Hard Play (4 page)

“You didn’t kill her, did you, Ed? Then, it’s no fault of yours,” Frank said as he took out a smoke and lit it, inhaling deep.

Exhaling, he said in a hiss, “Some people are fucked.”

That was all the consolation Frank had in him. His brain was screaming. A beer and a cigarette usually took care of a hangover, but this time it didn’t.

“That’s horrible, Frank,” Ed cried out.

“Did you tell the M.E. she was being followed?”

Frank moved his hand to the pocket with Johnson’s day-planner in it, cupping the book with his palm.

“Didn’t think of it then. Thinking of it now though. Can’t shake it. Look, I tell you what. You follow up, help me clear my head about this whole mess, and I’ll waive your rent this month.”

Frank was already planning on seeing this through to the end, but he didn’t tell Ed that.

“Sounds like a deal,” Frank said as he pulled the day-planner from his pocket and flipped it open.

He smiled with his cigarette pinched in his teeth.

“What’s that there?” Ed asked, leaning closer to the book in Frank’s hands.

Frank turned the book around, showing Ed the words that declared it to be Judge Johnson’s day-planner.

Ed smirked and said, “You sly dog..” He paused, then scratched his bristly hair, saying, “Wait a minute—”

Frank interrupted, saying, “You already said, free month's rent.” He pulled the book back and snapped it shut. “The whole month.”

Ed grumbled something about flim-flam. Then, deciding to stick with his promise, he motioned for Frank to open the book.

“Let’s take a look,” Ed said.

Frank put the book between them on the table, allowing each to see the blocks of calendar dates filled with appointments and schedules.

“When was the last time you all saw her?” Frank asked, thumbing his way toward May, “We’ll start there.”

Ed’s eyes searched his memory banks as he said, “I want to say May first.”

“Yeah. May first,” he affirmed.

“Here we go,” Frank announced as he found the first of May.

The creases around Ed’s eyes deepened as he squinted, straining to see the small print on the page.

“Lucky for us she was OCD with this thing,” Frank said, pointing to the check marks beside each appointment.

“Here it comes,” Frank gasped as he jumped to his feet, grabbing his crotch. “Excuse me.”

He pushed past Ed toward the bathroom, stepping over strewn case files and piles of what looked like garbage but he knew to be his things.

After a few long minutes, Frank emerged with a capped container of yellow liquid in place of the cigarette in his hand.

He shook it back and forth at Ed as he looked around the apartment, saying, “I think I was drugged last night.”

Frank dipped across the room and placed the container in his fridge amongst the cans of beer.

He moved around the room, picking through piles as he said, “Looks like your gym was the last appointment she never checked off.”

He found his sunglasses on the counter and put them on. Then he crouched down, lifting a black two-button wool jacket off the floor and shaking it out like a rug. He slipped his hands in the arm-holes and shrugged it over his shoulders.

“Since you know she was there May first, I’ll start there,” he said as he faced the crooked mirror on the wall.

Flattening his lapels, he dipped his shades and inspected himself. Content with the wrinkles, Frank turned toward the front door.

He swiped his car-keys off the hook and said, “I’m heading out.”

Ed stood, following Frank out the door.

As they started down the stairwell, Frank turned and said, “This time it’s just me.”

Ed nodded. He was glad to stay home.

Frank leapt down the steps. He made his way through the courtyard and across the black pavement of the parking lot. Brandishing his keys, he approached his yellow Ambassador. He unlocked the door and hopped into the brown leather bucket seat. As he placed the key in the ignition, he noticed the small note wedged beneath his wiper blade.

Kisses love Rose
, it read, facing down through the windshield. He rolled down the window and reached out, picking the note in his fingers. Unfolding it, he read:

Hey hon,

You blacked out at the bar so I drove your car home. Don’t worry, took my usual from your wallet. B back tomorrow to file. Thank the girls for carrying your ass.

Kisses love Rose

Frank pulled out his wallet and saw the twenties missing. He chuckled as he took out a cigarette and lit it. Starting up the car, Frank tossed the note on the floor and revved the engine, pulled out of the parking lot, over the bumpy cobblestones and onto Moorpark Avenue.

Chapter 6

A bell chimed
as Frank walked through the plate-glass door. The lobby of
Fitness Finesse
looked like an upscale dentist’s office complete with fake plants peppered along the walls and smooth jazz playing over the speakers. In the corner sat a large, black leather couch and loveseat combo beside a wrought-iron, glass-topped coffee table adorned with fitness magazines. Above, fuzzy fluorescent squares shone, illuminating the gray industrial carpet below. The smell of stale sweat and salted pork permeated the room, wafting up from the carpet and dominating the futile attempts of the auto-air freshener in the corner.

Frank took notice of the small black domes in the ceiling as he walked up to the half-circle in the center of the room.

A man sat behind the desk with a fitness mag in hand. The full-sized magazine looked like a small digest crimped between his giant fingers. He wore a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, revealing the tribal bands tattooed on his upper arms and his broad shoulders covered in patches of angry acne and black, curly hair. Clearly, a fan of steroids.

Frank cleared his throat and said, “Nice music.”

