Peppermint Soul (Liza McNairy Mysteries Book 1) Page 14

  It hadn’t been his fault. He did the work, sure, but he was supplied with the raw ingredients. That's what he called them, the harvested. Raw ingredients. Mostly they were people who no one missed overly much. Not yet too diseased to be unfit for consumption yet living on the edge of society. The dregs. Addicts. Drunks. Prostitutes. Of course every once in a while they'd slip up... the procurers. They'd snatch someone people did miss. Like the Picany twins. Jesus, what a fiasco.

  Hank Lupo had been pissed. Apparently he knew the girls. A friend of the family. Allen Picany must have known what happened too but he played the stooge. Maybe he didn’t want to find out what really happened to his daughters. Ignorance might well be the better part of valor, especially in their business. It could've happened to any of their children. Luck of the draw, really. That's what it came down to. Someone needed something that those girls had and were willing to pay big bucks for it. Bye, bye

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  Love. Bye, bye, happiness. Hello emptiness. I feel like I could die. Regardless, none of that mattered any longer. No one was going to find the surfer twins. Not after the Baker boy had his fun with them. If they lived, those girls were just meat these days. On ice. Waiting for the next paying customer to order up a replacement part. Sad, really. But what difference did it make. None. Hell, the way he heard it, the Picany twins were destined for a bad end no matter what road they walked. Some folk were like that. He knew. He was one of them.

  The waves were breaking down on Hermosa Beach. He'd tried it once: surfing. But he had no coordination to speak of, at least not when it came to sports. His hands were steady, though, and his eyes sure. He knew just how to cut. Most of the other students in medical school hated working the cadavers. Not him. That was his forte. The only thing more enjoyable was cutting living flesh. Slice 'em sure and straight. Lay 'em open wide. Take what he needed and close them up again, though most times he'd leave that to his assistant. He'd never quite gotten the hang of suturing.

  "You're new around here."

  He'd been twenty two and just starting medical school when on a whim he decided to buy a surfboard. Paddle out into the ocean. Try riding it back in. Catching a wave, as they called it. He'd found one at a seaside shop... a six foot North Gear Foam surfboard. Blue and red... like a giant feather.

  "Yeah, it's my first time."

  He expected the boy to perhaps give him a few pointers. He looked like a friendly sort. Hell, if he asked he would've paid him a few dollars for a lesson. Instead, Oscar found a .45 pointed in his face as a crowd gathered round him sensing blood.

  "Open your mouth."

  "Why?"

  "Do it."

  Oscar could still taste the metal... the slippery oil, the lingering tang of gunpowder. The kid had a wild look in his eyes that matched his frantic hair. He wanted to pull the trigger. His finger was itching. More than anything. Only one thing was holding him back. Fear.

  "Don't ever come down to Hermosa Beach again. Understand?"

  Oscar nodded. What else could he do? He remembered thinking: one twitch will end it all. No more slaving away to make it through school. No more working at impressing father. Just peace and quiet. Do it. Come on, you asshole. Pull that fucking trigger. Instead, he lived to walk away. Left the surfboard behind. Had no need of it.

  Years later, that same boy showed up on his operating table. Oscar recognized him right off. Hell, he dreamed about that day at least a hundred times. For most all the procedures Oscar put them out. Administered anesthesia. Not that it mattered all that much. They were all secured to the table with straps. Couldn’t move if they tried. But he felt it was the compassionate thing to do. After all, who wanted to feel their insides being cut out? To watch their kidney being removed. This time, though, he left the patient awake. Pulling down his mask, he smiled at the boy. The surfer dude extraordinaire... way too cool to let some newbie surf his beach.

  "Remember me? Hermosa Beach? August? 1983?"

  The boy's eyes widened. Sure, he remembered. Oscar held up the scalpel for the kid to see. Twirled it like a tiny baton.

  "Payback's a bitch, isn't it."

  Chapter 22—Photographs

  (And Memories)

  1

  "Finally. Where've you been, Liza? I must've called you a dozen times."

