by Billy Kring
“I theenk maybe yes.”
Hondo called Troy’s number. He said, “Nothing. Didn’t even go to voice mail.”
I said to Juan, “Stay with us in case the Kiowa decides to come by here. He knows this is our office.”
We went out the door and saw Jericho Moon and his three women standing nearby. Moon said, “Hello Ronny, Hondo. And this is a gentleman I haven’t met.” He walked to Juan and put out his hand. Juan shook it, using the soft, almost limp handshake of people from Mexico. Juan glanced repeatedly at the women. Jericho said, “What is your name, my friend?”
Juan said, “Juan Luna.”
It is a pleasure to meet you, Juan. You are in good company with these two.”
I said, “We have to go.”
Jericho smiled and nodded. He said, “Of course.” He and the three women watched us drive away in Shamu. I watched them in my rear view mirror and saw them going from the office towards the beach. For some reason, that relieved me.
Juan said in a quiet voice, “I theenk those womens are the ones who keel your friend.”
I said, “Are you sure?”
“Eet wass far to see, but maybe them.” He looked anxious, “Maybe not, too. I don’ see very good sometimes.”
I looked at Hondo, who said, “We do this first, then get with Vick on it. They aren’t going anywhere.”
When we reached the Artell mansion, the gate was closed. I talked into the speaker, “This is Baca and Wells. We’d like to talk to Troy.”
Nothing.
“Breaker-breaker good buddy, this is Ronny Baca and Hondo Wells in the Pork Chop Express to see Troy Hanson. Over.”
Ten seconds of silence, then Hondo said, “I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?”
“Don’t worry.”
“If you’re trespassing, you could be arrested.”
Hondo stopped and turned to look at me. “You, telling me not to trespass. The man who taught me everything I know about trespassing and breaking and entering.”
“Well, not everything.”
“Hah. I’ll have the gate opened in a bit. Drive in when it opens.”
He trotted to where the metal fence ended and the ten-foot high brick wall began. He jumped and grasped the top, going up and over in one easy motion. I caught sight of him among the shrubs once, but other than that I didn’t see him.
The gate opened. I looked at Juan, who shrugged his shoulders and said, “Vamonos, let’s go.”
I stopped near the front door where Hondo stood with the door open. I said, “The door?”
“I found it like this.”
I didn’t ask anything else, just walked into the mansion.
No one was home, like the house had been abandoned. No groundskeepers, no security, no staff, and no Troy. I headed for the office and checked for any messages or notes, but found nothing. I also noticed the security monitor. Someone had shut down all the security cameras. As I turned to leave, I spotted a crumpled piece of paper in the wire trash basket. I lifted it out and unfolded the paper to read a handwritten note: Bring her. Forest Lawn Hwood, liberty 23.
Hondo said, “You find something?”
“A clue.”
“I didn’t hear you say Eureka.”
“Well, we are trespassing.”
Juan looked at us and shook his head like we were crazy.
Hondo said, “What’s the clue?”
I showed it to him and said, “I think it means Bodhi.”
Hondo called her number and let it ring. When the voicemail opened, he said, “Call me, it’s important.”
I called Amber. She answered on the second ring, “Hey my handsome man.”
“Is Bodhi with you?”
“No.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“No, what’s going on, Ronny?” I heard the nervousness in her voice.
“It may be nothing. We wanted to check with her on a few things.”
“Tell me the truth.”
I said, “She may be in danger.”
“Not after everything that’s happened, no.”
“Can you try reaching her, or maybe call her friends to help?”
“I’m at work, but I’ll do it.”
“Call me if you locate her.”
“I will,” Amber didn’t want to hang up and the anxiety in her voice was palpable, “Please, please be careful.”
“Don’t worry, they don’t call me Rambo Baca for nothing.”
Amber remained silent, but I heard her breathing, then she said, “I love you.” I could tell it was something she debated about saying, and the impact of her words felt huge.
