Down in the Valley (Vic Daniel Series)

by David Pierce

  'So what are some of these lots of things I don't know?' I asked him.

  'You don't know zilch,' he said. 'You no sabe nada. You don't comprende I had Sam board up your suite this morning.' Sam was a lugubrious black handyman who both worked for Elroy and was his connection. 'He says none of the walls went, the bathroom's fine, so is what he called dat strongbox of yours but the roof's done gone but it's just that cheap asbestos board anyway so he's doin' that today and I'll have those Armenian folk-dancing fools in by tomorrow afternoon and what color rug do you want, you're getting, wait for it, tundra, my dear, my darling, mi corazón. I have insurance that covers earthquakes, arson, tidal waves, termites, whale damage and the invasion of the bodysnatchers, that's one of the two things I learned from my old man.'

  I stopped his flow long enough to ask, 'What was the second?'

  'I forget,' Elroy said. 'I think it had something to do with girls.'

  'Thanks, mate,' I said.

  'Baby, anytime for my main man,' he said. He paused for another monster drag. 'Sam told me about the guy who was killed, shit.'

  'Timmy,' I said.

  'Yeah,' he said. 'What was his story?'

  I told him what little I knew of Timmy's story.

  'What was he doing in there, for God's sake? Stupid clot.'

  I told him the stupid clot was more than likely in there trying to get this stupid clot out. Then he said something about the funeral, I said I'd take care of it if no family showed up. Then he said something else I didn't catch and hung up. I was wondering what had happened to Timmy's body and reminded myself to ask the lieutenant the next time I saw him where it would have been taken and what the procedure was now.

  The nurse came in with something on a tray she called lunch. I'm no gourmet but you could have fooled me. When she departed I had a small debate with myself. Was this an emergency or wasn't it? I decided it was and telephoned Miss Shirley at her home.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Miss Shirley was in.

  Actually she was out in the back of her place planting tomato seedlings at the bottom of her garden, she told me, but she also told me she had a new cordless telephone she was just wild about so she was using it and was actually talking to me and watering her plants at the same time and what did I think of that?

  I thought it was pretty hot stuff and a triumph of modern communications and I told her so, then I mentioned my recent adventures and the sorry state to which they had brought me. Miss Shirley was so appalled she almost flooded one whole row of seedlings or so I like to think. When she'd finished finding out if I was really all right she wanted to know if I thought the arson had any connection with what I was doing at her school.

  'No way,' I told her, but with my fingers crossed. 'I think I've convinced the police of it too, at least for the time being.'

  'Well, that's something, anyway,' she said.

  I agreed. 'Will you pass on the news to your boss for me and tell him not to visit me, also not to worry, it's not his fault and I'll get back on the job as soon as possible, about which I've had a couple of, if I do say so myself, brilliant ideas.'

  'Of course,' said Miss Shirley. 'It's the least I can do.'

  'There is one other little thing,' I said. 'I want you to come by for a visit tonight, and bring a friend.'

  She wanted to know who and why. I told her who but told her I couldn't tell her why but if she was a good girl I could tell her why I couldn't tell her why.

  'Tell me anyway,' she said.

  'Because if you know you might have to pretend you didn't and despite popular belief women are terrible liars, especially beautiful ones. Fat, ugly ones are better but I do not want to speculate at this time on the reasons why.'

  'Me neither,' she said. 'Men are the worst liars of all, especially huge, overweight ones.'

  'Well, I'm not lying about this,' I said. 'There are two kinds of accessories, one kind is a matching glove and purse set, the other a legal term for a party who helps, or merely knows in advance of, an illegal act. Not that I'm planning anything of the kind, of course.'

  'Of course. Perish the thought. Tiny little law-abiding you?'

  After a bit more welcome badinage of this sort Miss Shirley went back to her gardening and I tried to take a nap. It wasn't easy as my head was positively awhirl with ideas, plans, and, in the case of a certain salad-grower, fantasies, but I finally did manage to drop off for a snooze just in time for Florence to wake me up and get me pretty for the doctor. He came in shortly thereafter trailed by several of those cringing, servile types who spend most of their lives following closely on the heels of medics. I think it has something to do with money. One of the retinue was pushing a trolley laden with the unpleasant implements of his trade.

