Goodbye Natalie

Chapter Seventeen: Revenge Road

     ”Dammit woman, I told you don’t be movin’ my pills!” Mudcat Jones hollered hoarsely as he violently dumped the medicine cabinet contents to the bathroom floor. The loud crash of breaking glass brought Darla Jones stomping down the hallway of the small apartment in a frenzy.

     ”Who you think gone clean up that mess? Ya damn fool, ain’t gone be me! I patched up your wounds, tended to ya, fed ya, brought ya back from a sure meetin’ witch ya maka...and the thanks I git s’yo mean attitude. You can go to the devil next time Mudcat! Don’t come crawlin’ ta me next time you git yourself shot up! I’m done wit it!” Darla spun and marched back up the hall. ”You hear me? DONE!”

     The freshly patched gunshot wounds had Mudcat in a feeble state and he quickly realized he wasn’t going to be able to get his way by his usual heavy-handed means. Like a skilled prize-fighter who finds himself in peril, he switched tactics instinctively.

     ”Oh baby, you know I ’preciate ever single thin ya do fer me. I’n jist in pain, that’s all.” Mudcat trailed Darla through the apartment whimpering weakly, like a scolded puppy trying to regain favor. ”You know I ain’t nothin’ wit out cha babygirl. I’d sho nuff be dead and buried and burnin’ in hell weren’t fer you. I just ain’t use ta bein’ so hepless s’all. Come on mama, done be mad.” Mudcat reached a long arm toward Darla and got it slapped away half-heartedly.

      ”Done be thinkin’ no sweet talk gone git...” Darla underestimated Muscat’s reach and in a split second a powerful hand snatched her wrist and he threw her to the floor. His heavy weight was on top of her in an instant and fear flashed in Darla Jones’ eyes. She knew the depths of violence Mudcat was capable of and momentarily considered that she might have overplayed her hand. She intently studied the look on Mudcat’s face, he was grimacing in obvious pain and she carefully rolled him off and examined the sutures. Two of them had busted open and were bleeding anew. Of the six bullets she’d recently removed, none had struck vital organs but three had hit bone and the others had lodged deeply in muscle tissue requiring her most skillful attention. As a critical care nurse, she’d observed and even participated in many operations and lucky for Mudcat, she was capable and had ice water running through her veins. He’d miraculously survived the initial extreme blood loss and trauma, but he needed to remain immobile to heal properly. He’d gone through the supply of antibiotics and painkillers in the house rapidly and Darla had planned a trip to Cedars-Sinai today to re-supply.

     She retrieved her medical bag and patched the wounds again as Mudcat lie prone on the living room floor moaning. As the sure-handed nurse worked expertly, for the first time in as far back as he could remember, Mudcat’s eyes threatened to fill with tears. Darla noticed. ”Don’t worry baby...just lie still, it ain’t too bad. I’ll get you some more pills this afternoon, maybe some codeine, maybe even morphine if I can get in the med’s room. You gotta lie still though Cat. You can’t be movin’ around so much...it’ll be okay.” She assured soothingly.

     The pain from the wounds wasn’t the source of Mudcat’s tears. The fact that Darla tended to him so readily despite his years of abuse and neglect ran through his conscience like an ice storm through an open window. Mudcat had tortured, maimed and killed more innocent victims that he could remember, without a hint of guilt. Now, a selfless act of compassion from one of only three women who’d ever stood up to him in his life had forced this display of emotion. One of the two others was, of course, his beloved mother. The third, was that skinny bitch who’d planted those bullets in Mudcat, preventing the abduction of Joanie Kwan. And he had plans for her. Oh, did he have plans.

     Hatred burned in Mudcat’s soul for Fallon Dawn Hunter like an eternal flame. It fueled his healing and sustained him through the worst of it. The adrenaline that surged through him cauterized the bullet holes and strengthened his resolve. If nothing else was to be accomplished before this miserable life was over, he swore his most heartfelt oath that he’d reap sweet revenge on the interfering busybody that had thwarted his date with Joanie Kwan. He didn’t know Fallon’s name or anything about her, other than the fact that she didn’t have long to live once he hunted her down. That was the second person to get in the way of his intentions with the beautiful Joanie Kwan, which reminded him, he had business to attend to with Kwan’s pretty boy man-toy, Frankie Valentine. The list of targets was mounting up and Mudcat was itching to get back to work. He wasn’t used to long vacations and was ready to get back to what he knew and loved best, killing.

     Darla was back by early evening and pumped Mudcat full of strong antibiotics and painkillers. He rested and healed and plotted his revenge. When Darla left for work Monday morning, he carefully dressed and dialed his most reliable connection, Slick Wit-It. He made arrangements to have a substantial amount of crack cocaine, pcp, heroin and weed delivered. He and Slick met at the liquor store on Florence and Normandie and drove a short distance to a secluded spot behind a Von’s market to conduct business. Mudcat was a repeat customer and was known for always having a fat bankroll. Everybody also knew that Mudcat was a cold-blooded killer, including Slick, and he was noticeably nervous while conducting the transaction.

