The Acid King

by Maggie Abbott

  As Rivkin mused into his past, he saw Cortez coming round from the alleyway.

  CHAPTER 46

  Cortez turned his head like a uniformed Roman general to survey the territory in an all-embracing stare, and the other heads followed, all of them taking in the vast area of Fairfax with its characteristic crowded sidewalks and assorted shops. They weren’t even thinking disguise yet. These well trained cops didn’t know they were being challenged by the Joker, the Trickster, Mistra Know It All. King of Hallucination and Dark Dreams.

  Rivkin watched Cortez take charge. Even with the tense scary part that was coming, as the arms of the law were pointing and orders were given, and the group of eight cops went off in their designated directions, with Cortez marching in a direct line to the café with two cops on his heels, Griffin was confident.

  As Cortez entered the café, he took out a folded eight by ten of something from inside his coat pocket. Shit, that’s a picture of me, said Rivkin’s brain to his brain via every organ in his body. Where’d he get that? He knew then they’d been inside his place and looked through his stuff.

  His stomach tightened up when he saw Cortez barking at the stringy blonde part-time extra at the cash register, and heard her very loud answer.

  “Like that but twenty years older? Give me a break, I don’t look at them, I just serve them food.”

  After the beard, ringlets and glasses, what was left of Rivkin’s face was deep in the coffee cup when they scanned him. He returned a critical glance which went with his disguise, as the black man’s eyes swept over him without a flicker.

  Rivkin kept on staring at the same column in the Los Angeles Times business section until he was sure, by the door closings and protracted silence that the law had moved on. Finally he looked up.

  A similar sweep was moving up and down the street, the cops panning out and Cortez leading his posse, the Armani jacket flapping in the light breeze.

  Rivkin accepted more coffee from the waitress. He had all the time in the world. Now he had to gear up to be Griffin and deal with Ann. She was still his friend, convinced him Madeleine would keep his secret. But that lady was back in London. Could she be lying? Lying to Ann? But what did Juno have to do with it, maybe he’d overlooked something. The couple had been committed to their pledge for eleven years. Why now? Had she reached that point when she could betray him just to be as cruel to him as he was to her? It was a consideration.

  He considered the possibility for just a few minutes. Enough for him to be convinced she was genuine and had no idea that Cortez was anything but what he’d presented himself to be. He’d conned her, talked the sweet talk, the lies that came out as poetry to a woman like Juno, still hot between the legs at any time of the day. Not the nights any more after the four glasses or more of wine and a sleeper.

  That’s it, Griffin had a clear picture. The man had gone to her shop and Shirley was always in there, nothing else to do with that poor old scrawny bastard lying there at home with his mouth open and tubes up both nostrils. Cortez had conned them. Wanting to help old Lennie, and also keep the stud around for a while longer, maybe end up having dinner and a horny hump, guaranteed to give her those noisily eruptive orgasms she favored.

  So the guilt was off her now, she had been targeted herself. But how did the Fed know about Juno? Rivkin waved for more coffee and puzzled hard over the question. Had he found Rivkin’s place and followed her to the shop from there? Or followed someone else there. Maybe Ann? He was sure Ann was innocent of this. But it had to start somewhere. Someone had triggered this off. And that someone knew some history. Rivkin had never slipped up on keeping that episode in his past a secret. Only Juno knew the truth.

  A bad thought jumped into his head as he remembered the photo he showed Madeleine just a few nights ago. Did it have something to do with him? It could if Madeleine told him about the photo. The man whose angry face came up on his personal brain scan video at least once a month. Pete Stebbings. Surely not. But it was possible. Pete Stebbings’ revenge, here and now? God… he could get himself killed if he didn’t come up with a good plan.

  CHAPTER 47

  Ann’s Apartment

  When Ann saw the distorted face of a Hassidic Jew in the fishbowl of her front door peephole she froze. Then she saw the mouth moving in an effort to communicate, followed by a hand ripping off a false beard and glasses, then those familiar blue eyes. It was Griffin. He had been here only once before. She opened the door and asked.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He walked in, shrugged off the big coat, and took off the wig and hat. Tossing them on a chair then wiped the sweat off his face. She had never seen Griffin so obviously frightened.

  “I’ll get you some water,” she offered. “Sit down and relax.”

  “I need vodka, and I can’t relax.”

  Ann came back from the kitchen with the bottle, ice, glasses and water on a tray. Placing it in front of him.

  Griffin tossed back the vodka and wiped his chin.

  “Jesus. I got a swat team over there. In my own home. I can’t go back.”

  “Start from the beginning.”

  “When’s that? Years or hours ago?”

  Ann looked at the vodka and her watch. She poured one for herself over a handful of ice. Determined not to indulge him for once. Just sat there, rattling the rocks around, waiting for him to put his story together.

  “My wife brought this man over to my place, he was looking for trouble. You know I have an unusual friendship with my wife.”

  Ann’s eyes swung up, the message clear. “Just get on with it, Griffin.”

  “Please be kind to me, Ann. I’ve been through a terrible experience, and I’ve come to you as a friend.”

  He cleared his throat roughly as he waited for a sympathetic gesture. There was none.

