CON TEST: Double Life (22 page)

Lundin looked him in the eyes and could not believe his audacity. He could see the flames coming from her face. She turned and walked toward the door. He reached out for her, but she forcefully pulled away and gave him a look that warned him not to touch her again. He got the point and then raced to the door to block it so that she could not leave.

She stood in front of him, hands on her saucy hips. “William, you are all too familiar with the law. This is undoubtedly kidnapping.”

He stood in front of her silently, and looked into her eyes. He let her read them. “Lundin, you really need to hear me out. We’re both in danger right now.”

“
William, could you please? Do not try to manipulate me as if I am one of those silly hos in your novels. This is real life and I will not let you fictionalize it, sweetie.”

“
Boop—” he caught himself. That was not the time to call her a pet name. “Lundin, my car was sabotaged yesterday. The oil was drained and the brake line was cut. Thankfully, the fluid did not drain completely, or we would not be having this conversation. I would not have been able to stop, Lundin.”

“
Good thing that you did. Imagine if I were planning your funeral and had received these photos,” she said callously. “Let me guess. One of them bitches did it?” she asked. She was at the door and refused to back away. She wanted out.

He ignored that. “My credit card that I used for the tow declined, considering the gifts that you received yesterday were bought on it and maxed it out. One thing, though, I did not send you those gifts, honey.”

“
What!”

He stopped her from saying anything else. “This morning I tried to get $100 from the ATM and my card was sucked into the machine. I stormed into the bank and learned that not only was the account closed, but my money was wired to Luxembourg. And get this, Lun, they have me on camera doing it, but I was at the beach all day yesterday.”

“
I have no idea what you’re trying to pull, but it sounds crazy. In fact, you have to be crazy to think that I’d buy all of this hog wash. Very imaginative, though.”

“
Lundin, I am not running for President for the Party of Deception. Do you think I wired all of my money to another country to cover me cheating on you? Or tried to use my card knowing the account was maxed out? I just threw the phone because I do not have access to this account that I supposedly sent my money too.”

“
Look, I don’t have time for this William. You’re so trapped in an imaginary world. This sounds like a plot to a fascinating fiction novel,” she said, emphasizing fiction. “Better yet, a scene right outta your current manuscript.”

“
Lundin that is just it. A character in my current novel is responsible for all of this.”

“
William, please move.”

“
Lundin, please believe me. It’s true.”

“
Let me guess. Is it Justice or Amir?”

“
Justice.”

“
William, news flash. He’s not real!”

“
Oh, but he is,” he said and smiled.

* * *

What now brainiac?
William thought. The cat was out of the bag. Jack had popped out of the box. Look at her face. He knew exactly what is said: My husband is delusional.

Everything in the office appeared to orbit around William. He could not believe what he had just said. He was dizzy. Nauseous. His head pounded profusely. He massaged his temples and thought about Motrin, but didn’t imagine either helping him. His head hurt as if every car in rush hour traffic slammed into his head.

“
William, what are you talking about?”

“
Boopsie, please. Have a seat with me on the sofa. There is a lot that you need to know,” he told her and walked to the sofa. “You can leave if you want to. I won’t try to stop you, but I need all of you, babe. Without you I cannot get through this. Trust me on this. I called you to warn you about this, but I got your voicemail,” he said and a tear fell from his eyes. “Lundin, please trust me and join me on the goddamn sofa.”

Lundin had known William to be charming, but that was not charm. Charm was dinner and a movie, painting toe nails, and breakfast in bed. That was sincerity. Something that she could not ignore. Things were not happening how she had envisioned them en route to his office. She thought that he would confess about his infidelity because he loved her. Even if it broke her. He was a stand up man, she had thought.

With apprehension, she had a seat on the sofa, and let her husband explain what the hell was going on.

THIRTY-SEVEN

W
illiam was proud that he had told Lundin the absolute truth. He was a very skilled liar and he could have easily concocted a marvelous account of the events spiraling out of control.

The pain that he experienced was not the form of pain that caused agonizing tears. It forced you to retaliate. Like a jab thrown to your face would prompt one to react immediately, unless it was thrown at a coward. William was not one. The shock effect of all the sudden developments was like satan worshipers attempting to box him in some twisted society. William was ready to stay awake and fight the effects of that conundrum until he was a free man. Free of Justice Lorenzo.

Look at this beautiful day
, William thought.
I should be somewhere enjoying this cool breeze. Not in my car--a fucking rental--trying to figure out what the hell is happening to my life. This bastard that I’ve fed, catered to and took responsibility for has stolen my money, tried killing me, and obviously desires to sabotage my marriage. I have to put an end to this. I need to put an end to Justice Lorenzo.

Murdering Justice was tempting. Did Justice have the balls to kill William? He sure did. The bigger question was, did William have the balls to kill Justice?

William opened the car door and closed it behind him as he jumped out. He pressed the button on the key ring and set the alarm. He tossed his Mikli’s over his eyes and was prepared to act badly. He had been looking for his breakout performance. The chance to perform like a villain in a drama. That day he would get his opportunity.

He strolled the half block to the small mail service store without any sympathetic emotions. The parking spaces in front of the place reserved for its customers were already taken. He entered the store, looked around and saw the small post office boxes neatly stacked ten rows high with about 50 boxes in each row. A woman was closing her box and exited as he entered. This must be where actors that lived in Compton bought P.O. boxes to say that they lived in Beverly Hills, he thought.

