Sci Fiction Classics Volume 4

by Vol 4 (v1. 2) (epub)

Then there were the customers. A few were at the bar and a few were scattered around but most of them were packed like Vienna sausages against one wall. There was plenty of room and no need for the press of bodies—no need but one, and the busy hands told what that was. A few watched the movies but mostly they watched each other. One of the dancers was waving around a hardon and was getting some attention but not much. A couple of dykes at the bar watched him. I guess this is the only chance they have to see one.

  I spotted the back of the redhead in the middle of the mass, so I waded in. There's no way to move through something like that. No one can move out of your way; they're just as trapped as you are. You just wait and move with the current because the pack is in constant eddy as they move from one body to the next, trying to touch everything.

  It was no more than thirty seconds before I felt feather touches on my ass. I thought about my wallet, but I knew that wasn't what they were after. I pushed away the first hand that closed on my crotch and saw a pout of disappointment flicker across a face in front of mine. I put my wallet in my shirt pocket anyway.

  After five minutes and fifty gropes, I finally reached the redhead, but he was turned the other way. I was pressed against him and could feel his hard body. By pushing with determination, I managed to get to the side of him. He was standing face to face with another guy. Both of them had their eyes closed and their mouths slightly open, occasionally coming together in a lazy kiss. Their hands were out of sight, but I could feel the movement. It wasn't him.

  This was one of the pretty ones. I might even have said beautiful if I hadn't seen the other one. But, like Cunningham, he was ordinary in comparison.

  He opened his eyes and saw me watching him and he smiled dreamily. I felt a hand massaging my crotch but I couldn't tell for sure if it was him. I was so disappointed I didn't push it away. Then my zipper went down and fingers expertly scooped everything out. The press was so tight I couldn't even get my arms down, much less move away. Whoever was working on me was very good and I couldn't help getting it up.

  Jesus Christ!

  I had a wild urge to take out my badge and shove it in every face in sight. I enjoyed my mental image of the panic it would create. But I didn't do it. I forced my arms down, pushed the clutching hands away, closed my pants, and got the hell out of there.

  When I went into the locker room about eleven thirty, Carnehan already had his uniform on, sitting there reading a copy of the Advocate and eating an apple. He looked up when I rattled my locker.

  "Hey, Lou! You missed a great dinner."

  "It couldn't be helped, Carnehan."

  "Don't forget about Wednesday."

  "I won't."

  I took off my shirt and remembered my wallet was still in the pocket. I put it on the shelf and took off my pants. I grabbed a towel and headed for the shower. I felt clammy. I must have sweated off a pound in that damn bar. Those groping bodies can generate a lot of heat.

  Carnehan laughed out loud. He came toward me waving the newspaper. "Hey, Lou! Did you see this cartoon in the Advocate?"

  "Why in hell would I be reading the Advocate?"

  "Look, there's these two cops standing before a judge with a handcuffed fag and a hooker. One of the cops is saying, 'But Your Honor, you can get hurt chasing robbers and murderers.' Isn't that a scream?"

  "Ha ha," I said and went on to the showers. He started rushing around the room showing it to everyone else.

  I was almost finished when Cunningham came in. He turned on the water and stood under it, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed and a sappy grin on his face.

  "You look like the cat that swallowed the aviary," I said.

  He sighed. "I am exhausted!"

  "Let me guess from what."

  "I met the most fantastic girl! A waitress at the Hamburger Hamlet on the Strip. I'm gonna give it two weeks and, if I'm still alive, I'm gonna propose." He rubbed his hand between his legs. "I tell you, Rankin, I didn't know I had it in me. Boy, I'd like to see Wharton try to convince her I'm a repressed homosexual."

  I laughed dutifully. He began soaping and glanced down at me.

  "You look a little shriveled up yourself. Have a big night?" He grinned good-naturedly, wanting to share his sexual excitement.

  "Yeah. Some women are just as happy with size as they are with technique."

