Heroine: California Dreamin' (4 page)

“Mom”, I yelled again. “If that guy gets a hold of me he might do something horrible to me. Never ever give my phone number to some stranger. Did you understand?”

“Mind you Juliane; a child must not talk to her mother in that tone. I will finish this conversation now. Only call me back again when you are normal again.” It clicked in the connection.

The end of the phone call left me unmoved. I knew my mom too well to understand her true intentions. I had confronted her with a situation and it grew over her head. And besides that, she was a master in declaring everything unreal that didn’t fit into her dreams or her world view. In dealing with problems she mostly depended on my father whose job essentially was to protect her against the rough sides of the exterior world.

My dad? When did I talk to him the last time? That was before my departure to California. My contact to him was exclusively managed by my mother. I re-dialed the number of my parents. My mom picked up immediately. Calmly I said:

“Please let me talk to dad. I must tell him something.” She mumbled something but handed the phone to my dad. I listened to my father’s trusted voice and a comforting feeling flooded through my belly. We exchanged a few niceties and then he became formal. All former Protestant pastor!

“Your mother has just informed me that you talked to her in some undignified way. Have you forgotten your manners? Please accept your guilt and apologize to her.” His sincere voice gave me the shivers.

“Dad, something else is at stake here, other than mom’s mood swings. Please take care of it that she will never ever give out my contact data again to some strangers, neither to Germans, Russians, Romanians or whatever. She’s brought me into grave danger with her sentimentality. Did you understand? That guy she voluntarily provided with all that information about me is a criminal. I am dead serious about that. If you guys do that once more then I will break off all contact with you. My life and Daniel’s life are more important to me than mom’s sentiments.” That was hard. On the other side of the globe there was silence. Then I heard again my dad’s calm voice:

“I will talk with your mom. Please tell me if you are secure there where you live right now. It probably won’t be Los Angeles because Daniel has informed me about your whereabouts. But your sister and I alone know your address.” Obviously he knew my mother well enough. I was relieved.

“Dad, I am safe here with Daniel. Please tell Elisa that she never releases my address to anybody neither to acquaintances nor friends we know. Nobody!”

We kept on talking about more pleasant subjects then I informed my dad that my phone number would be changed. I would call Elisa and tell her the new phone number. Then we said good bye. My dad understood even without many words what was going down. He then asked me to forward his regards to Daniel. The two liked one another.

The shock was profound. Why did Igor show up at all? And why exactly this week? Did he have connections to the police? It made click in my head. Oh well, he was questioned in Germany in regard to Robert because I had used Igor’s last name to lead the police to the john in the hotel in San Francisco.

Tanja knew that I had left for the USA. Igor had probably renewed his contacts to her. Now, police approached Igor and interrogated him about a subject that was known to both of us. Trafficking of women! So Igor concluded logically: USA, sex trafficking, Juliane!

But how on earth did Igor get a hold of my parent’s contact data? Of course, it probably was quite simple. Tanja and Horst knew my last name. The wicked German Registration Act took care of the fact that all my former addresses were stored on some computer somewhere. Bang! I imagined vividly how Igor was rolling on the floor with laughter after his phone call with my mother.

But what the heck! At this moment I was glad that California didn’t recognize anything like a ‘registration act’. Everything here is channeled through your social security number, which I didn’t have. Neither did I have a visa – so no right to exist in this country. And so I was also almost invisible. One could only find me through my cell phone protocol. I wondered if there was somebody at the cell phone provider who could be bribed.

I myself had shown Igor the way to me. If I could I would smack myself, I thought. But everything that I had to endure here was already punishment enough. I decided to focus on the current situation. Igor was
not
on his way to me because he knew that police here knew his name. He wouldn’t risk coming to this country.

After this, I stopped calling my mother on a regular basis. A SMS from time to time would be sufficient.

In the course of Sunday the news changed only a little bit. Sometime later a police spokesperson surfaced before a group of journalists stating that police assume that it was an accident.

“A female witness …,” I assumed that he referred to Judy, “… told us that the victim used to park his vehicle up there on the ramp. She had pointed out to the victim several times that this would be dangerous. We assume that a tragic accident had occurred on the Saturday of last week when the vehicle started to move because the emergency brake had not been activated. The car probably set itself in motion. Perhaps the vibrations of a truck passing by were sufficient to trigger the movement of it.”

