“Sad but true.”
“You know what made the Vietnam conflict so difficult?”
“We faced a better enemy.”
“They haunted us. Our command did everything possible to adjust to their guerilla tactics, and never succeeded. But that wasn’t the real reason.”
“They were fanatics. Willing to die for their cause.”
“Bingo.”
“You’re talking about Clipper.”
“Yep. From what you’ve told me, you’re right, this is all a game to him and he’s exactly as crazy as the Cong was.”
“Then we better make sure that we find him before he finds us.”
Bobby nodded and burped. It smelled like beans and guacamole. We waited while the wind wafted it away. “Sorry, bro.”
I shrugged.
“You know, the Vietcong had their own way of inflicting ultimate fear. It was more terrifying than death itself.”
I looked at him. The sun went behind a cloud and I shivered.
“They’d cut their victims into three pieces. Buddhists believe that robs you of your soul. To our South Vietnamese allies, that was 1000 times worse than any torture or death.”
“That’s why Clipper had them cut Ron Cera’s head off.”
“Imagine what he’ll do to Jade if he gets hold of her.”
When we got to Bobby’s house, the television was off and the radio was blasting hip-hop. Cassady, who was wearing a tight-fitting pullover jersey, was teaching Jade dance moves. She had tied her floral blouse above her waist displaying the firmest, tautest belly anyone had ever seen complete with the ubiquitous belly piercing that the girls of today favor. Brad was sitting on the sofa with a look of wonder, taking it all in. Cassady, Jade and Brad weren’t aware that Bobby and I were watching them.
“This is the America I adore,” Brad said. “Hot chicks with no morals. The world knows we’re bound to fall but can’t wait to fall with us.”
“This isn’t hot,” said Cassady. “This is lukewarm. If I showed you hot, it would--” She saw my face and gasped. “Oh, God!”
She fell into my arms, her chest crushed against me, and I knew why I had fallen in love that night in San Francisco in 1984.
Jade and Brad were stunned.
Cassady led me down the hall into the spare room. She swept a few of Jade’s garments off the bed and we lay down.
“Who did that to you?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
She gently kissed my swollen face, struggling to hold back her tears.
“Did you give as good as you got?”
“Better.”
“So what’s gonna happen now?”
“We all need to lay low and let five-oh do their thing. In the meantime, let’s get out of here.”
Cassady stood up, pulling me to my feet. “And where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
We went back to the living room where the music was still playing, but now no one was dancing. I turned it off and the silence crushed us.
I said, “Have a seat, Jade.” Cassady took her by the hand and steered her toward the sofa. She looked bewildered and very young. “Halladay’s been kidnapped. Those two fake cops, Fishburne and Koncak, snatched him. We still don’t know what their real names are but we do know they work for Clipper. They’re also the ones that abducted your father.”
Cassady held her hands, but Jade was wooden and didn’t react. The shock was starting to penetrate. “They killed him, didn’t they?” Her voice, low.
“Halladay wanted him dead. They grabbed him but turned him over to Clipper instead. I don’t know what happened after that.”
I’d seen Jade sink before but this time it was downright scary. Fifteen minutes before her face had been bright and vibrant. Now it was like a death-mask, something you’d find painted on a sarcophagus. When she finally spoke her voice was flat, toneless, which was somehow worse than hysteria. “They tortured Daddy, just like Ron.”
“No way to know for sure.”
“Don’t bullshit me.” There was no venom in her voice, just resignation.
There was nothing any of us could say. This path she had to walk alone.
“Probably.”
“And now they’re going to torture Halladay.”
I shrugged. “I guess so.”
Her tears flowed silent and nameless.
“Cassady, grab some of our things and let’s go.”
She nodded, looked at Jade and headed for the spare room.
Brad said, “Where are you going?”
“To spend some time with my wife.” He nodded and fear drifted into his eyes. “Bobby’s staying here?”
“Bet your ass I am.” Bobby answered for me.