      ”Whatcha sweatin’ for homeboy?” Mudcat asked pointedly. 

     ”Hot out t’day brother...this damn heat don’t never let up seems.” Said Slick.

     ”Got dat right my brother. Now, what’s you got for ole Mudcat?”

* * *

     It had been a long, tough weekend for Detective Nick Bonetti. After trailing Fallon and Joanie Kwan to the marina and watching them sail off into the glimmering waters of the Pacific Ocean, he’d waited around a few hours wondering what to do with himself. He finally figured out to check with the harbor master to find out who the ”Thank You Scarlet” was registered to and see if a chart plan had been filed. It was owned by a company called, ”Heartline Productions”, and was scheduled to return Sunday evening after an overnight stay on Catalina Island. Rather than drive all the way back to his austere Glendale duplex, Bonetti decided to hole up in a cheap Santa Monica motel and pick up Fallon’s trail upon her return. He left the motel number with the harbor master and made sure it was understood he would be notified the moment the Scarlet appeared on the horizon, and, a stern warning was given that details and circumstances of the communication were best left confidential.

     Bonetti did some quick shopping at the neighborhood Seven-Eleven and rented a double-feature porn video that the clerk had highly recommended. He rarely got any relaxation time and didn’t know exactly the best use of it. After pacing the motel room a few times, he gave in and phoned his partner, Harry Tong, at home.”

      ”Sorry to bother you at home Harry.” Bonetti began.

     ”No problem boss, where are you?” Tong asked.

     ”Santa Monica, some fleabag motel called ”The Tropic Inn”, remind me to have this place shut down for cruelty to customers.” Bonetti joked.

     ”How’s our girl doin’?” Tong asked, referring to Fallon.

     ”She and her girlfriend caught a slow boat into the sunset. At least somebody’s getting some this weekend I guess.” Bonetti snided.

     ”Told you she was a clam-diver boss.” Harry remarked.

     ”Yeah, maybe.” Said Bonetti. ”What you got on the Cuenca murder?”

     ”The night clerk at Greyhound wasn’t much help. Said a lot of folks came through there those hours. Departures logged were numerous, San Diego, Vegas, Bakersfield, Fresno, San Francisco. Too many to track. We won’t get any info on the bank records or phone calls outta the Cuenca apartment until Monday the earliest.” Tong said.

     ”Harry, see if you can find anything on Heartline Productions, will you? Seems I’ve heard that name before.” Bonetti said.

     ”Heartline? Like the dog food?” Asked Harry.

     ”That’s right. The boat the girl left on is registered to Heartline.” Bonetti’s voice trailed off.

     ”Maybe our girl’s got herself a sugar-daddy?” Posed Tong.

     ”Maybe, hell, she might be pimping the Chinese chick, who knows? Said Bonetti. ”What about the Jones’ lead from the anonymous informant?”

     ”There’s too many boss. He might’a been trying to throw us off, a red herring perhaps.” Suggested Harry. A moment of silence on the phone. ”You gonna be alright boss?”

     ”What? Me? Oh yeah, I’m just gonna rest up and wait for my ship to come in, maybe catch a football game on TV, what the hell else I got to do?” Bonetti answered blandly. Another uncomfortable silence.

     ”You stayin’ sober boss?” Tong asked concerned.

     ”Oh yeah.” Bonetti eyed the styrofoam cooler on the table filled with ice and the half empty case of beer beside it. ”Just a coupla beers s’all.”

     ”None of the hard stuff, okay boss?” Harry warned.

     ”Whatta you, my mother?” Bonetti blasted, then relented. ”Sorry about that Harry. I was outta line. I’ll be okay. No hard stuff, promise.”

     ”You want me to come down there boss?” Harry Tong asked seriously. ”I could take over the surveillance.”

     ”Nothing to see. I’ll just wait it out, get some R and R, like I said. The Niners playin’ tomorrow aren’t they?” Bonetti asked distractedly.

     ”I guess.” Harry was concerned. ”You could just plant a tracer on the car boss. Pick up the signal on the car.”

     ”Yeah, I thought of that. Maybe.” Bonetti said.

     ”You gonna be alright boss?” Harry asked again.

     ”I’m a big boy Harry, I’ll be okay.” Bonetti answered. ”And Harry... thanks.” The phone call ended and both men momentarily stared at the inanimate plastic phone and pondered on the conversation just completed. Like the seasoned detectives they were, they couldn’t help but dissect the conversation for clues to hidden meaning, judging their own performance. Neither were completely satisfied or content with the results.

