Done Rubbed Out Read online

  He laid the magazine down after determining there wasn’t a comfortable way to read it while on his stomach, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he noticed the sun had changed position, and the pool had emptied out. He must have fallen asleep. He quickly rolled off the chair to check his shoulders and the backs of his legs. Thankfully, they didn’t look too red. A bad sunburn on the first day of summer would be a drag. He turned around to adjust the chair and spotted someone in a lounge chair two down from his. “Wow!” he thought after catching the view. “Maybe things are looking up!”

  The guy in the chair looked a little older than Toby – maybe even as old as twenty. Definitely not just out of high school. He had dark, longish hair and smooth, tanned skin. Like Toby, he had on board-shorts, but he’d hitched them up to bare his really nice legs. “He looks like he works out,” Toby observed as he eyed the smooth chest glistening with warm oil. He suddenly realized what he was doing, and sat down quickly, picking up his magazine. He knew he was blushing, so he held it up to his face.

  “It’s okay to look.”

  Toby ignored him.

  “I said, it’s okay to look,” the man said again.

  Toby glanced around to see if anyone had heard, and hissed back, “I wasn’t looking!”

  “Sure you were," the man said with confidence. Before Toby could think of a single thing to say, the guy gathered up his towel and a bottle of tanning oil and moved to the lounger next to him.” My name’s Jerry,” the guy said, holding out a hand.

  Jeeze! This dude had the whitest teeth Toby had ever seen outside of a toothpaste commercial. He put down his magazine and shook his hand, which he noticed was scraped across the knuckles. He made sure to keep his grip firm. “Hey. My name’s Toby.”

  “Heya’, Toby. Cool name.”

  “Jerry’s a cool name too.”

  “It’s short for Geraldo. With a ‘G’ at the front and an ‘I’ on the end. Geraldo reminds me of that investigative guy on TV. I prefer Geri.”

  “Um...okay.” Toby watched spellbound as Geri proceeded to squeeze some oil into the palm of his hand and rub it onto his smooth, muscled chest. The hand moved in slow circles and occasionally grazed first one bronze nipple and then another. Toby couldn’t help noticing that both nipples were getting hard as the hand caressed them. Geri hummed quietly under his breath. “OMG! This is just like porn,” Toby thought, although he’d never seen any porn. Until now. He suddenly realized his mouth was hanging open and he closed it with a snap. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, and then carefully adjusted the magazine on his lap. It didn’t lie as flat as it should. He covertly adjusted things in his shorts and looked around again before turning back to Geri. “I…uh...I haven’t seen you here before.”

  “Well, I just got into town a few weeks ago. Moved up from Florida. I’m staying with my cousin through the summer.”

  The hand finished with the chest, lingered for a minute on the hard, ripped stomach and reached down to the right foot. Geri rubbed the oil onto his foot, slowing smoothing it between each of his toes. The hand moved up the shin and around to the calf. Geri coaxed some more oil out of the bottle with a gentle up and down motion and a slow squeeze, and started oiling his knee and working up one hard thigh. Tiny hairs lay flat against the tanned skin and glimmered in the sun. Geri pulled the leg of his shorts up a little higher, and worked the oil in, humming and occasionally reaching up under the fabric to the inner part of his thigh, stroking rhythmically. Then he switched legs and repeated the entire process. Toby thought he was going to cum in his pants, and his cock and balls were beginning to throb under the magazine.

  Finished with the slow intricate application of oil, Geri carefully wiped his hands on his towel. He turned directly to Toby and took off his sunglasses. He had the greenest irises Toby had ever seen. Looking right into Toby’s eyes he said, “So, Toby…you want to hang out this summer?” Geri slowly licked his full, slick lips, and at that exact moment, Toby shot his load.

  The next morning, Toby groaned at the stiffness in his back and shoulders. He stretched, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around. On the floor of his cell near the bars were a small paper sack and a tiny, white foam cup with a lid. He retrieved both and took them back to his cot. The bag contained a cold, greasy breakfast sandwich with some kind of unidentifiable meat. He wrinkled his nose and put it to the side. The last thing he wanted was food, especially this food. He opened the lid of the cup and looked at the murky brown liquid inside. He took a cautious sniff. It kind of smelled like coffee. He took a sip and grimaced. At least it was hot. That was about the best that could be said.

