Tussinland (17 page)

THIRTY-EIGHT

Paul walked on the sidewalks of Sylvan toward McHenry and Tully roads. He stopped and checked his phone. On
The Modesto Bee
website he found a YouTube video, “The Murder of Mark Pisko and Tina Dunn.”

He watched footage that appeared to be his sister Bethany along with her husband Pete Fish kill Tina and Mark, then take away a large amount of heroin. He wasn’t sure what was real, but it was clear that both Mark and Tina were shot by a shotgun in the torso and died. This wasn’t news, exactly.

He checked on YouTube and the video had 100,000 views—it was only two hours old. Wow.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t even feel like crying. He felt oddly excited by seeing the murders. He wasn’t glad to watch Mark die; he wasn’t sad to see Tina go. It was like all that was a done deal, yesterday’s news. Literally. Bigger things were about to happen.

He called his dad, asked him to pick him up at Sylvan and McHenry. He leaned against the wall outside of the Cold Stone ice cream place and waited. He heard sirens—police cars and ambulances going in the direction of Sylvan and Oakdale. He wondered how his mother was doing. He wondered what Logan and Miranda were up to.

His dad pulled up in his Range Rover with Scott in the passenger seat. They both looked very serious.

Scott got out of the SUV and hugged Paul for a long time. Paul looked past Scott at Clyde—the stoic man was crying.

“Come on, sit down, sweetie,” Scott said as he opened the back door.

Paul, finally almost pain free in his back, sat down behind Scott and fastened his seat belt.

“Have you heard the news?” Pike said.

“No, not really,” Paul said, “but I saw the YouTube video of Tina’s murder. Shit.”

“What?” Clyde said. “There’s a video?”

“Here,” Paul said. He grabbed his phone, “I’ll show you.”

Scott reached out his hand to touch Paul’s.

“Look, Paul,” he said. “Bethany and her husband are dead. They were killed tonight out behind their church.”

“Really?”

“Apparently Rincon did it before he was shot and killed by the police, who just happened to be right there. There were three guys, all heavily armed, that were also there and were also killed. It was some kind of bloodbath.”

“Probably the three guys who attacked me today in the name of Jesus Christ. Wow.”

“Look, Paul,” Clyde said. “Maybe you should go home with us tonight. We can take you to your mom’s house tomorrow.”

Paul thought about it for a moment.

“No,” he said. “I better be with my mom. Can you imagine? Bethany dead?”

“You sure?” Clyde said

“Yes, Dad,” Paul said. “Thanks for the offer though.”

They were on Sylvan, nearly to Carver. No one spoke. Paul clicked on the video again. It didn’t come up. Instead there was a YouTube notice that the video had been removed for violation of policy. Oh well.

Fagan woke up after midnight. He didn’t understand where he was—why he was parked next to the now-closed gas station. His head ached and his mouth felt like it was covered in Velcro. He saw the pint of Jim Beam on the seat next to him.

Oh shit. He looked around to see if anyone was nearby. He was mortified at the thought of being there passed out while on duty. Untold numbers of people may have walked by and seen him. The volume on his car radio was turned off. He had no memory of doing that. He searched around, found his phone on the floor in front of him. It was turned off too.

Oh man, he was in trouble.

He’d figure a way out of it though—he always did.

He turned on the phone, turned up the radio.

Slowly, everything he’d missed became clear.

Rincon dead. Both of the Fishes dead. Bethany and Pete now presumed to be the killers of Mark Pisko and Tina Dunn. Three men with the Fishes dead as well. No police officers killed or even injured, thank God. A truck that was possibly Logan Swift’s had been found blown up and burned on the side of the highway north of town. Swift and Miranda Fish missing. No one looking for Paul Dunn. The DEA agents from Fresno had arrived, visited the battle scene, studied the murder video and checked into the Modesto DoubleTree for an indefinite stay.

Fagan read texts and listened to messages from Plant, from ADA Adams, from his superiors at the police department.

He remembered the look, the feel, the smell of Mavis Love. He remembered his promise to come back to her bed that night. He knew she was probably devastated right then, and he had a desperate urge to comfort her. He would go see her and deal with police matters in the morning.

Fuck it.

His cock was hard as he turned on the car and drove in the direction Rumble Road.

On the 5 freeway about an hour south of Modesto, Logan told Reverend Polk to take the next exit. They were in a desolate area, hadn’t seen a town for miles. Polk tried to talk to the two, but they both just laughed at him. They listened to the radio and laughed even harder when they heard the details of what had happened behind the church. Miranda kept snorting the heroin they pulled out of their large supply, the merchandise he figured had been meant for him. They went on and on about their ambitions to become famous stars in the adult movie business.

“I have a lot of money in the back,” he said.

“Yeah, we know,” Miranda said. “Why the fuck do you think we kidnapped you?”

“Where are we going? Why are we pulling over?”

“We want to get a look at your bag of cash,” Logan said. “Pull over up there, by the canal.”

“Okay,” Logan said. “Turn off the engine and give Randa the keys. Now, push the button to pop the trunk and let’s all get out of the car and check things out.”

Polk led the way to the back of the Mercedes. Miranda and Logan followed, each pointing their guns at his head. Polk pointed at a large black suitcase.

“Pull it this way and open it,” Logan said.

Polk opened the case, showed the contents to his captors. Logan looked in the case, then at Miranda. She smiled and nodded. Logan pulled Polk away from the car, pushed him toward the edge of the canal. Miranda followed.

“No. No no no.” Polk said. “This is crazy. Just take the money.”

“We
are
taking the money Reverend Dumbass.”

At the edge of the irrigation canal’s cement banks, Logan pushed Polk onto his knees, facing the water. The canal was nearly full. The water moved rapidly.

