by David Pierce
Lotsa kids. Parked le car. He paid. Expenses: 00.00
Looked in ripoff clothing stores & record stores.
Lotsa kids.
What's it called, Lengerie? Punk music joint near Western,
Closed. Two other clubs, closed,
All closed. Assorted bums outside, waitin' for the
Good Times.
Didn't know what else to do so we drove,
And drove,
And drove, sir.
Yes, sir.
Glendale, Silver Lake, Echo Park,
Eagle Rock, South Pasadena, Alhambra,
Monterrey Park, East Los Angeles,
Boyle Heights, Exposition Park,
Culver City, Inglewood and Lennox,
Santa Monica and West LA.
We drove looking,
Then not looking.
1,000,000s of people,
" of houses,
" of cars.
She could be in any one of them
Or none of them.
Or none.
It was gettin' on
By then
So I sed
What next, Pop?
How about San Diego?
San Francisco?
San Jose?
Santa Barbara or
San Clemente?
Maybe Nixon's home an' you could shoot the shit with him
For a while about farm prices.
He smiles and sez
Home, James, and don't spare the horses,
Whatever that means.
Rustic small talk, I guess . . . dot dot dot dot.
He drops me off
And shakes my hand
And says goodbye
And says thank you
And says to thank you too.
Got home in time for supper,
Campbell soup and hotdogs.
Total expenses:
$03.49
Out of:
$10.00
Balance:
$06.51
Emotional wear and tear from hanging out with Old people:
$06.51
New balance:
$00.00
So tough shit to you.
Sez
Sara S.
Typical, I thought when I read it, so typical, so pathetically typical. I could tell that twerp a thing or two about emotional wear and tear. At least there wasn't anything in it about a flying surfboard.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Anyway, back to Friday.
After the world's worst poet had left, I noticed Mr Amoyan sunning himself in front of his shop so went over and joined him for a while. I was supposed to drop by the out-patients department at Kaiser sometime that afternoon for a check-up but what the hell, who needed to fight that crosstown traffic and it was pleasant where I was and I did have to conserve my strength for the evening's activities.
After a bit I worked on a presentation I was getting together for a large, independent grocery up on Magnolia, I'd met the owner one night at the Two-Two-Two. It was a fairly straightforward security job but the man's wife wanted every detail down on paper beforehand, not unreasonably. Then, figuring it might be some time until my next meal, I had a late lunch at Mrs Morales', the combination platter with a side of guacamole and extra beans. I need hardly mention here that Mrs Morales was neither fat nor wearing too much lipstick; amazing how bitchy girls can be sometimes.
Then, I put everything I thought I'd need, including the camera, in a canvas carrier bag, and then I locked up and drove over to St Stephen's. I parked a good ten-minute walk away from the school grounds so my car wouldn't be seen in the neighborhood. Unfortunately my route to the school didn't afford me the joy of getting a look at the hole in the ground that used to be Art's, as it was on the same side of the school as the parking lot which I was avoiding.
I timed it pretty good; I had only to lurk behind a laurel tree for a couple of moments before the first driblets of American youth began oozing out into the still-hot afternoon sun. I nipped in the front door and made it to my favorite blond's office without seeing anyone but a lot of noisy kids. She was at her desk doing the crossword puzzle in the newspaper.
'Need any help?'
'Not from you,' she said. She was wearing a pale blue sweater and a string of pearls and had two red barrettes in her hair.
'Well, I need some from you,' I said.
She filled in a word, then asked the air, 'Can't a girl ever get a few moments to herself? Oh, well. What is it now?'
I told her what it was now, a master list of which student used which locker. She supposed it was somewhere around, made a call, said, 'Thanks, Fran', told me to mind the store, and left. I figured I'd fill in a few words in the puzzle for her but she'd done all the easy ones. I was never much good at them anyway, which always surprised me, given the level of readership they were aimed at.
Evonne was back in a few minutes with a Xerox of what I wanted. The names weren't in alphabetical order so it took me a while to find the ones I wanted, the half-dozen names I'd gotten from young Robert the night before, and jot down their locker numbers. I did this sitting on the edge of a spare desk in the corner of the office by the window but I still couldn't get a peek at where Art's used to be. I'd be able to from the vice-principal's room, though; I could hear him through the door dictating something.
Then Evonne checked her watch and said, 'OK, that's it for this girl.'
She got up, tossed me a ring of keys, opened the door to Mr Lowenstein's room and told him she was off.
'So goodbye,' he said. 'Is that what's-his-name I heard out there?'
'Who else,' she said. 'See you on Monday, boss.'
I was looking over the keys; there were four of them. The biggest one had 'Val-Alarm' stamped on it, which was no surprise, as I'd already seen several of their blue and white 'Valley Alarm Security Armed Patrols' signs around the school perimeter. What the big key did was turn off the whole alarm system; you used it in a box just inside the front door and then had thirty seconds to get out and lock the door behind you with one of the other keys. I didn't see why Dev's inside apartment door should be hooked up to the system, as all the doors leading to it were and also, why draw attention to yourself. But if it was I'd just have to try something else another time.