  He looked a little wistful for a moment, then the grin returned. "Shit! If I had your size and my technique, I'd quit the force, put an ad in the Free Press, and open a screwing service."

  And I wondered about him again. With that face and that body, did he worry about size and technique? How did women react to him? Were they intimidated by his beauty? Was he as beautiful in bed?

  I saw him going into the Vogue Record Shop on the Boulevard. This time there was no mistake. I told Carnehan to park the car and meet me at the entrance. When I went through the turnstiles, I saw him leaning against the end of the counter. I walked into the book department and watched him from behind a rack of paperbacks.

  He had his back to me and it took me a moment to figure out what he was doing. The cashier was playing the Symphonie Fantastique—it was the passage where the two shepherds are calling to each other on their flutes and, at the end, one doesn't answer—and he was standing there listening to the music. Then he turned slightly and I could see his face.

  I could feel the skin crawling on the back of my neck.

  It wasn't the same one!

  It was all there: the red hair, the magnificent body, the neutral beauty of the bland face. But the features were different. He had to be the other one's brother, they were so alike.

  The lights in the store were very bright. No one else was in the place but the cashier and she had her nose in a paperback volume of Toynbee. His clothes were clean and neatly pressed, but they were old and hadn't cost much when they were new. His hair was neat and not very long. His face was so smooth I doubted that he shaved. And his eyes were gray—just as beautiful and as neutral as the rest of him.

  Finally the record ended and he left. I glanced at the book I had been holding. The cover was a photograph of Burt Reynolds standing with his back to the camera looking over his shoulder. He was wearing nothing but a football jersey, with his bare ass hanging out. I closed the book, put it back on the rack, and for some reason thought of Betty Grable.

  The cashier never even looked up when he went out. Carnehan, standing on the sidewalk looking confused, never glanced at him as he walked by. The girl was watching me. She smiled but her eyes were guarded.

  "Did you know the man who just went out?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

  She glanced out the door, but he had turned left toward Las Palmas. She looked back at me. "I don't think so, officer. Did he do something?"

  "No. I just thought I'd seen him before. Maybe in the movies or on television."

  She shrugged. "Movie stars come in here all the time. Jo Anne Worley was in yesterday. Wendell Burton comes in every once in a while."

  "Thanks." I left before she could give me a complete catalogue of the celebrities she'd seen. She raised her voice as I went out the door.

  "Chad Everett was in a couple of weeks ago, but I was off that day."

  I looked down the Boulevard but didn't see him. I told Carnehan to wait for me and went after him. At Las Palmas I looked in every direction, but there was no sign of him. The hustlers standing around the Gold Cup pretended to ignore me, but a couple of drag queens gave me defiant looks.

  There was another bad one that night on the off-ramp at Western. Four cars were scattered half a block. There were seven dead and two others who probably wouldn't see morning. And there were two of them in the crowd. Two different ones.

  I motioned Carnehan over.

  "Yeah, Lou?"

  "Carnehan. See those two guys over there, the ones with red hair?"

  He looked confused. "Where?"

  "You see the black dame in the yellow dress? The one with pigtails all over her head that
make her look like an upside-down johnny brush?"

  He snickered. "Sure."

  "One of them is standing right beside her. On her left. You see him?"

  Slowly: "Yeah."

  "What does he look like?"

  He looked up at me. "What d'ya mean?"

  "No! Keep looking at him!" He looked back. "You still see him?"

  "Yeah."

  "Describe him to me."

  He thought for a moment. "Don't forget. Tomorrow's Wednesday. Margaret's expecting you for dinner."

  "Carnehan! Concentrate on the redheaded guy. Don't think about anything else. What does he look like?"

  "I don't know. He's just a guy."

  "How old is he?"

  "It's hard to tell. The light's not too good."

  "Is he under thirty?"

  He considered. "Yeah."

  "Under twenty-five?"

  "Yeah. Yeah, I'd say so."

  "Under twenty?"

  He was silent for a moment. Good old Carnehan. His little pea brain was doing its best. "Maybe … but probably not."

  "What about his face?"

  "What about it?"

