by Bill Bernico
“I’m like that myself, to a certain degree,” I said. “Veronica could never understand how I could spend so much time alone.”
“Your wife knew you better than you think,” Dean said. “I remember giving her a lift back home one night and we had half an hour during the drive to talk about you.”
“Me?” I said. “What’d you say?”
“I told her even back then that I thought we could have been an entry in one of those Separated at Birth books you see in the store,” Dean said. “I told her how you and I were closer than even a couple of brothers and how we’d sometimes walk the street late at night when we were teens. Remember?”
“I do,” I said. “We both snuck out our bedroom windows and met out on the street, just walking and talking and comparing stories. We were back in our beds before anyone even knew we were gone.”
“Those were the days,” Dean said. “Remember when we pitched a tent in my front yard and we slept out in our sleeping bags just talking all night?”
“Indeed I do,” I said. “I wouldn’t trade those memories for anything. I don’t want to get mushy or have this go to your head, but I’m awfully glad you’re going to be around for a while longer.”
“Me, too, buddy,” Dean said. “Me too.”
The following day I got a call from Eric. “You ready for this, Clay?” he said after I picked up the phone.
“Ready for what?” I said.
“I found out why Cramer killed his first two victims,” Eric said and paused for effect.
“Come on, man, spill,” I said. “Don’t leave me hanging in suspense.”
“That first woman that we found behind the Hollywood First National Building on Highland,” Eric said, “turned out to be Malcolm McCormick’s girlfriend.”
“McCormick?” I said.
“The second victim,” Eric said. “That was the guy we found just east of the Golden State Freeway. Turns out he was actually the first victim, not the second. Doris Connelly, the woman on Highland was actually the second victim.”
“But wasn’t she in her early twenties?” I said.
“She was,” Eric agreed.
“And wasn’t he in his late fifties?” I added.
“Correct again, sir,” Eric said. “Where are you going with this?”
“The guy was old enough to be her father’s older friend,” I said. “What’s she doing with a guy like McCormick?”
“Using him,” Eric said. “The Connelly woman was seeing Cramer, don’t ask me why, but she hatched a plan with McCormick to take Cramer for a bundle and rub his face in it to boot.”
“Cramer had money?” I said. “Sure couldn’t tell it by looking at that bum, could you?”
“Hey,” Eric said, “some of the richest guys out there are also the most frugal and dress like crap to save a few bucks.”
“So Cramer apparently didn’t mind looking shabby, he just didn’t care for being treated shabby,” I said.
“To say the least,” Eric said. “Somehow Cramer caught wind of the whole scheme those two had going and finished off McCormick, dumping him off the freeway late one night. Then he caught up with the girlfriend and gave her some of the same, dumping her right where he killed her on Highland. Had to have been during the early morning hours before dawn, since no one saw anything.”
“I’d say that’s one guy with a serious grudge fixation,” I said.
“Not anymore,” Eric said. “Dead people don’t hold grudges.”
“Good point,” I said. “So that’s it?”
“As far as I’m concerned,” Eric said. “Now we can get back to all our regulars. You know, burglars, thieves, hijackers, muggers, jaywalkers, robbers, purse snatchers.”
“Jaywalkers?” I said.
“Just wanted to see if you were really listening to me,” Eric said. “Why don’t you drive over to the precinct and give me your official statement so I can close the file on this nightmare?”
“I’ll see you within the hour,” I told him. “What I’m going to do with the rest of my day is still up for grabs.”
“I saw a job opening just this morning,” Eric said. “How’s your memory?”
“My memory?” I said. “What’s my memory got to do with anything?”
“You have to remember your lines,” Eric said. “It’s an important part of the job, I guess.”
“What the hell?” I said. “Did you see an opening for a movie actor or something?”
“Not exactly,” Eric said. “Before I tell you where I saw this job, just let me see if you’re good at remembering lines.”
“Try me,” I said.
“Okay,” Eric said. “Repeat after me. ‘Want fries with that’? Hello? Hello?”
93 - Bleeding Heart
“Cut,” the director yelled. “Print it. That’s all for today. Be back here at six tomorrow morning and we can wrap this one up.”
Elliott extended his hand and Gloria grabbed it. He pulled her up from the floor, brushed off her back and smiled. “That was very convincing,” he said.
“Thanks,” Gloria said, brushing the sawdust off the front of her suede fringed jacket. “But you came pretty close to my chin with that last swing. I could feel the wind from your fist.”
“I have to make it realistic, don’t I?” Elliott said, walking Gloria toward the dressing room. “We have to be aware of where the camera is. Makes for a better illusion if the audience thinks you really took one on the jaw.”
“You know,” Gloria said, “audiences won’t like your character when they see you beating up on my character. People tend to take a dim view of bullies.”
“Comes with the job,” Elliott replied. “It’s all just make believe.”
Gloria laid a hand on Elliott’s shoulder. “But you know as well as I do that some people have a hard time separating fantasy from reality,” Gloria said. “Take Matt Dillon, for example. I loved his character in There’s Something About Mary. He was really funny as that sleazy private detective. But years before that I actual hated the actor himself when he played the role of that bully in My Bodyguard. Every time he and his minions beat up on the Chris Makepeace character I wanted to pound Dillon myself. And I should know better. I’ve been hanging around this business long enough. Hell, it’s where I first got interested in Tae-Kwon-Do to the point where I became good at it.”
