No offence Intended - Barbara Seranella (26 page)

The red light blinked to life. Moody held up a hand
to quiet Blackstone. "Wait a minute, there's more."

A new man was speaking.

"Does the director know how you manage to be
so
au courant
on the situation in Los Angeles?"

"'That's gotta be Vanowen," Blackstone
said, recognizing the agent's Ivy League arrogance.

Claire laughed. "Director Hadley has never been
one to concern himself with details that he'd rather not know He
thinks it keeps his hands clean."

"But really, Claire,"
Vanowen's
voice went on,
"a cop? Did you have to sleep with the man?"

"It wasn't the only way,"
she said,
"
but it certainly was the quickest. He considers himself
quite the catch—big man on campus. I know how to play that type."

Adrenaline coursed through Blackstone's body, causing
his legs to shake. He sat down heavily, lest he fall down. Moody
watched him with concern.

"Well, I suppose the situation called for
drastic measures,"
they heard Vanowen say.
"Talk
alnout Murphys Law."

"Desperate times call for desperate actions,"
she said, then laughed.
"Don't be such a prig, fared. I'd
do it again gladly. It wasn't a totally unpleasant experience."

The shaking that had begun in his legs spread to his
torso. The back of his neck burned with embarrassment and impotent
rage. Moody looked at him sympathetically "Well, at least she
gave you that," he said.

"She used me," he said, stating the
obvious.

Moody patted the top of his head. " told you
they were like that," he said. "They use people and throw
them away when they're done."

"Not this time," Blackstone said, thinking
furiously "I've got to make some calls to Los Angeles."

Despite the shock of Claire's betrayal, things were
beginning to fall into place. He pulled out his notebook and listed
the facts. Then he turned the page and listed his suspicions. To
support those, he needed to fill in some blanks, but he was starting
to get the picture.

His first call was to the hospital, where he checked
on Alex's condition and learned that his partner was still under, but
stable. The second call he made was to the crime lab. It was after
their regular hours, but he convinced the switchboard operator to
ring Firearms. Jeff Hagouchi answered the phone.

"It's me," Blackstone said.

"You'll never believe what I found," Jeff
said.

"Try me," Blackstone said, "you'd be
surprised what I'll believe."

"The bullets I retrieved from your unit were an
exact match to the bullets that killed that couple in Venice, the
Ruiz/Guzman case."

"You're positive?"

"Yes. What's going on? Where are you?"

"Jeff, document everything. Take pictures in
front of witnesses. Cover our asses."

"We got more background on Darnel Willis. He was
a sniper in Vietnam, got to liking it too much. He tried to re-up but
the Corps turned him down. Since he's been a civilian he's racked up
quite a sheet, mostly violent crimes: aggravated assault, weapons
charges, rape. He joined the National Guard as a weekend warrior
before his Jacket caught up with him. They booted him last month."

"Let me take a wild guess. This was in Kern
County."

"You got it. The same armory that was hit."

"I'm reasonably certain Willis was our freeway
sniper as well as the shooter in the Ruiz/Guzman murders."

"This just about closes your homicides, right?"
Jeff asked.

"Not quite," Blackstone said, looking out
of Moody's window. It was getting dark. "There's still some
loose ends. On the freeway shooting, remember how I said there would
be two of them? The driver and the shooter?"

"Yeah."

A large logging truck swept down the road, its air
horn blaring as it negotiated a blind curve. "I'm thinking we're
looking for a truck driver. I'm following a lead from . . . a source.
I believe the accomplice, the driver, did Willis in L.A."

"Not a cop?" Jeff asked.

"No, we're clean on this one. The trick will be
to prove it. I'll check in with you tomorrow" He hung up before
Jeff could ask him any more questions.
 

23

ROXANNE SLIPPED A Rolling Stones cassette into the
jerry-rigged eight-track and turned the volume all the way up,
rendering conversation impossible. The drive from the Medford airport
to Canyonville took over an hour. By the time they got to Deb's
house, it was raining heavily. Large logging trucks barreled down the
freeway outside her door and made the walls shake. The wood-burning
stove in the main room threw one-sided heat on the three women seated
around the kitchen table.

"So you put down?" Deb asked.

"Yeah," Munch said.

"That's good, partner," Deb said. "I
always told you to get off the dope, didn't I?"

Munch watched Deb shake four Benzedrine tablets onto
the glossy back cover of an Easyriders magazine. She folded the thick
paper over the pills and used the back of a spoon to grind them into
powder. Munch couldn't take her eyes off the process.

Deb then took a razor blade and cut the powder into
four lines. "You got a bill?" she asked.

Munch reached into her wallet and pulled out a crisp
one-dollar bill. Roxanne took it from her and rolled it into a tube.

"You didn't want any of this, did you?" Deb
asked.

"No," Munch said. "I didn't even know
you could snort whites."

Deb drew a deep noisy breath through her nose to
clean her sinuses. "Oh yeah. It's a little harsh, but it works."

Roxanne went first, expertly inhaling the two lines
set out for her. Her eyes watered. Deb took the bill next. She poised
over the speed, but stopped when Boogie burst through the front door.

"Look who's here," she said to her son,
folding the magazine over the drugs and concealing the rolled-up bill
in her hand.

"Hey Boogieman," Munch said, holding out
her arms.

Boogie ran for her. He put his head down and barreled
into her chest. She caught him up in a tight embrace and kissed his
flushed cheeks.

"Are you still my ace boon coon?" she
asked.

"Say it," he said, "the whole thing."

