Poetic Justice (eBook)

SAM

There was an article in the Los Angeles Times that morning about a serial stalker they referred to as “The Wolf.” He would spend a lot of time with his victims, buy them gifts, take them for nice meals, and give them the attention they craved. A few of the women interviewed said the main attraction was that he actually listened to them and seemed genuinely interested in what they had to say.

Apparently, that’s a thing now, women wanting to be heard. I can’t understand it. It should be a given; if you’re with someone and not interested in what they have to say, you probably shouldn’t be with them.

It was never an issue with me in a relationship, although admittedly, I haven’t been in many. There was Anna, of course, who found fault with me in other ways (and, to be fair, I found many things about her to be irritating), but she could never truthfully say I didn’t listen to her or pay attention to her needs.

The strange thing about The Wolf, and the focus of the article, was that he would let the victims go, presumably when he got bored or just restless and ready to move on, but he seemed to do it in such a way that none of them ever reported him to this police.

This was in Las Vegas, and I guess in Vegas, anything goes. But finally, he must have upped his game, or come across the wrong woman, because a dealer at one of the hotels by the name of Glorious James (I don’t make this stuff up) said he tried to choke her before leaving her apartment early one morning. The photo showed a beautiful dark haired, blue eyed beauty holding up one side of her hair to show the dark welts on her neck.

Apparently, the Wolf had felt the heat in Vegas and taken his act to San Francisco, where a similar situation had occurred.

Now the writer was hinting at a connection to a recent murder in east Hollywood of a young woman of similar age and coloring. The rest of the media and the police seemed to discount the idea that The Wolf could have been responsible. It didn’t happen in Vegas, didn’t happen in San Francisco, and it didn’t fit his M.O. Why kill this one when he had let the others go?

I could think of several reasons.

I’m sitting, pondering, feet up on the desk, and I hear a tap tap and a female voice saying hey.

I look up, and it’s Cilla, without Jeremy. I remember he’s with his dad before I ask the question, put my feet down, and motion her to my client chair (which, alas, has not yet seen a client).

“I’m on my own this week. My boss is gone and my son is gone. I came to ask you if you might want to have lunch. My treat, to welcome you to the building. Plus, Jeremy likes you.”

“I like him too. Yes on lunch, but it’s on me.”

She didn’t argue, which I liked. She did smile, which I also liked.

“Noon okay with you?” she said.

“I’ll pick you up.”

Her boss may have been gone, but the hatchet faced woman was there at the reception desk, charmless as ever. I decided it would be in my best interest to make a friend of her, or at the very least a non-enemy, so I turned on the Sam charm.

“I’m here for Cilla. I’m Sam, by the way.”

I reached out my hand to shake hers but she looked at it as if I were handing her a dead cockroach, and then walked away without a word. A few seconds later, Cilla emerged, carrying a small purse and smelling fragrant. It looked like she had also touched up her lipstick, which made me smile.

“You like Mexican food? I’m thinking El Coyote?”

“Yes to both. I haven’t been there in a while. I might even go wild and have a strawberry Margarita.”

“Hey, you only live once.”

I opened the car door for her, gentleman that I am, and waited for her to click her seatbelt before pulling out.

“Who’s the hatchet faced charmer at reception?” I said, waiting for the light to change.

“Oh, that’s Vera. My mom.”

I felt the color drain from my face, but then she laughed.

“Kidding! You should see the look on your face!”

She had a great laugh.

“I’ll get you for that. Some day, when you least expect it.”

She didn’t answer my question about hatchet face, but really, it didn’t matter. Life was looking good at that moment.

El Coyote is one of those great, old time Los Angeles restaurants, like Musso & Frank or the Formosa Cafe, that keep appearing in Hollywood movies. If you’ve never been to any of them, you should. The movies don’t do them justice. It really is like walking into the past, and L.A. is not a city that believes in tradition; it’s a city of reinvention. Fortunately, there are enough people around like me, who are aware that the world did not begin in 1990.

It had been a while since I had been to this gem of a restaurant, but it looked and felt exactly the same. Crowded, noisy, friendly, comforting. It was so retro that the wait staff wore traditional Mexican costumes, and they even had book matches at the desk with the restaurant’s name, although smoking had been outlawed years before.

We opted for a table on the patio, and ordered a round of Margaritas, strawberry for Cilla, plain for me, salt on the rim. A plate of nachos and several types of salsa were delivered with the drinks. We ordered two number three specials and settled in to enjoy our meal.

“I got stood up last night.”

“Cad.”

“No, not like that. It was a female friend. I asked her to meet me for a drink. We don’t get much time to hang out except when Jeremy is at his dad’s. She met someone, and they were hitting it off apparently, so I forgive her.”

“So what did you do?”

“I went to the bar around the corner, had a glass of merlot, got hit on a couple of times, and went home. I lead such an exciting life.”

“Would you like to hear what I did last night?”

“Can’t wait.”

I ticked off the items one by one on my fingers as I spoke.

“One, got one of my work clothes. Two, turned on the TV to watch sports. Three, ordered a small mushroom pizza from California Pizza Kitchen. Four, fell asleep watching the Mets lose yet again.”

“Makes me sound like a party girl.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“Grubhub or Postmates?”

“Last night it was Postmates. I prefer Grubhub, but Postmates has more of a selection of restaurants.”

“Same here. I’m embarrassed to tell you how many times a week I order from one or the other. Jeremy’s friends moms all make dinner every night, bake cookies, the whole 1950s vibe. So, in addition to leading a boring social life, I’m also a terrible mother.”

The drinks came; we toasted.

“I usually don’t drink at lunch time, but maybe I should start. This is delicious.”

“They don’t disappoint.”

It was nice being there with her, almost like a date, but with a lot less pressure. Maybe this was what I needed: a girl friend, as opposed to a girlfriend.

The waitress came with our food and asked us if we wanted another round of drinks. We looked at each other, tempted, but keeping temptation at bay.

“What would hatchet face say if you went back drunk? She’d probably have me arrested.”

“She’s really not so bad. Just lacking a personality. She likes to feel she’s in charge. I try and humor her most of the time.”

She took off her glasses and tucked them away in a little case before digging in to eat. It was a charming gesture, don’t ask me why. She looked up at me and I noticed for the first time the color of her eyes. They were green, but not an emerald or jade green; more transparent somehow, like sea glass, or the color of old Coca Cola bottles. I pushed the thought away. This was a friendly lunch, nothing more.

We finished our meals, I paid the bill, and we headed for my car. I couldn’t help noticing again how nice she smelled, and she really was kind of cute once she got over her shyness.

“We should do this again some time, after work. Maybe even go crazy and have two Margaritas.”

“Sounds great. I’d love to.”

“And maybe Jeremy would like to come. Does he eat Mexican food?”

“He eats everything. Literally, everything. I’ve never seen a kid with such eclectic taste in food.”

“You’re lucky. Most parents can’t get their kids to eat anything bu McDonald’s or pizza.”

“You have any kids?”

“Not that I know of.”

I smiled to soften the jerkiness of the reply but it didn’t seem to faze her.

“I never really saw myself as the motherly type but then Jeremy came along and now I can’t remember what it was like without him.”

“He’s a...