  The doctor was a tired-looking elderly man wearing a short white jacket over his civvies. He said, 'Good afternoon, I'm Doctor Franklin.'

  I said, 'Good afternoon, I'm Victor Daniel and I hurt.'

  He took the clipboard from the bottom of the bed, glanced at it, handed it to Florence, then picked up a pair of blunt-ended scissors and neatly cut through the loose-fitting gauze on my once proud Apollo-like legs. Then he gently eased the sticky bandages away from the burnt patches. His whole gang crowded around for a closer look.

  'Good,' said the doctor. 'Will you bend your legs a little, please.'

  I raised my knees very carefully. It hurt some but nothing fell off. He saw the knife scar on my inner thigh.

  'What's that from?'

  'The war.' I got the line from a book I once read.

  'Which war?'

  'Last month's,' I said.

  'And what war's that from?' he asked, poking the old entry wound above the right knee.

  'I forget,' I said. 'I think it was the war between the sexes.'

  'I see,' he said. Then he unwound my turban. Everyone peered in again.

  'I think we can dispense with the headgear from now on, Nurse,' he said.

  'Yes, Doctor,' she said. Too bad, I quite liked the effect.

  'Continue the something-o-benzocaine every four hours, with fresh dressings,' he said, 'and I'm starting him on a course of antibiotics.' The nurse made a note on the clipboard.

  'What's something-o-benzocaine, if you don't mind me asking,' I asked.

  'Fluoro,' he said. 'Antiseptic, analgesic, moisturizing and keeps the air out. I want you to keep bending those legs, too, even though they might be tender.'

  'Forget the might,' I said. 'How about some pain pills while you're at it?'

  'You can give him all the anacin he wants, within reason,' he told the nurse.

  'Thanks for nothing,' I said.

  'Tomorrow you could walk around a little,' he said. 'Good afternoon.'

  'And a good afternoon to all of you,' I said. The doctor led his entourage out. Florence took a tube from the trolley and gingerly applied what's-its-name to the crinkly bits, then wrapped my legs up again in fresh gauze. Then she daubed some ointment on my aching head, upper right side, and adhesive-taped a pad over it. Then she shook out three anacins, if they were even that, from a large bottle and gave me two caps that I presumed were the antibiotics from a small bottle and made sure I took them. Hell, I would have anyway just on the long shot that maybe someone somewhere had made a mistake and put in some real dope.

  The afternoon passed, as afternoons eventually do, even afternoons on the third floor of Kaiser.

  I had a call from a worried Mr Lowenstein to whom I said all the right things, and put in a call to Mae to whom I said most of the right things. She blistered my ear for ten minutes while I said 'Don't blame me' and 'I didn't do nothing' and 'I was framed' and generally protested my absolute innocence. She finally hung up, miffed. Or is it in a huff? 'Ah the ladies, ah the ladies, they are sweeter than sweet,' my pop used to sing. 'Ah the ladies, ah the ladies, they make life so complete.'

  Benny manifested himself in my room about seven thirty that evening, just at that time when Happy Hour in the Valley's many dark, cool a
nd welcoming hostelries regretfully comes to an end. Perfect – I'd already had 'supper' – tinned tomato soup, crackers, hamburger steak, creamed spinach, Jello with bananas in it – and it gave us a half hour by ourselves before Miss Shirley and Friend were due.

  Benny. Benny my buddy. He came into the room with the calm, ruddy-cheeked innocence of the truly amoral. With him the choirboy look was always in. Neatly trimmed ginger beard. Thinning (thinned) ginger hair that was mostly part, and he but a youth still in his early thirties. Unneeded wire-rimmed glasses. Harris tweed jacket, gray flannel slacks with cuffs, dark green (tundra?) turtleneck, black loafers with tassles. In one hand a bunch of flowers, in the other a smallish canvas suitcase.

  'Am I glad to see you,' I said. 'That is you, isn't it?'

  'The boy himself.' He turned around in a slow circle so I could get the full effect.

  'A veritable fugitive from Esquire,' I said.

  'So how're you doing, Uncle?'

