Bad Moon Rising

by Billy Kring

  The male extra didn’t give up and slipped me a piece of paper with his name, address, phone number, email, and Facebook page. I looked at him and he held his hand with the thumb and little finger extended to indicate a phone and put it to his ear as he silently mouthed Call me.

  I shook my head and said, “I’m straight.” He looked disappointed.

  Hondo said in my ear, “That could show your range.”

  “Oh you are a funny little blue man tonight aren’t you?”

  Emma called a wrap on the day and we cleaned up, grabbed a breakfast taco from the table and ate them as we drove home. The sun broke the horizon as I turned on the street to Hondo’s house.

  Two police sedans flashing their red and blue lights had parked in front of his walkway. “This isn’t good,” Hondo said.

  Chapter 9

  I parked behind a sedan and as we exited the pickup, four officers approached us. The sergeant, a baldheaded, rangy guy, stopped us as he looked at my friend and said, “Mr. Hondo Wells?”

  Hondo nodded, then carefully pulled out his wallet and handed the sergeant his private investigator license. I asked, “What’s this about?”

  He handed the license back to Hondo before speaking, “And you are?”

  “Ronny Baca, his friend and business partner. If it helps, we we’re the ones who found the victims at the Artell Mansion last week. Captain Hancock can vouch for us.”

  The sergeant said, “Wait here.” He walked to the sedan and used the radio to call. We couldn’t hear the conversation, but he came back to us in a few minutes. “What we have is a murder victim who texted Mr. Wells a short time before his death.”

  I felt the hair prickle on my neck. “Who?”

  “Wilson Berra.” He asked Hondo, “Is he a friend of yours?”

  Hondo said, “Both of ours. We served together.”

  “Where?”

  “Afghanistan.”

  “And where were you two last night?”

  Hondo said, “Working. We were on a movie set.”

  “Actors?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded, “Where, and what movie?”

  Hondo told him and he wrote it down. “I’ll check it later. Now, may I see your phone?”

  Hondo opened it and punched in his code, then handed it to the officer. “Mr. Berra’s text is here, but unopened. You didn’t check your phone last night?”

  Hondo said, “I had it on vibrate during the shoot, and didn’t bother to check when we finished work.”

  He nodded, “Can you tell me what it means, this text?” He showed it to Hondo, and I peeked over my friend’s shoulder.

  no moonshok sun

  Hondo said, “I have no idea.”

  He nodded. “We may need to talk with you again. The homicide detectives I mean.”

  “No problem. I can come to the station.”

  I said, “I can come, too. I love to talk.”

  The sergeant gave me a pained look. “It won’t be us. This is a County case, we’re assisting on this piece of information.” He said to Hondo, “If you’ll give us permission to check your home, I think that’ll be enough.”

  Hondo handed the sergeant his keys and pointed to two of them, “These open the safes.”

  I said to Hondo as the sergeant left, “It’s county, so we can call Vick and get more information.”

  “As soon as we can get free,” he said. I nodded.

  They didn’t take long, maybe twenty minutes. The sergeant gave Hondo his phone and the keys, “Thanks for your cooperation. And I’m sorry about your friend.”

  I said, “Where did they find him?”

  “A citizen reported the body out by the Santa Susanna State Historic Park.”

  I felt a prickly thread of unease crawl up my spine. “Do you know exactly where?”

  He said, “Wait a second.” He went to his sedan, worked the laptop for a bit, then returned. “They discovered Mr. Berra’s body just beyond the park boundary.”

  I said, “At the old Spahn Ranch?”

  “You know about that place?”

  “We do.”

  “Ah,” he nodded. “This information hasn’t been released yet. The suspects tied Mr. Berra’s hands and feet before killing him. We think they accosted him at a different location before transporting him to the murder site. The assailants stabbed him over sixty times. They also wrote a message on a large boulder by his head, like a tombstone, and they wrote it in Mr. Berra’s blood.”

  “What was the message?” Hondo asked.

