I don’t have time to meet characters, said the new manager.
The old manager hung his head.
What’ll you have, friend? said the new manager.
Barbeque, said Tyler wearily.
The cook, who appeared to be the new manager’s wife, brought him a paper plate dripping with grease and bulging with half-frozen, half-burned chicken covered with ketchup, while the old manager stood by tapping his foot.
How’s business? he said to the old manager.
Booming, replied the new manager.
Tyler took a bite of barbeque and his teeth struck ice.
How is it? said the cook anxiously.
Very good, said Tyler.
She smiled with relief.
All three of them were watching him eat. With considerable effort he finished the first piece of chicken. There were five pieces left.
How come you don’t use your hands? said the old manager. If you use your fork like that you’re only gonna get it all over your shirt.
Tyler ate the second piece and said: Does the Queen of the Whores ever come in here?
I seen her sometimes, said the old manager indifferently. She’s just a stuck-up bitch.
What does she look like?
Oh, about five foot two, you know, melons kinda like this, wears high heels and a tight mini, you know the drill . . . Somebody said she calls herself Africa. How’s the chicken?
Great, said Tyler, picking up the third piece.
How come you don’t use your other hand?
Oh, I wanted to keep it clean to touch the Queen with in case she comes in here.
She won’t be coming in here any time soon, said the old manager. I hear they sent her down to San Bruno. What do you think of the chicken? It’s my own special sauce.
Don’t talk about the sauce, said the new manager. We gotta keep it a secret.
The Vietnamese girl he’d just tipped came in and pretended not to recognize him. He beckoned her over. —Have some chicken, he said. I have plenty.
You already lonely again? she cried in disgusted surprise.
Always, he said. But I’m celebrating. I told you I did the Queen.
| 69 |
He went home, turned on his computer and ordered an economy scan for American women whose first names were Africa. There came the connection beep he knew so well, and then the wriggling cursor indicated that the machine was SEARCHING. Your search number is 0773427. Then the screen scrolled down to the disclaimer: Nothing was guaranteed. Even though Tyler had to pay, the disclaimer warned, he shouldn’t expect to get anything for his money. Nonetheless, the computer found thirty-eight matches, six of them with California addresses. So, flashing down blue-underlined screen menus, he ran six extended traces at twenty-five dollars each. Soon he had their dates of birth and social security numbers. The Department of Motor Vehicles database presented him with the physical descriptions on their drivers’ licenses. They were all black. One, a Mrs. Africa Lively, had a Beverly Hills address and phone number. Tyler telephoned her and reached an answering service man who said that she was in Europe until July. He ran a credit check on her just in case. She owned three mansions and a cosmetology empire. So much for her (probably). The second Africa, formerly of Colusa, was freshly dead. The other four Africas were all alive and in San Francisco. One had a parking infraction on her record. Otherwise they were clean. Tyler printed out their DMV descriptions so that he could stalk them at his convenience, then telephoned his mother, who said she hoped that he and John could spend a weekend in Sacramento with her soon.
| 70 |
You datin’? You datin’? cried the whore Kitty.
Just looking, said Tyler. How about you?
Are you a cop? You don’t have to intimidate me. I’m not a prostitute. I’m just out here tryin’ to make a little money. Hey! I seen you before! You was with that bigshot Mr. Lunch, and you—yeah, you’re Mr. Breakfast, and I gave you head. I give pretty good head, huh?
You sure do, said Tyler. How’s Sapphire doing today?
That retard bitch? She just pissed her pants again, and Maj said . . .
Glaring in alarm, a black prostitute in a white miniskirt elbowed her in the ribs.
Why, good evening, Tyler said to her. What’s your name, darling?
Chocolate, said the black woman, obviously pleased to divert the subject.
Well, that’s a pretty edible name. Are you feeling edible tonight?
How much you got to spend?
I like that plastic bracelet on your wrist. Did Africa give it to you?
Africa? What the fuck are you talking about? Are you some kinda fucking racist? That’s my hospital bracelet. I just got out of General today. Somebody stabbed me; I was in the trauma ward; you shoulda seen me . . .
Hey, Chocolate, if I give you twenty dollars can I have your bracelet?
What for?
Tyler lowered his voice and winked. —I want to take it home and lick the sweat off.
You catch that, Kitty? Chocolate laughed. Is this pervert for real?
Kitty slid her sunglasses down her nose. —What about me, Mr. Breakfast? Don’t I get a finder’s fee?
All right, ladies, he said. Here’s five for you and twenty for you. Let me just cut through this bracelet with my pocketknife . . .
He got into his car and drove happily home. The medical record number on the bracelet was 3144173. He wrote up a request for medical records, attached to a blurry old copy of a power of attorney he’d once done. He photocopied it four times and sent one to Admission and Discharge Records Department, one to Emergency Room Records Department, one to Medical Expense Records Department, and one to Billing Statements Department. Billing Statements wrote back right away and said that that information was confidential. Emergency Room and Medical Expense Records he never heard from. Admission and Discharge sent him a copy of the first page of Chocolate’s chart. Her real name was Brenda Wiley. He drove down to the hospital the next afternoon and by flashing his toy police badge convinced a young clerk to let him see the rest.
