A Small Matter

by M. M. Wilshire

  “I understand,” Dalk said. “After all, what is good and what is bad is sometimes relative. I mean, you’re in the position of having to make a tough decision--and trying to decide on what to do involves deciding how much faith to place in that decision.”

  “Exactly,” Vickie said. “I have to ask myself if my decision is an accurate reflection of reality--is it a good decision--should I stake someone else’s life on it?”

  “Decisions are hard,” Toyama piped in. The little man, barely five feet tall, and thin as bamboo, rarely spoke, an attribute which caused those around him to listen carefully when he did. “When whatever we decide is ambiguous,” he said, “when the result of our decision can cause many possibilities--that is when we must fly above the black immensity of the problem with the wings of faith--and it’s hard work--it takes a great deal of energy to sustain our faith. The big problem is that the decision will not leave us unchanged--it will change us into something new, and we don’t know what the new thing will be.”

  “True,” Vickie said. “But I’ve gone over this a thousand times since I saw Mulroney this morning. I think the decision I’m about to make is the right one.”

  Mary-Jo arrived with Vickie’s chili, accompanied by a chocolate shake. Vickie set to work on her bowl actively, interspersing mouthfuls of the hot, spicy mixture with sips of cool, tongue-salving liquid ice cream.

  “I didn’t think I’d be saying this,” Vickie said, “but this chili is the best I’ve ever tasted. That’s why the cafeteria is jammed. Whoever does the cooking back there has somehow stumbled across the ultimate secret of chili.”

  “Not as good as yours,” Dalk said.

  “Better,” Vickie said. “But thanks for lying--there’s a lesson here. The lesson is, we have to learn to be humble, and to accept change. We get into a rut, and suddenly, somebody cooks a better chili and we’re left behind. We start thinking our chili is the best, and pretty soon our pride turns our world static and lifeless--that’s why we have to swallow our pride and go forward, even if it means everything in our life will be overhauled.”

  “Our ancestors and guardian spirits have brought us to this table,” Toyama said. “From now on, we must lay aside our self-importance. We must throw out the idea that science is everything and get ready to believe in things that cannot be touched or seen. After all--a man’s life is at stake.”

  “He’s right,” Mary-Jo said. “The other day, when I met Vickie, she was tapped into some kind of a spiritual groove--I could see it in her eyes. When she told me I should marry Dalk, something inside me decided not to brush the idea off--I decided to take a chance--or, as Toyama said, I decided to believe in something that couldn’t be seen. I’d never seen Dalk in person--I made a decision to marry him without even knowing him. But the result has been miraculous.”

  Mary-Jo took Dalk’s hand in hers and the two became momentarily lost in a gaze which held a fire between them. Mary-Jo broke the gaze and smiled at Vickie. “You’re a miracle-worker,” she said.

  “I may not be a miracle worker,” Vickie said, “but I know somebody who needs a miracle--Mulroney.”

  “You had an encounter with a statue of the Virgin Mary,” Toyama said. “One that sheds tears of blood. In the presence of her tears, your cancer was taken away. But you didn’t ask Mary why she is crying blood. I will tell you. Mary is shedding her tears over the fact that people today no longer perform miracles. Because of this, evil spirits are everywhere you look! That is why Mulroney lies in his bed. He is imprisoned by an evil spirit--a fox!”

  Toyama's outburst shocked Mary-Jo, but not Dalk and Vickie, accustomed as they were to the tiny man’s rapid-fire observations on things of the spirit.

  “I failed Mulroney when I went into his room,” Vickie said. “I placed my rosary on his chest, and made sure the tear of blood on the crucifix touched his skin, but I didn’t do it in faith--that’s why the thing didn’t work. I stayed in my pride and the pride kept me in my comfort zone--I violated Mulroney’s soul by not truly having faith that anything would happen--of course, when he didn’t respond, I became angry at myself and started shaking him.”

  “Mary’s tears can still work,” Toyama said. “You need a tiny bit of trust.”

