Golden Throat

by James P. Alsphert

  Everyone became dead still. A small lump stuck in my throat. I knew I was winging this one and had to rely on my gift of gab to pull it off. “Thank you, Your Honor. I really don’t have very much to say in response to this formal complaint made by Mr. Angelo’s superiors except to mention Mr. Angelo’s track record of consistent and loyal devotion to the department and the people of Los Angeles for the past six years.” I looked around the room. He had arrived late, but in the very back row I spotted Joe Lorena. I just wondered what he could’ve cooked up for this breakfast show. “To those officers mentioned in this complaint who hail from what we patrolmen call ‘the bums upstairs,’ you may have forgotten what it’s like to be in the trenches every day of your professional life, fighting not just crime, but being there at the aftermath of an accident, arbitrating domestic battles and violence, picking dead people off the street and propping them up against a wall until the meat wagon comes, helping a once-beautiful young woman stagger across a street because life made her a drunk and she’s been raped so many times it doesn’t matter anymore. Yeah, sometimes the privileges of higher office insulate our superiors from the real world out there.” I walked over to where Mario was sitting, looking up at me with large, admiring eyes. “Mario Angelo and I grew up in the mean streets of East L.A., where you got beat up for just walking to school, or disagreeing with the block-bully, or a gang member from across the river who just happens to have a grudge against you, or someone who wants to bash your head in because he doesn’t like your looks.” I surveyed the room. “A lot of you in this hearing room today came from that side of the tracks. Some of you, like Mario and me, decided to weigh in on the side of the law because we didn’t want our kids growing up as hoodlums, or poverty sealing off our fates until the end of the line. And there was hope that justice would be served when we caught the bad guys. Others chose a different path, one where you could shortcut the way to a quick buck at the expense of the common fellow. It seemed to them that crime did pay and poisoning people with cheap booze, laced cigarettes, or collecting extra dough on a laundry route, running a bordello or selling pretty white girls off the streets for import to Asia…were okay—stock-and-trade for the other chosen profession. So, you see—”

  “—Mr. Denning, with all due respect to your articulation, aren’t you going about this the long way around—please stick to the immediate concerns,” Judge Wyndott interrupted me.

  “Yes, I apologize, Your Honor. So…someone like Officer Mario Angelo, seeing both sides of the coin, and also observing that cops and thugs had a crossover line where they did business together—” A big complaining noise arose from the attendees. “—Mr. Angelo understandably became very frustrated. Since his immediate superiors would not address this double-dipping problem, Mr. Angelo, in desperation and anger, went above the heads of local government and chose to ascertain certain facts and mail them to the State District Attorney’s Office. Now…that in itself seems fair—after all, it’s a free country, ain’t it?” Snickers sounded around the room. “Well, not quite. We’re not free to do exactly as we like in this world. We’re not free to say the whole thing stinks and we’re—”

  The judge rapped his gavel down for the second time. “May I remind you once again, Officer Denning, this hearing is a not a soapbox for your personal opinions. Stick to the facts, if..you..don’t..mind.” At this there arose a loud sound of approval.

  “Your Honor,” Mario surprised the hell out of me by standing up. “May I address this assembly? I believe I still do have that right.”

  “It’s unusual, but proceed, Officer Angelo,” the judge answered.

  I sat down and took a quick look at a worried Joe Lorena. “We have come to live in a land of disproportionate privilege…I quote John Adams. You people here have it all wrong—I’m not the man you should have on trial here—it’s the rotten racketeer over there, sitting comfortably with other racketeers. You call this a hearing. I call it judge and jury in the form of a few men whose self-interests may be challenged by my probing into their illegal and illicit affairs—”

  “—Your Honor, I protest the tone of these proceedings,” Joe Lorena sputtered as he stood up.

  “I was also thinking in that direction, Mr. Lorena. However, I shall allow Officer Angelo to finish his point, whatever disgrace he may bring upon the moment or parties either present or not in this courtroom.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Mario answered. I was proud of him. I could tell he had been reading a lot, boosting his fact lists and dangerously discovering the marital underbelly between Los Angeles politicians and thugs who helped dictate policy.

  “Such a mockery puts at risk, not just me, but the many thousands of hard-working honest citizens out there who require fair representation for the taxes they pay. As a cop I’ve seen them before, and I detest this better-than-thou attitude of roasting the pig on the fire and slowly turning him until he is well cooked and ready to be eaten. Then he becomes harmless, and his voice stops speaking truth. Why? Because he’s seen the other end of it, the knife in the back, the bullet hole in the head while crossing a street, the poison in his drink at the speakeasy.” The room had drawn silent. “I’m a father of young children. How can fairness be established for ourselves and our children if we ourselves are not accountable for our actions when we know we’re violating ten laws for every one we keep. Please…don’t turn this hearing into a witch-hunt to discredit an honest man whose worst crime was believing that most leaders are law abiding. It is true, the pressures on me during the past few weeks have strained my ability to think clearly, but—”

  Then Joe Lorena stood up. “If I may, Your Honor, bear witness?”