I said, “I will.” I wanted to say the words back to her, but didn’t. I don’t know why. Amber waited in silence for a few more seconds before saying in a hurt, anxious voice said, “Bye, Ronny,” and hung up her phone.
I dialed Jim’s number and when he answered, I said, “Can you and the other Testicles keep watch on Amber?”
He didn’t ask why, “You bet. We’ll get on it right now. Overnight?”
“If you can.”
“We can, long as you want. Touch base with me later. And Ronny, I don’t know what you and Hondo are getting ready to do, but be careful, and call us if we can help. Two of us are vets.”
“I will, thanks.”
Hondo nudged me and said, “Let’s head that way.”
We returned to the street, with Juan climbing in the rear seat and Hondo pulling the gate closed before hopping into the passenger’s side.
It’s not a long drive to Forest Lawn, but the afternoon traffic was a bear, and it seemed we crept along as wrecker after wrecker cleared accidents every half-mile.
I checked the sky a couple of times. Low, turbulent clouds flowed across it like a gigantic gray river. I thought we might be getting a front blowing in, but wasn’t sure. We could use the rain because things had become tinder dry, with every bit of grass and brush brown and brittle. The only green in the hills are scattered oak trees and other evergreens.
We reached Forest Lawn and parked the pickup in an area not easily seen. We took our time, going on foot. Juan stayed with us, not talking, but looking around. Forest Lawn is a beautiful, serene place, and many celebrities are buried there, including Sylvia and Derek. Hondo picked up a map at the information kiosk so we could find our way to the place on the note, then we began our walk.
The location we looked for appeared to be a little beyond where actor Paul Walker’s ashes are buried. The name, WALKER displayed on a small plaque mounted on the wall behind a verdant rectangle of grass that marked his resting place. A dozen flowers, both singly and in small vases had been placed on the grass, along with notes and small trinkets. I also knew the graves of Sylvia and Derek weren’t far.
When we reached the place indicated on the note, I felt the hair stand up on my neck. Hondo took off his sunglasses and looked at it for a long moment.
The marker read: Jordan S. Hammond, USMC KIA Afghanistan – Beloved Son and Brother. The last line showed his date of birth and death.
The Marine I left on the mountain above Shok Valley, and I never knew he was here.
Hondo said, “Make sure we’re at the right location.”
I reached into my pocket, pulled out the note and read it again, “This is it.”
Hondo pointed twenty feet further down the walkway where flowers were also on a plot and said, “Sylvia and Derek are there. I don’t like this. Check your weapon and let’s get out of sight.”
We checked our pistols and moved to another area that offered concealment, but allowed us to see the graves. We lowered to our knees, leaving only our eyes and foreheads exposed if we wanted to look. Juan stayed close beside me, swallowing every few seconds. I said, “It’s ok, if anything happens, stay behind me.” He nodded and swallowed again.
Two hours passed. The few visitors to the cemetery became less and less. By the time the sun went down, we were the only ones in the cemetery.
>
Another twenty minutes passed as a full moon rose early. It cast an orange light among the long strings of clouds overhead.
Hondo said, “Think we missed them, that they came early?”
I shook my head, “I don’t think so. They might have changed it, and we wouldn’t know if they did, so let’s wait one more hour.”
Forty long, quiet minutes passed, then I noticed movement. The subdued lighting in the cemetery didn’t show much, but I could tell that people walked our way. I checked Hondo and he nodded. He saw them, too.
We recognized the first two as they came closer. Troy and Bodhi walked side by side, with a third man close behind them. Bodhi sobbed, and Troy looked ghostly pale. The third man moved slightly to the side and I saw him: A man with broad shoulders and a thick chest. His arms looked long, almost apelike, with large, ropy muscles. He had short, slightly bowed legs that looked powerful. That build reminded me of Mike Tyson in his prime.
He wore a hoodie with cut off sleeves over a black tee shirt, and military style pants with the large extra pockets. He had something bulky under the hoodie under his right arm, and he held a long bladed knife in his right hand. The hoodie cover was off his head and bunched behind his neck so we saw the man’s face. Broad cheekbones in a wide, bronze face and black eyes, but not as black as his short hair, which looked dark as ink.
