I woke again, vomiting, lunging again for the toilet, but this time it was just a false alarm, nothing but a stomach-churning dry heave.
After another shower I stumbled to the phone to demand food. I had finished the bowl of nuts a while ago. No dial tone. It figured.
I needed coffee, at least a pot. I tried the phone again. Still dead. The door continued to be locked. I hate pretzels but ate a bag anyway. I wondered when Security would come see about me.
I fell asleep wondering that but woke to a low, monotonous booming. I could feel it through my bare feet, vibrating through the walls. When I put my shoes on, I could still feel it.
A scream? I put my ear to the door. I tried the handle. This time it opened and I stepped into the dimly lit hallway without a clue of what to do. The booming reverberated through the hallway, so loud I felt like I was walking through fog. Singing, something like singing. I wanted to go back to my bungalow. I didn’t want to be in the Lair even if Monster planned to offer me the world, but I couldn’t stop myself. I found a stairwell and began walking down, counting steps: twenty, forty . . . At three hundred I arrived at the bottom.
I reached out and touched the door, felt the booms through the metal and wood, and pushed it open.
Sound slammed me back like a hard shove to the chest, a beast beating me down to my knees, trance music so loud I worried my eardrums would burst.
Strobe lights flashing, I saw boys, half a dozen of them, young, shirtless blond boys in pajama bottoms sitting cross-legged while Monster swirled in white robes like a rubber-limbed Fred Astaire.
I saw Thug too, watching from the edge of the shadows.
I tried to go back the way I came, hoped to find the stairwell and escape back to semi-imprisonment.
No, locked. I slid to the floor in a dark corner and watched Monster take one of the boys by the hand and pull him up.
The boy was still as Monster moved wildly about him. I gasped when Monster ran his hands around the boy’s body in darting caresses.
I didn’t want to see this, didn’t want to be part of what was going on, powerless to stop it.
But I wasn’t powerless.
I had the strength to try; what could they do to me that I hadn’t done to myself?
I stood up and took a breath, saw Monster slip the boy’s pajamas down around his knees, hands still running about the boy’s body.
“No!” I said, and took a step forward.
My head snapped back and I hit the ground.
“Don’t get up. I don’t want to beat you down again,” I heard Thug say, in this positively friendly voice.
I tasted blood and looked up at the mountain of him.
I braced one trembling leg and tried to get to my feet.
“You are a fool,” Thug said, and again a massive fist came from above and connected with the top of my head.
Stars of every color spun in the black void. “Told you to stay the fuck down! You never listen to my advice.”
I WOKE UP in the four-poster bed with the green fucking quilt.
I felt like I had the time I fell down a flight of stairs; touched my jaw, as though it ached, but it was fine, not swollen or sore. I shook my head to clear it and tried to stand, but that didn’t work very well, and I slipped back to the edge of the bed. Tried to remember last night, but the memory of it was so confusing. I remembered Monster dancing in front of boys, but the rest was hazy, as if my memory had voided itself, like an empty room where you might have left something, but it was gone and it was a waste of time to wait for whatever it was to return.
Then the door opened and Monster came in.
“Mr. Gibson, I came by to see how you were doing,” he said in his usual breathless voice.
“I’m fine, just a little tired.”
“I heard you had a fall.”
“I don’t know . . . might have. I don’t remember much of what happened last night, had a little too much to drink. Then somehow I seem to have got locked into this room.”
“When the kitchen help stopped by to bring you breakfast, they found you on the floor with a knot on your head.”
It didn’t sound right to me, but it was more of an explanation than I had.
Then Monster pointed to the bottles of wine in the trash can.
“Had a party?”
I shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Can we talk?”
I didn’t say anything, and Monster sat in the chair across from the bed and crossed his legs. For once he didn’t have on his hat or his glasses. Looking at him was fascinating in that his skin was so pale it was almost translucent, and it shimmered. Somehow he’d found a cosmetic that worked like a special effect; when he moved, specks of color lingered in the air.
“I want to apologize. Last night when you mentioned Ronnie, I made quite a scene.”
I nodded and looked away so that he wouldn’t look at me with those gigantic, empty black eyes.
“My world ain’t right up here. Things happen I can’t explain. You understand what I’m saying?”
I sat like a stone, waiting for him to continue.
“The police want to talk to you,” he said.
“They do?”
“Don’t worry. I can have one of my lawyers sit in with you.”
“I don’t know anything. Why would I need a lawyer?”
Monster stood and looked out of the window with his thin arms folded behind his back.
“It’s not just that I have enemies. That happens in life. You make a name for yourself, make some money, and then everybody wants to get up on you.”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling in my stomach that Monster wanted me to do something for him, something I would not want to do. I could feel it coming.
“I didn’t make this place that you see around you. Sure, I added a building or two, restored what needed restoring. I tried to turn it into something that I could love even more. Then the weirdness started happening. Do you know anything about theosophy?”
