We retraced our steps, got back in, followed the road some more to another trail. We stomped off down it and followed it as it went around a couple of huge boulders. Deanna was a little behind me. I turned my head to say something and saw a chunk of rock sticking twenty feet out of the ground. One side of it was flat.
“I want to take a look at that big rock,” I said. “Coming?”
“Wherever you go, I go.”
We navigated our way to it. By the time we were ten yards away we knew we were there. The peace sign was vague and parts of it were gone altogether. But if you squinted …
We threw our arms around each other and jumped up and down like Wheel of Fortune contestants. This wasted half the energy we had left. We returned to the trail and followed it. It went down a hill and spliced into another path. At the end of this one, we saw a clump of palm trees off in the distance.
The second trail ended at the top of a rock-strewn slope. A little beyond the bottom was a vague path that went into a gap in some rocks. We picked our way down, holding onto each other for support. Grit and stones sifted out from under our shoes. We half-walked, half-slid to the bottom and made for the opening between the rocks. We entered a narrow corridor, like a mini-Grand Canyon. The farther we got in the higher the walls went. For some reason I thought of The Lost World, that movie where latter-day dinosaurs inhabited an area not unlike the one we were in. My neck hair prickled. I stepped up my pace.
The good thing about the canyon was that it put us in shade. It was cooler, though just barely. We kept going and going and began to wonder if we were wrong about the whole thing. The path curved around and the walls on either side abruptly ended and we were thrust into the glaring sunlight. There was nothing to indicate which way to go. We went straight, up a shallow slope. Three steps after we reached the top we could see Toby’s hideaway.
There was a pond in the center, and five palm trees, one of them dead, spread around its periphery. The whole setup stood in front of a tall cliff. A decrepit wood shack more or less stood directly across the pond. A cable led from a pole on top of the cliff to a pipe sticking out of the remains of the roof. Another structure was alongside the shack, a backyard utility shed. Another length of pipe went from the wood shack to the metal one. To the left of the utility shed a backyard barbecue sat with its orange lid open. Further to the left was a ring of stones with the remains of burnt logs scattered within. More items were scattered on the ground, a dead beach chair and a portable cooler and a couple of empty orange crates.
We moved down the last slope, circumnavigated the pond, came to the skeleton of the shack. “This is where he kept his stuff,” I said. “He had an amp in here, a big Fender I think. I don’t know how the hell he got it in here.” I pointed at the metal shed. “Or that either. It’s new. Wasn’t there when I was here.”
“Look around,” Deanna said. “What impression do you get?”
I scanned the immediate area, then farther out, to the far edge of the pond. “That no one’s been here lately.”
She nodded. “I think he’s long gone.”
“I think so too. But it was a hell of an idea while it lasted.” I rapped on the wall of the metal hut. “Maybe we’ll find something in here.”
“Can’t hurt to look. I’m sure Toby won’t mind.”
The door was latched. I opened it a couple of inches, then cautiously swung it the rest of the way. I didn’t want to waltz into a nest of rattlesnakes.
It took my eyes several seconds to adjust. When they had, I saw a cot-size mattress taking up half the floor. Someone was on it, lying very still. I inched aside to let Deanna look.
“He’s not moving,” she said. “If it’s him.”
“I’ve had more than my share of stumbling over dead bodies,” I said, “and I’m not eager for this to be another. But I suppose we ought to be sure.” I stepped closer and knelt by the mattress. I leaned forward to see if it was Toby. I didn’t know if I’d recognize him, but what else could I do?
When I got close enough to get a good look I closed my eyes. When I opened them he didn’t look any different. I stayed there staring until Deanna said, “Is he dead?”
I turned to look at her over my shoulder. She stood outlined against the rectangle of blue sky a million miles beyond the doorway.
“Dead?” I said. “He’s more than dead. He’s a mummy.”
Say It Ain’t So, Joe
We found a flashlight in the shed. We didn’t expect it to work, and it didn’t disappoint us. We found a couple of batteries with an expiration date several years back. But the Energizer Bunny was working overtime. There was enough juice to get the flashlight lit. I pointed it at the mummy for a closer look.
Picture a big piece of beef jerky with arms and legs, clad only in the remains of a pair of thin cotton shorts. The skin was stretched close over his bones, so tightly it was shiny in some places. Looking at him wasn’t as bad as you might have expected. He resembled an alien artifact more than a dead person.
Only the eyes were repellent. They looked like raisins, creased and sunken in their sockets. You think of mummies, you don’t think of eyes. Not until you’ve seen some.
“How could this happen?” Deanna said.
“I guess if you die out here in the heat and dryness … maybe it’s too dry for the bacteria or whatever that usually turn dead people to mush.”
“How long do you think he’s been here?”
“Got me. A month? Ten years?”
“If it’s him, who’s been showing up to play those gigs?”
“Some clever impersonator.”
“You really think that?”
I stood to relieve the ache in my knees. “I don’t know what I think.” I turned her around and gave her a nudge to get her outside. I took one more look at the thing on the mattress and walked out too.
“What do we do now?” she said.
“Build him a pyramid?”