Though Hondo or I had never met or seen him, we knew we looked at the Kiowa. He gave an impression of raw physical power.
Troy had Bodhi’s arm locked with his, and I didn’t know if he hoped to reassure her or to keep her from running. They walked by Sylvia’s and Derek’s graves and Bodhi made a small keening sound.
The Kiowa said, “When we’re finished, we’ll put you there.”
I thought Troy almost passed out when he heard it. They reached Jordan Hammond’s grave and stopped.
The Kiowa said, “The boss will be here soon, so don’t try anything.”
Bodhi cried as she said, “What does he want, and why bring me here? Please, let us go.”
The Kiowa chuckled and pointed at Troy, “He knows why.”
Bodhi’s face looked confused. She said to Troy, “You know?”
He nodded, but it appeared the nod was because he was too frightened to speak.
Bodhi said, “Who’s coming?”
Troy shook his head, lips pressed tight to form a thin gash for a mouth.
Bodhi pushed him, but he held onto her arm, She said, “Why here? Tell me that.” She looked down at the grave, “I don’t know this person, so why here?”
They stood maybe eight yards from us, and we fully focused on what they said.
A deep bass voice came from ten feet behind us, “Drop yo guns. I won’t ax you twice.”
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.
Hondo said, “Yeah, that.”
We dropped our weapons and one of the huge black men came forward to take our pistols. “Cell phones.” We tossed them on the grass. He picked them up, sliding them in his pocket before stepping back and saying, “Turn around.”
We rose from our knees and turned. The two huge black men stood on each side of Jericho Moon, who held a single, long-stemmed red rose in his hands. The black men carried Uzis with extra-long magazines extending a foot beyond the handles. With the men’s size, the weapons looked like small toys.
Jericho said, “This is serendipitous, having you here. I feel blessed.”
I said, “What’s going on?”
He motioned for us to move ahead of them toward Bodhi and Troy. We joined the others and I started to ask again when Jericho barked, “Shut up, you coward!” His face changed from the peaceful persona of the beach to that of a furious, angry man.
Jericho’s face darkened with anger, so mad he had tears in his eyes. His hand, the one holding the rose, shook with contained rage.
He pointed at the grave and said, “This man was a hero, a real hero.” Stepping to the grave, Moon put the rose down gently and returned to his original place facing us, and mostly me.
I said, “I know he was a hero. I served with him. So did Hondo.”
“Hah!” He rolled his eyes as if he couldn’t believe it. He said, “You deserted him and left him to die. That’s what you did, you cowardly, gutless piece of trash.”
“Ronny’s no coward.” Hondo said.
Jericho turned his head to face Hondo, “Yes he is, along with two other cowards who were not as badly wounded as this man.” He pointed at the grave again.
Hondo said, “Jordan Hammond died right in front of me.”
“No! No he wasn’t! My brother was not dead!”
There it was. It felt like ice water trickling down my spine. “Your brother?”
“Yes.”
Bodhi spoke up, “But your last names…”
Jericho said, “Are the same.”
I said, “Moon is an alias.”
“No, you stupid, stupid man. It’s my middle name. I am Jericho Moon Hammond. My brother is Jordan Sun, spelled S-U-N, Hammond.”
“Sun and Moon.” I said. “You left the Purple Heart at our door.”
“Yes, and the other items, but you were too stupid to catch on.” He sneered, “When I finally obtained the government records of the Shok Valley incident and saw your names, I decided to track you down. I wanted a reckoning with those who deserted my brother.”
Hondo said, “We didn’t desert him.”
Jericho pointed a finger at Hondo, “You…are only slightly less guilty than Baca.”
I said, “If this is about me, then let the others go.”
The Kiowa said, “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Moon said, “This is about both you and the money. Tell them Troy.”