  “She said he was a producer from Miami looking for screenplays, she believes in my work,” he continued.

  “Did you pull a gun on him?”

  Griffin threw his arms in the air.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I did. But there was a reason. He was threatening me. You see, I have enemies from the past.”

  “I know about your past, Griffin, some of it. It’s time for you to tell me more about these enemies.”

  His face crumbled, like a small boy who’d been found out. But his relief was obvious. He was almost pleading with his eyes for her to take over. Take over the story, take over him. Make everything safe again. She knew this was her role, and that he was near tears. She felt sorry for him.

  “I understand now why you blew it that night with Madeleine, and she’ll never hear about it from me. But she didn’t have to tell me anything. I know you’ve got your reasons to be paranoid.”

  “Didn’t I always say that?”

  “Yes, but you’ve been living a lie. And now it’s all coming back to get you. Where did this guy come from?”

  “I knew right off he was FBI. They’ve never stopped looking for me. That’s the truth. I’m still not safe. Even here. He might know about you and where you live but I had nowhere else to go. This has something to do with that night and your friend. She must have informed on me.”

  “She’s not like that.”

  “You think it’s a coincidence? What did she tell you that night?”

  “That you were Mister X and I shouldn’t see you anymore.”

  “That all?”

  “It was enough. Griffin, what you don’t know is that there was a young man you met in London, called Tarquin, who introduced you to Barry and Pete. He was my boyfriend, and he died. She didn’t have to give me any details.”

  Griffin’s mouth dropped. He was stunned. For a few seconds Ann held the power over him. She took her time and smiled without warmth.

  “Now we know the beginning. Tell me the rest of it.”

  CHAPTER 48

  Griffin reached over to the table for a refill. The bottle clicked against the glass in his shaking hands. He didn’t try to
show any composure. He had completely lost it and seemed to welcome the change from his usual vain self-promotion. When he looked up, Ann could see his eyes were close to brimming. He let out a huge sigh as if he’d dropped a burden.

  “You can’t know what it’s like to be able to talk about this. I’ve kept my silence for years, can’t trust anybody. They rolled me out of London, you remember the Fleet Street headlines, I was a wanted man. What I knew about certain people behind the scenes was too revealing. The acid. It wasn’t just a casual thing. I was supposed to be getting close to some other big names there. You can guess which ones. The Veils were just a start, kind of an experiment. Easy pickings. Pete Stebbings was a sucker for a good high.”

  “My own intentions were different,” he continued. “I believed in encouraging the creative minds of young people in the sixties, they didn’t have to get over the fifties like we did. I felt they could be pioneers in world politics, it was all opening up to us. We could have turned it all around. Got rid of racism, hate, guns, be aware we’re all one on this planet, work together to make the good life. But money rules, money has other plans. They had me in a noose. Want to know why?”

  Ann shrugged. She was very curious now, but knew her silence would draw him out.

  “I got busted. Coming in to the U.K. from France. I met this wild man down in Marbella. Dutch. He was mixing some acid, getting to the real deep thing. We thought it could make some money in London. They pulled us over walking through Customs, must have had the look, well he did, that’s for sure. They found our hash, then we got the third degree and I was given an option. They told me they were impressed with my act, the smooth talk, even though it failed me. I was to be the dealer, my role was to infiltrate. Don’t you love that? They needed a snitch who could get into the top circles.”

  Ann was trying not to interrupt, but her look of exasperation was loud and clear.

  “Alright, alright, you’re looking at me like that again. ‘They’ were government of course. U.S. of A. Call it mind control. One agent had a running mouth, hard-nosed guy and cocky, he told me a lot. Like how else are you going to shut down on a lot of opinionated young liberal thinkers, with loose tongues and masses of media attention? Get them busted of course. Threaten their ability to make money and flaunt their celebrity, turn the business guys against them. Those working class English, they were comets. The idea of losing all that fame and glory was shocking, so they backed off, no more activism. Brilliant scheme. It ruined a few individuals, but the kids got turned on. Get busted and be a hero. But that came later.”

  “The product was officially launched. It was the sudden drug supply that was the give-away. I was out of the country by then. Hiding in some lousy ‘safe house’, what a joke. They took my passport, all my I.D.’s, told me I had to go into a witness protection program. More like jail. Naturally I didn’t hold back on my, er, criticism of what they were doing. They were promoting LSD, they had the acid ready to supply the masses. Fried brains don’t make for effective revolutionaries. They hated me. I had become their albatross. I knew too much, and I wasn’t in the program. They questioned me all the time. Wouldn’t give me any peace from it.”

  Griffin stopped and stared into the distance, puckering his face at the memory.

  “Then these other goons showed up at the facility. I could read them from the moment they walked in the door. CIA. Serious interrogation coming up, had to protect myself by acting dumb. I had my cover worked out. Told them I had accidentally overdone a trip. The bottle had tipped over in the fridge and leaked on to some food I had down there, chocolate cake I think I said, took the whole hit. What a story, I started to believe it. I faked my loss of memory, blackouts, failure to co-operate. Came up with a ruse or two to back it up. One time I was smoking a cigarette during an interrogation. One of many. I got the idea on the spot. Just let the cigarette keep burning between my two fingers. Stared into space and made myself drool a bit. Cigarette kept burning, fingers started to smoke, the flesh was sizzling. I just kept staring. They finally snatched it out of my hand and took care of the burn. Jesus, it was my finest moment. Never forget it. See, still got scars.”

