Signs of Pain, page 4
Cherry arched her eyebrows. “You can’t make someone press charges. This is my cue to butt out.”
14
Raptor Flats glowed golden in autumn sunlight. The season really pepped up both Cherry and Ida, inspiring them to break open their fall and Halloween décor. Around the house windows, Cherry installed strands of skull and jack-o’-lantern lights, while Mrs. Cantu rearranged her signs, featuring a big one reading THOU SHALT NOT BOIL A KID IN ITS MOTHER’S MILK. EXODUS 23:19.
Autumn was also the time Yarn and Ball were scheduled to get their annual shots. Cherry brought the dogs to her preferred animal clinic, one of several vet businesses concentrated in Raptor Flats.
The Love Pets was owned and operated by Dr. Mishti Ghosh. Cherry enjoyed appointments with Dr. Ghosh, in part because she resembled a young Sophia Loren. Aside from her physical appeal, Dr. Ghosh was a caring, keen vet, always calm with her dogs.
“How’s the city shelter’s discount clinic going?” Cherry said.
Dr. Ghosh peered inside Ball’s ear. “As a matter of fact, The Love Pets is now the sole provider. Remember when you worked at VetBody, how the city split the work between Robstone and I? Well, he was finally given the ax for being rude to the customers. I’m guessing it was Sorin’s way to get out of the obligation. Evidently, he doesn’t need the business.”
“What an asshole,” Cherry said.
Dr. Ghosh smiled, poking a needle into Ball’s back, causing a slight yelp.
“Sorry, Ball,” she said in a singsong voice. “Now it’s Yarn’s turn.”
15
Out-toberfest was in full thrall at Eve’s Beer Garden. Cherry and her friends were partaking in the celebration.
Zinnia had nabbed a nice table for them, to enjoy the breeze from the outside while sitting just inside with a view of a TV screen and the dance floor.
Cherry was with her. On the table were three in-progress pint glasses of beer reflecting a variety of hues. A few gals had inquired about the third unoccupied seat.
“It’s taken,” Cherry or Zinnia would say to fight off space invaders.
“What the fuck is taking her so long?” Cherry said. “I thought she was just taking a piss.”
Whereupon the two friends heard some unintelligible hootin’ and hollerin’ parading from the restroom corridor. Jill was arm-in-arm with an ultra-feminine big-haired blond dressed in Sunday’s sexy best.
At the edge of the dance floor, where the crowd was getting down to Zapp’s More Bounce to the Ounce, Jill dropped the bombshell’s arm and somersaulted into the dancing fray. She jumped high in the air, landing on her feet, moshed a bit to make room, and pulled her new lady friend into the cleared space. In time to the funky tune, Jill dry-humped the very willing blond, who undulated against Jill’s traveling hands.
At song’s end, Jill was in a passionate embrace, talking to her boogie partner at a kiss’s length away. No kiss was exchanged, but Jill squeezed the glamazon’s waist before strutting to join Cherry and Zinnia.
“WHEW!” Jill held her arms out in quest of a giant globe. She sang, “Zank heavens for curvy girls—the curvy girls who don’t mind that I’m gay.”
Jill plopped down, drumming the table, making a crashed symbol sound effect. “Maurice Chevalier! Look it up! I’m ready for Tipsy Synapses Trivia!”
“Tipsy? You are lit,” Zinnia said. “You took forever in the bathroom. We’ve been fending off chair takers. Your beer is still here, and we’ve hardly had any. How are you so drunk?”
“I negotiated with Lola,” Jill waved a hand vaguely to the dance area, then made an hourglass gesture, “if I bought her shots—and I did some too—she’d dance with me in a manner we just demonstrated.”
Jill quaffed a great deal of her pint. She burped resoundingly, motioned to the server, pointing to the existing beer glasses, mouthing, “Another round.”
Cherry rolled her eyes.
