Don Scribner’s Blog Actor, Screenwriter, Songwriter, Singer

short rewrite and more of the book

“You think that was funny?”

“No, I didn’t.  That was another prayer.”

“That’s how it happened.”  Allie’s entire face took on a grimace of pain and her head circled as if trying to free itself from the neck with the mouth so wide trying to push forward a breathless moan that finally materialized but ended in seconds.  “She was trying to stop me.  I wasn’t trying to shoot her.”

How it happened?  Stop what?  My urge to interrupt was huge, but listening prevailed, however it was difficult because Allie seemed to transform into a face of hatred directed at me.  But, I did my very best to remain calm.  I needed her to need me.

Just as quickly she put the gun under her chin and repeated her words.  “I wasn’t trying to kill her!”  At that second she pulled the barrel forward and pointed it at me again.  “But, I’m going to kill you.  It’s all your fault.  You think you can just use and abuse someone’s love and then destroy it, huh Taker?  That’s you, The Taker.”  She exhaled another deep breath.  “Nothing to say?”  Her volume increased with each word.  “Talk to me!  Say something.”  She caught herself and almost whispered a plea.  “Beg.”

“I can’t beg, but, I am sorry if my actions caused you pain.  I am truly sorry.”

The ringing of my phone stopped everything.  We just stared at each other as if spell bound until Allie commanded.  “Put it on speaker and answer it.”  I obeyed.

It was Whitey but I answered formally.  “This is Harley.”

There was a pause before his response.  “Didn’t think you’d be home.  You alright?”

“I’m fine.”  It would have been nice to add that there was a pistol pointed at my head.

“You sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“Only fools are positive.”

“Yeah, and your mother raised one.  What’d you need fool?”

“We’re going to have to make that beer some other time.  I’m so goddamn tired I could eat a horse.”

“Try the witch’s tit.”

“Okay fool, I’ll dream about it.  Catch you tomorrow unless you need me to drink.”

“Tomorrow.”  I hung up and looked at Allie for confirmation that I handled it all right.

Her head tilted a touch as if she were trying to figure it out.  “One of your friends yes?  Patsy said you have too many friends.  She hated that about you… called them thieves of  time.  I liked that they stole time from the two of you and hated that she hated it.”  Allie seemed to soften again as she appeared to study my reaction.  It was all in my upper cheeks…a miniscule twitch.

It was easy to read her honesty and loss.  She sounded almost vacant.  But, I was quickly pushed back into the situation when she backed up to the counter, grabbed her vodka and downed it.  I began to stand until she motioned me back to the sofa.  “You just stay put.  If I want another drink I’ll make it.”

She made a guttural sound as if there was such an alcohol pleasure with her swallow.  Then she placed her hand in the front of her jeans.  “Does this bother you… me touching myself?”

I shook my head no and explained.  “We touch ourselves all the time and no one says anything or thinks it’s wrong until we do it with our intimates.”

“You’re so fucking good aren’t you?  I know what you’re doing… you’re a councilor…  You listen… like a shrink.  You get me to talk.  You didn’t even ask me about when I said she wasn’t murdered.  That must be killing you… pardon the pun.”

“I have no control over your choices.  You want to talk you talk.  You want to shoot you shoot.”

Allie’s face contorted in apparent pain and she wailed.  “I don’t know anymore.  I don’t know.  I want to talk but there’s no one to talk to.  I told her I loved her and she said it just couldn’t work… she was only interested in men.  I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”  Her eyes were filled with tears, as she seemed to search mine for answers.  “I don’t know what I thought I don’t know what I think.  I don’t know anything anymore.”

My response was a raspy whisper.  “I don’t either.”

“My father said I robbed him of his whimsy.”

Oh my God what a profound comment tagged with a remarkable word that must have become a dagger to that poor girl.  That pissed me off to such an extent that I had to react, and jump up and shout I did.  “That was a rotten fucking thing for him to say!”  Allie was startled but did not point the gun and suddenly I was on a roll of heartfelt spontaneity.  “What a beautiful word, whimsy, yet you felt it’s cutting edges and carried it deep inside for what, years?”  She was completely attentive.  “You didn’t rob anyone of anything.  How old were you when he said that?”