  Griffin reflected on this and Ann allowed him the silence. She’d never seen this side of the man before. He’d made her imagine vividly how he must have felt, and she solemnly closed the gap, taking a swig from the vodka.

  “Why were they interrogating you?”

  “Some papers they claimed were missing. Nothing to do with me.”

  “Which means it was, and you took something important to them.”

  “Okay, yes. But I needed some future leverage. Seized the chance when I saw a file during the early days I was there in the safe house. It was my file actually, there it was, it spilled the beans on their whole plot. Like we say, there are no secret conspiracies, it’s all written down if you know where to look.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I stayed in that mode until they gradually classified me as harmless and put me in a different place, gave me a new name, I.D. papers and paid less attention. They got too confident and I found the escape hatch. It took some planning, preparations, furtive research, enjoying the challenge, I watched Stalag 17 on TV one night, it was all about detail and patience.”

  Griffin’s eyes began to glow as he jumped to his feet and started to pace, his old self again.

  “Ann, you know I trust you completely. It’s a relief to share this, never done it before. This must go no further.”

  This time it was an order, not a request.

  “Griffin, you’re being ridiculous. This is a very serious situation and you’re still trying to entertain me. Give it up.”

  “Why? Not much time left.”

  He dropped back into the chair again and finally said, “I’m exhausted.”

  “Then sleep. Not here. I’ll take you to my neighbor’s place, down the hall, she’s away and I’m feeding her cats. Come on.”

  She took him by the arm and led him out of her apartment and down the corridor to a door, which she quickly unlocked and opened. Guiding him inside and directly to the bed, shoving him down with a touch. She removed his worn-out sneakers as if they were toxic, covered him up with the quilt and studied him for a moment.

  “Will they come for you with guns blazing?”

  He shook his head solemnly. “They’ll try to be subtle at first but they’re relentless. You have to stay consistent with the same story. You haven’t seen me since whenever, I never come over here, don’t even know where you live. Just stick to it. My God, my stuff.”

  “I’ll get it. You just sleep, no noise.”

  Griffin let out a sigh when he heard the door click again as Ann left after dumping his rabbi disguise and bag. His mouth twitched sideways as he considered the absurdity of it all and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 49

  The Mondrian Hotel, West Hollywood

  Pete finished checking into his hotel room with the casual polish of a veteran, palming notes into the hands of each of the attendants, bell boys, luggage carriers, far too many of them as usual, but of course they all wanted to take a good look at Pete Stebbings.

  He pulled out his few essentials, toilet bag, a couple of books, his day runner, dressing gown and slippers, then he threw himself back on the bed and relaxed for a few minutes, doing some full deep breaths.

  Rose from the bed and did some toe touching and stretching, cracked a few fingers, and plucked up the day runner, reaching for the phone at the same time. He flipped to his “To Do” list, already in the process of activating No. 1, as he dialed his home number, and didn’t have to wait for more than two rings, house rule, before Tony answered.

  “Tony, I’m here, Room 710, what’s up?”

  “Nothing, guv. Quiet as church on cup tie.”

  “Good stuff. Well, I’ve got my itinerary to keep me busy. Just if there’s a call from the New York record company, buzz me right away, okay?”

  Now Pete was on the phone again, thi
s time waiting patiently for someone to locate Ann at the paper, No. 2 on his list, complete with phone number and address.

  “She doesn’t come in on Fridays.”

  “Can you give me another number then, please, it’s Pete Stebbings here. I’m an old friend from London. I’ll be gone by Monday.”

  “Oh? Oh, sure, Pete. It’s 659.3729.”

  “That must be near here. I’m at the Mondrian.”

  “Yes, just round the corner, down on Alta Loma, 1122, it’s the condo building just by Holloway.”

  “Oh thanks, perfect. I appreciate your help.”

  Pete didn’t wait for the unctuous response. He hated it that Americans were so personal right off like that, with the Oh Sure, Pete. Couldn’t they just say Mister Stebbings sometimes, it pissed him off.

  Now Pete had to do some thinking. His To Do List was becoming redundant, and he contemplated phoning Ann but decided to go for the dramatic effect. In short time he had changed his outfit, ordered the car up from the garage, checked his cash, and pulled out a small bottle of iced white wine from the bar fridge. He threw a lightweight jacket over his arm, concealing the bottle, pocketed his wallet and took off, with a certain strut of anticipation in his step. Jesus, he thought, L.A. is certainly a high, after good old lollabout England. This was exciting.

  CHAPTER 50

  Ann’s Apartment

  Ann felt satisfied with the way the interview was going. She knew the detective was convinced with her story. She had given him that straight-faced combination of helpful truth and downright lies that she had acquired as a skill from her years in the movie business, handling artists and producers. Making a subtle point of referring to Griffin by the name she knew, and being surprised at the name the man used for him.