  'Don't call me that!' I told him for the millionth time. I didn't really give a fig if he called me uncle, aunt or granny but I knew he'd be disappointed if he didn't get the expected reaction. 'OK. Start unpacking, we haven't got all night. Did you find a way out of here?'

  'End of the hall,' he said. He began taking bottles and tubes and assorted other goods from his case and laying them out neatly on the other bed. 'Firedoor, firestairs, emergency exit two flights down leads out into the back of the parking lot. Got it?'

  I said I got it. Then he took out a white doctor's jacket and held it up against his puny chest. 'H'ummm, nice. Oh, I brought something.'

  'Yeah, I saw, many thanks for the petunias.'

  'Not the petunias.' He fished in his pocket and tossed over a tube of Demerols.

  'About time,' I said ungratefully, popping two of them immediately and stashing the rest under the mattress. Then we began setting the stage for our eight o'clock visitors.

  Miss Shirley arrived promptly on the hour as requested, with Dev, also as requested. She looked fetching as all get out in white, bell-bottomed slacks, blue blazer and matching blue sailor's cap worn at a rakish tilt. He looked less fetching in chinos and a red zip-up windbreaker. I looked least fetching of all, in fact I looked like I was at death's door and the door was wide open. The portable screen almost surrounded my bed; through one carefully left gap the shocked visitors peered in at what was left of poor me. One rubber tube taped to my arm led to the IV bottle hanging from its stand, another came out of my nose and disappeared into the darkness under the bed. A third red tube gave the impression it was emerging from my water works under the covers; it led under the bed to a highly visible bedpan. Most of my dome was swathed in gauze. I had one hand bandaged as well. Just the one, one didn't want to overdo it. The lowered lights gave an appropriately somber look to the whole set-up.

  Outside the door Benny stood sentry, ready to tell Florence or anyone else who chanced by that I was with my girl and would be deeply grateful for a few stolen moments of privacy.

  'How're you doing, Vic?' Dev asked softly after taking in the scene.

  'Is . . . is that you, Dev?'

  'And Miss Shirley,' he said. 'How're you getting on?'

  'Ah, I'll be out of here in no time,' I bluffed.

  'You poor dear!' said Miss Shirley. If she had any suspicions she kept them to herself. She moved closer and laid her cool palm against my cheek. Could I smell just a trace of freshly turned loam, of sweet, sun-ripened tomatoes and perhaps just a hint of, an elusive trace of, Johnson's baby cream? Not really.

  'You're burning!' she said.

  'Fires do that,' I said gently. 'By the way, we think we know who the bad guys were.'

  'Oh yeah?' said Dev Devlin.

  'Yeah.' I told them briefly about my little contretemps, which is a polite way of saying attempted castration, at the Oasis way out Ventura Boulevard and mentioned I thought I'd seen one of the emotionally disturbed youngsters, which is a polite way of saying spaced-out creep, in front of my office Saturday morning just before it happened.

  'Those bastards,' he said. 'Saturday morning. Wish I'd been around instead of kicking out beer drinkers at the soccer game.'

  'Me too.' I said. 'Listen, Dev, the reason I asked you to drop by, for which by the way many thanks, is that I won't be much use for a while according to the specialist so maybe you could do me a favor.'

  'Sure, Vic,' he said. 'Name it.'

  'Keep your eye on the storerooms for me, will you? My face, or what's left of it, might be in the papers tomorrow and someone from the school might start putting two and two together, you get me? I'm talking about maybe another fire, to cover up any shortages, maybe someone with computer access getting at the records, all right? Just keep the lid on for a couple of days.' Dev wasn't the only one in town with fancy footwork.

  'You got it,' he said.

  'Miss Shirley,' I said, 'and I want to thank you too for coming, is there any way you can cue the computer so you'll know if anyone mucks about with it who's not supposed to?'

  She shrugged. 'I'm not an expert but I can try.' I wished she'd touch my cheek again or even my foot through the blankets.

  Business being concluded I got them out of there before Flo or the mobile library or anyone else poked his or her head in. The business I refer to was of course letting Dev get a good look at me in my completely immobile, incapacitated and altogether pathetic state, à la chicken soup dope who couldn't possibly have moved but did.

