"Can you do this?"
Clendon did it in rhythm, like jumping jacks, slapping his thighs, over and over, one-two, one-two. Carl watched a few beats.
"Okay, enough fooling around."
"Come on, man, I'm just trying to have a little fun. I'm getting bored, you know. I need to get my circulation going."
Clendon kept doing it, one-two, one-two, a bit faster, slapping his knees now, the cuffs bouncing wildly. He had suckered many drunken bets with this trick and was yet to meet anyone who could do it on his first try. When others first tried it, they looked bewildered. Their hands went every which way except in coordination to their nose and proper ear, and their mind sputtered. Even thinking about it seemed to paralyze a person's brain.
"Cut it out-- cut it out or I'll cuff you to the chair."
Clendon kept the rhythm going while Carl kept watching. His .38 was holstered under his coat. The couch was three feet from the chair as Clendon faced him.
"Hey, Carl, why don't you try it?"
"Naww."
"Come on. I bet you can't do it," Clendon said. "I can even talk and do it at the same time."
"Naww."
Clendon kept doing the trick, and Carl kept watching, more and more annoyed.
"You're just afraid you can't."
"Stop it, godammit."
"Wanna play cards instead?"
"Stop."
Carl's face started to get red.
Clendon smiled. "Make me." Clendon kept doing it in rhythm and laughed at him. He watched Carl, waiting, thinking to himself, "be fast, be fast." Carl screwed up his face and put his clenched hands down as if to push himself up from the couch and jump Clendon.
Clendon instantly half-stood, joined his hands together and swung, hitting Carl full in the face with the dangling cuffs. Carl partly blocked the blow with his forearm, but Clendon sprang behind him, locked his hands through the loose cuffs and around the man's neck, and pulled back as hard as he could, straining with the cuffs against the front of Carl's neck. Carl made one gagging sound, and then none. He thrashed and rolled off the couch and onto the floor. Clendon hung on behind him, squeezing and pulling, feeling the man's chest heave and yet having no air coming in. Carl became silent. One long minute passed. Clendon's forearms and sore hand began to ache.
Carl's head jerked back and forth. He and Clendon rolled close to the jagged glass. Carl's kicking feet bumped the recliner as he passed out. It had taken about two minutes, but to Clendon it seemed like ten. Clendon groped for Carl's .38 but couldn't get the holster snap to open.
Asp suddenly woke up, looking sleepy. Clendon leaped over to him, locked his hands together, and gave Asp a swinging double-fist and cuff blow across his nose that stunned him and opened a deep cut. An electric shock tore through Clendon's hand and on up his arm. The recliner tipped over backward and thumped against the wall. For an instant, Clendon thought about stabbing them both with a glass shard.
The bathroom door crashed open. There was the sound of water sprayed under high pressure, a man's scream, and more banging. Clendon rustled through Carl's pockets and found the Volvo keys, then grabbed Shelley's purse and rushed to the bathroom.
She was blasting Ed with scalding water from the shower massage hose. He grunted and yelled and writhed on the floor. She held the hose a foot from his face and kept blasting directly into his eyes. When the man stopped struggling, Clendon took his .38 from off the floor, then they ran to the garage. Ed stumbled after them.
When Clendon hit the garage door opener, the light came on and the garage door began to ease up. Shelley grabbed the car keys from Clendon's hand. The garage door seemed to move in slow motion, but it was up by the time they were sitting inside the Volvo and Shelley had started the car.
Ed, now scalded, came crashing into the garage. His face was bright red, his eyes swollen. He lunged for Clendon's car door, but it was locked. Clendon pointed the pistol at him and started to roll down the window. Shelley started backing out as Ed tugged at the door handle, shouting. She floored it as he held on. The tires squealed. When the Volvo passed through the garage door, Ed collided with the garage door frame and it knocked him off. As he sprawled, he sounded like a big watermelon dropped onto concrete.
Shelley flicked the control to close the garage door, which pinned Ed tightly to the ground. She backed into the dark, empty street and peeled out. Clendon waved goodbye to the BMW and its busted window. Shelley cursed and pointed to the place in her Volvo's windshield where Asp's men had cracked it with the ball peen hammer. When she made the end of the street and turned, nobody was following. She drove fast through the twisting streets. At Sunset she headed east. Clendon slid his new pistol under the car seat.
