In Cold Blonde (11 page)

Musso and Frank Grill was the oldest restaurant in Hollywood, and felt
like it.  It’s got wood-paneled walls, red leather booths and the same
menu as when it opened in 1919.  Want Turkey a la King, liver with onions,
broiled squab with bacon, lamb kidney sauté; this is your place.  But old-fashioned
is the charm of the place.  And they’ve got a great bar.

Anne sat at far end of the bar nursing a vodka tonic.  She was
surprised how nervous she was.  Anne was never nervous.  Not in a boardroom
or courtroom.  But she could feel an anxiety buzz, and she didn’t like it.

Of course, her life was in turmoil, her marriage over, her job
gone.  Rick’s father may bail them out but Anne was sure rumors would leak
about her and Rick forging his father’s signature and her reputation was sure
to take a big time hit.  What a fucking mess.

“Hey, Beautiful.”

Anne turned to find Ryan behind her.  “Hey, Handsome.” 

That’s how they used to greet each other when they first started dating,
those intoxicating wonderful days of young love.    

“Sit, please,” she said.  “What’re you drinking?”

“I’ll have a beer.”

Anne caught the eye of the bartender.  “Michelob draft for him,” she
said, and then looked at Ryan.  “That all right?”

“I’m surprised you remember.”

It was easy for Anne to remember, Rick drank the same thing.  But
she smiled shyly and ordered another vodka tonic for herself. 

“Amazing,” Ryan said.  “I haven’t seen you in seven years and now
twice in one day.”

“You complaining?” she teased.

“No, not at all.” 

The bartender delivered the drinks.  No reason to beat around the
bush, Anne thought.  “A toast,” she said, holding up her glass, “in honor
of your Lotto winnings.  To wealth, wisdom and happiness.”

“One down, two to go,” Ryan said.  They both laughed and drank.

Anne had to be careful here.  She wanted to seem helpful without
being predatory; friendly and just a hint flirtatious.  But she couldn’t
seem opportunistic.  She had to play this just right.

“You know our firm has represented a number of Lotto winners over the
years.”

“Really?”

She nodded.  “Believe it or not, winning the lottery is a dangerous
proposition.  Sometimes winning the lottery is the
un
luckiest thing
in the world.  One third of all Lotto winners are bankrupt in five
years.  One client won eleven million dollars, ignored our advice and
plowed it all into slot machines and crap tables.  He now lives in a
trailer park.  The brother of another client hired hit men to kill him so
he would get the inheritance.”

“Jesus.”

“There’s story after story.  Another guy won fifteen million, so
bought a house for his mom, cars for all his relatives, gave hundreds of
thousands to his church, tens of thousands to his friends, sent money to people
who wrote him sob stores; he ended up spending it all.  Died of a heart
attack and there wasn’t enough left to pay for the burial.  And I read
about this woman who won twenty million, went out to celebrate and was killed
driving home.”

“Okay, that’s it, I’m ripping the damn thing up.”

“No!  There are also plenty of stories about people whose lives have
been blessed by the money.  All I’m saying is, you have to be careful. 
Get a team around you:  lawyer, CPA, people you can trust.”  As soon
as she said the word trust, Anne regretted it.  How would he ever trust
the woman who betrayed and dumped him?  “People who know and care about
you,” she added.

Even in college Ryan knew Anne was going to be a great lawyer.  She
was articulate and convincing.  And smart.  Hearing all the potential
downsides of winning the lottery made him very glad he’d agreed to meet
her. 

And she was so damn beautiful.  When they were together, he used to
spend hours staring at her face; when she talked, while she read, as she
slept.  He used to tell her that her face massaged his eyes.  And
looking at her now he realized that nothing had changed.

“I do need some advice,” he said.  “You see, my winning the Lotto is
a little more complicated than normal.”

 “Complicated how?”   

 Ryan took a sip of his beer and told her about the tow truck driver
and finding the ticket on the ground.  “And I know enough law,” he said
finishing, “to know that the ticket is not legally mine.”

Anne listened to the story with an increasing sense of doom.  She
knew Ryan well enough to know that he would probably want to do the
right
thing.  Turn the ticket in and let the Lotto officials try and find the
tow truck driver.