“Do we know who the victim was? Is it true that a police lieutenant was killed?” one of the present reporters asked.

“Yes, I can confirm that. The victim of the accident was police lieutenant Robert Gutierrez. We have reconstructed the case. PL Gutierrez left the hall last on Saturday evening. Before that he talked with the already mentioned witness who was the last person seeing the lieutenant alive. The witness asked Gutierrez around 17:00 hours to lock up the hall. Then she left the building. PL Gutierrez was busy at the building until about 18:00 hours. The analysis of his cell phone proved that. The phone was found beside the car that had smashed his upper torso. His last phone call was recorded at about 18:00 hours.”

That scumbag had raped me for one hour, for a whole hour! I shook myself when I recalled those memories.

“We quickly identified the victim with the help of his badge and his weapon since the condition of the body didn’t allow a direct identification after one week. The autopsy of the body then clearly identified the victim. Since obviously none of Mr. Gutierrez’ belongings had been taken we are able to exclude a criminal act.”

“Was Mr. Gutierrez involved in any illegal activities”? A female reporter screamed from the back of the huddle.

“What do you mean by that?” the spokesperson asked back calmly.

“It is quite obvious that they made movies in the storage hall that do not agree with the legal standards of this country”, she barked back. “Your witness has confirmed that to us. And didn’t you arrest the owner of the hall, or what?”

“We have questioned the female witness and also the co-owner of the hall quite intensely. They indicated that movies were made in the hall. But those films were exclusively …,” he cleared his throat, “… of artistic nature as our experts determined after viewing the secured material. The co-owner whom we questioned as a witness was set free again. The prosecutor declined to press charges because, as I mentioned before, no clues for illegal activities could be found.”

“What actually was Mr. Gutierrez’ business here? Did he take part in these works of art?  …” laughter interrupted the reporter’s question, “… Can we see that material?”

“Thank you for the question. It anticipates what I wanted to tell you anyways.” There was a murmur going through the rows of reporters; they probably expected something of a sensation. The police spokesperson disappointed them.

“Unfortunately we have taken notice of the fact that PL Gutierrez had disregarded some departmental regulations …”

“So there were some illegal activities”, yelled the only woman among the reporters.

“No. Mr. Gutierrez did not violate any laws of the State of California or any federal laws. He just disregarded some departmental regulations.” The spokesperson remained absolutely calm.

“Whether it was intentionally or unknowingly – we can’t determine that any longer since we no longer are able – and you understand, don’t you – to ask him in person.” The subsequent laughter put a rare smile on the speaker’s face only to return to his professional expression rather quickly.

“Mr. Gutierrez was co-owner of this company that was involved with movie making. We have searched his apartment and secured some documents that confirm that.”

Again I heard a click in my head. Traces to me became visible. I continued to listen breathlessly.

“Well now, as I said before: this is not illegal. Currently only the tax authorities investigate but it seems everything is correct. The PL only neglected to get permission for his additional income from his department. All found papers in the house of the lieutenant were flawless. The officers who searched his premises were only surprised about the lavish lifestyle which this officer afforded.”

“Would his superiors have given permission for those activities?”

“Surely not.”

“Is there any connection with the arrest of the sex trafficker last week in San Francisco and the victim?” the female reporter from the last row insisted again.

“After all, his accomplice had rented a room here in San Jose. Was PL Gutierrez part of the international women trafficking for forced prostitution?” The reporters became restless. The spokesperson looked disgusted.

“Ms. Chickendale”, he started. Just before I saw on her name tag that her last name was Chapenda. But I was sure that the speaker addressed her as “Ms. Chickendale”. The other reporters giggled. She pressed her lips together.

“Last week your station did indeed direct our attention to the fact that a suspicious person had signed in in said hotel in San Francisco. We questioned this person yesterday in connection with PL Gutierrez’ death but we didn’t find any link. Therefore we released that businessman, who was of Arab origin, yesterday from custody. He did nothing wrong that would justify his continued custody.

