it that you were concerned about me."

  "I was," Christian said. "And I still am. Steve around?"

  "He's in Philadelphia."

  "I see. So tonight okay then? For dinner?"

  "My, you certainly dispense with the formalities."

  "I'll see you at seven, unless you tell me otherwise."

  "No, that should be fine . . . I do feel a modicum of guilt, I must tell you though."

  "Don't," he said.

  After lunch he got on the library computer. First he looked for a Pocatello newspaper. The thing happened last Thursday, so it wasn't even a week, but it felt like a long time now. It had been the headline story for Saturday:

  Blackfoot Man Found Dead Off Highway 33, Apparent Victim of Foul Play

  March 27th, 2017 - The body of a Blackfoot man apparently shot to death was discovered Friday afternoon at an Idaho Power substation on Highway 33 east of Pocatello.

  The victim was identified as Lincoln Sweetig, 28, of 318 Dramouth Street in Blackfoot.

  The discovery was made by a J.B. Hunt trucker who had pulled off the road to rest.

  Sheriff's Department spokesperson Molly Sirlock said the victim appeared to have been shot by a handgun at close range. No further details were available.

  Sweetig was a 2007 graduate of Blackfoot High School and was employed as a welder by Holquin Brothers Metals in Pocatello.

  It is the second apparent homicide in Bannock County in 2017. In February, Clint Elong of Pocatello was charged with shooting and killing his brother Mike at a Super Bowl party in Chubbuck.

  Christian searched the Arizona papers and couldn't find anything on a guy in Anthem getting assaulted in his foyer, so hopefully that was that.

  The LA Times had one follow up story on Chip, from nine days after the incident:

  Slain Hermosa Financial Planner Reportedly Bilked Investors

  by Jack Sperlle

  March 20th, 2017 - Hermosa Beach financial planner Chip Reggio, who was found murdered in his office on March 11th, had disgruntled clients in both southern California and Las Vegas, according to a source close to the investigation.

  The source told the LA Times that Reggio was thought to have used illegal and unethical tactics against investors for more than a decade, netting close to half a million dollars as a result.

  The tactics included setting up Ponzi schemes involving shell corporations and creating fictitious foreclosure property packages.

  Reggio, 46, had reportedly been under investigation by federal authorities since 2010.

  An LAPD spokesman declined comment, saying only that a homicide investigation is ongoing.

  Reggio was discovered beaten to death on March 11th in his office at 213 Norden Lane. He was a resident of Manhattan Beach, having moved there from Las Vegas in 2006, records show.

  A good story for sure, and a terrific job of investigative reporting by Jack Sperlle.

  Finally he googled back through the Donny case. There were no follow-ups in the Chronicle, but there was one in the Marin County Independent Eagle, from last weekend when he was in Arizona:

  Proposal To Name Terra Linda PVHS Dugout After Donny Shelhorne Draws Mixed Reaction by Evelyn Buffum

  March 27th, 2017 - A proposal made Wednesday by Pratt Valley High School officials to name the home dugout at Harrigan Field after the late Donny Shelhorne has drawn mixed reaction in the Marin County community.

  Shelhorne, 23, was killed the evening of March 1st while jogging on the RCJC campus in Santa Rosa, according to authorities. The case remains unsolved.

  Shelhorne attended PVHS from 2008 to 2012 and was a standout pitcher on the baseball team, earning all-Marin honors twice and winning the Marin County Field and Turf MVP award his senior year.

  He received a full-ride baseball scholarship to Ripperton University and graduated last spring. A
t the time of his death, he was part of a culinary start-up in Santa Rosa.

  In 2012 Shelhorne was arrested but never charged in connection with the alcohol-related death at a party of 16-year-old PVHS student Meghan Britta.

  PVHS Boosters' President Randy Turk called the proposal "entirely appropriate".

  "Donny was one of the faces of athletics in Marin County during his tenure," Turk said. "Hopefully having his name live on in this manner will provide a small measure of comfort to his friends and family."