  "Is it an ugly face?"

  "No."

  "Is it a handsome face?"

  "Yeah, I guess so."

  "How handsome?"

  "Golly, Lou."

  "Very handsome?"

  "Yeah."

  "Better-looking than Cunningham?"

  "Yeah." His voice suddenly got excited. "Hey, Lou, is that a movie star or something?"

  We went through the whole thing again with the other one. Carnehan finally saw them the same way I did, but he couldn't remember the one at the record shop. Later I asked him if he remembered the two good-looking redheaded guys.

  "Sure. How could you forget somebody who looks like that? Especially when there's two of 'em. Hey, you suppose they're twins?"

  "Are they still there?"

  "Naw. They musta left," he said, looking right at them. "Don't forget about dinner Wednesday night."

  Then they both turned and looked at me with their expressionless eyes. Or were they expressionless? I thought I saw recognition and speculation, but I wasn't sure. Carnehan was right. The light was bad.

  They kept us hopping the rest of the night. We'd barely get through with one before we were sent to another.

  An old hotel on Vermont burned to the ground. Half the department was there, keeping the curious out from underfoot, rerouting traffic. My eyes were burning and watery from the smoke, but it didn't keep me from seeing them.

  I counted seven. Seven beautiful redheaded young men with perfect bodies.

  I leaned against my locker in pure exhaustion, wondering if I should take a shower. I was grimy from smoke and dust, but I was so tired I only wanted to go to bed. Cunningham came in, looking as beat as I felt.

  He looked at me and sighed, shaking his head.

  "What are you doing in uniform?" I asked, not really caring. "You off the Pansy Patrol?"

  He started undressing. "Yeah. They called us in about three. What got into people last night, anyway? Seems like everybody was trying to get themselves killed."

  The same thought had crossed my mind, but not seriously. I had other things to think about.

  Margaret called herself the next afternoon to remind me about dinner. But I'd already laid out my plan of action.

  "I'm sorry, Margaret. I was just about to call you. I'm leaving for Texas in about two hours. My father is very ill, and I've taken a leave of absence from the department."

  "Oh, Lou, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

  "No, thank you, Margaret. Everything's taken care of."

  "At least let me drive you to the airport."

  "I'm not flying. I'll need my car when I get there."

  "How long will you be gone?"

  "I don't know. My father isn't expected to live …" I let my voice break a little. "Say so long to Carnehan for me."

  "Of course, Lou. You're sure there's nothing I can do?"

  "No. Nothing. Good-bye, Margaret."

  "'Bye, Lou, dear."

  Well, it wasn't all a lie. My father had taken three months to die seventeen years ago when I was in high school, but nobody out here knew that. The lieutenant hadn't much liked the idea of giving me an indefinite leave of absence, but what could he do? I packed enough supplies in the Dart to last two people six weeks, paid my landlady two months in advance, drove up La Brea to the Boulevard, and put my car in the underground garage near Graumann's Chinese. I walked down to the Vogue and caught a double feature.

  It was dark when I came out. I could hear sirens in several directions. I got in the car and drove to David's for something to eat. All I had to do was get in one place and wait, no driving around, no taking extra chances of being seen.

  I had almost finished eating when I heard the sirens. I didn't pay much attention because there would be plenty of time and plenty of sirens, if tonight was anything like last night. When I came out of the restaurant there were little bunches of people standing on the corners looking south down La Brea. I walked over and saw a crowd around the Gordon, standing in that tense way they do when somebody's had it. This was going to be a lot easier than I'd thought.

  I crossed over Melrose past the camera store and eased my way through the press of bodies. The colored neon of the marquee made the blood look black. The guy was under a blanket, flat on his back on the sidewalk, one brown hand poking out from under the edge. The hand had blood on it, and a spot had soaked through the blanket. More of it was smeared around on the concrete.

  One of the cops talking to a couple of people was named Henderson. I only knew him vaguely, so he probably wouldn't know I was supposed to be on my way to Texas. I began sorting through a number of excuses for my delay just in case.

