Breach of Promise (30 page)
Authors: James Scott Bell
On Monday, Alex got me released O.R. after the arraignment, where she asked for a continuance. The deputy D.A. went right along with that, which seemed strange. Didn’t they always fight for bail on
Law and Order
A few hours later, after I was officially sprung, I found out why. Alex told me to come to her office, which I did.
“I’ve been talking to the D.A.’s office,” Alex said. “They’re
“Why?”
“Because there’s a catch.”
That brought me back to earth, but quick.
“I’ve got some papers here from Bryce Jennings,” Alex
explained. “I’m obligated to tell you about it. So I’ll just come right out with it. Bottom line, there will be no complaint against you if you agree not to fight for custody of Maddie.”
Suddenly it all made sense.
“You don’t have to do it,” Alex said. “We can still—” “They’ve worked it pretty good, haven’t they?”
“Mark, like I said, I’m willing—”
“You’ve been around this type of thing. Nasty people fighting
Alex treated the question seriously. “It depends on the child, but most of the time it’s not good, obviously. But Maddie—”
“And it can be worse if the kid’s the emotional type.”
“That depends, too, on a lot of—”
“Maddie’s emotional.”
Alex looked at her hands.
“If I sign the papers, she won’t have to deal with this whole mess anymore, right?”
“You don’t have to sign. I can still—”
“I know. But I’m saying, if I did, she wouldn’t have to go through anything. I mean, we fight the abuse charge and she’s going to have to go on the stand. You’re going to have to question her.”
“At some point.”
“And doctors probing her.”
“Yes.”
I couldn’t let that happen. There was this time when Maddie and I were out walking and went past a chain-link fence. Suddenly, this little dog appeared out of nowhere and ran toward us, barking its head off. Maddie got scared, grabbed my leg, held on tight.
I patted her head and said, “It’s all right. Watch.” I put my hand near the fence, letting the dog smell it. The pooch stopped barking and wagged its tail.
“See?” I told Maddie. “You want to say hi to the dog?”
Maddie, (I could still feel her trembling) peeked out from behind me and said, ”Hi doggie.”
I was there to protect her from the barking dog and to show her she didn’t have to be scared. But now if I went forward in a fight over Maddie and child abuse, I wouldn’t be able to protect her anymore. In fact, I would be the barking dog.
I looked at Alex. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
I recounted my jail experience, then added, “It seems like climbing a mountain, and after all this struggle you get to a plateau and know that you’re not going back again. You are higher and safer than you were just a little while ago. I want to stay here.”
Alex listened closely.
“I can’t give up fighting for her, Alex. But I can’t see her hurt, either. What do I do?”
Alex waited a long time before answering. “I’ll stall Jennings. Do you have any job opportunities?”
“I’ve been thinking of coaching baseball. Would it matter if it was in Arizona?”
“Why there?”
“I have a friend, a guy I played with in the minors, who coaches a high school team in Phoenix. About a year ago he said if I ever want to assist, give him a call. I want to get out anyway. I’m through with LA.
“You still get monitored vists—”
“I’ll never miss one. I’ll make the drive. Ride a bike. Crawl if I have to.”
“Meantime, we get you a good criminal lawyer. I know a few.”
“Whatever it takes.”
“At the right time I’ll go back to Jennings with our own offer. I can’t promise anything will change but—”
“Go for it, Alex.”
She nodded. “And you and I, we pray, right now. We pray for that trust you were talking about. Even lawyers need it. Maybe especially lawyers.”
So we prayed. I gritted my teeth as we did. I kept seeing Maddie’s face in my mind.
1I gave notice at the apartment that afternoon. And started wrapping up my affairs, if thin threads left blowing in the wind can be called
affairs.
The idea of moving to Arizona and starting all over again felt right. Any place that was not Los Angeles was fine with me.
I’d only be a six- or seven-hour drive away and could get back for the monitored visits with Maddie. It wouldn’t seem like a bad drive if I knew she was on the other end. And my getting it together as a baseball coach or some other job would look good to the court down the line. The criminal case was hanging over my head, but I decided to believe it would work out. Somehow.
The first person I told about my move was Mrs. Williams. In many ways she’d been like a mother to me and a grandmother to Maddie. One of the last few decent people in LA, I say.
