Golden Throat

by James P. Alsphert

  “You don’t say!”

  “Yep, she’s in the phone book, I bet.”

  “Thanks, babe, you just solved Crazy Jack’s puzzle for me.”

  “Crazy Jack?”

  “Yeah, remember, the guy I told you I was meeting tonight, some really crazy guy who’s tuned in to certain information beyond us silly mortals—work related, you know. He’s kinda like a psychic snitch.” I chuckled.

  We got to Honey’s place late and we immediately undressed and went to bed. It was one of those still, warm L.A. nights and the bedroom window had been shut. I got up and opened it, then lay down again next to my golden- throated little love and lit up a cigarette. She seemed pensive as she drew invisible figures on my naked chest. “After all the loves of your life, Cable, will you remember me?” She took a drag from my cigarette.

  “Hey, kid, I’ve never known you to smoke—not good for the voice, you know.” She handed it back to me and I puffed on it. “Why would you ask me a question like that? I never think of any other babe except you.”

  She half-smiled at me. “I guess I’m just a bit melancholy tonight. While I was up there singing, I was thinking about you. It was the lyrics…they made me start asking myself the questions, as if from part of a diary I had written a long time ago. The words went like this…‘Why was I born? Why am I living? What do I get, what am I giving? Why do I want a thing I dare not hope for, what can I hope for? I wish I knew… Why do I try to draw you near me, and why do I cry? You never hear me. I’m a poor fool, but what can I do? Why was I born…to love you…?’”

  I lay there on the bed with my hands behind my head, looking up at Honey. “That’s beautiful—but why so maudlin, doll? I’m right here, beside you. Honey, I’m still nuts about you—even after all this time. That’s rare for me. What are you not saying? C’mon, come clean, there’s something else here.”

  “I just had this vision, like I was seeing you at the other end of your life, after all the women you’d loved—and I was wondering, would I still be the one? I got this feeling I wouldn’t be around to see the end of your movie—”

  “—babe! Stop it! What in the hell have you been drinking at that club? I’ve never seen you like this. In fact, it kinda scares me. What has caused all this kind of thinking from you?”

  She took a deep breath and let out a sigh. “Who knows, Cable? Maybe I’m getting my monthly trouble or something.” Then she put her head onto my chest and lay her body over the rest of me. I could feel those wonderful warm breasts of hers flatten out against my skin and her warm mound rub on my crotch. “There’s just this thing…like I can never quite get as close to you as I want to. I want to crawl inside of you, to stay safe and warm—and then you can take me out to play when you need me. There’s this feeling…that…keeps me longing for something to be completed between us. And since I can’t have children—”

  “—are we back to the Mr. and Mrs. Cable Denning thing again? It started out to be my bag of excuses, now it’s your agent’s—you know he says marriage right now would stop your budding stardom in mid-ascension.”

  “I’d give it all up for a few acres and a ranch house in Mendocino or somewhere up there. But I know that’s not practical. And you’re still in a love-hate relationship with this God-forbidden city. What are you born to do, Cable? Do you even think about that?”

  “Yeah, I’ve always known it. Help out the underdog, see truth as the only way to cut through the bullshit humans wanna dish out on each other. Find some kind of balance through justice when things need a little help along the way. That’s why I hate being a cop in a crooked, rotten city filled with crooked, rotten cops.”

  “Why don’t you quit and become—oh, you know, like a private investigator or something? Just be accountable only to yourself.”

  “Not a bad idea.” I finished off my smoke and put it out in the ashtray next to the bed. “So…since we’re playing the game, what are you born to do—assuming you know—and you can say it in fifty words or less.”

  “Born to sing. Born to love you.” Then she lightened up and began to make love to me and soon we were lost in the ecstasy of youth and passion. Still, in the back of my head something niggled at me that didn’t quite add up. After all, it’s always the things that are never said that lie at the crux of that big human dilemma: who am I? where am I and who will go with me?