BRENDA WILEY
MR#: 3144173
PT TYPE: J
PATIENT EMPLOYMENT STATUS: 3
OCCUPATION: UNEMPLOYMENT
SSN: 544-38-5008
DOB: 11/12/1959
AGE: 37
SEX: FEMALE
There followed the bleak and tediously told tales of her misadventures and bodily misfunctions, bound into three fat volumes whose scope went back twenty-two years. The theme of any history of a body must be decay, but this body had begun to decline on or before the age of fifteen, when Brenda first married cocaine. By sixteen she was an experienced whore with her first crack baby inside her. There would be seven more. Over and over the medical chart said:
VAGINAL DELIVERY W/O COMPLICATING DIAGNOSES
PRINCIPAL: 644.21 EARLY ONSET DELIVERY 73.59 MANUAL ASSIST DELIVERY NEC
SECONDARY
70 MENTAL DISORDER - DELIVER
71 COCAINE ABUSE - UNSPEC
V27.0 DELIVER - SINGLE LIVEBORN
and once she gave birth to crack-addicted twins.
At first the chart approved the transparency of her urine, but as the years of bad living stained her, entries such as the following became the rule:
BLOOD COUNT AND DIFFERENTIAL
COLLECTION Clean catch
URINE VOLUME 5(a) reference units
COLOR Yellow
CLARITY Turbid ** H
and finally the chart proclaimed that her urine stank with a strange and evil smell. Her childbirth records told the same story:
R DELIVERY NOTE: Called to assess patient. Found to be 9 cm /c/o per Dr. Angelli. Foul smell noted from vaginal area upon exam. Mother refused to push when instructed; later refused not to push. Infant nose and mouth bulb suctioned. Meconium with foul smell. Placenta deliv. spontaneously, intact, mild staining, slight foul smell. Uterus firm; rectum intact. Mother in stable condition. Infant taken to CCIV. Intrauterine cocaine exposure. Baby
is likely to be placed under protective custody.
Each time, Chocolate denied her cocaine addiction, and each baby was born cocaine addicted. As her chart said: Some concerns about accuracy in reporting. Somewhat open, but also grew a little irritable at times. She was tearful upon speaking of her mother’s death. Cognition was [illegible].
INDICATIONS FOR ADMISSION
* * *
RECENTLY HOSPITALIZED FOR PNEUMONIA
DRUG USAGE: Smokes cocaine x 22 years, last usage 3 days ago; 2 cigs/day x 25 years; “4 brandies/wk”
NURSE’S NOTES: Received via gurney accompanied by firemen. Rash over entire body.
WEIGHT: 179
EXAM: Hyperpigmentation and liquefication posterior neck.
SOCIAL HISTORY: Lives with “friend.” “Chore worker” since 1/10/87. All children live with sister—temporary custody. Single, unemployed, black female with 7th child. Doesn’t know where father is. Pregnancy is unplanned, but currently wants baby. Was in drug court from May 93 on. Due to stress of pregnancy and mother’s death, states she didn’t show up, so had to go to jail for 21 days. States that many of her belongings were stolen, so she has little in the way of baby clothes, etc. The longest time she has spent in jail was 1 year for possession.
SOCIAL SERVICE CONSULT—RECENT COCAINE USE—HOMELESS
NURSE’S NOTES: Patient found walking to ambulance with lower quad abdominal pain.
NURSE’S NOTES: Patient is not reliable enough to send home. Lungs diffuse. Wheezes throughout. Refuses adamantly to agree to induction of labor. Severe pneumonia
COMPLICATIONS: Diabetes
SOCIAL SERVICE CONSULT: Patient reports that she does not smoke cocaine now. Stopped 2 days ago. Incarcerated x 5 months.
IMMUNOASSAYS FOR DRUGS OF ABUSE: Positive for cocaine.
NURSE’S NOTES: Patient tends to be only marginally cooperative. Easily distracted and involved with physical occurrences.
DISCHARGE INSTRUCTIONS: Return to emergency room for observation of breathing difficulties.
NURSE’S NOTES: Stabbed in L abdomen by 6” knife this evening by room mate. Denies head trauma. Rapid speech. Hyperactive. Restless. Stab wound 7 cm deep. Eczema, hives. Breath smells of vodka.
CONSULTATION: Recommend leaving wound open. TRAUMA.
NURSE’S NOTES: Difficult to arouse. Agitated on arousal. Patient dirty. Incoherent speech. Home phone number supplied by patient is a pay phone. Speech slurred. Patient appears to be high on something. Denies drug use.
NURSE’S NOTES: Patient hypersexual. Continually exposes and manipulates her genitals, embarassing the other patients. Propositions doctors, interns, male patients, male relatives of patients, etc.
NURSE’S NOTES: 37 year old black female was going shopping earlier today when a man grabbed her purse, then dragged her along asphalt. She got away, then he chased her again, pulling her to the ground and kicking her. Some superficial abrasions, facial pain, swelling.
DIAGNOSIS: Closed head trauma, orbital contusion, knee and foot contusion.