  He set the cup on the floor, and went to the sink in the corner. He washed his face, splashing the tepid water that trickled from the faucet up from his cupped hands. He shook his hands over the sink, and after taking a quick look around the room, he unzipped his fly. As he had vowed the night before, he rose up on his toes and peed in the sink. He almost cried in relief as he emptied his bladder. He ran more water, washing the urine down the drain. He washed his hands, and discovered there were no paper towels. He wiped his hands on his pants, thankful the slacks were black. He went back to the cot, sat down and picked up the now lukewarm coffee. He finished it. Then he placed the empty cup on the floor and waited.

  About an hour or so later, he heard someone walking down the hall. He heard the jiggle of keys. A new officer stopped by his cell. “Bailey?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “You’re supposed to come along with me.” The officer unlocked the cell door and held it open as Toby exited. Together they walked down the hall and through another door. The officer escorted him to a small room. Inside were a metal table and four chairs made of orange molded plastic.

  “Take a seat,” he was instructed.

  Toby seated himself in the chair opposite the door as officer left the room. Toby studied the space; ugly gray walls, awful chairs and no pictures. Not even a calendar. One large mirrored glass window was positioned on the left wall. “Probably an observation room,” he decided. He folded his arms on the table and waited.

  A few minutes later, the door opened and Detectives Reightman and Jackson entered. Detective Reightman was wearing a dull pantsuit made of some sort of stretchy fabric over a pale yellow top. Neither did anything to flatter her sallow complexion or her gray streaked, curly dark hair. Toby, of course, kept that observation to his self. She fanned herself with a pad of yellow legal paper as if she were hot, then tossed it on the table and laid a ballpoint pen on top. Toby noticed the cap looked like it had been chewed. She placed her hands on the back of one of the orange chairs and stared at him. The other detective, in a nice navy blue suit, leaned up against the wall, cradling a cup of coffee in his hands.

  She finally nodded. “Mr. Bailey.”

  Toby nodded back and cleared his throat. “Detective.”

  Detective Jackson moved from his station against the wall and walked to the table. “We’ve been informed that your attorney should be here shortly,” he said. “When she arrives, we’ll do introductions and give the two of you a few minutes alone. In the meantime, can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. I already had some of that this morning.”

  “Well now you know just how awful the coffee around is around here! It only takes a couple of swallows. How ‘bout a bottle of water instead?”

  “Sure. That would be great.” Toby was a little confused about why the Detective was being so nice, but then caught on. “He’s going to be the good cop.”

  “Be right back.”

  Reightman still hadn’t said a word, beyond her initial greeting. Toby looked down at the table and fiddled with a hangnail. He needed a manicure.

  After a minute or two, Jackson returned with a few bottles of water. He placed them down on the table and handed one to Toby. As he reached to take it, Reightman finally spoke. “I hope you aren’t disappointed Mr. Bailey. The water around here is not as
fancy as you’re used to.”

  “Huh?”

  She nodded toward the bottle. “It isn’t fancy like the stuff you have over at your spa.” She sounded bitchy, even to herself, and compounded the bitchiness by making quotes in the air with her fingers. “It’s just plain stuff without a fancy label. Although, I don’t think a label saying ‘City Jail’ would be real attractive. It wouldn’t improve the taste, but would triple the price.”

  Before Toby could think of a reply there was a knock and Jackson crossed the room and opened the door.

  In walked a tiny Asian woman of advanced age, taking small, careful steps. She was wearing flat soled slipper-like shoes and white nylon socks. Her black cotton slacks were too short, and the dusty green tunic had obviously been mended many times. Perched on her small nose was a pair of heavy round-rimmed glasses which magnified her black, piercing eyes. Her white hair was bunched into an untidy bun on the back of her neck and secured with a plastic clip. She carried an immense, smartly designed bag with brass hardware. She looked around the room and gave a small bow to Detective Jackson.

  “Thank you for getting door. It very heavy,” she said. She walked over to the table and deposited the bag on top. She turned to Toby and crossed her arms. “Well?”