But it’s hard for anyone, even Ryan, to turn down tens of millions of
dollars that no one could prove
wasn’t
his.  And she needed him to
claim that money.  A rich Ryan would solve so many of her problems.    

Then she had an idea, a brainstorm really, something that Ryan would
probably find irresistible.  So she went to work.  “Okay, we’ve got a
real conundrum here, don’t we?”

“Yes and no.  I mean, it’s simple, really, isn’t it?  The
ticket is not mine.  I have to turn it in.”

“Do you know what will happen if you turn it in?”

“Not really.  I’m mean, I guess they’ll try and find the tow truck
driver.”

“You’re a detective.  Any chance they’ll find him?”

“I didn’t pay that much attention to his face.  I’m sure there was a
company name on the tow truck but I don’t remember it and I didn’t even glance
at the license plate.  So no, I could never identify him.”

“And since it was a quick pick, no one could prove these were numbers he
played every week.  And since it was six months ago, the 7-Eleven won’t
have a video tape.”

“Right.  So if they can’t find the real owner, what happens to the
money?”

“It goes back into the State general budget fund.  Meaning no one
gets it.”

Ryan slumped; that’s what he was afraid of.  “What a waste,” he
said.

Okay, Anne thought.  Got to go careful here.  “Ryan, who else
knows the truth about the lottery ticket?”

Ryan looked at her.  He knew where she was going.  She was
going to try and find a way to justify keeping it.  And so was he. 
That’s the real reason he was here, wasn’t it? 

“Just my partner.”

“Can you trust him?”

“Her.  And yes, totally.”

She didn’t like that answer; too quick, too definitive.  There was
only one reason he could be so sure, he was probably involved with her.  Anne
wanted to probe further, but there would be time for that later.

“What does she think you should so do with the ticket?”

“She hasn’t told me.  She says it’s my decision.”

Good, Anne thought.  Smart girl.  “Then let’s look at a couple
of options.  I know you used to look at life in absolutes, Ryan, your John
Wayne syndrome; right is right, wrong is wrong, life is black and white,
period.  Has nine years in law enforcement dulled your integrity?”

Nine years on the streets usually turned the biggest idealist into a
jaded cynic.  And Ryan had seen enough injustices, corruption and abuse of
power to rattle his belief system, but it still worked, somehow.  “Dulled,
perhaps, destroyed, no.”

“But I’m sure you now realize that there is a lot of gray mixed in with
the black and white.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Well, that’s what we’ve got here, Ryan.  A gray area.  In a
perfect world you’d turn the ticket in, the rightful owner would get it and the
angels in heaven sing a chorus of Halleluiah.  But, since turning in the
ticket would mean
no one
gets the money, those angels have got nothing
to sing about.  If you did claim the lottery and used the millions for the
greater good, those angels could unleash their voices.”

“The greater good?”

“Charities, friends in need; Ryan, we’re talking forty-seven million
dollars!”

“Thirty-four after taxes.”

Anne laughed.  “Okay, thirty-four.  That’s still a boatload of
cash.  Think of all the great things you could do with that money. 
All the people you could help.  You could be a one-man United Way, giving
help and money to whomever
you
want.”

Ryan hadn’t thought of that.  And taking the money for charitable
purposes didn’t seem as dishonest somehow.

 “Look, I’m just spit-balling here, I need to get back to my office
and check a few things.  How much time do we have?  When does the
ticket expire?”

“Thursday.”

Anne’s jaw dropped.  “The day after tomorrow?  Aren’t you
cutting this a little bit close?”

“We just found the ticket.  Syd, that’s my partner, wanted some gum
so I told her to look in my glove compartment.  And there it was, buried
in a few years worth of crap.” 

“Sounds like she’s the real hero in this story,” Anne said.  Then
something occurred to her.  “Wait a minute, you don’t still drive the Mustang,
do you?”

“It was my dream car in college and it’s my dream car now.”

