The night was long and his eyes were heavy, but they had been assured that Ian would be all right. The fall wasn’t that far, it was Billy and Blue landing on him that had done most of the damage, he was just lucky that the initial fall hadn’t snapped his neck or spine leaving permanent damage or worse. Ian would be spending some time in the hospital, serious physical therapy ahead of him, but should make a complete recovery, if he’d just wake up.
Billy was the lucky one; the bullet went cleanly through his shoulder. He’d lost quite a bit of blood. Other than a scar he’d be perfectly fine. He would probably even be released in a few days. He insisted on a bed right next to Ian. They’ve practically had to tie him there, even with Reese trying to keep him calm.
Blue Richards came out the unluckiest of all, poor bastard. Kellen had aimed for the shoulder, but for some reason the guy moved at the last minute, maybe to run, maybe to get one last shot at Ian in, but it landed in his chest and exploded in his heart. Before the sucker was barely zipped up in the body bag, news reports hat hit the wires.
No one directly involved cared to even know what was being said. All they needed to know was that their loved ones were going to be alright. For a guy with no family, there sure were a lot of people refusing to leave the hospital until they knew he was out of danger. The Shores all arrived in squads and had had no sleep at all. Saxon managed to get to there just as the armies of reporters figured out which hospital Ian was in.
Blake and Wella managed to get through the throngs and be with the family. Others came and went through the night. Ian would have been shocked and surprised at how many people in such a short time had come to love him. The people getting coffee for one another and pestering every medical looking person who walked by would have been shocked at the one or two that were there for other reasons.
By the time Kellen made it to the hospital, Ian was already in surgery. His lungs had collapsed from being made pincushions by fractured ribs. He had a broken collarbone and clavicle. The doctors informed them that the small piece of cartilage that made up his rotator cuff had pretty much gone by by. It was assumed that the shoulder damage was made from the landing of his initial fall, and the rest when Blue and Billy came tumbling after.
Billy, listed on the insurance as next of kin, was rushed off to surgery himself, so the surgeons made an emergency decision to get it all done at once. Ian’s shattered knee would need to be replaced, but for now, it was determined to let Ian decide what he wanted to do when he was able.
Ironically, the doctor’s warned them that it was the rotator cuff damage that would be the most painful and take the longest recovery time. The surgeons compared it to a man giving birth. Of course, everything depended on Ian waking up, which he didn’t seem to be too concerned about doing.
Kellen had been questioned and grilled for hours. Since his gun fired the shot that had killed Blue Richards, coupled with the fact that he was an ex-cop, he was surprised that it hadn’t taken longer. The L.A.P.D. usually went over every aspect a thousand times when one of their own was involved, just to make sure that any inkling of departmental nepotism would not rear its ugly head.
He had told his side of the story only five hundred times that night. He had just returned home from rounds for the small security firm he ran since leaving the force, and was getting ready for bed. He heard the dog barking at the French doors and looked out to see what had Ralphie in such a tizzy.
In the bright moonlight, he could see that someone had just opened the curtains to Ian Justyn’s loft bedroom, but the dog kept barking. He saw Justyn, who waved at him and then he saw a figure step out of a closet and he saw him fire. By the time he grabbed his gun from the desk drawer and got outside he could see Justyn falling over the balcony and the intruder struggling with Billy.
He assumed at that point that Ian had been shot and was running to the check for signs of life when the other two broke through the balcony railing. Kellen drew his weapon and shouted the cliché “Stop or I’ll shoot!” When he saw the intruder aim his gun again.
Before Kellen could fire the dog attacked the intruder and the man’s gun fired, he didn’t know if it was deliberate or involuntary but Billy went into the pool face down. About that time others started showing up, from where he didn’t know, but three people dived in the pool after Billy.
Kellen saw the intruder aim his gun again, this time at Ian’s head. Kellen yelled drop your weapon, but he saw the man’s finger begin to squeeze so he fired and the man went down.
The five hundredth time seem to do the trick and he was released. Kellen was just glad that he was allowed to put on some pants and they hadn’t handcuffed Ralphie and grilled him in the next room. As far as the other details, all Kellen knew was that both Billy and Ian were alive and had been taken to the hospital.