  Toby stood up and gave her a big smile, transforming his tired, worried face. “Madame Zhou,” he said, giving her a small bow. “Thank goodness you came!”

  “Yes yes yes I come. You need – I come. I get message very early this morning.” She turned to the two detectives. “Well?”

  Reightman removed her hands from the back of the chair. “Are you believing this?” she mentally telegraphed to Jackson. “You’re here to represent Mr. Bailey?” she asked the tiny woman.

  “Yes yes yes. I am attorney,” Madame Zhou said proudly. She opened her bag and rummaged around a bit, removing several items and placing them on the scratched and worn tabletop. Out came a small folding umbrella, a box of tissues, a clear plastic rain hat, a huge ring full of keys, and a bottle of pepper spray. She rummaged some more and pulled out a bulging wallet, a few packets of green tea, and a cell phone with a pink and silver Hello Kitty cover. Hello Kitty’s eyes which moved from side to side.

  She dug around once more, and found a brightly enameled card case with a green Asian dragon on the front. The card case had a red, unwrapped cough drop stuck to it. She picked off the cough drop, held it up to her glasses and then nodded and exclaimed, “That where you were!” She dropped it back into the bag. She opened the case and removed a single business card. Holding it in both hands, she bowed and presented it to Detective Reightman. “See? Says right here.”

  Reightman took the card which was imprinted across the top with the words “Green Dragon.” Underneath, it read “Martial Arts”, “Best Chinese Herbs and Teas”, and at the bottom in smaller print, “Madame Zhou Li, Attorney-at-Law: Affordable Legal Services.” “What a coincidence,” Reightman thought, remembering the shop across the street from Mr. Bailey’s business.

  “I am Madame Zhou Li.”

  Melba remembered enough of her cultural training to know that the last name was often listed first – especially among the older Chinese population. She listened carefully to the pronunciation and then handed the card to Jackson, who read it and placed it on the table next to the legal pad.

  “Ms. Zhou, I am Detective Reightman and this is my partner Detective Jackson.”

  The little woman scowled. “Madame.”

  “Excuse me?” said Reightman.

  The attorney shook her head, slightly dislodging her glasses. “No no no. Not a Miz. I am Madame. I like older forms. Shows more respect.”

  “Of course, Madame Zhou,” Jackson smoothly interjected. “Shall we all have a seat”?

  “Oh yes yes yes,” she nodded and gave a small enthusiastic clap.

  Everyone moved to their respective orange plastic chair and took a seat – except for Madame Zhou. She looked pointedly at her chair and then to Reightman, Jackson and Toby. Realizing what was amiss, Toby stood and pulled back her chair. She nodded and gave his cheek a single pat, and then proceeded to thoroughly examine her chair. “Nasty,” she finally said, and reached for the box of tissue she’d placed on the table.

  She extracted three individual sheets and placed them in the seat, arranging them until they completely covered the orange plastic. She took another from the box, and dusted the chair back. Then she eased herself into the chair, supporting herself with her small hands laid flat against the table. When she was seated, she examined her palms and gave another disgusted frown. She took another tissue and carefully wiped her hands while giving Reightman and Jackson a reproachful glare. “Well?”

  Jackson looked at Reightman and Reightman looked at Jackson. “Is this for real?” she silently asked her partner with a single raised eyebrow. He shrugged his shoulders and suppressed a grin.

  Reightman cleared her throat and proceeded to explain what would happen. “Detective Jackson will explain the current situation and then we’ll leave you alone with Mr. Bailey for a few minutes. When we return, we have a lot of information to go over. Your client is in serious trouble, Madame.” When Madame Zhou gave a curt half-bow to signal she understood, Melba indicated that Jackson should proceed, and settled back in her chair.

  While her partner spoke, Reightman’s eyes traveled over the collection of items the diminutive attorney had placed on the table, and then came to rest on the bag itself. It was a remarkable bag. Best one she’d ever seen. She marveled that it could hold all those items, and probably more, while looking so sophisticated. She’d love to have something like that instead of her own huge, misshapen purse. Reightman continued her private reverie, listing in her head all of the things she could carry in such a wonderful bag, until suddenly she realized the room was silent. She gave herself a little shake and looked up. Jackson was eyeing her with concern, and Toby Bailey had a guarded expression on his face which gave no clue to his thoughts. Madame Zhou studied her with open curiosity from behind her enormous old fashioned glasses. She looked from Reightman to her elegant bag, and the back to Reightman. She smiled. “Kelly,” she said with pride.

