The Monarch Graveyard

by James R Nelson

  “Yes. Did you see it?”

  “I loved that movie. I’ve been in a few scary movies myself. But only as an extra. I’ve got my SAG Card. I’m hoping to get some better parts.” She thought for a moment. “Why don’t you go down to Television City? I know a guy who got an assistant director’s job there a few months back. He had a little more experience than you, but who knows?”

  “Thank you. Thank you very much. I’ll do that.” He glanced at a clock on the wall behind her. “I’m supposed to meet someone in two hours. I bet I could drop off my resume on the way there.”

  She turned and saw the time. “Maybe. Depends on the traffic. There’s always traffic. To be safe, you’d better leave now. Good luck to you.”

  He turned toward the door. “Thank you.”

  An hour and fifty minutes later, a cab let Stephen out in front of Caroline’s apartment building. The three story pink stucco complex in Santa Monica was a block off Wilshire Boulevard and two blocks from the ocean. A cool breeze, heavy with the smell of the Pacific, buffeted him as he walked up three sets of stairs and knocked on apartment 3 G.

  Caroline opened the door. She looked ravishing. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was wearing a tight blouse tucked into a wraparound skirt that ended just below her knees.

  “Well, Stephen Moorehouse.” She looked out onto the lanai. “Are you sure Phillip isn’t here with you?”

  “No. He’s back at Cliffside Manor. He sprained his ankle. He wants me to check out a few things. Actually, that’s kind of why I’m here.”

  Her husband stepped into the living room. “Welcome to L.A. We met when I came to visit Caroline on the set in Florida.”

  “I remember, Richard. Nice to see you again.”

  Caroline disappeared into the kitchen and came back carrying a plate of hors d’oeuvres. “Sit down. What would you like to drink? We’re having daiquiris.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Stephen inquired how the wedding had gone, and from Caroline’s answer, he knew she wasn’t aware of Cyrus’s disappearance. After a few more minutes of wedding talk, Stephen said, “There is a reason I’m here.” He paused. “And it’s not good news.”

  Both Caroline and Richard leaned forward. “What is it?” Caroline asked.

  “It has to do with Cyrus Bonaventure. He…he’s missing.”

  “What!” Richard exclaimed. “We just saw him at the wedding. When…how did he go missing?”

  “I just came from Florida. From what his wife told me, he went for his usual morning walk on the beach and never came back. They don’t know if he got caught in an undertow, had heat stroke, or what.”

  “I’ll put my money on or what,” Richard said. Caroline turned to him with a look of surprise.

  “What do you mean?” Stephen asked.

  “I don’t trust that guy. I never have. Oh, and my father? He liked him even less.”

  Stephen reached for a cracker. “Why was that?”

  “My father always thought Cyrus was bleeding my aunt dry. She had some money. The Rivera family owned lots of land in Mexico. Ranches, commercial real-estate. They still have several hundred acres. Cyrus likes to play the big-shot, and he likes to gamble.” He took a sip from his drink. “I wouldn’t doubt that this is some kind of ruse to get out of one of his famous gambling debts.”

  “What about his business, Bonaventure and Plotnick. Doesn’t that bring in good money?”

  “It used to. Then Cyrus lost a ton of money on two failed movies. Thank goodness your uncle’s latest picture did so well. But I’m not sure it was enough to make up for Cyrus’s string of bad investments. There’s bad blood between the partners. Irving’s old school. He thinks movies are way too speculative. He absolutely hates it when Cyrus invests in them. Irving wants to stick with precious metals, oil, gas, real estate, and those kinds of things. Irving made a killing on real estate.” He turned to Caroline. “Honey, can you get me another drink?”

  “Sure.” She took his glass.

  Richard continued, “Irving knows Cyrus has a gambling problem. How do I know all of this? From my dad.” He paused. “I don’t know what’s happened since Dad died.” He looked down at the floor. “A lot can change in a few months.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your loss,” Stephen said.

