Stealing Flowers (44 page)

I’d come close; it was right there at the
doorstep; I just had to seize the opportunity. Intelligence, luck,
and experience. It was a lot to ask, but good outcomes were always
a combination of some of these things. Just as Stan had always
said. I’d decided that The First Law of Life for those born unlucky
or orphans, was only something in my head, a figment. What a
mistake! We were waiting for Josh, Ashe, Ray and Marshal. Ray would
be the easiest to spot, especially since most people in
Southwestern California were at least a little tanned compared to
New Yorkers, and Ray wasn’t dark like Marshal, and was paler than
most. I’d seen him one time nearly pasty. They were coming in from
La Guardia on an American jumbo express which had just landed. My
eyes flitted back and forth into the crowds. I was right. I spotted
Ray first. Marshal, his son was with him. He’d long black hair
which he kept in a thick ponytail. His dark complexion and short
sturdy body gave him an almost Asian look. Josh and he were a year
apart in age, but, where a strong likeness existed between Peter
and Josh, only a hint of resemblance could be detected between
Marshal and Ray.

“Thanks for coming so quick,” Peter said
when we all met up.

“What’s happened?” Ray said.

“Good news all around,” he replied. “I’ve
met up with a former member of The Family of Truth’s Hostility
Branch, Yan Trefusis, who knew Swift Retribution, Blood Justice,
Silent Righteousness, and Proud Punishment. He works presently with
FOCUS. He is committed to helping us.”

“How did you do that?” Marshal asked.

“I’ll tell you on the way,” Peter responded.
“I’ve rented two cars.”

We took the shuttle to a huge parking lot
and were able to exit directly in front of the rental cars. “You
rented a Mercedes?” Josh asked, laughing.

“Your deductive powers grow daily,” Peter
said to his son. “Here.” He threw him the keys. “Drive.”

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“To pick up Yan in Santa Monica.” Peter
passed him a map. “Yan drew this. You can see it’s a breeze. Wait
until you meet this guy. He is a balding cheerful thirty-year-old
who drinks like a fish, plays sax, and has one real passion?”

“To avenge Rick Edwards’ murder,” Ray
said.

“That’s right. Clever, partner.”

I laughed in joy. “Really?”

“Let me tell you more,” Peter continued.
“George Rogers, that’s Moses Truth’s assistant, formerly Ezekiel
Observance, is in California with two of our suspects: Proud
Punishment and Silent Righteousness.” I whistled through my teeth.
“John Ruben has agreed to help. He’s here with Yan. After Yan and
John met, John said he’d do whatever he could, and that’s still not
all the good news. He has friends with the Force down here and they
have been keeping their eyes on Harmony Ranch for years. It’s The
Family of Truth’s LA version of Ashbury Farms. They’ve an ongoing
murder investigation of Barry Wall, an ex-member of the cult who
died mysteriously of a poisonous rattlesnake bite. The snake
attacked him from inside his mailbox.”

We arrived in Santa Monica and pulled in at
216 Catalina Boulevard, a residential street with lots of palms,
just east of the bay. Ray and Marshal followed us. It was a flat
ranch-style three-bedroom home, nothing special, and Peter rang the
bell with us all standing behind him. Yan answered the door dressed
in fashionable Hawaiian shorts with a trim haircut and a
thinned-out moustache. He was just as Peter described. Peter made
the introductions. I immediately like Yan and realized he was
nearly as excited as me.

Fresh-cut roses in a large crystal vase
stood on the dining room table. The sparse and clean kitchen looked
new and the stark white walls of the living room were decorated
only with prints of John Pitre and other American conceptualist
painters. One Monet print, The Waterlilies Pond, leaned up against
a window frame, being used perhaps for some privacy. The few pieces
of modern furniture gave the house the appearance of a bachelor
just starting out on his own. This made me feel sorry for Yan and
all people sucked into cults or ideological-movements when they’re
too young to deal with it. When they leave the movements years
later, they leave empty-handed and have to start over. He served
lemonade and iced tea in thick highball glasses with lots of ice.
We sat on his canvass furniture in the living room. Abstract
paintings hung on these walls too, all of which had a soft warm
quality to them. “I was Spiritual Awakener, in the family,” he said
to me with a soft laugh.

“Where’s John Ruben?” Peter asked.

“As I understand it,” Yan said. “Ezekiel
Observance, George Rogers, left without Silent Righteousness and
Proud Punishment. He’s trailing Ezekiel.”

