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Sunday, February 26, 2017

You only live once...but if you do it right, once is enough!.... Mae West

For Tuyet, Katrina, KaSandra, and Luc

Father Hollyweird
Chapter Fourteen

Baxter Stairway, Los Angeles…December 4
        Officers Perez and Kingman climbed back into their black and white. It was 7:15am and their shift would end on the drive back to the stationhouse. Neither was looking forward to the hour or so of paperwork required before clocking out, a part of the job that was a universal drag among the rank and file. Officer Bix Kingman yawned as he strapped himself into the passenger seat. Rubbing his eyes with one hand he reached over and grabbed the radio mic with the other and informed dispatch that they were on the move.
“Man, I’m beat!” exclaimed Sgt. Perez through a yawn of his own.
        Ray Perez put the Crown Royal into gear and sped off down Avon toward Ward and Hollenbeck Station. He covered his face to mask another deep yawn. It had been a long night of mostly just standing around while the detectives and the CSI techs did their thing at the murder scene. Ray was looking forward to a hot cup of bad coffee back at the house. He glanced over at Bix who had returned the mic to the radio and slumped back into his seat. The big rookie leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“Did you ever think about going for a gold shield and becoming a detective?” he asked Ray out of the blue.
Ray thought about that and rubbed and at his five o’clock shadow before answering. “Once or twice I guess. I’m pretty sure that most patrol officers wonder about it off and on,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“Yeah well you know what usually happens to curious cats don’t you,” Ray replied making a slashing motion across his throat.
Bix chuckled, “Okay, ‘nuff’ said I guess,” he replied.
        They drove in silence until they hopped on the 10 Freeway for the last leg home. Bix was resting his eyes but still alert, he hadn’t dozed off yet. Keeping his eyes closed he broke the silence, “I think I’d like to be a detective one day,” he announced nonchalantly.
“You’ve put a lot of thought into that have you rookie?” Ray asked sarcastically.
“Actually I have,” Bix answered opening his eyes and sitting up straight. “My whole family is in law enforcement in one way or another. Mom and Pop want me to follow my older brother’s lead and go to law school and work for the District Attorney’s Office. ‘It’s safer baby my Mom says,’ she’s always worrying about me being out here in the shit.”
“Yep, Moms are like that,” Ray replied as he changed lanes to come alongside a young lady talking on her cell phone. He gave her a warning stare and she tossed her phone into the back seat and gave Ray a guilt ridden smile.
“Why haven’t you gone for a Detective shield? I mean what keeps you on the streets anyway?” Bix asked.
Ray didn’t hesitate to answer, “The action rookie, I’m an adrenalin junkie. Detectives do way too much paperwork to suit me, and from what I’ve seen sit on their asses too long yacking on the phone,” he answered with a big grin.
Bix snorted a reply with a not so subtle warning, “Yeah well most junkies OD eventually, I’m just saying.”
“I already have a mother thank you very much!” snapped Ray Perez, his mood changing quickly.
Bix held up his hands as if to surrender, “Sorry, not my business,” he replied, turning in his seat to look out his window and avoid exacerbating whatever had set off his training officer.
“You’re goddamn right it’s not! So let’s just drop it and relax the rest of the way back to the house. That okay with you?” Ray said through clenched teeth.
“Roger that boss, this is me zipping my lip,” replied Bix quickly.
        The two officers drove the rest of the way in dead silence, each of them secretly wishing they could take back that last few minutes. Partners are like that, especially police officers. No relationship is ‘spat free’, people are people eventually they say or do the wrong thing. Cops see each other at their best and at their worst, often times in extremely tense situations. And because they place their very lives in the hands of the person riding next to them there has to be a bond of trust that goes beyond that of even a marriage. Any less than that could prove fatal.

