Love Me or Kill Me

by James P. Alsphert

  I must have looked like Dusty the Clown standing there in Benedict Royce’s over-sized suit. “Look, lady, I’m Cable Denning, I’ve been hired by Mr. Royce to—well, what the hell!” I pushed the lady aside and went for the elevator. She followed me and pulled at me all the way up to the imposing doors to Eden’s suite. I knocked. There was a rustling inside and soon Eden Royce came to the door. But before she could speak, a rather distinguished looking older man came out of her quarters and brushed past me, not saying a word.

  Eden Royce looked at me. “Business is brisk tonight, isn’t it, Mr. Denning? Are you here to bore me again—or make love? If the first, you can go home right now. I charge more to be bored—if the latter, it’s three in the morning—I charge triple after two. So what will it be?”

  I pushed the door aside. “Stop the games, Eden. We’ve gotta talk now.” She motioned for the little dish in the blue robe to go. She closed the door and turned to look at me and snickered. “Have you been in a theatrical production? Now, don’t tell me…Barney the Bum—or maybe Pete the Clown…? Has anyone told you how ridiculous you—”

  “—Crickle’s dead, your sister, father and mother are holed up in the secret chamber at Neptunia—and frankly, I’m surprised you’re not dead yet.”

  She looked at me, checking my eyes out. “Yep, you’re telling the truth alright. So what do you want me to do about it? Life is good for me here, business is the best it’s ever been, I’m rich and still beautiful and I fuck who I want when I want to—including you. What else is there, Mr. Private ‘Dick’?”

  “Oh, there’s the little matter of your life hanging in the balance, Eden. Whoever’s trying to bump off your family shot at Zephyr and me earlier this afternoon, after they killed Crickle. I have this distinct feeling you’re next. Now, what’s it gonna be—come with me—or end up in pieces in the cemetery of your choice?”

  “Oh, you are soooo melodramatic, Cable Denning. I told you once—and I’ll tell you again—I’m staying here to rake in the dough and fuck my little brains out when I get the notion. By the way, you were the best I’ve had in a long time. Anytime you want to have a love-hate rematch, just whistle.”

  I’d had enough of this broad. I turned and started toward the door. She chased after me. Suddenly she was affecting her sultry, sensual voice again, the one I’d heard on the telephone the day I first met her. “Please, Mr. Policeman, stay with me awhile. I’m—I’m all worked up from that poor rich slob you met on the way out. He can’t perform with his you-know-what, so he likes to lick me all over. So…now I’m ready for a real man—what do you say, big boy?”

  “I’ve been there with you, Eden, and as pleasant as it was—you’re a cheap dame with lousy taste—including me. I’d be the last guy I’d pick for a good roll in the hay. You know why? Because I’m sexual, hard-driven, treacherous and hard-living! I drink, smoke, chase skirts all over town and hang out in dingy, smoky nightclubs late at night, hanging on to every word of some pretty doll in pink sequins singing a favorite tune. Existing like that leaves you with a mixed taste in your mouth, lady, the one that says life stinks and every once in a while if you’re lucky, you find someone decent and loyal—someone who’s capable of real love—and she teaches you there’s more than screwing under satin sheets in your penthouse here, but that plain and simple still works in this world. I cheated on her with you and I’ve been trying to get the taste out of my mouth ever since.”

  Eden Royce stood there still holding my arm. Then, all the wind had gone out of her sails and she dropped it along with her phony voice. She walked away, then turned back to look at me. “If this woman could ever love a man, it would be you. But unlike your mysterious lover, I’m not capable of being someone. You see, Cable, I’m a non-entity who picks up identities along the way. I’m a saint on Sundays and a whore on Wednesdays. I’m a businesswoman on Tuesday and a contributor to charity on Friday afternoon fund-raisers. Look at me, do you know who I am? I don’t. I can’t change, ex-copper, because I have nothing to change to. Tell my Mother and Daddy I’m the lost sheep who didn’t come home—and let it go at that. Good night, Mr. Denning.” She turned and went into another room. I put on my hat and left, feeling I had failed at my last task in securing the safety of the entire Royce clan.

  When I got back to the office, for the moment I had forgotten Adora and I had a cottage together. It was past four in the morning. But I knew she’d worry, so I called. “Hola! Cable! You okey-dokey, mi amor?”