Jade went to the bathroom and closed the door. We could hear her crying.
I said quietly, “Watch her.”
“Can I keep Cassady’s Beretta?” asked Brad.
“I’ve got plenty of weapons, Sport,” said Bobby, a gleam in his eyes.
We exchanged glances. “Be ready to move fast if I call you.”
Bobby nodded and Cassady returned with a flight bag. “Let’s go,” she said, placing her pistol in its hard case, putting it in her bag.
I drove the Yukon to Leo’s, with Cassady following in the Impala. The place was deserted, so I parked next to my Camry and dropped the keys in the mailbox. Then we drove south into Orange County, armed to the teeth. Cassady nuzzled over against me as Waylon Jennings sang “Ladies Love Outlaws” on the radio.
We stopped in Westminster where we had Vietnamese food and drank several glasses of sweet Thai iced tea. Then we found a nondescript Motel 6 in Garden Grove, off Beach Boulevard. Cassady tenderly washed and cleaned my damaged face and put drops in my bloodshot eye. She placed her Beretta on the nightstand and we made love. Then we slept and woke up around seven the next morning.
“Maybe we’ll just stay here for a while,” murmured Cassady. “If you really think we can’t go back to the house.”
“When this is over, we’ll call Tomas and have him replace the French doors.”
“I loved them,” she sighed. “I hope you shot those bastards.”
I said nothing but I think she felt me tense up. She started to speak and stopped.
“I’m gonna hit the shower,” I said and started to get up.
“Not before you fuck me.”
“Can I pee first?”
After that we slept some more, got up around 10 and showered. Clean clothes can feel so damn good. We checked our guns, dropped off the keycard with reception and split. We drove around aimlessly for a while looking at nothing in particular and when we’d worked up an appetite we stopped and had an amazing Vietnamese lunch, then got back on the road. Cassady drove and I called Maleah.
Stephanie, Cassady’s sister, answered, serious and dour as ever. “Are you guys okay?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
“Because my sister didn’t look too good when I dropped her off at the airport.”
“She’s great and sitting right next to me. Now let me speak to Maleah, please.”
“Fine.”
Maleah, excited, blurted with that childish enthusiasm I love so much, “I’m going to beat Sam, Dad. I already took his queen.”
“Good work. Now do you remember how to do a checkmate the easy way?”
“How many times are you gonna tell me?”
“Got it.”
“Are you with Mom?”
“Yep and we just had Vietnamese food for lunch.”
“No fair!”
“It was delicious,” I said with an emphasis on the “Dee” and laughed.
“I thought you were chasing the bad guys.”
“I am. We’re just taking a little break.”
“Hurry up, Dad, I had trouble sleeping last night.”
“Did you leave the light on?”
“Yeah, but I was still scared. I had to watch a video to get to sleep.”
“Which one?�
�
“Some dumb romance. Stephanie doesn’t have the kind of comedies I like.”
“Okay, gotta go.”
“Can I speak to mom?”
“She’s driving.”
“Okay. Love ya, Dad.”
“Love ya too.”
I called Tony but he didn’t pick up. On our way back to the motel, we stopped at a Blockbuster and rented some videos. Back to our room, we took a shower together, stretched out on the bed, and watched “The Quiet American” with Michael Caine. When it was over, I stepped outside and called Bobby.
“Nick, we’re all starting to go stir crazy.”
“Then it’s lucky I got a job for you.”
“Tonight?” His excitement was obvious at the prospect of something dangerous.
“You got it.”
“I’m waitin’, Boss.”
“Go to Home Depot and pick up a portable reciprocating saw, and a couple of vanadium blades.”
“Okay.”
“Bring a striker, and I’ll meet you at 11:30 on the corner of Franklin and Beachwood. Use the van.”
“Got it.”
“Wear dark clothes and bring the bullet-proof vests, helmets and some heavy artillery.”
Bobby chuckled. “Nice.”
“Did you talk to pig boy?”
