by Mel Gilden
He jumped as if I'd jabbed him with a fork. 'What other guy?'
'The guy who got you to come down here early in the first place. The girl in the office said this was your lucky day.'
Carney grinned. 'OK. So you're good. Maybe you're very good. But you still got taken. I told the big robot in the white suit about Kilroy's for twenty-five.'
'You got taken. The information's worth fifty.'
'I wish I'd known that earlier,' Carney said and shook his head. 'Need a ride to Kilroy's?'
'No thanks. My car's out in front.'
We shook hands. He even shook hands with Bill. Bill liked doing it, and after a while Carney had to kind of like unwrap his hand from Bill's grip.
When we got out into the Belvedere I said to Bill, 'Do I have to tell you where we're going, or do you want to guess?'
Chapter 9
Blowfish Spines Of The Gods?!
I TOOK the Santa Monica Freeway west, and got off at Overland. From there, I took Pico under the San Diego Freeway to where a lot of men in work clothes were standing more or less in a line up and down the block. While they sucked on cardboard cups of coffee, they casually watched a few others climb into the back of a dull green pickup truck already too full of picks and shovels. I passed some restaurants—each of them 'world famous'—and a low, square building surrounded by a forest of potted plants.
Then, at the corner of a funny, three-legged intersection, I saw Kilroy's for the first time. It was a rambling place that looked as if it were made of a lot of small buildings shoved together without anyone being too careful how well they matched. Among them, raised like a defiant finger, was a lighthouse. The walls were mostly an off white, except where they had been painted with scenes of thick brown guys surfing and chunky brown girls who each had one hip cocked high enough to sit on. The guys had towels wrapped around them, and the girls wore grass skirts and knots of colour over their boobs. The pictures had been splashed on with more enthusiasm than skill, and were not much gaudier than a birthday cake. The sign out front said Kilroy's was world famous for its drinks and its Hawaiian barbecue.
I parked out back in the lot where there were only three other cars. Bill and I followed arrows painted on the walls to the front door. Inside, it was cool as clean sheets and smelled of liquor and fruit. More fruit. I think it was pineapple. The Big Pineapple. Faint voices bubbled from the darkness as if the darkness itself were talking. The illusion was broken by a female voice shrieking into laughter, followed by somebody applauding wildly.
I walked along a dim hallway papered in palm leaves and came to a shadowy open area. Whoever'd decorated that restaurant didn't know any more about Hawaii than I had gleaned from Whipper Will's travel folders and the souvenirs he and Bingo had brought back.
The restaurant was lit by dried fish with electricity in their bellies. They were suspended from the ceiling, and their great round eyes and half-open mouths made them look as if they were astonished to be there. Where there were no dried fish, there were big, shiny birds sitting stiffly on perches. I think the birds were fake. Either that, or very ill. In a corner under a pink light, a waterfall made of big seashells chuckled to itself about how cute it was. Paddles and more dried fish were attached to curtains of fishnet.
Leis of plastic flowers hung from wooden pegs on an awfully rustic wall behind a lit case full of tiny bottles, each one containing a coloured sand sculpture, keychains and coffee cups that said Kilroy's, mermaid cigarette lighters and bloated fish paperweights. Also in the case, lying out on dark cushions, were spine necklaces. In that light I almost took them for slaberingeo spines. They weren't, but they made me sweat anyway.
A loud speaker croaked once, loud enough to bust an eardrum, and ukulele music began. Gino had once serenaded Darlene with one while singing a sappy song called 'Pipeline Lullaby'. The strumming was not more frantic than a foot dangling from a porch swing. 'I like this place,' Bill said.
'The effect is kind of charming if you like Hawaiian garage sales.'
It was a clever line, but it wasn't clever enough to cover what happened next: one of the plastic leis lifted off its peg all by itself. It turned horizontal, spinning faster and faster, then began to soar around the room like a Frisbie, like a sneeve. If I hadn't been so busy watching it. I'd have seen the other leis take off. Soon there was a squadron of them swooping through the air.
'Anything in your bubble memory about that?' I said, diving to get out of the way.
