Chapter 2: Sunday, February 11, 2007

Daniella Fruehauf

“This is my family’s home, goddamn it!”

“Ms. Fruehauf, this is a crime scene and part of an ongoing investigation by the Sheriff’s Department, the Texas Rangers, and the FBI,” Deputy Calhoun said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you on to the property or I’ll have so much shit ... I’m sorry Miz, so much trouble land on me I’m likely to be fired.”

“Can I speak with someone who is in charge? Please? Uh ... I’m a member of the Grimes family?”

“Hold on, lemme call the Sheriff...”

“Oh my god...”

She walked through the house in blue disposable shoe covers, escorted by Sheriff Sheriden, not allowed to touch anything.
Not that she wanted to.

“They wrecked everything...”

“Not quite, Ms. Fruehauf ... your mother’s office is in good shape, the security system, the cameras ... but yeah, these neo-nazi’s were pretty much a white-trash nightmare.”

“I’m betting all the family money is gone?”

“I’m not supposed to say, but yes’m, all that quitclaim deed leaves you is the house and grounds ... and those are gonna be tied up for a while. Whole lot of attention on this case.”

The Sheriff lowered his voice.

“I think I’ve talked them out of bringing corpse sniffin’ dogs out here. It’s not a done deal, and them Fibbies might do it yet – I ain’t got shit pull with them. But the Rangers are bein’ reasonable and if nobody brings the dogs, you tell Mr. Grimes my bonus better be real big.”

“I’ll tell him ... and ... I appreciate you letting me have a look, Sheriff.”

She shook her head, giving into the shock she was feeling.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do...”

Harry

“Well that was nice of her,” Harry said. “Her crew is in jail, she’s flown the coop, and left you a ruined mansion and a whole lot of land.”

“Land that can’t be sold for development ... or the bodies will start being found,” Daniella said. “Look, I appreciate you putting me on the House teat ... I can’t ask anymore of you, I just needed someone to vent to, maybe get some advice.”

“Okay, first off, don’t worry about being on the House teat. We’re already supporting a small army, the four of you are ... nothing really.

“What do you want to do?” Harry continued.

Daniella sighed, rubbing her forehead.

“I want to burn it to the ground ... salt the earth, have a Wiccan burn a lot of sage to purify the site, get a priest to bless the grounds, run a million miles away from it, and never think of it again, ever.”

“Where would you like to run to?” Harry asked.

Daniella looked up, her eyes widening.

“I’m not serious!”

“I’m not asking if you’re serious. I’m asking where you’d run to if you could.”

“Sure, I’ll bite. I want to move somewhere that’s cool even in the summer. Somewhere ... look, everyone here has been great about it, and I have so appreciated it ... but I want to be somewhere my last name doesn’t bring up bad memories and...” she shrugged, “negative expectations.”

“So, you’ve told me what you want in a destination, but not a destination itself.”

“Scandinavia somewhere? I don’t know. I wasn’t mommy’s darling little Nazi, so I haven’t seen many places.”

“Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. Things calm down, get an appraisal of your property, we’ll buy it from you for what it’s worth. In the meantime, I’ll have Dommi get you a family card, go take a look, see if Scandinavia suits you.”

“What?”
“Go see if it suits you. I’m not blind. We’ve been a bolt-hole for you, and that’s ... pretty much it. When you can sell, we’ll buy. I’ll put you in touch with our investment guy, if that’s not comfortable for you, we’ll help you find somebody, so your money will be working for you, and you find a place you want to be and go there. Live. Don’t just exist, Daniella. Live. Best way I can imagine to get revenge on your mother and sister.”

“Thank you ... just ... thank you.”

“Be happy. Live. That’s all we ever wanted for you.”

Monday, February 12, 2007

Emily De Jesus, Federal Prosecutor in Charge of the Western District

“Well, Miz De Haysoos,” Mike Vaughn, Homeland Security Director of the Western District said, “here we are again.”

Fists on her desk, spit in the air, bad breath. Same shit, different day.

“You remember what I told you last time we talked. One more incident even smellin’ like terrorism an’ it’s time for martial law.”

“I remember ... and back the hell out of my personal space or I’ll have you brought up on charges of illegal use of chemical weapons.”

“Pussy!”

“I have one, yes, and no, you may not see it. Now it’ll be sexual harassment as well. What the fuck do you want, Vaughn?”

“Those skinheads Sheriff Sheriden brought in. They were planning domestic terrorism, sure as shit.”

“I won’t argue that, Vaughn. They’re yours.”

“What? You fuckin’ with me?”

“Not in your wildest wet dreams. They’re yours, go collect the bodies.”

“What are you sayin’?”

“Travis County Correctional Complex, Saturday, eighteen alleged white nationalists go in to be held over for a bail hearing this morning with Judge Bridger.