“Ten.”

My head was shaking sadly and I mouthed, “Ten.”

Allie was fighting back tears.  “He wanted a boy.  That’s why he divorced my mother.  I didn’t have the tools for enough macho.  I was glad to see him go.  He was right, we were never on the same page.

I thought it best to listen

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The detective in the car was one of the guys from the interview with Robbie and recognized me immediately.  He had a picture of Alvina on his dashboard.  I asked him how long he was going to be there and he said probably all night.  I told him I’d bring him coffee in a couple of hours.  He told me not to forget the donut.  I promised him I would and he clicked his tongue as he shot a finger up in the air towards Missey’s.  I turned just in time to see her closing her curtains and gave him a thumbs up and walked toward home.  I made a quick stop and grabbed a few donuts from the grocery store.  I like to believe my word is my bond and sitting in a car watching for danger deserved appreciation.

Carrying donuts and thinking about murder could be defined as one of life’s little complexities and I didn’t like it.  There was nothing sweet about it and I prayed that Allie was picked up immediately.  What was this whole thing about?  Does killing somehow balance the unhappiness scale?  I dashed across Ventura Boulevard, crossed Ventura Place into the alleyway of my apartment and opened the metal gate near the dumpster.  Dorothy’s light was on and I thought about asking her about Allie.  I believed she had met her, but decided against it.  Why bring a negative into her life.  I just grabbed the rail and proceeded up the stairs feeling heavier with each step.  I’d become one of the guys dads warn their daughters about.  ‘Don’t hang around him.  I don’t care if he’s a nice guy… he’s trouble.’  Well, I am trouble and I can’t talk my way out of it.

The smell of cinnamon stopped me at the door.  I looked around to see if I could tell where it was coming from before realizing I was holding it.  Cinnamon donuts.  How quickly we forget.  I looked around at the courtyard, which was surprisingly lit by the unusually clear sky, a host of stars and a half moon… another beautiful Los Angeles evening.  I poked the key into the slot by rote, set the donuts on the desk and moved the mouse to open my computer screen and sat down to watch the picture of the leaf bending as the drop of moisture inches down ready to fall.  At that very moment a voice sounded.  “Looks peaceful.”

I let out a yelp as I spun around.

It was the short mustached cowboy from The Ranch… the guy that leaned into me… the one that Missey thought was gay.   He was standing in the doorway… cowboy hat and all… even had a pistol pointed at me.  It seemed surreal.  He was half hidden by the darkness of the bedroom.

I remembered how Missey imitated him asking for a drink and I used it.  “Vodka rocks?”  I stretched it out as she had.

“You always were an asshole… a user… toss her away when she’s no longer convenient.  Right Mr. Saltz?”  Cowboy stepped more into the light and reality shone.

“I won’t deny that Allie.”

“No, you can’t, can you?  It’d be like denying your major strength… conquer and destroy.”  She took off the hat and placed it on the counter then stared at me while touching her moustache.  “I am surprised you recognized me, but then again you study behavior don’t you?”  With that she picked up the nude sculpture while continuing to concentrate on me, then dropped it in the sink.  It shattered.  She smiled almost devoid of emotion.  “Now, let’s examine that behavior.  Was it destructive, constructive, thoughtful, considerate, or even preventive?  The list goes on.”

She was playing a game with me and I thought it best to listen.

“You look confused Mr. Saltz.  My behavior could be called destructive.  I did destroy your lovely piece of art.  Or, it could be constructive… after all I did create a colorful array on a canvas of porcelain.  Or, was it thoughtful?  Did I think it, or was I impulsive?  How about considerate?  Maybe you wanted it gone… no longer found it attractive and you didn’t want to destroy her yourself, so I spared you the emotional pain.  Could that be it?  You must experience emotional pain by being with you.”  She held the pistol with both hands as if taking deep aim for my heart.  “Don’t think I won’t pull the trigger.  It’s easy and nobody’s going to hear it.”  The end of the pistol had a silencer.  “This is a CZ Kadet 22 rimfire.  It’ll kill you.  Eileen Wuornos used a 22 just so you know it’s effective.”