"I have a couple of friends," Shelley said.
"Who?"
She turned off Sunset onto a side street, went down a block, turned onto another street, and parked. She got out, opened the trunk, took out a long-shafted screwdriver, got back in, and handed it to Clendon.
"Pry out your passenger's A/C vent fixture."
Clendon pried as directed and the fixture popped out.
"Look inside of it," she said.
Clendon looked into the vent shaft and saw a rolled up number ten envelope.
"See it?"
"Yeah."
He just could grip the edges of the envelope with his fingertips. He pulled it out. The envelope flattened out. Inside it were some fifty and one hundred dollar bills. Clendon started counting.
"Should be about $1200 in there," Shelley said.
"I love your body and your brain!" He hugged her and stuck his tongue in her right ear. "I'm going to get on my hands and knees and start licking your legs from the ankles up."
"Don't! I can't drive. . . I pawned my engagement ring after Brooks left."
"Goddamn, Shelley."
"I always thought it was ugly."
"Who's your other friend?"
She started the Volvo, made a U turn, and headed back toward Sunset, not saying anything for a while.
"Clendon, we've fucked up bad," she finally said.
"We just have to unfuck it," he said. "And you can start by driving us straight to the airport so we can catch the first flight to anywhere that's not here or Amsterdam."
"We can't leave town."
Clendon's face started to burn. The blood roared through head. He almost screamed at her, but caught himself.
"I'd like one rational reason to stay," he said as slowly and calmly as he could.
"I might be able to get some help and money from another friend and in the end we'll be more secure."
It sounded real rational, Clendon thought, as rational as her story about Brooks and his gambling. Should he jump out of the Volvo at a stop light, the envelope of cash in his hand, and hop in the first taxi to the airport by himself?
"I have a girl friend I can trust," Shelley said. "I can get some clothes there, but I don't want to stay there and tangle her up in this. Let's get a hotel tonight."
"I need some food and I need to get these cuffs off. And they'll be looking for a Volvo with a cracked windshield."
As she drove, Sunset Boulevard east bound coiled and uncoiled, curve after curve lined with sprawling, landscaped houses glowing under lamps through the fog.
"Clendon, don't you think it's peculiar that Asp only had two men with him? And that they seemed kind of like. . . amateurs?"
"I can't think about it. I'm too hungry."
"Then think about it after you eat."
Shelley took the San Diego Freeway north, over the mountains, the traffic curdled with diesel rigs and panel trucks.
"Where are we going?"
"The Valley."
When they crested the pass, the San Fernando Valley spread out in spangles and grids of light to the horizon. The freeway plunged into it.
"They'll never look for us in the Valley," Shelley said. "Wait'll you see it in daylight.
Looks like Oklahoma City with palm trees."
"Find a hardware store," Clendon said. "We need some metal cutters and a power saw."
Shelley exited at Ventura Boulevard. They found a warehouse-sized home improvement store that was open till nine. Clendon waited in the car. Shelley came back out with a small hand-held power saw
* * *
An hour later they were in the bathroom of room 136 at a Holiday Inn somewhere in the Valley. To create a noise shield they turned on the television loud and ran the shower with the bathroom vent fan. Clendon pulled a damp hand towel through the cuff on his left arm. He'd rather she sawed through a Holiday Inn towel than through his wrist. Since he was right handed, he figured that if she made a slip on the first cuff, better his left arm be sliced than his right. He sat on the cold floor with his cuffed left wrist resting on the closed lid of the toilet seat with another damp towel between his wrist and the lid.
"You've used a power saw before?" he asked as she plugged in. "Be gentle."
She revved it on.
"I've had advanced anatomy," she said. "I've carved up cadavers. Hold still or I'll have to give you a shot of whiskey. Look away. There might be sparks."
She slid on a pair of sunglasses and turned on the saw. The clashing metals screamed and Clendon's skin became hot very fast. A few sparks shot off, then the blade sliced through and touched the protective towel. Shelley pulled the blade up and turned the power off. There was a smell of burnt metal.
