No offence Intended - Barbara Seranella (24 page)

"Owes you what?"

"An explanation"

He seemed to accept that. "I'll call the
airlines and check on flights?

She pulled out her phone book, set it next to the
phone, and said, " won't be long." She left him to go
change and pack a bag.

"When we get to Canyonville," he called
through the closed bedroom door, "you can tell people I'm your
cousin."

"I don't have any cousins." She opened her
closet and pulled out a duffel bag. This was not only her first trip
out of state, but it would be her first time on an airplane.

"Tell them I'm your boyfriend," he said.

"Oh, yeah, right," she said. "That's
even more of a stretch." From the back of her closet she pulled
out her black leather motorcycle Jacket, her once sacred "leather."
Through the door, she heard him speaking on the phone, repeating back
times and numbers, then saying thank you and hanging up.

"Why?" he yelled to her.

"You might as well have COP stamped on your
forehead," she yelled back. She pulled on a pair of jeans, a
black T-shirt, and then her old Frye boots. Shaking out her coat, she
laid it out on the bed. Her leather was personalized by a Levi Jacket
with cut-off sleeves that fit snugly across its back. She had sewn on
Harley-Davidson wings across the lower back and a uniform name tag
from her first job over one of the front pockets. To the left of the
lower buttons there was a round patch with an embroidered coiled
snake on it and the legend: DON'T' TREAD ON ME. The Jacket smelled
rank, she noticed, probably always had. It was against the code to
wash a cutoff. She put it on and joined him in the kitchen.

"You look about five inches taller and twenty
pounds heavier," he said.

"It's attitude," she told him, tying a red
bandanna around her forehead.

"The first plane we can catch to Medford leaves
tomorrow morning," he said, showing her the flight information.

She called the Snakepit again. When Deb came to the
phone, Munch announced, "I'm coming up."

"That's great. When?"

She consulted his notes. "Eleven-fifteen
tomorrow morning."

"We'll be there. How long can you stay?"

"Till the weekend for sure. So your ol' man has
been in L.A.?"

"He's been everywhere. I can't wait for you to
meet him."

"Yeah, me either," Munch said. She hung up
the phone and turned to Blackstone. "They're going to meet me at
the airport." »

"They?"

"Deb and another friend of ours, Roxanne."

He wrapped a hand around her wrist. " don't have
to tell you that I don't want you screwing up the bust by warning
your friends."

"All I'm asking for is a chance to get them out
of there," she said.

He nodded. "We'll have to see how deeply they're
involved. I can't promise you total immunity"

"Look, have a heart here. You're looking for a
murderer. Guys who shoot cops. The worse thing these broads do is
smoke a little reefer and party with bikers. Why fuck up their lives
by busting them?"

"And if they're involved?"

"No way" she said. "You don't know
them like I do." She hoisted her duffel bag.

"You all ready?" he asked.

"Where to now?"

"I want to stop by the hospital, and then we'll
go to my place."

She knew that there was no
question that one of them would be sleeping on a couch.

* * *

The next morning, they parked in the large covered
structure attached to the terminal. They were still an hour early
Blackstone excused himself to use the phone. Munch headed for the
airport gift shop, which had a section full of Disneyland
memorabilia. She selected a Mickey Mouse watch. Then she went to the
card section and found a birthday card appropriate for a young boy
and took them both up to the counter.

"Do you gift-wrap?" she asked the elderly
woman behind the cash register.

"No, dear."

"How about these?" Munch asked, holding up
a packet of hair ribbons.

"They cost a dollar each," the woman said.
"Rather expensive for gift wrap."

"That's all right. Price is no object." She
thought about Mrs. Scott's criticism about how Munch didn't practice
fiscal responsibility

"Is this for your son?" the cashier asked.

"No, but he's the next closest thing. He's my
friends son."

"How long since you've seen him?"

"Almost a year," Munch said, leaving out
the part about going to jail and kicking heroin.

The woman made change and helped Munch tie the bow
around the watch case. "That looks great,"

Munch said. "Thanks."

"Have a nice vacation, dear," the woman
said.

Blackstone was still on the phone. "I'll pick up
the tickets," she told him. He handed her a wad of cash. She
handed half of it back. "I'll pay for my own."

She got in line and watched the people ahead of her
go about the business of buying their tickets and checking their
luggage. By the time it was her turn, she had the routine down.

"Two round trips to Medford, please."

"How many bags?" the ticket agent asked.

"Just our carry-ons," she said, feeling
like an old pro.

"Smoking or nonsmoking?"

"Smoking."

"Aisle or window?"

"Window."

"Thank you for flying the friendly skies."

"You're welcome." It wasn't until after she
left the counter with the ticket folder clutched in her hand that she
remembered to breathe.

Blackstone joined her. "All set?" he asked.

"How's your partner?" she asked.

"Stronger, they say but still out."

Another half hour went by and then a stewardess
announced that they were now accepting passengers. Munch and
Blackstone got in the cattle line and allowed themselves to be swept
aboard with the other travelers.

Their seats were towards the back of the plane. As
she made her way down the narrow center aisle, she remembered an
episode from The Beverly Hillbillies when Jed and his family-took
their first flight in an airplane. They thought they were on a really
fast bus when the plane taxied for takeoff. The studio audience
laughed with delight, because they all knew what was coming. She
promised herself that when the plane left the ground, she would yawn
with boredom.

