What Will You Look Like When You Die? Part 5/5 (fiction)

February 5, 2009

A Joe Downing mystery

The following is a fictional mystery short story:

“It turns out there is such a thing as ’spectral evidence,’ Tom. Hubrisa in the movie is solid, celluloid evidence that Viper killed her. It was really weird to see her moving around alive in the movie, knowing she was dead. She was in two places at once. But she really had something to her, a kind of magnetic attraction, more than just physical. But she’s quite a babe, though. I can see why Miramax wanted her.” I sat talking with Tom Wilkinson in my office in Deep Gorge, on Saturday night at about 10pm. Tom’s a widower, with a couple of kids out of the nest, so he’s okay with late nights. He likes action: tennis; football; murder.

“Celluloid heroes never really die,” Tom sang. I ignored him. We guzzled our beers from the office fridge and batted the ball around about how to move in on Viper and Paco Baby.

“McNulty and Vaughan have to be told, and fast, or we’ll be in it for withholding evidence,” I said.

“You got that right, Big Paco Boy,” Tom slurred at me, tilting his head back. I ignored him some more. I went on:

“And if they take the collar away from us, there ain’t nothin’ we can do about it.”

“The hell with them, then, let’s not tell. It’s your evidence, and it’s your collar, Big Boy!” Tom said. I took a deep breath and thought about it: certainly risky, for a bit of personal glory (and advertising for the business), but then in deep water with McNulty. He had always been fair with me, Vaughan, too. I made the only decision I could:

“We gotta tell them, Tom, I couldn’t stand it if I was responsible for you getting in legal trouble, or put in the slammer, even for a few hours…..I’d love to nail these two little operators at the motel on our own, without anyone in the way, but…..let’s at least tip ‘em.” Tom sighed. He had always been bold, and it had paid off. But not always. Vaughan hated Tom.

“All right, you win. Call ‘em.” Tom gave in reluctantly. He would have made an awesome test pilot. Anything wild and dangerous. So I called it in. McNulty and Vaughan were both at home, so I just left a message with the P.D. saying that I had broken the case, and was waiting for word from them, anytime. Call my cell. If they don’t believe me, that’s not my problem.

“If those two don’t get back to you, we’re moving in on their damn case,” Tom stared bullets at me. “Tomorrow morning we take Viper and what’s-his-face down. McNulty and Thromb-Bosis have until 9am!’ Tom waved a forefinger at me and thundered. Was he louder sober or toasted? Who knows? Couldn’t tell. But I couldn’t have asked for more loyalty or purpose than Tom had. (I’ll try to go easy on the cliches.) I drove Tom home to his apartment since he was very much too plastered to drive. I was to call him at 7am Sunday.

I proceeded then to tool by Viper’s motel at about midnight, just slowly cruising Beacon Street in a taxi, since they already knew the ‘Vette. Didn’t want no rabbits. Just checking. Well, it was all quiet seemingly, only the usual stuff going on — liasons made, people then going their separate ways. Not a world of long-term stuff, no. I looked down the long alley into the motel units. Are these the real people, I thought to myself, have they got something on the diurnal world of ordinary types? Or are they only parasites on that world? The night felt okay — no one seemed to be moving any troops around. Just a regular Saturday night in the realm of the teeming shadows. Exciting to be out, still prowling, every corner fraught with potential peril if you didn’t play your hand right.

“What you need, my friend?” The cabby turned his head back. I saw his taxi license in the sun-visor thing above his head: his name was about a mile long.

“What? Me?” I was not ready. I was fumbling in my mind for what to say. I didn’t want to make a mistake at this juncture since we were doing pretty good, yet if this guy was a source of untold riches, I’d better get healthy, as the druggies put it. He looked at me with a “what a rookie” look on his face. Good. Maybe I can play a part. “Well…..I dunno, sir.” I began. He rolled his eyes a bit, exasperated, impatient. He probably made extra cash putting people together who wished to find each other. Maybe he supported a wife and kids this way. I got an idea:

“Uh, yeah…..ya know…..uh, I saw this triple X movie one time, not that I, you know, but uh, I was wondering, sorta, where a place like that was…..you know…..”

“Yes, my friend, I know. I know everything. You desire everything, you are interested in everything. I know. I can take you.” The cabby stated this categorically. I decided not to argue about it. Maybe I do “desire” everything.

“Well, I didn’t exactly want to watch a movie, if you know what I mean…..” I hoped he wouldn’t fly into a childish rage that I had changed what I was angling for. He didn’t:

“Yes, I do know what you mean, my friend. I can take you, I can take you. Sit back, relax, I will take you.”