  “Yeah, it’s me, babe. I had quite a day and I’m here at the office. I think I’ll just plop here for the night. I’ve got to get the Royce family up and away tomorrow, capture and contain a happy little pet dolphin, and shift the folks around until it’s time to depart. I promise I’ll be with you tomorrow night. The night after, I gotta take the train with them to an undisclosed location. Sorry, babe, but I’ll be gone for a while.”

  Her voice seemed sad. Lo siento, también, señor. I miss you and want you, Cable. Por favor, come home pronto, mi querido.”

  “I will, babe, I promise. And when this thing blows over, I’ll take you away for a couple of days, how’s that?”

  Her voice lit up at the other end. “Promesa? Entonces, cuando, cuando, cuando, mi amor?”

  “We’ll discuss it tomorrow night. I love you, Adora Moreno,” I declared, feeling all the feelings possible for me to experience in this world, with this beautiful woman. “Do you still like the cottage? Are you happy there, Adora?”

  “Oh, sí, Cable. Mucho. Only you are missing.”

  We hung up and I crashed on my bed. But as soon as my head hit the pillow I began to dream. Since I was a kid I’ve been good at dreaming. Maybe it was a way to escape a dismal, tough childhood. It was one of those dreams where everything got mixed up. I was walking on San Simeon Point with Honey and we could see Hearst Castle above us on the hill, the fog parting to reveal the gleaming white towers in the morning sun. It was like that day we had walked amongst the sweet smell of Eucalyptus trees. She was happy and her honey-colored hair was blowing in the morning breezes, her blue eyes smiling at me. Then suddenly I was standing in front of her grave, looking down into the dark abyss where her coffin lay, before the final shovelfuls of dirt sealed her away from me forever. I heard her beautiful voice calling to me and then it turned into a song…a song that haunted me from the first time I’d heard her sing it at the Bella Notte. Her soft, sexy voice was singing those poignant lyrics of Irving Berlin’s What’ll I Do? and she was reminding me how far away we were from each other. “When I’m alone with only dreams of you, that won’t come true, what’ll I do?” she concluded. Then her arm reached up from out of the grave and she pulled me to her, and I felt myself floating down into the darkness to join her. Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder and it was Crazy Jack asking me for a cigarette and telling me I mustn’t go down there, I mustn’t succumb to the darkness of the dearly departed Honey Combes, I must fight to keep on top of things, fight to go on living and breathing and loving—and vanquishing the bad guys who made up a disproportionate part of the world…guys who would sell out their mothers for the next buck or bid for power. I was crying and Crazy Jack took his dirty sleeve and wiped my tears. Then suddenly I was ripped out of the dream.

  It must have been ten or so in the morning when I heard a persistent banging at my office door. I put on some pants and stumbled into my office. I ambled to the door. “Yeah, who is it?”

  “Cigarette! Cigarette! Jack! Jack see Cable! Open!”

  “Crazy Jack?” I asked, still in a fog from my dream.

  “I don’t know! I don’t know! Let Jack in. Cigarette!”

  I opened the door and let my old disheveled little friend enter. Crazy Jack was one of those leftovers that society had already written off. No one knew whether he was truly crazy or a man so gifted with psychic powers, that even he became overwhelmed by them, and so appeared to people as a misfit, subsisting on Skid Row, a wandering derelict forgotten by most of the world. But I’d seen
Jack in action…heard him predict with deadly accuracy, events the average Joe Blow had no clue about. “Damn, Jack, you were just in a dream of mine—how the hell?—”

  “—Cigarette! Cigarette!” he demanded. So I went to my desk, opened a fresh pack of Lucky Strikes, took the first one out, gave it to him and tucked the rest of the pack into his vest pocket. I lit his cigarette for him. He took a big drag and settled down a bit. “Crazy Jack not see Cable—long time. Blonde girl gone now…dark girl Cable love…go now, go out, leave…danger come fast! But I don’t know! I don’t know!”

  “Not again, Jack. You know, it seems ever since I’ve known you you’ve been warning me about the next impending disaster about to come crashing down on me like a summer thunder storm.” I took out a cigarette for myself and lit up. “Yeah, it’s been a while. In fact, I was going to pop in on you and get your drift on the Royce family thing I’m involved in just now. Can you pick them up or something? Can you get them outta town safely?”

