Hip Cities
and Lost Souls
Chapter
Nine
Something moved.
At
first, Jimmy thought it might have been a jack rabbit. Nocturnal life in the
desert was richer than people thought, as thriving as a jungle. Sometimes he
came out before dawn with a low-caliber rifle to beat the sand for supper. Only
now, it wasn't a low-caliber rifle in his hand, or jack rabbits he was hunting.
On
either side of him, others waited, laying siege to the dusty warehouse. Mister
Gil had ordered them here, something startling his instinct for danger-- though
lately, Jimmy worried about the man, seeing the fear in his eyes. Something
haunted him.
Movement to the left. A flash of something
near the corner of the building. Not a light, but a reflected bit of metal in
the starlight. Everything else stayed dark. He glimpsed a figure moving across
the pale stucco wall of the building, dressed dark for the dark work of a
thief.
Jimmy glanced towards Mister Gil. But the man
motioned for them to wait, as if wanting the figure to get inside where they
could trap him better. God only knew what a thief wanted here-- a temporary
storage place for their fleet of vehicles. Mister Gil had shut it down till the
heat was off. The building contained only the silly hippie van.
Jimmy waited. A good soldier obeying orders
even when they didn't always make sense. Mister Gil had saved him from death on
the citrus groves, giving him food, dope, and never once made him feel like a
slave. Mister Gil rewarded loyalty and courage.
Inside the building, real light appeared. Not
much of it. Maybe a hand held over a flashlight beam with some spilling out
between the fingers. But Mister Gil's little army stirred as the signal came
for them to close in.
Like always, Mister Gil went first, sleek form
sweeping across open ground towards what had once been the front door. Broken
frosted glass jutted from the frame like teeth, grinning out at the darkness.
Another hand signal sent men around the sides, Jimmy moving along the western
wall as part of the prearranged trap.
It
felt like TET again with the same throb in Jimmy's chest and head. Please
God. Don't let me kill anyone tonight, he thought, though knew he would if
he had to.
Rule number one: Survive. His job was
to secure the back door.
Don't
go inside, Mister Gil had said. I don't want us shooting at each other.
Just sit and wait and let us flush the bastard out.
So
he and two others scurried back to a low stone wall marking the property's rear
boundary-- though boundaries out here meant little with so much open space. The
fences had long ago decayed and faded away. A man could almost walk forever if
he chose.
Others moved in on the side, covering the
window. Back here, two windows grinned out of the darkness with a huge garage
door in between. Like a face, he thought, shifting his 30-06 to kill anything
that moved.
When the pop came, he almost didn't recognize
it as a shot. A silencer had never been in the realm of his experience. But the
man to his right slumped forward, something glistening down his cheeks. The
second pop took out the man on his left, and by the time the third pop came,
Jimmy rolled over the wall and to the side facing the building. The old panic
leaped into his head. How many and where were they hiding?
Survive,
his instincts screamed as he rolled and crawled, waiting for the pop and flash
that would locate his enemy. Was there one behind him in the building? Or had
some flaw in the plan allowed the invader to detect the trap? Did the gap under
the garage door mean something.
Pop! Pop!
He
didn't see the flash, but felt his head rolling forward, even before the pain
rushed up from his chest, bringing down blackness...
***********
Gil shoved open the door then stood there.
Mike leaped to his feet.
"What's wrong?" Mike asked.
"What happened?"
The smile plastered to the man's face didn't
fool him; rage boiled in the eyes.
"Happened, friend?" Gil said,
staring hard at Mike. "What could have happened?"
"I thought..."
"You're mistaken," Gil said.
"I've come to inform you that you are free to leave in the morning."
"Free?" boomed Dan, rising from the
couch. "Really?"
"Really."
The others stirred from their rooms, attracted
by the voices. Old Beatles rose from Lance's room despite the late hour. Mike
felt Gil's tension.
"Why the sudden change?" asked Lance
from his door.
"I found what I wanted," Gil said,
his voice cracking a little.
"The shipment?" Chris asked,
stepping out from the direction of the bathroom. She looked more awake than the
others.
"And signs of Buckingham," Gil said
through gritted teeth.
"What?" Mike exploded.
"Where did you see him?"
"I didn't see him. Only his shadow and
his touch at the warehouse where your van is kept."