Peyton Balouche and his partner, a young guy he didn’t know, had been on call. Since Balouche and Kellen had been partners when he was on the force, another officer, Gene Rooney had been brought in to do the questioning. Satisfied that it was an act of defense, Kellen was told he was free to go, but told there may be further questions once more details of the day came to light.
As he left the station, Balouche told him that he shouldn’t worry, Richards was obviously a nut case. The assumption of Richard’s intent was either robbery or rape. Kellen himself had heard Richards make comments about Ian at the party and had been privy to other comments that he had made to his security staff at Open Fields. He knew better than to ascertain his own assumptions during questioning and simply filled in as many details as he could when they asked about his relationship with the victims.
Balouche finally got around to acknowledging their history when he asked how he was doing. Kellen said fine, but was still uncomfortable with the way things had ended with Balouche, not the force. “You still see Amanda and Barbie?” Kellen could see that he hated himself for even asking.
“About once a week.” He acknowledged.
Balouche sneered. “I’ll be in touch if we need anything more.” He turned to his partner, “Come on Mitchell, we’ve got paperwork you need to do.” And was gone.
Kellen saw the young partner roll his eyes and follow the man. Kellen, shook his had, knowing that this Mitchell must be the latest in a series of partner’s for Balouche. Kellen himself had been the next in a long line, but for some odd reason they clicked and were partners for three years, before Kellen left the force.
Kellen Jackson had come from a long line of policemen. His Grandfather was almost legendary on the force, killed in the line of duty at age 45. His father Walter Jackson, had also been a cop, not as decorated, but might have been had he not been gunned down at 39. On Kellen’s 35th birthday he was narrowly missed by bullet in a shoot out and decided not to press the luck of his lineage and resigned. That was a little over a year ago, and the world was now a different place.
It was Amanda who suggested that Kellen look into security. He had long toyed with a system that combined video surveillance with a pc. Amanda was doing well, her romance novels selling like hotcakes, and she offered to back him. While he rousted up business he got a job with a small firm that contracted bodyguards and bouncers for local clubs.
The guys running the company spent more time snorting the profits up their noses than actually hiring and training people. Within weeks Kellen found he had a knack for it and offered the cokeheads a good price for the business. To his surprise they took him up on the offer. By the end of that year, Kellen had tripled the business and was actually turning down clients.
A few months ago, Kellen had been talking with a couple who ran a hair salon that had been robbed four times in the last six months. While there he started chatting with a sweet old lady who said her husband had past away and couple that lived in the other house on her property had moved to New Orleans.
She asked him if he knew any of his employees that might be interested in renting the house. It would make her feel safer knowing that a trained security officer lived on her property. He took her phone number and said he’d let her know if any of his people needed a place to live.
While he was enjoying his new career, his personal life left him emptier and emptier. He now only shared his bed with Ralphie. He had bought him for Amanda for Christmas, but as usual she got bored with the dog by New Year’s and Kellen ended up bonding with it.
He and Amanda were already in the process of getting a divorce. She saw no reason to stay married and Kellen suddenly found no reason to stay. They were friends, but Amanda had found what she wanted was a twenty something named Barbie, Balouche’s ex-wife, and it was time for Kellen to do the same.
That weekend he called the number the lady had given him and he found himself, Ralphie in tow, in a nice little furnished bungalow with two stories and a car port. It was all he needed.
Upon his moving into his new rental, Mrs. Elysian told him that she was having her home renovated and she hoped that the noise wouldn’t bother him. It seemed over night that the work was done, the second story wall being removed and replaced with glass windows.
Don’t get him wrong he had learned to love Ms. Elysian, but when he first got a look at the completed project, giving him ample view into her master bedroom from his he couldn’t help but think of the old adage: “People who live in glass houses should dress in the basement.”
He worked night hours, so daytime was for sleeping, playing with the dog and chatting with Miss Elizabeth, as she insisted he call her. He often joined her for afternoon tea, and she went on and on about how she would soon be leaving but for him not to worry she had seen to it that nothing changed. She was depending on him to keep the place protected even after the young man moved in.