There was no one who worked in the store in sight. He walked to the counter and rang a bell for service. A young, white boy dressed like an extreme biker emerged from the back. His garments and the bike perched behind the counter confessed to William that the boy was not bright. Bright kids did not do tricks on bicycles 100 feet in the air.

“
Can I help you?” the boy asked showcasing braces.

“
Sure,” William said, and placed the envelope with the photos of him and the two women on the counter. He pointed to the stamped postage, specifically the Pitney Bowes mail metered stamp. He had used his imagination and contacted the United States Postal Service, and after he had explained to them that he believed that his company had received another company’s stamping machine, the gullible woman told him that the machine he had belonged to the Mailbox Etc. in the 90211 zip code. A quick Internet search and he had the exact business address.

“
See this meter number here?” William asked and pointed to the number again. “It’s assigned to this store. You know what else? It was postmarked two days ago. You didn’t happen to be working that day were you?” William asked staring at the boy threateningly.

“
Yes, I was here. What can I do for you?”

“
Glad you asked. Would you happen to recall who sent this package?” William asked and waved the envelope in the air.

“
Not exactly.”

William looked up at the camera directly above them. “Where’s the surveillance from that day?”

“
I think the manager keeps the tapes a week. But I can’t let you see them,” the boy said, and began to straighten out the counter as if he was done with William.

“
Sure you can. What’s your name?”

“
Jerry.”

“
Jerry? Cool name. Take a look at these pictures.” William spread the photos out on the counter as if he were a detective and Jerry a victim completing a photo array line-up. “This is me--well a photo of me--and they were sent to my wife from here, Jerry. Neither of these women are my wife. Do you have a girlfriend, Jerry?”

“
Yup.”

“
Are you one-hundred-percent faithful?”

“
Well, no.”

“
How’d you like it if your girlfriend got a hold of the same evidence my wife has? You wouldn’t. No man would. So let me see the damn tapes so I can find the asshole that did this to me.”

“
I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

William leaped over the counter as Jerry turned and attempted to run into the office to safely summon the police. Not that day. William pushed Jerry hard in the back. Jerry’s lanky body flew head first into the door. The door swung open quickly and slammed into the office wall and bounced off it and banged into Jerry’s head a second time. He did not bleed, but he would have a nasty bump by morning. William snatched Jerry up by the collar of his T-shirt and dragged him the rest of the way into the office. He hastily located clear masking tape used for sealing packages and slapped a piece across Jerry’s mouth and then bound his hands behind his back.

William spotted the surveillance equipment and removed the tape from the recorder with him on it, and slipped it in his pocket. He then ran an index finger across the tapes lined on the shelf below the recorder. He pocketed the ones from the last week as he heard the same bell that he rung. He casually stepped over Jerry’s body and slipped glasses on his face to mask his eye color, the one thing that a witness would easily get right. He walked out of the office and saw a woman staring at her watch. He told the woman that the clerk was a little tied up in the office and left the store.

THIRTY-EIGHT

W
illiam drove from the Mailbox Etc. and kept his car windows up to let the air conditioning keep him cool and calm. He was enveloped in disbelief. The events surrounding Justice was one thing, but he had attacked a store clerk and stole the surveillance. That was a litany of violations against the State of California, but he did not care. Not an ounce of remorse. Jerry and anyone else who impeded his attempt to find his money was in danger of bodily injury or death.

He felt like Dr. Nichols in The Fugitive. Breaking laws to prove he was framed. Only in the movie they forgot to arrest Harrison Ford. William was definitely going to explain his actions to a judge. He knew that and was unbothered about the idea of going to jail. So far he looked at a civil suit for attacking Jerry and a good four year trip to Folsom State Penitentiary. William chuckled as he looked into the mirror. He had no money to take at a civil trial.

Ten minutes passed and William found himself at Barlow Digital Editing in Hollywood. The small editing firm was owned by Jomar Barlow, an associate that William had met at an eight hour seminar that he took on film editing at UCLA. William had taken the class so that he could be familiar with all aspects of the movie making business.

He stepped into the office and found a receptionist on the telephone. He interrupted her, rudely, and told her that he needed to speak to Jomar. She dialed her boss and informed him that he had a visitor and then told William to have a seat and continued her telephone conversation.

Tight fist, William paced around the small waiting area. He summoned all of his creative knack to paint a picture of his next move. He wiped his sweaty palms, before he extended his hand to Jomar.

“
How’s it going?” William asked, hoping that that preamble would suffice for what he was about to ask Jomar to do.

“
Everything is good. How about you and the lovely Lundin?” Jomar asked, shaking the short gold locks with each word that he spat. He had gotten more tattoos since the last time William had seen him.

“
Lundin and I are buying a home in Malibu,” William said. “Can we talk in a more private area?”

Jomar watched agony flash across William’s face and said, “Sure, Fortune, what’s up?”

Jomar took William into his studio. William quickly analyzed the state of the art equipment and hoped that the stuff could get done the job that he had in mind. There were two film industry cameras, eight small monitors, two Apple lap tops, and surround sound hanging from the ceilings. Jomar poured both men a cup of hot tea and they sat in front of the monitors. A project was on the screens, obviously from the lucrative pornography industry.

Jomar looked comfortingly at William. “What’s up, Fortune? You don’t look too good,” Jomar said, and sipped his tea.

“
I do not know where to start, buddy,” William said with his head hung low.

“
How about you start by telling me why you came here?”

William pulled the tapes from the Mailbox, Etc. out of his pocket and placed them on the work station. “These! I need a safe place to look at them and maybe help to scrutinize them.”