"Our van?" Lance said.
"Nothing has been damaged," Gil
said, stepping forward to put a packet of dope down on the coffee table.
"Take this. Celebrate tonight."
Dan lifted the packet with two fingers.
"Acid?"
"Perhaps the best ever
manufactured," Gil said. "I've taken the liberty of bringing your van
here. Feel free to use it and go where you want. But for safety's sake, keep to
the fringes of the city."
"Go where?" Lance asked, his puzzled
expression reflecting those of the others. Mike studied Gil's face, wondering why
they'd been set free, but said nothing.
"I know where to go," Dan said
grinning, as he picked through the compressed tabs. "I know the perfect
place for a trip."
***********
Mike knocked.
"Enter," Gil growled gruffly.
Mike twisted the handle and found the door
unlocked-- no guards up or down the dark planked walkway in either direction.
Gil sat on the couch off in the northern corner of the room, away from the
now-dark desk or the fireless hearth. A dim lamp glowed over his shoulder,
emphasizing his rigid face.
"It's you," Gil said, his pistol
falling limply to his lap.
"You expected someone else?"
"Yes."
"Buckingham?"
"He's here in my city," Gil mumbled.
"And it can only be for one reason."
Mike eased in and locked the door. "I
think you're being paranoid," he said. "Buckingham can't get you in
this place."
"But he was here already."
"What!" Mike said alarmed.
"When?"
"Tonight. Just after dark. At least my
guards saw someone near the perimeter."
"It might have been Demetre."
"Maybe. But Buckingham was at the
warehouse, searching through the van."
"What for?"
"The shipment."
"The shipment was in the van?" Mike
said in disbelief.
"Yes. I suspected as much. Buckingham or
Demetre put it there."
"Demetre never got near the van in
Albuquerque," Mike said, flopping into an armed chair across from Gil.
"Then it was Buckingham."
"Why?"
Gil shrugged. "Perhaps he needed a means
of transport, or wanted to set a trap for me. I've made mistakes with him. I
presumed his primary interest was in the drugs. I've pain for those mistakes. I
lost three good men tonight."
"Dead?"
"Slaughtered. In a trap I think was meant
for me."
"Damn!" Mike said. "Is that why
you're letting us go?"
"Only partly," Gil said.
"Bringing all of you here was one of my mistakes. I trust you, but I'm not
sure of the others, and I've exposed by whole operation to them. Things must be
changed rapidly, a new operation established. Have the other gone out?"
"Except for Marie."
"Good. They will distract attention away
from what I am doing. Demetre and Buckingham will watch them."
"You think they'll be hassled
tonight?"
"I suspect not," Gil said.
"They will be watched to see who they contact."
"But they won't contact anyone; they'll
be tripping."
Gil smiled. "But those who watch won't
know that. Every move will have significance, creating false leads and dead
ends. But in the morning I think the police will make a move. It would be wise
if you did not leave with them."
"But I need to get to L.A."
"There are other ways."
"Maybe," Mike said. "But Dan
has contacts."
"Then meet them later-- if they
survive."
Mike pondered this. "I suppose I'll have
to," he said rising.
"One more thing," Gil said.
"Did anyone leave your apartment tonight?"
Mike frowned. "Not that I know of, but I
wasn't keeping guard. Why?"
"One of our vehicles was stolen. We found
it about a mile from here, dumped into a ditch."
"Kids?"
"Maybe. But it seems too much a
coincidence. But go get some sleep. If I don't see you in the morning, I'll
have a vehicle left behind the house for your use. But don't leave town with it. Just park it
somewhere we'll find it later."
***********
"Just let me off downtown," Chris
said, as Dan steered the van back into the maze of streets again. Gil's little
empire vanished behind the stand of trees, non-existent, like lost shangrala
"You're not going to party with us?"
Dan asked, a note of disappointment in his voice. His plans seemed to have
included Chris.
"Can't," Chris said, staring
straight out into the darkness, her gaze tight and angry. "I have things
to do."
"Here? In this town?" Dan said.
"What the hell can anyone do here?"
"Gather news," Chris said.
"Gil's been pretty closed-mouth about things. I want to know what the cops
are up to."