“That’s not funny.”
“Then why are you laughing?”
“I’m not laughing.”
“Giggling, then.”
“I probably have heatstroke. Though it is funny, in a way.” She let loose a final snicker. “We wander around in the desert for two days, and all we come up with is a mummy.”
“Stop complaining. The Israelites wandered in the desert for forty years.”
“But at least they had that golden calf to eat. What am I talking about?”
I put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a shock, finding him dead. More of a shock finding him looking like Lon Chaney.”
She placed a hand atop mine. “What do we do now?”
“We could carry him out of here. I’m sure he doesn’t weigh much.”
“You’re not serious, are you?”
“No.” I turned back to the metal mausoleum. “I think the best thing is to leave him here. Just get the hell out, pretend we never came, leave him be.”
“I suppose you’re right. After I tell him what I came here to tell him.”
I took back my hand. “I’ll be around somewhere. Take your time.”
“Don’t wander too far.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
I turned and walked away. The door squeaked as Deanna went back into the shed. I walked around the pond, stopping directly opposite Toby’s lonely settlement. I snatched up one of the rocks at the water’s edge and tried to skim it across the surface. It sank like a stone. Not surprising. I’d never skimmed one in forty-eight years of trying. There was no reason I should succeed now.
I tried another, with the same result. I picked up one more, but held onto it. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself at fifteen, high as a kite, a city boy out of his element. It was no use. I had no connection with the place. I couldn’t imagine why I’d come.
I took out the two photos. I looked at the one of Toby first, but found I’d wrung all the memories I could from it. Then I looked at the other, the two car-wash girls. I wondered what would have h
appened if Toby and I had gotten to know them. Maybe we wouldn’t have even made it out to the desert.
I wandered away from the pond to take a leak. It was the first time since breakfast. Most of the water I’d taken in had been sweated out. My urine was deep yellow, almost orange. The ground was too dry for it to soak in, and it flowed into a depression and pooled up.
It’s funny what kicks off a memory. A photo of a couple of teenage girls, a puddle of pee …
Deanna was in the shed half an hour. I didn’t ask what she did in there, and she didn’t volunteer the information. I was waiting outside when she emerged. I told her she’d inspired me to say my own private good-bye. I assured her it would only take a few minutes. She told me to take as long as I needed and walked away.
I went in and closed the door behind me. It only took a couple of minutes to do what I needed to.
Deanna was surprised when I came out so quickly, but she didn’t say a word. She just turned and started back, and so did I. Partway through the narrow passage there was a noise above, something skittering around, a coyote, a ghost, I don’t know. She squealed, I yelped, we wrapped our arms around each other and looked up. Nothing there. We exchanged foolish grins and started back again. She hung onto my hand the whole way.
I pulled in at a hydrant in front of Deanna’s place. She said she’d call in a couple of days, after we’d both soaked everything in, and we could talk about it then. I didn’t think she’d call and I didn’t much care. Nothing personal; we’d just been two people with a common goal, and now there was nothing to connect us. We shared an across-the-seat hug and she got out. I watched her safely in the door of the building and found a 7-Eleven. I called Gina, told her I was back, said I was coming over.
It took longer to get there than it should have. There was a disturbance at Hollywood and La Brea. A Disney cartoon was opening and someone was protesting, Arabs or feminists or Arab feminists. I had to skirt around and got stuck at every light.
I found a spot, went upstairs, rang the bell. The door opened. Gina stood there, squirming, with an arm wrapped around her from the back. There was blood all over her cheek and some trickling from her mouth.
The arm belonged to Darren Chapman. The hand at the end of his other one held a gun.
Cat’s in the Cupboard
“You son of a—” The gun was suddenly six inches from my face. I shut up.
“Get over there,” he said. “You too, bitch.”
Bitch was Gina. Over there was the living room.
We followed orders. The next one was to get on the sofa. We followed that one too.
“I’m sorry,” Gina said. “I shouldn’t have opened the door for him. I thought it was you. You called and the timing was right and—”
“Shut up.” He was standing in front of the television, right where Aricela had sat watching Dick Van Dyke think aliens had invaded.
Aricela?
Stay best friends with someone enough years, you develop a kind of telepathy. I turned an inch toward Gina. She knew what I was asking. A slight eye movement told me Aricela was on the premises and that Darren Chapman didn’t know it.
“Okay,” he said. “Who should I do first?” The gun went between Gina and me, back and forth, back and forth.
“Why do you have to do either one of us?” Gina said.
“Oh, no,” he said. “Not that old trick. I’ve seen it in too many movies. The hero keeps the killer talking, the killer explains everything, the hero figures out a plan.” He came around the back of the couch, poked the gun behind Gina’s ear, nuzzled it through her hair. “I think I’ll do you first. Spare you seeing your boyfriend get shot. You, Portugal, get to see her brains blown out before—”
“I’m your father,” I said.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I slept with your mother the last time I saw her. I’m your father.”
“Really.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And what year was this?”
“‘70.”
“Really.”
“One. ’71.”
“I was born in ’74. I knew my mother was capable of some weird shit, but carrying me for three years … nice try.”