As the new beers were delivered, Cherry turned to a news broadcast on a big television. The audio of the reporting was drowned out by the music and tavern chatter, but the visuals and subtitles indicated a seven-year-old boy with autism had been molested in a McDonald’s men’s room. Surveillance tape was aired, showing a tall balding man with a slight pear shape exiting the scene of the crime, walking past some diners nonchalantly, and out the restaurant door. The newscasters put the plea out for identifying the individual caught on camera, providing the North Hollywood Police Station number for any tips.
The last bit Cherry did not notice. She did not recognize the suspected pedophile, but the tape showed Dr. Sorin Robstone, sitting at a dining-area table, on his cell phone, flashing his brightened chompers, with a soda fountain cup in front of him. Once the masher left the establishment, Dr. Sorin got up and left out of the same door, still yacking on his phone, neglecting to bus his table.
Cherry’s jaw dropped. She pointed at the flat screen, frozen in shock for a moment.
“Look...at that McDonald’s!” Cherry said with gasps. “The news story.” She urgently shook her finger, hand, whole arm toward the surveillance video, which was repeating on a loop.
“Mmmm, McDonald’s sounds good right now,” Jill said, watching the footage with sloshed eyes.
Cherry clicked her tongue, semi-threatening to backhand her friend.
Sober Zinnia turned to view what had upset Cherry so much.
“THAT DICK!”
“Chill, hon,” Zinnia said. “Yes, it is terrible.”
The video clip reran.
“There! See at the table! Not the walking molester...it’s Dr. Dickenstein, that fuck!” Cherry said.
“Your old boss?”
“Without a doubt. I gotta call!” Cherry fished out her phone.
“Wait, he’s not the suspect,” Zinnia said. “Even though he’s bad, Sorin’s just sitting there. Police aren’t looking for him.”
“That status-hungry prick would NEVER set foot in a McDonald’s. Mr. Single Malt Scotch would get an assistant to fetch it. This is weird, totally smells rotten!” said Cherry.
“How can you smell what’s on TV?” Jill said slowly, sarcastically, finally tuning in to the discussion. “Smell-o-vision?”
“Piss off, Jill!” Cherry abruptly pushed up and away, heading outside.
“Why thank you!” Jill called after Cherry in an even louder grating voice. “I think I will take another piss!” Then to a passing woman, “Yowza!”
16
Outside of Eve’s, Cherry dialed 411 to be connected to the police station.
Once on the line with Detective Lily Phan, Cherry took a deep breath, and recounted her concern.
“Do you know the suspect, ma’am?” the officer said.
“No, I don’t. But the man sitting in the restaurant I know. He leaves after the other guy. You can see it on the tape.”
“Only one person allegedly assaulted the victim,” said Detective Phan. “The man walking from the restroom. It’s just a coincidence that someone you know was eating there at the time.”
Cherry hung up, and called a taxi. Eve’s was twenty minutes from NoHo, so she went to the police station.
Inside at the reception, her urgency turned to belligerence toward the detective.
“I insist on filing a report. I know that guy, he’d never go to a fast-food place. There is some connection.”
“It smells like you’ve been drinking, ma’am,” Detective Phan said.
Cherry, dismayed by the lack of progress, shook her head angrily.
“I hired a cab to get here,” she stated clearly through gritted teeth. “I was having a beer when I saw the news segment, which does not matter. What matters is a defenseless little kid was hurt, and you should be writing this all down in a report so you can check it out.”
The officer listened indifferently. Sighing with annoyance, she gave in slightly to Cherry.
“Well, maybe your friend has info about the assault.”
“Sorin Robstone is not my friend,” Cherry said before reciting the address of VetBody.
17
She caught another cab home, irritated at shelling out extra dollars in order to file a report she could have made over the phone, if only the officer had relented. But Cherry did it, and the cops would have to follow through.
Cherry switched on a lava-lamp nightlight in her room. In bed, she observed floating light orbs on the green ceiling, heartbroken for the little boy. I’m lucky it never happened to me. Cherry reluctantly, painfully admitted such atrocities were sinfully commonplace in the community, in the world. And Robstone was a few feet away from the poor kid. Bile churned in the pit of her stomach, causing Cherry to belch. Then she finally shut her eyes.
