Hostile Witness

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2

The last time Josie Baylor-Bates saw Linda Sheraton they were twenty years old and sharing a cheap apartment in downtown Los Angeles. Both were on a USC athletic scholarship, and both were poor as church mice. Josie, for all intents and purposes, was orphaned. Linda hailed from a trailer park, raised by a mother who didn't give a damn if her daughter ended up in poverty or Princeton. That was where the similarities ended.

Josie cleaned fraternity houses to make ends meet; Linda dated the fraternity. Linda would rather dance the night away than crack a book. Josie knew law school wouldn't consider bar hopping a fine arts credit. Linda was hard living, sure of herself, plain talking, and smart as a whip. Unfortunately, her whip didn't crack for academia unless it had to.

She could talk anyone into anything - teachers into grades, boys into adoration, men into gifts, and Josie into setting her up on the volleyball court so that she, Linda, came away looking like a star. It wasn't hard to figure out why men succumbed to Linda's particular brand of charm. There was a strong, sinewy animal beauty about her; a beauty that promised more than she ever intended to deliver. The one thing Josie could never figure out was why she had fallen for the act. Maybe it was because Linda Sheraton made you feel like she deserved the favor, as if she would reward you twofold if you came through for her just once. Josie pulled Linda's ass out of one fire after another, thanking her lucky stars that Linda never asked her to do anything illegal or immoral. Luckily, two things happened before Linda did ask: Josie got a clue and Linda took off.

Three months into their junior year Linda hooked up with a guy from France leaving Josie with an apartment she couldn't afford, a pile of phone bills, and a couple pair of jeans. Josie wore the jeans, got a second job to make the rent, and had the phone disconnected. Sometimes Josie wondered about Linda when she sat at Burt's at the Beach, watching the sweet young things snuggle up to a potential meal ticket. Now Josie didn't have to wonder what happened to Linda Sheraton. Something, or someone, had caught up with her. Despite the clothes, the jewelry and the make-up, she was a mess, and scared to death.

With a snap of her fingers, Josie backed Max off to his rug in the corner. In a jumble of questions and answers she settled Linda on the couch, determined she wasn't hurt or in imminent danger, then left her long enough to grab a bottle of scotch and a glass from the kitchen. She poured two fingers and handed the glass to Linda.

"Thanks."

The glass quivered as Linda knocked back half the drink, sank deeper in the couch and tried to get a grip. Josie sat in the leather chair and put the bottle on the table between them.

"Do you have an ashtray?"

Linda's deep, pebbly voice shook. Her eyes darted around the living room. Spare of furnishing, there were blueprints and books spread over the desk in the corner near the picture window. Linda seemed to see nothing as she fidgeted with the buckle on her belt and the stitching on the couch cushion. Josie got up, found an empty beer can in the trash and put it on the coffee table.

"You don't mind. . ."

Linda put her drink aside, fumbled in her purse, found her pack, tapped one out, and finally put a cigarette between her lips. Her lipstick had faded, leaving only a faint outline of claret colored pencil. Her hand, and the cigarette in it, trembled as she snapped a silver lighter open. It took three times to catch but finally there was flame. Linda sucked hard and the tip glowed red. She held it away and blew out a plume of smoke while Josie studied her. Three of Linda's knuckles were scraped but they weren't bleeding. Her clothes were messed, but not torn. She seemed to tremble more with outrage than fear.

Finally, Linda tossed the lighter back in her purse, reached for her glass and shot the scotch. One more puff and she dropped the cigarette into the can. It sizzled in the last swallow of beer and died.