His new desert home was perfect for the solitude he needed. If he turned off his phone there was no connection to the outside world. His mailbox was close to a half mile away. His closest neighbor was a few hundred yards away. Living in the Bronx in the shadow of an elevated train, several bus lines, an interstate highway, and hustling, bustling Broadway – yes, that legendary Broadway on which George Washington rode upon his horse and George M. Cohan staged his shows (although the two men were a couple of centuries and about a dozen miles removed) – one’s senses become dulled by the all the clatter and clutter, noises, and distractions of the city. If one doesn’t ignore the constant assault on the senses insanity would surely follow.
Now hours and sometimes days would pass before Paul heard other humans. Maybe a chain saw in the distance, or a pick-up truck clanking down a distant road would catch his attention. Usually, his solitude wasn’t interrupted by humans. It was enhanced by the coo-coo-cooing of the mourning doves. Or the varied howls and hoots of the quail herding their chicks to and fro. Or the nighttime calls of owls, coyotes, and mysterious creatures hiding and surviving in the harsh unforgiving terrain.
No more bars. No more bus trips. No more concerts, baseball games, Italian street festivals, stifling subway rides, jammed elevators, or long lines at Jewish delis. Finally he could hear himself. The inner voice that he hadn’t been able to hear began to become audible. But what was it telling him? Or rather, asking him?
He decided to turn on his phone and saw that there were several messages, including the one he had been waiting for from Kate: Hi, Paul. It’s Kate. Ash is in Landers. I have an address but GPS won’t get you there. You’ll need a map. I can go over it with you. Let me know if you want to stop by here at the office or I can come to your place. There was long pause, then Bye.
Paul needed a couple of things from the store, so he decided to go down the hill and see Kate as well. He found it interesting that there were still places in Southern California, one of the most populous locales in the country, that even Google Maps hadn’t bothered with yet.
He opened the door to Kate’s motel office and the bell tinkled. He approached the counter and there was a map with some red lines drawn upon it.
“Howdy stranger,” Kate said appearing in the doorway. “How are you?”
“I’m great. Been doing some woolgathering.”
“What’s that?”
“Thinking. You’ve got a lot of red on that map. Doesn’t that usually mean danger?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s just to make something stand out.”
“Did you ever think of why we use red to signify danger?” Paul asked, picking up the red-tipped pencil and examining closely.
“It’s just a color that stands out, I guess.”
“Why does it stand out? You know, more than yellow or bright blue?”
Kate shook her head.
“Blood. It’s the color of blood.”
“Well, I’m glad your woolgathering has put you in your happy place. Let’s get to the map. Next time I’ll use the yellow highlighter. Now, these friends of Ash’s, I have a feeling they’re not from a church group. Ash is like a worker ant. He leaves the colony to do his work, but always goes back to the nest to deliver the fruits of his labor.”
“Is there a queen?”
“Presumably a king. Are you sure you want to do this? Can you tell me what exactly is going on? I need to know, before I give you this. If I’m setting up some kind of drug bust, I’ll first have to move to New Zealand.”
“I need to talk, just talk to Ash. I need to know if he slipped me something that night of my accident.”
“Like what? Pot brownies? St. John’s wort tea?”
Paul saw where she was going.
“I’m not paranoid. I need to know. If he slipped me LSD, then at least I’ll know.”
“Know what?”
“If I was hallucinating. Or….”
“Or what?”
“Losing my mind.”
Kate understood. She pursed her lips and touched Paul’s hand with affection. Before her husband died, she knew he was losing it. But she always thought that it was a phase; being forgetful, moody, obtuse, distant, and yes, paranoid. Drugs and alcohol could do that, but perhaps it was self-medication to treat something more serious that he subconsciously was aware of. Like the onset of dementia or Alzheimer’s. “Be careful. These guys aren’t boy scouts.”
“Believe me, I’ve dealt with worse.”
“That’s what worries me.”