NURSE’S NOTES: Coughing up blood. Right eye swelling and knee swelling.
And then in the back of her chart lay the envelope which contained a slip reading:
BRENDA WILEY AIDS INFO: Postive antibody.
He turned to the front of the chart and found:
NEXT OF KIN: AFRICA JOHNSTON
| 71 |
He instructed his computer to search for American women named Africa Johnston. None of them lived in California. But then how many Chocolates were there?
In his microfiche of the Los Angeles Superior Court index, which an old private eye had sold him for almost nothing, there were all the aliases one could want. No Africa Johnston, however.
| 72 |
Meanwhile Chocolate trotted around the corner to her homegirl, fat Mexican Beatrice, who, sunny believer, could often be made to do as she was told; and after Chocolate had described to her the grizzled white man who was searching for the Queen, Beatrice promised to relay this warning, crying: I come running, running!
| 73 |
Switching on his computer, Tyler searched two legal and two illegal databases for the alias “Domino” and found nothing. The fifth database, which limited itself to California and which invited him to access it for each of the state’s fifty-eight counties at eleven dollars each, gave him a match with the name Sylvia Fine in San Francisco County. Datatronic Solutions would have been better, but he owed them too much money. He entered the name in a sixth database and got her social security number. Running her name and social in a seventh, he obtained and printed out a lengthy file beginning
* * *
MUNICIPAL CRIMINAL
SAN FRANCISCO COUNTY
Main Court: 1987—06/29/96
Data Submitted:
Last Name
: FINE
First Name
: SYLVIA
Middle Init
: S
County
: San Francisco
76 of 14)
Case
: 88F08265
Date: 04/01/88
Case Type
: FELONY
Location
: SAN FRANCISCO
* * *
Subject(s)
FINE SYLVIA R
aka
FINE SYLVIA T
aka
FEINGOLD SANDY
aka
DOMINO
77 of 14)
Case
: 89M11352
Date: 01/02/89
Case Type
: MISDEMEANOR
Location
: SAN FRANCISCO
* * *
Subject(s)
FINE SYLVIA R
aka
FINE SYLVIA T
aka
FEINGOLD SANDY
aka
DOMINO
aka
BLONDE MARY
And so it went, on and on, for a dozen other crimes, all the way up to the present, which the file proclaimed as follows:
* * *
Court Runner (tm): Additional record(s) found in Municipal Criminal Courts:
* * *
CA-SACRAMENTO
CA-SAN DIEGO
CA-SAN JOAQUIN
Other crimes in other counties. Domino had been a very busy girl. He sighed. The file said:
*** End of Search ***
| 74 |
Tyler drove down to San Francisco’s municipal court, found a parking space five blocks away after considerable difficulty, and went inside whistling gloomily, the printout in his fist. He requested all case reports within the county’s jurisdiction, copying out the case numbers from the printout. —Oh, jeez, he said, cross because the courthouse clerk spotted Domino’s rap sheet and tore it off the file. —The next clerk greeted him by name. Tyler smiled, waved, asked about her family. When the documents came, he sat and leafed through their unhappy pages, learning that Domino had been arrested and convicted for prostitution eight times, which hardly surprised him, and that she had also served time for two counts of cocaine possession, one count of heroin possession, and three counts of felony assault. The clerk, liking Tyler and wanting to help him, had “forgotten” to remove Domino’s rap sheet, private possession of which was a crime, but since the rap sheet had fallen into Tyler’s possession inadvertently, so as to speak, possession was no skin off his nose. In Sacramento, San Diego, and San Joaquin, it said, the blonde had been convicted of many other sad and ugly acts, including one attempted homicide which she’d plea-bargained down, and she’d been charged with infanticide but acquitted on a technicality. —Poor Domino, he muttered to himself.
Yawning, he browsed through the trial transcripts:
Ms. Fine, how do you plead? ¶ No contest, Your Honor.
Ms. Fine, how do you plead? ¶ Guilty, Your Honor.
Really what he wanted were the names of co-defendants, co-conspirators. Although he wrote them all dutifully down and later ran them through his datab
ases, he already knew that none would check out. Not one name was linked to the aliases “Queen” or “Maj” or “Africa.”
| 75 |
Every summer the great maple tree on his mother’s front lawn seemed to grow larger, wider, and greener (and of course it actually did), so that at sunset when he sat out on the porch drinking lemonade with his mother, that tree was as an immense crystal both gold and green which subsumed the entire sky, and his mother asked him if he would like another glass of lemonade, and he said: I’ll get it, Mom. —The pitcher was almost empty, so he mixed up more, employing fresh lemons and strawberry slices; she always made it too sweet, so he made it the way he liked it and brought out the sugar jar for her. This jar resembled in miniature the prism of one of those lighthouses along the Oregon coast. A metal lip on the top could be finger-hooked into a beak from which the sugar came vomiting out whenever the humidity was not overly high; he saw that his mother had scattered a few grains of rice inside, but these hadn’t prevented the sugar from hardening into a cylindrical brick, chipped into white rubble at the top only, thanks to his mother’s spoon-probings.
So you won’t be in this weekend? his mother repeated.
The Royal Family Page 18