“Not exactly. I grunted at him. We’re cool.”
“You sure?”
What did I just say, bro?”
“You’re the man.”
“Best damn believe it.”
“Later, Bobby.”
I hung up and went back inside. Cassady threw me a dazzling but enigmatic smile and went back to reading. I flicked on the TV and watched Family Guy, my favorite. I felt kind of bad because Maleah wasn’t there to watch it with me.
Chapter II – Church of the Poisoned Mind
Around 10:15 I phoned a taxi service and 15 minutes later a bearded, middle-eastern Yellow Cab driver knocked on our door.
“You called a cab, Sir?”
“I did. I’ll be right out.”
“Okay,” he replied and went back to his cab.
I closed the door, holstered my guns and slipped on a jacket.
Cassady tried to pretend that she wasn’t worried, but we both knew better. I kissed her, first her left eye and then her right and walked out, closing the door firmly. I got into the back seat and made eye contact with the driver.
“Hollywood Hills.”
He sensed I didn’t want to talk and nodded. It was a cloudy night with a nip in the air, and he drove smoothly. The fare came to $80. I handed him a Franklin.
“Keep it.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
I was a few minutes early so I walked down the block to an Exxon Mobil, grabbed a coffee and waited outside sipping slowly. At a little before 11:30, I went back to the corner. Bobby pulled up in his blue, 1990, Ford E-series van and I jumped in the passenger side. It’s fitted out with double-decker storage cabinets, a small sink, refrigerator and enormous Captain’s chairs. It’s always reminded me of the Scooby Doo van. We were carrying an arsenal -- pump shotguns, handguns, fully auto machine pistols and an AK-47.
“Where to?”
“Take a right up the hill and park in front of the apartment building.”
We were both tense and drove in silence. He parked and I clambered into the back. There were two Kevlar vests, and a couple of big-pocketed, safari bush jackets, with matching cargo pants. Although Kevlar is bullet-proof, it’s a misnomer because a 9 millimeter bullet will still result in a hellacious bruise, and some blunt trauma organ damage, but it’s a big step up from no protection. I handed one to Bobby and got changed, strapping on a vest and matching groin protector. I inserted a steel trauma pad into the front of the vest, buttoned up my jacket and pulled on my pants. Bobby did the same and looked like even more the Neanderthal than usual.
“Which sidearms?” I asked.
“Where are we going?”
“Underground.”
“A bomb shelter?”
“No. A labyrinth type bunker that extends all the way up a hillside, and is apparently terraced into separate floors.”
“Where is this place?”
“Up by the Hollywood Reservoir. Belongs to Clipper.”
“This should be interesting.”
“He doesn’t live there now, it’s rented out. But under the lease he still has access to the bunker. I don’t know what’s in it or if he’s even using it.”
“So why are we going in?”
“Dunno, bro, just a feeling I have.”
“You and your hunches, Nick.”
I shrugged. He looked grim.
“It was built by an eccentric millionaire in the ‘50s who apparently feared the Russians.”
“Smart man. I still fear the Russians.”
“I’ve got my Colt and my Walther.”
“I’ve got two nines and that reciprocating saw.”
“Let’s do it.”
On the drive up, two LAPD cruisers passed us, probably on their way back from Halladay’s house. One slowed down and took a long look, but didn’t stop us. Bobby drove slowly and carefully up the small, winding roads that get narrower and twistier the higher you go. The streets were all but deserted and lights from the houses cut thinly through the overcast night. We turned west onto Beachwood and drove slowly ‘til we came to the front of Clipper’s old home. Then we drove around back and started up the access road. We parked off the road at the base of the steep incline, near some shrubbery that partially concealed the van. After locking up the front, we climbed in the back. We strapped on buck knives, put on our Kevlar, military style helmets, grabbed flashlights, locked up the back and started trudging up the hillside.
