The Flower Child and The Fuzz
Chapter 2
...
Deeks remained stunned as he sat motionless in the muted light of the bar. He didn't respond to any of the questions or attempts to comfort him. If he were being honest, he just wanted all of them to go away and leave him alone to deal with his mother's odd behavior. He felt it was an intensely private matter, one they could never comprehend. None of them could know how deep their connection was. They didn't know the heartbreaking terror they had gone through together and had somehow survived. It had taken him years before he even told them she existed. Why he'd initially felt the need to shield her from them was something he still couldn't explain.
Accept for his will, he'd left her name off every form he'd ever filled out, especially the ones he signed when he became a police officer. The thought that some douchebag he'd arrested might go after his mother gave him nightmares. Even the thought made him rage. He couldn't bear seeing her hurt again. He never told her when he got injured on the job, or called when he'd been shot. It would only have brought her rushing to comfort him, and in his mind, bringing back all the horrors they had endured together, and possibly putting her in danger. He knew that was irrational, but he couldn't help it. After he'd been shot and the questions about who might have targeted him, his father's face was never far from his mind. He'd always expected retaliation for shooting him that night. It was what the bastard had yelled at him in court the day he was sentenced to prison for what he'd done to them.
Now he was haunted by desolate memories of the aftermath of his father's rages, recalling how his mom would hold him, both crying out their anguish together. Those times were anchored deep within his psyche. Now she was somewhere out there alone, dealing with something she didn't want him to know, and that made him angry. She should have trusted him.
All four of the calls to his mom went to voicemail. On the fifth he got no response at all. His frustration and fear grew steadily with each attempt to reach her.
"Read us the note," Callen said, his voice quiet, but insistent.
He shook his head, not wanting to share the rambling message. But when he looked up at Callen, his expression revealed true concern and kindness. Although there was a subtle touch of curiosity as well.
"You know my mom can get a little crazy sometimes, right?" he said, laughing nervously. "Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe we all are. Maybe...Maybe she got a little overwhelmed or something and went to Vegas to blow off steam. That's a possibility, isn't it?"
"Deeks. We saw your face when you read that note," Sam said gently. "We know you. And we know that note scared you. So trust us. We're on your side."
He had crushed the note in his fist after he'd read it, and now he fumbled to smooth it open, his fingers trembling as he did. His mom's handwriting had always been neat and precise. Controlled. Unlike her personality most of the time. This note was a scribble of words snatched from some dark place, a secret place she didn't want him to know about.
"Just read it," Callen urged.
"Okay. It's says...Marty. I have to go away for a while. This has been a long time coming. It's something I brought on myself a long time ago. It's a part of my past, not yours. Stay out of it, honey. Don't try and find me, Martin. Please. I don't want you to get hurt..."
His voice trailed off, feeling reluctant to share the last sentence.
"Read it, Mr. Deeks," Hetty encouraged. "We don't judge and we all know how to keep secrets."
Deeks nodded and took a deep breath and read the lead in again, along with the last painful line she'd written. "I don't want you to get hurt...I let that happen too many times when you were little, but not this time."
Deeks saw a look pass between Callen and Sam. They knew she was in trouble as sure as he did.
"Here, Martin," Hetty said softly as she handed him the keys to her car. "Go check her apartment. Call us if you need us. We have all become quite fond of your mother."
"You sure you don't want one of us to go with you?" Sam asked.
"No. Listen. Maybe this isn't as bad as it sounds. Maybe I'm reading too much into this," he replied, hoping they didn't realize he was lying.
"Nice try, Deeks," Callen said. "You go. I'll check in with Eric and see what he came up with on Wanda Kowalski."
"Who's Wanda Kowalski?" Sam asked.
"Our only lead," Callen said as he turned away, his phone pressed to his ear.
"Deeks? You want to share?" Sam asked.
"Not really."
"You don't have to go through this alone, Mr. Deeks," Hetty said. "But I do understand wanting to deal with this in your own way. So take all the time you need, but please promise to call us if anything goes sideways. We're family too, and we'll help any way we can."
Her words brought tears to his eyes, and he nodded his appreciation when the words wouldn't come. Sam squeezed his neck as he turned toward the door, hurrying out, his mind searching for anything that might make any sense. Not that most of the things his mother did made much sense to him. She usually drove him crazy, but today was different, and it scared him.
He stopped when he saw that Hetty had given him her Jaguar to drive, and he smiled.
"Oh, buddy. First, one runs you down, now you're using one to run down the whereabouts of your runaway mama. Sonofabitch. What a crazy day."