  “Thank you. It’s been tough with the wedding and everything. Car accident. Hit and run. Somebody rear-ended him on Mulholland Drive. Knocked him over the edge.” He looked up as Caroline handed him a new drink. “We almost postponed the wedding.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Stephen was quiet as Caroline sat back next to her new husband.

  Richard took her hand. “But we decided not to. People were coming from all over. Caroline’s mother already had purchased her ticket from England. And…we had a beautiful wedding.”

  Caroline leaned over and kissed him. “We did. We certainly did.”

  “Your father was a reporter here in L.A., wasn’t he?”

  Richard smiled. “Yes. How did you know that?”

  Stephen remembered what Barbara Jenkins had said, but instead offered, “My uncle mentioned it when we were talking about your upcoming wedding.”

  “He was somewhat of a legend here.” Richard glanced down. “It sounds strange to say ‘was’.”

  “He was such a handsome man,” Caroline added. She pointed to a picture hanging on the wall. “Look. He could have been in the movies.” She turned to Richard. “That’s where my husband gets his good looks.”

  Richard said, “He actually had a few bit parts in some B movies in 1950 to pay his way through college. He said it was okay, but he had a love for the newspaper business. That’s all he ever wanted to do.”

  “What kind of reporting did he do?” Stephen asked.

  “For the last few years he was working on some big stories. How the mob had worked their way into the movies, drug mules crossing over from Mexico.” He picked up a napkin and dabbed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I…I still can’t believe that he’s gone. Since he was Latino, he could cross over to Mexico and work undercover. He was a very brave man. His assistant quit when he died. She said she couldn’t work with anyone else. They were very close.” He fiddled with the napkin that had been under his drink. “I think she quit because she was scared. If you ask me, he was on to something big, and he paid the ultimate price for it.”

  “Really? But you don’t know what it was.”

  “No. I asked Gayle several times. She was his partner at the newspaper. She wouldn’t tell me anything. She said she thought it was just an accident. Just one of those things. But I have a nagging feeling that she doesn’t believe that.”

  “I’m sure it was hard not having him at your wedding.”

  Richard rubbed his face. “It was.”

  Stephen asked, “What are you guys doing for your honeymoon?”

  A big grin broke out on Caroline’s face. “We’re going to Hawaii for two weeks. We leave the day after tomorrow.”

  “Hawaii! That should be fun.”

  Caroline glanced at the clock. “We better get going. We have reservations at La Bistro.”

  ###

  Paulie drummed his fingers on the kitchen table. When was she coming back? It wasn’t that far to the IGA. He looked around the cabin. He was sick of the green plaid couch cushions, the dark walnut paneling, and the moldy smell. He needed some air.

  The back porch steps creaked as he stepped outside. He took a deep breath. The air was fresh. Cold with a strong sent of pine. He breathed in again. It had been a long time since he had experienced fresh air. The stench of prison was still fresh in his mind.

  He spotted an old shed behind the cabin. What kind of junk could be in there? He pushed open the door and stuck his head inside. It smelled of motor oil and kerosene. An old work bench was on one wall. Rusty tools littered its surface. A rat scurried along the far corner. Paulie slammed the door shut and ambled down the narrow two-rut road that led to the blacktopped county highway.
The air smelled of decaying leaves and rich dirt. A flash of orange caught his attention. A monarch! He watched as it flittered out toward the road. What about that place Kitty had told him about? The place where hundreds of monarchs could be seen. He needed to ask her where that was. Maybe they could sneak over there sometime.

  He kicked at a stick. It was almost dusk. No telling what kind of creatures would be sneaking out of the wilderness around now. Bears? This was bear country, no doubt about that. He’d heard plenty of bear hunting stories from some of the other inmates.

  Leaves rustled somewhere near him. He spun around. What was that? More crackling came from the woods. This time it was closer. Paulie jumped back. Why hadn’t he grabbed one of the guns Kitty brought with her? Something moved a few feet in front of him. He froze for a second and then burst out laughing. A red squirrel stopped at the edge of the road and stared at him. How could such a little thing make so much noise?