Lance felt it, too-- something had happened
which Gil had not told them. The gift of drugs seemed inappropriate and he
would have preferred leaving town altogether. A cloud hung over the van despite
the startling sky-full of stars.
"Party pooper!" Dan grumbled, then
twisted the van onto one of the main concourses south, darkened houses with
long artificially supported lawns in front of each, sprinklers repairing
sunlight damage with small floods. The streams of each crossed the road at
intervals, the van's tires swishing over them, emphasizing the silence.
Dan pulled the van over a few blocks short of
downtown. "Gil warned us to keep our distance," he said. "I'll
let you out here."
Chris popped open the side door then paused.
"Don't rely on him if you get in trouble," she said.
"We're not going to get in trouble,"
Dan said with a grin. "Not where I'm going." But Lance shivered,
feeling trouble swarming around them.
"Fine. I'll make my own way back to
Gil's," Chris said and leaped out, pausing for a moment on the illuminated
sidewalk before finding a shadow to melt into.
"Well," Dan said, lighting up a
cigarette, his reflected face in the glass looking particularly dark beneath
the floppy hat. "It's just the three of us again, eh? So be it."
"Why don't we just lay low
somewhere," Lance said. "This dope thing strikes me as crazy."
Dan gaze glared across the cab at Lance.
"Are you going to spoil the party, too?"
"I don't mean to," Lance mumbled.
"I just don't feel comfortable."
"Then loosen up, pal," Dan barked.
"We've been cooped up and chased for so long, we need the break."
But
not here, Lance thought, feeling someone's eyes on him out of the shadows.
Demetre, maybe? Or Buckingham? All the whispered meetings between Gil and Mike
haunting him. It didn't make sense to send them out tonight.
Dan shifted gears and began a slow weave
through side streets with indian names, preserved in asphalt like grave stone
markers, much of their original significance lost except to the dying tribes.
"Where exactly are we going?" Sarah
asked. She hadn't spoken much in the last day or so, though he could still feel
her anger bubbling under the surface, despite her sudden announcement to return
to L.A.
"South," Dan said. "Near
Tempee. A small park where we can trip in peace. In fact--" He reached
into his shirt pocket and produced the packet Gil had given them, casting it to
Lance. "Divide it up and take it now. We'll be off by the time we get
there."
"That doesn't seem like a good
idea," Lance said.
"Damn it," Dan growled. "Is
everybody going to be a party poop. Give me mine. I'll take it." He
grabbed several taps and popped them into his mouth, sucking on them as if they
were candy. "Ah, tastes good, too."
Good if one liked chemicals, Lance thought.
A
sour-faced Sarah duplicated the act, though let the pills tumble into her palm
for a moment. Lance had not seen their kind before, more like medication with a
shimmering external surface. On the street, the dope had always looked like
small sweet-tarts. She threw back her head and tossed them into her mouth with
a single jerk.
"Well?" Dan asked, noting Lance's
reluctance.
"Shouldn't one of us stay straight in
case something happens?" Lance asked.
"No," Dan growled. "We all know
how you get."
Scared, that's how Lance got. Straights
weren't supposed to witness people on the edge, and each experience had left
him liking the crowd and drug less-- unable to comprehend the stumbling and
mumbling travelers or their visions. He was more comfortable tripping with
them, as along for the ride.
"Take it," Dan commanded.
"But I've never tripped outside,"
Lance said.
"No problem," Dan said. "This
place is magical. It'll seem okay. An old indian burial ground. Real hip."
Lance felt the first tingle of interest.
"Really?"
"Really. Now take it, damn it."
Lance nodded and lifted the pills to his
mouth, Dan's gaze following the procedure with intense scrutiny, then relaxed
and grinned and shifted again, humming a bit of Jimi Hendrix as he continued
the weaving journey.
***********
"What is it?" Marie asked, propping
herself up on her elbows, her breasts plopping out from under the sheets like
two small loafs of dough.
Mike had risen, trying not to wake her, his
naked form illuminated by a beam of moonlight half way to the door.
"Nothing," he said tightly. "Go
back to sleep."
"But where are you going?"
"Just into the other room. I need to
think."
Sleep had eluded him for hours, and the room,
as silent as it was, had been filled with the echoes of Gil's words. Earlier,
he had hear the bustle of moving things and starting engines. The sense of a
retreating army pervaded the place. But for the last hour, quiet had come,
covering over the usual night noises, the breathing of sleeping figures, the
coughing or joking of the guards. The building bled the last of its humanity
into the dark, a slow death from which there would be no resurrection.
