An Unacceptable Death - Barbara Seranella (3 page)

"
Even better than that. I've got a silver bullet
for you. A magic password."

She opened the door for herself and he followed.
"Does it involve clicking my heels together three times and
saying 'There's no place like home'?" She glanced at the bikers,
but none of them were familiar.

"
The dude trying to revamp the chapter is who we
go after. His name is Peter Donner. You might have known him as
Petey."

"
Tall guy?" Munch asked. "Black hair,
blue eyes?" Munch opened her trunk and Rico put away the bags.

"
So you knew him?"

"
Yeah, he thought he was God's gift to women."
Actually, Ellen knew him a lot better. She said he was nothing
special in the sack. Pretty boys rarely were, figuring they were
doing you a favor being with you, and therefore you should do all the
work.

Rico lowered his voice, speaking softly so that his
next words reached only her. "Five years ago, he gave us
information that helped bust some Mongols on a murder beef."

"
Isn't that supposed to be, like, confidential?
When someone snitches?"

Rico shrugged. "If two people know a secret, it
isn't a secret."

Munch nodded. Someone always blabbed. It was human
nature.

"
So, we, like, blackmail him?"

Rico nodded. "The Mongols' lawyer knew there was
an informant. He was also privy to the informant's code name, but not
his identity."

"
What was his code name?"

"
The Desert Fox."

"
Oh, please. Someone tell this guy to get over
himself."

"
I think Petey would very much like to keep that
information from reaching certain people."

"
So we let him know that if something happens to
me, his cover will be blown. What's to stop us from dropping a dime
on him now?"

"
We want him in charge, so we can control the
threat to you."

Munch put her arms around Rico's waist and pulled him
to her. He didn't resist. "Did anyone ever tell you that you can
be very sneaky?"

He smiled and kissed her. "Maybe once or twice."

"
How do we get the word to ol' Petey baby?"

"
You leave that part to me."

"
You're so good to me." Without her usual
sarcastic edge, the words caught mid-throat—it was the unexpected
truth of them. How did she ever get so lucky?

"
This is what it's all about." Rico cupped
her face in his hands, smoothing back the skin under her eyes with
his thumbs. "I'm your man, of course I'm going to take care of
you. You'd do the same for me."

Again, a concept that was alien to Munch, a lover
being a help instead of a complication. "You're not making out
so good on this bar gain," she said. "I've got more baggage
than the average bear."

"
Don't worry about it." He kissed the top
of her head. "I've done my share of shit, too. just remember,
when it comes down to it, it's you and me and the kids."

"
Jasper, too."

"
Yeah," Rico said, "he's covered under
the kid category?

"
Will I see you later?"

"
I don't know. I'II call if I get a chance."

They kissed once more and then he was gone.
 
 

CHAPTER FOUR

JASPER FELL OFF THE BED AND WOKE MUNCH UP. It
surprised her. She always expected animals to be sure-footed and
agile, much the way she expected Native Americans to have keen
vision. But the reality was she'd met several nearsighted Indians and
shared her bed with a clumsy cocker spaniel.

She got up and pulled on her Texaco uniform. Dawn was
just breaking as she retrieved her newspaper. The neighborhood was
quiet, giving her the illusion that she had the world to herself.
There wasn't anything earth-shattering on the front page. She checked
out her horoscope, read some of her favorite comics, and was just
turning to the obituaries when there was a knock at the door,
sounding louder than normal. Munch looked at the clock, confirming
what she already knew. It was too early for good news.

She glanced out the front window on her way to answer
the door. Her caller was Mace St. John. He was dressed for work or
court in a dark suit. St. John was a homicide detective with the West
Los Angeles division of the LAPD. He was also Asia's godfather. Munch
had met him in a Venice biker bar when he came to arrest her for the
murder of her pimp father, Flower George. That had been nine years
and another life ago. The event that marked the beginning of their
friendship also heralded her sobriety from drugs and alcohol. And,
like many of her adventures in the bad old days, it began in a biker
dive and ended in a police station.

Those times were behind her, yet always a part of
her. The Program had taught her not to dwell nor shut the door on the
past. Embrace the lessons. Remember.

She reached for the doorknob with her left hand,
noticing as she always did the faint white scar along the vein that
stretched from her wrist to the crook of her arm. Needle marks.
Tracks of a right-handed junkie. She'd forever remember that.

"
It doesn't look like I woke you," St. John
said. He reached for her elbow and held it. This close, even at a
stooped five feet ten inches, he towered over her own five feet. She
looked into his face. The bags under his eyes seemed more pronounced.
He had nicked himself shaving and completely missed a small triangle
of whiskers on his chin.

"
What's wrong?" she asked.

"
I don't have all the details," he said.
"It's Rico, honey."

She wanted him to stop right there, to give her
another few seconds of happiness before he delivered his news.

"
I'm sorry," St. John said. "I got the
call this morning."

Munch fought the urge to shut the door in his face.

He still held her arm. "The details are
sketchy."

"
Wait," she said, but he didn't hear her.
Maybe she hadn't spoken out loud.

"
Honey," St. John said, "Rico is
dead."

Something went click inside her. Maybe it was her
light switch turning off. She wondered if her heart had stopped, that
would explain the sharp pain.
No
.
She tried to say the word out loud, but it wouldn't come. She twisted
out of St. John's grip and left him standing at the door.

This couldn't be right. She and Rico were in love.
They were going to get married. That was the plan. Happily ever
after, just like the movies.

