B-Side Read online

  © Janis Jones 2018

  Print ISBN: 978-1-54392-745-0

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-54392-746-7

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Baby Cakes

  Crossing Paths

  The B-Side

  These People

  50-Crunch Burn

  Sliding By

  Taking Inventory

  Her Given Name

  Thomas & Marie

  Matty

  Shooting Stars

  Free-Fall

  Dive, Not Fall

  11:11

  Tailgate

  Semper Fido

  Deep Orange

  Koi Pond

  ‘Save the Overtime for Me’

  Privileged Information

  Choke

  Running

  Like Water

  Deep Coral

  Derek’s Nightmare

  Early Birthday

  Blowtorch

  Flashback

  Freaks and Killers

  Dollar Jax

  Not Possible

  Paying the Piper

  Not a Problem

  Two Blue, Two Gone

  Second Cut

  Replay

  Manny

  The Arrangement

  Gino’s

  IN-N-OUT

  U-Turn

  Last Place

  IN-N-OUT Again

  Gloria

  Satan’s Coffee

  Simpatico

  Carport

  Duplex

  Shade 7

  Larry’s

  Workout

  Nam-Myoho-Renge-Kyo

  Dark and Quiet

  Ain’t Nobody

  Chapter 1

  Baby Cakes

  Cassandra “Casey” Terranova, a small energetic twenty-eight, jams her little white Mazda Miata into a space in front of her friends’ custom bakery, jumps out and heads for the door, tossing her sun-streaked hair. Palm fronds rustle above in the late afternoon breeze. Sherry swings the front door wide, peering out from under floppy bangs.

  “Hey, Stuff! I beat ya. Come on in.”

  Brian, an over-muscled forty-two, stands behind the counter grinning, his company T-shirt and apron straining over his hard-won gym rat barrel chest. He slowly flips up the pink carton lid, revealing a pyramid cake with the numerals I, II and III on three sides. The fourth side has a heart symbol and an Egyptian ankh. At its base a blue fondant oasis with little plastic palm trees. Music notes poke up from the beige sugar sand where two toy vehicles are parked.

  Casey bounces up and down like a kid.

  “Oh…my…fucking…God! I love this cake! It’s even better than I pictured.”

  She bends and looks closely at the details of the decoration, then looks up at Brian and Sherry.

  “Oh, it’s so great I can’t stand it… and a box to hide it in. Thank you guys so much!”

  “There ya go, Little Egypt.” Brian pauses dramatically. “Casey honey, I wanna tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “You are hurting me with how hot you look in that little dress.”

  All three laugh for their own reasons.

  “You should see the heels.”

  Brian clasps his meaty hands and looks heavenward.

  “Oh, thank you, Baby Jesus. She got the FM pumps I suggested!”

  Casey is first out the door, hurrying to unlock her car. Brian carries the cake box and Sherry follows them out to the scorching sidewalk. Brian settles the box in the passenger seat and carefully latches the door.

  “Gawd. Pink carton against orange leather upholstery. So Sixties. Just grotesque in that House of Pies way.”

  Casey snaps the seat belt around the cake carton, giving it a tender pat. She fishes the sling-back heels out of their box on the floor mat and dangles them for Brian’s approval.

  Brian nods enthusiastically.

  “Yes, Ma’am! H to da O to da T!”

  As Casey takes off, she looks in the rearview mirror. Sherry blows her a kiss and Brian gives a double thumbs-up.

  Chapter 2

  Crossing Paths

  Detective Mara Bays, forty, dark-haired, athletic and attractive. She exits the police station locker room, leaving for the day. She is dressed in a bright turquoise silk blouse, black raw silk slacks and low-heeled pumps. Her hair is down and she wears large silver hoop earrings. Her work clothes are draped over her arm as she walks to her truck. She carries a small shoulder bag and her service pistol, badge and handcuff case rolled in a belt in one hand. Report folders are tucked under her arm.

  Detective Derek Jenssen, tall and sandy-haired with the bearing of an ex-Marine. He is a very fit fifty. He strides across the parking lot asphalt on his way to the station, wearing Friday’s work clothes, his silvery-grey jacket flapping and necktie loosened over his deep blue shirt. The shield on his belt is visible, along with a glimpse of his holster and pistol grip. He carries a stack of report folders, a zippered shaving kit and a pair of running shoes.

  He looks up and smiles.

  “Hey, you remind me of my partner. I was thinking of asking her out for a drink, but now I’m not so sure. You’re looking pretty hot, lady.”

  Mara smiles, squints and shakes her head, humoring him.

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “No, really. That color’s good on you. Headed somewhere special?”

  “Yes, kind of a big night.” She really wanted to go but a couple minutes wouldn’t kill her.

  “Well, I figured I was SOL, but a guy’s gotta try.” Derek hoped he didn’t sound clingy. Shit, calm down, man.

  “Thanks, D. You’re very sweet. Any other night I’d go.”

  Derek pretends to be crushed. He holds up his hand, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

  “No, that’s okay...”

  He raises his eyebrows, sniffs and looks sad. Mara laughs and touches his hand.

  “You kids have fun now. I’ll be fine.”