The deep roar of the engine mirrored the urgency he felt, and he whipped the car out onto the street, barely missing a Mini-Cooper. He realized he had to calm down and focus, so he pulled his phone and speed-dialed Kensi's number.
"Hey baby," she said, sounding upbeat and strong. "What's up? You don't usually call me during the day when I'm at Pendleton. Are you okay?"
"I just needed to hear your voice, Kens," he said, tears suddenly filling his eyes. "Something...something's going on with my mom. She closed the bar and left a crazy note...and...I can't get ahold of her. She's not answering her phone, and I'm freaking out."
"Hold on a minute, baby," she said, yelling something to someone before coming back on. "Let me get someplace quiet. The recruits are back on the firing line."
He wove through traffic at a high rate of speed, hoping he wouldn't be pulled over, but appreciating the handling of Hetty's Jag. His mom's new apartment was only about a half hour away from the bar, but it seemed like it was taking him forever to get there. If she was at home, he wasn't sure what he'd say to her, other than to tell her how angry he was that she hadn't answered her damn phone.
"Okay, baby. What's going on?" Kensi said, sounding calm and in control.
"Fragglerock!" He snapped as a Prius changed lanes and almost hit him. "Sorry Kens. Trying not to total Hetty's Jag."
"Why are you driving Hetty's Jag?"
"She came to the bar for a debrief and found it locked. She broke in, found Mama's note, gave it to me and when she didn't answer her phone, Hetty gave me the keys to her Jag so I could go check Mama's apartment."
"Slow down, baby," Kensi spoke softly to him and it calmed him. "Wait. What happened to your truck?"
"It's at the mission. Long story. Not important," he deflected.
"Got it. You're worried about your mom," Kensi said, "She has seemed kind of distracted lately. Maybe she just needed some time alone."
"That's what I thought...at first," he said, as he blew through a stop sign. "But her note...Her note really scared me, Kens. Whatever this is has something to do with her past. Something she doesn't want me involved in. Why would she shut me out, Kens?"
"This isn't the first time she's taken off though," Kensi reminded him. "She took off right when we were trying to get the bar open. Remember? Then she just showed up, told us she'd split with Guy and offered to be our bartender. You never asked her where she'd been and she never offered."
"We both know she can get a little wild sometimes," Deeks said as he slammed on the brakes in front of her apartment building and shut off the engine. "But this is different, Kens. She's walking into trouble. I can feel it."
"I'll see if I can get out of this assignment," Kensi said. "Don't do anything crazy, baby. Promise me."
"I can't wait for you, Kens," he replied. "Mama is out there somewhere and I need to find her. I'll call you when I know something."
He shut off the phone before she could respond. It probably pissed her off, but he was anxious to see if his mom was home. He limped into the center of the complex and blew out his breath as he paused at the bottom of the stairs that led to her second floor apartment. The air was warm, and the tiny fountain in the middle of the courtyard offered a surprising calming affect. All the aches and pains from his tumble over the hood of Callen's car caused him to groan as he slowly climbed the stairs. His mom's place was just at the top, and he saw the curtain move inside.
"Mama?" He called out, hurrying to her door, which was slightly ajar. "Mom!"
He shoved the door open, calling for her as he stepped into a cool interior, coming face to face with a longhaired man rifling through his mother's breakfront.
"Hey! Who the hell are you?"
Before he could pull his weapon, the man charged him, slamming him back against the wall in a mad dash to escape. Deeks recovered and made a grab for him, catching the end of his jacket before he made it all the way out the door. The man's fist landed solidly under his eye, and the kick that followed sent him to the floor. Momentarily stunned, he heard the man gallop down the stairs and he cursed softly to himself as he pushed himself up off the floor. He leaned against the door jam trying to catch a glimpse of the man, but he was long gone. As he caught his breath he felt a sudden rush of fear.
"Mama!" He shouted for her as he hurried through the apartment, terrified of what he might find.
Grateful to find the place empty, he collapsed on the end of the bed and tried to calm his fear and slow his anger. When he could breathe again, he began to study the room like the detective he was. The closet doors were open, and he could see a row of stripped hangers. The wheels of her suitcase marked the rug from the closet to the bed. Her bureau drawers were open as well, and had obviously been searched by the man he'd just let get away. He stood and went into the bathroom. The top of the toilet had been thrown aside, as if the man thought something might have been hidden there. Every drawer was open, the contents disturbed, and dirty clothes and towels from the hamper spilled onto the floor. It was confusing and terrifying at the same time. The other bedroom, which she had converted into a combination sewing room and office, had been tossed. Her sewing machine had been upended and lay on its side in the middle of the room.
