Dream a Little Death, page 23
“Oh, Maya understood him just fine. I made damn sure of that.” She stopped short, as if she’d suddenly realized she’d said too much. And then Fatty jumped in.
“Dreama.” He turned to me. “You blind, or what? You saw a clip of Maya that night at the dance club. You saw all that pretty blond hair. Who do you think fucking paid her to dye it black? This bitch right here.”
He’d just handed me the shovel I was going to bury Pee Chee with.
Assuming she didn’t kill me first.
“There you go again, Freddy,” said Pee Chee. “Men are so simple, aren’t they, Dreama?”
Too bad I hadn’t seen it earlier.
I’d known Pee Chee was single-minded.
But I hadn’t dreamed of the lengths to which she’d go.
Tricking Miles into believing he’d raped Carmen was only the start of it. Convincing Miles to let Fatty take the blame, that must’ve been a challenge, too. Keeping Miles apart from Carmen afterward, another brilliant manipulation. But the real genius move was selecting Carmen’s replacement, someone Pee Chee could own, body and soul.
Enter Maya Duran.
She was young and beautiful. She was talented and ambitious. She’d spent time with Carmen, so she was familiar with her mannerisms and personality. All Pee Chee had to do was cut off Maya’s long, blond hair, dye it black, buy her the right clothes, and take her to see Clayton Key, who’d tricked her out with a replica of Carmen’s lotus flower tattoo. It was that easy. Pee Chee said it herself. Men are simple. They like what they like. They have types. Miles was a sucker for smooth, shiny girls, hard-boiled and loaded with sin. He’d see Maya as his second chance at Carmen. Only this time, he’d do everything right. Poor fool.
“I’m tired of standing around. What are you going to do?” Fatty taunted. “Shoot us?”
Pee Chee said, “Not yet.”
Maya must’ve gotten restless. Maybe she didn’t like being under Pee Chee’s thumb. Maybe she wanted out. Pee Chee couldn’t allow that. So she’d “helped” Maya by finding her a gun to use in her act, then visited her backstage the night of her show and swapped out a bullet for a blank. Maya had taken care of the rest.
“You can’t pull the trigger. You don’t have the balls.” Fatty shot me another glance. He wanted me to do something. Say something. But I wasn’t about to play a guessing game.
“Pee Chee doesn’t do her own dirty work,” I finally said. “Why don’t you tell us who you’re waiting for, Pee Chee?”
She smiled. “You know who I’m waiting for. And exactly what’s going to happen to him.”
“You’re a monster,” I said. Then I looked at Fatty. “You’re both monsters.”
Fatty gritted his teeth. “You’re gonna let her talk to you like that?”
“First things first,” Pee Chee said. Then she pointed the gun at Fatty and shot him. The sound was deafening. Like a jackhammer. A race car. A fighter jet. And then Fatty crumpled to the ground.
“What have you done?” I dropped to my knees and felt for a pulse.
“Get up, Dreama!” Pee Chee ordered.
No pulse. Fatty was dead.
Pee Chee waved her gun. “Are you high? I told you to get up!”
As I got up, I bumped against the wall, exerting just enough pressure to dislodge the overloaded power strip from the socket. The bulbs flickered once, then went out.
“What the fuck?” cried Pee Chee.
I stayed silent while she fumbled for the flashlight.
“Don’t even think about it!” Pee Chee cautioned. “It may be dark, but I’ve still got my gun on you. And you’ve seen what I’m capable of.”
I’d already known what she was capable of.
Which was why, when she finally turned the flashlight on me, Pee Chee saw me pointing a .38 special at her.
Maya’s .38 special.
I’d put it in my basket this morning before I’d left town. In case of emergency. And I was pretty confident this counted.
“Recognize it?” I asked her. “You should. You got it from Lucius Ramsay.” Who got it from Omar G. Patterson, the hairy marble.
“Put the gun down,” said Pee Chee. “It’s not a prop.”
“Too bad Maya didn’t know that. What’s the matter?” I asked. “You don’t look very good. Your hand is shaking.”