They took adjoining seats, stowed their bags, and
fastened their seat belts.

The plane rumbled as it taxied down the runway
picking up speed. She glanced at the other passengers, looking for
signs of distress. A few clutched their armrests and closed their
eyes, but for the most part her fellow passengers were calm. The
plane left the ground with a lurch that made her stomach flop. She
casually looked out the window and opened her mouth wide.

Once they were in the air, the stewardess
demonstrated what everyone should do in case of emergency Munch
listened intently straining against her seat belt.

"Your first flight?" Blackstone asked.

"That obvious, huh?"

"Most people ignore the safety instructions,"
he said.

"Seems to me that this could be the most
important part."

"You've got a good point there."

The stewardess finished her spiel and all the
passengers settled down to wait. Munch watched out the window until
clouds obscured the view.

An issue of National Geographic was stuffed in the
pocket of the seat in front of her. She pulled it out. The cover art
showed the chain of evolution with the classic series of drawings
beginning with an ape on all fours and ending with an upright man:
the ever-popular
Homo erectas
.
Deb would have fun with that one, she thought. The accompanying
article, written by an anthropologist and entitled "The
Communicators" was interesting.

The authors theory was that humans had evolved to
become communicators. The article went on to list the supporting
evidence. Homo sapiens have over a hundred muscles in their faces,
she read. That was more than any other animal, even chimpanzees.
Humans have very little facial hair, the article also pointed out.
This is so that the facial expressions can be read more easily Homo
sapiens also have relatively fragile skin, no fangs or claws, and are
weaker than any other animal of comparable stature. In other words,
if humans didn't communicate, they were screwed.

Munch thought about how bikers had jumped the
evolutionary boat with their beards, leather clothing, chain belts,
and buck knives. Still, there was something about all that dark power
that was very seductive.

Blackstone was working a crossword puzzle. She looked
over his shoulder and said, "Three down is Avon. The clue is
‘The Bard's river'. Thats gotta be Shakespeare?

Blackstone made a small snort of amusement as he
filled in the squares. "You're just full of surprises, aren't
you?"

She felt her mouth twitch
into a smile.

* * *

Before leaving Los Angeles, Blackstone had also
called his connection in Canyonville. As the plane taxied down the
runway he thought about his brief conversation with Tom Moody

"Where are you calling from?" Moody had
asked as soon as Blackstone identified himself.

"A pay phone at the airport."

"Yeah, that should be okay What's up?"

Blackstone filled him in on what had happened to
Alex, how he had come to identify Munch Mancini as the woman from the
morgue, and when their flight to Medford was arriving. Moody
apologized for not having anyone available to pick him up at the
airport.

"The feds are stonewalling us," Blackstone
complained. "We're taking a lot of heat for the officer-involved
shooting. I know it ties into the case they're working up at your
end, but a lot of shit is being swept under the rug."

"Yeah," Moody said. "Things are
heating up here.

They brought in reinforcements this morning. What
does your source at the Bureau say?"

"That sort of dried up," Blackstone said.

"I'm not surprised," Moody said. "Those
G live by their own rules—they get kind of spooky when they're
moving in for the kill. Don't worry I've got my own way in. I'll
explain when you get here."
 

22

BLACKSTONE AND MUNCH spent the three-hour flight
going over the ground rules of their partnership. On arriving in
Medford, Blackstone would avoid Munch and her friends.

"Not even a ‘How are you,"' she warned.

"What's wrong with that?" he asked.

"They'll know you're a cop. It's that
in-your-face, too-cheery direct-eye-contact thing. Total giveaway"

"So you want me in the background."

"As soon as I find out anything," she said.
"'1l call you. Deb doesn't have a phone in her house, so it will
have to wait till I can get to a pay phone."

He gave her Moody's number. "Call me either way"
he said. "Just so we keep in touch. If things start getting
hinky let me know and I'll pull you out. Don't take risks, just
gather information"

The plane made a wide turn and began its descent. She
looked out the window and took in the breathtaking landscape of green
mountains laced with wisps of clouds. They landed with a bump and she
held her breath as the plane seemed to struggle to stop, the engines
screaming in protest. She realized she was clutching Blackstone's arm
and released him, but not before he gave her a
you're-not-so-tough-after-all look. It occurred to her that the old
her might have felt embarrassed by that exchange instead of secretly
pleased that he noticed.

They busied themselves unhooking their seat belts and
grabbing their bags from the overhead compartments. She, her duffel
bag. He, a monogrammed leather carryall.

The Medford airport seethed with travelers in heavy
coats and scarves. She spotted Deb and Roxanne in the queue of people
waiting for the passengers to disembark. Deb's brown hair hung loose
to her waist. The silver bracelets on her wrist jangled as she waved.
Roxanne hung back a bit, almost as if she preferred to stay in Deb's
shadow. Blackstone pushed past them without a backward glance.

The three women hugged each other fiercely mindless
of the other people heading for their destinations. At first, Munch
thought Deb had two black eyes. But on closer examination she
realized that she was just seeing very dark circles, like smudges of
charcoal, under her friends blue eyes.

Even inside the airport, it was cold. She stopped at
the bathroom to pull on a second pair of jeans over the pair she was
wearing. When she emerged from the bathroom, Deb nodded approvingly
"You look good, partner. "

Roxanne said nothing.

"I got sober," Munch blurted out.