  Benny popped back as soon as they left and within five minutes we had the room and me back to normal, the screen and IV stand back where they belonged, tubes and bottles packed away, head-dressing off, lights up. Then he took off for a bite to eat and a bit of business involving two gross of Ray-Ban sunglasses. He left the suitcase as it had a few items in it I'd need later.

  Later meant after Florence tucked me in for the night, that was about ten o'clock. I gave it another hour, helped myself to two more Demerols, allowed them time to dig in and start radiating their message that happy days were here again, then somewhat cautiously bestirred myself. Benny had brought some dark clothes more or less my size, dark sneakers ditto, dark toque to cover any head bandages and the white doctor's coat to go over everything in case I got caught sneaking out or sneaking back.

  I didn't get caught sneaking out, anyway, but walking was murder, best I could manage was a sort of stiff, Frankenstein monster lurch. I propped the emergency door on the ground floor open with a wad of folded paper so it wouldn't lock behind me, climbed into Benny's waiting Ford and off we went to blow up things. Well, one thing in particular to start with, a certain B & B's (now Art's) hamburger stand. Art himself would come later.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The drive was pleasant, the Demerols uplifting, the legs bearable and Benny an amusing companion, as always. Well, as most of the time.

  'A pleasant evening,' I observed.

  'Indeed. How're you feeling, Uncle?' We cruised down the north slopes of Laurel Canyon Drive, then leveled off into the Valley Where Lilies Grew Not.

  'I been worse,' I admitted. 'Thank God for pharmaceuticals that do their job and then some.'

  'A-men,' he said. 'You will notice I'm driving very sedately on purpose but it would help my purpose if I knew where the hell we were going.'

  'Turn right,' I said. 'And do me a favor, it's not a lot to ask, don't call me Uncle!'

  He smiled and peered virtuously at me through his round granny glasses.

  'Benny, you're a widely traveled individual, you get around, tell me about drugs. Drugs in LA.'

  'Illegal drugs?'

  'No, the cod liver oil war.'

  'Now, now,' he said. 'It's embarrassing when a man your size uses sarcasm. Guy called Reese . . .'

  'Tootie Reese?'

  'Tootie Reese, ran most of the action in south-central LA til he not so brilliantly peddled some coke and smack to some DEA types; they reckon he'll get twenty to life next month when he comes up. So his action is up for grabs, you're ta
lking maybe a hundred, a hundred and fifty houses so you can imagine what's going down.'

  I said I could indeed.

  'Guy called Whitey because he's blacker than the legendary Toby's bum at midnight in a coal mine, worked for Tootie, he's out on bail, I think it's a hundred grand, over that shootout in the pizza parlor downtown somewhere?'

  'Last January,' I said. 'I remember. I was courting, if that's the word, your fey, if that's the word, Aunt Jessica at the time.'

  'So you were, so you were. So you got something called Whitey's Enterprises and a bunch of ex-cons, very heavy, called Third World cutting up the LA market.'

  'Next left,' I said. 'You know any of these dubious characters?'

  'I see one or two of them around,' Benny said. 'I have, and I blush to admit it, even been known to do a little business with them.'

  'You should blush,' I said.

  'But they are not merely dubious, ol' buddy mio, they are killers. You have to figure twenty, thirty, forty murders this year alone between them and it's only May. They kill over who owns the turf, they kill rip-off merchants, they get killed trying to rip off themselves, they simply adore killing welshers and they love to kill driving by, it's like their trademark.'

  'Next left,' I said.

  'A gang of kids is having a party, they're out in the front yard to show how cool they are instead of being safe, or safer, anyway, out back or inside. A car drives by and starts shooting, they don't care who else gets hit.'

  'You're talking kids now.'

  'I'm talking kids now, hundreds of them, dealing on the streets. One kid I knew down on West 54th, they called him Gonzo, never had a job in his life. When he got hit he had four grand plus change in his pocket, his mother couldn't believe it. Some of them have gang tattoos, the smarter ones don't. They try and put the fear of God into other gangs by giving themselves names like "The Bloods", "The Crips", "The Schoolyard Crips" is a good one. Then you've got your "Piru Killers". I personally like the "Van Ness Gangsters", no hyperbole, just a simple statement of fact.'