Angeles Crest

by P. J. Zander

  For a while he sat on the sofa trying to figure himself out. There were few people who knew him well enough to be his friends, or dearer, and now, three of them were scarred for life, dying or maybe even dead. It was as if he had an affliction that was like a disease for which he was the carrier and to which those he cared about had no immunity, suffering devastating consequences. He was beginning to doubt that getting to the truth about Jolene and finding Bondo’s attacker would cure it.

  His cell rang.

  “Hi, Rusty,” Sheila said. “I just can’t leave Bondo for dinner, but I do appreciate your offer.”

  Banyan checked his watch. 5:15. “It’s good you called, Sheila. How ‘bout I pick up some take out so we can both eat at the hospital.”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  In deference to Sheila, he called a vegetarian order into Gina’s Pizza South. That would give him time to finish his first walk-through. The rest of the living room and the loft had nothing out of place that he could tell. Bondo’s backpack was on the bed, top flap unzipped. The sleeping bag was still rolled up. He’d never slept between Banyan’s sheets and had several appropriate jokes about it. An open shaving kit lay beside the bag. His toothbrush and tooth paste were on the sink in the bathroom. Near the bathroom entrance were his shoes and socks, like he’d removed them before he heard something, if Crawford’s scenario was right.

  #

  By six-thirty, he and Sheila were eating outside Bondo’s room. It was as if they had an unspoken rule between them that the conversation would not contain any references to what a great guy he was or the riotous experiences they’d had with him. That would have been too much like a eulogy. Instead, they talked about her work and what was going on in Laguna, anything to pass the time.

  “How would you like to get out of here for a little while, breathe some fresh air?”

  “Rusty, I told you I just can’t leave him.” She blinked heavy eyes.

  “It’s okay.” He put his hand on hers. “I’ll stay right here with Bondo and call you if there’s a change.”

  Sheila sighed. “Maybe I could slip home for a quick shower and be back within an hour.”

  “That will be fine. Take time to get Dancy out for a walk, too. Hey, if sitting down turns into a short nap, that’s a good thing. And, Sheila, right now he knows you love him. He feels you thinking of him.” He hoped he sounded sincere. He wasn’t sure he believed it, but it couldn’t hurt.

  She pressed his hand between hers and smiled bravely. “You know, if he’d had Dancy there, this wouldn’t have happened. She could have warned him.” One more look in the window, then she left.

  #

  Banyan paced the floor, occasionally stopping to glance out the windows. Night had fully enveloped South Laguna and the Coast Highway traffic was busy as usual. Commuters headed north toward the central part of town or south toward Dana Point, and southeast to Mission Viejo. Residential lights shone up the hill, while below the hospital, moving intervals of headlights illuminated the otherwise dark highway.

  The critical care nurse monitoring Bondo’s life and death struggle left her station and walked to the patient’s side. Banyan went to the window. She was looking at his fingers which appeared to be tapping rhythmically. Next, his lips struggled to move despite the tubes and tape. The nurse called the physician on duty. Banyan was as familiar with medicine as he was with quantum physics. But he had no doubt what his friend was trying to do. He tapped his knuckles on the glass which brought a narrow-eyed scowl from the nurse. He persisted until she came over and opened the door.

  “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of caring for this patient? What is it?” she snarled.

  “He’s trying to sing a song. Can’t you just take those tubes out of his mouth?” When the nurse turned around, Bondo was raising his eyebrows in an attempt to open his eyes. They were swollen shut so that the most he might be able to get was a paper-thin slit. But he was trying like hell.

  “I can’t change intubation without the doctor’s okay. Now, please, let us do our job.”

  Just then the attending physician stepped out of the elevator walking with purpose to the room. On seeing Bondo’s movements, he immediately changed the IV mix and told the nurse to remove the ventilator. Banyan called Sheila who was turning onto PCH.

  “He’s moving his hands and lips. They’re taking out the ventilator so he can breathe on his own.” He could hear her laugh and cry at once.