  Old Wyndott seemed to know Joe Lorena. “Yes, Mr. Lorena, you may step forward and bear witness…”

  Joe came down the aisle, through the little swinging door and onto the floor beside me. “An officer with Officer Angelo’s obvious integrity makes it appear as if his observations and subsequent actions seldom result in mistakes in the field of duty. Therefore, if I may, and out of complete respect for Mr. Denning, who has spoken most admirably as well here today—I would like to suggest that this hearing be a simple matter of realizing Officer Angelo has become overwhelmed in the field of duty over an extended period of time and is deserving of a paid hiatus of no less than thirty days.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Lorena. And so it is, I concur. I hereby order Officer Mario Angelo to be suspended from active duty for a period of no less than thirty days and no more than sixty, pending a review upon his scheduled return. This hearing is dismissed.” And the gavel went down hard with a sound of finality.

  There was a big silence and people began to file out of the room. Mario scowled at Lorena. “Well, Lorena, I see you helped me pull my foot out of my mouth, didn’t you? Did you ever stop to think I might like it that way?” Mario admonished Joe.

  “Not really. It was already decided, gentlemen. I just didn’t want either of you to embarrass anyone else or get into it any deeper than you already are. Moral and ethical issues of this sort are sticky and can snag one like flypaper, if you will. You’ve got to keep watch over your shoulder, you know.” Then he walked away to join Dragna’s gang of finely dressed thugs.

  I walked over to Mario. “Well? That was the most eloquent I’ve ever heard you talk, buddy boy.”

  “Thanks, Cable. They shot me down, didn’t they? Well, at least it gives us time to regroup. And I’ll really enjoy the paid time off with Elena and the kids. When I looked around the room I couldn’t believe how many cops and thugs really do sleep together.”

  “And they’re all making a profit,” I said in a low voice. “C’mon, Mario, let me buy you a late breakfast.”

  “Oh, Officer Denning—may I see you a minute?” Judge Wyndott called. I walked over to the bench. “Interesting style…has it ever occurred to you to get yourself schooled and become a legal mouthpiece for the force? Your approach has a refreshing ‘ring’ of integrity—It might make
a difference to a divided jury.”

  “Thanks, Your Honor. But you heard it right, I’m a trench rat like Mario. Someone has to be out there rooting out the bad ones, eh?”

  He did a half-laugh out of the side of his mouth. “Yes—you’ve got a point there. Well, good luck, son.” He exited down the stairs into his chambers.

  Lake Bottom Property

  That night I stood at the main entrance to the Bryson Hotel. The ten story building was structured around a large central courtyard…making it look like two towers. The main entrance was flanked by two pedestals with a pair of lions on each, holding a decorative plaque with the Hotel's name. Inside was decorated with cut-glass chandeliers, Italian marble stairs, nice plush carpeting and richly upholstered mahogany furniture. The tenth floor was dedicated to a ballroom, billiard room and 4 loggias with great views. It is said that the builder spent $60,000 just on the top floor with fine art, rare plants and furnishings. A good chunk of money especially for 1913. It was the only high-rise around until about half a dozen years ago. I knocked at #412. The door opened. Polly Parker welcomed me in, said she was going out for a little air and since I was there, would I watch over Jedediah for a while.

  “Cable! Cable!” the old man said with a wonderful enthusiasm from his wheelchair. “We have much to talk about. But first, I’ve been dying to know—how did things go with the Red Dragon Lady and obtaining the you-know-what?”

  I told Jedediah the whole story and he sat as enthralled as a schoolboy being told a bedtime yarn. When I had brought him up to date, he refreshed my drink and I settled back with a freshly lit Lucky Strike. “So now…you say you’ve got some new stuff for me?”

  He looked at me with a deep, warm smile. “Yes, but first, I must ask you whatever happened to that—that exquisite Latina woman you brought with you on the train. Adora. I have thought of her often, Cable. She is an extraordinary creature. Matter of fact, in just the few moments we exchanged conversation, I found myself falling in love with her.”

  “Well, that made two of us, Jedediah. But since I’m going to marry Honey in December, I had the painful mission of telling Adora I couldn’t see her anymore.”

  “I am very sorry to hear that. How did that work out?”

  “Not so well. I botched it from the beginning because my heart wasn’t in it. Then, in a weak moment, in the middle of the night I went running to her. You ever experience the feeling? Like nobody else will do?”

  Jedediah Penn smiled again. “Oh, yes, yes…I have. I was rather hoping the two of you would merge.” He reflected quietly, his hand shaking a bit from a slight palsy he had developed. “One wonders whatever happens to beautiful women like that. Does the rest of the world see the layers of beauty and grace? Or is it likely that most men will see her only as an object of desire?”

  “I don’t know, Jed, old boy. But I do know if Honey hadn’t come along first, I think I would’ve spent the rest of my life with Adora. And I’m not even the marrying kind!” I laughed, trying to conceal some of the pain I felt about Adora now being out of my life. I cleared my throat and took another swig from my drink. “Okay, now, I’m all ears about your Chinese trip and how it all fits in…”

  Just then there was a rap at the door. “Yes?” A second rap came. “Just a minute, please.” I instinctively drew my .38 as Jedediah wheeled himself to the door. I dropped back to a corner of the room. Three fairly tall young men in their late twenties, maybe early thirties, stood at the threshold. “Yes. What can I do for you?”