The magazine lowered.

“Bill, right?” Frank half-inquired, knowing full well this was Bill. Frank had met him once at a barbecue Ed had hosted
in the Pinemoor's courtyard
.

Bill shoved the magazine into a drawer in the desk.

“Are you interested in a tour of the gym or a membership?” Bill asked as he came around the desk brandishing a clipboard.

Looking Frank over, Bill started checking boxes on the paper in his hand.

After a moment of scrutiny, Bill said, “It’s going to take some work to get you into shape.”

He poked at Frank’s stomach. Not knowing it was two inches of Kevlar that filled out Frank's waistline, he said, “That right there, that’s got to—”

“I’m not here for an evaluation of my lifestyle choices,” Frank interrupted.

Flashing his wallet, Frank declared, “Frank Black, PD.”

There was no badge, but Frank knew he didn’t need one. Few asked twice. He had learned there was something about that motion that people found authoritative. Probably influenced by years of watching cop shows, average folks submit their rights at the flip of a wallet, with or without the badge.

Bill tossed the clipboard on the table and said, “Oh.”

He looked Frank over once more and said, “What can I do you for, officer?”

“I want to ask you about Mary-Beth Johnson.” Frank said, holding his cell phone out to Bill.

On the screen of Frank’s phone was a close-up of Johnson’s plastic-wrapped face.

“Oh my God,” Bill cried out, covering his mouth with a cringe.

“Why the hell would you show me that?” he bellowed, pushing the phone out of his sight.

Frank pocketed the phone as Bill started to cry.

Frank looked sideways at the tearstained cheeks of the burly muscleman weeping in front of him.

“I know it’s not easy to see,” Frank said with a bit of confusion. “Reactions are important in weeding out suspects.”

Bill sniffled and sobbed and whimpered, holding his hand out in an ineffective attempt to hide himself from Frank. Each time Bill grew quiet and his hand started to lower, Frank would move his mouth to ask a question and Bill would start back into his whimpering.

After a few long minutes of uncomfortable whining, Bill began to compose himself.

Frank stated, “I found her like this yesterday morning. I’d like to know who did this to her.”

Deep breaths interrupted each syllable as Bill asked, “How could someone do that to that poor—”

Interrupting himself, he let out a another burst of tears and wailed, “She was nothing but nice!”

Bill’s bicep flexed, the veins bulging under his tribal ink as he reached for the box of tissues on the desk. Bill apologized as he wiped his face clean of the snot and tears.

“Please excuse me. I’m just going through some shit. I’ll help in any way I can,” he said.

Frank nodded, saying, “Mm-hmm, I see,” then asked, “When was the last time you saw Ms. Johnson?”

Bill started to sob again.

Frank rolled his eyes and tried to contain the sigh that escaped his lips.

“I have a few other people I need to speak with,” Frank said. “You take your time.”

Frank moved to the door on the back wall and asked, “I can go back here? That’s not a problem?”

Bill held himself against the desk, his back swelling up and down under his loose tank. He raised his hand without looking at Frank and said, “Yeah, man. That’s fine.”

“I’ll be back,” Frank said as he disappeared behind the swinging door.

Frank weaved through the rows of exercise bikes, reaching the back wall of mirrors and dumb bells. There, with a curl bar gripped in his hands, stood a thin, Hispanic boy wearing black spandex bike shorts with a yellow and blue striped polo that sat too high on his waist and fit too tight in the shoulders. He watched himself in the mirror as he brought the weights up to his chest and then back down, letting out a strained breath with each rep. Frank leaned against the mirror and waited for the boy to finish.

The boy dropped the bar and turned his attention toward Frank.

“I need to ask you a few questions about last month,” Frank said as he handed the boy a towel.

Wiping his face, the boy said, “These have to do with Mary-Beth?”

Frank nodded.

“It does,” he said.

“You gonna catch that
hijo de puta asesino
?” the boy snarled, tossing the rag on the bench behind him.

Frank narrowed his eyes at the boy.

“You Ed’s friend, no? Cheryl told us you find her body,” the boy confessed as he raised his arms in a T and started his squats.

Hunkering down, pressing his butt to his haunches and standing back up, the boy let out a deep breath, then repeated.

Frank pulled out his phone.

Looking down at the boy, he asked, “Your name?”

“Pedro Rodas,” the boy squawked in between breaths.

Frank typed it into his phone.

“When was the last time you saw Mary-Beth?” he asked.

“Round da begeening last month.”

“And how do you know Mary-Beth?”

“
N’ombre
. Not really.
No la conozco verdad
. Other than out front most mornings,” Pedro said as he pointed his index finger, poking the air over his shoulder. “
Nunca hablamos
. We never talked.”

“And the exact date you last saw her?”

Pedro shrugged his shoulders and pointed toward the women’s restroom, saying, “Look man,
hable con Rhonda—si quieres
exact dates.”

“Thanks,” Frank mumbled, turning away.

Standing with his head poking through the doorway, Frank called into the women’s room.

“Ladies of the locker room, this is Frank Black, PD.
I
need to speak with Rhonda. Can someone send her out?”