I knew it was effective, Teri was murdered with one and now I was looking down the muzzle of a gun.  When that happens life becomes immediate… every second is vital and memorable.  I was seeing time in segments… like picture frames.  I had no doubt that I could kick the shit out of her physically, but I’d get shot before I began.  Consequently my strength lay in my past… employ interest in listening… make her feel comfortable.

“May I get you a vodka rocks?  Please.”  The sincerity and ease of my question set her back as in changed her direction.  “I know I could use one.”

She seemed to ponder my request as she nodded and added a little humor.  “Is this a parallel to the last meal?”

I didn’t react, but took it as a yes and stepped around the counter.  I hoped my hand wouldn’t shake as I reached for the cupboard.  She repositioned herself to have a clearer view.  We almost changed places.  As I opened the door, I remembered the falling glass and my thoughts were that it had to have been her doing that.  She’d been fucking with me for months and may not be in a hurry to end it.  At least I hoped she wasn’t.  Thankfully my hand didn’t shake as I set two glasses on the sink.  I knew I had to be calm to think while I listen.

“So when did you know it was me?”

“I knew it was you when you stepped a little into the light.  Otherwise I just recognized you as this guy… you know, the guy you are right now… the one I saw at The Ranch.”  Allie said nothing, but was trained on my movements while I began the bartending process.  I was truly happy that I had vodka… Stoli to be exact.  When I reached into the freezer to get my ice tray I saw her/him smile.  Another mystery solved.  She must have been the one to move it a few months ago.  My face registered the recognition.

“You never changed the locks.  Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be trusting.”  I finished the drinks and put hers on the counter, took a sip of mine and placed it on the sink.  She glanced at hers.  “None of this would have happened if it weren’t for you.  It’s your fault.  You have to be held accountable.”

She moved the pistol a bit and shot my glass!  Son-of-a-bitch!  She shot my glass! Instincts came forward and I wanted to rush over and take her down, but realized she could shoot very well.  Common sense prevailed and I remained cool.  If one can ever be called cool when he is now shaking.  I let out a little sound of something.

“You think that’s funny?”

“Absolutely not.  I wasn’t being funny.  It was an involuntary response induced by fear.”  Then I tried to interject humor.  “I really could have used that drink.”

“Go for it.  You have more glasses.”  I decided that if she wanted to shoot me she would have, so I reached for another glass as she continued.  “Didn’t make much of a sound did it?”

It was only then that I realized that it was rather quiet… more like a busting light bulb than a shot.

“This is new… first shot.  Amazing what money can buy.  The streets of LA are a smorgasbord.  You just have to know where to shop.”  I finished making the drink quickly and held it out as if to toast.  Allie glared and as I took a sip she pointed the gun at my head.  “I’m going to kill you.  You do realize that?”

It was then I realized I must give her power and walked to the sofa and sat.

Her eyes said the hugs were over.

Missey’s light looked soft and romantic through her curtain and I hated to call and penetrate it with fear.  That’s what could happen if I told her she may be a target.  I decided to call and moved to an area where I could still see her place yet be unnoticed.  She answered with a simple albeit cautious hello.

“Hi Missey.”

“Harley.  I’m so glad you called.”

Hearing something so genuine lifted my heart.  “So am I.”  And, I actually breathed in a scent of the trees and flowers.

“Are you still by my place?”

I smiled because she saw me, not that I was trying to be discreet.  “Yes, I’m near.”

“I’m glad.  It’s nice to have someone worry about me.  Would you like to come up?”

“I would like that more than anything… just for a moment.  May I?”

“I’d like that.”

My feet were moving before I consciously made the decision.  “I’ll be there in a minute.”  I ran.

She was at the door with a smile that lit up the evening.  I wrapped her in my arms and held her tightly like a treasure.  After about thirty seconds of feeling her heart pound against mine I inched back and looked into those angel eyes.  It was a magic moment.  Her entire face blushed a tiny smile and gently relaxed and I pulled her tight again as her lips melted onto mine.  There was nothing finer than this heaven we created.  Yet, I had to break it.  “I think your car may have been damaged because of me.”

Her back stiffened and the tenderness in her eyes was replaced with fear.

