Lemons 01 Darkness Once More Page 3

  Keep in mind that Bakersfield is a fairly small city with not a lot of nightlife where everyone always seems to know everyone else, so that was why I seemed to have a pretty easy time tracking down people. This proved true once again for Mallory, although most people who saw her didn’t know her, just recognized her, as she seemed to be hanging around an area that wasn’t a hotspot for kids her age.

  Flipping through the photographs I have from various security cameras, all I can see is a young woman sitting at various restaurants and hotel lobbies, mostly drinking water and not really interacting with anyone. Once or twice, I believe she was hit on, even though she showed absolutely no interest. I decided to set up post in one of the hotel lobbies she frequented often. For four nights I sat at the bar nursing vodka-Redbulls with no luck. The fifth night I decided to change hotels, so I went down the street a bit to The Padre Hotel, but to no avail. I gave my business card to the bartender on duty and to the hotel manager and made a cheap black and white copy of Mallory’s photo for them. I asked them to call me the second they see this girl, even though I didn’t really get my hopes up. Nobody seems to want to help a private investigator.

  I walked through the double doors, felt the rush of the night air, and decided to call it a day and go home to my wife, my jellybean and my dog. The three loves of my life. As I was walking up 18th Street towards my car, I glanced to the other side of the street to my previous stakeout spot, the Mon Signor Hotel, and that’s where I saw her. My Ms. Mallory Colley. Right there on the curb. Stepping into a cab and shutting the door, and then just like the term Freedom Fries, gone forever.

  I made an attempt to chase the cab but it was useless on foot and if I ran to my car, she would have been long gone. I ran into the hotel she apparently was just leaving and asked a clerk if they saw the girl in my picture. The clerk told me she had seen her sitting out front of the entrance asking for money. She told me the manager had asked her to tell the girl to leave and that was the end of it. I then asked to talk to this manager and she obliged and walked off to get him.

  The manager’s name was Carl J. Bollanger, Manager, according to his nametag, and he was as bald as Kojak. He extended his hand for me to shake then informed me that he didn’t want beggars hanging out in front of his hotel. I agreed absolutely and asked him he if he had any idea where the girl was going. He said he didn’t know and didn’t care, just so long as it was away from his business. I was pissed and wanted to inform him that that girl was someone’s daughter, and her mother had wanted nothing more than to see her only child again, but I played it cool. I let the anger simmer under my skin until I was able to release it in a place that would not damage my chances of finding my girl. I asked if I could see security camera footage from the lobby and entrance. Carl J. Bollanger, Manager seemed rather put out but my Clint Eastwood ‘Get-Off-My-Lawn’ stare apparently convinced him as he let out a louder-than-necessary sigh and told me to follow him. The footage of the lobby showed that Mallory had not gone in the hotel at all today, but arrived out front almost two hours before I saw her get into the cab to sit under the hotel awning and avoid the light drizzle of rain. The only time anyone even so much as acknowledged her was the clerk who had gone out to shoo her off the property. Mallory then got to her feet, made her way to the edge of the sidewalk, a mere six or so feet away, and stood there for what was probably a minute. Just standing. Never making a move. Then coming into the frame from the left side was a cab that pulled to the curb and stopped. From the angle on the video, it was hard to see if Mallory and the cabby exchanged any words, but soon enough Mallory was opening the back door, getting in and then driving away. We stopped the video when I entered the picture.

  I asked Kojak for a copy of the video but he said he couldn’t do that, it’s not that type of system (Bullshit! I knew exactly what this security system was capable of and printing out a picture is certainly within its realm. What is this bald asshole’s problem?), so I asked him to replay the video and I quickly got out my iPhone and took continuous pictures of the high quality video. They weren’t perfect pictures but they were decent enough. I left the Mon Signor, turned into the alley and punched the hotels dumpster so hard my hand was covered in blood. It’s pure frustration. A temper tantrum. My body was shaking as I started to kick at the trash bin until I exhausted myself. I let out a very loud yell, and then began to calm myself down. This happens often.