  He saw me and waved. The patrol car was behind him at the curb, the flashers turning hypnotically but losing out to the bright marquee. A young Chicano sat in the back seat looking dazed and surly. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and I saw the glint of cuffs. A girl was hunched in the front seat weeping.

  Henderson finished with his witnesses and started toward me. "Hello, Rankin. Don't you get enough of this on duty?"

  "Just passing by. What happened?"

  He groaned and shook his head. "Couple of kids in a knife fight over a señorita. Wonder if she was worth it."

  "The way she's carrying on, the wrong one musta lost."

  "Yeah." Another siren approached. "Here's the ambulance. See you around, Rankin." He walked away, being very official, moving the onlookers back another inch.

  I looked over the crowd and saw him almost immediately. He was about twelve feet from me, his eyes on the blanket. As usual no one was paying him the slightest attention. I edged toward him as they put the body in the ambulance. The crowd began drifting away, but I kept my eyes on that beautiful boy. I wasn't sure if I had seen him before, they all looked so much alike.

  He turned and walked north on La Brea. I followed him across Melrose. A few people were still milling around the intersection, but I couldn't let him get too far away from my car.

  I overtook him, touched his arm, and said, "Excuse me." I had my badge in my hand when he turned with a startled look.

  My face was only a foot from his. I saw the clear, healthy skin and the bewildered gray eyes that looked at me with recognition. All the artists for the last thousand years have been trying to paint that face on angels, but their poor, fumbling attempts never came close. It was only for an instant, but I had to look away or be overwhelmed.

  The traffic on La Brea moved by us silently, like a movie with the sound turned off. But, oddly enough, I could hear the hum and click of the traffic lights as they changed. I realized I was still stupidly holding my badge in my hand and put it away. I forced myself to look at him again.

  "Will you please come down to the station with me …" My voice cracked. Come on, Rankin, get hold of yourself! "It's purely a routine
matter."

  "What do you want?"

  It was only four words, but I realized I'd never heard one of them speak. How can you describe music to a deaf person? Any actor in the world would trade his prick for that voice. My own words stopped, and we looked at each other. Get your shit together! You're acting like some poor fairy who's just been propositioned by Robert Redford.

  "I can make … this official if you refuse to cooperate." His shoulders sagged slightly. He nodded.

  He followed me to the Dart without protest. I had been a little worried because I wasn't in uniform and wasn't in a squad car, but he didn't seem to notice. I had my revolver handy when I handcuffed him to the door handle, but he sat slumped in the seat looking at nothing.

  I took the Hollywood Freeway to the Pasadena Freeway. I was going down Colorado Boulevard when he said, "Why are you doing this to me?"

  I glanced at him, but he was still looking at nothing. I almost turned the car around. I wish I had, but I didn't.

  He didn't say anything else as I got on the Foothill Freeway and headed east through the San Gabriel Valley. It was almost dawn when I pulled off the pavement winding up Mt. Baldy. I opened the gate to the gravel road down the canyon. I drove through and put on the padlock I had brought with me. I drove up the canyon a couple of miles until the road ended at a cabin. It belonged to a director friend of mine who was on location in Jamaica and would be for several months. He'd let me use it before. Besides, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

  I had to break a window to get in, but that could be fixed. I'd brought a pane of glass and a cutter. I turned on the electricity at the meter box and took him in. I took the chain I had brought, handcuffed one end to his ankle and the other end around the commode. Now he could use the bathroom and the bed, but the chain wasn't long enough to reach the bedroom door or the window. He didn't complain through any of this. He acted as if he didn't even know I was there.

  I unloaded the car, put on a pot of coffee, scrambled some eggs, and tried to get him to eat something but he wouldn't. I finished eating, unpacked my clothes, took a shower in the other bathroom and went to sleep in the other bedroom.

  He still wouldn't eat when I woke up. I took another shower and shaved. I moved a chair just out of the limit of the chain—he hadn't given me any trouble, but I wasn't taking chances—and sat down to watch him.