  “I won’t get a second chance,” Vickie said. “Not since they banned me from Mulroney’s room. And I believe that Dr. Lerner will now take steps to cut Mulroney open without my permission. She was going to do the operation all along, she was just covering her bases by asking my permission. I realized that when her in-house shrink stopped by the room to check up on me. Dr. Sellers’ session with me was part of the protocol to protect the Cardiothoracic Division from a lawsuit--Lerner will open up Mulroney and if he dies, they’re off the hook. Dr. Sellers will simply produce an affidavit stating I wasn’t competent to give an informed consent, therefore, my consent to the surgery wasn’t needed.”

  “This sounds a little paranoid to me,” Dalk said.

  “Get real,” Vickie said. “They’ve turned the tables on me. At first, it was Dr. Lerner having to ask me permission--now it’s me having to ask her permission to even go in the room with my husband. Do I have to draw you a picture?”

  “She’s right,” Mary-Jo said. “They’re going to operate on Mulroney and kill him--and run up a huge bill.”

  “Lerner did mention something about the insurance not covering what she wanted to do,” Dalk said. “I hate to say this, but I think Vickie’s right. For us, it’s a big emotional thing to have a loved one lying in there in a coma, but to them, it’s just a chance to add a little something extra to the bottom line. What an outrage!”

  “That’s why I need your help,” Vickie said. “There’s something we need to do. We need to suck up all our courage, as weary as we are. I need you to help me get back on my horse one last time--if the horse takes off, fine. If it throws me for a loop, then so be it.”

  “Exactly what do you need us to do?” Dalk said.

  “Where’s Mulroney’s Suburban?” she asked.

  “It’s in long term parking,” Dalk said.

  “Good,” Vickie said. “Give Toyama the keys and send him for it. Toyama, you bring the Suburban around to the side entrance on Tiverton, past the ambulance dock. Mary-Jo and I will go get Kilkenney and meet you there.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking,” Dalk said.

  “Right,” Vickie said. “I’m thinking we’re going to break Mulroney out of here and take him to a place where miracles are still possible. He can’t stay here--this is where the old money people have already constructed all the traps which we have no chance of avoiding unless we do something drastic.”

  “This is completely illegal,” Dalk said.

  “And that is a problem because?” Vickie said. “This is Los Angeles, not Topeka. Think of it this way--only the rare few will make some sort of memorable contribution to the earth and its populations. We’re not those rare few--we’re just the little people who happen to believe that one extra-large little person named Mulroney is important enough to risk our lives for. There’s no going back now. We’ve all made a proper mess out of most of our endeavors to fulfill our dreams--now we have a chance to make a difference. I don’t care if it takes a crucifix or a plateful of Toyama's roast mice to do the job, but we’ve got to bring Mulroney back. When I received my cancer diagnosis, I realized that the world didn’t need me after all--but now I realize that I need it--I need to live here as long as I can with the man I love. I’m willing to fight for the privilege. Are you with me or against me?”

  Toyama stood up, adjusting across his shoulder his “rat bag” he always carried with him everywhere. “Give me the keys to the Suburban,” he said to Dalk. “I am just a plain and ordinary old man, and a pretty young girl has asked a favor of me. It would be impossible for me to refuse her.”

  Dalk handed him the keys.

  “Mary-Jo?” Dalk said.

  “I feel a miracle in the air,” she said. “
Count me in.”

  Dalk raised himself up, his short, powerful frame and thick hands suggesting a power useful in setting straight any number of unwieldy situations, including the one before them. How he would transport a comatose two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man out of the hospital without being stopped nobody rightly knew, but nobody doubted that he could.

  “No sense in letting one of life’s great moments slip away,” he said. “Sensei, please bring the car around. And don’t dawdle--I’ll be there with Mulroney in ten minutes. And I may be in a hurry.”

  “Thank you, Dalk,” Vickie said.

  “Don’t thank me,” he said. “This one’s for Mom.”

  Chapter 34

  “I think I made a few enemies back there,” Dalk said. “It was pointed out to me by several persons as I was on my way out that I had no legal rights regarding Mulroney, especially considering the life or death nature of his situation. I think their objections were magnified by the fact that although I hadn’t signed the necessary consent forms--which meant, in a way, that legally I didn’t exist--I had in fact--despite my uninsurable, legal non-existence--obtained actual and physical custody of Mulroney by virtue of the fact that he was slung over my shoulders.”

  “I think the guard lady at the exit called the police,” Mary-Jo said. “She was on her portable radio right before you pushed her down.”