  The sergeant returned to his laptop, punched the keys and motioned us over to look. An image appeared of the boulder. The four crimson words glistened as if moist:

  Rise

  Revolution

  Wrath

  Reckoning.

  “Thanks, sergeant.”

  They left, and Hondo called Vick, who said he would get updated on the case and meet us at our office in an hour. We drove in silence to the office, with both of us thinking about Wilson.

  Vick and Archie joined us at our office, with Archie saying, “I’m sorry, fellows.”

  I nodded my thanks. We sat at the table while Vick brought us up to speed, which wasn’t much. He said, “The preliminary investigation shows at least five people present at the murder scene. That’s from tracks around the body. We excluded the two witnesses, a couple of teenagers who wanted to see the place where Charlie Mansion lived in the sixties.”

  Archie said, “People still go out there even though nothing’s left. Do they think they’re going to sense Manson’s presence? I never understood it.”

  I didn’t tell him I went out there a few years ago.

  Vick continued, “Three are women, at least from the size of the tracks, and two males. There might have been another one but the investigators couldn’t be certain.” He read from his notes, “The words on the boulder, someone used a cloth dipped in the blood to do it. The writer is left-handed. That’s from forensics noticing the indicating markers studied under magnification. No epithelials other than the victim.”

  I said, “Any idea how they captured him?”

  “The autopsy isn’t completed, but I called and asked what they had so far. The attackers hit your friend in the back of the head using a hard cylindrical object, probably a pipe. They also beat him severely. He had hematomas and contusions on his face, head and neck, and massive hematoma on his torso from multiple blows.”

  Hondo said, “So they kicked him, too.”

  Vick glanced from his notes to Hondo’s face, “Yeah, the M.E. said about a hundred times.”

  Archie said, “How do the messages match up with Sylvia Artell’s murder scene?”

  Vick said, “We think it’s the same writer. And, the same one who murdered the musician in Topanga Canyon.”

  “Damn, damn, damn,” Archie said as he shook his head. “It’s like Charlie Manson all over again.”

  After we finished, Vick said, “What I shared is confidential.”

  “We’re not saying anything until the S.O. releases it.”

  Archie said, “It’ll explode on social media and the news sooner than that, you watch.”

  Vick nodded, “That’s what we expect, too. And the wild theories will go though the roof.”

  “Manson will be in the papers again.” Archie said.

  Hondo and I drove home after the meeting, and both of us almost fell asleep as I drove. I said, “Keep me awake, I’m behind the wheel here.”

  “You don’t need me to drive, then.”

  “I need you to yell and scream stuff like ‘Oh my god we’re gonna crash!’, or ‘You’re gonna drive into a light pole!’”

  He tried singing, but after twenty seconds I said, “My ears are bleeding.”

  “You want me to keep you awake or not?”

  “Okay, but no Kanye.”

  I dropped Hondo at his place. The police departed long ago, so the only disturbance he had was neighbors parting their curtains to watch him wal
k to his door. When I pulled into my drive, Amber came out to see me, along with Bodhi. We hugged first, then went inside and sat together on the couch. Bodhi had red rimmed eyes and held a small kerchief in her hand, using it when she began weeping.

  I told them a little, but not everything. Amber’s eyes were large and she looked spooked. She comforted Bodhi with an arm around her. Amber said, “What’s this all about? I saw where someone said Charles Manson escaped prison and he and his followers are targeting Los Angeles.”

  “That isn’t true. Manson will never get out.”

  Bodhi said, “Are they after me? Everyone they kill is close to me.”

  “I don’t know. Hondo and I are working on it. So are the police.”

  Amber said, “What are those messages written in blood? What do they mean?”

  I was so tired, going on no sleep again for the second day. I said, “I think it’s to cause fear in people, nothing more.”

  Bodhi said, “You don’t think this is a revolution?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Amber leaned toward me and studied my face, “Have you slept at all?”

  “Not in a while.”

