Bad Moon Rising

  Bad Moon Rising

  By

  Billy Kring

  Copyright 2016 by Billy Kring

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover by:

  Elizabeth Mackey Graphic Design: www.elizabethmackey.com

  Books by Billy Kring:

  The Hunter Kincaid Mystery Series

  QUICK

  OUTLAW ROAD

  THE EMPTY LAND

  TONTON

  The Ronny Baca Mystery Series

  BACA

  L.A. WOMAN

  BAD MOON RISING

  Short stories

  THE DEVIL’S FOOTPRINTS–A HUNTER KINCAID SHORT STORY

  JORNADA

  AS B.G. KRING

  WHERE EVIL CANNOT ENTER

  COWRITTEN WITH GEORGE WIER

  1889: JOURNEY TO THE MOON

  1899: JOURNEY TO MARS

  You can find these books and more at my website: www.billykring.com

  Want to know when my next novel is available? You can sign up for my new release e-mail list here:

  Click me!

  For Elizabeth

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and truth.

  ~~~Buddha~~~

  Chapter 1

  Archie stopped me as I exited the locker room area of his gym on my way to the front door. He said, “What are you and Hondo doing today?”

  I’d had a good workout and said, “Right now I’m digesting a healthy nutrient-rich beverage, and Hondo is bench pressing a Buick while the power lifters watch.”

  Archie scrunched up his face as if he tasted something sour. “You chugged a whole pint of chocolate milk in about two seconds. I saw you.”

  “A pint of chocolate almond milk. Huge difference, my friend, huge difference.” I tossed the empty milk carton into the trash basket beside the door. “It’s all about the health with me. My body is a temple.”

  Hondo walked toward us as he used a small towel to wipe sweat from his face. He carried his tee shirt in the other hand. When he breathed, you could see his eight-pack. Several bullet and shrapnel scars showed as pale lines and dime-sized shiny spots on his tanned skin. A thin, one-inch scar just below his left pectoral muscle showed where the blade of a sword cane had exited. Under his left shoulder blade was the scar’s twin where it entered. I didn’t have to look to know it was there.

  I said, “What’s your body fat today, about point zero zero zero one? You’re skin’s so thin I can see the cells dividing under there.”

  Hondo grinned at me and said, “What’s up, Arch?”

  “Finally, an adult to talk to.”

  “Hey,” I said.

  Archie raised his hand for silence, and Hondo and I listened. Archie said, “What it is, the daughter of an old friend is missing.”

  Hondo said, “Fill us in.”

  “She’s a handful, been in and out of rehab, gets into trouble sometimes. Several verbal altercations with police that resulted in jail, where she sat until her parents made bail for her. She resents authority, and has been running with some undesirable people, not all the time, but often enough.”

  Hondo asked, “How old is she?”

  “Twenty–three. Lives in an apartment in Venice.”

  I asked, “What does she do for a living?”

  “Her parents pay for the apartment and give her money. She tells everyone she’s working on a clothing line, or is an artist. She has some talent as an actor, but doesn’t pursue it.”

  “Has she disappeared before?”

  “My friend says no, that despite everything else she screwed up, she always left word with her mother if she was going to be gone for a while. She calls her mother at least once a day, regularly, until this time.”

  I asked, “When did they report her missing?”

  “The third day she didn’t call. They reported it to the police and Sheriff’s office. She’s been missing for five days now, and her father asked if I knew anyone who could find her. Law enforcement hasn’t turned up anything.”

  I said, “No signs showing she left against her will?”

  “The detectives said nothing appeared out of place.”

  Hondo pulled out his iPhone and used his thumbs to type. “What’s her name?”

  Archie said, “Bodhi.”

  I said, “Like Patrick Swayze’s character in Point Break?”

  “Yes.”

  Hondo asked, “What’s her last name?”

  “She doesn’t use her father’s last name. They’re friendly, but not talking much at the moment. She goes by Artell, her mother’s maiden name.”

  Hondo looked up from typing. “Any relation to Sylvia Artell?”

  “Her mom.”

  I whistled and said, “Sylvia Artell’s worth, like, a bazillion dollars.”

  “Probably. She followed Aaron Spelling’s example and everything she’s touched has been gold.”

  Hondo asked, “How old is she?”

  Archie said, “Her real age is fifty-one, but the trades and her agent say forty-four.”

  I said, “How do you know she’s really fifty-one?”

  “I met her when she and my friend first started dating, back when she was a personal assistant to Spelling.”

  Hondo said, “Who’s your friend?”

  “Derek Pozza.”

  I said, “TCM.”

  “What?”

  “In some of the movies they show on Turner Classic Movies, he’s the big guy. A leading man type, but so large that he dwarfed everyone around him. Seems like I remember that’s the reason he faded out, because he was too hard to shoot with others.”

  Archie said, “That’s him. Being a six-eight actor is hard enough today, but back then it was a major negative. Plus, he’s so muscular that anyone acting with him basically disappeared on the screen.”

  “What does he do now?”

  “Does voiceovers for animation, narrates audiobooks, sells spec scripts, and does some directing.”