"Oh, Mama. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?"
He pulled his phone and called Callen. "Interrupted a guy searching my mom's apartment. I need a forensic team to check for prints."
"You okay?"
"Yeah...yeah I'm fine," he replied. "Just embarrassed that an old hippy just cleaned my clock and got away."
"We're gonna need details on that," Callen said, laughing softly. "Sam and I are on our way."
After hanging up, he remembered that his mom kept her important papers in a large Tupperware container underneath the kitchen counter. He'd always teased her about it, but she said it was safer than a safety deposit box in a bank, more accessible and cheaper too, she delighted in pointing out. She was right about one thing. No one would think to look through a pile of Tupperware containers for anything important. The hippy who had just left sure as hell hadn't thought of it. In a couple of minutes he found it behind a tumble of others containers and mixing bowls. Setting it on the counter, he methodically began going through the files she kept there. Insurance policies. His birth certificate, and hers. Divorce papers. An expired passport, which he never knew she had. A will, the thought of which gave him a chill. And a thin journal with a peace sign sticker on the front. He looked at it for a long time before taking it into the living room. He sat down on the couch and placed the journal on the coffee table, suddenly feeling as if he were invading her privacy. He was spared the decision about reading it when his phone rang.
"Hey, Kens."
"Why didn't you tell me you were in a firefight and got hit by a car, and spent three hours at the hospital?"
"Checking up on me, Sunshine?"
"No secrets, remember?"
"It wasn't a secret, Kens. It just wasn't important. Still isn't."
"Deeks."
"I'm good, baby. Sort of, anyway," he said. "Kens...Mama's gone. She packed up and left. When I got here there was a man searching her place. He knocked me on my ass and ran before I could stop him."
"Are you all right?"
"You mean other than being pissed? I'm fine," Deeks said, his anger rising once again. "Kens...I found a journal in my mom's personal papers."
"Have you read it?"
"I know it might give me a clue as to what's happening, but I feel weird about looking through it. There are some things you just don't want to know about your own mother."
"I get that, Deeks. You know I do," she said gently. "But if your mom is in trouble, something in her journal might help you find her."
"You're right."
"Deeks, I can't get out of here until tomorrow afternoon," Kensi said. "I'm sorry. You know I'd be there if I could."
"Don't worry about it," Deeks replied, feeling disappointed despite what he'd just said. "Callen and Sam are on their way with a forensic team. I want to know who that old bastard was who kicked my butt."
"You'll find her, Deeks," her voice confident and strong, like the partner she was.
"Yeah. I will," he replied. "I love you, Kensi Marie Bleeks."
"Stay strong, funnyman."
"Not laughing much today," he replied sadly.
"You're a detective, Deeks," she said. "Detect. It's what you do. Trust your instincts, baby."
"Thanks, Kens. Gotta go. The guys are here."
"Love you. Stay safe."
He missed her as soon as the call ended, but shook off his melancholy as Callen and Sam walked through the door.
"What's this about an old hippy taking you down?" Sam asked with a smile.
"Give him a break, Sam. Getting hit by a Jaguar would slow down anybody's reflexes. Even yours," Callen said with more sympathy then he was expecting. "You sure you're okay?"
"Not my favorite day so far, but I'll live," Deeks replied, wanting to change the subject.
"Give us a sit rep, Deeks," Sam ordered, finally all business as he looked around the torn up living room.
Deeks gave them a step-by-step replay of everything that had happened since he'd arrived. As he walked them through the rooms, they asked no questions, just took in everything he said and what the condition of the apartment revealed.
"What did this guy look like? Big? Scary? Ripped?" Sam asked, grinning slightly with a hint of a tease.
"Remember that guy Hetty brought back from Afghanistan?" Deeks said, not in the mood to take the bait.
"Keane?" Callen asked.
"That's what he looked like," Deeks said. "Long, stringy gray hair. Unshaven. Dead blue eyes. Big sucker. Knew how to throw a punch, that's for sure. Oh, and a tattoo on his neck. Looked like a prison tat, but I didn't see enough of it to describe it."
"Strong too. Gave you a pretty good black eye," Sam said. "How old?"
"Probably in his sixties," Deeks replied, causing both men to smirk. "Okay, okay. No gloating. He was an old guy, but why was he here, and what the hell was he looking for?"
"No doubt he left prints, and as soon as forensics gets here, we'll find out who he is. That might give us something to go on," Sam said, then grinned at him. "Don't worry, Deeks. We'll be with you the next time you have to face him."
