by Billy Kring
Her rod bent into a U and she put her back into it, holding the tip up and fighting to reel in the line. Bob said, “That’s a big one, Amber. Stay with it.”
I wiped the beer off me, found my cap, and put it on only to realize it was soggy with beer. How fragrant.
Hondo said, “You smell like a barroom floor.”
“Thank you, I hadn’t noticed. Who’s steering the ship?”
“We’re fine. No other ships within two miles and we’re drifting slow and straight.”
It took Amber ten minutes to land the fish, and we all whooped when she did. Bob guessed the large halibut at fifty pounds, which is no record, but a very good-sized fish. Then Bob whooped and grabbed his rod, setting the hook and the fight started again. Hondo hooked one a few seconds later and both men reeled in nice fish in the twenty-five pound range.
I looked at my line in the water. No vibrations or twitches at all. Amber whooped again and already had another one on the line.
I reeled in my line to check the sardine on my hook. The sardine cleared the water, flipping and thrashing like a miniature tarpon. I lowered it down again on the sea floor and waited.
Nothing.
Hondo and Bob put their baited lines into the water and both hooked up again. I stood and reeled in my line again, looking at the sardine swimming in the air as I held it up to check. Hondo said “Put it in the water or you’re not gonna catch anything.”
I started to feel pouty, then Amber put her arms around my neck and kissed me. I was all right after that, even when Amber caught another one.
I finally caught one right before we started back to the marina. I reeled it up and as soon as it cleared the water, Bob said, “Too small, you’ll have to throw it back.”
“Too small? I think it’s legal.”
“It’s under twenty-two inches, Ronny.”
“No, I think it’s a solid twenty-four inches. It’s a keeper.”
Hondo said, “Nope.”
Amber grasped my line and pulled the halibut to where she could handle it. She put it on the measure. She said, “Bob’s right.”
I said, “Can’t we stretch it? Hondo, you grab the head and Bob, grab the tail. I think this halibut’s cramped up and you can get it to relax a couple of inches if you both pull hard.”
Amber removed the hook and kissed the halibut, then slid it into the ocean. “Sorry, sailor. This one has to grow a little more.”
Bob said, “What a great day of fishing. I haven’t had a day like this in years.”
Hondo looked at me and said, “There’s no “I” in team. We all did good today.”
“Thanks, Coach Lombardi.”
Amber sat beside me, hugged my arm and said, “Thanks for asking me to come. I couldn’t have experienced this amazing day without you.”
That made me feel much better, plus she still had her warm hands on my arm.
Bob handed each of us a beer, then held his up in a salute. “To friends and days like this.” We saluted him as Hondo went to the wheel and turned us toward the coast.
We reached Marina Del Rey as the setting sun turned the sea a reddish copper. After we docked, we helped Bob load all the fish and the remaining bait into his big pickup. He said, “I’ll process the fish and drop off three-fourths of it for you three at your office tomorrow.”
Hondo said, “We’ll be there.”
Bob gave him a thumbs-up and drove out of the marina. We went to our office, all of us tired but feeling good.
Amber hugged Hondo’s neck and kissed him, “Thanks for arranging the yacht. That was awesome.”
He said, “We’ll do it again. I enjoyed watching you catch so many fish.” He looked at me as he said it.
She came to me and put her arms around my waist, saying, “How about we go to my place and watch old movies until we fall asleep on the couch in each other’s arms. Hondo, you’re welcome to come, too.”
“Not to fall asleep in our arms, but to come over and watch movies,” I said. Amber giggled.
“Thanks, but I’m meeting someone later.”
“Okay.” We left in Shamu while Hondo started his Mercedes.
Amber said, “Is he being evasive because of me?”
“No, he does that sometimes, meets people that aren’t from the good side of town, if you know what I mean.”
“Should you go with him?”
I shook my head, “He’s okay on this one. Anytime he’s not, he asks me. He’s done this before, and sometimes we both go.”