     Bonetti popped another cold beer and sat leaning on the headboard, he put the video in and as the actors feigned passionate love on screen, his mind wandered to his own episodes of heated passion. There was only one woman in his past that ever warranted remembrance, and he avoided thoughts of her like a burglar avoids dogs. A wife and daughter, long lost because of career ambition and misguided priorities, and the neglected thoughts of guilt that he actively fought off by any means necessary, lie hidden behind every brain fold, threatening to engulf him in their overpowering embrace pulling him under the waters of sanity that he was treading desperately.

     Trying to support a family and make a life by doing good police work that required an obsessive effort, ended up costing him the people he was doing it all for. Trying to replace her, them, always ended badly. The few brief relationships (if you could call them that – they were encounters actually) were of the disparate nature. Other souls, lost and gravitating to his spinning, out of control psyche like parallel universes drawn together by irresistible force, destined to implode on contact. His expectations of love and happiness had lowered considerably over the years since the divorce. Perhaps, there was momentary hope when he’d set eyes on Fallon Dawn that first day; a bit younger version of his ex-wife, the same fire in the eyes and bright, optimistic nature. The brief occasions he’d spoken to her he had put his best foot forward. The old affable, humorous, good-natured Nick Bonetti shined through temporarily. It was probably for the best that she’d shot him down right off. Best for everyone.

     Bonetti pulled the bottle of Scotch out of the night stand and stared at it for a long while. He tried to distract himself with the porn video, but found himself thinking the girl in the second feature reminded him of the wife, and Fallon...but this one was blond, and force-feeding pipe at an alarming rate. His attention wandered back to the night stand. He was stronger that that, tough as they come. Was he really going to allow love, fickle and lost, to dominate him like a lion on a baby giraffe?

     The skeletons in the closet rattled noisily...ghosts of nightmares born of the fear of facing up to the pains of reality laughed, taunting their host for his weakness. Like a little girl scared to enter the haunted house, standing outside shivering uncontrollably, he fought off the demons, but it was dragons against fly swatters...he closed his eyes and strained valiantly against the invisible foes. He mournfully eyed the silent telephone, it was within reach, all there was to do was to pick it up and dial. But call who? And to what end? Even in the diminished, fragmented state he clearly understood that any answers had to come from this room. He cracked the seal on the bottle and hated himself immediately for doing so.

     It was late Sunday evening when the motel phone rang, waking Bonetti from a fitful sleep. For a moment he didn’t remember where he was and looked around the dingy room perplexed. He gained his bearings eventually and managed to get dressed and gather his belongings. He arrived at the marina in time to catch Fallon and Kwan exit the parking lot. They were suntanned and young and pretty, and sharing a good laugh between them. He never felt older. Bonetti trailed the pair back to Fallon’s Hollywood apartment. The light in the second floor burned warmly for a time, then shut off leaving the whole neighborhood dark and lonely. Bonetti sat still for a few moments, wondering at the extent of involvement in the intrigue that seemed to surround Fallon. He questioned his own degree of involvement and considered if perhaps his own wants and needs and memories had clouded his perceptions and decisions. Was he going easy on the girl because of a softness that emanated from the tender scars of his past? Surely he was beyond such foolish behavior. He decided to give her one more day, then the gloves were coming off. He had a job to do and he was finished with sentiment and compassion, Fallon had questions to answer, and answer them she would. His old familiar resolve and hard edge was beginning to return and he liked that.

     Bonetti quietly approached Fallon’s car and secured the magnetic tracking device inside the back bumper. Harry Tong could pick up the trail tomorrow, Nick Bonetti had better things to do than follow giggling schoolgirls around with his tongue hanging out.

     From the darkened second floor apartment, Fallon peered through the blinds and watched interestedly as Detective Bonetti crept back to his car and drove away. She continued smoking the last cigarette of the day and thought for a long time.

* * *

      Harry Tong arrived at Fallon’s apartment the next morning barely in time to see her and Kwan driving off in the opposite direction. He lowered his head and pulled his hat over his eyes as they passed then executed a quick u-turn and followed. Apparently, the girls were on a shopping excursion, because they drove straight to the Glendale Galleria mall and entered the multi-level parking structure. Harry waited patiently outside and was surprised when Kwan drove out of the parking lot alone. He decided that she would probably return to pick up Fallon and followed her as she headed south, back toward the Hollywood office. She made two stops before leaving Glendale, one for gas, the other at a grocery store for a few minutes. She walked casually out of the market carrying two brown paper bags. She then drove to the A-1 Detective Agency building on Hollywood Boulevard and parked in the alley behind the office. She left the bags in the car and entered the building from the rear. Harry waited patiently.

