Bad Moon Rising

Hondo said, “And the fiancé?”

“Troy Hanson. He’s smooth, polite, and a typical Southern California golden boy, all tanned and blonde and handsome. I don’t think he’s too bright, though. Gets by on his looks and charm.”

“Is he Sylvia’s age?”

“No. He’s thirty-eight.”

“What about money? Does he have any of his own?”

“A little. He did some acting before he and Sylvia hooked up. Mostly B movies, TV, commercials.” Wilson stopped in front of massive double doors. He tapped, and a woman’s voice said, “Come in.”

We entered and saw Sylvia sitting in the center of a large couch, flanked by two men. Wilson whispered, “Franco and Troy.”

She pointed at two chairs across from her, and Hondo and I took them. They felt so comfortable I looked at Hondo and raised my eyebrows up and down twice. Wilson left the room, closing the door behind him.

Sylvia said, “Thank you for coming. Archie said you two are excellent at this sort of thing. Would you like something to drink?”

I said, “Let me have a large glass of warm gin served with a human hair in it.”

Sylvia smiled and pointed at me, “You’re Ronny Baca. Archie said you were funny. That line’s from Rustler’s Rhapsody, isn’t it?” I grinned and nodded. Sylvia Artell was all right in my book. She turned to Franco, “Franco, get these men whatever they wish.”

Franco wasn’t pleased about being turned into a bartender, but he rose and asked, “What would you two gentlemen prefer?”

Hondo looked at the ornate grandfather clock against the wall where it showed 4PM. He said, “Vodka, rocks, with a twist.”

I said, “Do you have any almond chocolate milk?” Hondo’s head turned in slow motion to look at me. I said, “Never mind, I’ll have what he’s having.”

We sipped our drinks while Sylvia told us more about Bodhi. Troy piped in every once in a while, but it didn’t add much, Franco sat there stone-faced, and only talked when asked a direct question. I asked, “Has Bodhi been with anyone that caused you to worry?”

Sylvia said, “Maybe one group. They make me a little uncomfortable; let me clarify that, their leader makes me a little uncomfortable.”

“Their leader?” Are they a band?”

“No, a group of young people. They’re like gypsies, or maybe like the way hippies were, talking about free love and free this and that.”

Hondo asked, “Did they supply Bodhi with drugs?”

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t doubt it. They look the type. I’m not adverse to marijuana use, and would like to see it legalized across the country, but this group appears, well, harder, if you know what I mean.”

“How many of them are there?”

“It varies, but maybe…ten to twenty. The core group is always there, though. Three women who are never far from him.”

Troy piped in, “I counted twenty-three once. In fact that was the last time I saw them.”

Hondo said, “You counted them?”

“Yes, I was at Bodhi’s apartment and they were all there. Bodhi asked me if I’d go get them some hamburgers, so I counted heads when I took orders.”

I asked Sylvia, “Were you there that time?”

“No, I was at the studio. Troy is good about checking on Bodhi.”

Franco spoke up. “I’ve seen their leader with her. Only him, no followers.”

I said, “So you’re good about checking on Bodhi, too?”

Franco’s face darkened, “I was eating at Spago and saw them at another table.”