  Chapter 6

  CLAIRVOYANTS, SOOTHSAYERS AND

  WONDER WOMAN

  When Mario and I reported for work that morning, I checked my message box as always. There were two items crammed in the box. One was a small envelope with a post office stamp reading Big Bear Lake, California. The other was a larger envelope with no return address. It simply read: ‘Officer Cable Denning, Los Angeles Police Department, Los Angeles, California. While Mario grabbed a cup of coffee, I opened the envelope.

  ‘Dear Mr. Denning, I am Captain Treadwell, whom I’m sure you will

  recall as your recent benefactor. It is in our best interests to meet in

  person. I beseech you, however, to maintain the utmost confidence in

  this matter. I know you have concerns regarding the late Harold Eisenstadt.

  I am hopeful I shall be able to help you resolve any questions you might have.

  If you will be kind enough to meet me at 8:p.m. this evening where the

  Angel’s Flight track terminates, on Olive Street. I shall look forward to

  meeting you personally.

  Most sincerely,

  Captain T.A. Treadwell.’

  Now that was strange. I went down the hall and found Mario. I decided not to read Treadwell’s missive to him. He sat opposite me, sipping his coffee with casual indifference. “Busy mailman this morning, huh? Two love letters for Cable Denning?”

  “Naw, one’s a training announcement.” I held up the small envelope. “Well, this one I have a hunch about.” I opened it and started reading: “Yup, this one could be a love letter.

  ‘Dear Cable, I’ve tried, but I can’t get you out of my mind. I hope your head has healed by now. I’m coming to L.A. to visit an aunt next week, the 13th. Will you call me? PRospect 8134. My aunt’s name is Alice Wardall. Please call me. I’ll be in town a week or so. Sincerely, Ginny Fullerton.’

  What’d I tell you?”

  “Who’s Ginny Fullerton?” Mario asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “A little doll I met while I was recuperating at Big Bear Lake. She was my cook and housekeeper.”

  “Did you fool around?”

  “Well, I guess if you call having a few drinks, a smoke and a dance or two fooling around, then I guess we fooled around.”

  “And Cable Denning resisted taking her to his bed?”

  “I was tempted, buddy, and she was hot to trot in that direction. But something stopped me. She was such a decent kid, I didn’t want her to have a bad memory hangover.”

  “Since when did that ever stop you? You would have fucked my sister if the family hadn’t protected her from you.”

  “That’s not true. We were young and Francesca was a hot number, even if she was your sister. But I wouldn’t have crossed that line, Mario, and you know it.” I laughed. “No Romeo wants the whole damn Catholic hierarchy after him, especially for just a piece of tail.”

  Mario snickered. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, pal. I know you respected me, and my family. But, shit, you might as well have fucked her after all—she ended up hot and pregnant anyway, by some slimy paisano across the river.”

  “Yeah, I went to the shotgun wedding, remember? I can still see your mamma giving the new son-in-law the evil eye.” We both laughed.

  The patrol car shift was rather uneventful for a change and by seven o’clock I had called Honey and told her I had this appointment, but not to worry. She worried anyway. Women have an invisible perversity in them, but when its little head peeks out, a guy sure finds out about it.

  As instructed, I took the 1901 cabl
e car from the bottom at Hill Street and got out at the top of the hill on Olive. I looked around. No one. The fog started to come in with a slight chill that went right through me. I was standing on the curb, when a shiny black Packard came squealing around the corner…coming right for me. I jumped back toward Angel’s Flight and the car came to a screeching halt in front of me. Two goons got out and approached me, their hands loaded up with iron. One got behind me, the other stayed in front as they escorted me over to the Packard. I was unceremoniously pushed into the back seat with one goon on either side of me. I couldn’t make him out in the darkness very well, but the rider in the front seat had a bottle with a handkerchief he was dousing with something. He handed it to one of the other mugs and before I could react, he slammed the wet handkerchief in my face. I choked and gagged, but just as I went out I recognized the familiar odor of chloroform.