The ringing of my phone broke the moment.  It was Whitey.  “Yo.  We have an interesting one in front of us.  Medical records are supposedly private, but Sam is the man and Alvina is now Al… as in male.  Actually she is a transgender which means…”

I cut him off.  “I know what it means, she’s in the process.”

“Process you bet your ass process.  How’s a double mastectomy sound?  I’m reading it now… bilateral mastectomy, also called ‘top surgery’, the removal of the breasts and the shaping of a male contoured chest.  Oh, and she’s had hormone replacement therapy so I guess she may be able to grow facial hair, etc.”

I cut him off again.  “Poor woman.”  I meant it.  I had no idea she suffered so deeply.

“Yeah, poor woman until she murdered.  Now let’s get this son-of-a-bitch.”  Whitey was certainly passionate.  “We don’t have an updated photo of her face… wasn’t necessary I guess… for the surgery.  We do have images for the before and after breasts though… if you’re interested.”

I understood that Whitey’s comment was light and probably necessary.  He always said a cop had to release anger and humor served that purpose for him.

“Dammit!  I was wrong… nowhere in the ballpark.  My whole focus went caffluey!”

“Caffluey?  I hadn’t heard that in decades, but I felt Whitey’s frustration.  He’s a cop and was angry from not figuring it out and I tried to tell him that.  “You told me once that we have to eliminate the familiar before looking into the unfamiliar.  You’re not Sherlock Holmes you crazy fuck, but you were absolutely right about it concerning me.

“Concerning you?  This is about you!  And, why’d you call me a crazy fuck?”

“Needed your attention.  Now, what am I supposed to do?”

That brought him back to a confident level.  “Tell Angel Eyes that Sam’s got a guy watching her place… should be there by now.  Go home and relax… or don’t.  Whoa, Sam just pulled up this Alvina’s address.  Gotta run.”  He hung up.  I looked out the window and saw what must be an unmarked cop’s vehicle.

I didn’t want to worry Missey with the facts of what was happening, but I had to tell her most of it and her face seemed to loose color with each added detail and when she spoke it was with a distance.  “I never cause anybody any problems.”  I could feel the heaviness of her comment.  Her troubles were a result of me.

I felt terrible and tried to hold her but she stiffened and inched away.  “Missey, would you like it if I stayed?”  My interpretation of her questioning stare was that she wasn’t sure of me and until she was, the hugs were over.  I understood and spoke softly.  I’m going downstairs there’s an officer watching over the area…  I should talk to him.  I won’t come back up.  I’m sorry about all this.  Call me… I’ll be just a minute away.”  She had an almost imperceptible nod, which almost made me feel a touch better.

The detective in the car was one of the guys from the interview with Robbie and recognized me immediately.  He had a picture of Alvina on his dashboard.

I couldn’t afford the time to become emotional…

He hung up as I had an inaudible “Goodbye.”  The depth of love and sadness seemed equally powerful, however I couldn’t afford the time to become emotional.  That would have to wait.

I thought about contacting Whitey and Sam and tell them they’re wasting their time with Robbie, but I also wanted him to squirm.  If I couldn’t find more about Allie then I would call and immediately began searching for information about Stanford Cosmetics.  Bingo!  Pages of links!  I then added + family.  Another bingo, so I clicked on the top listing and then images. I couldn’t locate Allie, so I tried another approach, daughter.

The world of information at my finger tips.  There it was… the entire family tree.  It seems that Allie’s mother kept her maiden name Stanford (possibly because of the business), but the daughter, a step-child kept her father’s name Muro… Alvina Muro.  I clicked on images again and there she was… Allie.

It was time to call Whitey and Sam.  I did.  Whitey was beginning to tell me about the rest of the Robbie interview, but I cut him off.  “I think I know who killed her.  Can you put this on speaker so I don’t have to repeat it to Sam.?”

“You’re on and Sam’s right here.”