“We’re playing chicken now?” Pee Chee asked.
Not exactly. There were no bullets in the gun. But she didn’t know that.
“It’s over,” I said. “I know everything. What you did to Carmen and Miles, what you did to Maya, what you did to Lizeth.” Who’d had the misfortune of showing up at the hospital that day to check up on Maya. Lizeth was collateral damage. Just like I was. Just like Uncle Ray was.
“You thought you were safe,” I went on. “Fatty was in Lake Arrowhead. You knew how to take care of Maya. But then Fatty’s old friend Lucius showed up on your doorstep and your world came crashing down. Fatty told Lucius everything, didn’t he? Meaning Lucius was in a position to demand favors. And he wasn’t exactly shy about it. He needed you to make the gun charge go away. It was his third strike. He was going to prison, and they were throwing away the key. You would’ve loved to have gotten rid of him, but Lucius scared you. He was violent. Unpredictable. So you did some digging. Found out that the cop who was slated to testify against him was my uncle. And then you came up with the perfect idea. A wedding present for Maya.” I shook my head. “The whole noir tour was just a ruse to destroy my uncle’s credibility.”
Pee Chee said, “Well, you’re not exactly worth $40,000 now, are you?”
That stung.
She smiled. “Like I said, Dreama, you’re just so fucking arrogant. Maybe if you’d had a little humility you’d have questioned that five-figure sum. Saved yourself a lot of aggravation.”
“I was trusting,” I said. “Like Miles was. Don’t you get it, Pee Chee? He trusted you. You wanted him to love you? He did. You just didn’t recognize it.”
“I’m done talking,” she said. “And so are you, Dreama.”
And suddenly everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. I heard Pee Chee cock her gun, and instinctually, I squeezed my trigger finger. After that I heard a sound, a pfft, as soft as a kitten jumping onto a pillow. It wasn’t until I saw something red spreading across the front of Pee Chee’s yellow jumpsuit that I understood what had happened.
Teddy had been wrong when he’d said the gun wasn’t loaded.
There had obviously been one more bullet in that .38.
Pee Chee looked down at herself. “You bitch. You shot me.” Her voice was so faint I could barely hear it.
I dropped the gun. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. What had I done? “I—”
“Dreama didn’t shoot you,” said another voice coming from somewhere behind me. “I did.”
I saw something happen to Pee Chee then.
I saw her eyes go wide, her mouth fall open, and her heart break in two.
Then I spun around.
And saw Miles McCoy, at the mouth of the tunnel, holding a smoking gun.
Chapter 44
“How long have you been standing there?” I asked.
“Long enough.” He looked unutterably sad.
“Miles—”
“Stop. Is this loaded?” He pointed to the .38 special.
I shook my head.
“Then put it away.” I put it back into my basket.
“Take this.” He bent down to pick up Pee Chee’s gun, then handed it to me. “Keep it on her. Mookie’s outside. We’re going to get help.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You? What the fuck do you have to be sorry for?” Miles asked.
“I misjudged you.” This bear of a man was just a human being, as fragile and vulnerable as the rest of us.
“I’m far from innocent,” Miles answered. “But now’s not the time.”
I knelt down and grabbed Pee Chee’s hand. It was warm. I could see the pulse throbbing in her wrist. “She’s still alive.”
“Keep her talking,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
I didn’t let go of Pee Chee’s hand. It felt so small in mine. Like it belonged to someone else. Not the ferocious, pitiless woman I’d come to know.
“Where’s Miles?” Pee Chee whispered.
“He’s getting help,” I said. “Hold on.”
I put the gun down and used both hands to rip off the bottom of my flimsy slip dress. Then I balled up the length of white satin, and pressed it to Pee Chee’s chest. Within seconds, it was soaked through with blood. Pee Chee’s pupils were now fixed and dilated. I knew that wasn’t a good sign. But her chest was still moving up and down.
“Please stay with me,” I said in a strangled voice.
She didn’t answer.
“It’s going to be okay.” I knew she didn’t have much time.
And then I heard footsteps coming from the staircase leading down from backstage. I turned my head. “Miles?”