  He puts his free hand to his heart and heads off to the station.

  “See you Monday. Lots to do.” He was the best senior partner in the world, but no matter how hard they worked, they were always swamped.

  Derek spins around, walking backwards a couple steps.

  “For sure. What else is new? Have a nice evening.”

  “Rain check on the drink, huh?” He was looking very Viggo today.

  “Good deal. ‘Night, Mar’”

  “Night, D.”

  They continue their separate ways.

  Chapter 3

  The B-Side

  Sitting in her truck, Mara checks the gifts she’s bought, for the third time. A pristine black vinyl single of ‘Ain’t Nobody’ by Rufus and Chaka Khan sits atop a short stack of vintage 45’s with a shiny sterling silver adapter in its center.

  Mara pulls a silver snake chain with a numeral ‘3’ charm out of a small gift box, then impulsively pops the adapter out of the record and strings it on the chain, fastening it around her neck. She tips the rear-view mirror down, making sure the necklace doesn’t show by tucking it inside her silk blouse. She repositions the mirror and smiles. Lashed in the truck bed with bungee cords is a big nursery container of papyrus, wrapped in clear plast
ic to protect it for its ride through the canyon.

  Mara sits in her truck, elated and nervous. She takes a couple sips of water, wondering if she will ever settle in and not worry about such a good thing. Take a breath. She phones Casey at the beach house.

  Sun sinking with the hush of the surf in the background. Casey picks up her little orange flip phone from the mantel where it rests next to a tall glass vase half-full of the smooth pebbles that local beach bum, Skeezy-Mo, used to ‘pay’ Casey for her acts of kindness in providing him with food.

  Casey flips open her phone and turns down the volume on an LP playing on the turntable.

  “Hey you.”

  “Hi. I’m running a tiny bit late… I just have one more stop. Do we need anything? Did I forget something?”

  “Nope, all set. I’ve got a nice little dinner.” Casey was glad Mara couldn’t see her trying not to laugh. My big tough cop. So sweet but always worrying about something.

  “They kept us at the deposition… I thought I’d never get out of there!”

  Mara listens to the music Casey has playing in the background. Feeling better every minute.

  “I like what I’m hearing.”

  “What, me or the music?”

  “Both. You always sound good but I meant the song. You should turn it back up and play the B-side.”

  “Yeah, I should. Better hurry up.” No harm in teasing a little speed out of a conversation. She touched her throat, and it felt hot. She’d been waiting all week for this night and this weekend. As she talked to Mara, Casey scooped up five pebbles and stood on tiptoe to add them to the heavy vase. They made a clattering sound, muffled by the water, which rose maybe a half inch. Casey affected a stern judgmental tone.

  “We can forgive your misdemeanor loitering. Just bring your fine self and an appetite and get your ass over here.”

  Mara, alone in her truck, blushing and laughing. And thinking for the millionth time how lucky she was to have met… Oh, Jesus, snap out of it. She switched gears.

  “I hate to ask, but was that noise what I think it was?”

  Casey squinted and confessed, trying to sound casual.

  “Yeah, I made five pebbles today.” She knew it was coming. No one, even Mara, seemed to think she could take care of herself. Fuck. Art degree from Pepperdine, she had bought herself the sports car she always wanted. And she was at least halfway through fixing up the ramshackle beachfront house she had inherited from her parents when they moved to their vineyard in Italy and her brother couldn’t be bothered to help resurrect the vacation spot the family had all spent so many summer vacations enjoying. She bought out his share and did it all while working as a bartender in Silver Lake. And she would eventually put together the photography and serigraph business she planned.

  Back to reality.

  “God, I wish you wouldn’t be so friendly with him. It’s really not a good idea.” Mara was a worrier.

  “Aw, he’s harmless. Weird as hell, but harmless.”

  “Maybe, but it’s still a risk. I work around these people every day.”

  Casey said nothing because she knew Mara realized she shouldn’t have said ‘these people’. She heard it in her voice. Actually, they both hated expressions like that, and Mara was just being her protective self. Mara wisely let the subject drop.

  Casey clicked the fireplace starter with a sharp snap and lit two big candles on the mantel.

  Mara continued.

  “Anyway, see you soon.”

  “Don’t speed. I need you in one piece.”

  “You got it… I’ll be careful and fast.”

  Casey laughed.

  “You will be down-shifting big time very soon. HA HA… Bye!”

  Mara paused, choking up. This was hard for her. It was intense and beautiful, but it wasn’t easy.

  Casey looked at her cell. Maybe the battery was down. Did the call drop? Too much concrete at the station?

  “Are you there? Did I lose you?”

  She stared at her phone a second time.

  “Mara?”

  Mara looked down, rubbing her eyebrow with her index finger - her ‘tell’ and a dead giveaway that she was struggling with her emotions.

  “I love you.” Her throat ached, and her voice sounded husky.

  Deeply touched, Casey closed her eyes, tearing up but trying to keep it light.

  “I love you, too… but you’re too far away. Hurry up, and be careful.”

  “I’m already there.”

  A quiet knock on the door and Casey looks up. She turns back to their intimate conversation.