“You know where she lives?” I asked excitedly.

“Who?” He glanced back, a tad uncertain for once. We were deep within Deep Gorge now, on Front Street.

“The girl…..you know…..that one…..” I said. 

“The girl? Which girl?” he countered.

“The one who…..who…..you know…..” I countered in return.

“The girl who…..the girl who…..?”

“In the movies!” I said. “The one from the Midwest.” I finally said it. His mood blackened immediately. Clouds formed instantly in his weather pattern. He knew. Oh, yeah, he knew.

“Can I have her?” I asked.

“No!” he practically shouted.

“Why not?!”

“Because you cannot! You cannot, my friend! You cannot!”

“Is she married or something?” I persisted.

“No! I mean…..yes! No! I mean ‘no’!”

“What?!” I said, pretending confusion. He looked back at me accusingly as we stopped for the red light at Front and 22nd.

“She is dead, my friend! Can you have her so?! You cannot have her!” he yelled at me. I gasped in surprise.

“Are you serious? No way…..! She was so beautiful, sir! She was so nice!”

“I am afraid it is true,” he related quietly, softening now.

“What happened?” I asked. (Oh, homie, roll those dice now!) He was silent. Driving along lonely, deserted, degraded streets, through the urban landscape, or what had become of it, an occasional solitary figure lurking in the dark, still he was silent. “I am so sorry, sir, if something happened to her. I didn’t mean no disrespecting. She was really a nice girl. She was so nice!”

“Yes, she was!!! She was nice girl! Why do they did this to her?! Why?! They have not already enough money? Why?!” He almost broke down with the emotion. “Always like this! Why?!” (Now I thought to myself, how can I finish this quickly, and stop torturing this man? How to make all that candy come crashing down?)

“I’ll bet it was that weird Spoof dude,” I said in a sinister undertone, laughing sadistically. “I’ll bet it was that damn scumbag, dirtbag, loser Spoof!!!” I yelled out the window.

“No!!!” He slammed on the brakes in the middle of the street. We caught ourselves against the seats and dash. “No! Spoof is good man!!! You do not say that! You do not say that! I will rip you ‘part, mister! Spoof is good man! It was Paco Baby, my friend! It was Paco Baby!!! He kill her! He kill her!! He kill her!!!”

He looked at me like he wanted to tear me limb from limb. Then he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, fighting off tears. He turned away in shame. Cold sweat broke out on my neck, freezing me in the cold, as I stared into the nothingness of the urban canvas, unseeing.

 

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Indolent Christmas lights twinkled from the broad fascia boards of dark houses in the predawn chill. Children’s bicycles lay abandoned and sprawled on the shadowy, dewy lawns. It was Sunday, 6:45am, December 13. How this symbolic innocence before me contrasted with the turbulence I now felt inside was extreme. I pulled out of my office building in the freezing ‘Vette, on my way to Rancho Verde to go rouse Tom. His BMW, of course, had been left here last night. McNulty and Vaughan hadn’t got back to me, but I called in to the P.D. that I would meet them at the motel anytime, starting now. 9am was Tom’s deadline for them, but I was shortening it up a bit. I turned left from Western Avenue onto Portuguese Hills Drive North. The sun behind me burgeoned, and just peeked over the ridge of distant mountains, orange and glowing. Tom’s apartment was in a nice section of the city, but then, all of Rancho Verde is a nice section, like Portuguese Hills. I parked on Rancho Verde Drive and rapped gently on Tom’s door. Movement within. Steps coming closer, the door sticks, but finally gives way. I raised my chin at Tom as I went in. “You ready?” I asked the obvious.

“Hell, yes.” He looked at me a bit. Tom was actually pretty quiet in the morning — when we played tennis early, he barely said a word. Just what was necessary. “How do we get both these guys at once if they’re in different units?” Tom began. I took a deep breath.

“Yeah — that’s our little problem. Viper’s the most dangerous, I think, in spite of what I found out last night, so I say we get him last. We got to get big fatboy first, Paco, the easier one, to make sure he’s in the bag safely, before going on to snake-face…..you know, this guy has got a huge tattoo of a snake on the back of his head, looking right at you.”

“Maybe we can put a little mouse out for it to eat.” We laughed, a little nervously. I looked around at what was already familiar. Tom had a nice pad: well-maintained inside and out, not messy — strictly modern, up-to-date stuff.