  One of them spoke with a slight Italian accent. “Signore Penn. I am Father Carlo Tortelli. May I come in?”

  Jedediah backed off in his wheelchair and admitted just the one man. The other two remained outside as guards or sentinels. Father Carlo Tortelli was very handsome and clean-shaven. One could tell immediately he was well educated and articulate. He had no bad mannerisms and seemed to be sincere. I came out of the shadows as I put my gun away. “This…this is my friend, Mr—”

  “—Cable Denning—yes, I know much about you, Mr. Denning,” he said,

  surprising both Jedediah and me. “We both had a mutual acquaintance—one Isaiah Damianos?”

  “Oh, yeah, I hear he got bumped off. Too bad, I kinda liked the guy, at least once I was sure he wouldn’t be kidnapping or doping me up anymore before we could have a decent conversation.”

  He approached me and we shook hands. It was a good handshake. “You are famous in the Amadis, our Order at the Vatican. We are sorry you could not deliver the God of Our Fathers to us.”

  “Well, it wasn’t a matter of the highest bidder, you know. Considering I put my life on the line and ran into some pretty mean dudes, it was hardly worth it all.”

  “We’re not bad guys, I remind you. Our procurement would have been for research and preservation of the golden capsule—”

  “—c’mon, Tortelli. Don’t stand there and tell me your so-called Church isn’t as political and power-hungry as your competition.” He didn’t reply, just looked at me and then at Jed Penn.

  “Anyway, too bad. The Church would have paid you handsomely. Now it’s lost to us. Those creatures are truly Devil-sent and control the politics and money flow of the world.”

  “You mean the old Oculus Pyramis Mandatum? Yeah, they’re about the worst I’ve come across in my short twenty-nine years. But I’m sure the Vatican comes in there somewhere as a close second, now, wouldn’t you agree, Tortelli?”

  “Even if that were so, we as a race are lost without all the original pieces in place.”

  “Don’t be so sure all is lost.” I lit up a cigarette and smugly looked over at Jedediah. “Dr. Penn here will tell you substance has a way of, well, shall we say, coming and going? Nothing is permanent, agreed?” He nodded. “So perhaps it would not be surprising if one day the ‘creatures’ you spoke of wake up to find their precious Fen de Fuqin simply—poof! vanished into thin air.”

  I could tell I had piqued Father Tortelli’s imagination. “Fen de Fuqin. So few know it by that name. Could this be? And if so, that would indicate that what they now covet in their vaults is—is perhaps, ah, perhaps—”

  “—a shadow of the real thing,” Dr. Penn interrupted. “If I may, Cable here told me of certain actions that transpired between a certain Red Dragon Lady and himself. She’s a shape-changer and one of those ultra-dimensional creatures you folks call angels. She says the real thing belongs in its proper place, hidden one dimension above us, carrying and sounding the Tone of Creation.”

  Father Tortelli went white. “Mio Dio!” he said as he crossed himself. “Then it is true. The God of Our Fathers pre-dates any of our known civilizations.”

  “Yes, Father,” Penn continued. “You people are newcomers, the Jewish meanderings that resulted in the Old Testament, the legends and myths created around the famous ‘B.C.’ epoch—all new stuff compared to this magnificent cornerstone of the tones that created Creation itself!”

  The priest thought for a minute. “Supposing the capsule is in its rightful place. Then there would no longer be reason to seek it out—”

  “—for a museum piece or another trinket tucked away in the bowels of the Vatican,” I said, knowing how the Catholics were great collectors of such memorabilia.

  “Let her be now,” Jedediah spoke up. “When something is home, where she belongs and balance is restored, then it is time to quietly bless that moment and move on, gentlemen.”

  “There is one catch, you know,” I said. “On that day when the so-called Tone of Creation is restored to the golden capsule, the microfilm destroyed, and the phony replica vanishes, I suspect there will be a wrath let loose upon the world. I have a feeling this ‘Order’ of aliens or whoever they are, does not take kindly to betrayal.”

  The three of us looked at each other. “Indeed, it is a frightening prospect. But one must ask why they sought the Fen de Fuqin in the first place. Surely, not as a Chinese souvenir,” Dr. Penn said. Then he looked up at Fath
er Carlo Tortelli. “Tell me truly, did you intend to simply lock the capsule away in safekeeping—or do you have laboratories—and would you have experimented in search of its secrets?”

  “I would suggest the latter. Many secretive objects have been scrutinized, studied and implemented through scientific experimentation. By virtue of its alleged power, it only makes sense the Church would wish to delve into the essence of the Fen de Fuqin," Tortelli commented.

  “In my humble opinion, gentlemen, therein lies the rub. You do remember the Photonos, Audianos bit, don’t you?” The priest looked stumped. “The God of Light got together with the God of Sound. Their togetherness was supposed to spell out the origin of creation, plus a whole lot of other crap I don’t comprendo—”