"You're my ace boon coon," she recited,
touching his forehead. "You're my pride and joy" She poked
his belly "You're an ugly little sucker," she said, now
tweaking his nose, "but you're still my boy" He laughed his
distinctive belly laugh.

"It's good to have you here," Deb said,
watching the exchange. "What took you so long?"

Munch felt a lump form in her throat.

"It's my birthday next week," Boogie said,
tugging on her sleeve and demanding her attention.

"I know," she said. "That's why I'm
here."

"Honey" Deb said, "get Mama her
T-bird. This calls for a celebration."

Boogie went to the refrigerator and fetched his
mother her wine, getting himself a Mountain Dew. He brought the wine
to Munch first.

"See there," Deb said. "'That's the
man I raised. Guests first."

Munch stared at the bottle for a long moment.

"No thanks, Boogie. I'll take one of those
sodas."

"So this is like a test," Roxanne said,
"you being here and all."

"I guess maybe it is," Munch said
uncomfortably.

"You still smoke, right?" Deb asked,
pulling out a Baggie of bright green pot.

"No," Munch said. "Nothing. I don't
use anything anymore."

Deb turned to her son. "Boogie, go get mama her
pipe." Boogie ran into the bedroom. He held his arms out from
his sides and made zooming noises.

"You don't mind, do you?" Deb asked,
holding out the joint.

"I'll just sit by the window," Munch said,
scooting her chair away from them. Deb and Roxanne had both shed
their coats as soon as the fire got going, but Munch had yet to thaw
out. She cracked the window open six inches. Cold rain blew in.

Boogie returned with a short-stemmed pipe.

"Honey" Deb said, "why don't you go to
your room and play. Mama and her friends need to catch up."

She waited until the boy was out of the room and then
opened the magazine back up. With the bill up her nose, she paused
and said to Munch, "I'm real proud of you. That dope was killing
you." She snorted up the whites, unrolled the bill, and licked
it. She offered Munch her bill back. Munch waved for her to keep it.

Boogie came back into the room and set his empty soda
can on the table. "I'm hungry"

'You want a sandwich?" Deb asked. "Munch?"

"Yeah, thanks."

Deb took down jars of peanut butter and jelly and cut
four slices from a loaf of misshapen bread.

"Is that homemade?" Munch asked.

"What was your first clue?" Roxanne asked,
the weed pinched between her fingers.

"I got chickens in the back, my own vegetable
garden, we even hunt for our own meat," Deb added.

She looked at her son. "Boogie won't eat venison
unless I sneak it in on him."

"Aren't you having any?" Munch asked,
seeing that Deb had only prepared two sandwiches.

"No, but you go on."

Boogie and Munch ate their sandwiches while Deb and
Roxanne passed the bottle of wine. When Boogie finished, Deb grabbed
his coat.

"Honey I want you to go over to Stella's for a
while."

"Aw, Mom," Boogie said. "I'm sick of
going over there."

"I want to show Munch around."

"Can't I come?"

"Yeah, Mom," Munch said. "Can't he
come?"

Deb shot Munch a dirty look and then turned to her
son. "You'd just have to sit in the truck when we go in the bar.
Wouldn't you rather play with your friends?"

"We won't be gone long, Boogie," Munch cut
in. She knew Deb wasn't the kind of mother to let her kid sit in the
car while she sat in some bar. That was one thing Deb used to say
she'd never do.

"How long is not long?" Boogie asked.

Munch produced the present she had brought him. "Open
it."

He ripped through the meager wrapping and then
squealed when he opened the box. "All right!"

"What do you say?" Deb asked.

'"Thank you."

Munch strapped the watch on his wrist and pointed to
the hour hand. "When this points to the three"—she
pointed to the minute hand—"and this one points at the six
again, we'll come back"

"Okay" he agreed and walked out the door,
his eyes never leaving his new treasure.

Deb stood up. "I want to show y'all something,
wait here."

She walked off in the direction of the bedrooms.
Roxanne turned to Munch. "Are you still writing poetry?"
she asked.

"Not lately Not since I got sober."

"I liked that Christmas one you wrote."

"'Twas the Night Before Kicking'?"

"Yeah, that one."

"I'll mail you a copy" Munch promised. "So
what have you been up to?"

"I was in Alaska," Roxanne said, "working
the pipeline."

"How was that?"

"Cold and shitty "

"And now you're here." A gust of cold rain
blew in the window

Roxanne met her eyes. "Yeah, right. Now I'm
here."

Deb returned to the kitchen, preceded by a three-foot
Pinocchio marionette that she held suspended by a wooden crossbar.
The puppet did a jerky dance.

"Took me three nights to put this sucker
together" she said.

'You made that?" Munch asked. "I'm blown
away"

Roxanne finished the last draught of wine, carefully
removed the bottom ring of the cap, and put the bottle in a box of
similar bottles. Deb returned from hiding Boogie's birthday present,
picked up his empty soda can, and put it in a plastic crate marked
for cans.

"Deb—"

"Deborah," she corrected, standing by the
sink.

"Sorry . . . Deborah. Are you happy here? Is
this what you want?"

"Sure," Deb said, covering her nostrils
with the tips of her fingers. She took a deep breath, removing her
fingers halfway through and noisily sucking in any particles of drugs
left in her sinuses. "Ahh," she said.

"How about Boogie?" Munch said.

"What about Boogie?"

"Is this what's best for him? I mean, you're out
here so far away from everything. What if something happened? You
don't even have a phone."

"Don't worry about that," Deb said. "Out
here we all take care of ourselves. It's all them other people what
has to worry"

"Like who?"