“Okay — how ’bout this?” I started. “We’ll take both cars, after we get back to yours, since they don’t know yours yet, and I’ll park away. So first, I’ll walk in to Paco Baby’s unit, and I’ll pretend I’m a user, even though they know me already. I saw See-Saw Lady going in before, so I think I know which one it is. When I’m in, or while I’m walking over there, whatever, you pull in and block the entrance with your Beamer, pretending you need a jumpstart after visiting. When you see I’m in, you get Viper out of the manager’s unit, right in front of the pelican. Or in back of the pelican, I guess.

“Anyway, pretend you’re there for drugs from See-Saw Babe — it doesn’t matter if she doesn’t really deal. When Viper boy refuses to give you a jumpstart, you get real loud and abusive and complaining, all: ‘where’s the love,’ and that kind of thing. Just a real white jerk on Sunday morning. That should draw him out. I’ll cuff Paco Baby and See-Saw, then come out to help you. But don’t, for God’s sake, let him go back in the office! And take the negative cable off your battery when you get in there, first thing, quietly, so Viper will be convinced.”

“It’s pretty crude, Joe.” Tom summed up his feelings.

“It’ll work, Tom. Just believe in it, and that’ll make it work. Like tennis: if you believe in the shots and trust them, they go in.” Tom pursed his lips. I continued: “If I can get in and take Paco Baby down, it’ll work. Take your time, there’s no rush, give me a few minutes to work, and when I’m done, I’ll open the door a crack to signal you to go for it. Just keep glancing at the door. I’ll take duct tape in to shut those two up.” We left Tom’s apartment carrying tennis racquets so none of Tom’s neighbors would wonder what the strange geezer was up to this time. We actually were carrying our pair of Glocks, concealed, business-end down for the moment. The incongruence of the rest of our winter clothing to the tennis racquets didn’t matter. I was even wearing steel-toed boots.

We stopped at 7/11 for some caffeine, keeping the car running — Tom just coffee, me a Coke and some junk food. Tom’s got a better diet than me, so what. The headline of the Peninsula Daily Herald proclaimed: “Obama slashes DoD $31 billion.” It was 7:30 when we got close to the motel. We should have been here an hour earlier. I parked upstream on Beacon. Tom kept his Beamer running, double-parked by the ‘Vette, as I walked the fifty yards down Beacon, away from Mission, to the Proud Pelican. My heart pounded out of my chest as I negotiated more children’s toys left overnight on the narrow white sidewalk. The metal pelican was still grinning as I entered the grounds.

I walked down the middle of the quiet alley of the motel, through the pink stucco on either side. Every spot was taken. No vacancies, homies! I saw Spoof’s unit, then turned three units to the left, also at the back of the square horseshoe. I think this was the one. I knocked quietly, but with a little force, nevertheless: nothing. No suprise there. I tried the door gently, duly locked. I knocked once more: irritated voices within. I heard Tom’s BMW pull in at the top, I didn’t look back. The car shut off. I heard Tom get out, pop the hood, and begin disabling the battery with a little 9/16″. Hopefully he was blocking the view of the office as to what he was really doing. The door before me opened. A very tall, barefooted man in a white Jack Daniels tank-top and jeans glowered at me, his teeth bared somewhat from behind a mostly white and yellow grizzled beard. I could smell last night’s skiing party on his breath and his Marlboros on his clothes. I was a bit non-plussed, so I didn’t speak at first. He shook his head quickly, a little scared, as if to say, “whattaya want, genius?”

“Uh, I’m sorry, sir, I’m looking for that See-Saw Lady, you know her? To give her something. Does she live in this unit, sir?” He gave me a chagrined smile, and glanced over at his Harley, just checking, the chill sunlight now gleaming on the handlebars and fuel tank of his old Shovelhead. He gave me the finger abruptly and shut the door in my face. Okay…..doing good. At least he didn’t order me out of the place. Maybe the single finger was a code saying move one door to the side? All right — let’s try it — I moved to the right one door, and knocked once again: immediate, energetic response. Heavy male footsteps a’coming. Paco Baby himself, in the flesh, opens the door with supreme confidence.

“Downing?! What do you want, fool?”

“Man, what do I want? Are you serious? C’mon, man, don’t be like that!”

“Get lost, Downing. Leave.”

“But the taxi-driver told me to come here! C’mon, man, please? Just once, that’s all, then I’ll take off…..” Paco Baby, uncertain at first what he was facing, got real serious and threatening:

“What else did he tell you?” he asked.

“…..what?” I played possum, played the stoner-doofus.

“What else did the taxi-driver tell you?!” He raised his voice sharply, staring.

“What else did the taxi-driver tell me?” I countered, infuriatingly dense and dim.