  “Oh, Rusty . . . oh. . . . There in five minutes.”

  #

  Sheila came off the elevator and ran over to Banyan at the window. By now, it was plain to see that Bondo was coming around. He was moving his head to the sound of voices and producing what at first sounded like gibberish. Then, the doctor nodded to the nurse to ask Sheila to come in. She had her hands to her mouth and tears streaming down her cheeks. Banyan remained, but for the time that the door was opened to let her in, he heard enough of the mumbled singing to piece together some old Buddy Holly.

  A sense of relief came over him as he watched her hold Bondo’s hand in both hers and kiss it. Maybe he, and I, have dodged a bullet, he thought.

  After only two minutes, the nurse ushered her out. However, Bondo was insisting he had to see Banyan. The nurse resisted, but the doctor gave the okay. He also had a two-minute limit. He went to his friend’s side and covered his hand with his big paw.

  Haltingly, the battered man spoke. “Missed . . . wild . . . party.” He almost chuckled, then his chest heaved and he coughed several times. “He’s . . . big . . . quick.” Bondo was about spent. “Slugger . . . nailed arm. Younger than . . . Two. . . . ”

  “All right, that’s it,” said the irritated nurse.

  He touched his shoulder. “Rest easy, Bondo. There’s always another set.”

  #

  “What did he tell you?” Sheila asked.

  “He made a joke and said he hit the guy once with my bat.”

  She said nothing.

  “It certainly looks like he’s finding his way out of the woods. How are you doing?”

  “For a while, I felt like there was this big weight on my chest, like I could hardly breathe. Now, that weight’s been lifted. You?”

  Banyan didn’t say anything right away. How he felt was a bit of a puzzle. It was as though no matter what he did to right the wrong done to Bondo and Jolene, the devil would be perched on his shoulder, whispering in his ear.

  “Rusty?” Sheila responded to his quizzical expression.

  “Sorry. I am doing better. He had me scared.” He looked at her with a smile. “It does me good to see the relief on your face. To see the load lightened. Do you think you’ll stay here the night?”

  “Probably. If he wants to talk to me and they allow it, I want to be here.”

  “Right. I’m going to clean up the house. See if there’s any news from the police. If you’re here tomorrow morning, I’ll see you then. Dancy will be spending the night with me.”

  “Oh, I forgot,” she said with relief, handing him her house key. “Thank you so much.”

  “My pleasure to have the company of that sweet little girl. Call me for any reason.”

  He hugged her. Before he left, he tapped on the glass to the consternation of the duty nurse, and the delight of Sheila. He saw Bondo’s head turn stiffly to see him wave through one eye slit.

  TWENTY-SIX

  At home after picking up Dancy, Banyan put the dishes in the washer, reworked the residue from the blood stains on the floor and returned the rug, table and chairs to their places. He threw Bondo’s socks in with a wash, escorted by the dog sniffing at them. In fact, Dancy shadowed him wherever he went. He left a voicemail on Crawford’s phone that Bondo was conscious and mentioned that he thought the attacker was big and agile. He was sure the lieutenant would send over an investigator to question his friend as soon as the doctor permitted it. It was getting on toward 11:00 pm, but he called Raylene anyway. She answered on the seventh ring.

&
nbsp; “Rusty, what is it? Are you okay?”

  “No alarm. I just wanted to talk to you, let you know how Bondo’s doing.”

  “Yes? Tell me.”

  “He was comatose but came out of it a few hours ago while Sheila and I were there. Even talked and joked a little.” He was rubbing behind Dancy’s ears as she sat with her head pressed against his knee.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful news. I can hear the relief in your voice.”

  “It looks like he’s going to make it, which means I will, too. Ray, this one was tough to take on top of Jo, you know.”

  “Of course I do. Don’t beat yourself up over Jolene and Bondo. You just can’t be there all the time to stop horrible things.”

  He thought about that while she paused.

  “Does this mean you’ll be coming back this way soon?”