Shortly after the renovations had been completed, she informed him that this would be their last tea together. She was urgently needed by a cousin who had taken ill in Iowa and she had sold the place but, she was sure that he and the nice young man who would be moving in by at the first of the month would get along fine. Kellen was to continue depositing his rent check into the account as always. She would call him if she needed anything. That was the last he saw of her.
Now he sat with a group of others, all new friends, bonding even tighter over a senseless tragedy. Kellen sat in a chair at the end of Ian’s bed just staring at the black and blue young man in a drugged sleep with wires monitoring his progress and blood slightly seeping from surgical wounds into fresh gauze.
Why would someone try to kill this man? Why would a bartender from Open Fields, whom he knew on a first name basis and genuinely liked hide in a closet with a pistol? If it was a robbery, he could have done that so easily anytime during the day, and gotten away with it, too many people and too many witnesses to accurately pinpoint a burglar.
He then thought about the stalker scenario. He knew Blue Richards to be straight, but the man had openly admitted that he wanted Ian sexually. But Blue literally had hours in which to force himself on Ian, and probably without company in the house. Why did the guy hide in that closet? It made absolutely no sense whatsoever, and what the hell was this Darla Hutton business? They had all heard it loud, bloody, and clear.
Tippy had returned from the commissary with a paper tray full of coffees and teas for everyone. She handed them out motherly and made sure that the room full of her children, both real and adoptive, were taken care of. She walked over to the bed and gingerly kissed Ian on the forehead and sat in the chair beside Kellen patting him on the leg.
“You doing okay, Sugar?” She asked.
“Yep.”
“You’ve had no sleep whatsoever have you?”
“Have you?”
“I stole a few minutes here and there. Why don’t you try to close your eyes for a few minutes? You know we’ll let you know if there is any change.”
“Thanks, Tippy, but I can’t just now. Too many unanswered questions in my head.”
“Still a cop in your mind, honey?”
“Guess I always will be.”
“We’ll talk about that sometime.”
Kellen smiled and patted her knee. He knew she wasn’t being nosey. This woman just wanted him to know that although she barely knew him, he was already part of her world and she would be there for him. It made Kellen feel good. He hadn’t felt that way in a long time.
“Oh, I have Inez looking after Ralphie.” She said he was restless, but fine. “You know he and the cat both tried to get in the ambulance with Ian?”
“He seems to have taken right to him.”
“Just like the rest of us.” She reached for a little white bag the she had brought up from the commissary. “Want half the paper?”
“Maybe later.” Kellen just slumped in the chair and stared at Ian. He started to drift off until Tippy touched his arm.
“Honey, I think you’ll want to read this.”
He opened his eyes to see the front page in his lap. The bold headline read, “Hot TV Exec in Grave Condition after Home Invasion Attack”. Kellen sat up and brought it closer to his eyes. The article stated that Ian Justyn was fighting for his life in an undisclosed hospital after he and a friend walked in a burglary in process.
The details were picked over, neglecting the party that afternoon or that the burglar had been an attendant. It did say that the burglar was shot and killed by a neighbor, a former cop. It stated that the police had already closed the case, burglary being the reason for the scuffle, the only unanswered question being the meaning behind the burglar’s final words.
The rest of the article, continued on page four, went into details of HRT and Darla Hutton. Her career was detailed including her mysterious disappearance and the presumption that she and married co-star James Redfield had run off together to live happily, if anonymously, ever after, just like one of their movies.
It touched on almost all aspects of the now created legend, a missing diary that may or may not have ever existed and Redfield’s wife’s suicide years later. There was also the mention that David Turner, the assumed sole survivor of the trio who founded HRT had refused to declare any of them dead. Both Redfield and Hutton still had equal shares of stock and all monies over the years were still siphoned into accounts for each of them.
“Does that seem as stupid to you as it does me?” Tippy asked.
“There is no way this incident was a failed burglary attempt.” Kellen flatly said slamming the paper down. “Something else went on.”
“Sugar, I just assumed that it was, you know…” Tippy tried to explain genteelly, “…that poor man wanted to force Ian into…you know…having sex.”