A pudgy whirlwind of a woman not much taller than me hustled around a corner with menus clutched to her thick chest. She was wearing a loose gown of some kind, and even in that light the pattern of dancers, surfers and palm trees on the gown were bright enough that they seemed about ready to leap for freedom. Sort of blonde hair was piled on her head. She opened her wide mouth and cried in a voice that could remove paint, 'Zoot!' She rushed at me like a football player and took me in a hug I am only now recovering my breath from.
We hugged each other tight enough to break bones, then she let me loose. 'How are you, Puffy? Bill, this is Puffy Tootsweet, the Empress of 'Bu.'
She nodded at Bill and said, 'I haven't seen you since the night Heavenly Daise was shot.'
'I've been busy. You work here?'
'You might say that. I own this joint.'
'I like your floor show. Except it won't stay on the floor.'
We bobbed and feinted as the leis continued to circle.
Puffy said, 'They'll stop pretty soon. They always do.' She grabbed at one, but it climbed out of reach.
'How long has this been going on?'
'Just tonight. No, yesterday. Seems like forever. The customers come in here, take one look and are no longer customers. You know a good exorcist?'
I didn't even know what an exorcist was, so I said, 'You hear about the top hat at the beach?'
'My phone rang all morning. Everybody thinks I'm in charge.'
'You wouldn't like it if they didn't.'
'Yeah, and besides, it's true.' She shook all over when she laughed. I was about to tell her I thought there was a connection between the hat and the flying leis when sweet, tiny voices began to sing, 'On the Good Ship Lollipop.'
'What th—' Puffy began.
Bill pointed at the souvenir case, where the mermaid lighters were singing.
Puffy began, 'I never saw that—' but was interrupted when the dead fish paperweights and ceiling lamps took up the bass line. 'Doom de-doom. Doom de-doom,' they sang, way down in the basement somewhere.
'It's like some kind of cheap magic show,' Puffy said.
A new voice, one that was low and cunning and full of sin said. 'It may look like magic, my dear.'
Filling the bar doorway was the big bot in the white suit. Robots don't sweat, but this one gave the impression that his face was covered with it. Maybe it was the shine of the metal.
'What else could it be?' Puffy said.
The bot said, 'The science of any sufficiently advanced Race—'
I finished the quote for him: '—is indistinguishable from magic.'
The bot and I appraised each other as if we were about to go three rounds. 'You know this guy?' Puffy said.
I said, 'No, but I guess we have the same writer.'
The bot laughed. It was a deep round laugh that seemed to have been brought up in the scoop of a steamshovel. He handed me a card that said he was Jean-Luc Avoirdupois of the Interstate Eyeball. I started to hand the card back, but he said, 'Keep it, my good sir. Keep it. There are plenty more where that came from.'
'Thanks.'
'Perhaps you will join me for a drink? I believe, sir, that we have many important things to discuss.'
'What sort of things?'
'Please.' He bent slightly, and with one arm made a sweeping motion like a headwaiter showing a fat tip to a table.
The mermaid lighters and the fish stopped singing, then one by one the leis hooked themselves gently over their peg. In less than a minute it was as if the world had been
normal all afternoon.
Puffy and I shared a knowing look that didn't know anything, and I walked ahead of Avoirdupois into the bar.
The bar was darker than the restaurant, but that couldn't hide the fact that it was decorated with the same tacky Hawaiian tourist bait. A bartender stood at one end of the bar helping a man and woman watch cars race on TV. He nodded to us when we came in.
Taking tiny steps, almost dancing, Avoirdupois weaved among the tables, leading me to the darkest corner of the room. He bowed to me again, and I sat down with my back to the wall. Avoirdupois dredged a chuckle up from somewhere and sat down next to me. Bill sat down on my other side and began to swing his legs.
'And now, sir. What will you have?'
'Brewski,' I said and watched him.
'Hah. You are a card, sir.' He snapped his fingers in the air and called over his shoulder, 'A beer for my friend.'
I said, 'You get around, don't you, Mr Avoirdupois?'
Avoirdupois shrugged and said, 'It's my job.'