  “Yes, I’ll wrap up here tomorrow and hopefully get back up to La Canada in the early evening. There’s nothing I can do for Bondo now, and Sheila will be fine watching over him. The police are jumping on the case and, God, I hope they have a suspect soon.” And, he thought, when they do maybe I can finagle my way into joining the search party.

  #

  The morning came on drizzly with the promise of gray once it got lighter. Despite the jarring interruptions to his sleep, he’d always relied on Bondo to give him the on-the-scene surf report. This time, he’d go to the beach early regardless of what the waves were doing. He was up at 5:00 and wanted to reenergize. After back stretches, he did a few sets of dips and pull-ups in the loft. He took a large coffee mug with him as he carried his board to the Brooks Street overlook accompanied by the sheepdog mix.

  If you could call them waves, what moved shoreward in the water were marginal, but the crew was there, a shade south toward Cress—Handy, Princess, Panda. They were unusually animated when they saw him and he knew why. He quickly went down the stairs and paddled out. Dancy sat patiently just out of reach of the tide. It was too early for the cops to enforce the leash law.

  Panda spoke first. “Two Meter, is Bondo sick or something? This is the second day in a row he hasn’t been here. That’s never happened before.”

  Almost simultaneously, Handy and Princess chimed in, “Do you know if something happened to him? We couldn’t reach Sheila.”

  “I do, unfortunately. Someone broke into my house, maybe before he got there two nights ago, and beat him up something awful.”

  Princess said, “Oh, my God.”

  Handy followed. “Jesus.”

  “What?” Panda said.

  “He was in a coma until last night, then came out of it. Over at Mission. His face and head are mashed up pretty bad, but he woke up joking. It looks like he’s going to make it. Sheila will be with him every minute she can.”

  “Do the police have any idea who, why?” asked Handy.

  “They’re trying to figure out a motive. It doesn’t look like anything was taken, and I told them I couldn’t imagine Bondo having any enemies.”

  They nodded.

  “You know, we meet in the water then go our separate ways, pretty much. Kind of an unspoken code, I guess, but we all seem to feel comfortable with it. So I don’t expect you to know anything that could help the police get the guy. But if you think of something, even the smallest thing, get in touch with Investigations. Lieutenant Crawford is in charge. And, if you would, let me know, too.”

  Panda asked, “Can we go see him?”

  “Sheila’s there most of the time, so I think you could go by and see both of them. I know she would appreciate it. I’m going over around eight for a little while. You might want to time your visit a little later if you can. Spread it out.”

  “Thanks, Rusty,” said Princess. “I’m glad you came to tell us. This must not be too easy for you.” Banyan knew she was reaching out to him, wanting to comfort him in any way she could. For a moment, he had the feeling that had they been on shore, she would have hugged him, and it wouldn’t have been a surprise. There had been a time for them.

  “However difficult it is for me, Bondo’s the one who got the shit kicked out of him . . . in my house.”

  Banyan turned and took off on a wave just rideable enough to propel him forward. But, he needed to finish in Laguna and get back to La Canada. Minding the rocks, he stepped off his board, half-waved to others and left with his four-legged sidekick.

  #

  He’d taken care of getting Bondo’s car back over to Sheila’s and walked Dancy before putting her in the fenced yard and checking her water. Before returning to upper Lombardy, he made a ball of Bondo’s clean socks and put them on the counter with a note about them being hard enough to use for batting practice before he washed them.

  As he was finishing the note, he answered his phone. It was Stephanie Brandt.

  “You asked me to call if I thought of anything. I’m not sure if this is important or not.” She paused.

  “Anything at all, I want to hear it, Stephanie.”

  “Okay. So, it’s a little vague now, but I think it was around the first week of classes at Oxy, Jolene said something like the heating or hot water wasn’t working and she couldn’t reach the guy on his cell phone. So when classes were over that day, she drove straight to his house.”

  “You’re talking about Nathan Rossmoor, right?”