And then Anne remembered a night long ago.  They were driving back
from Malibu the night Ryan proposed, the top was down, their hair was blowing
and he said, “I’m in my dream car with my dream girl.  Does it get any
better than this?”  The memory filled her with such a sense of melancholy
that she looked away, oddly embarrassed. 

Ryan noticed.  “You okay?”

“Fine,” she said, and then regrouped.  “You know,” she said, getting
back to the heart of her idea, the heart of her salvation.  “I could help
you set up this foundation.  I’ve been living the life of a greedy
corporate attorney for long enough.  Taking and never giving back. 
This could be a great opportunity for both of us.  You’d resign from the
police department and we could run it together.”

“Wait, hold it.  Who said anything about leaving the police
department?”

“You’d have millions of dollars, why would you want to still be a cop?”

“I love being a cop.”

He said it with such conviction Anne was envious.  She wished she
loved something that much.  “Then you remain a cop and oversee the
foundation on the side.  The important thing is we put that money to good use.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple, Ryan.  You’ve been given an incredible opportunity to
help thousands of people.  Frankly, it’s a no brainer.  In fact, as I
fully unwind my powers of rationalization, I could make a case that you winning
the Lotto and using the money for charity is much more humane than some beer
guzzling tow truck driver who would no doubt piss away all the money. 
It’s better for everyone.”

“Well, almost everyone,” Ryan said.

“Sure.  But what the tow truck driver doesn’t know can’t possibly
hurt him.”

Anne made so much sense.  And for the first time since he’d found
out about the winning lottery ticket, Ryan began to see a way he could actually
justify keeping the money.  And the idea of working with Anne every day,
seeing Anne every day, was surprisingly appealing.

“You have time for one more drink?” he asked.

Anne shook her head.  “No, if we’ve got a Thursday deadline, I’ve
got a ton of work to do.”  She slid a twenty-dollar bill onto the
bar.  “You have time tomorrow if I need you?”

“I’ll make time.”

Anne stood.  “I’ve missed you, Handsome.”  And then she kissed
him gently on the lips.

The kiss surprised Ryan.  It felt good.  It felt familiar. 
It felt right.  Ryan suddenly realized how much he had missed her. “Talk
to you soon, Beautiful.”

Anne walked out of the bar, a smile on her lips.  She had him.

Syd sat at her desk in the deserted bullpen, eyes focused on her computer
screen.  The more Syd read about Anne Rogers, formerly Anne Magee,
formerly Anne Reich, the less she liked her.  Syd had Googled her, checked
her Facebook page and the Rogers, Middleton and Roberts homepage.  What
emerged was an up-from-the-bootstraps story of a poor young girl raised in a
trailer park by an alcoholic mother who made it to the top with pluck, brains
and determination.  There is no mention of her brief college marriage to
Ryan Magee, but blog after blog accompanied by the appropriate pictures, chronicled
her worldwide travels to the far-flung capitals of the world, Zurich, Dubai,
Paris, etc., with her wonderful husband Rick.  They were always
photographed either hand in hand or with arms around each other; clearly two
people in love.

That was a bit consoling; at least she was happily married.

Anne’s legal career seemed successful but uneventful.  She
represented Fortune 500 firms in a variety of corporate litigations; lawsuits that
make money, not headlines.  Syd double-clicked on Anne’s picture on the
Rogers, Middleton Roberts homepage and the smiling brunette face filled the
screen.  She was pretty, if anything, too perfect; almost like she was
trying too hard.     

Syd had met a few women like her in the Police Academy. 
Overachievers, who studied harder and worked out longer than all the other
cadets.  Syd knew the type well; she was one of them.

In a way, becoming a cop was a going away present from EMT Eric
Templeton.  At Eric’s funeral, Syd met his sister, Andrea.  She was a
vet, too, an MP in the Army who joined the LAPD after her discharge.  Eric
had told Andrea all about Syd, and the two women hit it off immediately. 

Andrea saw the same potential in Syd that Eric had, and helped her get her
high school GED, enroll in Santa Monica City College and even got Syd a part-time
job working at a friend’s cafe. 

Andrea wasn’t pretty.  She had a nose that was a bit small on a face
that was a bit too long and eyes that were just a tad too close together. 
She kept her brown hair cut short and wore almost no make-up.  She was tall
and skinny, but strong.  She spent five hours a week in the gym and was a
first-degree black belt.