  Christ. He sounded just like a whiny little bitch. He hated being like that... chastising the girl of his dreams. He couldn’t seem to avoid being an asshole, even to his best friend. He rationalized how his entire day was ruined but it still wasn’t right, the way he treated Liza. That's what getting out of bed before noon did to him. And she knew it.

  But it wasn’t her fault. She couldn’t help being who she was, or what. That's why he loved her so much. Yet here he was, bitching at the girl over some silly shit that didn’t matter in the least. One of these days she'd ditch his loser ass and he'd deserve it.

  He knew exactly where she'd been: on a nod. That shit was getting out of control. Liza was too smart for that. But then again, when did that mean anything? He was too smart for his addictions too, but at least he hid them better. Or did he?

  "Sorry, DanDan... my phone was turned off. What's up, big pup?"

  "Johm's dead."

  "Say again? Did you say Johm's dead?"

  "Bingo. I'll share another little tidbit with you, Liza... Johm wasn’t really Johm."

  "Get over here, Danners."

  "On my way as we speak, sweetie."

  At first he didn’t understand why Detective Lupo was calling him. It was way too early and they weren’t even friends. As far as Danners knew, they weren’t exactly on speaking terms either. He caught onto his homophobia right off, the second they nearly shook at Liza's introduction all those years ago, just before Hank pulled back, refusing to take Danner's proffered hand. The scary part was that Hank Lupo was a closet fag himself. All the classic signs.

  "What can I do for you, detective?"

  The clock on his bedside table blinked nine sixteen. Jesus, why the hell was Lupo calling him in the middle of the night? Of course most people went to bed at a decent hour and got up in the morning. Not Danners Forthright, however. He was on his own schedule. Stay up all night watching old movies. Sleep until noon.

  "I'm trying to get in touch with Liza. Her phone keeps going right to voice mail and something's come up. It pertains to the Picany case. Something important. Something she'll want to know about right away."

  The body of Thomas Johm was found early in the morning by his first client of the day. According to the coroner he'd been gone over pretty good. Someone took their time with the man. Apparently they thought he knew some things that needed saying. When the medical examiner ran his fingerprints he came up with a different name all together. One Jonathan Alvin Baker... presumed dead twenty years ago.

  He remembered the feeling he got looking at that Polaroid picture Liza found, touching it, how the man in the photograph had been the person who had actually taken the shot. But it didn’t make sense, not with the clearly seen thumb on the edge of the photo. He needed to start listening to his instincts.

  "When I couldn’t get in touch with Liza, I thought of you, Danners. I had your card."

  "Thank you, Detective Lupo. I appreciate that."

  He was starting to wake up now. This was good stuff. No wonder Liza cultivated relationships with old cronies like Hank Lupo. Even though the man was a letch, without him they wouldn’t have heard about Johm's death until they happened to read about it in the papers.

  So that's why the guy seemed familiar. He was the one in the photograph. In a weird sort of way he really had taken the picture. By proxy if nothing else. When Thomas Johm died, Baker must have assumed his identity. Or perhaps something more sinister happened to Mr. Johm. Perhaps his death wasn’t the accident it was made out to be. Danners made a mental note to delve more deeply into the death of Johm... the first death.

  Liza was waiting for him when he pulled into the parking lot in front of her condo. She looked drawn t
his morning. Like she'd been out drinking all night, only Liza didn’t drink. That monkey on her back was starting to leave claw marks. Around her eyes. The hollow cheeks. All telltale signs of an addiction rapidly running its course.

  "To the coroners?"

  "And they told me there was no such thing as a psychic, Danners. Do they have any suspects?"

  "Not that I gather. Your detective friend is scared to get too close to me. Afraid he might catch the gayness."

  "Well, yeah. Look at you, DanDan."

  She leaned over to kiss him. He let her. But he knew she was just teasing. Or was she? She put a finger on his chin, turned his head to give him a peck on the lips and teased him with the tip of her tongue.

  "Come on, Liza. Cut it out. I'm trying to drive."

  "You be cooking, Mr. Good-looking. Next time I just might slip you some serious tongue. Find out how gay

  2

  "You really are."