“Yeah!!! What else?!” he replied.

“…..what else did he tell me?” I said, crinkling my nose, and tilting me head stupidly.

“Goddamn you asshole!!!” Paco Baby grabbed me summarily by the jacket-front, and pulled me roughly into the apartment, and closed the door quickly and quietly. He took a deep breath, summoning patience. He was worried about this. My Glock was down my pants, up against my tush, pointing down. I could hear Tom’s hood shutting outside, and the distant sound of Tom mumbling something about needing a jumpstart. Okay — he’s got the battery cable off now. The tragedy begins, then.

Well then: Paco Baby and I meet again. A little less friendly than before, though. “Do I still look like Elliott Gould?” I asked, like a dummy.

“Shut-up! What’re you doing here, trash?”

“I’m hurtin’ for a…..let’s see…..I’m hurtin’ for a…..for a…..” I laughed. “I’m trying to find a word that rhymes with ‘hurtin’, but I can’t think of one…..” I put my palms up in consternation. The contrast to my behavior before him on Friday morning was total. I had to be careful. I thought I heard Viper’s voice outside. Not so fast, T.W., I need time! Paco Baby spoke contemptuously:

“You want a joint, or something, idiot?” I pouted a little.

“Yeah…..maybe.” I folded my arms across my chest. Paco Baby went to get a joint — he threw it at me, backhanded, at the level of my stomach, and I just barely caught it, bending it in half.

“Oh…..there’s no need for that, Paco Son, c’mon, man…..”

“Get out, Downing. I got a woman waiting.”

“You got matches? I ain’t.” He sighed heavily and went to get some, resignedly. He spoke to someone in the back briefly. But that was Viper’s voice outside, mingled with Tom’s. I looked out the window through the cheap gauzy curtain. Viper gesticulating like the irritable creep he was, Tom playing his part to the hilt of the well-to-do addict. The Beamer clicked and clicked as first Tom, then Viper in turn, tried to start it. 

I glanced back at Paco Baby arriving, and then reached my hand out to his extended arm. I looked back at the action outside, pretending to be fascinated. I purposely bumped his hand with my fingertips clumsily and obtusely, groaning comically, so the matches would fall to the green carpet. They stood up on the high pile. I needed to time this thing like a Swiss watch. I kept looking outside, feigning interest, my hand ludicrously extended without purpose in midair. Not quite yet…..not yet…..no, not yet…..I turned slowly, staying in character, disciplined, and finally saw what I most wanted to see: Paco Baby bent over to pick up the matches. With lightning speed I suddenly reared back and kicked his face hard with my boots. He fell back on his butt, dazed but not incapacitated, legs out in front of him. Blood trickled from his nose. He revived a bit. He was more muscular than me, though I was taller, so I better end this now. I took my time and kicked his face again, harder, even sickeningly. He fell back, unconscious. I felt his nose give way beneath the boot.

See Saw lady stood in front of me, speechless with fear. “Get down, without a word, and I will not hurt you.” I said quietly and explicitly. She couldn’t move. She trembled from head to toe. I felt badly about scaring her, but she had let herself become an accessory to a first-degree murder, that of Hubrisa. I motioned with my hand silently for her to lower herself, and at last she was capable of complying. I cuffed them both behind their backs, See Saw to the heater, and Paco to the door hinge, away from her reach. I covered their mouths with duct tape, careful to allow breathing through their noses. Even so, Paco Baby struggled to breath through the blood in his nose, so I wiped it away as best I could. See Saw Lady’s eyes were hot with terror. I finally opened the door to signal Tom, albeit belatedly.

I stepped out cautiously, like an animal. Faces watched me from the windows. Curtains opened. I stalked right down the middle of the lane. No sense keeping to the side now. No one spoke from within, no one signalled Viper. Tom kept it going:

“It’s the starter, man, the starter!”

“No it isn’t! It’s the battery, moron! That long clicking sound means the battery, not the starter!” Tom disagreed vehemently, keeping on, keeping Viper’s back to me, keeping that snake-face looking at me. I was twenty feet away. Tom spoke loudly and continuously to muffle the sound of my boots on the grains of dirt on the asphalt, and Viper started pushing Tom back roughly, infuriating me.

“Get this thing outta here, now!” Viper stared, his strong suit.

“How can I, home?! It don’t run no more!” Tom countered.