  “How about Bodhi and I stay here on your couch, but keep quiet and you can sleep in your bed. When you get up, I’ll fix you a meal.”

  I rose and almost sleepwalked to the bedroom, “Deal.”

  I dreamed of biblical inscriptions written in blood, of Wilson screaming for help, and then of our episode in the Shok Valley ambush as if it is happening for the first time.

  I see Hammond die as rockets explode in boiling dust and shrapnel and noise as they destroy the small stone shelter where we hide. I feel the concussion as a portion of the blast slams into Wilson and he collapses in the rubble.

  Explosions and dust and bullets fill the air. Hondo reaches for Wilson and I see the bullet hit my friend. Dust jumps from his uniform and he falls beside Wilson and Hammond.

  Bullets zip and whine and ricochet off stone as I strain to see and breathe in the boiling cloud of tan colored dust. I check Hammond and know he is dead. Bullets come faster and another rocket knocks me down.

  I scramble to my feet and see Hondo’s hand move and Wilson’s leg curl toward his stomach. A bullet ricochets off my helmet as I grasp Hondo, then Wilson by their straps and drag them through a ragged hole in the back wall. I step down the steep decline into brush and pine dotted rock slopes and struggle through it all as I follow a goat path toward the valley floor far below. The sounds of bullets and rockets fade as I descend.

  The two men are so very heavy. I strain to lift them over boulders and ridges and deadfalls, unable to go straight down because of the steepness. Sweat stings my eyes.

  I follow the trail, so narrow in places I have to put one man on my shoulders as I drag the other. Both men are in and out of consciousness and unable to help. My lungs burn and my legs quiver.

  My back muscles are on fire and my grip weakens and hands slip from the straps. so I run them under the straps to my wrist then twist my arm so the strap wraps around it, and I pull again. I drag the two men across a hundred-yard long finger of rock and see small explosions of dust around me as the enemy shoots from high up on the mountain. I pull faster and the straps saw into my wrists with every step. I feel blood in my gloves and hope it doesn’t soak through. I don’t want my grip to slip because of the wetness. I do not want to fail my friends.

  I woke six hours later with the dreams still clear in my mind. I rose to join the others. Hondo sat at the table drinking coffee, and Amber poured a cup for me. She said, “Almost ready.”

  Hondo said, “Got a call from Vick. He said Wilson has no relatives. He’s an orphan.”

  “That’s something he never mentioned.”

  “Vick wanted to know if they should contact someone about burial arrangements. He thought we might know.”

  Bodhi said, “I can do it.”

  We looked at her. Hondo said, “You don’t have to.”

  She said, “I want to. He was a good person, and good to me. He saw me crying one night after the funeral and told me about being an orphan. He understood what it is to have no parents, and he said friends are family, too. They can help you heal, he said.” She held Amber’s hand when she finished talking.

  I asked her, “Did he tell you where he was going?” Bodhi knew I meant before his murder.

  “He said he wanted to check on something because it tied all the pieces together.”

  “About what, the murders?”

  “He didn’t say, but that’s the impression I got.”

  Hondo said, “Do you know where he went?”

  “I think to Venice.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  Bodhi thought a second, biting a corner of her lower lip, “He said something odd, like ‘I’m following the blood trail’ or something like that.”

  I tried to match that with the text he left on Hondo’s phone, but it didn’t bring anything to mind.

  Hondo said to me, “Want to go to Venice?”

  “Sure.”

  “Take some shorts for volleyball. We can ask them if they saw anything.”

  “Mine are at the office.”

  “Mine, too.”

  Amber said, “We’ll stay here and guard the house.” Bodhi looked relieved. Here was safety, outside was danger.

  ~*~

  We changed at the office and walked to the beach. People milled about on the walkway, on the sand, and in the surf. The word “crowded” didn’t seem to do it justice. I said, “They must all be here to see us.”