“Okay. I don’t want to do anything to come between you two, even in the least little way.”
“Hondo likes you, so you’re good.”
We reached Amber’s apartment and found an envelope on the door, held there by one small strip of clear tape, like something off one of those small plastic dispensers with the tape on a wheel. Amber peeled it off and we went inside. I watched her open it as she said, “I think this is Bodhi’s handwriting.”
“What’s it say?”
“She wants me to come by in the morning, she said you and Hondo are welcome, too. She wants to talk.”
“About what?”
“It doesn’t say.” Amber placed her hand on my cheek, “Something’s bothering her, and whatever it is, she doesn’t feel comfortable telling Sylvia about it.”
“You want us to go with you?”
“Yes,” Amber said it like I’d asked a stupid question.
“Okay, I’ll drop Hondo a text to meet us here in the morning. What time?”
“How about seven? We can visit with her, then I can go to work and not be late.”
“Sure.”
She walked into the kitchen and placed the note on the counter. She removed two wine glasses from the cabinet and the bottle of wine from the refrigerator. While she poured, I put in a DVD of Cool Hand Luke. We both loved the older films, so this Paul Newman classic seemed perfect for tonight.
Amber placed the wine on the coffee table and went into the bedroom, returning a bit later wearing one of my old tee shirts that reached to mid-thigh on her. I said, “Hey, I’ve been looking for that shirt.”
Amber sat on the couch and slid over so that her entire side from hip to shoulder touched me. She grinned, saying, “Too bad.”
“I notice you have nothing on under the tee.”
“That’s the plan. I have to compete for your attention with the scene in this one where the woman washes the car, so I wanted a little advantage.”
Ten minutes into the film, Hondo texted me that he would be at the apartment to go with us. I reclined deeper on the couch, and Amber made herself somehow even closer to me. After the movie ended, I flipped the television to the Weather Channel, where there’s something soothing about watching the weather patterns, and we faded to sleep like two tired puppies.
I woke at six and eased out of Amber’s arms without waking her. I found coffee in the cabinet, so I made a pot, then checked the fridge for something to cook. She had milk, a fresh bunch of celery, two small limes, and one leftover slice of pizza.
I rummaged through the cabinets and found a box of stainless steel cut oats. I put the water on to boil and placed three bowls and three spoons on the counter as I poured myself a cup of coffee.
Amber said, “Morning, gorgesome.” I took her a cup and sat beside her, feeling happy and content. By the time Hondo arrived I had the table ready with steaming bowls of oatmeal, coffee, and whole-wheat toast.
We ate without talking. I put the dishes in the sink, and we loaded into Shamu to start across Los Angeles to Holmby Hills. Hondo asked Amber, “Have you talked to Bodhi since the wedding?”
“No. I tried a couple of times, but she didn’t pick up. I left a voicemail telling her to call, but she hasn’t.”
“Has she been on Facebook?” I asked.
“No, I checked.”
The street traffic looked heavy but moved well, and we made it to the Artell Mansion in record time. I noticed the gate standing open, and felt a thread of une
ase. Hondo looked at me but didn’t say anything. We both felt it.
I drove onto the grounds, and because of the disturbing feeling, I used the circular drive and parked at the front of the mansion. When we got out I said to Amber, “Stay behind me.” She didn’t argue, but she looked afraid.
Hondo reached the door and pushed on it with one hand. It swung open, making no sound. I touched my pistol but didn’t pull it, then followed Hondo inside.
We saw it at the same time: a spot of red the size of a quarter on the bannister where the stairs made an ellipse to the second floor. Our weapons came out and I reached behind me to touch Amber, who did the right thing by staying close to my back.
Hondo used hand signals to indicate he would go upstairs. I showed him which hallway I would take. We nodded and started our silent recon of the mansion.
Scattered spots and hand-sized smears of blood dotted the hallway floor, showing evidence of a desperate fight that had taken place as some people advanced and others retreated down the hall. The blood smears covered so much of the floor and walls I smelled it, a humid, copper-like odor.