Troy didn’t want to, you could tell. Bodhi looked at him, “The money? My parents died because you wanted money?” her look seemed to wither him.
Troy said, “I had huge gambling debts, and the people I owed wanted their money or they would cause trouble.” He nodded at the Kiowa, “I knew him from our time smuggling weed and meth to LA from Bakersfield, so I asked him for help.”
Jericho continued the story, “Troy and Sylvia had begun dating, and I saw an opportunity for all of us. Complex, yes, and the moves had to be made at the correct time, but we have now succeeded. Unfortunately it required some people to be taken out of the picture–”
“You mean murdered.”
Jericho continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “But it would also mean I could leave this country with enough money to live in luxury. After I had my revenge, of course.”
The Kiowa handed a piece of paper and a pen to Troy, “Get her to do it.”
Troy’s hand shook, but he took the paper and pen. He hesitated before holding it out to Bodhi. “You need to write a note saying the loss of your parents is too great, and you leave everything to me.”
“Let us go and I will. Every penny,” she said. Bodhi had some backbone.
The Kiowa slapped her. Bodhi’s knees buckled and she almost fell, but caught herself and regained her feet. Her eyes burned fever bright as she looked at him, and a reddening hand-sized imprint on her cheek showed in the moonlight.
Jericho said, “Write the note and we will consider it.”
“How can I trust you?”
“It is the only chance you have. Your note can save all of you.”
“But you said you wanted revenge on Ronny and Hondo.”
“We will beat them severely, but not kill them.”
Bodhi didn’t look at us as she started writing the note. The Kiowa smirked and looked at me.
I said to Moon, “Why all the messages in blood?”
“To throw off the police. This city still remembers Charles Manson. Because of our messages, they searched for a cult, and not for us.”
“The one message in the cave was there before you murdered anyone. The message in the cave that said, Manson is prophet. I’m guessing you copycatted off of that for your sick little plan.”
Moon didn’t seem angry as he said, “I wrote that when I first moved here. He is an inspirational man, and one I admire. We’ve corresponded for years.”
Hondo said, “How about I work it so you two can share a cell.”
One of the black men touched the barrel of his Uzi to the back of Hondo’s head and gave it a sharp push. He said, “I’ll do you right now, you disrespect Moon like that again.”
Jericho held up his hand to tell the man to stop. “I would like to spend time with Charles if he is ever released from his unjust sentence. I believe he has a great deal to teach someone who listens.”
Movement showed in the darkness behind him, and we watched the three young women, Moon’s Maidens, join us. They were high on something, and my guess was meth. They rubbed their noses, scratched their arms and their movements seemed jerky. They smiled at us, and the smiles were the kind you see in nightmares. The women moved to Moon and kissed him, then remained close enough to keep touching him. They all carried knives in their hands and the blades shone like ice.
Bodhi finished the note and handed it to the Kiowa, who showed it to Moon. He read it, but didn’t touch the paper. He said, “Excellent.” The Kiowa returned the note to Bodhi and said, “If you’ll move to your parent’s graves, we can finish this.”
The three women pushed Bodhi to the graves, and the blond one sheathed her knife and pulled a small pistol from her pocket. While the other two held her, the blonde raised the pistol to shoot Bodhi in the head so she would fall on the graves. The brunette giggled, “Such a tragedy, poor girl killing herself on her mommy’s grave.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Juan step close to Hondo and push his hand against my friend. Hondo looked down at the touch. Hondo held his other hand out so I could see, and used hand signs: I attack forward, u back.
Hondo’s arm flashed up and forward, and I glimpsed a small penknife twirl across the distance and the blade buried itself in the exposed armpit of the blond woman with the pistol. She grunted and staggered sideways as her arms flailed the air. The pistol came out of her grip and disappeared in a hedge.
Hondo leapt forward and I heard the two black men behind us gasp. I spun and launched a blistering-fast roundhouse kick to the closest one, catching him solidly on the side of the neck. He fell backward and I heard his head hit the concrete path.