He stepped back. If I was going to do anything—anything better than pretending we were Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader—this was the time. If I could just—
“Please put the gun down, mister.”
He froze. But only for an instant. My chance had come and I’d blown it. Because I was as surprised as he was.
He looked toward the hall, smiled, and walked around the sofa so he had all three of us in his line of sight. Gina. Me. And Aricela. Who he’d already shot once, most likely. Woz had said the guy he chased had a shaved head. Vinnie Mann, probably. It was Darren in the alley.
She was at the end of the hall, holding the gun Woz gave me in the alley. It was pointed at Darren, though her hand was shaking so much it was hard to tell. How had she found it? Did she see me put it away?
No. It was her snooping. Like in the drawer for the money, and in the closet for the photos, and in Gina’s dresser for God knew what. She’d been poking around the closet and got up on a chair and found the shoebox. And now she was dashing to the rescue.
Too bad I’d taken the bullets out.
“Leave her alone!” Gina started for Darren. A quick wave of the gun sent her back.
“Put it down,” Aricela said. She was clearly scared to death. Just as clearly, ready to do what she had to.
“Or what, little girl? You going to shoot me? You going to shoot the big bad man before he shoots your friends here?”
“If you make me.”
“Stop it,” Gina said. “She’s just a kid!”
“You’re right,” Darren said. “Wouldn’t want to shoot a kid. Not first, anyway.”
Now or never.
I pushed off the sofa and flung myself at him. The gun wavered, moved toward me.
I tripped over Gina’s feet.
“Okay,” he said. “That’s it. You win. You get shot first.”
I closed my eyes.
The gun went off, incredibly loud in the confines of the living room.
I opened my eyes.
It was getting old, this business about thinking I was going to get shot, and it not happening. With Woz in the record store. With Vinnie Mann on the beach. And now, with Darren. Speaking of whom …
He’d staggered back against the wall. Now he was sliding down it. I expected him to leave a smear of red as he sank, like in the movies, but he didn’t. The bullet must not have gone through. It was a little bullet. From a little gun. A girl’s gun. She must have hit something vital.
Like animatronic dummies, Gina and I swung our heads toward Aricela.
She stood with her hands loosely at her sides. The gun dangled from one. The fear was gone. So was the determination. What was left was mostly sadness. At having her precious youth drain away, maybe. Or maybe that was making too much of it. Maybe she was sad because she’d just gone through more in a week or two than any child should have to go through in a lifetime.
She tried to focus on Gina, on me, on anything. Then she looked at the man she’d shot, sitting leaning against the wall like he was just taking a nap. She dropped the gun and began to cry.
The Song Is Over
I spent five seconds wondering where the bullet had come from. Another ten or twelve trying to figure out why Darren Chapman had been, one had to assume, behind the Platypus hunt. At the moment, that was all the thought either was worth.
Aricela cried until the first knock at the door told us the law had arrived. Then she put on a tough guy act. Gina took her in hand and led her to the bedroom. I didn’t see either of them for a while. Then one of the cops insisted on talking to her, and she sat on the bed with Gina holding one hand and me the other and calmly answered questions.
When they put it together that Aricela wasn’t our kid, somebody called the Family Services people.
Their representative showed up, a tall skinny guy in a tall skinny suit, and made noises about bringing charges against us for endangerment. I put up with him until he used the word kidnapping, at which I went off at him, shouting how none of this would have happened if his people had been able to keep a thirteen-year-old girl in custody. I almost got physical, but Kalenko wrapped me up from behind and dragged me away.
A couple of dozen people came through altogether. Lots of cops, both uniformed and un-. Even my old friend Hector Casillas, who’d heard my name bandied about in the station and came to see what new mischief I’d gotten into. Someone with an FBI ID flashed it in my face before getting involved in a jurisdictional disagreement. A series of crime scene people arrived, coroners and technicians and a guy whose only function seemed to be waiting until everyone was done and zipping Darren into a body bag.
About two hours in, I saw Bonnie outside the door, talking to a couple of cops. She looked my way and we locked eyes and it was clear there’d been some things she hadn’t told me. Then another policeman blocked my view and when he moved she’d gone elsewhere. That was the last I saw of her that night.
After that, it took another hour and more for things to calm down. The body was gone and so were most of the crime scene crowd. Kalenko was still there, plus one uniformed cop standing outside the front door, a final technician with a fine-tooth comb, and an FBI agent standing silent in the dining room. Kalenko’d told me why the FBI had such an interest. They’d been trying to use the situation to flush out Elizabeth and Quentin Baker. That was why they’d kept quiet about the unaccounted-for child who’d lived at the ax murder site. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but the FBI seldom does.
The tall skinny Family Services guy had been joined by a short skinny woman. They’d closeted themselves with Aricela, no doubt quizzing her on the miserable treatment she’d gotten at our hands. Finally they came out, the woman guiding Aricela by the shoulder, the man following behind. The kid looked like she hadn’t slept in days. She shook off the hand and ran to us. Gina took her in her arms.
One Last Hit (Joe Portugal Mysteries) Page 25