“Last night during the 2 AM bed check all eighteen were found dead in their cells. Sheriff’s department’s trying to keep a lid on it, but at best that’ll buy them one day.”

“You’re shittin’ me!”

“I wouldn’t do that unless you were going to then eat it and die. Go to the county morgue, soon as the autopsies are done, they’ll be bagged up for you.”

Vaughn looked at Emily like she was a two-headed calf.

“You’re not kiddin’.”

“No I am not. Now,” she sighed, “declare martial law, jerk off on Congress Avenue at noon, do whatever you’re going to do, but do it elsewhere.”

“I’m gonna go talk to Sheriden and his men.”

“Good for you, Vaughn. Godspeed.”

“Huh?”

“Get the fuck out of my office before I shoot you!”

He slammed her door hard, trying to break the glass ... and failed.

Emily leaned back and put her hands behind her head.

Vaughn wasn’t going to get anywhere ... somebody higher up would squelch any real investigation. Incidents like this would turn up nothing but embarrassment and people in power hate being embarrassed. Besides, dead skinheads?

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Homicide Detective Evelyn Davis

“No, Cap, take that file right back into your office! You go sit down and think about that killing in East Austin you stuck me with and ask yourself if you really want to do this to me again!”

“Davis, do I need to remind you again how the chain of command works?”

“Cap, have I offended you? Did I piss in your Cheerios somehow? Maybe hurt you in a previous life? Where did the Bad Evelyn hurt you? Show me on the doll.”

The file landed on her desk with a light and airy flop.

“Ain’t much there,” Capt. Clark, Homicide Division, said. “House full of rich white assholes-”

“And human traffickers,” Davis interrupted.

“And human traffickers,” Clark continued, “chunked and smothered, one head, damn near the largest body part we found, left on a spike in the front yard. Nobody saw nothin’. Nobody heard nothin’.

“I’m pretty sure this would get swept under the rug quickly if it weren’t for the ‘white’ and ‘rich’. The whole ‘human traffickers’ issue might cancel that out. I dunno.

“You play it by ear, Detective Davis. I’m not expecting much but I need you to look busy as hell investigating this.”

“Yeah, Cap ... got it.”

Evelyn hated make-work and this case smacked of it. ‘Look busy’...

And as much as it pissed her off, her partner, Lou Matthews, was going to just love getting his hands on this case.

However briefly.

Carol

She was in Margo’s office with Kelly, Margo, and Radhika, talking.

“So, everyone left in what was Sandalwood head for Hawaii next Wednesday,” Margo said.

“Biggest problem I see is getting them to come back,” Kelly said, readjusting her loincloth in the front.

“No kidding,” Carol said. “I really want us all to go back there some day on vacation.”

And she felt ... anger. Anger growing ... Margo.

“Lori and Magda ... their children,” Margo said.

“Yeah?” Kelly replied, oblivious.

“If we want to see them, we’ll have to travel to where-the-hell-ever Jason and his ... wives ... have settled.”

“Madam,” Carol said, feeling Margo’s anger becoming rage, “they’ll probably be in California, and they can certainly come here for a visit as easily as we can go there.”

“But they won’t, will they?” Margo said, a snarl just beneath her voice. “Those little ... girls ... will be at Canglang in the lap of luxury ... with their babies’ father...”

Before anyone could react, Margo picked up the large glass ashtray she kept for her pot smoking, and threw it at Kelly.

The ashtray shattered against the wall between Carol and Kelly, as a scream of pure rage echoed in the office. Margo leapt to her feet and pushed Radhika to the side, coming around the desk like a freight train, aimed for Kelly.

Carol looked to her left, Kelly was cringing, holding her head. Blood matted her hair.

“You whore! You divorced us when you fucked that little shit!”

Margo clawed at Kelly’s face, her fingernails leaving bloody furrows.

“Get out! Go live with the traitors! Go live with your real husband!”

Carol sat frozen as Kelly’s hands came around to protect her face.

“Fucking useless prick kept fucking around, delaying his operation, let that cunt’s son fuck all of you!”

Margo attacked Kelly’s arms.

Carol looked to Radhika.

“Get Candy!”

And turning to face Kelly, shoved herself between her wives.
Margo’s now broken nails sliced down her back, interspersed with rage-filled punches.

“All of you ... all of you out! You’re all traitorous whores! You’re all his sluts!”

Carol was used to physical abuse ... she’d endured a lot of it.

And when it happened with her other owners, she would separate herself, and her emotions, from their verbal abuse, riding out the violence, her essential self safe from anything that was said.

But not this time.

Harry

He’d heard the screams echo down the bunker’s hall and was on his feet, leaning on Camille, when Radhika appeared in the door to the hideaway.

“Master, come quickly! Madam Grimes...” she sobbed.

Harry and Camille, followed by the rest of his concubines, were almost to the ramp when Candy came down the stairs, Margo over her shoulder.