"I don't care how old he is. I plan on kicking his ass next time," Deeks said, getting a grin out of Sam.
"You think your mom knew someone was after her?" Callen asked. "Maybe that was why she was so distracted this morning."
"Then why didn't she tell me?" Deeks snapped, unable to keep his anger in check.
"She's trying to protect you," Sam said. "It's what she said in her note."
His comment rang so true he silently cursed himself for not believing that from the beginning. "But from what, Sam?"
"Is this her journal?" Callen asked, picking the thin booklet up from the coffee table.
"Yeah."
"You read it yet?" Callen asked.
Deeks remained silent, and Sam reached over and squeezed his shoulder. "She doesn't have to know, Deeks. But it might hold the clue to finding her."
"You want me to read it for you?" Callen asked.
"No."
Callen handed it to him and he sat down heavily on the couch and slowly opened it. The appearance of his mother's neat handwriting hit him hard and his eyes brightened with sudden tears. Curlicues and hand-drawn flowers decorated the margins. The first entry was dated February 1967. She had written, "I'm free." The second entry was dated months later in June, and read, "A man in a velvet coat put flowers in my hair today."
"Want to share, Deeks?" Callen asked.
"Yeah...okay," he replied, and started to read them his mother's words.
"I'm so damn happy. We went to a parade in the Haight today. It was a gas. The Grateful Dead were playing. So cool. There were thousands and thousands of us. We danced. We laughed. We ate ice cream laced with acid. The sky was beautiful. Electric clouds. It was a really groovy day. Man I love this city. Hell...I love everybody."
Deeks stopped and leaned back and stared at the ceiling. It was hard to reconcile what he'd just read with the mother he now knew. His mom had tripped out on LSD. He didn't want to know that.
"Like she said this morning, Deeks. It was the sixties and she was young," Callen said. "Don't judge her. It won't help. Just look through the entries for names, or scenarios that might not be so happy sounding."
Instead, Deeks flipped to the back, and an old Polaroid slid out. It was a faded picture of his mom with a tall man wearing round purple glasses, a top hat, and a knee length coat with a fur collar. They stood in front of a yellow Volkswagen bug. The Golden Gate Bridge was in the background. His mom's hair was long, and she was wearing the outfit she'd described at breakfast. The man was smiling. She wasn't. Deeks handed the picture to Callen.
"That's the guy who hit me," he said.
"She labeled it 'Scarecrow'," Callen said.
"Not much to go on," Sam said. "But maybe the cops in San Francisco have a file on someone who went by that name in the sixties. We'll have Eric and Nell dig into that."
A knock on the door alerted them that the forensics team had arrived, so Deeks took the journal and the photo and moved into the kitchen. Callen called Eric to get the ball rolling on the name of the man in the picture. Deeks was reading another journal entry when Callen tapped him on the shoulder.
"Eric got a hit on Wanda Kowalski," he said, putting the phone on speaker. "Go ahead Eric."
"Wanda Kowalski was arrested in San Francisco in March 1968," Eric told them. "Spent a month in jail and then was apparently turned over to the Feds. The DEA to be exact. After that nothing."
"What...what do you mean...nothing?" Deeks asked. "No information or as in disappeared?"
"No records after that, period," Eric said. "At least not for that name."
"Maybe the DEA flipped her and she turned state's evidence. If she gave up some serious dealers, they could have put her in witness protection," Sam reasoned.
"She's gonna be hard to find if that's true," Callen said. "That was a long time ago."
"Mr. Callen? Mr. Deeks? Let me see what I can do," Hetty's voice cutting in on their conversation. "I have a few friends in Washington who might open up a few files for me."
"Thanks, Hetty," Deeks said.
"Got some pretty good latents from the bathroom," one of the techs announced as he joined them in the kitchen. "Want me to put a rush on 'em?"
"Do better than that," Sam ordered, and the man nodded and walked away.
As Deeks absently thumbed through his mom's journal, trying to process all the possibilities, a tiny piece of paper fluttered out, landing at Callen's feet as he spoke to Hetty on the phone.
He picked it up to find his mother's handwriting once again. "Hey guys. It's an address. No name or date though."
"Give me the address, Deeks," Nell said quickly.
"39502 Rattlesnake Road, Newcastle, California."
"Hold on just a minute..." Nell said. "The current owner at that address is a Sandra Wallace. I'll see what I can find on her and get back to you."
"Thanks, Nell," Deeks said, and looked into the concerned eyes of his teammates.
"What are you thinking, Deeks?" Sam asked.
"Road trip."
...
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