     Back at the Glendale Mall, Fallon Dawn pulled the blond wig from her handbag and shook it out. She studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror and carefully tied her brown waves back in a tight ponytail then wrapped the tail with hair ties, securing it firmly with pins to the top of her head. She slipped the wig on and put on a pair of dark sunglasses. She quickly slid out of the loose cotton dress, revealing a jean miniskirt and t-shirt. She adjusted the wig and glasses and blew herself a sultry kiss in the mirror. She then exited the mall, crossing the busy street to Avis car rental. She drove off in a midsized green two-door rental, headed for Koreatown. Not that she had anything to hide, but sometimes a girl just doesn’t need to be followed by the cops.

     Coincidentally, Fallon also stopped for gas at the same station Kwan had, only moments before. She filled the tank and checked the oil, water and tire pressure. She cleaned the windows and bought a map of California. As she pulled out of the station, she carefully surveyed the street in all directions.

* * *

      When Slick Wit-It’s navy blue Monte Carlo pulled out of the alley behind Von’s market in South-Central L.A., Mudcat Jones was driving and Slick was bleeding to death, wrapped in rags in the trunk. Mudcat had slit his throat expertly, covering the gash with a handkerchief so adroitly that barely a blood droplet was spilled. No sense in ruining the spotless interior, Mudcat was going to need the car to carry out his mission.

     He opened the sunroof and let the warm healing power of the sun rain down on him as he drove north on Normandie. He smoked some crack, snorted a little pcp, and lit a generous doobie as he sang along with the Temptations. He was feeling no pain and loving life. He stopped off at a Jack-in-the-Box drive-through for a large soda, and while in line carefully cleaned his knife with a fresh hanky. He checked the thirty-eight snub nose in the ankle holster and slipped a clip into the forty-five automatic before returning it to his waistband. He smiled broadly when he thought about what he was going to do when he caught up with Joanie Kwan, Frankie Valentine, and that skinny bitch that left all those bullet holes in him.

* * *

     Fallon Dawn carefully parked the rental on Ardmore and walked the half block to Dragon Lady. She wanted to check in with Masumi Na and find out if there had been any word or action on Frankie or Kwan’s would-be kidnapper, and to let Ma Na know that she and Kwan would be incommunicado for awhile, perhaps for a week or more. She didn’t want the people to whom Kwan was indebted to get nervous and think she’d run off. She also wanted to find out how much it would take to free Kwan from the yoke of the smugglers and insure her families’ safety back home.

     Masumi Na was delighted to see Fallon and laughed at her disguise. She had no news on Mudcat or Frankie, but assured Fallon that she would cover for Kwan and inquire about the smuggler’s fee.

     In her simple, but effective disguise, Fallon had no reason to suspect she would be recognized, but, Mudcat Jones was an old coon tracker from way back. He had guessed right that the Dragon Lady Bar was a likely place to begin looking for his quarry. He was immediately suspicious when the pretty, long-legged hooker appeared outside of the bar and entered confidently through the front door. He made the wig and the big glasses as a disguise and the skinny legs were just familiar enough to warrant a closer look. When Fallon Dawn drove away in the rental, once again she was being followed. This time though, it wasn’t the police.

     Back at the Hollywood office, Harry Tong spotted Joanie Kwan coming out of the front of the building, he followed in his car. She walked two blocks west and disappeared into one of the old vintage movie houses that line the boulevard. He curiously checked his wristwatch and wondered about why Kwan would be catching a movie at this time of day. He hadn’t noticed the good-looking blond in the green two-door pull into the alley behind the A-1 office and park beside Fallon’s coupe. As Fallon Dawn unloaded the groceries and other bags from the coupe, placing them in the rental car, Mudcat Jones watched with interest.

     Fallon drove the rental two blocks west, using the alley, and parked momentarily behind the old, worn down movie theatre. Kwan came out the back door and jumped in the car. The conspirators took a right on Highland and got on the Hollywood Freeway a few blocks north, headed for the I-Five Interstate.

     So while the experienced police detective, Harry Tong, sat clueless outside the vintage movie theatre on Hollywood Boulevard, the streetwise old coon hunter followed Fallon and Kwan as they headed north on I-Five for points unknown. He didn’t know exactly the location where they were headed, but he knew where it would end. He was familiar with the road they were on, he’d been traveling it all his life. So far, he’d guessed correctly on nearly every move and he was going for three-for-three that the two she-coons would be leading him straight to Frankie Valentine. Mudcat Jones chuckled to himself as he watched the girls chattering in the car in front of him. They were animatedly studying an unfolded roadmap and pointing to the freeway, probably arguing about which exit or turnoff to take. Mudcat shook his massive head, he didn’t need no road signs to tell him what road he was on, he knew it instinctively. It wasn’t marked on any maps and you couldn’t detect it by reading signs. The road to revenge was lined with bodies and blood and pain and torment, and Mudcat Jones knew it like the back of his scarred hands.     

* * * * *