The moonless night gave us some cover and the city lights were distant, swallowed by the greater darkness. We would be hard to spot from either the road below or from the house above, should Reggie Mount be peering out of his back windows. I imagined him working steadily in an upstairs study, musing on the nature of evil. We came to the rock wall as a sudden wind moaned through the foliage. I could make out the grain lines in the stainless steel door, and flicked my flashlight to low beam. The padlock was gone and the hasp was closed but unlocked. Fear that tasted like gunmetal started at the base of my throat and moved down through my chest. Sweating, my breath coming in short rasps, I shivered and stepped back to control myself.
We stood shoulder to shoulder and Bobby gave me a grim look. “Almost like they’re expecting us.”
I stashed the flight bag containing the saw in some brush. Bobby pulled his Beretta and screwed on the silencer. Sliding my Colt out of its holster, I carefully opened the hasp on the door. I turned sideways trying to be invisible as Bobby flattened out on the road, gripping his pistol with both hands, aiming into where the darkness would rush out to meet us when I opened the door. I exhaled and pulled it open. Nothing. Dead silence except for the low whisper of the nighttime wind. We inched forward and the beams from our flashlights dissolved into what seemed an immense blackness. Cement steps descended, matching the angle of the ceiling. Had my heart not been doing its best to bang its way out of my chest, I would’ve had vertigo.
Bobby peered down into the gloom. “How come the freakin’ steps go down, but the hillside goes up?”
“Bizarre sense of humor. Makes it creepier.”
He nodded grimly and gestured impatiently with his pistol. Bobby led the way, and I tried to count the steps but immediately lost track. At the base of the staircase, we came to a landing enclosed by two by fours with insulation nailed between the ribs. The ceiling was cracked and discolored, and the drip of moisture sounded loud in the stillness. To our right, an opening ran into a low corridor. We looked at each other and entered. It was maybe 30 feet long, ending in an ascending staircase, which led to another similar landing, only this time the connecting passageway was finished. The walls were painted with Mediterranean designs, similar to the tiled steps I’d been descendin
g when I saw Halladay jogging the first time I came here.
There was no sign of anyone having recently passed through, but, we proceeded with great caution. As we threaded our way through the maze, I was struck by the horrifying thought that we could be locked in by someone simply attaching a new padlock to the outer door. If Bobby shared my thoughts, he kept it to himself. He was in his element, securing each passageway, guiding us deeper into this underground riddle. Although he’s not my equal when it comes to pure investigation, he’s a superb scout and if anyone could lead us to the heart of this labyrinth and back out to the world above, Bobby was the guy.
After 20 minutes of slow progress, we came to a corridor which sloped down at a 30-degree angle and narrowed as we descended. There was a round hatch at the bottom, not unlike the door to an old furnace. Bobby took a deep breath, grabbed the handle and swung it open. Our beams barely cut the blackness as we descended down a wide ladder staircase, shoulder to shoulder. Halfway down, we triggered a motion detector and I shuddered as the dark was replaced by an overwhelming brightness.
Steel support columns had been sprayed with an orange, furry, soundproofing material, giving the cavernous room an industrial feel. Nickel-plated art deco chandeliers hung in silence. The walls were painted with party scenes, in which attractive young men and eyeless servants carrying trays of drugs and delicacies posed and mingled.
“I don’t like this guy,” said Bobby. “He’s way too modern and efficient. Give me an old school psycho any time. Somebody I can relate too.”
“Look for the control panel for the motion detector.”
As we searched around, Bobby said, “It’s as hidden as the light switches.”
“Yeah. Not good.” Unease was crawling up my spine. I had the distinct feeling we were being watched.
It was beyond disturbing. At the back of the room, three staircases threaded upward. Black leather furniture contrasted with an ornate Persian rug. Speaker cabinets were mounted on the wall. Flat screen TVs and a state-of-the-art sound system threatened to display things that few had ever seen, and sounds that could never be unheard. Lawyers’ bookshelves held a small library. I opened one volume, men and boys and animals engaged in vile practices. My hands shook and I felt sick as I replaced it on the shelf.
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