“Peter told me that you were with the
Hostility Branch?” I asked.

“The Elder at the Woodlands Compound ordered
me to join,” he said. “I’d a couple of years of military experience
with the army and . . .” He let his sentence taper off.

“Was it after the death of Rick Edwards?” I
asked.

He nodded again. “The Family spread the
rumor that members of FOCUS killed Rick Edwards. What a joke.” Yan
finished his iced tea. “Swift Retribution, the leader of The
Hostility Branch when I first joined, took his orders directly from
his former associate at Woodlands, George Rogers, back then,
Ezekiel Observance, assistant to the then exiled David Moses. Swift
Retribution was formerly Thought Jacob, the head elder at Denver.
Back in those days, he spoke completely and openly about what he’d
done to Rick Edwards. After I left, I called on the police and they
demanded my sworn testimony and videotaped my statements. Several
different detectives interviewed me. They became interested. I
filled out an affidavit and signed summaries, the whole thing, but
that’s all they had. However, if you are going to pick up Silent
Righteousness and Proud Punishment, and question them, my presence
will entice them to talk. They know that I know what they did to
Rick Edwards, and I can tell you for sure, Proud Punishment is
anything but proud of it.”

“That sounds so good I could kiss you,” I
said.

“Be my guest,” Yan said cheerfully, “but I
have to warn you, I haven’t had sex in months.”

Everyone laughed. “If we can get their
testimony together with yours,” Peter said, “we could have warrants
issued for Swift Retribution and Blood Justice and break their bond
of silence.”

“The Feds already have nationwide warrants
out for Ezekiel Observance under the name George Rogers,” Ray
said.

“Let’s head for Collingdale Avenue in the
West End,” Peter suggested, “that’s where they’re staying.”

We piled into the rented Mercedes and soon
wound in and out of the traffic with Josh at the wheel. With every
passing mile, my heartbeat quickened, it was bursting in
anticipation. “The Los Angeles Police Force is giving us tactical
support,” Peter said at some point. “That is how I received the
address here so fast. They have been aware of his career in
violence for some time.”

“Do we want their involvement?” Josh
asked.

“We’ve never dealt with this kind of thing
before. We need lots of support.”

Josh knotted his eyebrows to show his
leeriness. “I’m happy about it for Christian’s sake.”

“You’d be surprised how little it all means
if we don’t get the hard facts,” Peter said. “I feel that George
Rogers, a.k.a., Ezekiel Observance will leave the state soon and
maybe get off the continent through Mexico.”

The car took a turn onto Collingdale Avenue,
a quiet treed street of middle-class homes. We stepped out within
sight of 1261, the address we’d been given. Peter put his hand on
my shoulder. “Ray, Josh, and I, will case the place,” he continued.
“Do you see the rusted out white Camero about two hundred yards
straight ahead?” I nodded. “That’s The Family of Truth’s, so,
they’re here. Stay close to me.”

We made our way around the dull white house,
while staying clear of the property itself. I saw the backyard had
gone to weeds and the orange and apricot trees bore what looked
like dried shriveled flowers. “There are two other exits,” Peter
whispered. “Josh, Marshal, stay here at the back. Ray will cover
the side door.”

We returned to the front and saw two men
across the street, several houses over. I guessed these were LAPD
detectives, although the tall one looked too young for the role. We
crossed over to the Mercedes to talk to Yan. “Can you hold pat for
a few more minutes?” Peter asked him. He nodded.

We stepped up to the two men. The lanky
youthful one looked away, distracted, but the short older man with
him smiled and spoke with a mild Italian accent. “You’re Peter
Burgess, that detective friend of Ruben’s?” Peter nodded. “I’m Tony
Kray and this is Detective Nick Hannan.”

“You’re watching1261 Collingdale Avenue?”
Peter asked, shaking their hands. They both nodded. “This is
Christian Tappet. Those two men inside murdered his sister with the
help of two others from The Family of Truth.” I shook their hands
as well.

“We haven’t seen the two suspects all
morning,” Tony said. “The other one left and John has followed him.
He’s a weird-looking one that George Rogers, who use to be–”

“Their names are so stupid,” Nick said
plaintively.

Peter nodded. “We’re going to invite
ourselves in,” he said. “Give us five minutes and we’ll slip you in
through the back when we’re all set up.”

“I’ve brought the high-tech shit,” Nick
said, “and it’ll pick up everything, so, be cool.”