“No,” I said, wondering where he was going with this.
“The dead don’t talk to you?”
“No, never,” I said, and stepped back.
“People believe different things. I got interested in theosophy a while ago. It makes sense of life for me.”
“How?”
“The line between this world and the next isn’t as firm as you think.”
I wanted to push him out of the room, or the window. What the hell was he saying to me, that a monster from another dimension killed that boy?
“The police don’t understand when I try to explain this to them. But they’re not aware, they’re not enlightened.”
I nodded, not having any idea of what he was getting at.
“You’re saying a spirit or something killed that boy? He died of an overdose as far as I could see.”
Monster turned and looked at me as though he didn’t understand a word I said. “I don’t know what happened to him, but that’s what I’m talking about. I want to have this place exorcised as soon as possible.”
“This is off the subject, but I was wondering . . . since you have another chef, I think it’s time for me to look for another job. Maybe see if I can convince my wife to take me back.”
“That’s up to you, but you don’t have to. I only let good people work for me, and I know that you are a good person who can be trusted. I take care of my people. You are still on the payroll just as if you’re my personal chef.”
“Thanks,” I said, relieved to know I still had income, but I still felt the other shoe would fall.
“Gibson, I admire your discretion. The situation with my wife is getting worse. We have a beautiful little boy who needs a calm household, and the way things are going here, he’s not going to get that with the press digging all around.”
He paused and looked at me as though he was trying to read my mind.
“I want you to watch over Rita. Thug isn’t very good with her, and no matter how well intentioned his acti
ons are, she gets very upset with him. I value you as a confidant, and I need you to understand what’s at stake here. I need you to work with her and keep her on my team. I don’t want her to bring this world down on us all.”
“I’m willing to do that.”
“The sheriff will be at your bungalow at noon.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
Monster smiled winningly at me as he turned to leave. That’s what he wanted to hear. Yeah, me the team player. I would be his boy if that’s what it took to make things right. I was in.
Security came to escort me back to my bungalow, but this time they didn’t bother with the handcuffing and the hood. I rode that golf cart just like Security did because I was now more or less Security, ready to protect Monster at all costs.
I can’t say I was happy to step onto the wooden front porch of my bungalow; overjoyed was more like it.
The air in Monster’s Lair, deep inside of it, seemed wrong, like it was fouled with something tasteless and odorless. Maybe Monster was right and there was something really wrong with the place, something that didn’t involve him, but I doubted it.
I SLEPT HARD THAT NIGHT, without dreaming, but I woke at dawn with a clarity of thought that I hadn’t experienced in weeks. With this sudden burst of energy, I decided to go for a run. I changed into shorts and a T-shirt, stretched for a few minutes, and started at a trot. I didn’t mean to go far or fast, but once I started, feeling my way through creaks and pain, I didn’t want to stop after a mile of running the trails on the outskirts of Monster’s Lair. I saw Security checking me out, talking on their cell phones; in the distance the media was there, still camped, and the government vehicles were along the roads, some double-parked.
Where was I?
Running, clearing my head, remembering.
Monster had done something to me. The dryness in my mouth, my heart beating so hard, me feeling so good.
I had been drugged.
Shit happened there, and I could remember only shards of it, memories cracked into pieces too small to reassemble.
Problem was they didn’t know what a drug addict knows, a drug addict like me. I had done enough speed, coke, and heroin to know what a buzz is, even one that wasn’t intended to get you high.
A psychedelic?
Monster or Thug, somebody should have thought of the obvious truth before trying that acid in the wine: Dope fiends know their dope.
I finished the run and walked slowly back to the bungalow, wondering what Monster had hoped to accomplish.
Maybe he worried that I wouldn’t be a team player, and needed insurance that if I did know something I wouldn’t be able to speak to it with certainty.
I showered and waited on the porch with a tall glass of ice water, debating whether I should tell the sheriff of my suspicions, though I knew I wouldn’t. Then I saw the black-and-white roll up the gravel road. Sheriff Graves wasn’t a personable man. When I first came to Santa Ynez, I had to report to the station to register as a parolee. I was surprised to be interviewed by the top lawman in town. And he treated me with contempt, barely speaking to me. I wondered if he disliked me for being a New Yorker. When he asked me to confirm where I had lived and worked, I said New York, and he repeated the word as though New York had syphilis.
Graves walked over to me without looking up, until I thought he might step on my toes.
I stood to greet him, but he sat down next to me.
“Listen, Gibson, I should take you down to the station and get another statement, but I’m short-handed with all these interviews we got to do and can’t spare somebody to drive you back.”
“Okay,” I said, thinking that was fine with me.
“I got a question for you, and I want you to take your time in answering.”
“Sure.”
His blue eyes were shot through with red. Must not have slept much in days.
“I hope you know what a piece of flying shit this has turned out to be. I’m so sick of these fucking reporters, goddamn cockroaches. And the lawyers are worse than the reporters. Surprised you’re willing to talk. His lawyers have everybody clammed up.”