  I was in a yellow cloud, running and screaming, but no sound was coming out of my mouth. I ran in desperation from something unseen, but I knew it was there, behind me, and I took my chances hurling through the thick, yellow fog-like vapor. Then I fell out of the cloud onto the pavement of a dark alley. As soon as my eyes could focus somewhat, I saw two shiny black shoes. Attached to them was a man in an evening tuxedo, wearing a black overcoat on his shoulders without his arms in it. A large white scarf was wrapped around his neck and he was smoking a cigarette through a long, black holder.

  “We could have crushed your already damaged skull, Officer Denning. But, you see, I am merciful, on the side of the angels. We only administered chloroform in the hopes you would not suffocate or suffer cardiac arrest. You didn’t, I see. Good for you. Yet, on the other hand, you are relentless, meddlesome—and definitely laced through and through with evil.”

  I tried out my voice. “Are you…ahem!—are you…Treadwell?”

  “Treadwell does not exist, nor did he ever. Simply a ploy to fool your stupid police department. Money can buy anything—and does.”

  I sat up, still gulping for fresh air and feeling a bit woozy. “So…there’s just one question…why didn’t you let Matrangas’ idiots kill me in the hospital?” The rather tall man with a very thin face helped me to my feet and dusted me off.

  “Every so often a perfect foil—a dupe, if you will, appears on the scene to help us. You see, Officer Denning, contrary to your detective brand of logic, neither Mr. Dragna nor I ended up with the priceless golden capsule. It is true, I intended to intercept Matrangas when he got back to the morgue. But someone else beat us both to it. By the time we had killed Matrangas and found the empty metal box per your instructions, we could hear the police sirens and so we were on our way.”

  “So you think I know more?—you’re barking up the wrong tree, Mr.—”

  “—Damianos, Isaiah Damianos.”

  “What a fucked name,” I said, expecting a kick or a punch any second. “How did your mother and father dream that one up?”

  “I am Greek and Etruscan—Isaiah means ‘salvation of the Lord,’ and the God of Our Fathers must be returned to its sacred hiding place.”

  I was trying to figure out what this guy was all about, who he worked for or whether he was an ‘independent’ dishing out his own form of vigilante justice. “So now you’re telling me you’re a religious nut on his way to saving the human race from some unspeakable horror locked in that gold-etched microfilm?”

  “Not a horror, Officer Denning, a knowledge so profound that it would be impossible for the human race to comprehend. Besides, the small golden-etched tablet is not a microfilm. It is the original ancient coding—and it must be restored to its original resting place, until its proper time comes. I am a guardian of that quest and am pledged to return it…or perish in the pursuit.”

  “Well, then, get in line, Damianos, everyone’s died so far. But why did you spare me—or was that someone else?”

  “No, we spared you because anyone who has looked upon the God of Our Fathers can be led to it by a vibrational scent, if you will.” He leaned into my face with his own and lowered his voice. “You have seen it, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah, the gods Photonos, Audianos, the source of creation and the whole shootin’ match. But I’m not the only one who saw it. So did Sandor—a lotta good it did him—he’s dead. And as far as I’m concerned, the only ‘vibrational’ bloodhound I’ve got in me has a good nose for booze and broads.”

  “Your crassness will not avail you any benefit, Denning. And I might add what makes the God of Our Fathers so unique in this world is the fact that not only is the source of creation explained—but why.”

  “Then you’ve read the microfilm…”

  “No.”

  “Well, crap, have you even seen the damn thing? After all, you’re the appointed overseer, right?”

  “There are many of us, but none have ever been privy to look upon it, especially in the blue light of Noda. You are the only living being we know of who has laid his eyes upon the precious golden capsule. We have watched you, studied you, concluded you are of truthful character—and thus charge you with the task of finding and returning the God of Our Fathers to our Order”

  “I’m really confused, Damianos. Blue light of Noda? Do you take me for a hocus-pocus sucker? First you almost kill me with that dope in the handkerchief—and you’re damn lucky I don’t have a weak heart—and now you’re asking me—or is it commanding me—to hunt down this sacred icon of yours that’s supposed to contain unfathomable knowledge.”

  “I couldn’t say it better myself. We are willing to compensate you handsomely. Money is not significant in and of itself to us. All we ask is the safe return of the God of Our Fathers.”