“Her name is Alvina Muro and a daughter of the Stanford Cosmetics fortune.”  With the exception of writing and paper movement, there was near silence as I spoke. Obviously they were taking notes.  I also had my phone on speaker.  “I’m making a copy of a picture of her from the computer.  There.  I’m sending it now, but I imagine you’re already looking her up.  She’s one of the last names from Barbara Jean and Tuffy.”  I loved saying his name, but preferred it to be under different circumstances.  “I think she may have killed Maxine Cooper in Philadelphia.  Maxine was the girl I left for Teri and was a close friend of Allie’s, or so I thought.”

They asked me to come down to the station, but I wanted to check on Missey again and suggested that they contact Melanie.  I heard Sam say, “Hum, his M & M’s.”  I knew he meant it with respect nonetheless it hit me.  If they were in peril it was because of me.  They agreed and I said I’d call after checking on Missey.  I hung up as I began my walk back to her place and words of a poem, Sweet Peril by George Mac Donald entered my head.  Alas, how easily things go wrong!   A sigh too much, or a kiss too long, and there follows a mist and a weeping rain, and life is never the same again.

This time my travel to Missey’s was not physical multi-tasking, but thinking.  George Mac Donald probably influenced Mark Twain, and unfortunately I thought I had somehow influenced Allie.  I remember my parents telling me not to hang around a certain kid that he was a bad influence.  They were right, but I made my own choices.  And, I may have affected Allie in a negative way by breaking up with her friend Maxine, but I refused to be her influence on death.

Missey’s light was on and it looked soft and romantic through her curtain and I hated to call and penetrate it with fear.  That’s what it would be if I told her she may be a target.

Goodbye Mr. Saltz

Regardless of the heavy vibe I was experiencing I Googled Holen and came up with his own web site.  He was indeed a legitimate writer.  His image was on the page and I did remember meeting him.  Fortunately there was a contact number and without hesitation I called.   He picked up on the first ring and I reintroduced myself.

“I remember who you are.  Maxine had a true love for you and that made me think you couldn’t be too bad.  And, you helped me out with a reading one night.  I thank you again for that.  Incidentally, that script sold.  They plan to begin filming in about six months.”

My patience for small talk was nonexistent.  “Congratulations Richard.  And, on the sad side I am so sorry to hear about Maxine.  I just found out.”  We talked about that for a moment more until I got to the point of the call.  “Do you remember a woman Allie?”

“I remember Allie, although I haven’t seen her for years.  I don’t know if I ever knew her last name, but her mother name was Stanford… big time in cosmetics.    I hope that helps you somehow.  Allie was a good friend of Maxine’s when I knew her, but she may not even be aware of her death.  She wasn’t at the funeral. People lose contact… especially here.  You move away from LA and it’s like you drop off the edge of the world.”  His depth of emotion came forward.  “I would have done anything for her, but it wasn’t in the cards for me.  She moved back home to forget you.  I don’t think she ever did.  I’m sorry, but I miss her terribly.  Goodbye Mr. Saltz.”

Harley broke her heart

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Thinking back I realized that I hadn’t talked to Maxine since we broke up years ago, at the time of Teri.  And I only saw her once after that, walking out of the Trader Joe’s in Studio City and probably close to five years now.  I can’t contact her friends because I only remember a couple and only by first name.  She was a graduate of Penn State.  I could start there, but how?  I had to call Whitey, but I didn’t.  This was something I wanted to search out.  I opened up my photo program on the computer and began looking for her pictures.  Damn, I didn’t have any.  Maxine is the one who took them.  I didn’t have a camera until Teri.

My phone rang… Whitey.  “Check your email another picture from Barbara Jean.  I had her send you a copy also.”

I had Whitey hold while I opened the attachment.  “Nope.  Don’t recognize her.”

“Yeah, figures.  You know, this Barbara Jean had pictures of every guy, but for some reason she can’t find one of the last two women.”

“I can understand that.  She wasn’t as interested in them.”

“Your little buddy is not involved in this other than the B & E and theft on you and the possibility of coordinating an arranged marriage.  Not that that matters much with immigration today, but it pisses me off… Sam too.  In fact, he’s got him a little scared right now telling him he’s being pressured to send any information down to Immigration.  It’s almost worth the time to watch him squirm.  We got him ‘off the record’ right now and his yapper is yapping.  Got to get back.”  He hung up before I could respond.