  Reightman was confused and somewhat embarrassed she’d been caught practically salivating over someone else’s purse. “Kelly?” she eventually croaked. Her neck began to perspire.

  “Yes yes yes! It a Kelly.” The old lady patted the bag with affection. “Genuine Kelly.” She emphasized the work genuine, as if she enjoyed the taste. “Vintage original. Moon find for me.”

  Reightman was now totally confused and felt herself getting a wee bit cranky again, thinking the woman was pulling her leg. “The moon found it for you?” she asked in amused disbelief. “Is this old lady just plain whacky?”

  “No no no! That silly! Moon from Passed Around find for me. Was best gift ever.”

  Reightman was somewhat mollified by the explanation. “Moon owns the vintage store on the same block as Mr. Bailey’s business?”

  “Yes yes yes,” Madame Zhou confirmed, smiling widely and baring perfect tiny teeth to show she was very pleased everyone understood things so well.

  Jackson cleared his throat, and inclined his head toward the door. Reightman picked up on his cue and rose from her chair. “We’ll just leave you two alone for a while. I’m sure you have a lot to talk over with your client. Will twenty minutes be sufficient?”

  Madame Zhou fluttered with nervous agitation. “Oh no no no! Be better to give thirty minute. Lot to talk over, like you say. Much to study. Much much. And I old – not do this for long long time.”

  Melba nodded her agreement, with a sinking feeling the old woman had probably never had a case like this one. She knew she couldn’t afford to spare too much sympathy for Mr. Bailey because of the odd representation he’d engaged, so she motioned to Jackson and moved to leave the room. Before she reached the door, Reightman turned, walked back to the table with a mumbled, “Sorry,” and picked up the business card sitting next to the
legal pad. She slipped it into her pocket and left.

  The moment the door closed, Madame Zhou stood and crossed behind Toby, positioning her back to the observation window. Then in perfect English with just a hint of gentile, well-bred southern accent, she quietly spoke. “Well, Toby Bailey, I probably shouldn’t ask, but I will. Did you kill that man?”

  “No, Madame. I didn’t.”

  She considered his earnest face for a moment and looked deep into his pale blue eyes. Then she nodded her head once, in approval. “Good. I didn’t think so.”

  Zhou Li retrieved a leather covered memo pad from her bag, along with a gold fountain pen. She crumpled up the tissues from the seat of her chair and placed them on the table. She rearranged her chair to keep her back to the mirrored glass on the wall. After seating herself firmly, she brandished the gleaming pen in like a miniature sword. “Let’s get started then,” she said. “We have a whole lot of work to do and not much time to cover everything we need to discuss. Start by telling me what happened.”

  Toby began to talk. His day was looking up. Madame Zhou had arrived to help him, and now, there might be some hope after all. He was already feeling better.

  ♦♦♦

  Reightman and Jackson walked down the hall, made a couple of right hand turns, and soon found themselves standing outside the office of Chief of Police Ernest Kelly. By the time they arrived, Reightman was feeling hot and she could tell her skin was flushed. Seated at a giant desk right outside the door, Nancy Peach, the Chief’s admin, was rapidly typing on her keyboard with her brightly lacquered nails and smacking on a huge wad of gum. Nancy told everyone who’d listen that she was trying to quit her two pack a day smoking habit. So far, the rumor mill reported her efforts were in vain. A big diet soda with a lid and a lipstick marked straw was perched on a folded paper towel next to the monitor. In the partially opened drawer on the left side of the desk Melba could see an opened baggy of rice cakes – Nancy was on another diet – several packs of assorted flavor sugar-free gum, and the distinctive packaging of a popular brand of menthol 100’s. “Looks like the rumor mill’s right,” Reightman murmured to her partner. “Hey, Nancy, is the Chief available?”