  “Why didn’t he and Bodhi get along?”

  “He tried to get her to change, and she wouldn’t have any of it. Mom always gave her anything she wanted, always had a bigger checkbook, so she gravitated that way.”

  “Do Derek and Sylvia get along?”

  “Yeah, now that they’re divorced, but Bodhi’s troubles are causing friction. Both are worried this time, really worried. That’s why I’m coming to you two.”

  Hondo dabbed his forehead with the towel and said, “We’re on it.” He turned to me, “Have you seen my chocolate milk? I put it in the fridge.”

  I frowned as if remembering something, and trotted away in a hurry, saying over my shoulder, “I’m late for a call, mucho importan-tay.”

  Archie said, “Hah! He’s a thief, Hondo! He took it!” Archie yelled at me, “Chocolate thief!”

  As I went around the corner to our office next door, I yelled, “Almond Chocolate!”

  I slowed to a walk and spotted something small leaning against the bottom of our office door. It was a shiny U.S. Marine Globe and Anchor emblem pin about the size of a half dollar. I looked around but didn’t see anyone in sight, so I picked up the pin and took it inside. I’d put
out a notice later at Archie’s, figuring someone dropped it while going to or coming from the gym, because they parked close to our office all the time.

  ~*~

  Derek Pozza lived in a nice Malibu beachfront home, and he opened the door before we could knock. You noticed his size before you noticed anything. He said, “Come in.”

  We followed him to the living room and sat in some comfortable oversized chairs. He took the corner of a small sectional sofa. Derek said, “Archie told me you two are good at this. Thanks for coming.”

  Hondo said, “We can talk first, get some current photos of Bodhi, and hear in your own words what happened.”

  “Bodhi and I haven’t been as close lately. Sylvia’s the one who told me she was missing.”

  Hondo said, “When we finish, could you call Sylvia and get us through her security?”

  I said, “We hear they get a little prickly when folks haven’t been preapproved for meeting her majesty.”

  Derek gave me a little wave-off, “Sylvia’s not like that, but there have been two recent incidents where people tried to force their way in on her. Once outside the Beverly Hilton, and the other at her residence. Left her shook up, so she upgraded the security. I’ll call.”

  He left the room to get photos and to call Sylvia, and I said, “Derek makes Dwayne Johnson look like an elf.”

  Hondo said, “He’s no Magilla Sykes, though.”

  I thought about Magilla, the huge, mysterious, lonely man we encountered a few months ago while working to save a young woman named Jett Sunday. I said, “Nobody was like Magilla.”

  Derek walked in with an armload of photos in frames, and others that weren’t framed and had the look of being freshly printed. He put them on the large coffee table in front of us. “Take any you want,” He pointed at some papers, “And that lists her Facebook page, Twitter, Tumbler, Pinterest, phone numbers for two cell phones, plus the home phone, and her address for the apartment.” He reached into his pocket to withdraw a small ring of keys. “Keys to her apartment and her mail box.”

  I looked at them and said, “Her car keys are there, too. Do you want to take them off the ring?”

  “No, the car is gone, and she has another set of keys.”

  Hondo said, “I didn’t see that in the detective’s report, about the car being gone.”

  “I didn’t mention it to the police. She’s always letting people drive it, so half the time when she needs to go somewhere, she’ll drive one of Sylvia’s. Usually the Wraith.”

  “A Rolls Royce Wraith?”

  Derek nodded, “The color’s called Titanium, sort of a silver gray.”

  I imagined it and said, “Well, she’s got taste.”

  “What kind of car does she normally have?” Hondo asked.

  “Jeep Wrangler. I’ll get you the tags and specs and email them to you. Its black, nothing fancy. Sylvia thought it would be better for Bodhi if she didn’t stand out, didn’t make herself a target because she was the daughter of Sylvia Artell.”

  I said, “So Bodhi drives a Rolls Royce Wraith instead, in an effort not to attract attention.”

  “You see it. Sylvia can’t say no to her. It’s one of the things that drove me crazy when we were married. Still does.”

  “When was the last time you saw your daughter?”

  “Couple of weeks ago. I saw her with some people down by the Venice pier.”

  “How many?”

  “Four, I think, or five at most, because a couple of people were standing near, but not in the bunch.”

  “Did you talk to Bodhi?”

  “No, I waved, and she smiled and waved back. The people she was with circled around her real close after that and they all left together.”

  “What did they look like?”

  “Like an eighties band that’s not doing too well. Long haired guys with a few arm tats and heavy eyeliner.”

  “No instruments?”

  “One of them had a guitar hanging over his shoulder on a strap.”

  “Acoustic or electric?”

  “Acoustic.”

  “Was there anything else that would help us pick them out?”

  “I can’t think of anything.”

  “Okay.” Hondo gathered up several photos and the papers as I said, “We’ll see what we can do. You have our numbers.”