'The box is in a cupboard on the left as you go out,' Evonne said, giving her face a quick check in the mirror of her compact. 'The little one's for the cupboard. The boss's is a spring lock so just close it. He's got the only key; Dev might come by to try it but he can't get in, at least he's not supposed to be able.'
'That's all I need.' I said, 'him finding me in there.'
She put the compact away. I had a thought.
'The boss's phone doesn't get cut off automatically after hours by the switchboard, by any chance?'
'It does but just press "I",' she said.
'I think I can manage that,' I said.
'Well, happy exploding, or whatever it is you're going to do,' she said, and left.
I knocked on the VP's door and when he said, 'For Pete's sake, come in,' I went in and promptly made my way to the window that overlooked the parking lot. Without showing myself, I gazed down with great expectations and there it was, a beautiful, deeply satisfying nothing. There wasn't even a hole in the ground although there was a charred patch, all the force of the explosion must have been up and out. There was nothing, not even a pile of rubble, not a toothpick. Art's, formerly B & B's, had vanished as totally as, if I may wax poetic for the second and last time herein, the faded dreams of yesteryear. I wondered if that genius Arab on the banks of the Nile who had invented zero (o) in the first place had been as tickled with his nothing as I was. I hoped so. I always admired him.
'Be with you in a minute,' the VP muttered. He had stopped dictating and was now typing away furiously.
'No hurry,' I said.
'Is there anything as persistently stupid as the California Department of Education?' he growled after a while.
&nbs
p; 'I can think of something,' I said, 'but maybe you don't like Polish jokes.'
He finished what he was doing, turned the machine off, then ran a hand through his already ruffled hair.
'What are you looking for out there, friend, your misspent youth? I doubt you'll find it.'
'Actually, I'm looking at something else which isn't there,' I said. He gazed sourly at me.
'I'm worried,' he said. 'Worried, worried, worried. Who said "If I dealt in candles, the sun would never set"?'
'Mussolini?' I guessed.
'Come sit down, for heaven's sake,' he said. 'Stop gloating, if that's what you're doing.'
'Yes, teacher,' I said, and sat down meekly.
'Evonne says you want to stay in after school.'
I nodded.
'She didn't say why.'
I shrugged.
'Why?'
I shrugged again.
'She thinks you're going to do evil, hurtful things.'
'Well, you know girls,' I said.
'What are you going to do?'
'Clean the brushes,' I said.
'OK, OK,' he said irritably. 'It's for my own good, I know. Well to hell with you, friend. How are you, by the way?'
I said I was fine, thanks.
'I'm not. I'm old. I'm tired. I'm worried. I don't care anymore. I'm going home. Coffee machine works. Water in the cooler. Books in the corner. Don't forget to lock up if there's anything left to lock up.'
I said I wouldn't.
Mr Lowenstein turned his desk light out and went his weary way. I checked to see that '1' was pressed on the phone; it was. I checked to see if there was a dial tone; there was.
I had a few hours to put in so I made myself comfortable, put some coffee on to drip, wheeled the swivel chair over near the window, then went to investigate his library. There was nothing really up my alley so I settled for a tome by someone called Maeterlinck on bumble bees. Did you know that every once in a while all the male bees jump on the queen bee and smother her to death? What a way to go.
Gradually the last of the soccer fanatics and tennis players packed it in; gradually the parking lot emptied. At about six I watched Dev tug the movable bit of fence across the entrance and lock it for the night. I had another cup of coffee and went back to the library. This time I wound up with a paperback by one J. H. Fabre, wherein I found out something extremely unpleasant about the courtship of the praying mantis. I'd pray too if I knew my wife was going to turn cannibal, especially with me as the first course.
At seven thirty-five the phone rang. It was Sara.
'OK chief,' she said. 'He's done gone.'
'Thanks, kid.' I'd given her the task of rounding up some boyfriend with a car, then parking across from Dev's; I didn't know if he kept his car in the lot at the back of the school or, more conveniently for him, in front of his door. Also, wherever he kept it, I wanted to give him a few moments' grace after he left in case he forgot something and came back for it.
'He left about ten minutes ago, wearing a funny hat,' she went on.
'What were you guys doing while you were waiting, necking?'
'Yecch,' she said. 'You have a dirty mind, you know that?'
'Had it for years,' I said. 'OK, Sara, that's it. Buzz off. Where are you, anyway?'
'Nearest phone that works,' she said. 'About three blocks east, we tried it earlier.'
'Maybe you're not so dumb after all,' I said. 'Maybe. So long.'
'You creep,' she said. 'Aren't you gonna tell me what you're doing inside there?'
'No,' I said, and hung up. I put the book back on the shelf, the chair behind the desk, and got out of there.
I made for the boys' locker rooms first, clutching in one sweaty palm the list, in the other a small steel jimmy or prybar or hub-cap remover or whatever you want to call it. Tire iron? Why not. There was still plenty of light lingering about but I had the little flash from the Mickey Mouse keyring just in case.