"Think about what?"
"About going to see the old man."
"Now?" It must be after
midnight!"
The clock said 12:15.
"In the morning it will be too
late," Mike said.
"But he won't be up this time of night,
he's ancient. And it won't want to see you anyway. Not after all this
time."
"He knows I'm coming," Mike said,
fishing in the darkness for his pants and boots.
"Knows? You've talked to him?"
"I don't have to talk for him to
know," Mike said, the restrictive denim rising up over his naked self like
chains. "But he knows-- and I know, and I'd better go alone."
"NO!" Marie snapped.
"You go and I'll never see you again."
"Nonsense. I'll be back in a couple of
hours."
"I'm going with you," she said,
shoving the sheet from her.
"Marie..." he started, but knew
better than to argue with her and continued to dress.
***********
They drove northwest. Reseverations infested
the region like amusement parks, encircling Phoenix as if around a circle of
wagons. Mike remembered the details of the road though he had come there only
once. Over and over he had travelled it in his head, each time imagining
himself begging the Old man's forgiveness. Now the wheels of the silver Pinto
kicked up the dust, bounding over the dirt road like a real steed.
"Are you all right?" Marie asked,
touching Mike's hand on the wheel, polished nails shimmering in the light like
tiny knifes.
"No."
"What's wrong? You never said."
What wasn't, he thought, but mumbled:
"Nothing."
He
had no way to explain the feeling, the ache inside his head when he sensed
something wrong. The whole affair with Gil had left him more confused than when
he'd come-- and slightly empty. He lacked Chris' loyalty to clan upon which to
lean during hard times. The rituals of his mother's blood long washed out of
him. He felt trapped but didn't know by whom or what. Worse than on the farm
with the cops closing in.
He
needed clarification. Only the old man could give him that.
***********
The headlight bobbed over the dark yard,
eliciting pieces of the place, concession stand, faded tee-peas, signs for arts
& crafts. Like some child's show paled by too much exposure to the sun.
For
the tourists, Mike's mother had said.
The tourists expected tee-peas, and totems,
and weaved baskets, and blankets. The mixture of cultures mattered little to
them. They learned their history from television westerns where all had been
combined into one large mass of savage mythology all labeled under the vague
description of "Indian."
But behind the facade of souvenirs, a proud
race decayed. There were no ovens here, or guards, but death stalked the red man
as if there was, killing the culture with alcohol and regulations. The fact the
place remained at all surprised Mike with the way Phoenix expanded. He'd almost
expected to find another retirement village here, or citrus groves.
The old man stood on the porch of a shack, the
walls and roof crumbling around him, his face and raised hand as gnarled as
dark wood, illuminated briefly in the headlights. He didn't smile or move, but
waited with the mixed facial expression of a totem pole as Mike parked the car.
"Wait here," Mike told Marie.
"Why?"
"Because he hates white people."
"You're half white."
"I know," Mike said, staring out
into the dark where the old man waited. "And so does he."
He
slammed the door and slowly crossed the broken earth. Dried ruts of car tires
showed the devastation of recent rain, the gushing rain that had ripped up the
top soil making farming futile.
"Hello," Mike said, stopping at the
foot of the sagging porch steps.
"You've come," the old man said.
"Yes."
"To talk?"
"To find some answers."
The old man said nothing for a moment, his
eyes half closed. Starlight shimmered over his face, revealing lines like those
of a tree, his nose and mouth protruding from them like knots. Slowly the head
shook from side to side. "No answers now," he said. "Your blood
fights itself. There can never be peace in you."
"But what if I find this man, Buckingham?
Will I find peace out of the country?"
The old man's eyes opened, laughter showing in
them. But the humor did not spread to the rest of the face. "There is love
in such places," he said. "But you must know how to look for
it."
Relief spread through Mike like a chill. He
had other questions, but the old man turned away, back into the dark building.
"Thank you, old one," Mike whispered
and hurried across the broken ground to the car. Only then did he realize he'd
been sweating.
"So? What did he say?" Marie asked.