  “That’s the guy. Son of the real estate whiz. Anyway, she sees some sort of SUV or van, at least the rear of it, parked around back behind the garage. As she walks to the door, she hears a woman . . . moaning, as in having killer sex, and a guy kind of grunting away. So Jo said it was, you know, way too awkward to knock, at least at first. But after a while she does and when the guy opens the door, he’s all flushed and sweaty, and embarrassed out of his mind. Jo described him as almost defensive about it.”

  Banyan chuckled. “Funny story.”

  “It is, but that’s not why she told me. She’d mentioned she thought the guy didn’t date or have a girlfriend. Kind of mopey, never smiled. Witnessing this changed her mind, at least about his having a girlfriend.”

  “No kidding.” Banyan liked Stephanie’s understatement. “Guess some women like to make sad men feel happy.” He smiled and heard her laugh. “Any more details about the vehicle? What make? Color?”

  “I don’t recall her saying anything more about it. But it for sure wasn’t a regular car.”

  #

  After putting a few extra clothes in the duffle, he made one more sweep of the house before leaving. While glancing around the kitchen, something caught his eye that he hadn’t noticed earlier—a photo of Ray, Jo and him at a turnout on the Angeles Crest Highway about fifteen years before. He remembered Raylene asking a couple also enjoying the view if they’d take the shot. Banyan had an arm around Ray and a hand on Jolene’s shoulder, Ray with both arms around his waist. Jo stood in front reaching up with both her hands to touch his and pressing her cheek against it. All three had huge smiles, a wonderful, timeless moment. The photo, however, had always been on the countertop facing diagonally so that he could see it while working at the island or sitting at the dining table. Now, it was positioned so that when he viewed it from the dining area, only the back of the frame was visible. The attack on his friend hadn’t disturbed any other items in that area. Bondo had seen it a number of times. He wouldn’t have moved it. Why’d the son of a bitch who broke in touch the photo?

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  As he drove out the Canyon and toward La Canada, the Laguna drizzle turned into inland showers. The rains just wouldn’t leave Southern California alone for more than a few days at a time. It was as if the hillsides scarred by the fire were too irresistible for Mother Nature to pass up a chance to showcase another kind of destruction. Each time the clouds opened up, the flood-danger flag was run up the pole. It was unending and nerve-wracking to scores of residents who had to be ready to evacuate at a moment’s notice. A couple weeks before, mudslides and debris flows cascaded down through La Canada neighborhoods, bulldozing houses, crushin
g cars and tearing out retaining walls. Sporadic power outages accompanied the upheaval. Then, a few days of clear, sunny skies and a degree of normalcy returned to the Southland, except for those filing insurance claims.

  Banyan continued beyond La Canada, exiting the freeway in La Crescenta and proceeding toward Jolene’s rental. Street gutters were running high, giving the storm drains all they could handle. Further up, he passed stacks of sandbags and road-closure signs moved back to the curbs but ready for redeployment.

  The house on Shields had a well-kept yard and fine curb appeal, but that couldn’t pretty up the ugliness that had taken place within. He backed into the driveway and shut off the motor, doing his best to will Jolene into a good place and clear his mind of Bondo. To the northeast over the mountains, the clouds were breaking up, and bands of sunlight stretched to the earth as a pale-blue sky began emerging. Fresh snow blanketed the peaks down to about twenty-five hundred feet, not too far up from where he was parked. Skiing at the resorts would be outstanding.

  He called Raylene to let her know he was in the valley. When she didn’t pick up he left a message.

  Ten minutes later, she called back. “Hey, you. I was just outside shoveling snow.”

  “Huh. I thought you’d be busy renting skis and selling lift tickets.”

  “I guess you haven’t heard. Yes, we got tons of new powder and conditions are perfect, but the roads in are closed, except intermittent openings of the 14 and 138 just to haul in our basic necessities. Same over at Mount Waterman. This could have been the biggest business boost in years and no one can get here. We’re cut-off from you flatlanders,” she snickered.