A more sensitive individual might have found the empty corridors spooky, as large empty buildings at night tend to be, but I managed to make it to the lockers without my hair turning completely white. Once there, it took maybe ten minutes in all to rip open the six lockers I was interested in and go through them, tear up a few books, scatter clothes on the floor, rip off the pinups taped inside the doors and generally make a good, satisfying mess. I discovered soft drugs in four out of the six lockers, hard drugs in two, long-barreled .22 in one. Knives in two. A machete in one. A bottle of cheap bourbon in one which I felt like smashing against the wall, so I did. A stack of hardcore pornographic magazines in one; 'Blonds Have More Cum' looked like quite a good read. All the above except the bourbon went into my carrier bag.
Then, moving right along, I made tracks to the science wing. It was locked but the fourth of Evonne's keys opened it up smartly. I made my way down the hall where not a creature was stirring, thank God, although I could hear some rabbit and guinea-pig noises coming from one of the labs. Guinea pigs – remind me to read a book about them some time.
Dev's door looked harmless enough, a couple of locks but no tricky stuff that I could see. Of course if it was really tricky you wouldn't be able to see the tricks. I tried the jimmy but couldn't get enough bite so I stepped back and put the boot in right beside the bottom lock. I felt it give and did the same thing with the top lock, then shouldered my way in.
All right. One problem out of the way. Now the only problem left was I didn't know exactly what I was looking for but I figured I'd know it when I found it. If I found it. If it was there to be found. It's not as easy as people think, my line of work.
There are only so many places in which things can be hidden from Mother, as all small boys know. I started by taking a speedy look around the whole apartment in case anything jumped out at me – a piece of furniture in the wrong place, a picture that didn't belong, a bit of the wall-to-wall carpet loose along one edge, a crooked light fixture, books out of alignment, anything.
Dev had a half a dozen framed pictures in the front room and more in the small bedroom, all of Ireland, but none of them seemed to be less dusty on top than another, suggesting that none of them had been handled more than another, suggesting that nothing was hidden behind or in any of them.
All right. Time for some serious deduction. If anything was hidden it would have to be somewhere moderately easy to get to but well out of reach and sight of, say, a cleaning woman or window washer or curious girlfriend. I started looking closely at all the electrical outlets along the skirting boards and voilà, or eureka, as some say – in the kitchenette there was one outlet where repeated friction had worn the paint off the slot in the screw that held the plastic plate to the wall. So I loosened the screw with the appropriate gadget on my knife and sure enough, the space behind had been enlarged just sufficiently to hold a heavy plastic transparent baggie. Inside the baggie was a roll of money. Inside the baggie was also some horse. I found out later the money totaled $3750 and the heroin was worth about another grand. I remembered to shoot a few snaps of the operation as I went as I had done at the lockers, they might be useful if not as legal evidence, at least as illegal pressure.
Oh, Dev.
What a silly boy.
I didn't bother screwing the fixture back on, one look at the front door and he'd know anyway. Or at least he'd fear the worst and go right to it to check it out.
I departed the premises with as little trouble as I'd entered them: small key – cupboard; large key – time switch; medium key – front door. If Val-Alarm really did have armed patrols and it wasn't merely the usual bluff, none spotted me. But I spotted something, a disturbance of some kind up the street, there was a cop car double parked but I didn't think it too prudent to look into the matter too closely given the contents of my carrier bag, so I headed briskly but casually in the opposite direction back towards my clown car.
And that was about it for Friday evening; Saturday afternoon, all being well, it would be Art's turn again. I was looking
forward to that.
As I drove away I found myself singing that little ditty of Pop's: 'Ah the ladies, ah the ladies, is the song meant for you? May seem silly, willy nilly, they make love's dreams come true.'
Silly is putting it mildly; if ladies didn't make love's dreams come true, who did?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I was at home, feet up, relaxing.
Brandy and ginger in one hand, $3750 of Dev's money scattered on the cocktail table in front of me, about ten grams of Dev's horse piled up in an empty nut dish beside it and a tape of Crystal Gayle playing softly in the background. The perfect picture of contemporary Valley Man at his leisure. I hooked the phone closer with my free hand and called Benny; although it was an unlikely time of the day to find him home.
'Benny. What are you doing home?'
'Nothing.'
'You scored yet?'
'That's why I'm home, I just got back.'
'Goddamn it anyway.'
'Why Goddamn it anyway?'
'Because I don't need it any more, at least not all of it, that's why.'
'Too bad,' he said. 'You got it. When are we going to get out of these wet clothes and into a nice, dry game of chess?'
'Soon,' I said.
'You're coming over anyway to pick up all this money you suddenly don't want, aren't you?'
'I guess so.'
'So?'
'So I'll see you later.'
I put the money and the heroin away in a supposedly fireproof steel box I kept locked on the top shelf in the cupboard, had a quick wash-up, took my pills like a good boy, had another drink like a bad boy, donned a sensational, gorgeous, pale yellow and blue Hawaiian shirt and was on my way out when the phone rang.
It was a very angry man.
'Mr Daniel, what the hell is going on?'
'I don't know.'
'You don't know. Well, who the hell does know?'
'May I inquire to whom I am talking?'
'You're talking to James R. Bolden, whose brand-new fucking 'Vette has just been smashed up, that's who you're talking to.'