But it wasn’t Miles.
It was a small African-American man wearing a sharp green suit.
The same man I’d followed out of the courtroom the other day and to Grand Central Market, only to lose him as he drove off with the woman who now lay at my feet, dying.
Before I had a chance to collect my thoughts, much less collect Pee Chee’s gun from the floor, Lucius Ramsay said, “Let’s put Pee Chee out of her misery, shall we?” And then he shot her right between the eyes.
Pee Chee’s body jerked once, then lay still. I watched the blood run down her face and puddle on the ground, a small crimson flood. When I looked up, Lucius was bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, mouth twitching, eyes sparkling.
“Get up.” He pointed his gun at me.
“We can’t just leave her here,” I said.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me.” Lucius tapped his foot. “I said get up.”
I struggled to my feet.
He picked up a length of rope from the top of one of the cardboard boxes, and tucked it under his arm. “Now walk toward the stairs.”
He stuck the gun in the small of my back and edged me forward.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said.
“Shut up and keep walking.”
My head was pounding and my legs were trembling. I don’t know how I managed to stay standing, much less walk up the spiral staircase. When I got to the top, I searched the cavernous space for some way out of this situation. But there was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. There was only one small door leading outside, and it was on the other side of the stage.
Where the hell was Miles?
“This way.” Lucius nudged me along, kicking wedding decorations out of his way: dewdrop garlands, woodland box planters, looking-glass lanterns.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Stop asking so many questions,” he said.
With his free hand, he pulled open the red velvet curtain, then shoved me through it. We were in the main room. The tables had been cleared. The floors had been swept. They’d locked up hours before. It was just me and Lucius now. Maybe I could pretend to stumble on one of the chairs as we wound our way to the front door. Maybe he’d lose his balance and I could grab his gun. Maybe pigs could fly.
“We’re almost there.” I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck.
“Then what?”
He reached over my shoulder and pushed open the door to the outside. A blast of cold mountain air rushed up the remains of my tattered dress.
“We’re going to take a ride,” he said. “And I’m going to let you drive.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere nice and scenic. You ever heard of Angeles National Forest?”
The place where a convicted swindler’s headless body was found in a shallow grave deep in the woods? And where a baby beaten to death by her half-sister was shoved into a garbage bag and tossed to the bottom of a hill? And a teenager accused by two friends of sleeping with their boyfriends was found under a log in a creek? And a strangled model was dumped into a remote canyon by a photographer who couldn’t take no for an answer? I told you to Google it.
“Pick up the pace.” Lucius kicked me in the ankle. “You don’t want to piss me off.”
We walked through the parking lot to the back of the Tudor House, stopping beside Miles’s black stretch Bentley, which was parked sideways on the crest of a snow-covered hill.
“What did you do with Miles and Mookie?” I asked.
By way of an answer, Lucius popped the trunk.
Miles and Mookie were inside, bound and gagged.
Lucius tossed the length of rope he’d been holding next to them, and slammed the trunk closed.
“Get into the car,” he said to me.
My uncle taught me to never get into the car.
If you get into the car, you will not escape.
If you get into the car, you will not be rescued.
When they tell you to get in the car, that’s when you make a run for it.
A predator will only hit a running target four in one hundred times. And even then, it will most likely not be a vital organ.
Now was the time.
When Lucius opened the driver’s side door, I took a half-step toward the car, and as he relaxed his hold on me, I leaned back sharply against his chest and stomped down on his instep with the heel of the Mary Jane pumps Sheena had loaned me. As he doubled over, I sprang to the side and started sprinting across the parking lot.
“You’re dead!” cried Lucius, taking off after me.
Then I heard a shot ring out. Then another. Then a third. After that, I heard the sound of something hitting the pavement with a thud. And that something wasn’t me.
I stopped short, slowly turned around.
Lucius was on the ground, clutching his ass and cursing a blue streak.
Standing over him was my uncle Ray.
“Third strike,” Ray said with a smile.
Then he came over to where I was standing, put his arm around my shoulder, and pulled me close.