  She tasted of peppermint. For just a moment Danners was tempted to steer the car to the nearest motel, drag Liza inside, kicking and screaming if need be, and spend the rest of the day ravaging her body from one end to the other. Now, what were you saying about me being gay, Ms. Liza McNairy? Instead he pulled into the nearest Denny's.

  "Why are we stopping here, Dan my man?"

  "Breakfast, my lady. I fetch you eats. The coroner can wait. Johm ain't going anywhere. Trust me."

  "Have I ever told you how much I love you, Danners? Jesus, I'm starved. I haven’t eaten since the day before last week. Can we order the whole menu?"

  "For you, anything."

  That was a good sign. Normally Liza didn’t do breakfast. Well, she did. Just not the Wheaties sort. Maybe he was wrong about her being indisposed this morning because of her little problem.

  "So Thomas Johm is actually Jonathan Baker? That makes sense in an odd sort of way, Danners. Now who do we know that might be in on that secret too? The Picany's?"

  "Well, Allen Picany's the one who gave us Johm's name, Liza. So yeah... he'd be high on my list of suspects. Maybe we stirred up some old memories by asking him whether the twins had any boyfriends."

  "Could be... that seems too easy though. Why would he wait all these years, DanMan?"

  "Alcohol does that to people. It pickles their brain. He might've forgotten all about Johm until we reminded him. You gotta admit, Liza... it's an amazing coincidence... Picany gives us Johm's name and a day later he turns up dead. And not just dead. Tortured, from what Hank told me. Someone was seriously pissed at him."

  "You're right. It bears looking into, Danners. Let's not let our suspicions blind us to other possibilities, though. Damn, these waffles are good. Wanna bite, baby doll?"

  Chapter 23—Women

  (Lovers and Others)

  1

  So Johm was dead. Served the demented bastard right. But at the same time, his passing created monumental problems that he didn’t want to think about right now. It'd be only a matter of time before the Captain found out about Johm. And when he did, the shit was going to fly, sure enough.

  He hated it when bodies began showing up, especially the freshly dead body of someone who had died twenty years ago. Had Marcy not done her job? He clearly remembered instructing his secretary to remove any mention of Thomas Johm from the case files before they went to Liza McNairy. There were some paths that were better not to walk down and that particular trail was one to leave alone.

  Johm didn’t scare him. What the man knew frightened the dog shit out of him, though. Johm had secrets. Hank Lupo knew it. And despite being a detective with the Los Angeles Sheriff's Office, he had to let it go. He'd learned long ago that there were some things in life more important than the oath he took upon joining the force.

  "Marcy... could you step into my office, please?"

  He'd get to the bottom of this. If that woman failed to follow a direct order, she'd be out on her ass before the end of the day, the union be damned. Christ, he hated talking to that faggot Danners Forthright. Even the name turned his stomach. Why hadn’t Liza picked up? Was she purposely avoiding him?

  "Yes sir, detective. What can I do for you?"

  "There's a problem, Marcy. One Thomas Johm has turned up dead. Do you remember the name?"

  "Of course, sir. You asked that I remove any record of that name from the Picany twin's files before turning them over to those two friends of yours."

  "And did you?"

  "I always follow instructions, detective."

  "Thank you, Marcy. I thought as much."

  As far as he knew, there was only one other person besides him who knew the real Thomas Johm and who might possibly have a reason to see the man dead. But why would he wait for so long? Were those private dicks stirring up the hornets' nest? If so, he might be able to use that information to his own advantage.

  On the other hand, what had Johm told his murderer before he died? Someone was asking him questions. According to the medical examiner each wound inflicted upon Johm was extremely painful but non-life threatening, at least in the short term. Until the final insult... a hammer to the side of the head. Someone knew enough to keep the man alive while doing the maximum amount of damage to the human body.

  "Detective Lupo... Liza McNairy and her partner are here."

  "Send them in, Marcy."