  Hondo pointed toward a platform near the pier. Large Amplifiers and light poles adorned it. He said, “Unless you can sing, the crowd’s here for someone else.”

  We meandered that way since there weren’t any volleyball games at the moment. We saw our Electrical Testicle friends the same time they spotted us.

  “Dudes,” I said and nodded my head at the stage, “Are you up?”

  “Not us,” Spade said, “Algonquin Rhino. Archie told us to come over and hang out. We’re friends with the band, so we’re figuring on a good party afterward. You two can come with us if you want.”

  “Thanks, but we’re working,” Hondo said.

  Eric said, “Did you hear that Archie arranged an audition for us with Sony Records next week?”

  We grinned, “We’re rooting for you.”

  Eric said, “Thanks.”

  Hondo nudged me, “See that?” He pointed under the pier, where two men stood. Even from here their body language told us they weren’t happy with each other.

  Hondo has twenty-ten vision and can see better than most people, including me. I said to him, “Aim one of your eyes like the Six Million Dollar Man used to do and focus in on ‘em. And make that noise like on the show, you know, nah-nah-nah-nah-nah, like that.”

  Eric said, “Something we can help you with?”

  Hondo said, “Couple guys we know are arguing over there.”

  “Under the pier,” Eric said.

  I said, “Yeah. We’re curious what it’s about.”

  Spade said, “One of them is Jericho Moon, I can tell that. I don’t know the other one.”

  I said, “The other one is Troy Hanson, the recent widower of Sylvia Artell. It may be nothing, but still, we need to check it out.”

  Eric said, “Stay here. He held up his GoPro and motioned to the other band members. “We’ll take some video with those two in the background, and be close enough to record the conversation.”

  “Thanks,” Hondo said.

  “Hey, we owe you,” Eric said.

  We watched the Algonquin Rhinos setting up on stage and visited with several friends who saw us. The Testicles returned ten minutes later. Eric handed us the camera, saying, “Take a look.”

  The video showed Jericho and Troy standing on the sand, maybe two feet apart.

  Troy spoke first, “You can’t do that.” He sounded whiny, “It’s mine.”

  “Do w
hat I advise.”

  “If I get caught…”

  “Then do not get caught. Use some sense, Troy. You’re in far too deep to argue with me.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Finish the last ones. Do that, and then we finalize the rest.”

  I said to Hondo, “What happened to all of Jericho’s peace and love talk?”

  “Evidently Troy is a bad boy and isn’t following the gospel of Moon.”

  I glanced up and saw Moon walking towards us. Troy had disappeared. We moved away from the crowd and waited for him.

  Moon gave each of us a gentle man-slap on the arm and said, “The two bronzed paladins. I am sorry to learn of your friend’s passing.”

  “Some people murdered him.” Hondo said.

  “I know, a terrible thing, especially so soon after the Artells. It is a dark time in our city.” He edged a little closer, “I saw him yesterday, here on the beach.”

  “Did you talk?”

  “We did. He searched for someone and asked if I knew them. I didn’t recognize the name and told him if I heard something I would let him know.”

  I said, “Who was he asking for?”

  “He only had a nickname. Someone called Mano, if I remember correctly.”

  “Where did you talk to him?”

  “Here.”

  “Right here?”

  On the walk, near the Sidewalk Café. Why?”

  Hondo said, “Just curious.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  I said, “We saw you and Troy talking, and he didn’t look too happy.”

  “He isn’t. Troy is making some shaky investments and wanted my advice.”

  “Your advice? Are you an investment counselor?”

  I caught a tiny glint of anger in his eyes, “No, I am a friend. You know about friends, Ronny. You don’t abandon them in their time of greatest need.”

  Moon’s words stung. I said, “Don’t get defensive, Jericho. I thought that if you were an investment counselor, I’d ask advice on some stocks. Like, which ones caught Tony’s eye, so I don’t invest in them. C’mon you can tell me.”

  He smiled, and I caught motion out of the corner of my eye as three young women came our way. Moon’s Maidens.