“I see what you mean,” Elliott said. “But what am I supposed to do? I can’t turn down this part just because it might make me unpopular with the movie-going public. We agreed to do these bit parts as a favor to the producer, and if you remember, he was the one who got us the investigation jobs and the bodyguard jobs and I don’t want to kill off our golden goose. He sends a lot of business our way.”
“That’s exactly what you have to do,” Gloria insisted.
“Huh?” Elliott said.
“You have to take control of your choices,” Gloria told him. “No one else is going to look out for your interests. Look, let’s just finish this movie and get back to doing what we do best—detecting. This isn’t our bread and butter, after all.”
“But you forget,” Elliott reminded her, “that the public is not going to think that I’m the bully here. I’m just the stunt double for Lance. They’ll think he hit you. You can’t even see my face in those shots. It’s supposed to be Lance’s character who’s slugging you.”
“Oh yeah,” Gloria said. “I get so wrapped up in doing scenes like these that I forget that we’re just the temporary stunt doubles. Gees, I’ll be glad when the real stunt doubles get out of the hospital. I can see now why they make the big bucks. This work’s dangerous.”
Elliott held the dressing room door open and Gloria stepped in. Elliott followed close behind. The two slipped out of their old west costumes, hung the jackets up on a hanger and sat at their perspective dressing tables, wiping the makeup off their faces.
Elliott picked up the knife from the dressing table and handed it to Gloria. “You know what you have to do with
this tomorrow, right?”
Gloria examined the prop. The blade looked like real steel but was actually a flexible rubber shaft that retracted into the handle when pushed. Under the handle there was a small button that, when pressed, squirted out a solution of corn syrup dyed red to simulate blood. It had a very realistic effect when viewed from the proper camera angle. They’d both used this same prop in several scenes earlier in this movie. Between a knife like this and the exploding squibs under their costumes, Elliott and Gloria could easily be ‘killed’ on screen and it would look totally believable.
“Sure,” Gloria assured him. “I just stab you in the chest, push the button and pull back to expose the fake blood so the camera can get the full effect of the wound as well as the look on your face.”
“Perfect,” Elliott said. “Put it in your purse. You can take it home and we can rehearse the scene a few times tonight before we come back here in the morning.”
Thirty minutes later they’d both dressed in their street clothes. Gloria was wearing a pair of slacks and a white blouse. Elliott wore his jeans and a tee shirt. They both exited to the parking lot. They didn’t have a car at the studio, since they lived just ten minutes away, and they enjoyed the walk. It was dark as they headed out the gate, off the lot and down the street toward their house. Their usual route took them past the carousel in the park. It was a place they both knew well. It was where they had gone on one of their first dates several years earlier.
Gloria smiled as she passed the merry-go-round, adorned with carved horses, zebras, buggies and other ornate rides. The ride was silent and still now in the dark as they passed. Gloria pointed to a large white horse with a colorful saddle. “That’s the one you were riding that day,” she said nostalgically. She pointed to the unicorn directly in front of the horse. “I was on that one.”
“1 know,” Elliott said, remembering that warm summer day. “You didn’t know I was watching you the whole time you were riding. And by the time the ride ended, I knew I wanted you for my own.”
They walked on, following the path that led to the sidewalk on the other side of the carousel. The sidewalk led under a cement tunnel with a pedestrian walkway above. Coming toward them through the other end of the tunnel, Elliott could see four or five youths, with their cocky walks and confident attitudes. They were talking loudly and jumping around like little kids as they approached. When they saw Elliott and Gloria, they suddenly got silent. Elliott could see the largest of them lean over and say something to the guy next to him. The group split up with two on one side of the tunnel and three on the other. They were up to no good and Elliott knew it. He could hold his own in a one-on-one situation, but even he was no match against five troublemakers at once. Gloria’s Tae-Kwon-Do skills wouldn’t hold up in a five-to-two match, either. What a night they picked to leave their guns at home.
Elliott leaned over and whispered something to Gloria. Gloria pulled the prop knife from her purse and handed it to Elliott from behind her back. With still thirty yards separating him from the gang, Elliott pretended not to see them as he grabbed Gloria’s arm, spun her around and starting shaking her. They replayed that afternoon’s movie scene right there in the park. Gloria pounded Elliott’s chest with her tiny fists and Elliott grabbed Gloria’s shoulders and shoved her backwards. Gloria went down on her butt as Elliott pulled the prop knife out of his waistband and held it overhead. Gloria hurried to her feet, backing away and screaming. Elliott lunged at her, stabbing the knife into her chest several times. He pushed the hidden button with each stab. Gloria’s white blouse blossomed with red stains. Her screams changed to gurgles as she fell backwards. Elliott stood over her, the knife tip dripping colored corn syrup. His eyes got wide and maniacal as he turned to look at the five punks who’d stopped in their tracks, not believing what they’d just witnessed.