  We left, and Hondo said, “You want to go straight to see Sylvia, or start on something else first?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Bodhi’s apartment, then to Venice Beach. See if we can spot the guyliner gang.”

  ~*~

  Bodhi’s apartment was the second floor – the entire second floor, of a two-story building on Rose Avenue, not far from the Rose Hotel. There were probably twenty beanbag chairs scattered around the large living room, a large flat-screen television on the wall, a mattress on the floor in the single bedroom, and a clean kitchen.

  The refrigerator contained two jars of Snapple Peach-Tea, several bunches of wilting kale, and four unopened cups of Yoplait blueberry yogurt. Nothing else.

  I called to Hondo, who was in the bedroom, “Anything?”

  “Come look.”

  I walked in as he opened the sliding doors on one of the two closets. Full of clothes, for several sizes of women, and men. A lot of the clothing appeared a decade or so old and some of the jeans were frayed at the cuffs. He tapped a wire coat hanger against his thigh. “Think she got those at Goodwill?”

  “She had a lot of people staying here.”

  “The guyliner gang?”

  “Be my guess.”

  I picked out some of the men’s shirts and pants. “From the size of these, they must all be vegans, and probably weak from malnourishment.”

  Hondo knelt and looked in the bottom, “Shoes, boots, sneakers, but mostly sandals and flip-flops.”

  “Nothing suggesting a kidnapping.”

  “Nope.”

  We checked the second closet and found Bodhi’s clothes. They ranged from Goth to casual to Rodeo Drive elegant.

  We heard the faint sound of a key, and both of us moved to either side of the bedroom door. I eased my eye around the corner and saw a drop-dead gorgeous young woman with a California tan and straight sixties-style hair the color of honey. She wore an open, sleeveless leather vest, and nothing under it. She also had on a tiny pair of cutoff jeans with a dozen frayed holes that looked like small cotton explosions where the white threads extended. Tanned skin showed through a few holes, too.

  Hondo whispered, “Don’t whinny and bare your teeth.”

  I whispered back, “I can control myself around beautiful women. I have the strength of ten.”

  She dropped a set of keys on the kitchen counter, opened the refrigerator and took out a Snapple. She drained half of it on the first try. A few drops ran down her chin and onto the tanned skin between her breasts. She ran one palm slowly across it, going under the vest sides and doing what under there, I could only imagine.

  And I was imagining a lot right then. I craned my neck to the side to see more of her.

  Hondo shook the wire hanger at me and silently mouthed, “Quit it.”

  She glanced at the bedroom door and saw me. I jerked back as she said, “Oh, hey!” We stepped out and she said, “You’re the two newlyweds, I bet. From the beach ceremony last month. I didn’t make that one, but Bodhi said it was epic.”

  Hondo said, “No, we’re not married. It wasn’t us.”

  I watched a golden bead of peach tea run down her stomach, curve around the edge of her fine little navel and continue south. Hondo nudged me.

  I said, “My name’s Ronny, and he’s Hondo.”

  She said, “I’m Amber.” She put out her fist, so Hondo and I fist-bumped her.

  I said, “Have you seen Bodhi?”

  “Sure.”

  “So you know where she is.”

  She laughed, “Not right this exact instant.”

  Amber had one of those bell-clear laughs that added to
her beauty, and it worked on me.

  Hondo whispered to me, “Don’t swoon.”

  She said, “What? I didn’t catch that.”

  Hondo said, “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “When I borrowed her car last week.”

  “You kept it for a week?”

  “Bodhi told me to take it, said she was fine and had other wheels. She’s loaned it to me lots of times.” Amber looked at us, “Are you guys cops? What’s with all the questions?”

  Hondo handed her one of our business cards and I said, “We’re trying to find Bodhi. She’s missing.”

  “Like missing-missing?”

  I said, “Yes. Do you have any idea where she might be?”

  She pulled out her phone, “I’ll call her.” We waited. She frowned, “A recorded message says she’s not available. It didn’t even go to voicemail. What’s with that?”

  “We’re not sure. But, if you hear from her, give us a call. Her parents are worried.”

  “I will. Wow, this news is bringing me down, like big time.”

  Hondo said, “Can we ask you a few questions?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you know any people she hangs out with, especially a group with long blond hair, looks kind of like an eighties band?”

  “Electrical Testicle.”

  Hondo coughed, then said, “Do they play anywhere around here?”

  “Not regular, which is a shame, because they are really, really good. Every bit as good as Algonquin Rhino.”

  I said, “Wow, that good.”

  “You’ve heard them?”

  “We haven’t been that lucky.”

  Hondo said, “Where can we find our Testicle?” I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He smiled, all innocent.

  “They’re usually here.” She tapped her finger on her lips as she thought. “Oh yeah, tonight they’re opening for another band at Amoeba Music.”

  “Some good musicians play there.” Hondo said.

  “I told you, they’re good.”

  I said, “We’ll check them out this evening. Thanks.”

  Amber smiled, and put her hand on my forearm. “You’re gorgesome.”