Landers was a sprawling desert wasteland several miles from where Paul lived. Its claims to fame were the Integratron, Giant Rock, and a motel consisting of 1950’s Airstream campers owned by a 1980’s rock star. There was no town in Landers to speak of. Just hundreds of square miles of desert with the occasional homestead shed, double-wide, and abandoned shotgun shack. Paul waited until evening to make his journey in search of Ash. In the flatland area he would be going, they’d see his dust cloud approaching from miles away.
Under the cover of the desert darkness, he turned off his headlights when he made a left onto a dirt road indicated on the map. There was a dangling street sign hanging off a tilted pole that had been run into more than once. In the distance he could see a single-wide trailer with some lights shining. He slowed to a crawl and now could make out several vehicles and maybe four motorcycles in the yard, parked close to the front door. He knew that meant Ash wasn’t alone. About a hundred yards away he killed his engine. He took his .38 from under his seat and stuck it in a holster that was in the small of his back. He tapped his .22 in his ankle holster and started walking.
Shit he thought to himself. He might as well be walking on bubble wrap, because the damn desert dirt and gravel made so much noise under his feet. He remembered reading about how George Washington had his men wrap the wheels of their wagons with blankets, clothing, and rags to deaden the noise when they were on a covert mission. He bent down to take his boots off…. What am I, crazy? I’m busting into a meth gang in my socks? What an intimidating sight that would make. Nah. I’ll risk it.
Paul walked right up to the three steps that led to the shoddy aluminum screen door and knocked.
“Who’s there?” A gravelly voiced male said from inside.
“A friend of Ash’s. Paul. Jasmine and Kate’s friend.”
An inside door was unlocked, then the screen door. It was Ash.
“What do you want?” Ash said, the door only open enough for his head to fit through.
“Can we talk?”
“About what?”
“Can you step outside?”
“Hold on a minute,” Ash said closing the door. Thirty seconds later, the door opened wide. “Come inside.”
The room smelled like Willie Nelson’s clothes hamper. A mix of weed and man stink. Ash was probably about Paul’s age, and looked like any middle-aged hippie you’d find working in a motorcycle shop or feed store. But sitting around the small living room of the trailer at a card table, on a couch, and at a kitchen counter were seven bald-headed, scraggly bearded, tattooed twentysomethings. Hanging off the tile support of the ceiling was a “Don’t Tread On Me” flag.
Ash pointed to the fattest one on the sofa. “That’s my son, Douglas.”
Paul nodded. Nobody was smiling. “Can I talk to you alone?”
“No. We’ll talk here. What’s the issue?”
“Remember a few weeks ago, when you came over to my place with Jasmine?”
“What about it?”
“I wound up in the hospital that night.”
“What of it?”
“Ash, I need you to be truthful….”
“Who the hell are you?” barked Douglas, pounding his empty beer bottle on the plywood coffee table.
“Ash, can you please answer me?”
“You’re a cop, right?” Ash asked.
“Retired.”
“You have no jurisdiction here.”
“I’m not here to
bust anyone?”
Douglas yelled, “You sure as hell ain’t!” Causing all to laugh hysterically.
“Ash. I’m serious. Did you slip me something? Put something in my drink?”
“Hell no! Are you kidding me? Get out my house!”
“Wait. No. Seriously. Just tell me. I don’t care. I need to know what made me … sick.”
Douglas stood up. You’re gonna be worse than sick, if you ain’t outta here in five seconds!”
“Look. You can kill me if you want. I’m done with my killing. No more. I just need to know, did you slip me a hallucinogenic like LSD?”
Ash, waved at Douglas. “Back off, son! Dude, we don’t mess with that shit. Weed and beer. That’s all we do. Straight up.”
Paul stuck his hand straight out to shake hands with Ash. “Straight up?”
“Straight up.”
“Gentlemen, I bid you farewell,” Paul said, turning and exiting.