Hollenbeck Station, Los Angeles…December 4…8:00am
        Wally Price stood near the rear entrance of the squad room sipping on a mug of coffee that had already began to cool. He had been waiting impatiently for Ray and Bix to return from their shift. He checked his Timex, it was after eight o’clock and they should have been back by now. He was about to get dispatch to contact them when he spotted the two officers appeared through the wired glass of the heavy door.  They barged into the room and were met with an icy stare that neither of them was expecting this early in the morning.
“Long night fellas?” Lt. Price asked sarcastically.
”Something wrong LT?” Ray Perez answered, visibly startled by Lieutenant’s presence.
Lt. Wally Price glared at them without responding, it was making Bix sweat nervously. Ray just sighed and waited, he was used to the new Lieutenant’s mannerisms. Actually he was a pretty good leader, his bark worse than his bite. Ray was just tired and he hated it when a boss dragged out an ass chewing. After an uncomfortable minute Lt. Price moved away from the counter and stood toe to toe with Sgt. Ray Perez, towering over him with his six foot four inch frame.
“What I want to know officers is which one of you two is feeding Whitey Roode information about the crispy kiddies’ case,” he asked, his gaze alternating between the two officers.
“What are you talking about? Neither one of us is talking to that PI. Hell, Bix here hasn’t been here long enough even know who Whitey is anyway,” Ray answered, his tone slightly defiant.
“Look LT, if you think there’s a leak you should hit up Detective Ingram, I hear he and Roode go way back,” Ray added, not bothering to hide his irritation.
        Price relaxed a bit and considered Ray’s response. That did make more sense and nobody at this precinct knew of his own connection to Whitey Roode and Iggie Ingram for that matter. For now he’d play it cool as he stepped back to give Sgt. Price his personal space back. He held out his thick paw and offered to shake Ray Perez’ hand, he accepted.
“Sorry Sargent, chalk it up to an especially shitty morning. As soon as I walked in the door at 7am I started taking crap, first from the Mayor’s office and then from the Arch Diocese. Both of them up demanding status reports on our investigation of that murder suicide of the young mother and child burned alive outside the Egyptian Theater,” Price explained apologetically.
“So what’s the PI have to do with all of this?” Bix asked, relaxing.
Lt. Price answered with a frown, “His Honor the Mayor hates that guy! He’s been the butt of many a joke around town about being made a fool of by an ex-cop turned gumshoe who seems to be one step ahead of the LAPD on several high profile cases since he was kicked off the force. He called Chief Celeya who also loathes the rat bastard and wanted to know why Roode was poking his big nose in LAPD business, who he was talking to him from inside, and what we were going to do about it short of shooting him.”
Ray grinned and spoke up quickly, “Say the word LT and we’ll haul him in directly. You can quiz him yourself.”
Price snickered as he conjured up an image of Whitey getting grilled in the interrogation room by the Chief and the Mayor. Now that would be a hoot, he’d even buy a ticket for that show. Why not he thought. “Good idea Perez, consider yourself approved for a little OT. Take your partner there and bring me a gumshoe for breakfast.”
Ray rolled his eyes, he was tired and just wanted to go home to his wife and kids. “Seriously LT, can’t you send another unit, Bix and I have already pulled a double shift,” he whined.
“This won’t take long men, Whitey is a creature of habit. It’s Friday, that means he’s at the Nickel Diner downtown on 5th Street. He’ll be pigging out on bacon donuts and coffee until 9 or 10, so you’ll have no trouble picking him up. Tell him I sent you,” Lt Price said reassuringly.
“What makes you so sure about that LT?” Ray asked.
“Just bring him in and I’ll tell you all about it later,” Price snapped as he brushed past Sgt. Perez and headed back to his office.
“Weird,” Bix said, watching the lieutenant turn the corner and disappear.
“I’ll say,” replied Ray Perez. He pulled out the car keys and tossed them to his partner. “Let’s go rookie, you drive.”
“First time for everything son. Try not to kill us on the way,” Ray answered, walking past Bix and out the door to the motor pool.

Thursday, December 31, 2015

"Faithless love will find you and the misery entwine you. Faithless love, where did I go wrong..."