  Faculty member Joyce McCann, an English teacher who has been at the school for fourteen years, took a different view. "Donald Shelhorne should receive no honor whatsoever at Pratt High School," McCann said.

  "His actions five years ago took the life of an innocent child," she said. "I can tell you in all honesty that not everyone is upset about how it played out."

  Jesus Fucking Christ.

  A decision on the proposal is expected to be announced at the year-end school board meeting in June.

  Christian left the library and called Joyce. "I'm afraid to ask what I owe this honor to," she said. "I haven't even texted you for a couple days."

  "We should catch up," he said.

  "Fine, I'll be down. Give me a half hour to finish grading these papers."

  "I'll make it easier on you," he said, thinking the vicinity of his apartment wasn't the best idea. "I'll meet you in Mill Valley, the plaza."

  "Fair enough," she said.

  +++

  She got there around 3:30, a few minutes after he did. There was an old time market that made good sandwiches, one of the last real places still standing, most of Mill Valley being upscale shops now. They took the sandwiches back to the plaza.

  Christian said, "The simple question: I didn't really read that in the newspaper, did I? Please tell me I was dreaming it."

  Joyce said, "The direct answer? It needed to be said."

  "What comes to mind, without me being a genius, is why the fuck would you want attract more attention to yourself—and others in your circle of acquaintances—when you're already on the radar?"

  "Chris. I didn't kill anyone, nor do I know for sure who did. I spoke my peace, which is the least I can do for Mehgan. Frankly I'm surprised you'd have a problem with that."

  "You were so scared though, when you thought they suspected you had something to do with it."

  "Well I got past that, what can I say. Their trying to honor Donny makes me nuts."

  Christian finished eating. They were sitting on a bench near the cement chess tables, where a few disheveled guys were playing speed chess using clocks.

  "You know what?" he said. "I apologize."

  "That's a crock, you never apologize."

  "I respect what you did, I do. It's just . . . a million things kind of crowding in on me at once. I was wrong to butt into your business."

  "What million things? Tell me, Chris. Let me help you." She put her hand on his.

  "Little stuff is all, combining together. No one big thing. I'll be fine."

  "But what can I do? You know there's something."

  "I guess a walk would be therapeutic. I'm still trying to clear the cobwebs from being on the road. You can fill me in on who you hooked up with since you dumped Bruce."

  "Fine, but your little excursion—did your doctor's cute secretary with the nose ring accompany you?"

  "She did, and she even brought a friend."

  "And?"

  "Nothing happened, if that's what you're asking. Actually, I take it back—there were occurrences, just nothing involving me."

  "Chris, you know that's not good enough. Involving who?"

  "My brother, for one."

  "Really . . . Floyd, I'll be darned. How's he doing?"

  "Fine, I think, though he didn't look too good when we left. He made it pretty extensively with the . . . secretary, and I'm guessing worked his way into the friend as well."

  "My God, and you witnessed this?"

  "Caught an inadvertent glimpse of it. I had to distance myself, I was started to feel inadequate."

  "And did one of them watch when Floyd would satisfy the other?"

  "Okay, that's enough . . . The thing that kind of got me, they're both raving about how irresistible my brother is, saying it like he's part of their generation. I'm thinking, he's only seven years younger than me."

  "Well they are correct about Floyd being awfully handsome."

  "He said something similar about you, if I remember right."

  "He did? What did he say?"

  "He put you in the same 'hot number' category as the secretary and the friend. Except with you it's more subtle, was his view."

  "How sweet of him . . . If he were here I'd give him a big kiss for that."

  "That all?"

  "Chris, I'm probably crazy, but I've always found you more attractive than your brother."

  "Okay, whatever. The new guy, what was his name?"

  "Doug."

  "Yeah, how's that all going?"

  "I'm not sure. He's a really nice guy, but he lives with his mother."

  "What's wrong with that?"

  "Everything . . . Hey, I want to look at the falls." They were at the top of Throckmorton, and there was the little green sign for Cascade Park.

  "I guess we could," Christian said.

  They took the trail that looped around the main waterfall, which ran fast this time of year. It was peaceful in there, surrounded by giant redwoods, soft-packed needles under your feet, no sign of other humans.