"I'm not sure it translates well,"
Mike mumbled and turned the key, the car engine leaping to life under them.
"But I think we're on the right track. We've got to find Buckingham."
"How?" Marie asked.
Mike grinned. "By taking an ad out in the
newspaper, of course."
"Huh?"
"In L.A. there's an underground
newspaper," Mike said, turning the car back the way they'd come, tires
thumping over the ruts.
There
is love in such places, the old man had said. What did he mean?
Partnership? Friendship? Did Mike know Buckingham without knowing it?
"Mikie," Marie whispered, grabbing
hold of his arm. He blinked out of his thoughts.
"What is it?"
"I saw something out there," she
said, pointing off to the sides of the road as the headlights swung around
across the carnival-like face of the village. Pale faces floated between the
tee-peas. Strange small men dressed in suits and ties like a batch of bankers
plucked from board room and bank. He blinked, but they remained, flashlights
cropping up in their hands on three-- now four sides. They didn't look like
cops, nor did they fit the kind of army Mike imagined Buckingham to have.
"Daddy's men," Marie muttered as
Mike steered the car around the small patch of graveled earth tourists used for
parking.
"Tinkertons? Here?" Mike said in
utter disbelief. The road here from Detroit had twisted too much for them to
have followed. Not to this place where the old man waited. Even Mike hadn't
known to come here until an hour ago. And yet someone else knew Mike well
enough to predict it, and hated Mike enough to call them in. Just who didn't
matter half as much as escaping them.
"Hold on, Marie," he shouted and
aimed the car towards the on-coming flashlights and pressed down hard on the
gas.
***********
"You getting off?" Dan asked,
downshifting for a traffic light. Lance smelled citrus through the open window,
but had lost track of their journey through the twisting streets. His dose
melting in his sweating palm.
"I feel something," Sarah said, her
voice dreamy and sad. "How long till we get there?"
Her face told Lance everything-- flushed even
in the dim light of passing street lamps, eyes dilated into penny-sized
circles. He remembered L.A. and knew it would be a rough night.
"Not long now," Dan said, unable to
contain the drug-induced humor. He'd been giggling to himself for blocks.
"Another mile or two."
Lance had his own suspicions. They had been
travelling around in circles for an hour, passing several houses a number of
times, the effect of the drug creating its own reality.
"Why don't you let me drive?" Lance
suggested.
Dan looked over indignant and stoned.
"But you don't know where it is, my boy."
"Neither do you," Lance said as the
red light turned green and the van didn't move, Dan staring out into space
missing Lance's remark, missing everything but his own special vision. What
planet had the man landed on? Or time period visited? Or had the man slipped
into the folds of reality the way some hippies did, examining the intricate
details of the atoms themselves.
"Dan!" Lance barked.
"Huh?" Dan said and shook himself
back, glancing across the cab at Lance. "Oh, there you are. Are you off
yet?"
"That's it!" Lance growled. He
yanked open the door and leaped out, circling the van to Dan's side. He yanked
this door open, too, but stopped suddenly, aware of a car twenty feet behind
them. Stern straight faces stared back at him. Not cops, but men like those
Mike and Chris had embarrassed in the mountains. Denver men. Men who slowly
climbed out either side of the car with pistols in their hands.
Cong!
Charging out of the jungle at them. And he, poised with his wounded grunts at
the mouth of a chopper, hovering a foot from the ground, the perfect target...
"Move over!" Lance screamed, shoving
at Dan.
"Huh?"
"Don't argue with me, fuck head, just
move!"
Dan fell more than moved, like the first
domino in a line, knocking Sarah into Lance's vacated space. Lance leaped in,
jabbing down the clutch as the sound of quickening steps came on either side of
the van. The van moved, bumping forward in first with the gear shift refusing
to make the transition into second-- the faces of the men floating in the
windows, banging on them with pistols.
"What the....?" Dan roared.
"It's nothing," Lance shouted as the
gears changed and the van picked up speed, leaving the spirits behind. A flash
came, followed by a snap. Two more patterned holes added to the collection in
the rear windshield.
Where now? Dan's panic faded quickly as he and
Sarah pointed to the houses along the side of the road, development houses all
built from a single mold, reminding Lance of home. It ached in him, though only
God knew what these two saw. Monsters creeping out of the windows perhaps? Or
fairies?
