Neil Knight Private Dick

Frankie Wants a Memory

In January of 2014 the Crosby Restaurant and Nightclub in downtown Santa Ana was the scene of a brutal attack where a young Asian woman, a newlywed, was beaten to death by two Hispanic women as they left the club.

Although accounts of the incident varied greatly, with multiple cellphone videos of the fight shedding no further clarity, the two women were ultimately sentenced to 6 years in prison after being convicted of voluntary manslaughter.

Aside from the senseless brutality of the confrontation, the court case drew national attention because bystanders watched or filmed the brawl on their smartphones instead of intervening.

The club closed shortly after the incident, reopening as The North Left, a restaurant focusing more on the casual modern small plates side of the equation while still incorporating a well-appointed bar. Less than a year after opening though, The North Left abruptly closed, not due to the quality of its food but simply because it could never gain any traction in the community.

Within months the Irenia Supper Club opened in the same location, bringing a Filipino-inspired menu to the neighborhood, fusing California produce and modern techniques with the cuisine of the Philippines.

Now Frankie Hopeless knew nothing of the recent history of 400 North Broadway in Santa Ana, but he was very familiar with its more violent past, which is why he had waited at the Starbucks, next door to the restaurant on December sixteenth.

'What better way to celebrate the past but with a similar performance in the present?' he had considered silently to himself.

From time to time he played the scene over in his mind with the kind of clarity and respect usually reserved for one's first intimate encounter.

It's December 16th, and the evening is a crisp 59 degrees, so the decision to park himself near the coffee shop while he waits seems more than appropriate. Grande Latte in hand he stands outside Starbucks, leaning on the traffic light pole at the corner of 4th with a clear view of North Broadway.

Maria Fiorello Campana and her companion for the evening, Leilani Perez, arrive in separate cars. Perez in a red Mazda MX-5 Miata convertible, Campana in a less conspicuous grey BMW i3s all electric sedan. Frankie sees them pass by within 30 seconds of each other.

Each pull into the public parking garage just down the street on 5th, Perez waiting for Campana at the corner, the two walking down the street together toward the restaurant. Perez is a good 4 inches taller than her companion, possibly due to the stilettos that wrapped around her ankles, tightening her calves and lifting her buttocks.

Frankie hustles down the street, past the Irenia Supper Club and the recently closed Rags International New Stand, both housed in one of only three buildings that survived the demolition that made way for the Ronald Reagan Federal Building and United States Courthouse on 4th. He leans against one of several Modesto Ash which line the street in front of eight white sidewalk facing metal mesh benches, and sips his coffee, the warm frothy liquid filling his mouth with the familiar sweet bitterness.

The couple's laughter carries down the street as they move rhythmically in his direction, heels clicking slightly out of sync on the concrete walkway. At 7:45 the streets are full of people, but neither the couple nor Frankie notice. The breeze, blowing in his direction, carries the hint of Clive Christian's Absolute Sandalwood Inspired By No.1 mixed with a subtle suggestion of Santa Ana burning brush. The scent is intoxicating, adding to his anticipation of an eventful evening.

The women pass by, close enough for him to touch. His fingers tremble slightly. He takes another sip to calm himself.

Campana reaches for the door to Irenia's, but pulls back quickly as the door flies open, another couple exiting, apologizing for their exuberance. Smiles widen all around. Pearly white teeth bordered by deep red lips. The pair enter the restaurant, one ahead of the other.

Frankie takes a seat on a vacant bench and waits.

Two more Grande Lattes pass the time. One at 9 p.m. followed by another at 10 p.m.

The door to Irenia's opens eight minutes later, and Maria Fiorello Campana and Leilani Perez exit into the cool evening air, each wearing wraps they had carried over their arms when they had earlier arrived.

They walk a little slower as they pass by, lean into each other a little closer, the meal and the wine helping to stimulate simmering emotions. As they reach the Rinconada Restaurant at the corner of North Broadway and 5th Frankie rises and drafts behind them, unnoticed.

The crossing signal changes to white, having been previously pressed by other revelers, and each participant moves with a sense of urgency, navigating a path among vehicles, humans and canines, to land safely on the opposite sidewalk.

His prey turn left toward the parking garage, passing the gated automobile exit, and enter the concrete stairwell through a grated steel door. Frankie pauses momentarily before following suit.

The couple's steps resonate off the textured cement walls as they ascend, passing the 2nd and 3rd floors on their way to the upper level. Frankie remain hidden by timing his turns to mirror those he pursues.

The door to the 4th level opens, the hinges voicing their displeasure.

Leilani passes through the doorway first, Maria close behind.

The Miata is next to the entrance, leaving Frankie no possible way to follow without being seen.

Leilani presses her key fob. The cars lights flash on and off, on and off, the doors unlocking. She slowly turns, reaches down past her ankles and removes her shoes with a practiced flick of her thumb and fingers. She drops four inches. Frankie had been right.

She reaches out and draws Maria to her. Their lips, shining in the ambient light of the city, press and slide together, then draw slightly apart, tongues meeting in a rite of passion. Maria's body molds itself to Leilani's, pressing her against the car door, no space between the two. Frankie remains transfixed in the shadows.

Then unexpectedly they separate. Not rapidly but with a purpose, as if an emotional pact had been agreed upon. Leilani tosses her shoes into the auto and slips gracefully into the driver's seat. The engine starts. The car retreats and then pulls away, a smile and perhaps the promise of something more intimate offered to Maria as she stands trembling beneath the stars.

The car disappears and she feels a tap on her shoulder. She turns, and her cheekbone explodes in shards of light and pain.

He'd been told to deliver a message to the bisexual wife of the Mayor Pro Tem. Don't do anything to jeopardize his ascension. No Asians. No Blacks. No Hispanics. No Women. No Affairs.

One punch and she went down. Where's the fun in that? Where's the reverence to the history of the location?

He needed to feel pale skin squishing beneath his fist. Warm blood between his fingers. The soft moan of surrender. An exhale of surprise as a rib cracked.

No Maria. Frankie wanted a memory. Something passionate.

And you would give him that gift. He pulled out his cellphone.