“I know people in the porn industry in the San Fernando Valley,” Polk said. “I could hook you up.”

“That’s okay,” Logan said. “When you have our kind of talent and financial resources, you don’t need contacts.”

He shot Polk in the back of the head with both barrels. Skull, skin, brain, bone, blood, and hair burst forward to the ground and into the canal. Miranda and Logan watched as the headless minister’s arms flailed for several seconds before the body fell forward into the canal. Logan leaned forward, kicked the gurgling corpse so that it joined the current and floated out of sight.

Back at the SUV, Logan replaced the license plates with a set he’d stolen earlier in the day. He walked back to the canal, threw the original plates along with the shotgun into the water.

He got into the driver’s seat, turned the Mercedes back on. Next to him, Miranda sent one last text to Detective Fagan and made a quick phone call.

Fagan parked in front of Mavis Love’s house. It was dark except for what appeared to be the light in her bedroom. He approached the front door cautiously just in case Logan or Miranda were around.

The door was unlocked. He slipped inside and walked to the bedroom.

The overhead light brightly illuminated Mavis lying on her back in the bed. The covers were pulled down and she was on the bottom sheet. She wore a sexy black lacy outfit—bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings. On her feet were shiny black leather pumps with high heels—just the kind he liked. Her long blonde hair was brushed and looked so beautiful. Her eyes were closed.

Fagan forgot all about the case and all the trouble he was in and all the shit he’d have to deal with in the morning. He ripped off his clothes and got into bed. He pulled Mavis panties down along her legs. When he tried to lift up her feet to slip the underwear over her shoes, he was surprised at how stiff she was. He figured that she’d wake up at this point.

He reached up, gently touched her chin with his right hand. He shook her head from side to side while saying her name. No response.

He checked her pulse. Nothing. He jumped off the bed and looked down at her. He lost his erection. He looked around the room. On the nightstand were five empty balloons, the kind that often hold heroin, along with a spoon and a lighter. Under all this paraphernalia was a stack of medical records for a Mavis Grace Love.

From the pocket of his pants on the floor he heard his phone beep. He had a message.

There was
no
way this was good news.

It was another video. An iPhone movie. It showed him on the front porch of the house earlier today drinking vodka with Mavis, kissing her, fondling her breasts. It showed him opening his zipper and trying to force his dick between her legs while she giggled and led him into the house.

Then it was footage of him fucking Mavis Love on her bed. Twice.

Fuck.

The phone rang. Unknown caller.

When he answered, Miranda Fish identified herself and began talking right away.

“Detective Fagan,” she said. “I hope you liked the video. Pretty hot, huh? I wonder what porn category it would fit into? Amateur GILF sex? I don’t know. Anyway. No one will ever see this particular porno if you follow a couple of very simple instructions. First, make sure the investigation into the murders of Mark Pisko and Tina Dunn are closed with Bethany and Pete Fish held officially responsible. Make sure that Paul Dunn is no longer a suspect and drop any investigation of him. And do
not
look for me and Logan Swift. Make it so that we are not suspected of any crimes and that we just left town. Do not come after us. Ever.”

Fagan listened to Miranda as he stared at Mavis’ lovely corpse.

“Do you understand?” Miranda said.

“Yes, I think I can pull all that off.”

“If you fuck it up, I’ll make sure the video gets on YouTube, and goes to the media and the Modesto PD. You must know by now that I know exactly what I’m doing, right?”

“What about your grandmother? What about Mavis? Do you know she’s dead?”

There was silence. After a moment he could hear crying on the other end of the call.

“Are you with her now?” she said.

“Yes, I’m in her bedroom, she OD’d. And it doesn’t look like an accident. Did you two give her all that heroin?”

“Give her a kiss for me,” Miranda said.

Clyde, Scott, and Paul pulled up to Mavis’ house. They saw the ambulance parked outside. Forgetting his back pain, Paul got out of the car and ran up. He couldn’t get into the front door because two EMTs were carrying out a stretcher. The head was covered, but he saw his mother’s long blonde hair hanging off to one side.

Detective Fagan stood in the front room, holding some papers. He looked grave. Paul knew that his mother was dead. He stepped aside to let the men bring the body out to the ambulance.

“What happened?” he said.

“Did you know your mother had terminal cancer?” Fagan said. He held up the papers.

“What?” Paul said. “No way.”

“She committed suicide. Overdose of heroin.”

Clyde and Scott stood next to Paul. Clyde broke down. He fell to the floor crying. Scott learned over and rubbed his back and tried to soothe his husband.

Paul felt empty and calm. So many people were dead and none of it was his fault.

Paul turned to Fagan and took the papers from his hand.

“Do you need to be here now? I’d like to be alone.”

“I understand,” Fagan said. “I’ll check on you tomorrow, okay?”

“Whatever.”

Paul sat for about twenty minutes with his distraught former stepfather. When he became calm, he convinced him and Scott to leave.

“It’s been a crazy couple of days, as you know,” he said. “I just need to be alone and rest right now.”

When he was sure they were gone, he realized he had a craving for Sugar Frosted Flakes. He got his bowl, milk, spoon, and cereal from the kitchen, put it all on the coffee table in front of his favorite TV-watching chair.

He saw that a stack of papers had been left in the middle of the cushion—three separate, stapled documents about two inches thick. He put the papers on the table and sat down. He poured his first bowl of cereal. He glanced at the top of the first page as he ate. It was his mother’s will.

He turned on the TV. He remembered that he still had about ten minutes left of
Longmire
. He was really curious to see how it ended, to find out how the Mennonite Rumspringa stripper girl had died and who had killed her.