“If you had examined the information that you received via your website more thoroughly, then you would have found out rather fast that there is no connection. We communicated in depth with the officer in Kiev and analyzed the facts. The said person from Russia who allegedly had surfaced here in the motel, lives in Europe and is being checked there by police on a regular basis. Some years ago this suspect was linked to sex trafficking in Europe but they couldn’t prove that. This man lives in Germany and has not left the country for many years. We have asked police in Germany to interrogate him in regard to this subject; they’ve complied with our request in the same night. He didn’t know the person that we questioned as witness neither did he know Mr. Gutierrez, nor was he ever outside of Europe.”

That calmed me down. Igor was not on his way here.

“Our contact person in the Ukraine …”, well, at least he knew the country, “… suspects that the whole thing might be a private revenge act of a local prostitute because he had received a phone call more than a week ago from a woman with a lousy command of Russian; the call came obviously from the United States.” Oh shit! Didn’t I suppress the phone number? How could they find out?

“The witness from the Arab country admitted further that he had met with a prostitute but he was not willing to pay the price she demanded from him. Therefore they had a fight and the woman left the room threatening him with revenge.”

“So, there were illegal activities after all”, interrupted Ms. Chapenda.

“Yes. This was the reason for expelling the business man after he was released from custody and take him directly to a plane. But the link you tried to establish with the death of PL Gutierrez is pure imagination. Officer Gutierrez surely has violated his departmental rules. But we knew him as diligent police officer and good colleague. We will not allow dragging down memory and reputation of a man, who has fought very hard for justice every day, through allegations and wrong assertions. Thank you for your attention.”

I was nervous. I continued watching the news for a while then I turned off the television when no new reports were shown. It was obvious there were actually two traces leading to me. On the one hand no documents were found at Robert’s house that could point to me. That was the good part. But what did cause me belly aches was the fact that some of those documents must exist. Because the story I had told Robert was not on file nor was it part of the autopsy report in which the traces of the taser were probably mentioned.

The second trace was my cell phone that was probably registered in Kiev by now. I decided to first cover up the last trace, at least as far as possible. For the first trace I needed to contact Judy first. But how could I reach her?

Ron! I knew his last name – if he was truly Irene’s son – and I knew where he was studying.

For both those activities I needed to go shopping. I decided to be more careful this time and drove to Santa Clara to a small mall. I was sure that I wouldn’t meet any of my acquaintances there.

I parked my Chevy directly behind a truck so that no one could spot it from the road. Then I went to the pay phones beside a drugstore and called information. They gave me the number of the college where Ron has been studying. A female voice asked me to wait when I stated his first and Irene’s last name. He was really her son! Hopefully all goes well!

I let the phone ring for a while but nobody picked it up. The woman at the switchboard returned.

“He’s not in his room. But at this time the boys are mostly at the football field for practice. May I leave him your phone number and he will call you back? Most of the time they return to their dorm at around six o’clock in the evening, change and then go out again.” That was difficult. He must not learn my cell phone number at any rate. I thought about it.

“Well, then I do it the old-fashioned way.”
I had an idea. I gave that woman the number of the phone from where I called and asked to leave a message. Ron should call me back between 18:00 and 18:30 because that would be the only time I had access to this phone.

“Please tell him that Julie had called. She needs help regarding Robert.”

“I’ll do that sweetie,” she replied matter-of-factly. “But don’t get your hopes up. I know the guys here. And they are not much more faithful than your Robert.” Before I really understood what she was hinting, the connection was aborted.

When I wanted to enter the mall I noticed it was closed. It was closed every Sunday. Shit, then I have to go back to Roquetas. There the stores opened at eleven o’clock in the morning the latest.

On my way there I calmed down again. To go shopping there would be totally normal. I must not get hysterical now, I thought. Soon I strolled slowly through the already crowded corridors and bought some small things here and there. I stopped at a booth that sold mobile phones and had a few models explained to me. The handsome salesman from India spoke worse American than I did. I explained to him that I wanted to pay the expenses for the phone at least three months in advance. I didn’t want to receive any cell phone bills at any address.

“Well, that will cost you extra”, he laughed at me in a friendly way. “And I need your ID or driver’s license, the law demands that.”