And at that moment I knew that nothing was ever going to be the same, and also, that everything was going to be fine.
Chapter 45
Two weeks later, everybody showed up at my house for my annual Grammy viewing party. Okay, my second annual Grammy viewing party. Assuming my mother doesn’t make a habit of re-enacting Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” video, it may well become a family tradition. But that remains to be seen.
The house was spotless. I’d laid out pillows and throw blankets. I’d stocked the bar. Because it’s important to be accommodating, there were lentil crisps and my grandmother’s Jackson Five Layer Bean Dip, which is 100 percent vegan. But it’s also important not to hide your true feelings. To that end, I’d put out Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and a plastic tub of Red Vines.
Gram and Ray were the first to arrive. Gram was resplendent in a black-on-black velvet burnout dress with fishnet fringe, lace granny boots, and a white orchid tucked behind her ear. Ray looked like he was on cloud nine. First of all, he had my grandmother on his arm. Secondly, he’d gotten his long-awaited promotion. And no one deserved it more than he did.
Turns out Ray had made Lucius Ramsay his own special project for months, ever since he’d first encountered the gun-toting two-time felon by chance that night at the dive bar. One of the things Ray had learned was that Lucius was a former confidential informant who still had friends in high places. That was why Ray had had to go under the radar. But when it was all over, my uncle had managed to tie him not only to Lizeth’s murder, but to two other unsolved murders, not to mention a money-laundering operation. Which was, by the way, how Lucius had been able to get his hands on the marked bills—handily traceable to a drug dealer under federal investigation—that he’d slipped into a manila envelope and dropped off on my stoop. Pee Chee had been kind enough to loan him Miles’s black stretch Bentley for that particular errand. Of course, it doesn’t necessarily pay to accept a favor from a woman like Pee Chee.
Next to arrive was my mother and her new lover, the C.E.O. of Cowboys4Angels, who was quite the silver fox. He’d met her when she’d tagged along on my American Gigolo tour, having promised to keep a low profile, which to her mind apparently meant interrupting my spiel at regular intervals to drop tantalizing bits of libelous gossip about American Gigolo’s original lead, John Travolta. The C.E.O. was inexplicably charmed. He’d demonstrated his commitment by buying himself an annual pass to her bi-weekly CrossFit class.
Tigertail and Rory came with their beautiful ten-pound baby girl, whom I kept wanting to call Sprite, even though they’d decided at the last minute to name her Kate. Who would have guessed that two punkabilly diehards would have a soft spot for the commoner who’d stolen Prince William’s heart?
Cat showed up soon afterward with the Snapchat executive. One night with my best friend, and the poor guy had not only shaved off his facial hair, he’d waxed his entire body. Cat was still wavering. She walked him over to the bar and told him to fix himself a cocktail, then she took me into the bedroom.
“How have you been?” she asked.
“Fine,” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “Tell me.”
“I’m still numb,” I said. “It was the strangest night of my life.”
After my uncle had untied Miles and Mookie, four cop cars had come screeching into the lot, sirens blaring. Lieutenant Hepworth had hitched a ride in one of them. He took my uncle aside and they talked for a long time. In the interim, the coroner’s van had showed up. It was too late for Pee Chee and Fatty. But Lucius was going to make it. After the ambulance took him away, there were lots of questions. Miles waived his right to an attorney, but the situation was pretty clear-cut. Miles had saved my life. As for me, the police made me promise not to leave Southern California until everything was sorted out. That wasn’t going to be a problem. All I wanted was my own bed.
It was 5 a.m. when I finally made it home. I couldn’t sleep, so I spent the next hour just walking the streets of Venice. As I wandered with no particular destination in mind I was struck by the beauty of the place where I lived. The ruby red trumpet vines climbing a graffitied wall, the Moroccan lanterns strung across a canopy of olive trees in the courtyard of a closed café, the extravagant spills of pink and orange bougainvillea. I stopped and watched a hummingbird sticking its little beak into a cactus flower. I breathed in the sweet scent of orange blossom. Then I took Washington to the sand, and sat down at the edge of the water to watch the sun rise.