She almost cried when I told her, standing in front of her open door in the hallway.
“Will you call me from time to time?” she said.
I hugged her. “Count on it.”
When evening came I went over to the Club Cobalt, to see Roland. How was I going to break it to him? Part of me sensed he already knew. I hadn’t called him, I’d quit waitering with him, I’m sure he knew something was up.
Roland was in the middle of a set when I came in. Man, he could play. I’d miss that, but I had heard a rumor that jazz had made it to Arizona. There would be other venues.
I sipped a Coke in a booth while Roland played and for a little while felt musical relief. Roland finished off with a rousing update of “Take the A Train.” It was like he had sixteen fingers. Piano doesn’t get much better than that.
When he joined me I apologized for not having been in touch and told him I was moving out, good-bye.
“Can’t believe it,” he said. “There’s no way.”
“Way.”
“You’re just giving up?”
“Moving to a different location, that’s all.” I tapped a little tune on the table with my fingers. “You remember that thing you said, God playing jazz?”
He nodded.
“Well, I’m trying to listen for that now, see? I’m really trying to listen.”
A long silence passed between us.
“You keep in touch,” Roland said.
“Not just that. When I come back into town, maybe I can take up some room on your couch.”
“If you shower first.”
I put out my hand and we shook. “Deal.”
Roland went to play another set and I ordered another Coke. Halfway through the first number, Milo Ayers came into the Cobalt. He made a few rounds, then came over to my booth.
“Markie! You don’t answer your calls?”
“Hi, Mr. Ayers. I haven’t listened to my messages today.”
He sat down. “The guy, looking for your father?”
I’d almost forgotten about that. “What about him?”
“Wants to talk to you. I think he has something.”
My skin pulled tight on the back of my neck. “Found him?”
“Don’t know. Call him.” He took out a pen and wrote something on a paper napkin, then handed it to me. It was a phone number. “You call, huh?” Milo said.
It was a Motel 6 off Highway 15, just outside of Barstow. That’s where the guy said he was. Ron Reid, on his way to who knew where.
There was a Denny’s next door, separated by a block wall and some dusty oleander. I parked in the Denny’s lot and found a place near a couple of pea-green Dumpsters where I could look over the wall and watch the motel parking lot.
The Dumpsters gave off a lovely scent—industrial stink, rust, and rancid food. It blew toward me on a soft wind.
I ignored it, because I was focused on finding a way to get into room 107. That was the number the guy Milo hired gave me.
Your Motel 6’s don’t get the BMWs or the Benzes, the ones with the most sensitive alarm systems. My best guess for what I was about to do was a new Acura, which was only a few yards away from the door to 107.
Worked like a charm dipped in chocolate. All it took was me sitting hard on the hood, and the alarm—a real nasty one—tore up the quiet of the evening.
I ran down to the end of the row and waited.
Doors began opening, light from inside rooms flooding out on the walk. A husky voice cursed, shouting that the owner—whose legitimacy the shouter was questioning—better take care of this situation
now.
My hope was that the owner of the Acura would be the last one to respond. In a bath or something, or maybe at Denny’s grabbing a cup of coffee.
The alarm kept going. Room 107 stayed sealed.
I edged a little closer, right in front of the window of 108, which was dark. Sound sleepers.
The
WAW WAW WAW WAW
of the alarm was like an ax to the brain.
The shouter was out on the walk now, a hairy man in boxers and a T-shirt, holding a Dr. Pepper like a grenade.
And then a crack in 107.
I waited half a beat, then pushed it open.
Ron Reid shrieked, but the Acura worked its magic and no one could hear it.
“Mind if I come in?” I said over the noise.
“How’d you find me?”
“Are you going to leave me standing out here?”
“You don’t understand—”
I pushed past him and walked inside the room. He closed the door quickly, as if someone outside might be spying on us. For all I know he could’ve been right.
The car alarm continued, though now we were able to talk in a more normal tone. He had on a Hawaiian shirt, red, with pictures of little surfers and fish.
“How did you find me?” he repeated.
“I just want to know one thing—how much did you get?”
“Mark, listen—”
“How much did Troncatti give you to lie in court?”
Ron Reid gave me a long look and sighed. “Ten,” he said.
“Ten
thousand?
”
“Yeah.”