It wasn’t a moment before a towering redhead came parading out of the restroom.

“I’m Rhonda,” she introduced in a husky voice, holding her large man-hand out toward Frank. Frank took her hand in his, meeting her forceful squeeze.

“I need to know when you last saw Mary-Beth Johnson. Pedro there says you’re the one I need to speak with.”

Before Rhonda could rebuttal, a slender girl with glasses and auburn hair popped out of the restroom.

“Are you guys talking about Mary-Beth?” the woman interjected.

Without waiting for an answer, the woman blathered, “You know she said she was being followed. Said she didn’t feel safe here anymore. She said she thought someone was watching her in the showers.”

She looked Frank in the eyes and declared, “I would’ve stopped coming here too. I thought that’s all it was. I thought she stopped coming. I thought you and Ed would find her at home watching Court TV or out getting her nails done. I didn’t think…oh my God, I didn’t think...”

The woman trailed off.

“This is Cheryl,” Rhonda said, pointing to the small Chatty Cathy beside her.

Rhonda and Cheryl standing side by side only exaggerated the difference in heights, making Rhonda look like a giant compared to the child-sized Cheryl beside her. Cheryl hung on Rhonda’s arm like a shy child hiding behind her parent’s leg.

Frank plugged both their names into his phone and said, “Thanks.”

Then, looking up at Rhonda, he asked, “When was the last time you saw her?”

Rhonda didn’t have to think twice.

“May first,” she replied.

Cheryl jumped forward, adding, “She was complaining about that guy again that morning. I bet it was him.”

“What guy?” Frank pried.

“The guy that was following her around the gym. Duh!” Cheryl exclaimed as if she’d already explained this several times.

Rhonda clarified, “A few times a week some gangster jock and his super-young girlfriend—too young, if you ask me—would stand around in here. Seemed like they weren’t doing much more than watching us.”

“He probably
was
watching her in the shower, that creep,” Cheryl gushed as she curled her lip in disgust. “Some people.”

“Mm-hmm. Some people, indeed,” Frank consoled. “I need a name.”

“I don’t know his name,” Ronda said.

Cheryl shrugged in agreement.

“All right. Thank you, ladies,” Frank said as he tipped an imaginary hat and made his way toward the lobby.

Emerging from the swinging door, he announced, “Bill, I need to see your security footage.”

Bill had since composed himself and now only the red stains on his cheeks remained. He got to his feet and motioned for Frank to follow.

Bill opened a door on the side wall marked
Employees Only
.

Inside, the small room was decorated with various pictures and posters of a much younger Bill flexing on stage in nothing but a Speedo; remnants of a long-lost Mr. Universe dream. Pressed against the wall was a plain white desk with an old-model computer perched on top. Bill walked around the desk and took a seat in the leather office chair.

While plugging at the keyboard with his sausage fingers, he asked, “When?”

“May first. Start in the a.m.,” Frank said, then he asked, “Do you have cameras in the showers?”

“No way, man!” Bill answered. “That would be insanely illegal.”

“You have no idea how few people agree with that,” Frank replied.

Bill moved the mouse around on the pad, clicking and clacking the keyboard, then said, “Here you go. May first.”

He stood up and pushed the chair out, saying, “Look up whatever you need. I gotta watch the front desk.”

Frank plopped down in the chair and put his hand on the mouse.

Bill leaned forward, pointing at the screen and said, “This one here, you click that to fast forward. This one rewinds and this one pauses. These here, these are the different cameras. There’s one in each main room.”

He stood back and stepped toward the door.

“Except the showers,” he reminded Frank. “Or the locker rooms.”

Then Bill left Frank alone in the small office.

Frank started with the camera in the lobby. The first frames showed Bill unlocking the front doors and disabling the alarms. After a moment, Rhonda, Ed, Cheryl, Pedro and Judge Johnson paraded through the doors. Frank fast forwarded ’til he saw the doors open again. This time it was a group of young girls in sports bras and bike shorts, then a hulk-sized muscle-head with a young girl, then two men. Then another group of girls. Each flooding through the lobby, past Bill at the front desk and into the gym. Frank continued moving through the frames, watching the various patrons entering and exiting the gym until finally, he saw Mary-Beth Johnson exit through the front doors.

He marked the time in his phone and moved to the camera situated in the main gym. Having taken note of the people who had left before Johnson, the two men leaving separately, five of the eight girls from the first group and three of the six girls from the second, Frank had a better idea of what and who he was looking for.

He waited for Johnson to appear on the screen, then he froze the frame and inspected the crowd. He moved through the frames slowly, watching for anyone with an unnatural interest in the old ex-judge.

It wasn’t long before Frank saw the hulk-sized muscle-head, a big, black man with dreadlocks, peering sideways at the old lady. He kept his eyes on Johnson as he moved across the gym. Whichever machine the guy was using, his gaze always seemed to fall on her.

Frank continued watching the cameras, moving through the morning of May first in a matter of moments. Frank watched as the muscle-head openly stared at Judge Johnson. At times, he even threw up his middle finger in her direction. Then, Johnson left the main gym area toward the front lobby and he followed.