  “Hey you, I gotta go… somebody’s at the door.”

  She listens, smiling, and touches her earring.

  “I know, me too. “Bye. Hurry up. ‘Bye.”

  Chapter 4

  These People

  Casey opened the door and looked puzzled. She found herself staring at a very tall bouquet of blue-purple agapanthus and giant white China mums interspersed with stalks of papyrus being held by a deliveryman. He wore a dark utility jacket, cap and gardening gloves and didn’t seem too much taller than she was, but his head and shoulders were camouflaged by the armful of flowers. His strained voice came from behind the gigantic arrangement.

  “Hi, I got a delivery for Cassandra Ter… Terra… ?”

  Casey smiled. She was used to people struggling with her long Italian name.

  “It’s Terra-nova.”

  She opened the door wider, backing up to let him in. Damn, those must be heavy.

  “Ooh, Lilies of the Nile! Those are just gorgeous… killer color!”

  Delighted, she turned her head to look across the room, gesturing with her cell phone to indicate a spot on the table near the cake and champagne bucket.

  “Wow, they look heavy. You can just put them on the table right near… Okay, something was off here. Her smile disappeared.

  He shoved his way in, mule-kicking the door shut behind him and dumping the flowers on the floor. He unzipped his jacket and yanked it off in one fluid move, ripping a short baton out of the jacket lining where it had been duct-taped.

  Casey’s mouth hung open in shock, her brow tightening.

  “But, wait… What are you doing?”

  She went from wondering if the flowers were from her Dad or Mara to a sick desperate feeling. Oh, Mara, I need you. Baby, please get home quick.

  He extended the baton to its full-length with a whipping sound. His gloves were duct-taped onto his long-sleeved T-shirt at the wrists. A darker, wet V marked the center of his chest.

  On the beach below, a slim figure is silhouetted in the soft light coming from the top floor. Skeezy, a tall, rangy, homeless beach bum, nervously removes his sweatpants, army jacket and shirt and drapes them over a low concrete retaining wall near an outdoor shower.

  Inside, Casey’s shock turns to panic. She backs away as the intruder advances on her. The dark rod-shape whistles in a vicious arc and catches the left side of her head as she tries to turn away. Her silky hair lifts and falls back over her face, a wet spray of blood marking her dress. Her hands come up and her cell phone clatters to the floor. She begins to wail and pant with the pain.

  Below on the beach, Skeezy turns on the water, furtively looking around as he clutches the waistband of his oversize boxer shorts. He steps up onto the thick cedar planks. I’ll feel better, after I get wetter.

  On her way home, Mara drives with one hand, putting Blistex on with the other and smoothing it on her lips with her little finger. The radio is blaring the tail end of a salsa disco hit. She eyes the gifts on the passenger side and smiles.

  The utility jacket is thrown over Casey’s head. She is whipped to the floor with a brutal thud. The intruder ties the sleeves around her throat and grips the ends. Casey claws the air as the rod strikes her forearm and shoul
der. She yelps in pain, her bare legs flailing, shoes off her feet and flapping loosely from their ankle straps.

  Mara driving, leaning her face out the window, hair billowing, feeling the evening breeze. A slow jam bass line buzzes the truck speakers. She sings a couple lines of the lyrics.

  Casey’s muffled crying is horrible to hear. The intruder is agitated and hisses curses under his breath. Casey continues to cry and tries to scrabble away from him, no longer having any sense of direction and struggling to find breath through the dense twill fabric. He makes a sound like a low, clenched feral growl. He speaks in a hoarse whisper.

  “Shut up, you bitch! You’re gonna die.”

  He holds the jacket sleeves tightly around her throat and drags her a few feet, stretching to turn up the volume on the music.

  Skeezy looks up as the music swells from the second floor above him.

  The intruder raises the baton and pauses, hissing at Casey.

  “I told you to shut… the… fuck…up!” He suddenly thought of a line in a movie he liked: “Shut up and no one gets hurt.” The actor guy said it real manly-like. Not really mean, but letting them know who was in charge. Awesome.

  Casey can’t stop crying, and he explodes with rage. He sets the club down and drops to one knee.

  Skeezy turns in place under the shower spray, rubbing his arms and legs with his hands. He runs his hands through his long hair and stringy beard. He shakes his hair and tries to squeeze the water from his beard. Breezy, breezy, getting’ cold on Skeezy. His singsong rhyme seemed to calm him and make him more relaxed, but it was getting late and the wind coming off the water was making him want to get his clothes back on. Creepy, creep, creep, the ocean is deep. Cold I told ya, getting’ cold, sol-jah. He wasn’t a soldier because they kicked him out, but the rhyme was pretty good he thought and it made him happy. And he did still have the khaki fatigue jacket. If it was less filthy, people would have been able to read the name: BURROUGHS. His regular name was Franklin but nobody ever said that, except Casey. Oh, that’s right… he had ripped it off and put it inside the pocket, which also had Velcro. Pretty funny. The fuzzy strip was still there keeping the place though. Velcro Burroughs, Burroughs Velcro. Rippy, rippy riptide. It’s about an inch wide. See, everything rhymes if you concentrate.