  I was rather intrigued by the thought of taking on the role of true detective free of the confines of the police force. “So, if I even think about doing this stint for you guys, how do I get out of the monotony of the good ol’ Los Angeles Police Department street patrols?”

  “Simple. As before, we will arrange…an extended…leave of absence through Captain Treadwell.”

  “You mean the guy who doesn’t exist?”

  “Precisely. What do you say, citizen Denning?”

  “How soon you forget, Damianos—or should I call you Captain Treadwell—remember? Your cordial invitation to have this meeting face to face—and the little matter regarding one Mr. Eisenstadt…?”

  “Very well. In the early 1500s, Pope Julius the Second, known as the ‘warrior Pope’, hired a group of mercenaries from Helvetia, today known as Switzerland, to aid Julius in a battle of military might against the principality of Bologna. With the mercenaries’ help, the pope was victorious. Afterward on January 22, 1506, he requested that these men officially make up a small but powerful guard, to be known as the ‘Swiss Guard, to permanently protect the Pope. Now, among these men was a sort of ‘Knight Errant’, known as Orson Amadis, Knight of the Flames. He did not remain in Rome but wandered the hills of Tuscany. There he came upon some ancient ruins and far in a cave, buried in a deep chamber, he found a large golden neckpiece with many trinkets adorning it. One of those ‘trinkets’ happened to be the lost God of Our Fathers. From that moment on, the lineage of Orson Amadis was sworn to the protection of the precious and priceless gift of the gods. Eisenstadt was one such descendent. He traced the stolen capsule to the gold-lined throat of a Roman Catholic-raised gangster, named Blinthe Rettini. When he turned up dead in a gangland execution spree, Eisenstadt discovered Dr. Sandor had stolen the capsule from its hiding place in Rettini’s throat. But the slain man’s corpse had no identification, no fingerprints and no navel—all of which had been altered to protect what he housed behind his tongue.”

  “So now enter two ignorant policemen, and one of them happens to see a jar containing Rettini’s removed throat section, but it’s marked Blinthe because that’s as close as Sandor could come to discovering Rettini’s identity.

  Eisenstadt tears off the label in the hopes he can find Blinthe—or what’s left
of him—assuming it’s his last name. But Sandor doesn’t want to share any of the loot, so he follows Eisenstadt and bumps him off at his hotel in Beverly Hills, in the elevator, no less.”

  “Indeed! You think like a detective who knows his sequential logic, Officer Denning. So is it a yea?”

  “What if it’s a nay? Do I still get to keep my life?”

  “I cannot answer for that, Officer. Let’s just say a ‘yea’ would extend your life…”

  “And you can save my job until I’ve completed the assigned task? And what if I fail—what if the damned thing isn’t recoverable?

  “I guarantee you will return to full reinstatement of your job. On the other hand, failure to accomplish the task may indeed result in your ultimate demise.”

  “Oh, that’s great. I like my choices. Let me see…one, I’m dead…two, hmmm….I’m dead. Which one would you choose?”

  Damianos laughed as he urged me toward the awaiting Packard at the end of the alley. “Some souls are just picked out, it seems, Denning. I, somehow, have great confidence in you. And, indeed, if you are destined to fulfill this objective, then know the gods have led you thusly—and smiled kindly upon you. Now, tell me true, weren’t you really rather bored with your job as a lowly patrolman?”

  He had me there. The excitement of this new adventure made my blood flow, kicked up my adrenals and made me feel alive again. “Okay, count me in, Damianos. Just give me a couple of days to get my affairs in order, okay? I mean, I have to say good-bye to Mario and someone I’m very—”

  “—Honey Combes, Lana Loren—those names…are they not priceless?” How in the hell could these guys know all these things about me? Crap, next it’d be the manufacture’s label on my shorts! “By the way, I do apologize for roughing you up earlier. Hired help nowadays. Even though I have to admit the chloroform was my idea. Had I left it up to those fellows in the car, they would’ve used baseball bats instead.”