  Headlights swung around the corner of the road. Paulie ducked into the tree line. Good thing. A cop car rounded the bend. Had he been seen? The car slowed down. It stopped and then backed up until it came parallel to the cabin road. Paulie pressed himself against an oak tree and held his breath. Had he been spotted? After a few moments, the blue cruiser continued down the road.

  Paulie remained pressed against the tree. Did they see him? Were they going for reinforcements? Another car rounded the corner. It was Kitty.

  Paulie stepped out of the darkening woods as she pulled by. She parked behind the cabin and jumped out. “What was that all about? You scared me to death when you popped out of the woods like that.”

  Should he tell her about the cop? “I didn’t jump out of the woods. I came outside to get some air. When I saw you round the corner, I stepped aside to give you enough room to get by.” He followed her into the cabin. “What’d Al say? Is he sending someone to get us?”

  Kitty tossed the car keys onto the table and opened a pack of cigarettes she’d bought at the IGA. “You’re not going to be happy. Al hasn’t been able to find anyone to help you.” She paused. “Us.”

  “What are you talking about? After all I done for those guys back in New York? What did he tell you?”

  She lit her cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. “He said he’d been calling around. He talked to some guy in Vegas who got back to him and said no dice.” She looked around the cabin. “Something’s got to happen. I can’t stay in this dump much longer. I swear something was crawling on me last night. That mattress wore out about twenty years ago. My back feels like I’ve been sleeping on a log.”

  “That damned Al. I need to talk to him. He owes me big time. Maybe I could talk to the guy in Vegas. Let him know that I could help him out when we get there.”

  She took another drag from her cigarette. “Not tonight. Two cop cars went by when I was in that pay phone. Good thing I parked on the side where they couldn’t see the car.”

  ###

  Cyrus struggled out of the dirty sleeping bag his captors had provided and sat in his tent. How the hell was he going to get off this island? His only hope was Everett. Cyrus had been trying to develop a rapport with him, and at times he thought he was succeeding. But every now and then, Everett seemed to pull back. That disgusting other man seemed to have quite a hold on him. He pushed open the tent flaps and crawled out onto wet grass. It had rained during the night. At least his tent hadn’t leaked. Just one more thing he didn’t want to deal with. Cyrus stepped into the bushes and peed. His new morning ritual.

  “Mornin’,” Everett called out. “One hell of a storm last night. How’d your tent do?” He switched off the radio.

  “It was okay. It didn’t leak.” Cyrus walked over, knelt down in front of Everett, and pointed to the radio. “I can’t believe we haven’t heard anything on the news about me being gone.”

  Everett scratched his head. “I know. I been wondering the same thing.”

  Cyrus stood there for a moment. “Hey, I thought of a few more Hollywood stories you may be interested in hearing.”

  Everett looked up. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Do you know who Strother Martin is?”

  Everett squinted and rubbed his chin. “No, can’t say that I do.”

  “You ever see the movie Cool Hand Luke?”

  A big smile crossed Everett’s face. “Hell, yeah. I loved that movie.”

  “Well, Strother Martin was the guy who said, ‘What we have here is a failure to communicate.’”

  “Oh, that guy. Sure, I know him. Never knew his name, though.” He picked up a metal coffee pot that was sitting on a rock over a small fire, poured a cup, and handed it to Cyrus.

  “Thanks. Anyway, Strother’s been in over fifty movies. He’s what they call a character actor. He’s not very handsome and his voice is different. But he’s got the look. He’s got that raw, real appearance. With the lines in his face and everything.”

  Everett took a sip of coffee.

  “My point is, this guy’s been in a bunch of movies. He’s making a fortune. You know, I’ve been watching you. You got that same weathered, rough persona. It’s not a look they see in California very often. Too many pretty boys out there.”

  Everett stared at him from the corner of his eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m telling you, there’s a lot of work for your type out in Hollywood. You’ve got the authenticity, the voice, the outdoorsy look they’re searching for. If that guy Strother Martin can do it, there’s no reason why you couldn’t do it too. You just need contacts. And guess what? I got a ton of them.”