I immediately Googled Maxine Dawn Cooper + Penn State.  Nothing.

Wait a minute, she’s still in my computer on my address list.  How quickly we forget.  There she was… email, phone number, and address of her mom and dad in Haverford, Pennsylvania.  She gave me all the information when she went home on a vacation.  I had forgotten.

Her local 818 number now belonged to a guy said he had it for over three years.  I then sent her an email that was returned within minutes as an invalid account.  My least desire was to call her parents, but I did.  And, I wish the resulting conversation could have been different.  I introduced myself and her father said he knew who I was, that I had dated Max and broke her heart.  He asked me why I was calling now.  His delivery was impassive.  I told him I was trying to locate her friend Allie.  He said he never heard of Allie.  That surprised me.  I thought Allie was Maxine’s closest friend.

It sounded as though Mr. Cooper was tiring of the conversation so I stressed how vital it was to locate Allie and asked him for Maxine’s new telephone number.  His response shocked me.  “Mr. Saltz, someone took our dear Max from us a year ago this week.”

“I’m so sorry.  I had no idea.”

He proceeded to tell me that Maxine had been living at home for over two years and had recently moved to Philadelphia and had just returned to her new apartment after a  concert.  She was murdered and robbed… shot with a 38.  “Police found very little except the lodged bullet.  Her credit cards were never used, and nothing ever showed up.  They say the investigation is still active, but she’s a cold case now.  A thing like that can tear a family apart Mr. Saltz.  Now why is it you called?”

It didn’t seem right to tell him my suspicions about Allie… just that I needed to contact her.  Again I gave him my sympathy, but before I could add good-bye he added:  “Max had a writer friend Richard, Richard Holen.  He lives out there.  He came to the funeral.  He might know this Allie person.  Hope that helps.”  He hung up and the aura of my apartment was anything but romantic.  It felt damp and uneasy.

Fear struck in the form of energy.

“He didn’t say it was him and we can’t prove it.  But, I’ll bet my ass on it.  I don’t know if he’s rubbing that in our faces or what, but I’ll tell you this… it comes back to you buddy boy just like I felt.  And, she married him for the money.  Sam is working on tying Robbie into that.  He was and still is their attorney and I’ll bet my ass again that he was aware of the arranged marriage.  Which, by the way, Sam says happens every day.”

“What if the marriage has nothing to do her murder?”

“It may not, but it has to be looked at.  Jealousy… what if the husband had a boyfriend?  What if she did?”

Whitey was thinking in possibilities and yet the stream of car lights on Ventura told me that it wasn’t about her marriage.  “Have you heard back from Tuffy and Barbara Jean?”

“Well that’s the second thing I wanted to fill you in on… three more names and hopefully the pictures will follow.  Darcy Ubank, Alvina Muro and Patsy Stewart.  Ring a bell?”

“No.  Nothing.”

“She couldn’t locate pictures yet, but as soon as they come in I’ll call.  We’ll need you to look at them.”  I was still staring at the traffic.  “So, where are you, by Angel Eyes?”  I emitted a small humph.  “You’re wondering how I knew.  It’s the traffic.  Where else would you be?”

“Yeah, I walked the area.  Saw a person in black and ended up scaring her… probably her dog, too.”

“You sure she wasn’t the one?”

“Couldn’t have been, she was black too.”

“I have to bring some coffee to Sam and your buddy Robbie.”  There was a deadening pause and I could sense a serious comment coming.  “Don’t forget to watch out for yourself Harley.”  He hung up without waiting for my response.

I went into my metaphysical thinker phase and stared blankly toward the traffic.   Thoughts and images immediately floated in.  The panties on my truck were first and disappeared by the snap and break of the antenna.  Then the cupboard opened and my hand caught a falling glass, a match in my door faded and a key appeared and etched a white car door then another and repeated the action going right into the gas cap which dissolved into a canvas of a nude man and woman embracing with a knife thrust between them.  That’s when I snapped out of it.  Shit!  It’s women and me.

Women and me brought me back into the moment and a memory of a friend who is working on his doctorate in math at Stanford.  It is the study of chaos.  He told me it was easier to figure chaotic behavior than women.