  After my alleyway breakdown, I went to the closest drug store and had my pictures developed into large 8x10 prints, which I would be billing to Amanda. While I waited, I used the stores restroom to clean my hand. I then bought a bandage to wrap around it. I would also be billing this to Amanda Colley’s account.

  After that day, no one seemed to see Mallory again. I called every taxi company in town trying to figure out what cab it was that picked up a young woman at the hotel and where it took her but no one knew or no one wanted to tell me. Then, shortly after that, my wife was shot in the face, ending three lives. Two literally and one figuratively.

  So here I am now, flipping through those pictures while listening to heartbreak from my iPod. I’m convinced I am at a dead end. All my attempts to contact Amanda Colley have been unanswered and ignored. My brain and my wallet are telling me to close the case, but my heart is telling me to keep it open. A week ago, I was convinced to end it. Hell, two hours ago, I was convinced to end it, but now, with Marianne gone and my only communication I can have with her is coming from a tiny piece of plastic shoved into each of my ears, I’m suddenly beginning to think I owe it to myself to see this one through. If Mallory is out there, I can find her. Marianne would want me to, I believe. Her song is telling me what I need to her. As that one fades out, Vanilla Ice’s Stop That Train starts and I’ve lost all focus again. Now all I can think of is giving it all up to become a kickass white rapper who can dance better than any Kid or Play!

  Thanks to the VIP Posse, I am unable to concentrate any longer and I’m too tired to even think. I get up, walk to my mini-fridge, and reach for a Sugar-Free Rockstar. Shit, my last one. Don’t forget to stock up! I return to my desk and plop down to enjoy my beverage. Right around the time Tone Loc is telling me it’s the 80’s and he’s down with the ladies, I set down my empty can and pick up the pictures once more. I flip through them again, for what seems like the hundredth time since I got them, convinced I have missed nothing here and that I have to find a new avenue of search. My eyes linger on the photo Amanda Colley gave me of her daughter. Mallory appeared to be your average high school girl with her long blonde hair, big bright smile and blue eyes full of hope and promise.

  I toss the photos down on my desk and rub my eyes. It’s still morning but I am exhausted. My phone rings and I answer it without even bothering to check the ID, a move I instantly regret.

  “Archie Lemons.”

  “I’m still watching you, Lemons,” says a gruff, man’s voice.

  It’s Detective Robert Anderson. He is assigned to my wife’s case.

  “How can I help you, Detective?”

  “How about coming down to the station, filling out a full confession.”

  “Now why would I do that, Detective?”

  “Save me a lot of legwork. Sitting in my car watching your dumb ass isn’t doing my hemorrhoids any favors. Let’s just make it easy on both of us, whattayasay?”

  “Once again, I did not kill my wife.”

  “See ya soon, Lemons. See ya real soon.”

  “Yeah Detective, it’s a real honor to be followed everywhere I….” I trailed off as I looked down at the top photograph I had thrown on my desk. I ended the call without finishing my sentence and leaned in closer. The front passenger side of the cab had a large dent above the tire and a very noticeable scrape from the fender to the middle of the rear door. It was the same cab that picked up Mrs. Fick less than one hour ago.

  4.

  Mallory awoke in her poorly lit cell and tried desperately to wipe the dried tears from her face. No luck. Both he
r arms were securely fastened to each side of her tiny mattress. The pain coming from her side was enough to impair her vision with blotchy clouds of light. Her pain medicine had obviously worn off and she looked at the needle stuck in her right arm and followed its attached cord all the way up to the hanging bag of intravenous providing a steady feed into her body.

  Why I am here, she thought. All she wanted to do was return home to her mother. The mother that she never knew she loved and needed so much. She would give anything to escape this place. To feel her mother’s warm embrace.

  She thought about all the terrible things she had said to her before she left and how poorly she had treated her. Was this her punishment for being a bad daughter? No, it couldn’t be. This punishment far outweighs her crime.