He was about ten yards from the door, when it opened. “Hey Paul, if you want to know who messes around with that LSD shit, ask that little fairy princess Jasmine.”
“Thanks.”
Paul believed Ash. Maybe he shouldn’t, but he did. Could it have been Jasmine? She does seem like her distributor ain’t wired right. But is that another Pandora’s Box he should be opening? He didn’t want to involve Kate anymore. She’s definitely going to think he’s losing it if he goes back to her and implicates her best friend, Jasmine. Doesn’t she realize that Jasmine is on a razor’s edge between nuttiness and downright drug-fueled insanity?
Paul didn’t have a choice. He would consult with Kate first. It was just a matter of how to do it without everything blowing up in his face. If he let on to Kate that he suspected Jasmine of such a serious misdeed, she was sure to tip her off, and of course probably never talk to him again. He pulled into his driveway and locked the gate behind him. He knew he should sleep on it before doing anything rash.
Several more days of sleeping on it did not have the desired effect Paul had hoped for. Yard work, changing the oil in the Escape, and scrubbing the bathrooms until they sparkled didn’t calm him. Instead of cooling off, his anger intensified as he saw his window of opportunity closing on him. Ash might have already tipped her off. He called Kate and asked to see her that night at the Mexican restaurant by the motel.
He couldn’t see his knuckles in the dark, but knew they were white as he gripped his steering wheel. He also sensed his nostril flaring and his jaw clenching. He couldn’t understand it. He knew he had to control himself and not lose his cool with Kate. But his anger was escalating into the kind of rage that saved his life on more than one occasion while he was on the job, but it had also ruined relationships and friendships in his personal life. The skills he needed to survive as a cop didn’t do much for that.
He parked the car far from the others, and as he walked around the corner of the restaurant he saw Kate wasn’t alone. Surprise! She was with Jasmine. He stopped, thought about leaving and saying he got sick. Then went in.
“What a pleasant surprise,” Paul said.
“I hope you don’t mind that I tagged along,” Jasmine said sweetly. “I really did force myself onto Kate so don’t blame her if you’re mad.”
“No worries.”
Paul tried his best to listen to their polite talk about a new antique store that opened, rude French tourists at the motel, and guys who grunted and sweated too much at the gym, but his mind was trying to figure out the best way to see if Jasmine would admit to putting a tab of acid in his beer.
“Jasmine,” Paul blurted, interrupting her in mid-sentence.
Kate and Jasmine just looked at each other in stunned silence for a moment.
“Jasmine, I’m going to ask you something that might make you uncomfortable in front of Kate.”
“Paul, are you sure you should be doing this?” Kate asked mystified.
“Jasmine. I need to know. My mind … my life … I need to know something important.”
Paul knew he was blowing it. His anger was bubbling up like the bubbles in a newly poured glass of Guinness. “I need to know!” Paul shouted, causing nearby diners to stop and stare at him briefly.
“Come on Jasmine, let’s get out of here,” Kate said, putting her napkin on her half-eaten plate of nachos.
“No. Wait. I’ll quiet down. Really,” Paul said apologetically.
“Paul, are you okay?” Kate asked.
“Jasmine, did you or did you not slip me a tab of acid that night?”
“What? Are you kidding me?” Jasmine said, mortified and about ready to melt under the table in embarrassment.
Paul, now red with rage, snarled through his teeth, “Did you? Ash told me you did.”
“Ash!” Kate said, dumbfounded. “Are you sure you were a New York cop all those years? You believed that fool? What kind of sucker are you?”
Paul sat back in the booth and put both hands up, covering his face. Was he losing his mind for real? He pushed hard on his face his neck his chest so that the air was pressed out of his lungs. He looked at Jasmine, who was being consoled by Kate. He flashed on those awful weeks in his marriage after Tracy was born, and he laid down the law on Marcy as she began to fall off the wagon. No more smoking weed! No more drinking! His way or the highway! Little did he know that Marcy and Tracy would take the highway and not allow him back in their lives again. Didn’t he learn anything?