  “I’m sorry I had to push her, but she was reaching for her pepper spray,” Dalk said. “I can confidently predict that I’m in a lot of trouble. This thing has civil suit written all over it.”

  “Toyama, take us to the 405 and head back to the Valley,” Vickie said.

  After having loaded Mulroney’s heavily blanket-wrapped and inert form into the tail of the vehicle, the Suburban had exited the hospital dock with all hands on board, Vickie in the jump seat, presiding over the crew while Toyama piloted the heavy vehicle slowly through the narrow, hilly, ivy-edged back streets bordering the UCLA campus, picking his way through the jaywalking students who mindlessly wandered to and fro between the campus and their novelty-filled housing warrens.

  “Speed it up, Toyama,” Vickie said. “Listen, people, there’s a lot at stake here. Our first task is to get Mulroney someplace where he’ll feel comfortable. I’m open to suggestions, but my vote is to head over to The Lamplighter.”

  “You want to take Mulroney to a bar?” Mary-Jo said.

  “Not just any bar,” Vickie said. “It’s his bar. It’s a place he feels comfortable and safe. We can lay him out on the pool table in the back room. I know it sounds odd, but we’ll have everything we need there--not to mention total privacy. It’ll give us time to work on his situation.”

  Toyama gunned it across Sepulveda and headed towards the onramp.

  “Toyama, you ran the red light!” Vickie said.

  “You told me to speed it up,” he said. He hit the gas and zoomed up the off-ramp, merging into the spectacular, elevated flow of northbound 405 traffic paralleling the mountain denseness of the Santa Monica range to the west. “We’ve got company,” he said. “A black-and-white just pulled in behind us. A CHP.”

  Dalk twisted in his seat. “He hasn’t lit us up yet,” he said. “Probably running the plates first. Or it could be a coincidence. Toyama, stay in the right lane. We’ll get off at Mulholland. If he follows us, we’re probably going to be stopped. If we get stopped, don’t everybody wig out--act normal.”

  “He put his lights on,” Toyama said.

  “Floor it!” Vickie said.

  “No!” Dalk yelled. “Toyama, put on your blinker, like you’re going to pull over, but keep moving until you make the Mulholland exit. Then pull over, but keep the engine running, and I’ll get out and show him my badge. Maybe it’s a coincidence. Or maybe he was parked on the side of the freeway above the onramp where he could see you run the light. If that’s all it is, I can show him my brand-new LAPD Sergeant’s badge and he’ll let us go--after all, I’m a cop, and Mulroney is an ex-cop. If we’re lucky, we can get a consideration here and the whole thing will turn out to be nothing. I’ll get out first so he doesn’t approach the car. Everybody remain calm--we’ll probably get through this okay.”

  “I’m scared,” Mary-Jo said. “I can’t believe I let myself get sucked into this. What are the charges for something like this? What if he isn’t stopping us for the red light? What if all the cops are on their radios right now, closing in on us? Is this kidnapping? How are we going to explain this?”

  “Quiet,” Vickie said. “We all need to stay calm. Dalk’s right--it may turn out to be nothing.”

  “Awww!” Dalk said.

  “What?” Vickie snapped.

  “My badge--it’s missing. I had it on my belt when I went in to get Mulroney--I thought it might keep people from questioning my actions. It must have come loose when I struggled with the lady guard at the exit. That means they have it--and they know who I am! Not only that, I don’t have my wallet with me--I left it in the Mercedes!”

  “Let Toyama get out and explain,” Vickie said.

  “Toyama has no license--he’s here in the country illegally!”

  “You never told me that before!” Vickie said. “What’s he doing driving?”

  “Should I pull over, or not?” Toyama said.

  “I don’t know,” Dalk said. “If he’s responding to the kidnap alert, we’re in a lot of trouble, here.”

  “Toyama,” Vickie said. “Hit it!”

  “No!” Dalk yelled. “We can’t outrun him! We have to wait and find out why he stopped us!”

  “He might lie to us until his backup arrives,” Vickie said. “He might believe you’re a cop who’s possibly committed a serious felony. This is insane! We don’t know! Maybe it’s Toyama's stupid red light. We don’t know, but it doesn’t matter--we can’t afford to be stopped no matter what. We’re at the crossroads. There’s no going back. Listen to me--we’ve got four-wheel drive and he doesn’t--it’s muddy over there in the mountains--we can lose him on the first slick dirt road. I know these trails like the back of my hand. Jack and I hiked every last one of them. They’ll never find us in there. Now you’ve got to trust me! We can’t let them arrest us--if we do, we’ll lose Mulroney for good!”

