After the riots ended, the city settled into a skittish calm. Gang-related murders in the city decreased. A rumor that two prominent gangs, the Crips and the Bloods, had joined forces and were planning a joint assault on the city once the National Guard had pulled out was just a rumor. The vacant, weed-covered lot in the suburb where Rodney King had been beaten became an informal tourist attraction. “Rebuild L.A.” was the new catchphrase, even though most of the population had been only marginally inconvenienced by the riots.
People were gentle with each other. Drivers patiently waited for other drivers to merge. No one tailgated. Folks held doors open for strangers. The afterglow lasted for about a week before everyone went back to pushing and shoving again.
At McKinney Alitzer, business quickly returned to normal. A week after the riots, Herbert Dexter called Iris and Amber into his office for a closed-door meeting. He greeted them at the door warmly, then sat behind his desk, smiling at them.
“I have news from New York about your grievances against Bill Drye.”
Both Amber and Iris leaned forward in their chairs.
Dexter clasped his hands on top of his desk and twiddled his thumbs briefly. The gesture sent a chill down Iris’s spine.
“I’m confident you’ll both be pleased with the outcome. Effective today, Drye will be given the opportunity to transfer to the Denver office. The official reason for the transfer will be philosophical differences with the staff in L.A. If he declines the transfer, he’ll be terminated.” Dexter sat back in his chair, looking satisfied.
“That’s it? Amber blinked with disbelief. “No sanctions, no apologies, no nothing? He just gets transferred out of L.A.? I know ten other people here who are trying to move out of L.A.”
Dexter’s satisfied look faded. “I’m disappointed that you’re not pleased with the outcome, Amber. Garland Hughes and I worked very hard on a resolution that was beneficial to everyone. Drye will be notified that if he has problems in Denver, he’s out of the firm.”
Amber opened her mouth to speak again, but Iris touched her arm and Amber settled back into her chair.
Iris said, “I think I can speak for Amber as well as myself when I say that we’re pleased with the level of attention you’ve given this situation and how hard you’ve worked for a quick resolution. Of course, we’d hoped for something more punitive, but we understand your constraints and appreciate the work you’ve done. It’s been a difficult situation all around.”
“I did the best I could to make the situation win-win for everyone.” Dexter clapped his hands. “Drye will be cleaning out his desk today. He doesn’t know this yet. So that you’re not around when this takes place, why don’t both of you take the afternoon off? You’ve earned it.”
He stood up. The meeting was over. He shook hands with both of them.
Iris and Amber didn’t speak until they were alone in Iris’s office.
“A transfer to Denver?” Amber said incredulously.
“It wasn’t what we wanted, but it’s something.”
“It’s something? Didn’t you expect more?”
“Frankly, I’m surprised we got that much. Shows you how jaded I’ve become.”
“It’s just not fair. Drye will go to Denver and do the same nonsense out there.”
“Maybe he will, maybe he won’t. At least we don’t have to deal with him anymore. In this life, the best we can do is count our wins, learn from our losses, and keep on moving.”
“I’m out of here,” Amber said. “See you tomorrow.”
Iris sat down at her desk. A courier package had been placed on it while she was gone. She pulled the string that slit the package open and reached inside. A note was taped to a small bundle of white tissue paper. Iris pulled the note free and opened it: “It was a pleasure working with you. Good luck. Chief Charles Greenwood.”
Iris unrolled the tissue paper. It held her enameled iris brooch.
She picked up the phone and punched in three numbers.
“Hey,” she said when Art answered. “Did you get a package from Greenwood?”
“I got it.”
“Aren’t you happy to get your ring back?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You want to go out for lunch?”
“Nah, I’ve got a lot of paperwork to do.”
“C’mon, Art. You’ve been in the doldrums ever since Lorraine killed herself. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’ve just been really busy.”
“You can tell me. After everything we’ve been through?”
“Iris, nothing’s wrong. I just don’t want to have lunch.”
“Too bad. I wanted to celebrate. They’re transferring Drye to Denver, and Dexter gave Amber and me the afternoon off.”
“Drye. That idiot. He told me he was cruising around during the riots and he stole a leather jacket from a store that was being looted. He said, ‘Everyone else was doing it.’ He was mad because it was dark and he grabbed an extra large by mistake.”
“Figures. So, c’mon. Let’s go.”
“I already told you, Iris. I don’t want to go. I have to meet a prospect.”
“You just told me you had paperwork to do. You wouldn’t be trying to avoid me, would you?”
“See you. Good-bye.”