I shrugged. “I don’t mind talking, but I don’t have much to say.”
The sheriff’s eyes narrowed.
“Let me ask the questions and I’ll worry about how much you know.”
“I’m fine with that.”
Graves stood up and nodded to a van parked by the mansion.
“See that goddamn van? Monster’s people are watching. Come on.”
He gestured for me to follow him, and we stepped behind the bungalow, which faced open country.
“Those Security yahoos are using a directional mic to listen to us whenever they get the chance. I’m telling you this though I can’t prove it, but that’s okay. I’ve complained enough, to the point where I think I’m talking to myself when I talk to them. They deny it all, but I know they hear me.”
“So what do you want from me?” I asked.
“Well, hear this, you know you’re being set up.”
“I am?”
“Sure. Why do you think they’re letting you talk to me? They have all of their employees with a lawyer right at their shoulder, making sure everything goes according to plan.”
“What plan?”
“For you and the Mexican to be the fall guys, the patsies.”
“That’s not going to happen. I never trusted Monster.”
“That’s good because you shouldn’t. You should be talking to your lawyer. Off the record, like I’ve said, you’ve already been fingered.”
“Fingered me? How?”
“How long have you been collecting child porn?”
“I’ve never collected child porn! I’ve never seen any child porn,” I said, sputtering with anger.
“We searched your bungalow,” Graves said, without looking at me.
“How can you do that without my permission or a court order?”
Graves smirked.
“Mr. Stiles gave permission. It is his property.”
“But . . .”
He interrupted me with a wave of his hand.
“We didn’t find anything, but someone left an anonymous message on my voice mail about you and your relationship to Manuel Flores, that you both are pedophiles.”
“Yeah, that’s a crock. I don’t have any interest in children. I don’t even want children of my own. That’s just a load of shit for someone to say that about me.”
The sheriff looked at me for a long minute. “Maybe I believe you. What about this Manuel Flores? No history of molestation and then we find a mother lode of child porn in his work area. It’s kind of pathetic. You’d think they’d do a better job of going about this setup.”
“So what do you think I should do?”
“I want you to report to me whatever you see Monster doing.”
I nodded, but I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to get into it at that level. I wasn’t constitutionally suited to narc on anyone.
“I don’t trust Monster, but I don’t want to get into something I can’t handle.”
“Suit yourself. Just remember I’m extending an olive branch to you because I believe you’re innocent and getting reamed. Now, I don’t want to be left hanging, like those fucking idiot police in that Ramsey case. I want this to end and the media gone.”
“Tell you the truth, working here is like being in a strange dream. Most of the time I don’t know what the hell is going on moment from moment. It’s a constant state of confusion. I think there’s something in the air, in the water.”
Sheriff Graves laughed.
“Yeah, well, I can’t say I like coming out here. First of all, no one says anything without a lawyer. I know Monster has them sign their lives away if they want to work for him. It’s useless trying to get anyone to tell the truth. I tried to follow up on allegations of drug use, but Monster’s money carries a lot of weight. I can’t fight that, and I can’t get state money to fund investigations. Afte
r a while you get tired of beating your head against a wall, and you just let it go. Some people shouldn’t be parents, they should have to apply for a license to be parents, but this is different. A child died and someone is going to pay for that!”
Sheriff Graves slapped the wall with such force I thought he might have broken his hand. He rubbed his palm and stared at me.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing, right now. Just keep your eyes open. They think we’ll go after you because Manuel disappeared.”
“Manuel disappeared?”
Graves nodded. “We brought him in for questioning. He had some interesting things to say, then we got that tip about you. I didn’t bring you in because it seemed too convenient. I mean, you don’t have a history of child abuse; you had a drug problem that you’re being tested for. You have a parole officer and you’re checking in. It didn’t add up to me. Manuel disappeared after the investigation turned in your direction.”
“I had nothing to do with this, and I’m sure Manuel didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“How well did you know him?” Graves asked.
I shrugged. “Not well at all.”
I didn’t want to look him in his eyes because I was afraid I might say what I really felt.
“What do you think happened to Manuel?” I asked.
“From what I hear he went back to Mexico.”
“Why would he run?”
“He had some things in his background,” Sheriff Graves said.
“Like what?”
“I can’t go into that, but I have my doubts that he had anything to do with the kid’s death.”
Hearing that he didn’t suspect Manny was a tremendous relief.
“Tell me something before I go. What’s it like in there? I only saw a few rooms,” he said, pointing to the mansion.
“It’s huge, a maze. I couldn’t find my way around inside. I wanted string to unwind behind me.”
“Did you see many children in there? He’s been stonewalling about that.”
Images of boys dancing in Monster’s private Nutcracker flashed in my mind.
“I saw some, but can’t say for sure. My memory is hazy. But I don’t get these parents.”
Monster's Chef Page 11
