Lucky Thirteen
Lisa heeded Aaron’s advice. She avoided the mansion and made no attempt to contact Geo or Tania. Keeping to herself, she went to the store each day and concentrated on improving her business.
She hired an extra counter person, a chirpy blonde named Jess who was on summer break from Pepperdine. And she met with an architect to discuss her plan to expand the store into a British-themed lounge. Sara and Jess slapped a fresh coat of paint on the walls while Lisa and Tron went shopping for new fixtures. By the end of the week, High Tides Health looked brighter and almost presentable.
Lisa continued to carry her gun wherever she went, despite the risk—she could be picked up by the cops for a second line-up any day. But with an unknown creep on her trail, she couldn’t afford to be defenseless. While at work, she stashed the gun behind her desk, just in case.
On Friday, Lisa worked the late shift, to let her people have a night off. Jess was the last to leave, and came into Lisa’s office at six sharp, wearing a happy grin.
“I’m going to clock out if you don’t need me. My fiancée’s here.”
“That’s cool,” Lisa said. “I’ll head out front and take over.” She stepped into her stiletto mules and grabbed her laptop. “I didn’t know you were getting married.”
“After graduation, we haven’t set a date yet.”
They walked to the front of the store and Lisa took a seat behind the counter, setting the laptop in front of her. Jess embraced her boyfriend, another cheerful towhead. The two made a cute match, like a surfer couple straight off the pages of a catalog.
“Noah, this is my boss, Lisa.”
Noah nodded. “Nice to meet you.” He’d been browsing a selection of mushroom candies and brought a package to the register. “Can you ring this up?”
“Forget it. They’re on the house,” Lisa said. “Consider it an engagement present.”
They thanked Lisa and went out, holding hands and giggling with the bloom of true love. The sight made Lisa heartsick. She thought of Alex. She’d had that kind of fun with him until her secrets got in the way.
Lisa retrieved her phone and smoothed out the screen. She saw another text from Alex that she didn’t dare answer. She couldn’t, not until this business with the cops was sorted out. It was only a matter of time before Deputy Hernandez showed up at her door again. Then what, a trial, prison? She could never burden Alex with those things. Lisa held onto the hope that through some legal maneuver she couldn’t presently fathom, the cops would drop the case against her and she could go back to working with Geo—and for Evelyn.
And therein lay the rub. Ever since her interrogation, Lisa wondered how she could continue as a part of Sombra do Norte. It seemed incomprehensible, now that she’d seen those human trafficking photos. Putting aside what she’d done to Troy and Tony Velasco, she’d always told herself Sombra dealt in victimless crimes—that what she did was move money around, maybe get a little rough with other criminals. How naive she’d been.
It wasn’t only the pictures that bothered her. Aaron’s cryptic warning the previous Sunday night had frightened her more than a little. What did he mean for her own safety? Had Chefa turned against her? She wished she could talk to the boss, and assure her that she hadn’t said anything to the cops. But Lisa had another worry. The investigation seemed to have progressed beyond the robbery, and it was clear now that Lisa was suspected of involvement in the disappearance of Troy Darrow and of Tony Velasco.
Referee Janssen had called it a missing persons investigation. They couldn’t have discovered any proof that Darrow and Velasco were murdered, could they? Lisa and Geo had disposed of Velasco’s body the same night she… she did what she did. As for Darrow’s body, surely Bernard wasn’t so careless as to have left any trace for the cops to find.
There were other bodies too. Lisa couldn’t be sure which ones Hernandez knew about. She recalled the security guard that Tania had dispatched so nonchalantly, just to get a keycard to the Beverly Sunset Hotel. And the overdose at the mansion last weekend; Lisa prayed that the mysterious girl had pulled through.
In the days following her release from jail, Lisa had tried to research Sombra on the internet. She scolded herself for not having done so earlier. Strangely, information about the organization was hard to come by. The name itself—Portuguese for “Northern Shadow”—should have been a clue.
She opened her laptop and typed a search for old stories about Evelyn Moreno, when she still lived in Brazil.
Foreign sources held the most news, with a wealth of articles about Evelyn when she was a teen. British papers called her the “It-Girl Heiress,” and always featured plenty of cheesecake photos. The paparazzi adored teenaged Evelyn. Their telephoto lenses caught her yachting, surfing, laying on the sand, always with a cigarette, her smooth curves browned to the color of espresso.
On a hunch, she tried searching Brazilian websites using a translation filter. She found several articles in the archives of a Fortaleza tabloid. One in particular caught her eye, from 2013 when Evelyn would have been 17. The headline read:
Triângulo amoroso na festa na praia? It-girl herdeira tem amor suficiente para dois
Lisa clicked the English link.
“Love Triangle at the Beach Party? It-girl heiress has enough love for two.”
