Hinky (12)

There came three heavy knocks at Yates’ door; the same three loud reports that had issued from Yates’ Beretta in Connie’s hands. Yates rolled out of bed and pounded three times on his side of the door in response.

“L.A.P.D.! Open up!,” was the return volley from the other side.

“L.A.P.D., go away!” He knew it was Horvath and saw no need to make it easy for him.

“Are you out of your mind?” Horvath yelled at him.

Yates opened the door and went to make coffee. Horvath came in closing the door behind him.

“What do you want?” Yates asked with an obvious lack of curiosity about the answer.

“What aren’t you telling me about Raymond Sloan?” Horvath sat on the Goodwill sofa and gave Yates a look indicating he expected an answer.

“Here’s a better question,” Yates replied without looking up from his coffee maker. “What do you know about Raymond Sloan that you’re not telling me?”

Horvath wasn’t prepared for this and he lost his momentum.

“Swear to God, Yates, I’m here doing you a favor.”

“Then do me the favor and get out,” Yates said pouring a cup of coffee for himself and ignoring that Horvath might want some.

“There’s something about the Sloan case that’s out of bounds. I want to know if you’re in the know.”

Yates sat down in his recliner and said, “I haven’t been in the know since I left the Marines.” He raised his cup to Horvath and said, “Semper fi.”

Horvath heaved a sigh and leaned back on the sofa in resignation. Yates slurped his coffee in a deliberate attempt to irritate him. He didn’t want Horvath making a morning of it.

“Sloan wasn’t his real name,” Horvath barked after he could take no more of Yates’ slurping.

“Imagine that,” replied laconically.

“You wanna guess what his real name was?”

“Not really and if you don’t tell me soon you’ll be talking to an empty room.” Yates swallowed the last of his coffee and walked to the sink to rinse his cup.

“How about Jessie Joe Patterson?”

Yates felt the same reaction as he had in his dream when Connie shot him in the chest except that he didn’t black out. He stared at Horvath long enough to decide he was telling the truth.

“Who else knows?”

Horvath laughed derisively, “You fuckin’ idiot! Everyone knows!”

More to follow...

(c) 2006 Stephen Mitchell

Hinky (11)

Yates motored his twenty-five foot Venture out of the marina before raising the mainsail and jib and heading south towards Baja. There was a good breeze and he liked feeling the wind in the sail. Connie was storing provisions below. Her presence came as a surprise to Yates as they hadn’t talked much since Yates violated her husband’s parole and she was forced to go back to work at the Jet Strip near LAX. She handed him up an open bottle of Corona and went back to putting away the groceries.

There were only a few other sailboats on the ocean given that it was a week day and no motorboats creating chop. The Venture sliced through the water at speed made good and Yates relaxed. Passing the moored tankers off El Segundo, Yates experienced euphoria uncommon to him. His usual frame of mind was that of mentally bracing for an impact. Through the hatch, he saw that Connie had removed her clothes but hadn’t bothered to put on a bathing suit. She was humming a compilation of Sarah McLachlan songs, not that Yates could have identified them.

The heat from the morning sun relaxed him and he felt his tensions melting away. He took off his shirt and threw it aside. He took off the rest of his clothes and enjoyed the sun’s warmth on his body. Connie blew him a kiss. He wondered why he didn’t spend more time on the boat; it seemed to change him and it obviously had an effect on Connie as well. It was good to get away even if he couldn’t remember what he was getting away from. Connie got his attention by rubbing sunscreen all over her body in preparation for joining him at the helm. Yes! he thought to himself.

It was then that something gave Yates an involuntary start. His gun. It wasn’t on him when he’d removed clothes. Yates always carried his gun or knew its whereabouts whenever it wasn’t on his person. Had he left it under the seat in his car? Firearms, even for vacationing L.A.P.D. personnel, were prohibited in Mexico, but that hadn’t stopped him from bringing his nine millimeter with him in the past.

Yates looked up to see Connie standing in the hatch opening. Her naked body glistened in the sun; so did his Beretta which she aimed at his chest. She fired three rounds into him in rapid succession and the last thing Yates thought before blacking out was he’d sold the Venture years ago to a retired insurance salesman from San Luis Obispo.

Then he woke up.

More to follow...

(c) 2006 Stephen Mitchell