“Who gave it to you? Who made the drop?”
“Look, they’re gonna hurt me, I say anything. I gotta get out of here.”
He looked like a lost and desperate mutt. Where I should have felt something hard and hot inside me, I now felt this black, cold hole. I sat down on the edge of the bed.
I looked at him. “You’ve got to come back and talk about this.”
He paced toward the window. The alarm died outside. “Mark, maybe I wish I could, but I can’t. I’m afraid of these people.”
“You can be protected.”
“You don’t believe that.”
He was right. “You’re just going to leave then, take off?”
“I’ve been on the road most of my life now. I’ll find a way to get along.”
“You know I have to tell this to the police.”
He nodded. “I don’t think they’ll believe it.”
“They just might.”
He cocked his head.
“Look, I’m going to be moving to Phoenix. If you want to talk, you can find me. I’ll be listed.”
He swallowed hard, like his throat was parched. “Why would you want me to do that?”
I wasn’t sure myself, but I told him about being in jail and Chaplain Ray and what that all did to me. It must have gotten through a little because Ron Reid nodded and said, “Heavy duty.”
I got up. “Just tell me one more thing. Who handed you the money?”
Ron Reid paused a moment, then said, “Troncatti’s driver, I think his name’s Farid. You know him?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Gave it to me in a gym bag and showed me the gun he said he’d use if I talked.”
One more try. “Come back with me, please. Turn this over to the police. Let them—”
He shook his head. “I’m getting out.” He looked at his feet. “I’m sorry, Mark. I know I messed things up pretty bad for you.”
“You did.”
“If it means anything, I’m pretty messed up, too.”
“That Wheel isn’t so hot, is it?”
He looked up at me and a small glint of realization flickered in his eyes. I went to the motel dresser, pulled out the top drawer, and there it was—a good old Gideon Bible. I took it out and tossed it on the bed. “Read that,” I said. “Read that like your life depends on it, because it does.”
I started for the door.
“Mark.”
I turned back.
Ron Reid’s voice quavered. “I wish things had been different. You know, between us.”
“Me too, Dad.”
I left the room. A desert breeze cooled my cheeks, because they were wet. I wiped them with the back of my hand. I was shaking a little when I got to my car, but managed to unbutton my shirt and take off the cassette recorder I’d strapped to my body with duct tape.
I had to wait an hour at the Santa Monica station before Ruchlis came in. From the look on his face he probably would have expected to see Winona Ryder with a bagful of stolen clothes before he saw me.
Maybe it was the seeping desperation in my voice that convinced him. He didn’t ask for any explanation but showed me to his desk where he took out a small cassette player. We loaded the tape and listened.
It was a pretty good recording with the usual muffles associated with a shirt over a torso. But the stuff I wanted him to hear came out clear.
Ruchlis sat back in his chair and folded his arms after it was finished. “You know this is not admissible evidence.”
“I don’t care what it is as long as you believe it and get the D.A. on it.”
“Suppose I did believe it. The D.A.’s gonna say, what can I do with this? Unless the guy comes in and is willing to testify about what he knows, I can’t use this.”
“Can you go talk to him then? He’s probably still at the motel, or if he isn’t you can find him. I did.”
“Then you’re talking about resources,” Ruchlis said. “I got to tell you I don’t think this is going to fly. Who’s to say this isn’t a doctored tape? You’re an actor, right?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“You get one of your friends to play Daddy and out comes this little tape.”
I just looked at him for a second. How could he think I would make up something like this? My hands were like claws as I touched my forehead. In my mind I was crying out to God for help.
“Look,” Ruchlis said, “you’ve got to see it from my standpoint. I’m a cop and my feelings don’t matter. I think you may be telling me the truth. But I also know you were spying on Troncatti’s house, you broke in, you’re desperate, and maybe even a little nuts. Who knows?”
“
I
know.”
“Does anybody know if they’re nuts or not? I may be a little squirrel food myself. Point is, I can’t do anything for you, except maybe give you a lead.”
I looked at him.
“You forget we had this conversation when it’s finished, got it?”
I nodded.
“Call Harrison Ellis at channel 7. Say the stripes from Santa Monica sent you over. He’ll listen to what you have to say, but from there I can’t promise you anything. My advice, don’t get your hopes up.”