Amber whispered, “Shouldn’t we call the police?”
“Soon, we’re looking for anyone alive because the bad guys may still be here, too.”
“You think they’re all dead?” Amber said, and fear made her voice break.
“Stay close,” I said, and continued toward Sylvia’s office. The doors stood open, and part of the blood trail led inside.
The room looked like a tornado went through it. Someone had overturned the large desk, and papers lay scattered on the floor. A broken computer leaned against the bottom of the wall below a raw hole showing where it hit. Chairs lay in chaotic piles.
A cool, steady breeze came off the pool area and passed through the broken window into the room. We saw no bodies. We left Sylvia’s office and moved down the main hallway, checking rooms as we went.
We found Wilson’s security man, Donovan, sprawled face down in a drying red puddle in the small gym. Stab marks, a lot of them, showed on his torso and face. A kitchen knife pinned the gray suit jacket to Donovan’s back. One hand had been chopped off and rested against the wall beside a stained machete.
Two other blood pools stained the carpet, and red streaks leading out the door told me two bodies had been pulled from the room. I figured Donovan got two before they killed him.
Amber made a slight whimper, then remained quiet. I felt her hand on the back of my belt, the tips of her fingers hooked inside, lightly touching it but not letting go, either.
I led us out of the gym and continued down the hall, every nerve on high alert. The last doors were French doors and I opened both.
I passed through the doorway and straight into a slaughterhouse. Blood in several large, red pools spotted the floor, and long streaks of drying crimson and rust smeared the walls, as if the back of someone’s bloody head slid along it in a struggle.
Franco Torelli’s blood-soaked form lay atop a table. His white shirt looked red and sodden. I saw what must have been twenty knife wounds through the shirt, all in the torso, his arms and hands.
A small wall separated the main room from the next. I edged around it and felt the air go out of me.
Derek Pozza and Sylvia Artell lay on the floor, both dead. Derek must have fought like a berserker. Blood showed everywhere, and it wasn’t all his by a long shot. A red smear ten feet off the floor showed where someone’s back hit the wall and the body slid down to a large, clotting pool on the floor. Derek’s body showed so many cut and stab wounds I couldn’t count them, plus what looked like four bullet wounds.
Sylvia had one round hole in her forehead. Derek’s arm lay across her body as if trying to protect her. Several blood trails led from the room and out a side door into the yard.
Crude red messages written in blood stood out on the wall:
Rise
Death to sinners
Justice is here
The people’s revolution is upon you
Their wrath you will fear
I heard Amber weeping, but she kept her hand on my belt.
My phone rang and vibrated, scaring the crap out of me. Hondo. I answered, “Yeah?
“Come up, I’ve got Troy and Bodhi here.”
“Alive?”
“Yes. How are the others?”
“All dead. We’re coming.” I dialed 911 and reported it, then we went up and met Hondo, Bodhi and Troy at the top of the stairs. Bodhi and Amber hugged each other, clinging in a tight, emotional embrace.
Troy’s face looked sickly white. He said, “They’re all dead?”
“Yes.”
He wiped his forehead with a shaky hand, and I asked him, “Where’s all the staff, and the ones taking care of the grounds? We didn’t see any of them.”
“Because of our marriage, and as a gift, Sylvia gave everyone a few days vacation. We were the only ones here, except for the security officer.”
Hondo said, “What happened?”
Troy raised a shaky hand and wiped his mouth, “We sat around talking last night, well, everybody except Bodhi because she’d just headed upstairs, and suddenly these crazed people rushed in the door, brandishing knives and guns and yelling at us. One of them said to kill us all. Sylvia said to save Bodhi, so I ran upstairs while the others fought them.”
I said, “Why didn’t you call for the police?”
“I left my phone downstairs, and when I reached Bodhi’s room we only had time to hide before people came into the room. We decided to stay hidden until someone came for us.”