Peter knocked on the front door with Yan and
me behind him. After a moment, Proud Punishment answered. He was
the former Goodness Tranquility, the enforcer, the one who meted
out all the physical punishment inside the Family at Denver – a
brawny appearance and clean-shaven military-look, gave him a stark
contrast to how he looked back in the seventies, at least compared
to the photos, but he still had cruel eyes. Peter stepped right in
and seized him by his t-shirt, bringing his handgun to his face.
“Where’s Silent Righteousness?” he whispered.

Proud Punishment glanced from Peter to me
and recognition and fear came to his eyes. He tried to twist away,
but Peter forced him into a chair and pushed the gun harder into
his face. “Where?”

He indicated to the back of the house and
Peter taped him to the chair and gagged him. He smelled of body
odor. I guessed that he hadn’t bathed in weeks. Like the early
Christians, The Family of Truth didn’t believe in it. “That will
keep him still,” Peter whispered and made his way into the
kitchen.

We checked three bedrooms, not a single bed
frame, only stained mattresses on soiled carpeted floors. Dark
dirty sheets covered the widows and the house itself stunk of body
odor. I heard commotion from the back and then Josh shouted and a
shot rang out. I sped to the back door to find Silent Righteousness
on the ground with Josh’s gun pointed at his head. Marshal was
tying him up. He was formerly Holy Truth, the fat elder. He was
only a hundred and twenty-five pounds now, a starving man. I
realized that he might have an eating disorder or perhaps he
followed The Family of Truth’s rigid fasts to the letter. But I
remembered him back in 1979 being three hundred or so pounds, then
only two years ago or so, one hundred and a half, now he was only
one and a quarter, if that. He was a vanishing man and he currently
looked spindly, especially with his timid eyes. Ray and Peter both
came running from different directions. “I’d have preferred no
gunfire,” Peter said to Josh.

“Likewise, dad, I’m sure,” Josh said
good-naturedly.

We took Silent Righteousness inside and
taped him into a wooden chair beside Proud Punishment. He wore a
plain white t-shirt with the slogan, Christ’s Warriors, printed in
large faded letters along the front.

“This place is a pigsty,” Ray said aloud.
Cheesy velvet textured paintings of Jesus Christ and the Madonna
and Child donned the greasy yellow walls. Useless or broken
furniture cluttered the room. Along with the smell of body odor,
the house reeked of bacon, burnt toast, and tobacco. I stood in
front of Silent Righteousness. He knew who I was. I could see it in
his eyes. I saw he recognized Yan as well. To everyone’s surprise,
I pulled out my gun and stuck it in his face. “You’re not getting
out of here alive without a full confession.” I was emotional.

“Put that away,” Peter said loudly.

The Police were setting everything up in a
back room. Ray left shaking his head and when they had everything
set to go, Peter found a chair and sat in front of the two men with
his briefcase behind him on the floor. Yan, and I stood behind
Peter. Ray came back in the room.

“Be careful to follow my instructions,”
Peter said, “if not for the sake of Rick Edwards, then, certainly
for Sally Tappet.”

I watched as the color drained out of their
faces. “Who are you?” Silent Righteousness asked.

“I’m Detective Peter Burgess. Did you think
the Tappet Family wouldn’t send someone after you?”

“Don’t you know who I work for, you’d better
think on it!”

Peter chuckled derisively. “Who do you work
for?”

“For God.”

“You work for Satan, fool, and his name is
Moses Truth, a.k.a. David Moses, a.k.a., David Zortichii; his
assistant, George Roger, a.k.a., Ezekiel Observance is being
arrested today. The game is up.”

A minute of silence followed and Peter
pretended to read something from his briefcase. “In serious
criminal cases where there are numerous perpetrators involved,” he
said, “the first one who talks is the first one who walks. You two
can talk together or apart.”

For the next five minutes Peter disclosed
the evidence mounted against the Hostility Branch in the deaths of
Rick Edwards, Barry Wall, Anna Chapati, and Sally Tappet. When he
finished, I saw that they were close to breaking. “We’ll leave you
two in private to discuss it,” he said and rose. “I can’t promise
you anything specific, but if you gave full disclosure, answered
our questions, and swore to testify in court, John Ruben of the
NYPD, and his friend in the LAPD, Lieutenant Tony Kray, will make
sure you won’t be charged with first degree murder.” We joined the
two police officers. The small bedroom contained little furniture
except blotted mattresses, so that they weren’t too crammed. “What
do you think?” Peter asked.