  Her memory of how she got here is sketchy. She remembers that bitch from the hotel making her leave and a taxicab she didn’t signal for stopping and offering her a ride. She had told him she didn’t have any money and the cabby said it was okay, that he wouldn’t turn the meter on and take her as far as he could until he got a call. A few blocks away at a stop light the cabby had told her to look out the back window to make sure a dog they just passed had an owner with it. He seemed concerned for some reason. While she was looking for a dog that apparently had just vanished, she felt a sharp pinch in her neck then discovered the lightness slip away.

  When she had awoken, she was laying where she is now. There was no pain then even though she was tied down the same way she is currently. The pain came later, soon after that man with the mask came in and explained to her the horrific details of why she was there. She remembered him pulling out the syringe and jabbing it into her neck, the last thing she heard before darkness came again was the man saying, “Now go to sleep, bitch, and try not to die.”

  When she came to after that was when the IV was plugged in and she felt drugged. From time to time, a younger man would come in and force her to take some pills and feed her, but he never said a word. He looked familiar but her mind was a haze. She wanted to escape. She tried to break free of her restraints but she was just too weak. She couldn’t even make herself scream. And her side was throbbing.

  She saw the door to her room start to open and she hoped it was the younger man, here to do something about this pain. No luck. The man with the mask walked in and stood beside her bed.

  “Hello, lovely.” His voice was icy and emotionless. Calling her lovely was more of a mockery of her than anything close to a compliment.

  “Please just let me go, sir,” Mallory mumbled.

  “No can do, my love. In fact, I’m afraid I need another favor from you.”

  The man pulled out a rather large knife and set it on the table near Mallory’s bed. He then went to a drawer and pulled out another syringe.

  “It breaks my heart to have to do this to you so soon, but money talks, dear. I was hoping to keep you around a little longer. Just know that you’ll be making someone very happy.”

  Mallory tried to throw a fit, to thrash her arms and legs about in an attempt to break free. She tried to scream so maybe someone would hear her and come to the rescue, but her attempts were pathetic. She was too tired and too weak to get away.

  “Why are you doing this? Please just let me go” Mallory said, barely above a whisper.

  “Try and pay attention, bitch! I’ve gone over this with you already!” His voice was enraged now. He was ready to do what he had to do and move on. “Shit!”

  “Someone will come looking for me. Someone will catch you, just please…”

  “Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!” he interrupted. “I’m sick of listening to you! No one is fucking coming for you now! No one gives a shit about runaway street trash like you, anyway!”

  He took a deep breath and seemed to calm himself. “Now be still,” he said, in his nicest voice. “You’ve got something I need and that’s that.” He took the cap off the syringe, stuck the needle into a small bottle, and pulled the plunger up.

  “It’s bed time, baby. Unfortunately, you better say your prayers this time though because I’m not sure you’ll be waking up from this one.”

  Mallory managed to get out the word “Please” before the man shoved the needle back into her neck and slammed down the plunger with his thumb. She was unable to finish her statement before the blackness overtook her once again. All she could muster was “…don’t do…”

  Those were the final words Mallory Colley would ever speak.

  5.

  After two hours of sitting at my desk staring at the photograph, my bladder finally made me take a break. I tried to think of the significance of the same cab but couldn’t come up with anything. It was frustrating me and I could feel my body fighting off an anxiety attack. It felt like bugs were crawling under my skin and nothing that I could do would get rid of them. That’s the way my attacks work for me and sometimes they got to the point where they would cause me to throw a fit, a temper tantrum like a child. I hate when I get like that, I can’t control it. I’ve learned to live with it and manage it the best I could, though. I’ve never acted out towards any living creature, and certainly never towards my wife, so don’t get the wrong idea there. The overwhelming urge to pee managed to fend this fit off though as it forced me to snap out of my concentration and move to a different room.

  While standing over the toilet I decided I would take the easiest route to my answer and simply call and ask Mrs. Fick about the cab. Besides, I needed to inform her I would be working dual cases. It was only fair to let her know.