  “Listen to her, Dalk,” Toyama said. “This is a very bright woman, who sees clearly the paradox she faces. There’s an old Japanese proverb--The Only Way to Keep the Gas Tank Full is to Never Go Anywhere--But Standing Still is Not an Option.”

  “Whatever that means,” Dalk said. “We also have a saying--In For a Penny, In For a Pound--hit it, Toyama!”

  The Suburban roared to life, its three-hundred and ninety horses stampeding for all they were worth. The results were so spectacular at first, nobody dared to breathe. Toyama raced around the cars on the off-ramp and blew off the red light before sliding onto Mulholland heading west, tires smoking, brutally engaging the curves and straights in a striking display of daring, ignoring conventional wisdom regarding the capacity of the human body to withstand g-forces. Kilkenney yawped loudly as a surge of anticipatory energy flooded his caged body. Vickie eyed the speedometer needle, planted squarely on 110, the information crashing in on her senses, she understanding that one-hundred-ten-miles-per-hour on this road, in this vehicle, was theoretically impossible, and yet it was happening. Toyama, the Japanese master, somehow on a different plane than everybody else in the known universe, perhaps from a lifetime of meditation, or a hundred thousand hours of working under the forced-pace, high information-input rates of martial arts combat sparring, had morphed into the world’s greatest driver and lost the CHP pursuit car completely, the cop in the car behind them suffering some unseen and unexplained breakdown of human performance under the heavy load of attempting to keep up with the wide-eyed little sensei behind the wheel of the flying three-ton machine.

  Slowing, finally, before being directed by Vickie to turn off Mulholland onto a posh Bel-Air residential street, heading south once again, Toyama made his way past an orderly hodgepodge
of mini-mansions which sat atop the westerly running ridge which neatly divided the Valley from Greater Los Angeles. Vickie co-piloted the Suburban purposefully to the end of the block before instructing Toyama to hop the curb, thereupon crossing a muddy, plowed firebreak before swinging onto the rain-slicked fire road leading into the heart of the sweet, damp mountains. Toyama's superior driving skills had rendered their evasion from unjust arrest a done deal. It was awhile before anybody spoke.

  “Nice driving,” Dalk said. “But we’d better keep it moving. If the CHP saw us go in here, they’ll be sending Air Support by for a look any minute.”

  “Our best chance,” Vickie said, “is to ditch the Suburban at a place I know up ahead and head down to the bottom of the canyon on foot.”

  “Are you crazy?” Mary-Jo said.

  “I’m being practical,” Vickie said. “We’ve felony-evaded the police. I don’t have to tell you what that means.”

  “Yes you do,” she said. “What does it mean?”

  “It might mean dogs,” Dalk said. “It’s what they use to chase felons who escape into the mountains.”

  “What?” Mary-Jo said. “We’re going to be chased by police dogs?”

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Dalk said. “They won’t bite you unless you move.”

  “I’ll say there’s nothing to be scared of,” Vickie said. She reached into the glove box and pulled out Mulroney’s revolver--if some stinking dog tries to bite me, I’ll give him some of this!”

  “Help!” Mary-Jo cried.

  Dalk, adjusting carefully the blankets before unloading Mulroney, again slung the big man across his shoulders and headed for the steep ravine leading to the bottom of the canyon.

  “Somebody grab the cat,” he said, without looking back.

  Chapter 35

  “I can’t do this,” Mary-Jo shouted down at the departing crew. “The clouds are building up again and it’s going to rain. I have a fear of snakes. I’m scared and I’m going back.” She stood next to the Suburban at the edge of the muddy fire road in her hot-pink platform wedgies, a portrait of uncertainty facing the vast wilderness of primeval territory which divided into two distinct halves the mighty metropolis of Los Angeles--a wilderness home, as it were, not only to Hollywood producers, with which she was familiar and unafraid of, but also to other types of animals, which she was afraid of, including mountain lions, coyotes, skunks, bobcats, spiders, scorpions, bats and not a few poisonous snakes.