  He did an unusual thing. He grabbed my wrist and closed his eyes. He was always trembling, so the feel of his nervous body went rankling through my own. “Go now. Warm water fish girl…save…okay. Other girl…danger…big man, die. But I don’t know! I don’t know!”

  “Crazy Jack! Hell…I wish we could have an ordinary conversation here. I always get bits and pieces from you. How am I supposed to figure it out—I mean, when you toss me all this shit on the installment plan?”

  Just then there was a knock at the door. Since I was in only a pair of pants standing there with a crazy man from Skid Row, I cleared my throat and spoke authoritatively. “Yeah, who’s there?”

  “It’s me, Cable, Daddy and I are waiting for you down below in the moving truck. Did you forget? You know, Lexie and all?”

  I opened the door and there stood the young and comely Zephyr Royce. “No, babe, I—I just over slept, that’s all.”

  She looked at me, a slight smile on her lips. “I didn’t remember so much hair on your chest. Did you grow some last night?” she kidded me.

  “Oh, by the way, this is Crazy Jack—Jack, this is Zephyr Royce, the—the fish-girl you were describing.”

  Zephyr was more prepared than most people to accept Jack as she found him. “Hello, Crazy Jack—pleased to meet you—are you a friend of Cable’s?—he’s certainly a friend of mine—I mean, sort of a new one—”

  “—I don’t know! I don’t know!” came Jack’s standard reply. He looked her over. “Pretty fish-girl—pretty baby boy, fish boy!” he exclaimed. “But I don’t know! I don’t know!”

  I thanked Crazy Jack, got dressed in a flash and soon Zephyr, Royce and I were down at the beach looking for Lexie. We had prepared a blanket-sling for him and when Zephyr found him and explained what we were going to do, the reluctant little dolphin allowed himself to be carried in the sling up to a small tank in the back of our rented covered truck. As fast as we could legally drive the large truck, we drove to a freight terminal in East Los Angeles. There we found a specially assigned boxcar that had “Royce” written on the outside. I immediately told the yardman to erase it—for sure, it would be a dead giveaway to the thugs who now sought us out for their next killing spree. When Lexie was safely in his cozy tank, Zephyr remained with him and a small suitcase she had taken for miscellaneous items, including a few stinky fish to feed Lexie on the long trip to Florida. I promised I’d be back tomorrow evening by the time the train was scheduled to depart. Zephyr hugged me and then on an impulse, kissed me strongly on the lips. “That’s what I felt like doing in the shower last night, Cable. I’m—I’m still pulsing down there…you know…”

  I smiled sheepishly at her and left. Benedict Royce drove me to my office. He parked the truck and turned the motor off. I cautioned him to be extra careful when he gets on the passenger train tomorrow night and Zephyr and I would see him and his wife when we arrived two days later. “I don’t know what you did, Cable, but whatever it was, you brought my daughter back to me.” He reached into his pocket for an envelope. “Just a token of my esteem and respect for you, young man. And although you failed at bringing Eden back with you, I’m sure you did everything in your power to persuade her.”

  I took the envelope without opening it. “Thanks, Royce. It’s been a bumpy ride, but it isn’t over yet. Eden’s got the same split personality Zephyr had when I first met her. She’s stubborn as hell.”

  He reflected. “Just like me in my youth. Zephyr had always been somewhat favored by my wife and me, but we still love Eden and want her home—I mean, her new home. Are you sure there’s no way to bring her to us?”

  “Yeah, I could hogtie her and bring her in fighting, kicking and scratching. But you know, Royce—”

  “—please, call me Benedict. We can dispense with the formality of last names at this point”

  “Sure, why not? When I was a kid, I never knew the last names of most of the boys I played with. Did you? But as far as Eden goes, you can lead the horse to the water, but you can’t make her drink it.”

  “No, I suppose not. She’s a grown woman with her own mind. I…uh… didn’t play with friends much in my youth—more or less a loner. May I ask what brought about the integration of Fiona and Zephyr, and so, the miraculous return of my daughter?”

  “Far as I can figure, a bump on the head. It seems she was changing back and forth faster than a light switch. When I pursued her in the ocean cave, she fell on the rocks, and hit her head. Lexie saved us and when I gave her artificial respiration on the beach, she came to as a different girl.”