'Interstate Eyeball. I know. I saw your piece on the Hawaiian UFO.'
'You're very kind, sir.'
'Isn't writing a strange job for a robot, even a Surfing Samurai Robot?'
He grunted and said, 'Indeed not, sir. I was designed as a journalistic hack-bot to the exact specifications of the Interstate Eyeball.' He patted his expansive rotundity with both hands and said, 'I contain many accessories not normally associated with robots.'
'That tells me a lot about the Eyeball.'
He chuckled like an idling diesel truck as the bartender put down a paper coaster and a glass full of beer. Avoirdupois paid him and he went away.
'That UFO article had more tap dancing than information.'
Avoirdupois laughed and shook his head. 'You have the best of me there, sir. Tap dancing is all I had, and a bot must make a living.' He lowered his voice, 'To tell you the truth, sir, this UFO business is why I have sought you out.'
'Sought me out? I didn't know myself until an hour ago that I was coming here.'
'Perhaps. Perhaps. But it is likely that two men following the same trail will cross paths sooner or later.'
'What path?' I said. I thought about Con Carney and his comment about a fat bot dressed in white.
'I must admit that our meeting at the Malibu Bar and No-Grill was by chance, but I recognized you instantly.'
'How's that?'
His shoulders hunched up and down as he laughed. 'You are a corker, sir. That is certain. Word gets around when someone cleans up the beach, if you get my meaning, sir. You were described to me more than once. And, if you don't mind my saying so, few would mistake you for anyone else.' He smiled, his lips pressed together. He was pleased with himself, that was for sure.
'What about our paths?' I sipped the beer. It was cold and bitter.
'To tell you the truth, sir, it began with the Rare freak. When he attempted to purchase the spine necklace, my interest was piqued. Yes, indeed it was, sir. I see that you are still wearing it. Your luck, as they say, is holding.'
'So it's holding. So what?'
'So spines are being stolen all over town, sir. That Rare freak was not the type to use force, but Medium Rare has other agents who are. You may meet one of them soon.'
'Oh, my. Threats.'
'Not at all, sir. Merely an informed prediction.'
I took a big swallow of beer. It did nothing to clear my mind, but it loosened me up enough to make probing remarks. I said, 'I'm still waiting to hear what all this has to do with me.'
'It is simplicity itself, sir. From the conversation you had at the Malibu Bar and No-Grill, I know you are interested in that top hat on the beach. I have a professional interest in UFOs. I believe that there is a connection between that top hat, aliens from space, and the spines you wear around your neck.'
Somehow Avoirdupois had put the puzzle together in much the same way I had. He didn't know about slaberingeo spines or Captain Hook's problem, of course, but if he had, he'd have seen how it fit right in. Evidently Avoirdupois was a better reporter than the Eyeball article showed. Either that, or he was lucky. Maybe he had a luck generator in his stomach along with a teletype, an eyeshade and a pair of arm garters. Maybe—Durf, the beer had let some strange beasts loose in my mind. They prowled around, kicking over things I'd have to clean up later.
I yawned and said, 'Assuming any of that is true, how do I fit in?'
He rumbled with amusement and said, 'Oh, it is true, all right. I assure you, sir. I used one of my accessories to download a selection of clips over the Interstate Eyeball's satellite link.' Something in his stomach began to whine, and a sheet of white paper stuck out like a tongue from under his vest. It rolled out of him and dropped into his hand. By the time he gave it to me, another sheet was already on its way. Then another. Each one was a photocopy of an Eyeball article. They had titles like 'Blowfish Spines of the Gods?!' and 'Experts Claim Blowfish Speaks Old High Martian,' and 'Woman Plays Elvis Records With Space Spines. Says, "He Has a Message For Us All From Beyond."'
I glanced at the papers, not appearing to be too interested, and said, 'You may not believe this, but I'm still not convinced.'