Waking hours came with another irritation: about Jill. How Jill acted at the Out-toberfest is nothing new. She’s Peter Pan, often high.
Cherry picked up the phone. “I need to clear the air with you, Jill.”
“Girl, I was hammered, could barely comprehend anything you and Zinnia were saying. It was a blur of booze and boobs,” Jill whispered. “If it’s any consolation to you, I am being punished for it now. I can’t believe I’m at work.”
The sound of liquid being chugged came through the phone.
“I hope that’s water,” Cherry said. “Sorry I was so gruff with you. You know me...quick to bristle.”
“Forever Cherry Bomb. Listen, I want to hear what happened,” Jill said, then more muffled, “when sober and not hungover. I’m faking my way through today’s business.” Jill readjusted her voice to office volume. “Day after tomorrow, I’m bringing takeout over to you and Ida.”
18
“I’m calling for an update from Detective Phan about the child sexual assault case,” Cherry said to the North Hollywood PD operator. “This is Cherry Orozco.”
“Please hold.”
After a few-minutes wait, her call connected to the detective.
“We visited Sorin Robstone,” said the cop, “the day after you made your report. He acknowledges that it is him in the footage, but has no connection to the suspect. It was a coincidence.”
“Well, thanks for checking it out.”
“However, the following day, we received an anonymous tip about the same crime, which gave us a name and address. When we followed up, we found a deceased man in a Valley Village apartment. We are awaiting confirmation, though it appears the deceased is the suspect from the security camera footage.”
“Was he killed?” Cherry said, unsettled.
“I can’t comment further. But you are ineligible for any reward money since your report did not lead to finding the suspect.”
“Oh, you think I was in it for the cash? Whatever.” Cherry hung up.
Slipper-clad Ida shuffled into the room with Yarn and Ball, remotely turning on the TV as she sat atop the pad-protected chair. She poked through her crochet basket, retrieving an in-progress afghan.
“Put on the news, would ya?” Cherry asked.
Sure enough, after returning from a commercial break, the first news coverage repeated basically what Detective Phan told Cherry, except the broadcast revealed the dead suspect as Glenn Ford, “no relation to the legendary Hollywood actor.”
A knock came to the door. It was Jill with Super Yum Chinese bags.
“Yep, I brought the greasy spoon to you! Chopsticks optional!” Jill said. “Evening, Ida!”
“Hello, how sweet of you,” Ida replied.
The younger women set the dinette table. Ida retrieved orange Fiesta Ware plates, dishing portions of fried rice onto each.
“Very classy, Ida.” Jill said, before addressing Cherry. “So, what did transpire on Sunday?”
“Well, the outcome has been on the news...see,” Cherry said, pointing to the televised new cast, once more reporting on the odd deadly turn of events. “The sad, short version is a kid was sexually assaulted in a Mickey D’s john, and there’s video of this sicko Glenn Ford.”
Jill nodded, listening to the fuller news report during a pause in conversation.
“Huh. What’s it got to do with you?”
“Dr. Shitstone is in the footage,” Cherry told her.
“Shitstone your old employer?” Jill said.
“After I left Eve’s I filed a police report. Cops determined it was a coincidence. A day later molester’s a corpse.” Cherry again pointed to the TV. “Found dead after an anonymous tip.”
“Wow, that is some convoluted intrigue. Too bad they’re not both dead!” Jill laughed at her own dark joke. Cherry smirked in appreciation, though Ida was displeased.
“Jill, it’s a terrible story,” Ida said. “You shouldn’t laugh.”
“Sorry, Ida. I’m hopelessly vulgar,” said Jill, winking at the older woman.
“You are fun,” said Ida.
Still preoccupied, Cherry pushed around her rice.
“This still bugs me,” she said. “What was that mofo doing at a fast-food joint? That coincidence does not jive. Robstone’s a prestige-greedy dink!”
Ida cringed at dink. “That’s a crude word.”
“He’s a crude piece of garbage. A coke at McDonald’s? C’mon. Was he meeting a dope dealer? When he can finagle drugs through his office. Doesn’t make sense. Very weird.”