  “Thank goodness, Cable, and many thanks to you.” He took a deep breath and checked me out. “I…I, uh, think Zephyr’s in love with you. You may as well know, it’s doubtful she’s ever known a man. Please be gentle with her. She has no idea how cruel a man can be when it’s just for sexual pleasure—”

  “—I don’t need the lecture, Benedict. Eden told me about your proclivity for sex only for procreation. So I know your stance. Just don’t mess with my preferences—or your daughter’s. As far as I’m concerned, she’s safe with me. I have someone I’m in love with, and that’s not about to change because of your lovely little sea-daughter.”

  “I’m thankful to you, Cable. See you in Miami?”

  “Yep, day after tomorrow. Now, you and your Mathilda stay low…down in your little hideout if I were you—and is there a phone there—just in case I have to reach you?”

  “Yes, same number as upstairs. Okay, Cable—we’ll see you in the land of swamps and grapefruit.” I got out of the truck and made my way up to my office. I opened the envelope Royce had given me. Five thousand more bucks! I was becoming the most independently wealthy private dick in L.A.! I took out the dough and tucked it away in a secret compartment under my comfy desk chair.

  I sat at my desk, reveling in the events of the past few days. I was also looking forward to being with my Adora tonight, when the phone rang. “There’s a warning bell in a familiar cave…you will die anyway, but I wouldn’t hurry it if I were you…get off the Royce case.” Then he hung up. I sat there suddenly shaken out of my good luck feelin’. When something like that happens, all the other bad things that you’ve shoved away, come rushing out of their little corners to remind you. I was thinking of two things Crazy Jack had sputtered when he woke me up this morning. ‘Other girl danger…big man die…’ he’d told me. I was sure he was talking about Eden Royce and her father. But how was I to save them? And now I had to figure out what that warning phone call was all about. The only other caves I knew about other than the one in the oceanic sea stack, were the Bronson Caves, up in Griffith Park. I grabbed a flashlight and had just started for the door when the man I had sold Honey’s Packard to showed up and insisted that I return the car immediately and that I was no longer privileged to borrow it. I gave him the keys and suddenly I was without wheels again.

  I took a cab up Canyon Drive to the Bronson Park gateway. It was early November, 1930, and it had just rained. The perfume of decaying
weeds, bushes and leaves filled the afternoon air. I walked briskly up the trail toward the caves. When the world smelled this good, it was hard to feel that anything could be wrong with it. And, you know, maybe there wasn’t anything at all wrong with the world. It was people that caused the shit to rain down on this poor, unsuspecting planet. Who could imagine that a group of errant apes with brains too big for their britches would violate the highest and purest codes of a beautiful planet? I was thinking of the poison gases used in World War One, the war to end all wars, I was told. But I doubted that. The money was too good, the power too intoxicating for war-mongers, politicians, the restless rich and the discontented, psychopathic criminals that ran the world. No, someone would conjure up a new war, a new super-criminal would emerge under the pretext of doing good for his people and a new dictator would be born to snuff out yet another generation of hopefuls, intending to fulfill the idealistic vision of a perfect world.

  I approached the caves and took out my flashlight. There was no one around, so I entered the larger of the two entrances. One branched to the left, so I took it and followed it through as it wound around to the other side, checking out the sides of the walls for anything suspicious. Young lovers came giggling through and greeted me. I smiled faintly and they went on their way. The wind was blowing through the caves and I thought I could hear a small bell somewhere. I continued to search. Nothing. Then as a stronger breeze swept through the cave and the bell rang louder, I followed the sound to near the main entrance. The bell was ringing right above my head, hanging around the neck of a very white and dead Eden Royce! Someone had used mountain climbing pitons and spiked her to the top of the cave and hung the bell around her neck so it hung about six inches below her body. I felt ill as I stood there in the restless breezes, looking at Eden’s limp body and blonde hair hanging down. Another brutal, senseless murder by a diabolical sect of thugs bent on ruling the world. For a last time, I looked up at Eden Royce’s lifeless, body. In that moment I was reminded somehow about the three pigs who had different choices on how to build their houses before the big bad wolf would huff and puff and try to blow their houses down. Well, Eden’s had been the house built of straw and they nailed her—literally.