The throw blanket on the couch was askew. That was
all wrong, too. She shook it out and refolded it; her hands jerked at
the task, but she couldn't slow them down.

Asia would have to be told. Munch would hold her out
of school today. She'd have to call Lou, her boss at the Texaco
station, and explain—

"
Munch?" St. John's voice.

She scooted the couch closer to the wall, the lamp on
the end table wobbled. St. John caught it before it fell.

"
I have to do things," she said.

"
Let me help; what do you need?"

"
I don't know. I can't think. Wait. I told you
to wait." She wanted to hit his face, scratch his eyes out, make
him bleed.

He tried to grab her arm again, but she pulled back.
"Waiting won't change the facts," he said.

"
God forbid we change any facts." She heard
the hysterical lilt to her voice, but didn't seem to have any control
over volume or tone. Focus, she thought. Deep breath. God, it hurt to
breathe.

St. John patted the couch. "Here, sit."

"
I can't." There were details to see to.
The realtor would have to be called. She'd withdraw the offer on the
new house, stay where she could afford the payments alone.

Alone. The word had an echo to it. And why was she
thinking about money now? What kind of a cold-blooded monster was
she? She didn't need to ask St. John if he was sure. He wouldn't be
here otherwise. When, how, why? None of that was important either,
but he was probably expecting her to ask.

Why would she need to know any of the details? None
of those answers would change the fact that Rico was gone, forever.
An image of Rico smiling at her floated before her eyes. It was
something she would never see again except in her dreams.

Maybe if she went back to sleep? You're not making
sense, she scolded herself.

"
Oh, God, please." She heard the words as
she spoke them. She didn't recognize her voice, it was too high,
almost otherworldly. Her neck ached, her throat, her chest, but the
tears wouldn't release. Tears would help. She"d read that
somewhere.

St. John followed her around the room. She fended him
off with outstretched hands. She should never have answered the door.

"
Caroline's on her way over."

Munch blinked at him, not understanding for a moment
the meaning of his words or what they had to do with anything.
Caroline, Mace's wife, was Munch's former probation officer and
Asia's godmother.

St. John rubbed the back of his neck. "You want
me to call anyone else?"

Munch massaged her forehead in an effort to get her
brain to work. A question needed answering. "His daughter,
Angelica. She lives with his ex-wife." Angelica was going to be
devastated. She loved her daddy. They all loved her daddy.

"
Someone's going to the house," St. John
said gently. "I know you go to work early and I didn't want you
hearing about it on the radio."

They had arrived in the kitchen. She looked down at
the table where the "Metro" section of the Times was spread
open. "It wasn't in the paper," she said stupidly, feeling
as if she were underwater and pedaling desperately for the surface.

"
Not yet," he said. "And I meant is
there anyone you want me to call for you?"

Munch thought of her AA sponsor, Ruby. Ruby would
want her to go to a meeting and "share her feelings." She
wasn't up to sharing shit. The last thing she wanted now was another
dose of reality.

"
No. There's no one."

What next? She crossed the thin carpet of her living
room toward the nook she used as her office, thinking to grab a pen
and paper, start a list.

Her eyes refused to focus. The lined pad before her
remained blank. She clutched at her scalp, pulling her
shoulder-length light-brown hair as if she might literally draw out
the needed answers. She thought of the expression "pulling out
her hair" and wondered with  detachment if this very sort
of action/reaction was the origin of that phrase.

Make a note, idiot.

The teapot whistled. She went back into the kitchen
and turned off the flame. She didn't want to be more awake. St. J0hn
stood in the doorway.

"
You want some coffee?"

"
You got any decaf?"

He'd given up caffeinated coffee after his heart
attack over a year ago.

"
No, sorry. Strictly leaded."

"
That's all right," he said. He looked
uncomfortable. She didn't know what she was supposed to do now
either.

"
Help yourself to whatever," she said. "I
need to hit the head."

He nodded. His sad eyes waited.

She went into the bathroom. Jasper followed her. She
closed the door gently behind them, crossed to the sink, and opened
the cold water tap.

Now
, the voice in her head
urged,
do it now.

She slumped to the floor, covered her face with both
hands, and sobbed. Jasper came to her. He was shivering, upset by her
emotion. She hugged him to her and cried into his fur, staying that
way until there was a soft knock at the front door, and she knew the
world was about to intrude.

Rico was dead and it was all her fault. Her universe
was divided into two time zones—before and after this terrible
news, and the inescapable fact: If he had never met her, he would
probably still be alive.
 
 

CHAPTER FIVE

CAROLINE ST.JOHN VOLUNTEERED TO TAKE ASIA TO school.
Munch had found it surprisingly easy to act as if nothing had
happened. Asia accepted the St. Johns's presence without question,
relieving Munch of the necessity of lying—a skill that came back
all too easily when she needed it.

She kissed Asia good-bye and then returned to the
kitchen, where St. John was working on his second cup of herbal tea.

"
You'll be getting some calls today," he
said. "The criminal investigation team will want to interview
you, and a few guys from IA."

IA. Internal Affairs. The cops who policed the cops.

"
IA? What's that about?" Munch asked. She
grabbed for the box of Raisin Bran, then realized she wasn't the
least bit hungry and put it back on the shelf.

"
They investigate all officer-involved
shootings." St. John looked uncomfortable. "Just be
up-front with them. You have nothing to hide, right?"