“I’m … sorry. I think I’m just stressed. I’m really, really sorry.”
“You went to see Ash at the compound?” Kate asked.
“Yeah. He blamed Jasmine for dropping the acid on me. That coward.”
“I would never….” Jasmine was softly trying to control her weeping. “Why did you think I would do such a thing?”
“I have no idea. I guess, I just assume that deep down inside, certain people want to harm me because of what I did for a living.”
“This is unacceptable!” Kate said forcefully, grabbing Jasmine and leading her from the table and out the door. Just before she exited she shouted, “You need help!”
Paul was alone again. He didn’t know where to turn. All he could come up with was Tracy. Probably the last person on this planet who loved him unconditionally. He called and asked if he could stop by, just to chat. Tracy declined. They were busy. That was that.
He didn’t know where he was going at such a high rate of speed down the main two-lane highway back towards his house about 25 miles away. He did know that he was in that danger zone of anger. It always surprised him that even when he knew very well that he was out of control, he couldn’t just pull himself back to rationality. It was almost as if he nurtured this primal rage to see where it would take him. Shut down emotions. His years as a cop did teach him that those instincts could save his life. They did. That’s why he needed them. That’s what would protect him. That’s what would keep him alive. And sane.
He passed the turnoff that would take him to his house, and kept going straight. His mind was focused. Screw them. Screw them all. Ash and Jasmine and Kate and Heidi and Tracy. They don’t know shit. He’s the one who knows. Don’t mess with him!
The dark highway was calling him. Suddenly he yanked the wheel hard to the right, with reckless abandon. He didn’t care what was up this road. He was going to speed up it like a lunatic in the dark. It wasn’t until he reached the top of the hill that the dark iron gate seemed to jump at him and he jammed on his brakes, skidding on the dirt to within a few inches of crashing into it. And there was the sign – DESERT CHRIST PARK – right in front of him.
Paul rushed to the gate and tried to force it open, but it was locked up tight. He turned off his lights and his engine and stood on the hood of his car. He grasped the top of the gate with two hands and hoisted himself up and over. He could feel the blood pumping fast through his body. Too fast. Heart pounding, feet kicking up dirt and gravel, he bolted up the path in the dark night. In front of him, slightly illuminated by the incidental light
coming from the street lights on the main highway almost a mile away, the gigantic, white tableau of the Last Supper was in front of him. He threw his arms into the air like an Italian soccer player after being issued a red card and began ranting to each of the Twelve Apostles, running back and forth, left to right, right to left, and back again.
“Why? What’s going on here? Why me? I’m a survivor! The streets didn’t get me. The job didn’t kill me. Why so much on me? Why me? You took my wife. My job. My friends. Now my daughter hates me. My freakin’ mind is going, going, gone. So what! So I made some mistakes? Yeah! I killed a man. Yeah, I had to. It was him or me and his girlfriend and his kid. Is this all payback?”
He stopped. He listened to his breathing. He heard his heart beating and put his hand on his neck to check his pulse. It’s fast. Too fast. He walked slowly to the center where Jesus was sitting. “I was doing my job. Living my life. Surviving. I didn’t want my wife to commit suicide. I didn’t want my daughter to grow up without a father. I didn’t want to kill a man.”
He turned slowly and just across the path were two huge tablets. He pulled out his phone, and used its light to see them better. The first thing he focused on the tablet was THOU SHALT NOT KILL.
He shook his head in defeat. Turned around and went back to Jesus.
“I tried. I really tried. I thought I was doing the right thing. And now. I might as well just … I’ve got nothing. Please help me, Lord. Please….”
Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder.
“Alright, buddy. Just put your hands behind your back and there won’t be any problems.”
“Oh, Christ! No worries, officer. You’ll get no issues with me. I’m 100 percent compliant.”
High Desert High Page 20