Iris walked to the window that overlooked the suite. She saw Art stand up, put on his jacket, and walk down the corridor. She quickly put on her jacket, grabbed her purse, and followed him.
“Hi,” she said, standing next to him at the elevator.
He looked at her without saying anything.
The elevator doors opened and they both got in. Neither of them spoke. Art punched in a button for the lowest parking level. Iris didn’t punch in a floor.
“Aren’t you getting off?” he asked.
She lied. “My car’s on the same floor as yours.”
He nodded. A dimple appeared near his jaw. He was clenching his teeth.
The elevator doors opened. He pushed in front of her to exit first and started walking quickly. She struggled to keep up with him.
The parking level was almost empty. The building had office space available, like many commercial buildings in Los Angeles, leaving this lowest and most remote level virtually unused. The cement was still pristine. Art’s Mustang was parked in a far corner, away from the few other cars that were there.
“Why are you parked way down here?” Iris looked around uneasily.
“I got tired of my doors getting dinged.” He unlocked the driver’s door, opened it, and turned to face her with the door between them. “I thought you said your car was down here.”
She smiled tentatively. “Last chance for a lunch date.”
“I don’t want to have lunch. Just tell me what you want, Iris.”
“Don’t you want to talk about everything? You know. Now that it’s all over?”
“Exactly. It’s over. Barbie’s dead. Lorraine’s dead. There’s nothing to talk about.”
“But I’m still here and you’re still here.”
“So?”
“So, as long as we’re both here to tell the story, it’s never quite going to be over.”
He closed the Mustang’s door, removing the barrier between them.
She took a step away from him. “There are still loose ends. Like I’m wondering what you told your uncle about his fifty grand.”
He twisted the class ring on his finger.
“So, what did you tell him?” She took another step back until she was well out of arm’s reach.
“Why don’t you ask him, Iris?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. He said you told him the deal with Barbie fell through and you gave him his cash back.”
He nodded quickly. “Yeah. So?”
“Where did you get fifty grand?”
He ran both hands through his hair. “I know people. It’s really none of your business, Iris.”
There were footsteps in the garage, and they both turned in that direction. A man got in a car a few yards away from them, started it, and drove off.
“Okay. Let’s talk about the night Lorraine broke into my condo. That’s my business. Don’t you have anything to say about that?”
He raised his voice. “Why should I? Lorraine was a nut. She killed Barbie.”
“And you put her onto me.”
His face hardened. “What are you talking about?”
“The night Lorraine broke in, she said, ‘Art told me you’d be hiding.’ You told her where I lived.”
The dimple in his jaw grew deeper.
“Okay, Art. Since you won’t tell me what happened, I’ll tell you. That Friday, after I finally persuaded you to drive me back to my car, you drove to the Mariah Lodge, found Barbie’s bungalow, and killed her. Lorraine saw the whole thing. You kept her quiet by promising to get her ring back, but when you couldn’t pull it off Barbie’s hand, you cut it off. Then you found your money, gave Lorraine some, and you both split.
“When Lorraine started flipping out and calling me, she also called you. That’s when you thought of a way to get rid of me, the only credible person who knew your motive to commit murder.”
Art suddenly looked sad. “That’s what you think of me? That I’d drive two hundred miles to kill someone? That I’d send a crazy woman to get you?”
“I don’t know what else to think, Art.”
He turned and leaned against the Mustang, put his elbows on the hood, and rested his head in his hands. “Iris, I didn’t plan it. I didn’t. You have to believe me.” He looked at her. “I just wanted my family’s money. I was so ashamed, I even thought about disappearing to Mexico or someplace. After I dropped you off, I drove to the lodge, thinking I’d just talk to Barbie. I found her Mercedes, parked, and hung out in the trees near the cabin, wondering what I was gonna do. Then Lorraine came out, all dressed up, and I saw Barbie on the bed, wearing this purple nightgown. Lorraine took off down the road, walking. So I knocked on the door. Barbie said, ‘Oh, I knew you’d change your mind, darlin’.’” He spitefully imitated Barbie’s accent.
“When she saw me, she just turned her back and said, ‘So you found me. Now whatcha gonna do?’ Like I didn’t count for shit. Then she poured herself champagne, like I wasn’t even there.”
Art’s voice grew bitter. “I came inside and told her I wanted my money. She goes, ‘I’m not giving you any money.’ I said, ‘But you stole it from my uncle.’ She says, ‘I didn’t steal it. You gave it to me, remember?’ She put the glass down and walked to the center of the room. This sash on her nightgown came loose. She pulled it off, real slow, dropped it on the floor, and started dancing around. I could see everything she’s got. She says, ‘I don’t look so bad, do I, Arturo? I’ve still got it, don’t you think?’