Jill swallowed a bite of egg roll. “Get that ugly man out of your head.”
“I know, I need to let it all go like a noxious fart.”
19
The ordeal was difficult to let go. Cherry tossed and turned that night. She was mad at herself for getting worked up and obsessed with the situation. What am I upset about? That a person I hate intersected with another man’s crime? That a child was abused? Not to mention the abuser is now mysteriously dead?
Like everyone else with television or computer access, Cherry had seen countless “caught on camera” reports related to horrible events, always trying her best to remain detached and not emotionally crumble at the dark hell these stories told. This video was like many of those, except it had the presence of Sorin Robstone.
What if it were someone else I knew coincidentally there, sitting a few feet from the conflict? Are you reacting to this so bitterly because of Robstone? According to the police, he wasn’t involved. You’re torn up because you feel for the child. More like devastated for the child. Boy’s scarred for life. Damn! I wish I could beat that Glenn Ford to a pulp. But he’s dead. Good riddance.
Cherry got up to heat water for some chamomile tea.
20
Cherry hightailed it to Errant Sheep Tabernacle. Her car loaded with perishable groceries, she was anxious to get home to refrigerate them. Picturing the passenger loading zone of the church, her aim was to pull right up and honk to get her bingo-playing mom and Esther to exit the games.
She was surprised to see her seniors already at the curb, faces distraught. All three fumbled with the Honda’s doors in a contagious urgency to leave the premises. Buckled in, Ida double-pointed ahead, willing Cherry and the car forward. Esther was shaking her head, murmuring sounds of disapproval.
“Did you have a pee accident?” Cherry asked. “Your clothes are dry.”
Breathless Ida shook no, trying to gather thoughts. Esther blurted it out.
“That girl is pregnant again!”
Cherry took her foot off the gas, the vehicle slowing. She turned slack jawed to her mom, then Esther.
Another car honked behind them. Cherry chopped the air at them as they passed. She got it together enough to drive home.
After she parked the car on Meadowlark Lane, Cherry gathered the shopping bags.
“Let’s talk inside,” she said. “While I put groceries away.”
21
At the kitchen dinette table, Ida held her cheeks, shaking her head.
“Rotten church!” said Esther. “They take the money, but don’t take care of those needy people.”
“I’m not sure what to do. Zinnia’s out of state with Angie,” Cherry said, putting a couple boxes of cereal away.
The trio was silent, except for noises from Cherry opening and shutting kitchen cabinets. Tucking the shopping bags away, she joined her mom and Esther at the table.
“I’ll insist on seeing the pastor,” Cherry finally said, breaking the quiet. “What’s the name again?”
Ida thought a moment. “Wardens. Cherry, you need to be careful. Don’t blow your top.”
“She’s a nice kid, Ida,” Esther said. “I love my Veda, but she’s mad all the time.”
“I don’t want any trouble for Cherry from another shifty man.”
Cherry wagged a finger. “Ida, I’m right here, almost too big for this chair, no shrinking violet. Like Esther said, there’s something dishonest about this state-paid day care. You both were planning on bingo tomorrow, yeah? When I drop you off, I will speak with this Pastor Wardens.”
22
The jittery car ride to Errant Sheep Tabernacle was silent, though the trio kept up the pretense of bingo as usual.
Dropping Ida and Esther at the hall, Cherry parked the hatchback in one of the usual spots. Readying her phone for record mode, she headed to the opposite end of the property, veering around the corner of the church hall. Passing an unmarked utility door, Cherry hopped onto another’s landing, its bland sign declaring the quarters behind it as OFFICE.
A prim receptionist, MRS. FLOR according to the badge, blinked against the daylight seeping in around the internal swing of the door.
“Are you the new postman?” she said, squinting hard at Cherry, who impatiently shook her head no.
The woman’s face twitched in confusion.
“I need to speak with Pastor Wardens,” Cherry told her in a firm cut-the-crap tone, subtly tapping her phone to record.
In a fluster, Mrs. Flor shut a desk drawer and removed a key from its lock, pocketing it in her cardigan.