I hustled back to Jackie’s place and scoured the area once more.  Seeing nothing suspicious I jogged back to my apartment primarily for the exercise, relieved that I was at least was able to think in terms of multi-tasking.

After the short few minutes it took to get to my apartment my pulse was screaming and not because I was tired.  It was because of clarity.  I felt I knew the killer.  But, I was reluctant to tell Whitey or Sam until I was sure.

With the help of the railing I took the stairs three at a time, and was in my apartment without even being aware of opening the door.  I immediately grabbed my address book, located the number for Maxine, started to dial, but stopped.  What was I going to say?  If I didn’t compose myself I could sound like a nut case.  I actually took a deep breath and made a whooshing sound as I exhaled.  I quickly decided I’d just tell her what I thought and dialed.  Shit!  I got the proverbial apology message, “This number is no longer in use.  If you feel you reached this number in error please dial again.”  I did just that and reached the same message.  Shit!  Shit!  Shit!  Maxine… where are you?

Thinking back I realized that I hadn’t talked to Maxine since we broke up years ago, at the time of Teri.  And I believe I only saw her once after that, walking out of the Trader Joe’s in Studio City and that had to be close to five years now.  I can’t contact her friends because I only remember a couple and only by first name.  She was a graduate of Penn State.  I could start there.

Without the orbs of the optimist we must be content with drought

Suddenly I was extremely restless and took my thoughts on a walk toward Missey’s just to check out the area.  If Robbie was involved in Teri’s death it would be in the arena of hiring someone to do it.  Consequently, I was totally alert… almost to the point of expectation… of anything.  It was a heightened sense of awareness.  I then realized that I probably looked suspicious walking in my favorite shade of attire… black including the boots.

There were people meandering tonight.  Parking attendants were filling up the initial spaces on Carpenter Street… jumping out and running back.  A young couple, arm in arm, was walking down toward Ventura.  Another couple was walking up with their little yapper of a dog.  He tried to show me his superiority and I marginalized him by saying:  “Hi puppy.”  Guess it worked.  He stopped yapping.  It seemed like a longer walk tonight, but eventually I got to a point where I could see her place and someone else walking a dog and incidentally dressed in dark clothing.  I didn’t want to appear dangerous and lechy, but I had to walk faster to be able to maintain pace with the woman.   Everything about her was black including her dog.  Then she turned toward me, her eyes opened wide as if in fear.  She was black.  I quickly smiled, said:  “Hi, didn’t mean to scare you.”  She smiled back as I whisked by.

A few minutes later and with Ventura Boulevard in view, I stopped.  It was as if I had gained fresh eyes.  What was I thinking?  If this is all connected it’s not Robbie.  It was all in front of me just waiting to be seen.  I thought of what I had recently written.  “The orbs of the optimist… the seer… without that we have little… we must be content with drought.  But, fresh eyes watch the rainfall and see the blossoms of tomorrow.”

The sound of my phone shook away any thoughts.  It was Whitey.  “Robbie confessed.  Actually, he didn’t confess, he admitted guilt, but not to murder.  The son-of-a-bitch is a hell of a lot more than he appears.  Sam calls him the definition of slime.  We can’t touch his alibi and have nothing on him except theft and you aren’t pressing charges for that.”

I interrupted him.  “So, what did he admit guilt to?”

“Get this… he created a scenario.  What if the person that the old woman reportedly saw get in the car with Teri wasn’t the murderer….  It’s possible it could have been someone she knew and was having a disagreement with.  Perhaps that person was kicked out a few blocks later and Teri drove up to your place.”

“My place?”

“I asked the same question and he responded ‘Why not, she loved him.’ Although, he said that with a huff.”

Those words of love hit with impact and then hovered ever so gently.  “So who was the person she knew according to his scenario?”

“He didn’t say, but it was him.  I’ll bet my ass on it and we can’t prove it and he knows it.  I don’t know if he’s rubbing that in our faces or what, but I’ll tell you this… it comes back to you buddy boy just like I felt.  And, she married him for the money.  Sam’s working on tying him into that.  He was their attorney and still is.  He had to be aware of the arranged marriage.