Kellen looked Tippy straight in the eyes. “Tippy, it wasn’t that either. I saw Blue come out of the upstairs closet and point a gun at the back of Ian’s head. If Ian hadn’t bent down to swat at the cat, that first bullet wouldn’t have hit the glass.”
Tippy’s mouth dropped open, “Oh no, Kellen, who would want to deliberately do something like that to Ian? He doesn’t have an enemy in the world, except maybe that cow he used to live with…”
“Tippy, there is no question; Blue Richards was hiding in that closet waiting to get a clear shot. I have only two questions; why and why are the police so quick to close this case?”
“But if they have decided it was a burglary and poor Blue is dead, they aren’t gonna bother…they won’t be protecting Ian if…Kellen, sugar…?”
“That’s why Ripley is here.” Kellen assured her. “Someone will be around him twenty four seven, until we know what really happened, and I may be over reacting, but until then, let’s just make sure that Ian and all witnesses are safe.” He headed toward the door with the rest of the paper.
“Kellen, where are you going?”
“I know exactly where to go to get some answers.” And he did, straight to Peyton Balouche’s desk, where he slammed the paper down, pointed and demanded, “What is this shit, asshole?”
“Haven’t read it, but I’m sure it’s like all the other crap on the news wire and TV. Your buddy and his friend walked in on a burglar, burglar had a gun, you had a gun, bang bang burglar go bye bye.”
“Bullshit!”
Peyton looked him in the eye. “You’re right, it’s bullshit. The network is pretty powerful and they prefer this variation to the real truth to keep their golden boy out of hot water.”
“Huh?”
“Look, you know the truth as much as I do. The little nancy boys were having an orgy and someone got jealous. More than likely this Richards character, who several of the witnesses said they heard mention wanting to have sex with your buddy, has likely been stalking him.”
“Stalking?”
“His girlfriend says that he’s been talking pretty obsessively about the dude, she even told Justyn to let the guy have him and put him out of his misery. We found footprints matching the perp and semen on the grass. He’s been hiding in the bushes and playing pound the sausage from a distance for a while now…”
“Well that’s possible, but it still doesn’t explain why he claim out of that closet and aimed a gun right at Ian’s head. He intended to kill him, not screw him.”
“Don’t go blowing this out of proportion, Kel. Richards probably just decided if he couldn’t have the dude, no one could. Probably had been hiding in the closet for hours and decide to off him when he didn’t show up for a promised rendezvous.”
“That still doesn’t make sense.”
“Level with me, Kel…you been doin’ this Ian guy, too?”
“Jealous?”
He smiled, “Maybe…the case is closed. Media thinks it was a botched burglary, network honchos get a hero instead of another scandal and they get off our backs…”
“Uh uh. There is something more to this. It’s too easy…”
“It’s open and shut. Stop trying to make an Agatha Christie out of a Darla Hutton...”
“And that’s another thing….”
“Oh please, if he’d been plugged at Lincoln Center, he’d have probably mooed Judy Garland.”
“Okay, what about the clothes? Where did he get the black clothes?”
“The ski mask belonged to Justyn, even had his widdle name stitched in it.”
“So where are Richards’ clothes and his cell phone for that matter? He was dressed in khaki shorts and a white tank top at the party and chatted endlessly on his cell.”
“He went home and changed.”
“How’d he get there and back? His girlfriend left alone.”
“Taxi or maybe even Justyn himself.”
“Justyn left the house with Saxon Allen in her car. No taxis came by either. Between the six people at the hospital we can give you times and names of everyone who came and went in that house since 4 PM on Thursday Night until the incident.”
“Richards and Justyn were about the same size, clothes may have come from the same place the ski mask did.”
“Then where are Richard’s clothes?”
“Jackson, don’t go making more out of this than it is. Everyone but you is happy. Case closed!”
Kellen turned to storm out of the office and ran into Det. Mitchell. “You the new partner?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let me give you a piece of advice, pal, something’s not right with this picture. If you don’t want to be taken down with Balouche, you better figure it out before I do.” and Kellen stormed out.
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