Elliott turned and took two steps towards the punks. He raised the knife overhead and took two more steps toward the five troublemakers. As if on cue, all five turned and ran in the direction they’d come from and in a few seconds they had all disappeared around the corner. Elliott heard their hurried footsteps fading in the distance and he broke out in a wide grin, letting out the breath he’d been holding.
He turned back toward Gloria, extended his hand and pulled her to her feet. He brushed her off, looked at the red mess on her white blouse and handed her the knife.
“Do it just that way tomorrow,” Elliott said, “and we’re sure to get more parts in the next movie.”
“You suppose we can put in for overtime?” Gloria said. “I’d call that a rehearsal, wouldn’t you?”
Elliott nodded. “And a damned good one at that.”
They walked off into the night, assured that their sideline careers were secured.
94 - Baby Steps
At first I didn’t want to sit. I preferred to hover over the doctor, pacing occasionally past the window that overlooked San Francisco Bay. I sensed that the doctor found this annoying. I avoided seeing any of the qualified doctors in Hollywood. It wouldn’t help my situation if Elliott or Gloria found out about my condition. They might never let me live it down. I’d made some lame excuse to make the trip north to San Francisco and selected a doctor by simply opening the phone book and pointing at the page with my eyes closed.
“Wouldn’t you feel better on the couch?” the doctor asked, pointing to the tufted leather piece next to his desk. “You don’t have to lie down if you don’t feel like it, but we may be able to communicate better if you at least sit.”
I hesitated before crouching and finally resting my butt on the very edge of the couch. My hands nervously grabbed my knees before wrapping themselves up in an interlocked finger position.
“Relax, Mr. Cooper,” the doctor said. “By the way, do you prefer Mr. Cooper or would you like me to call you Clay?”
“Let’s stick with Mr. Cooper,” I said. “Makes me feel like I’m getting my money’s worth for this session.”
“Very well, Mr. Cooper,” the doctor said. “No one’s here to judge you. We just need to get to the bottom of your troubles. You can tell me as little or as much as you like.”
I unlocked my fingers and sat back onto the couch a little further. My lips were dry and my throat seemed to close up before I could get any of my words out. I cleared my throat and tried again. “It’s nothing, really,” I said. “I understand millions of people feel the same way I do. I’m not the only… not the only…”
“The word is claustrophobic, Mr. Cooper,” the doctor said. “And it is a lot more common than you might think. You’re right, there are millions of people in this country alone who suffer from claustrophobia, but there is help available. I hesitate to use the word ‘cure’ since a cure is not our ultimate goal. We strive to help the patient cope with their condition.”
“But it’s more than a condition, doctor,” I said. “It’s real. I can tell you in all honesty that I would probably die in some claustrophobic situations.”
The doctor jotted notes in his book. “I don’t doubt that for a moment, Mr. Cooper. The mind can work miracles or it can literally scare a person to death, but we all have it within ourselves to control those feelings to a certain degree if we know how. That’s what I’m here to try to do for you, if you’ll let me.”
I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. “That’s what I want, doctor. I want to be able to live my life normally.”
“What is normal?” The doctor said. “What seems normal to one person would be totally out of character for another. What you need to do is find a middle ground that suits who you are and what makes you comfortable.”
“And how do I go about doing that?” I said.
The doctor sighed and laid his book and pencil on his desk. “Mr. Cooper, suppose we take this one step at a time,” he said. “What are some of your concerns?”
I ran my thumb and index finger over the hair on the back of my neck, tugging at it. “Mostly it’s crowded places,” I said. “Elevat
ors, small rooms, large crowds, it doesn’t matter. I can’t even sit inside a row of seats at the theater. I have to be on the aisle. My heart races and my palms sweat and I can’t sit still or concentrate when I get in those situations. My friends tell me that there are other, more realistic things I should be afraid of in a city this size, but it doesn’t seem to make any impact on how I feel. They tell me I could be mugged, run over by a streetcar, hit by lightning or squashed in an earthquake. They’ve even tagged a nickname on me. They’re starting to call me Klaus.”
“Klaus?” the doctor said.
“Klaus Trafobic,” I said. “Real funny, isn’t it?”
“And what do you tell them?” the doctor said.
“Well,” I said, “I can see their point on some of those things, like the earthquake. That one you had here yesterday still has me shaking in my boots. That was a big one.”
“Mr. Cooper,” he began, “most people would be afraid of an earthquake. That’s a real danger.” He caught himself as the words left his mouth. “That is, I mean, oh hell, I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper. I know your fears are just as real as any fear of an earthquake. I don’t like them any more than the next guy. Especially those last few aftershocks.”
“Maybe this was a mistake to come here,” I said. “Maybe I’d better go.” I stood and faced the door but couldn’t seem to take any steps toward it. I turned around and sat again on the edge of the couch.
The doctor picked up his book and opened it to where he’d left off. “Let’s take one of those at a time,” he said. “Look at it logically, Mr. Cooper. What’s the worst that can happen in an elevator?”
I sat up straight. “It could stop between floors,” I said, almost indignantly.
“And…” the doctor said.
“And?” I said. “Isn’t that enough? I could be trapped in there for who knows how long.”
“And…”