  I made my way over to the sink and turned the water on. Marianne had bought some soap dispenser for the office bathroom that was ‘touch-free.’ You hold your hands under it and it squirts out some liquid soap into them. I remember seeing the commercial for it telling me that it’s a great way to fight those nasty germs. Apparently, a soap dispenser could very well be one of the nastiest pieces of equipment in the world and god knows what terrible shit is living on that little push-down plunger. Marianne thought this was a great idea and returned home the following day with one for each room and two for the office. I didn’t share her enthusiasm about the product though. In fact, I thought it was downright stupid. Who the shit cares if the soap dispenser has germs on it? I am literally washing my hands a mere second after touching it. There is not another thing my hands will touch after the diseased dispenser before soap is actually being applied to those very same hands. If, say, my hands touched germs on anything, anywhere in the world, the soap dispenser would be the one thing that would allow the germs the absolute shortest amount of time to live on them. So yes, at that time I thought the product was stupid, but now, oddly enough, I find it amazing as it brings me another memory to savor of my wife. Anyway! After washing my hands with soap from my That’s Incredible soap dispenser, I stared at myself in the mirror. A good long look. I feel stagnant. I need a change. I rubbed my few-day old beard and decide to shave. I shave away everything except above my lip. All the tough guy cops have mustaches. Magnum has a mustache! I decide to try it out. It may not look like much now, but soon I’ll be rockin’ a full-on Flanders. You don’t mess with that badass with the killer mustache! He’ll cut ya, man!

  I return to my office, pull out Mrs. Fick’s business card, and dial her cell. She answered on the first ring. “Good lord, you haven’t found something already have you?”

  “No no, nothing like that, Mrs. Fick. I hope I didn’t excite you. I just wanted to tell you something.”

  Silence

  “Well, get on with it then.” she snapped.

  “Nothing big but I just wanted to inform you that I am going to stay on my current case while working yours. I recently came upon a new lead that I would like to follow but I promise you I will give your case the utmost respect and time needed and it will be my top pri…”

  “Listen here, Lemons” she interrupted, “I paid you a rather large sum of money, IN CASH, for you to find my husband and you assured me you would be closing your previ
ous cases and focusing solely on mine!”

  “Mrs. Fick, I assure you, your case will be top priority and I will see it through to the end. I will only work on the previous case in my spare time, I just need to follow a clue. I owe it to my client.”

  “You mean the client you haven’t heard from or received any payment from? That client?”

  I sighed heavily and rubbed my eyes. She was right, but I still didn’t want to give up. I decided to try to make a deal with her instead of being bitched at. “Yes, Mrs. Fick. That’s the one. I’ll tell you what. I will go to my client’s house tomorrow morning and try to find her there. If she is not there, refuses to pay, or doesn’t want my services anymore, I will close the case and concentrate only on yours. However, if she is there, and does pay, I will keep the case open and deal with it after I close yours. Is that acceptable?”

  I could just sense her frustration. She was sending waves of it through the phone. I just hoped she would agree so I could end this call and move on. Sounding very annoyed, she replied, “I don’t give two donkey’s dicks what you do after my case Mr. Lemons. Go to her house and try to get your money. I don’t give a shit. Just find out what happened to my husband!”

  “Yes ma’am, I’ll start ASAP. One more thing before I go, though. About the cab you took to my office.”

  Silence

  “Mrs. Fick?”

  “Yes! What about it?”

  “No need to yell, I was just wondering if you remembered the name of the cab company. I don’t recall seeing it on the door.”

  “What difference…No, I don’t remember what cab company it was. Find my husband!”

  “I will ma’am. Why did you take a cab though? I can’t imagine you not having a car.”

  “I don’t know what business it is of yours, Mr. Lemons, but my car had a flat tire this morning and my MISSING HUSBAND took the other car when he disappeared and was probably killed. Does that answer your question satisfactorily?”