"Those cuffs are made out of soft metal," she said, then smiled and held them up. She inspected the blade of the power saw. "Won't be much good for finishing work after the next cuff."
Clendon repeated his ritual of preparation, Shelley repeated her skilled sawing, and the other cuff fell off. When she shut the saw down, his ears still rang.
"Let's go visit Madeline," Shelley said.
* * *
Shelley told him that she and Madeline had met in graduate school. Madeline still had a year to go on her own Ph.D. and lived in the Valley. It was dark and Clendon was tired and didn't bother to consult the map. Shelley made turn after turn through the grid of wide Valley boulevards.
"Do you know where you're going?"
"You don't have to know where you're going in L. A., you just have to act like you do."
Madeline had an apartment on the second floor of a building that looked like every other apartment building in the Valley. Shelley rang the doorbell and a woman in her late twenties answered. She was tall and solid, especially in the legs, with short black hair and dark brown eyes. Her black tights looked painted on. Under her braless T-shirt she jiggled when she moved.
"I saw you at the funeral," Madeline said. "I sat in the back."
Clendon tried to remember her, but didn't.
"Don't mess with Mad," Shelley said. "She lifts weights."
Madeline's apartment had a beige couch and stuffed chair, a hardwood floor, books and magazines piled in clusters, layers of dust, plants, and a poster of an old woman on the wall. Madeline waved them to the couch.
"Do you want a beer or some carrot juice?"
"Who's the woman?" Clendon asked and pointed.
"Simone de Beauvoir."
He nodded and sat on the couch.
Madeline looked him up and down, then said to Shelley, "He has a nice bod."
"Mad is very direct," Shelley said.
"I like it when men have a stubble, too," Madeline said.
"Mad, let's go into the kitchen and talk before something physical breaks out."
"Okay, okay," Madeline said. "It's just that I haven't had a man in two months."
She let go a deep, chesty laugh as she followed Shelley out of the room. Clendon rested his eyes.
"Clendon, quit snoring and wake up," Shelley said.
He sat up and forced his eyes open.
"Mad's going to let me borrow a couple of changes of clothes," Shelley said. "She's going to drive over to my house tomorrow and have a look around."
Clendon yawned.
"Wish you could stay and smoke a joint," Madeline said
"Clendon and I are having dinner out. I'll call you tomorrow evening."
* * *
After dinner they returned to the Holiday Inn near midnight. Shelley wanted a 7-Up and Clendon wanted a bottle of Jack Daniels and to look at a map of the Valley, so he went out to fetch them. When he came back, Shelley was in the bathroom with the shower going. She was retching over the noise of the running water.
"Shel?"
There was no answer, but more retching.
"Shelley?" Clendon knocked on the bathroom door. "Are you sick?"
He opened the door. Shelley sat on the floor, her head hanging over the toilet bowl, her face white and sweaty, her eyes glassy. She reached up to flush. Vomit smell went up Clendon's nose.
"Shelley, you're sick?"
"No, I'm okay. I just ate too much for dinner. It didn't sit right. I had to pork it up."
She grabbed her purse from the floor and pulled herself up. She opened the purse, took out a small spray can, and gave two quick spritzes of pine scent into the air.
"That's why I asked for a 7-Up. I thought it would settle my stomach. I'm fine now."
She rinsed her mouth and face, then sipped some 7-Up. Clendon turned off the shower, then followed her to the bed.
"I promised you a massage," she said.
"Do you always carry a can of pine scent in your purse?"
"Do you always carry a bottle of Jack Daniels in your pocket?"
"I don't keep it in my pocket."
"What do you keep in your pocket?" She began to unbutton his shirt. "Everyone is allowed one idiosyncrasy."
"Tell me yours."
She put her hand in his pocket and moved her hand around, massaging him.
"In my earthier moments there's nothing I'd rather hold than a nice, healthy, hard erection."
"Is this one of your earthier moments?"
"Yes, and in my other earthier moments there's nothing I'd rather look at than a nice, smooth, silky, hard erection." She unzipped him. "Is it user friendly?"
* * *
In the morning they made calls from a pay phone. Clendon started with the Drug Enforcement Agency and asked for Mr. Asp. The operator first said one moment and then that Mr. Asp didn't work there. His second call was to the FBI. Clendon again asked for Mr. Asp.