“It’s brand-new, idiot trash!!! Get it out!” Tom was getting stressed with the prolonged effort and intensity. But he didn’t look at me or give it away. But he was almost seventy years old, and his energy was flagging, but still he kept going, not looking at me, only at Viper. It was a magnificent, miraculous performance. He should get an Oscar and a Wickie. But the extended intensity was getting to be too much for him, thinking smoothly of something to say continuously was taking it out of him. But still he didn’t look at me, still he did not give my wicked soul away.

But his eyes froze suddenly on Viper’s face. I was ten feet away. He couldn’t think of anything more to say. He simply was exhausted, finally, completely spent, all in. His eyes just froze with the effort, staring eerily onto Viper’s face. Viper caught what it meant. He whirled and jumped on me like a rabid cheetah, biting into my neck like a long-famished predator. I fell onto my back, bumping my head hard. His teeth broke the flesh of my neck, as he was tried savagely to rip the jugular vein out of my neck. He made ferocious sounds. He punched my face again and again, and bit deeper into my neck. I bled from nose, mouth, and neck.

My Glock popped out of my pants, and I found myself lying on top of it. Still he punched me. Still he pounded me. Still he bit into me. Tom circled uncertainly, trying to help. He pulled his gun. I spit into Viper’s eyes, the only action I could manage, so overwhelmed I was by his fury. I was groggy from the beating, quite a bit dazed. I spit again into his eyes, sometimes feebly, other times forcefully. Viper felt such revulsion at my snot in his eyes, he paused to wipe his eyes and face clean. I pushed him off me with my hand in his face and managed to stand up, my Glock at my feet. Tom pointed his at Viper — I simultaneously reached down for mine, looking all the while at Viper. He ran at me like one of Satan’s own, diving at my face and neck with his hands and teeth, and Tom shot him in the side, in mid-jump.

Me and Viper fell back down again, in the same exact position. He pinned my left arm down with his leg, and I could no longer hold onto the gun. He grabbed it quickly as it fell out of my  hand and shot me in the chest. Hot, liquid pain raced through me. Tom circled around to face Viper and shot him simultaneously in the chest, rending his body, and I think I heard yet another shot after that, whereupon Viper, kneeling over me, straddling me, fell heavily from his waist onto my face, slamming me hard, as motionless as the tomb at midnight.

 

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Joaquin Manuel Alvarado, that is, Paco Baby, was sentenced to death by the jury that convicted him, in Los Angeles. He sits on Death Row in San Quentin, pending his appeals. The ACLU has taken an interest in his case. Carol Tiffany Atwater, that is, The See-Saw Lady, in a separate trial, was convicted of being an accessory to first-degree murder in the death of Hubrisa Williams, and sentenced to life-without-the-possibility-of-parole. She spends her days now in the California Institution for Women in Chino, California, San Bernardino County. Richard Williams, on the other hand, that is, Spoof, the father of Hubrisa Williams, testified for the prosecution at Paco Baby’s trial for the rape and murder of Penelope Phillips, of Ohio, movie-star aspirant. In addition, the testimony of the Jordanian cabbie and the newly-tested DNA sample on Phillips’ body, put Paco Baby there. Anthony Juan Jimenez, that is, Viper, was killed by Tom’s third shot, this one hitting him in the face. Viper’s wife and son have taken over the Proud Pelican, and steered it onto a better course.

I myself eventually pulled through, and Spoof paid me quite well. I was unable to attend Hubrisa’s funeral at the mortuary overlooking the Pacific, the Portuguese Hills Mortuary, but from Tom’s description it was well-attended, numbering of course Spoof with his broken ribs from Paco Baby’s shove, Higgy and Theodora from the Institute, other porn actors and actresses, and possibly even a Miramax executive. Miramax released this statement to the T.V. pop-culture magazines:

“We are saddened greatly today by the death of Hubrisa Williams. She was a bright, aspiring talent and possessed a beautiful spirit, and she was tragically taken in the flower of youth by inexplicable violence that could only misunderstand her love of life and joyful heart. We mourn her loss deeply, and our sincere prayers are with her immortal soul and with her dear father, Richard ‘Spoof’ Williams.”

Tom and I were both eventually given a nod of approval from the Deep Gorge P.D., and Mick McNulty and Larry Vaughan received commendation for their work on the case. In the course of time, Spoof himself went on, stumbling, pain in his heart, making porn movies once again, winning Wickies right and left for Best Director, ten at last count. He never got the call to the big-time, as his daughter had. He was too heart-broken, anyway. Hubrisa did get her fifth Wickie for Best Actress, posthumously. She was going to redeem them all at one-fell-swoop. But, then again, Spoof, it’s not against the law to be bizarre and sleazy, even though it is against the law to off innocent people, sports fans.

THE END

Tony Downing