'Convinced or not, sir, I will tell you this: Frankly, I am at the end of my rope. I've followed every clue I have to its terminus and have discovered vacuum. You, on the other hand, are a man—if I may call you such—of singular talents and abilities.' From his pocket he took a cheque made out to me for a thousand dollars. Enough money to pay Philip Marlowe's rent for a year. Enough to make him go so far as to raise an eyebrow. 'Perhaps you will accept this as a retainer in hopes that you can find the crew of the top hat. It should not be difficult for a man of your, shall we say, bon mot, to find two Orientals, one of them blonde.'
I said, 'What do you want with them?'
'An interview, nothing more.'
I handed him back his clips and his check and said, 'I can't promise you anything.'
'Still, you are a man of character and nice judgement. I make no secret of the fact that I would feel better knowing you were working on my behalf.' He held the check in my direction.
'Keep it,' I said.
Avoirdupois smiled as if I'd agreed to everything. 'You are a corker, sir. No doubt about that.' He stood up and growled down at me, 'I must leave. I have an appointment to interview a man who claims he can predict earthquakes by telepathically communicating with rocks.' He shrugged a bemused look onto his face and extended a hand to me. Bill tried to shake it, but I pushed Bill's hand out of the way and took Avoirdupois'. It was cool. I couldn't say whether it was damp or not, but that was my impression.
He walked away from me lightly and turned at the door to say, 'An alien may yet try to steal your necklace. I will keep in touch just in case.'
Chapter 10
Here Today—Gone To Maui
I SAT there drinking the dregs of my beer while Bill made patterns with one finger in the stuff I had spilled. Avoirdupois was smart, but like any smart guy, he needed help to look that way. The clips from the Interstate Eyeball had told Avoirdupois that he could connect spines with the aliens from space who arrived in the top hat. It was likely that what passed for journalism in the Eyeball would, at some other rag, be no more than a suggestion scrawled on a bathroom wall. My conversation at the Malibu Bar and No-Grill told Avoirdupois he could connect the spines with me. Who could I connect them to? Unless somebody told me something pretty quick, my trail would be just as cold as his.
I swallowed the last of my beer, left a buck on the table to thank the bartender for leaving us alone, and walked back into the restaurant proper. Bill trotted after me shouting, 'I didn't finish my picture.'
'You can stay here with Puffy if you like.'
'No thanks. I'm programmed to be with you.'
'Like Avoirdupois said, my luck is holding. Come on, then.'
I found Puffy back by the silverware, talking to one of the waiters, a tall, grey-haired gentleman in white trousers and
shoes and a print shirt. He was scrubbed and neat as a box of new crayons. He took a bite out of me with his eyes, but Puffy told him to go see if table 17 needed water.
When the guy was gone I said, 'Avoirdupois didn't get anything out of you, did he?'
'Who?'
'The bot in the white suit.'
'I don't know him. Why should I tell him anything?'
'Do you have anything to tell?'
'He asked me about a couple of Orientals, one of them blonde. Is that what you had in mind?'
'That's a good place to start.'
Puffy looked around, then gestured with her head that I should follow her. We walked among the empty tables. The tall, neat waiter was sitting at table 17, drinking a glass of water. Puffy pounded on the table and said, 'Stay awake, Harvy,' as she passed. Harvy showed a set of teeth that belonged in an elephant's graveyard.
Puffy took me into a room that was no larger than a broom closet, but had the advantage of a door she could close. Photographs of girls wearing grass skirts and smiles were tacked to the wall among very businesslike charts and beer advertisements.
Puffy made the chair sing when she sat down behind a desk with a drift of papers piled high around a lamp that was too big for it. She tortured the chair some more as she turned around to face me. The chair behind me looked as sturdy as two twigs and a bent nail, so I sat down pretending I weighed no more than one of Dweeb's ideas.
Puffy said, 'What about those two Orientals?'
I looked at Bill, who was sitting on his feet in front of the door, gazing at the girls as if his little mechanical heart would break. I said, 'My guess is they are the crew of that top hat.'
Puffy's eyes got big and she blew air out between her lips. When she was done she said, 'Well, in the first place, they're not Oriental. They're Polynesian.'
'I knew that.'
'In a pig's eye. You don't even know what it means.'
'All right. I shouldn't try to kid a kidder. What does it mean?'