“Can’t we do that without it?” I asked flirtingly. After all, since I’ve passed my ‘exam’ as a hooker I might just as well behave like one.

“I need to talk to my boss about that. You mind coming back in half an hour?” I nodded and winked at him once more with a smile.

After an espresso and richer by a large purse that better fitted my imposed ‘profession’ I strolled back to the cell phone booth where my new friend was already awaiting me with a broad smile. The phone chip had arrived and he helped me activating it. For that I needed a new stylish cell phone whose color should match my newly acquired purse. Pink with spangles. In the end I had spent almost eight hundred dollars, a severe blow to my savings. But as a result I had a new phone number that could not be allocated to anybody. At least not in the USA or Europe. I could always reload credit at will via Internet or in cash at the booth. He preferred cash because that would be faster and more confidential. Now it was my Indian friend who winked.

While sitting in the café I had pondered what I should do with the old phone number because my contract ran at least for another three months, with my name on it. Then I had an idea. That would keep callers like Igor in the dark for a while.

In a stationary store I got a piece of paper without having to pay for it. That’s why I loved the Americans because they could be so splendidly uncomplicated. In Germany I probably would have needed to buy a whole package of paper. I wrote a message and a name on it that I remembered from a poster in Cologne.

“Dali Beridze” or so was the name of a woman who had performed on a small stage back home. Then I walked up to an elderly woman who sat on a bench and asked her for help. Because all of a sudden I couldn’t speak English any more.

With a terrible accent and waving hands and feet I explained to her that I had bought myself a new cell phone and that I would like to store a name onto its mailbox. I put my old cell phone into her hand and asked her to record a message.

“Hi, this is the mailbox of Dali Beridze Please leave a message …” and so on. The old lady was really happy that she could help a young foreigner who surely would have her problems without knowing the language. I gave her a kiss on her cheeks and in my thoughts I apologized to all people from Georgia who I might have offended.

Should Igor call he would at least be confused. Neither voice nor name matched me. Perhaps that was enough to mislead him. My new acquaintances in Kiev would certainly not be deceived by it if they checked who had called indeed. But why should they do that anyway? Because a hooker had a fight with a john in San Francisco? They probably had better things to do.

How right I was in picking a different place for my phone call than this shopping center I noticed when I returned to my car at around five o’clock in the afternoon. Daniel, Ingvar and some other people were parking their cars not too far away from my car and got out. They probably planned to go to a sports bar after the baseball game was over. I hid behind a van and ran to my Chevy when they had disappeared.

“Why are you so nervous?” I asked myself in the car. “You went shopping, you want to make a phone call in peace and quiet; all that is none of the men’s business.” But I stuck with it. Rather be overly cautious then facing disaster again.

Back at the mall in Santa Clara I first walked around for a while. At least a Mexican snack bar was open and so I finally had my totally overlooked lunch. Then I stood beside the pay phone already five minutes before six o’clock. Other than in movies where ‘normally’ some old man would now appear occupying the phone forever because he wanted to tell his Italian mama the latest gossip – this phone remained untouched. Exactly at 18:00 hours the phone rang and Ron was on the other end. He had waited to call me without taking a shower just to make sure to reach me on time.

“Hi sweetheart”, he yelled enthusiastically into the phone. “I am really glad to hear your voice. When may I hold you in my arms again?”

“Ron, Please, I need your help”, I whined into the phone. “Robert is dead. The cops were also here and asked about him. It is all so awful.”

“OK, sweetie, what can I do for you?”

“Can you give me Judy’s phone number, it is urgent. Otherwise I might get deported because Robert had kept all my papers and contracts. But those are not at his apartment.”

Without hesitating he gave me Judy’s phone number however, he really wanted to see me again. He knew that I was calling him from a public phone. When he absolutely insisted to get my phone number I told him to call Robert’s apartment if he needed me.

“What is Robert’s phone number?” he kept on asking. He could really be pushy. I didn’t even know where Robert had lived.

“Well, I will move out from there in the next few days, right now I don’t remember the number. When I have a new apartment I’ll tell you my new phone number.” That would not happen under any circumstances. I also noted down his cell phone number and promised that I would call him back.