There was Evelyn, on the sand attended by a pair of Speedo clad men. Even as a teen, she had the same square jaw, hypnotic brown eyes and cruel downturned lips. The article was typical gossip column fluff. One paramour was an aspiring actor and the other a surf instructor. Both struck Lisa as hopeless mercenaries, trading on their looks for a chance to marry money.
Lisa returned to the search results. Scrolling further, she spied another article with a juicier headline, from the austere Brazilian news site Folha do Mundo.
“High society heiress Evelyn Moreno pleads not guilty in death of surfer lover.”
According to the story, Evelyn had been charged with second degree murder after her boyfriend’s death in a car accident. Investigators alleged that the victim, one Thiago Rodrigues, was murdered at his home then transported to the crash scene by Evelyn, and that she had staged the accident. Wounds on the body were reportedly more consistent with brutal torture than a car crash.
The trial coverage was extensive in the Brazilian press. After the verdict, a tabloid announced: Vespa Absolvida!
No longer the It-Girl Heiress, by the time of her trial, Evelyn had donned a new nickname, Vespa, the wasp. Though she’d escaped the murder charge, she was still on the hook for manslaughter. Lisa clicked through the next few links to find out the rest of the story.
A Vespa Voa!
“The Wasp Takes Flight!” According to the article, Evelyn fled Brazil for the U.S. before the judge could pass sentence. (Lisa began to understand her boss’s odd affinity for the stinging insect.) Meanwhile her father bankrolled an appeal, which was ultimately successful.
That article was dated 2016, but Lisa knew that Evelyn never returned to Brazil. She was busy expanding the family business into what would become Sombra do Norte.
The door chimed. Lisa looked up as a string of customers entered, the beginning of a Friday night rush. She shut her laptop and walked around the counter to greet them. For the next three and a half hours she busied herself running back and forth from the storeroom to the counter. She must have scanned a hundred credit fobs and took in a fair amount of cash as well. It seemed as though half the South Bay planned to get higher than StarLink tonight.
She was glad for the diversion, the chance to momentarily forget about Sombra’s victims, or Deputy Hernandez, or Aaron’s warning. At about nine, the rush died down and the store quieted for a few minutes. Lisa took out her phone and the card with Samuel’s number. She texted the public defender.
👩🏻—it’s Lisa Rose So sorry to text you on Fri nite 😔🙏🏻 Got a min to talk?
The door chimed again and two Hispanic men walked through the front door. They wore matching soccer jerseys. One was huge, built like a linebacker with a full beard and bald head. His friend was half that size, elaborately tattooed and sporting a walrus mustache. Lisa saw from the names on their jerseys that the big one was Manuel and his friend went by Stash.
“Welcome in.” Lisa smiled, eyeing the two as they browsed along the wall. She considered going back to her office to retrieve her gun when the pair stepped up to the counter.
“You’re not Sara,” the big one said with a toothy smile, half hidden by his thick beard. He set a package of party blunts and a sixer of infused beer on the counter.
“Sara’s off tonight,” she said.
“Tell her Manny and Stash said hi.”
“I will.” She rang the two up, bagged their merchandise and watched them leave, exhaling a sigh of relief. It was five minutes to ten o’clock, so she decided to close early. She unplugged the “open” sign and locked the front door. Then she went to the register, slipped off her heels, and began to count the money. She noticed her phone glowing on the counter and picked it up. Samuel’s face appeared onscreen.
“Good evening, Miss Rose. How are you?”
“Good.” She bit her lower lip. “No. Not good. I hate to bother you, but… I guess I should make sure. Are you still my lawyer?”
“It was my understanding that you intended to engage a different attorney. Was I mistaken in this?”
“No… I mean I didn’t hire anyone. I want you to be my lawyer.”
“Then I am your attorney, for as long as you will have me.”
“Good. So everything I say to you is confidential?”
“One hundred percent. It is absolutely privileged.”
“Okay. You know my situation…” Lisa let out a long breath. Her fingers combed through the hair of her scalp. “I mean, you don’t know everything, but you can guess, right?”
Samuel gave her a puzzled look. “Please, tell me how I may help, Miss Rose.”
“First thing, call me Lisa. Second, what can you find out about Sombra do Norte?”
~🌹~
Although she was unaware of it, he’d visited her twelve times previously, not including the time they met. Tonight was number thirteen. Lucky number thirteen. He knew a lot about her because he was observant. He made mental notes every time he saw her, so he could visualize her later, when he was at home. For instance, she had no tattoos or weird piercings. At least not on the visible parts of her body. Tonight, if all went well, he’d check her other parts.
The no tattoos thing was important. Nearly every attractive woman he saw had defaced her skin in some way. But this one kept herself pristine, perfect. Perfect on the outside, he reminded himself. On the inside she was filthy, dirty, whorish, the way she carried on with men.
How many had there been, just since he’d first seen her? The tall blonde, the big black athlete, the scientist, and the short one with the motorcycle. He was the most serious, but all it took was a little word to make him go away. Same with the wheelchair guy. Just a little word, but a true word. Slut.