  Everett tossed his remaining coffee onto the grass. “Man, I think the sun must have got to you yesterday. You’re —”

  The loud roar of an airboat engine rolled in over the river. Everett jumped up and reached for his gun. He relaxed when the pirate flag Dwayne had attached to a long pole waved over thick willow bushes just beyond the bend.

  “About time he got here,” Everett said. “I sure hope someone paid your money. I want to get the hell off this island.”

  Dwayne cut the engine. The boat skimmed along the water and slid up onto the muddy bank and stopped. He jumped off holding a long pair of garden shears.

  Just from the look on his face, Everett could tell he was in a bad mood. A gun was strapped to his side.

  Everett walked over to the airboat. “I hope you brought us something new to eat. I can’t stand the smell of that damned stew anymore.” He looked at the shears. “What ya got there? Gonna do some mangrove trimming?”

  Dwayne ignored him. He marched over to Cyrus, pulled back his right hand, and hit him in the face. It happened so fast, Cyrus didn’t have time to step back or duck. He fell over onto his back and lay on the ground.

  Everett ran over. “What the hell you go and do that for?”

  “I’m sick of waiting around to get that money.” Dwayne looked down at Cyrus. “Maybe this ass hole’s enjoying his camping adventure. Something to get him a rest from ringing phones and shit. I don’t know. But I’ll tell you what, my patience is running thin. He better think of something to get this ball rolling. We need that money.”

  “The man tells me he’s broke. He’s only got three grand in the bank.”

  Dwayne stared at Everett. “The man don’t want to pay. Of course that’s what he’s gonna say. Do you really think some big money guy from Hollywood ain’t got more than three grand in the bank?”

  Cyrus sat up and rubbed his chin. “It’s true. I…I…gambled it all away. I’m sure my wife’s trying her best to round up the money, but where’s she going to get it?”

  Dwayne took a few steps and stood over him. “Hold his arms, Everett.” He waved the shears in the air. “I’m going to pull down his pants and send his wife a reminder of why she should try a little harder to get us that money.”

  Cyrus tried to scramble away. Dwayne stepped on his foot and stopped him. “Go on, Everett. Hold him down.”

  Everett didn’t move. “Now wait a minute
. You go and do something foolish like that, and the man’s gonna bleed to death out here. I never signed up for no killing. I think he got the message. Give him some paper so he can write his wife another note.”

  Dwayne pulled out his gun and pointed it down at Cyrus. “Everett, run back to the airboat. There’s a bag on the floor from the drug store. It’s got bandages, mercurochrome, and tape. Leave the other supplies. You can get those later.”

  Everett didn’t move. “Come on, this ain’t right. The man’s broke. Let’s just forget the whole darn thing. He ain’t ever gonna—”

  Dwayne swung the gun toward Everett. “I’m not backing out now. Listen, we need to get the ball rolling here. The sooner this is over, the better. Now go get the bag. And you better be quick, because I’m sick of this shit. I may just shoot him right here and be done with it. Let the buzzards take care of him.”

  Everett mumbled, “You’re a real son-of-a-bitch, ain’t ya,” as he walked toward the airboat.

  Cyrus felt cold. He looked up at Dwayne. “What the guy said is true. I’m broke. There’s no way I can lay my hands on fifty grand.”

  “Maybe when your wife gets her little present, she’ll figure out a way to get us the money. If not, we’ll leave your ass here, and you can fight off the ‘gators and snakes all by yourself.”

  Everett returned with a paper bag. He tossed it on the ground and stepped in front of Dwayne. “There’s your damn bag. But I’m here to tell ya, you can shoot me if you want, but I’m not letting you destroy this guy’s manhood. It just ain’t right. He ain’t done nothing to us. If you’re hell-bent on doing something like this, take the man’s pinky. He can live without that. But the other thing, that’s just being cruel.”

  Dwayne smiled. “Okay. Pinky it is. Hold him down.

  Everett bent down and grabbed his arms as Dwayne bent over Cyrus. A piercing scream echoed across the marshland sending a flock of white ibis skyward.

  Eleven

  Jeanette stepped into the trophy room and pulled a chair next to Phillip. He glanced up from the script he was reading. “This is quite good. Have you read it?”