  "Remember when we used to do it outside?" Joyce said. She was hanging onto him.

  "No."

  "Don't give me that, yes you do."

  "Okay I remember that one time in the backyard. There was no 'used to' though, as in regular event."

  "There were four times, not counting the in-the-car ones," she said.

  "Oh Christ."

  "The first time was in your backyard, correct, when you had that bungalow off Todd Road."

  "Fine."

  "The second was on the Russian River. Remember we rented the canoe and we found that little cove below Johnson's Beach? It was a weekday, there wasn't anyone around."

  "Unh."

  "The third was something else. The fourth of July fireworks show in Corte Madera Park, everyone captivated and crowded together, and you made love to me behind the tennis courts. We could see the flashes of color."

  Christian didn't say anything.

  "Then there was the time on Union Street, in that narrow alley alongside the restaurant. I couldn't believe it when you suggested it, that you would throw caution to the wind like that."

  "Oh. How'd that work, the one in the city?" he said.

  "For me, amazingly."

  "No, I mean did you have to take stuff off, or what?"

  "I was wearing a dress. Don't you remember? It was Stacy Fieling's graduation from law school. We ended up on Union afterwards with a group of people."

  Christian stopped walking. "The problem I'm having at the moment," he said, "is I don't want it to happen again. We better get out of here."

  "But you do," Joyce said, reaching for him.

  "What, you can't take my word for it?" he said.

  She said, "Remember when you used to pick me up? . . . Suspend me?"

  "Not at all."

  "I'll re-teach you then," she said.

  +++

  It was after six when Christian got back to the city. It had been an error, for the most part, to add on something in front of seeing Birgitte. He had a dull headache and needed a nap. He wasn't sure if that was normal wear and tear, or if his condition was slowly but surely starting to kick in.

  He decided to take the scenic route to Birgitte's, cutting through the Presidio from old Letterman Hospital to the Arguello gate, and he noticed a car following him close. His guess was the track suit guy from the morning, who hopefully was the same person that stuck the note under his door, looking for fucker Christian Seely. When he got to Birgi
tte's he watched the car drive by and then park on the next block.

  He rang the bell, suddenly aware of how hungry he was, thinking about the Burmese place on Clement Street that he liked. Birgitte opened the door and Christian glanced down the street before he went inside, and it was definitely the track suit guy, still dressed the same, standing against the car now with his arms folded, looking right at him.

  Something smelled good in the oven, and Birgitte sat him down and said, "I must express my gratitude, Chris, how you've looked after me. Even from far away places, apparently."

  Christian said, "Or maybe I just faked being concerned, because Ray wanted a date with you."

  Birgitte laughed. "Then it was for the best, because we had a nice evening . . . You don't think Ray was in any way serious though, when he spoke of doing violence against Steve?"

  "No, of course not . . . Unless maybe you wanted something like that to happen." Locked on her eyes.

  She took a moment. "I wouldn't be truthful if I said I haven't embraced those thoughts recently, as fantasy. But I could never condone an act of violence."

  "Does Steve have a gun, far as you know?"

  "My Land, I hope not. He did serve a stint in the Israeli Army, before I knew him. He's certainly never hunted, or any such thing."

  "He have any . . . friends, acquaintances—of questionable character—you've ever met?"

  "Well Steve does own quite a number of houses in Richmond, in a downtrodden neighborhood. His property manager, Willie, although he’s always been exceedingly polite, strikes me as someone who may have been incarcerated."

  "Black guy?"

  "Yes."

  Birgitte excused herself and came back with a tray of appetizers, homemade bite-sized pastries with a meat filling.

  "Dang, these hit the spot," Christian said. "Anybody foreign you can think of? In Steve's circle?"

  "You're starting to sound like a detective."

  "I'm sorry. I'm just fishing, I don't know where I'm going with this."

  "To the contrary, I sense your concern has to do with my welfare. It's unfounded, but flattering . . . Steve takes tennis lessons occasionally from a man I don't think I would trust. I believe his first name is Damirko. You might know him?"