"One moment."
The operator rang him through. On the third ring, it was answered.
"Agent Asp."
* * *
Shelley drove them to the downtown public library. Clendon knew that a landman was good at two things. One was talking with prospective lessors and the other was research. In the library they went through the last few years' indexes to the Los Angeles Times. They started under the heading of Positron. There were several articles on Posi through the years about large defense contracts and rising executives. They checked out the microfilm of the back newspapers and started reeling. One article featured a computer wizard named D. C. Lyman who had been promoted to vice-president in charge of computer research and development. His head shot, the same photograph Diedecek had shown Clendon, was next to the article. A year later was another article. Lyman had been made president and CEO of Positron. His compensation package was reported to include millions in Positron stock. There was nothing under Boyd-Tek but plenty under FBI. They read the microfilm for two hours about defense industry espionage trials. Special Agent Kenneth Asp had testified for the prosecution. The papers said his FBI sobriquet was the Texas Longhorn, because he always gored his man. He'd helped put away a Russian couple, a Polish immigrant, and an American woman involved with the Pole. All were sentenced to twenty years-to-life for stealing parts and information from Positron. Asp had his picture in the paper. Clendon stared at the picture.
"He looks like J. Edgar Hoover's illegitimate half-nephew."
"I remember something B
rooks said one of the last times I saw him," Shelley said. "It was about Positron being awarded a big contract to do some preliminary computer programming work for the Star Wars defense system and that he knew some people and he was going to get a piece of that action and how it would launch Boyd-Tek into the major leagues."
* * *
Shelley drove the Hollywood freeway back to the Valley.
"We ought to expose Asp," she said.
The sun was glaring too bright through Clendon's sunglasses and the windshield crack was prisming the light.
"We need to fix the windshield first."
"I bet Brooks had some link to Lyman and found out something he wasn't supposed to."
"Maybe he did something he wasn't supposed to," Clendon said. "Maybe he tried to crossfork somebody."
"Somebody like Asp," she said.
"Why do you think he tried to burn Asp?"
"Because what do you think is in those briefcases you've been toting around that Lyman and Asp want so damned bad?"
"Some computer stuff."
"Computer disks, Clendon. Disks with programs on them. And what programs? Top secret programs."
The car bobbled. There were screeching brakes and car horns. Shelley regained control inches from the back end of an eighteen wheel truck rig in the next lane.
"Half this town snorts too much cocaine," she said.
She blasted her own horn, then eased back into her lane.
"Asp is not acting right. Think. He had eight guys in Century City but only two semi-incompetents at my house. Plus he never arrested us or even took us in for questioning. A real thug would've tortured us bad. That bothers me."
"So he's the Texas Longhorn," Clendon said.
Shelley took an off ramp.
"What do you want," Clendon asked. "The briefcase or Asp?"
"I want both."
They reached a red light at the end of the ramp.
"I don't want to be hamburger for that shark, Shelley."
"I have one more friend."
"Who?"
"He's a foreigner. He knew Brooks. He has money and some other stuff."
The light changed to green and Shelley gunned it onto a boulevard.
"Who is it?"
"He's funny. You'll like him. He has huge ears."
* * *
Shelley drove them back towards Burbank to check into a different motel, a Ramada Inn. She was in the bathroom with the shower running for a long time while Clendon lay on the bed and tried to think about the possibilities. The only thing she hadn't told him was that she had indeed shot Brooks and was the mastermind of the whole wildcat operation. The only reason he had left to trust her was the fact that he was still alive and not in jail. What was he? Her pet dog on a leash? He went through her purse, but saw no extra money other than the cash envelope he'd pulled from the air vent. There were some half-taken birth control pills and a fat bottle of Valium, about sixty pills, with Madeline's name on the prescription. He stuck the Valium bottle in his pants' front pocket. He took the business card Shelley had given him out of his wallet and stared at it. He called the office number on the card and got a no longer in service recording. He stuck the card back in his wallet, took his pants off, stretched out on the bed again, and tried to remember what day it was. Shelley came out of the bathroom, toweling her wet hair.
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