Lance made a sharp left at the next corner as
the roar of another motor sounded behind them. Pursuit! Not a mig this time,
just a fast sports car. The van convulsed with the turn, unable to keep up
speed-- a loose rod or joint rattling under the thing. They wouldn't out-run
anyone in this. He snapped off the lights.
"Hey! What did you do that for?" Dan
howled. "You stole all the colors."
"Just look at the stars," Lance
growled, making another left, onto a broader, flatter street. More Pleasant
Valley Sunday houses on either side, promising invisibility, the privacy of
uniformity. No crying soldiers demanding he ease their pain, no death on his
door step. Life like his uncle lived it, without jungle or despair.
He
shook himself, then jerked the wheel again, not up a street, but into someone's
driveway and a small grove of trees. He stopped the van and turned off the
engine.
"Is this the park?" Sarah asked,
leaning forward to peer out, her face made pale by the starlight.
"Not exactly," Lance said.
"Just sit tight, all right?"
Dan uttered something incomprehensible, but
not negative, hat falling back as he stared up at the sky. Sarah giggled and
discovered Dan, her hand settling over his as her mouth puckered into a
suggestive grin. She had reached the next stage. Lance grit his teeth as Dan
and Sarah struggled over the back of the seat to the bed. He pretended not to
hear the giggling or their passion. But his face looked grim in the driver's
side mirror, the way it had too often in Nam.
***********
Darkness settled on the ranch. The crew had
gone, taking the bulk of the operation over to the west side of town. Not a
good place, but someplace different. Gil felt the ache of it, as if digging up
the bones of ancestors. A wiser man would have been better prepared, alternate
sources of drugs. But some scent in the air said bad things about the future of
big empires and great drug lords. Big business had moved in, bringing violence
where none had been needed before.
He
sealed the second suit case, his personal stash of drug that would hold him
over until he found new connections, looking up to the sound of the tumblers
falling from his locked door. A shadow eased in.
"Who is it?" Gil asked, standing on
the wrong side of his desk, not quite able to reach the drawer with its pistol.
"You know," the whispered voice
replied from just out of the circle of light.
"Buckingham?"
"That is a name I use sometimes."
"Look, friend, you don't have to kill me.
I've closed up shop. You can take over the town..."
"And those?" The point of a pistol
appeared out of the darkness, jabbed at the suitcases. "Are those the
drugs you stole?"
"The last shipment and some I've stashed
over time," Gil said, easing to the side of the desk, hand reaching for
the suitcase handle. "Take them."
But instead of the handle, he went for the
drawer. Two quick snaps sounded; two small holes appeared in his chest. He
fell, feeling a rush of what might have been the beginning of an LSD trip, but
one that would last forever...
***********
The Ford came to a wobbly stop at the shoulder
of the road, the axile bent from cross-country driving with various other
unintended damage underneath. Gil hadn't been specific on the condition, just
didn't want it to leave town.
Mike hopped out. Dawn peaked over the distant
mountains, blinking out the street lamps one at a time. Early morning traffic
thundered by, grove help and mining workers in pickups and rusted cars. Marie
leaned against the headrest, shaking to the vibration of the cars.
What now? His little jaunt had shaken her
father's army, but they wouldn't get far now. Not that he intended to return to
Gil's. He felt the heat. Tinkerton's only a small part of it. Gil had warned
him. The cops would hit the van this morning.
Better to skip out now while on a roll.
"Marie?" he whispered and shook her
shoulder. She opened her eyes, makeup and dust like crust around the lashes.
"We got to go now."
"Go?" she said sleepily, glancing
out at the road, stiffening only then at the memory of the chase.
"L.A. We're going to hitch a ride from
here."
"What about the others?"
"They'll figure it out. We'll meet up
with them in Hollywood later. Come on."
She climbed out, stretched, then retrieved
their packs from the back seat. Mike slung one over his shoulder then stuck his
thumb out. A rickety red pickup truck full of Mexicans pulled over, their pudgy
round faces gawking at Marie.
"Only going to Blythe, man," the
driver said.
"Good enough," Mike said, throwing
his pack into the back before helping Marie up into the read bed. It would be a
windy ride, but a start in the right direction. He didn't look back once,
afraid he'd see her daddy's army walking across the sand.