For Tuyet, Katrina, KaSandra, and Luc

Father Hollyweird
Chapter Thirteen

Los Angeles Mission, East 5th Street…Dec 4, 1:30pm

             Patricia Cromwell, Sister Pat, dried her soapy hands with a gingham dishtowel in the kitchen. She had just finished the dishes from the lunch rush and it was time to take her own meal with the other volunteers in the dining hall. There were only a handful of people sharing the large room as only the faithful dared chow down on leftovers here. Most of the crew and that included members of the clergy preferred to venture out into the city rather than take their chances on these table scraps. She couldn’t blame them, the vow of poverty didn’t mean that one had to risk their lives for goodness sake. The nun pieced together a modest and healthy lunch consisting largely of salad greens and veggies and piled it onto a clean white Corel dish. She placed the dish and a cup of hot tea onto a heavy plastic tray and walked out into the hall to find an empty table. She was feeling a tad pensive today and preferred to eat alone in silence with her thoughts.
            Sister Pat liked coming here, it gave her a chance to get out of her routines at the Church as well as at the mother’s shelter and still serve God. She had been volunteering at the mission since the early 80’s, back when the LA Mission was over on Los Angeles Street. She enjoyed working with the wide variety of volunteers from all walks of life, especially the young people. They helped to keep her young at heart and she liked hearing their unique and individual perspectives about the world and their neighborhoods. Truth be told she enjoyed seeing the secular world through their eyes and unbeknownst to them existed vicariously alongside them through their stories and experiences. She had no regrets about her choice to serve God and the Holy Church, but once in a while she enjoyed stepping outside of herself and indulge her imagination. Even Nuns and Priests were susceptible to playing the ‘what if’ game sometimes, after all they were humans as well.
            Sister Pat sat in silence and picked at her food. Her stomach was still tied in knots and her mind spinning from the letter she received yesterday. It was waiting for her in the office and she had retrieved it after evening prayers. She remembered how strange it felt to receive an actual letter in the era of emails and texts. It was rare to receive anything but bills and junk mail. Yes, nuns have lives too, nobody is safe from spam and the government. Curious though, she had no family and her small circle of friends lived with her at the convent. So outside of an occasional Christmas or Easter card the only mail she received were a few bills, notices from the government at tax time and communiques from the Diocese Personnel Office. So this letter intrigued her and she was hesitant to open it straight away. She knew it was silly, she had nothing to be nervous or afraid of, her mundane life revolved around her devotion to her faith. Still there was something foreboding about the mysterious letter. Perhaps the absence of a return address had something to do with it, curious. So summoning her courage and calming herself she finally opened envelope and removed the one page letter.
            Sitting on the edge of the twin bed in her small room she opened the letter finally. It was from a young man whom she had counseled not so very long ago. The letter was handwritten in a pleasant cursive style which she thought unusual for a man. His name was Alex, a parishioner she recognized as the only son of a wealthy family from Bel Air. Sister Pat tried to visualize the parents but they were shadows in her memory, only the boy stood out. She had seen so many children over the years at the Church but this one had one of those faces that you never forget. He was cute as a button as a toddler with a head full of white blonde hair fashioned in a Dutch Boy style, with eyes of a crystal blue. She had watched him grow up over the years as the family regularly attended Sunday Mass. He had come to her suffering from a broken heart.
Apparently a girl had left him for reasons that she never gave. Sister Pat recalled that he had been nearly inconsolable and she felt frightened as well for some reason. It didn’t take long for Sister Pat to connect him to the subject of Father Quinn’s documentary film, Megan Mallory, a fact that she never shared with the priest. She had wanted to but Alex had begged her to keep it secret until he had time to think, time to get over her. When she eventually asked him if he were the father of Megan’s baby he went pale. Sullenly he had claimed that he didn’t even know that Megan was with child and then suddenly stormed out of the session without an explanation. That was their last session together, Sister Pat never saw him again, neither at the clinic nor at the Church. Now this letter so many months later. Sister Pat took the spectacles hanging from a chain around her neck and placed them onto the bridge of her sharp Roman nose. The letter was short:

“Sister please forgive my childish behavior at our last session and my absence since then. I had much to deal with and much to investigate. You should know that I loved Megan dearly and that I was under the impression that she felt likewise. Her rejection and the news of her pregnancy was a shock to say the least. Nothing she did coincided with everything that she had said to me and her condition was a complete blow to me as well as we had never engaged in relations together, even though the likelihood of that was how we met, she being a come of age gift from my father. Megan’s senseless death and the horrific details compelled me to ferret out the circumstances that led her to her tragic decision. I went to my father and confronted him about what I had come to suspect was the cause of her depression and guilt. Naturally he was upset but more than that he was, I don’t know, cold is the best term for his reaction. It scared me. I need to talk to you about this, can we meet? I need help deciding what to do next. Call the cell number below as soon as you can. Thanks…Alex”
She had read the letter several times before falling asleep. In the morning after Mass she had gone to the office and called the number. At first there was no answer and a computer voice explained that the user’s voice mailbox was full. Frustrated she tried again only this time someone picked up on the other end only it wasn’t Alex, it was the police. Sister Pat had hung up without answering and started to worry. That was the inspiration for the pensive mood she’s been in all day, the mood she continued to be in now. Staring past her lunch she continued time traveling in a reflective state as she pondered Alex’s whereabouts. Suddenly her pensive trance was broken.
“Good day Sister,” spoke the soft familiar voice.
Startled Sister Pat involuntarily pushed her lunch tray away and sat up straight as if she were caught cheating on a quiz in school. It was a reflex action but she recovered her composure and slowly turned her head to confirm her recognition of the voice. She smiled when she saw Father Quinn’s face, things would be alright now she thought.
“Hello Father,” she replied as the priest joined her taking a seat across from her at the otherwise empty lunch table. Father Quinn folded his hands on the tabletop, glanced at the full tray of food and studied the nun’s face for a moment. Her expression was more than meek, she had the look of someone who had left the confessional with unfinished business.
“You’ve hardly touched your meal Sister, what’s troubling you my dear?”
Sister Pat fidgeted nervously and answered the priest in a small voice, “I’m frightened Father,” she replied.
“I can see that you’re troubled about something, how might I help you?”
“I’m not frightened for myself Father, you see I am afraid for someone else. It’s a little hard to explain.”
“I see. Well now, try taking a breath and give it a go. An act of contrition can heal most pensive moods.”
“Perhaps Father, but I must admit that there a matter of a small confession involved.”
“How fortunate you are that I happened by then,” Father Quinn replied with a reassuring smile.
“I suppose so Father, by the way why are you here anyway?”
“I was meeting with the Mission Director about increasing the donation from the Diocese next year.”
“Oh alright, anyway, what I have to confess involves the Mallory girl and her child you see,” said Sister Pat.
Father Quinn willed himself to remain calm and nonplussed by her comment, “I see, go on dear,” he said evenly.
The nun leaned forward slightly as if what she were about to say was not to be overheard by anyone, “Father there is something that I never shared with you about the girl. Something that I know now that I should have,” she said in a hushed voice.
The priest’s face revealed none of the inner turmoil he was experiencing at the moment. More surprises regarding Megan Mallory was the last thing he wanted to deal with, “Alright then, so what is it you have to share about that poor child?”
“As you recall Megan refused to reveal the identity of the father of her baby.”
“Yes, I am aware of that, why is that a concern to you now?”
“I may know who that person is, or rather I may know someone who can tell us who that person is.”
“And how did you come to know this mysterious someone?”
“That is my confession Father. You see while you were tending to Megan and making your film I was counseling a young man who may have been an intimate acquaintance of the girl.”
“You mean the father of her child?”
“No Father, not intimate in that way, at the time they were together they remained pure.”
Father Quinn chortled involuntarily, “So this child she carried was an immaculate conception? Is that what you’re insinuating?”
“No, of course not Father, I’m merely saying that the two of them were apparently an item up until the time that she abruptly left him and subsequently arrived at our doorstep in dire straits.”
Father Quinn pondered this a moment, this revelation would certainly eliminate him as a suspect in the girl’s demise, he should feel relieved but he did not and that concerned him. There must be more to this, he pressed the nun further, “Why are you only now coming forward with this information Sister?”
Sister Pat paused a second or two and bit at her lips like a nervous child before answering. “I received a disturbing letter from the young man yesterday, he wants to meet with me and talk. He left a phone number for me to contact him but when I called the police answered,” Sister Pat explained.
“The police?” replied Father Quinn.
“Yes father, the police. I don’t know how else to reach this boy without going to his family, and the letter left me with the impression that that may not be a good idea.”
“Do you know them personally?”
“Not exactly, I know who they are. They are not actually parishioners but they attend Mass from time to time.”
“Odd, what did the letter say that would leave you with that impression?”
“Nothing specific, it’s just that the young man stated that he confronted his father and that statement made me uncomfortable.”
“I see, what is the boy’s name?”
“Alex Father, Alex Whembly,” answered Sister Pat. Father Quinn flinched and it did not go unnoticed by the nun.
“I know that name, Detective Roode mentioned him the other day,” the priest said as he searched his memory of that conversation.
“Who is Detective Roode?” asked the nun.
“Nobody you need to concern yourself with Sister. Do you have that letter with you?”
“No Father, it is back at the convent.”
“May I have a look at it?
“Why? Do you think that it’s important?”
“I’m not sure but I’d like to share it with this detective, it may help him to close out this suspicion of me by the police and frankly the Church as well.”
“Of course Father. Do you think this detective can find out where young Alex has gone to? I’d feel so much better to know that he is safe and sound.”
“Quite possibly Sister, quite possibly. Let’s pop over to the convent and retrieve that letter and I’ll contact Mr. Roode.” The nun stood and grabbed her untouched lunch, “Roode, that’s an odd name don’t you think,” remarked Sister Pat.
“Not once you’ve the man Sister,” Father Quinn replied chuckling.
“Dear me,” said Sister Pat.
“Quite,” replied Father Quinn.

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