“I’m starting to get pissed off.” His body stiffened. “I told her the only reason she made friends with us was to rip us off. Then she goes, ‘No. Iris was work. You were a freebie,’ and she laughed, real snotty.
“I said, ‘I’m not leaving without my money.’ I looked around, saw her purse on the floor, kneeled down, and started digging in it. She goes, ‘Don’t you dare look through my purse,’ and came up behind me and kicked me in the kidney. While I’m trying to catch my breath, she says, ‘My poor, sweet Arturo. The sex was great, but people as simple as you and your li’l ol’ family deserve to be parted from their money. The way I see it, I did y’all a favor,’ and she walked away.
“Then everything happened so fast, it was like it was happening to someone else.” His words came rapidly now but his gaze remained steady. “I picked up the sash and threw it around her neck when her back was to me. We started jumping around, and she’s kicking me and stuff, then she fell on the bed and I sat on her back. She tried to scratch me, so I put my knees on her arms and just kept pulling. Finally, she stopped. I rolled her over and propped her up against the pillows. I don’t know why.”
Art was out of breath. “Next thing I know, I’m looking through the trunk of her car. I find this bag that’s got all the cash in it. I put out the Do Not Disturb sign, threw the bag in my trunk, and came home. I guess Lorraine come back later and cut off her finger and took the ring.”
He reached his hands toward Iris. She flinched as he grabbed her affectionately by the shoulders. “Iris, I’m sorry I told Lorraine where you lived. When she called me, I freaked out. I didn’t even realize what I’d said until she’d hung up.”
His face was flushed and his eyes shone. “I’m glad I told you everything.” He was panting and smiling. “I avoided you because I knew you’d make me tell you. But now I’m glad you know. After all, we’ve been in this together from the start.”
“But you killed somebody,” she whispered, almost to herself. She glanced around the garage. There was no one in sight. “Art, once people know what Barbie did, they’ll understand.”
“People don’t need to know. I figure I did the world a favor. Just like Barbie said she did me a favor and she did. I’ll never be that stupid again.” He playfully shook her shoulders and grinned. “Iris, it’s okay. Don’t look so serious. We’ll just go on, like normal. Here…” He walked to the Mustang’s trunk, opened it, and took out the overstuffed Luis Vuitton satchel.
She looked at it with disgust. “I don’t want that!”
He held it toward her. “Just put it back in your safe-deposit box. Then everything will be the way it was, like it never happened.”
“But you killed Barbie!”
“Now we both have a secret.”
“There’s a difference between hiding that”—she flicked her hand toward the bag—“and strangling someone.”
He shoved the bag toward her. “Take your money, Iris.”
She stepped away from him. “No.”
“You’re not gonna tell the police, are you?”
They stared into each other’s eyes for several long seconds. She abruptly turned and started walking quickly toward the elevator. He dropped the bag on the ground.
It didn’t take him long to catch up with her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her to face him. “Don’t tell anyone, Iris.”
“Let go of me,” she said firmly.
He started to shake her. “It’s over! They’re both dead. It doesn’t matter.”
She tried to twist out of his grasp but couldn’t. “Art, stop! You’re hurting me.”
“She deserved it. They both did.”
Her neck snapped back and forth against her shoulders. She lost her balance, and her pump heels slid from underneath her. She slipped from his grasp when she fell to the ground. She tried to wiggle away from him, but he straddled her on his knees. He held his outstretched hands above her neck.
“Look at you!” she cried. “What’s happened to you? You’re no better than she was.”
Art slowly turned his hands toward himself and studied them. He sat back on his heels, still crouched over her. She scrambled out from under him, got to her feet, grabbed her purse, and ran to the elevator.
He stood, still looking at his hands, then threw them down, clenched his fists, and started walking toward his car.
Iris pounded the call button. It was lunchtime, and the elevators were busy. She looked at the stairs a short distance away and was starting to run toward them when she heard the Mustang’s engine turn over. As her outstretched hand touched the doorknob at the stairwell, she heard the V-8 engine speeding toward her. She pulled the door open and threw herself inside the stairwell, but not before something smacked against the back of her legs, knocking her onto the steps.
After the sound of the engine faded, she got up and peeked into the garage. The Luis Vuitton satchel, which had hit her when Art flung it from the car, lay on the ground.