She was also gay.  In the Army, nobody asked and she didn’t
tell.  In the LAPD, it was nobody’s fucking business.       

Andrea lived in a three-bedroom house in Burbank she inherited from her
folks.  She offered Syd one of the spare bedrooms until she got on her
feet.  They became lovers a month later.

Syd was smart enough to realize a pattern was developing; she was using
sex as the glue to cement important relationships.  It happened with
Ernesto and now Andrea.  But she didn’t care; she was so desperate for
security, for stability that sex seemed a small price to pay. 

Syd didn’t think of herself as gay; bi-sexual at best.  When she was
a hooker she’d had to do a number of threesomes; guys always loved to see two
girls get it on.  Syd liked it okay; women certainly were better lovers
than men.  However given a choice, Syd preferred men. 

But Andrea was so much more than a lover.  She was teacher, friend,
and inspiration.  She took Syd to the gym, to the dojo so she could learn
karate, to museums and art galleries.  And Andrea instilled in Syd her
love for law enforcement.  Andrea relished running into a dangerous situation
when everyone else was running away.  She felt she made a difference every
day.  There were millions of people living in L.A. just trying to mind
their own business, raise their children and get safely through the day. 
Millions of people who are preyed on by thugs, thieves, rapists and murderers. 
Andrea was proud to man the wall that separated good from evil.  And what
better way for Syd to get over her former life as a victim than by becoming an
advocate for justice.

She never told Andrea that she’d killed two men.  In Syd’s mind
those weren’t crimes, they were clear-cut cases of self-defense.  Besides,
she feared Andrea’s sense of justice would land her in jail.

Syd joined the LAPD as soon as she graduated from Santa Monica City
College.  She was determined to be number one in her Academy class and
make Andrea proud.  So she was an overachiever. 

But Andrea didn’t live to see Syd’s graduation.  Andrea was killed by
a gangbanger trying to hold up a Wendy’s. 

Syd’s reaction was surprising.  She was heartbroken, of course, but
a part of her was relieved.  Syd was hoping to start her LAPD career on
her own.  She was ready to move on with her life and that meant breaking
up with Andrea.  Andrea would have been devastated, so a valiant death in
the line of duty was at the very least, a consolation.

Syd’s success as a cop was due, in great deal, to the lessons learned
from Andrea and the ambition seared into her soul by her late lover.  And
though Syd had dated a few times in the ensuing years, men only now, nothing
stuck until Syd met Ryan.

But at times like this she really missed Andrea.  Andrea was a great
judge of character and Syd would love Andrea’s take on ex-wife Anne and the
whole lottery mess.

The bullpen door swung open and Ryan walked in.  He had a bounce to
his step and a smile on his face.  

“You look happy,” Syd said clicking a window on her computer banishing
the picture of Anne Rogers.  

“I do?  Well, I guess I kind of am.  Anne was very helpful.”

“What, tell me?”

He plopped into his chair, facing her.  “You first; any luck finding
the Tuttle girl?”

“Of course, nobody can hide from me.  She’s a wannabe actress
working nights as a waitress at Tony Roma’s.”

“I love Tony Roma’s.”

“I know you do.  I thought we could stop for a little third degree and
a side of baby back ribs.”

“Genius.”

“I also got the VICAP report on numbers scrawled into corpses.  666
seem to be the numerals of choice, often left on corpses, walls, floors or
cars.”

“Devil worship.” 

“Right, which is what we don’t have here.  Aside from the 666 freaks,
I couldn’t find any reports of a body found with the number 1 carved or painted
on it, or the numbers 2, 3 or 4 for that matter.”

“Okay.  Guess we’ll have to crack this case the old fashioned
way.”  Ryan stood.  “So, we good to go?”

“Wait, what about your ex-wife and the lottery ticket?”

“I’ll tell you on the way,” Ryan said heading for the door.  “But
here’s the headline: Ryan Magee saves the world.” And he walked out the door.

Intrigued, and more than a little worried, Syd followed.