At least Judy answered the phone immediately and she was happy to hear my voice. She cried a little bit. Robert’s death and the terrible sight of the partially decomposed body had really traumatized her.

“Judy, I have huge problems. Not only that I lost my friend and protector.” I also cried a bit.

“I must also find a new apartment because police have sealed off Robert’s. Robert had also kept all my papers and contracts. But those are not in the apartment. Police and I have searched for it all over. If I can’t show them by tomorrow they will deport me from this country because I don’t have a social security number and they accuse me of having worked here illegally. Robert had applied for all of that a long time ago. Please help me. I think he kept those documents in the storage hall. Did he have his own office there?”

“No, he didn’t have his own office there.” My pulse accelerated. Where were his files? The ghosts of a murder charge reappeared before my inner eyes; I believed I had already driven them away.

“But he had a filing cabinet. That could hold something. I can have a look in there tomorrow morning.”

“Would it be possible today? Immigration closes at noon and until then I must present the documents otherwise I’ll be an illegal immigrant.”

“Out of the question. I was just there some time ago and the cops in white overalls still swarm the place. I can’t deal with them again today.” That was an argument I could fully comprehend.

“Can we do it tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, the cops wanted to finish their work today. Then Pete can also come, he must repair something anyway. So it doesn’t have to wait till Saturday. Let’s meet at nine o’clock?”

“Great. Thank you.”

Back at home I pondered whether it were not better to get rid of my old cell phone so that all traces from back in Europe would disappear. It was probably not necessary but I wanted to be careful so I wouldn’t miss something again.

I searched through my purse but the phone wasn’t there. My stomach cringed into a knot. I turned my purse inside out but it remained gone. I remembered that I had put it ‘switched on’ into my pocket after I purchased the new phone. Feverishly I thought about where I could have left it. It was not password protected and anybody who got a hold of it could make phone calls with it.

A ring tone from my purse startled me. That was my old cell phone! I searched the empty pockets of my purse like a crazed person and still couldn’t find it. Until a flat fold hidden on the edge at the bottom of my purse caught my attention. I pushed it aside. Underneath was the black flat thing! I kissed it totally elated. At that moment it was the first time that I fell in love with a device.

Irene was at the other end when I picked up the phone still breathless from the shock. But my friend didn’t notice anything, she seemed happy and started chattering immediately.

In the afternoon she had returned with Stanley from Sonoma valley and she sounded almost euphorically when she gave me an outline of her adventures; most of them awakened pleasant memories in me. At the end of the phone call she made me an offer that let my heart jump for joy.

“Darling, Charles has given me permission to offer you a job. I do a lot of office work for him or write dossiers for the media, and his department pays me for that. Meanwhile the volume of work has become big enough to hire two assistants. Would you like to help me out for a few hours on two to three days a week?”

“I’d love to. But how will you go about social security?” I asked skeptically. Additionally I was extremely curious how they dealt with one another so well though both partners find their sexual pleasures outside of their marriage. But the second question I kept to myself.

“Charles said I should first provide an EIN for you.”

“A what?”

“An Employer Identification Number. We can register the EIN under your home address in Germany. Later then you will come to this country ‘officially’, so to speak and then receive your social security number.”

“That is that simple?”

“No, it is not simple. But Charles said that he has connections that would manage to get you a work permit. The way there is a bit complicated. But he’ll manage.”

I was totally dumbfounded. I loved Irene even more and I told her that. Perhaps everything would come to a good end and the nightmare was over soon.

After the phone call I looked at the little device in my hand. It had ‘reported’ back when I was desperate and then brought me some good news from Irene. I couldn’t throw that thing away. I completely switched it off and put it into the hiding place at the bottom of my purse. Obviously that little compartment was designed so you could hide a little weapon. You could close the fold and thus it was completely hidden under the bottom. Even if you tried to feel the purse from the outside you couldn’t make out the contents. That was indeed a purse for hookers who could hide their guns there!

When Daniel came home he was drunk. He and his companions sat at the sports bar until it closed. That was alright with me. I needed my peace and quiet. All this stress hindered me from thinking straight, new thoughts were spawned and galloped through my imagination. And I had plenty to do to rein them in again.