Margo was screaming about ‘whores’ and ‘traitors’, beating on Candy’s back, until she saw Harry.

“There he is, Gimpy the fucking useless! Late as usual and fucking pathetic!”

And then Candy carried his wife into the room she’d been confined in before, followed by Nurse Christine.

“Kelly ... Carol...” Radhika cried.

“Where?”

He found them in the infirmary.

Kelly held a large gauze pad against the gore-matted hair on the right side of her head, her face and arms clawed and blood-caked, her eyes a million miles away, her mouth slack.

Carol was cleaning the bleeding wounds on Kelly’s face while her own back was bloody.

“Honey, what the hell happened?”

` ` ` ` ` *

By the time Carol had finished the short and violent tale, Christine had returned, taking over tending to Kelly.

“I need a damn assistant,” she barked. “A real one who knows shit and everything.”

“You’ll get one,” Harry replied vacantly.

He saw two patches of missing hair near the front of Kelly’s head, a similar, but deeper, spot on the back of Carol’s head, leaving a bloody mess on her scalp.

“So you’ve sedated Margo,” he said, and Christine nodded angrily.

“Radhika? Radhika honey,” he said, turning to take her by the shoulders. “You need to go call Chess, get her here as soon as she can make it. Go on now...”

“If your wife is gonna keep this shit up,” Christine said, “I want ketamine and a dart rifle like they use on big animals. That bitch is a handful.”

He turned to her.

“Fuck you, Christine,” he said, anger in his voice.

“There we go,” she cackled. “That’s better. Got too many people around here in shock as it is. Get it together, buddy, there’s still work to do.”

“It’s her PTSD, but that’s just a guess,” Chess said. “I recommend a 72-hour psychiatric hold.

“Harry,” she continued, “therapy has a lot of uses – this situation calls for much more.”

“Since I’m not legally her husband, I need to call Mike. Also ... Christine, are you allowed to sedate people?”

“Nope,” she replied. “Just another part of my comprehensive care package. And I still need an assistant.”

“Thank you for your ethical flexibility. And I haven’t forgotten.”

“Better not,” Christine growled. “She isn’t the only one I can sedate...”

The ride into to Sisters of Mercy was eons long.

He sat in the back with Margo, holding her limp hand, as she stared unseeing at first the country and then the city flashing by outside the windows.

Dommi and others rode in the chase vehicle.

Mike Lowry met them at the ER entrance, overseeing her admittance and escorted her upstairs to her room.

He came to Harry in the closest waiting room.

Harry stood, hugging Mike.

“Thank you so much.”

“De nada, Harry,” Mike replied. “ She’s on a 72-hour psych hold. When she wakes up, the best psychiatrist on staff, Dr. Klinerman, is going to evaluate her ... pretty sure Francesca’s diagnosis will prove out.”

“So ... she’s getting worse?”

“Harry,” Chess said, “PTSD ... somebody explained it as termites. It’s there, it’s inside her, and maybe the termites will chill, go dormant, maybe they’ll wake up again, eat a little here and there ... and maybe they’ll eat their asses off and a wall caves in. No real way to know for sure what’s going on until symptoms manifest.

“One thing’s for sure, Harry ... it’s past the point of her sole treatment being self-medication with cannabis, the drugs she was prescribed previously, and sessions with me.”

“So much for getting better...”

“Harry, honey,” Dommi said, “now maybe she’ll actually start to get better. Come on, let’s go home ... somebody needs to go to Valentine’s Court tomorrow and it ain’t gonna be you.”

“No, it’s going to be you and me. Camille, Amy, and Esther will come of course...”

“Harry, our wife is in the hospital!”

He turned and looked at Dominique.

“One of our wives is in the hospital and I need to pick up the slack for her. No more argument please.”

“Fine,” she said, “Devon, I’m riding back with Harry. Let the chase team know we’re going to take the long way home, please.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Because, as best we can, we need to start getting your head on straight...”

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Li Kuan

“Miss Kang, welcome to South Sulawesi,” the officer said, handing her back her passport, ID, and other documentation.

“Thank you, Officer ... Mappanyukki, am I saying that right?” Li Kuan replied, sounding like a clueless American tourist.

“Close enough, Miss Kang,” he replied.

“Uh, I didn’t do much planning, so could you ... I dunno ... recommend a good hotel?”

“Yes, Miss. I have heard nothing but good reports of the Gammara Hotel.”

“Thank you soooo much.”

Li Kuan walked out onto the street. She already had a reservation at the Singgasana under another name. ‘Brittany Kang’ would check in at the Gammara - but only long enough to change identities and slip out unseen, returning periodically to play the role of American Tourist.

Hopefully, things would come together quickly enough that she could make ‘Brittany Kang’s visit to Makassar mercifully brief.

But she was on the far side of the world from anyone she could trust, and if Jimmy couldn’t come through with what she needed – and quickly – she’d have to intercept the Belasco somewhere else.