He saw her now as she came out of the store. Sometimes she dressed tough, like a biker, and sometimes she dressed soft and girlish. But tonight she wore a neat blue miniskirt with a light sleeveless blouse. She looked classy, polished, rich. Way out of his league. But that never mattered.
He knew she couldn’t see him inside his car. He’d parked down the block, near the corner, where the streetlights dimmed if there were no pedestrians. He lifted his binoculars. “You little tart,” he whispered when he saw her up close. His pulse quickened. He could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. She rarely did. “So delicious,” he said, squirming in his seat. “So fucking delicious.”
He watched her unfasten the accordion gates, her ankles wobbling as she stooped to lay the guide rails across the front of the store. She was wearing the wrong shoes for physical labor. They didn’t even have heel straps. Running away would be impossible. Not that she’d have a chance to run.
He reached into his pants while she pulled the gates together and secured them with a padlock. Touching the knife in his baggy pocket, he tried to imagine how her face would look when he showed it to her. Would she be surprised, frightened, or excited? Maybe all three. She was probably a hellcat when cornered.
Now she rummaged in her purse and took out a phone, probably to call a ride. She always took a Robo. He never saw her drive. Then she slung the purse over one shoulder, and when she did the front of her blouse pulled open a little. She’d neglected to button the bottom buttons. The back of his neck dampened with sweat.
The moment had arrived. He got out of his car, and pushed the door closed, quiet as a mouse. Then he put a hand in his pocket to hold his knife. He crossed over onto the sidewalk. The streetlight brightened when he did so, but that couldn’t be helped. Maybe she’d see him, maybe she wouldn’t. It was all a matter of luck. Lucky thirteen.
There, she didn’t notice. She was too busy lighting a joint. She loved her joints, that one. He walked towards her slowly, at a natural pace, staying close to the store fronts, trying to blend with the shadows. He took the knife out of his pocket and flicked it open.
~🌹~
Lisa stepped over to the curb and peered down the street, looking for her ride. Traffic was light in front of the store at this time of night. She noticed a parked car with its windows open a crack, smoke wafting from the interior. Hotboxers getting high. Probably customers from earlier that night. She walked back to the store front and stood under the greenish light from the sign.
Hearing footsteps approach from her right, Lisa turned her head slightly. She glimpsed a dark form, but at that moment the doors on the parked car opened and the hotboxers stepped out. Lisa recognized them as her last two customers. They seemed to be walking towards her with a purpose. She flicked away the joint and reached into her purse.
“What do you want?” she said.
Stash broke into a run. Lisa found her gun, gripped it, and let the purse fall from her shoulder. The bag hit the ground, its contents spilling out as Lisa leveled the gun at Manuel. Stash ran by her and continued down the sidewalk, yelling in Spanish, chasing someone. Manuel held up his hands, his eyes wide as saucers.
“Don’t… don’t shoot…” he said.
She turned to her right, saw Stash at the curb, and a dark car pulling away from him, its tires squealing as it made a U-turn and sped away southbound. Lisa lowered her gun.
“We usually hang around on Friday nights, to make sure Sara gets home safe.” Manuel said slowly. “Thought we should do the same for you. It’s Lisa, right?”
Lisa nodded, picked up her purse and shoved the gun inside. She started gathering her things off the sidewalk.
“You two scared the shit out of me,” she said. “You should have said something. Who was that? In the car.”
Stash came back and he knelt to help her. “Don’t know,” he said, handing a lipstick and compact case to Lisa. “I think maybe you should get a security guard.”
Lisa snatched the makeup out of his hand. “Maybe you should mind your own fucking business. I could have shot you.”
~🌹~
Back home now, Lisa locked the door quickly. She watched through the peephole for a minute, then with a shake of her head, she went to brush her teeth and fix her face for bed. She undressed and pulled a t-shirt on. Then, too jittery to sleep yet, she opened her laptop computer.
The monstrous heat wave that had gripped L.A. for a week had begun to subside, although the temperature outside still topped eighty. Lisa carried her laptop and purse onto the patio balcony and settled onto a lounge chair. She balanced the laptop on her thighs and scanned through her emails. Samuel had forwarded several documents he’d found on Sombra do Norte.
A steady whirring noise caught Lisa’s attention. Looking up, she saw a drone hovering above Wilshire Boulevard, about thirty feet from her balcony. The machine was black, and though she couldn’t read the logo on it, she decided it was police surveillance. Extending her arms, she displayed both middle fingers to the drone and slowly mouthed the words, Eat my shit.
The drone began to rise, then zipped over the roof of her building and out of sight. Lisa lit up another joint, then opened Samuel’s email.
~🌹~
Next: Sam’s Email
Hmm. Now she's got a serial killer. Lucky for her she had guardian angels wasn't it?
But what's with the helo?
Yeoow! Close call....