  Finally he might get some answers. Had to take care, though. Couldn’t let on that he knew Johm in his previous life. That goddamned queer bothered him. The man had a knack of poking into people's minds in ways that were unholy. He felt it even over the phone this morning. Did he know? Probably not. If he did, he highly doubted he'd have the privilege of this visit. No... the FBI would be here instead.

  "Come in, Liza. Glad you stopped by. We might have a problem."

  Jesus Christ but she looked good. A little crinkled around the edges, but hot, like a hooker on a three day bender. Yeah, she was a little kinky but nothing wrong with that. If only the fag would quit following her everywhere he might have a chance with Liza... a bit of time to make up for all the lost days... hell, the lost years.

  "Hello, Hank. We came by as soon as we could. Danners told me the news."

  "We found your names in Johm's appointment book, Liza. It doesn’t look good."

  "Are you saying we're suspects, Hank?"

  "That's not for me to decide. That'll be the homicide unit. But I am saying you both need to turn in your passports, and if you decide to leave town, you need to let me know in advance. That comes straight from the State's Attorney's office. I'm doing you a favor on this one, Liza... don't let me down."

  That ought to hold them for a day or two. Maybe keep them from poking their noses into Johm's murder. He needed to get a handle on things, and do it quickly. Otherwise, the Captain might start making some

  2

  Phone calls. The man knew people. Could be he was the one who ordered the hit on Johm, but the circumstances of his death didn’t add up to that. No. The Captain knew everything, including Johm's sordid history. He wouldn’t have to resort to torture. Allen Picany. The name kept creeping into his consciousness. How well did Picany know Johm? Well enough.

  He'd talk to Paula about it. Yeah, that was it. Confronting Allen Picany wouldn’t be a good idea. He couldn’t be sure exactly what information the man was privy to, not after so many years. Besides, Picany would've struck a whole lot sooner. Hell, if they'd been his daughters, Johm'd be strung up by his balls ten minutes after they disappeared. Oh, not feeling like talking, Johm? How about we wait a few more minutes until your sack turn black and I'll ask again.

  "Paula... it's Hank."

  "Hank! What a surprise!"

  Christ, he should've kept in closer contact with her. It was the guilt, he supposed. The knowing and yet being unable to divulge it. Not to anyone. Especially not to the mother.

  "I know. I apologize, Paula. I've been negligent. Anyway, I'd like to meet. Some new developments have come up concerning the twins that I think you'll like to hear."

/>   "Tell me when and where, Hank. I'll be there."

  Well, there we go again. He swore he could hear the want in Paula's voice right over the phone. Could she hear it in his too? Probably. They'd been pretty torrid together, sure enough. Christ, it was a wonder they didn’t set the sheets afire. Finally, he had to put things on the back burner. They were getting out of control. It wouldn’t do for the husband to go to the press about it, and he couldn’t quite trust Paula to keep her mouth shut. She might just do something stupid, like confessing her sins.

  And now here he was ready to start playing with it all over again. The fire. Yeah, the moment they were alone together, it would start raging. Yet he couldn’t stop himself. But at least he'd be discreet about it. Take her somewhere off the beaten path.

  "How about we meet up for drinks later, Paula? Remember Rambo's? Can you be there this evening, say around eight?"

  Would she agree? She didn’t say anything for so long he looked at his phone to make sure they hadn’t been disconnected. Nope. She was still on the line. Putting it back to his ear, he waited. Whoever spoke next would lose, and he'd be damned if it was going to be him.

  "Absolutely, Hank. Wait for me outside, though. I always hated going into that place alone. Too many sleaze balls looking for something strange."

  Jesus, now he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Why'd he say eight? Seven would've been better. Get over it, Lupo old boy. She'll probably shoot you down anyway, just like McNairy. I bet her fairy wouldn’t though. God, did I really just think that? Yep

  3

  He was excited. Like he was twenty five years old all over again and just noticing Paula Picany for the first time. Hell, he actually had a hard on. How often did that happen these days? Not much. Used to be he walked around with one all day long. Not anymore. Talking to her had brought back old memories. Good times. Living on the edge always banking on the thrill of possibly being caught.