Hondo said to me, “I found them in Bodhi’s closet.”
I said, “Didn’t anyone check for you there? It looked like they tore through the entire place.”
Troy said, “Someone opened the closet doors, but we hid in the far corner, behind several stacked steamer trunks. They never saw us.”
“You’re lucky,” I said.
“I guess so.”
Hondo said, “Let’s wait outside for the police.”
We went downstairs, and Bodhi stopped us, “I want to see my mom and dad.”
I touched her shoulder, “Bodhi, that’s not a good idea.”
A tear slid down her cheek. “I won’t freak out, I promise, but I need to see them.”
I looked at Hondo. He nodded, so we walked them down the hallway. She sucked in breath when she saw Donovan’s body in the gym, but we continued to the last room. She whispered, “Mr. Donovan was a nice man.”
Hondo said gently, “Don’t touch anything. There may be evidence.”
Bodhi nodded. We led them to the bodies. Troy shook as if palsied and a light sheen of perspiration covered his face. He staggered to a chair and sat down before he fell.
He whispered, “I didn’t realize it would be so terrible, so much blood.” This wasn’t a scene staged with special effects, and these real murders shocked the blond actor to his heels. Bodhi cried, but stayed strong as she held Amber’s hand.
I heard several sirens approaching and said, “We need to move outside.”
Bodhi turned, and without a word led us from the mansion to await the approaching police cars. While we walked, I called Wilson and told him. He cursed and said he would leave Las Vegas on the first plane back to Los Angeles. He asked, “Davenport, did he get any of them?”
“Looked like it. Two large blood pools, but the bodies aren’t there. He stood his post, Wilson. He was a good man.” We hung up, and I turned toward the sirens and lights.
At least twenty vehicles came racing through the gate and all stopped as close to the front entrance as they could, which blocked Shamu in so we couldn’t leave if we wanted to.
A tall, handsome silver-haired officer with captain’s bars led the police to us. “I’m Captain Hancock. Please identify yourselves.”
We did, and Hancock set us up for statements. He kept me close, saying, “You went through the house rather than calling us?”
“We hoped to find survivor
s and didn’t feel we had a lot of time to do it. We thought the killers might still be on scene.”
“What’s your background, Mr. Baca?” I gave him a brief one, and Hondo’s, too. He said, “What do you think the motive is behind the attacks?”
“I don’t know. It seems too vicious to be random, and too well planned. I don’t know how many people did this, but there had to be at least a half-dozen.” I paused, “Unless it has to do with the messages they wrote on the wall.”
Hancock’s eyes turned bleak, “What messages?” I took him to the scene and let him read it. He said, “In the victim’s blood.”
“I think so.”
The forensics people arrived and we left the mansion to stand in the yard. People would ask us questions, then get us to sign statements, and ten minutes later another officer or Detective would ask us more questions we would answer and sign.
The media arrived in full force. News helicopters hovered and buzzed over the mansion and grounds like so many hummingbirds after nectar, and others on foot could be seen climbing the fence to take photos and videos. Another dozen who were known to the police mingled with them and us, taking notes, videos, photos, and going live on the air with us in the background as their partner worked the camera to send the feeds to the station.
When we left eight hours later, everyone felt emotionally exhausted. Bodhi and Troy drove to her place in Venice, and Amber, Hondo, and I went to our office.
Archie stood by our door, looking grim. We parked and as we approached I saw the hurt in his eyes. I didn’t say anything, just opened the door and we all entered.
Amber went to Archie and hugged his neck, weeping in silence. His eyes glistened when she stepped back. I said, “Archie, I’m sorry–“
“You don’t need to say it.” He wiped his eyes and asked, “How’s Bodhi?”
Hondo said, “Like you’d expect, but she’s tougher than people think.”
“She takes after Derek and Sylvia.”
I said, “She does, there’s steel in her.”
“Tell me about the murders. All of it.”
I said, “It was bad, Archie.”
