by John Moralee
“My mistake,” I said.
“No matter, I thought I’d come to see you personally. Have you considered my offer yet?”
“I have,” I said.
“And your answer?”
“No.”
“A pity. You’d like working for me,” he said.
“Like those goons Pecker and Gruesome?”
His arm withdrew into the dark interior as if it had been electrocuted. “I was hoping we could forget that misunderstanding. They told me about what happened at the crazy doctor’s house. You’re lucky I told them to not press charges.”
“You tried to bug her house.”
“I did not. They exceeded their orders. I never asked them to bug her house. I just wanted her under surveillance. They took that to mean more than it did, and I will reprimand them for their irresponsibility.”
“I call what they did stalking, which is illegal.”
“Unless you haven’t noticed, Dr Beck isn’t a normal reasonable human being.”
“And you are?”
“That’s right. Fact is, your friend the doctor is an unreasonable individual. I’ll tell you why I have people watching her, should I?”
“This should be interesting.”
“A few months back, she came into my building demanding to see me about those snails of hers. This was before she started the lawsuit. She stormed into my office without an appointment. A security guard tried to restrain her – and you know what she did? She grabbed his hand, twisted it back and broke three fingers. Three fingers. Then she corners me behind my desk and rants and raves at me like I’m some kind of force of evil. She was nuts. I tried humouring her, but you should have seen the rage. She could have killed me. I was in fear for my life. Luckily, the sheriff intervened, made her leave. Out of the goodness of my heart, I didn’t make a fuss, though by rights she should have been charged with assault. Then she slaps this lawsuit crap on me. The bitch.”
He paused, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. The other man – who I had nicknamed Frankenstein – spoke into his ear. Van Morgan nodded.
“You know the reason I had those men watch her? I had her watched so I have some warning if she came into town. I don’t want to be anywhere near that psycho. She thinks her snails are more important than jobs and the goddamn economy. The truth is I need protecting from her. Now, I see, she’s got you believing in her cause, too? You must have your brains in your crotch.”
“You stay away from her and me, okay?”
“I don’t like your attitude, Michael. I really don’t.”
“So sue me.”
“I think this conversation is over.”
“No, it’s not. I know what you did to my friend. I’m going to get you, understand?”
He shook his head as if I was crazy. “Drive on.”
My father was in a black mood that night. He put down the phone as I came into the den after unloading Ted Genero’s box and leaving it in my room. He looked exhausted. “What’s wrong?”
“Ed’s got the flu.” Ed was his relief bartender. “Looks like I’ve got to tend the bar tonight. It’s been a long day, what with a load of orders coming in late, some not turning up at all. Some idiot said my order of Coors had been cancelled. Said I called them. I had to go to the damn warehouse in Providence and straighten them out. I feel like I could sleep standing up. And now I’ll have to stay up until two sorting out the books if I go to the bar.”
“I’ll do it. Tend the bar.”
“You would?”
“Sure, why not?”
“I don’t want to push you into it.”
“Don’t be silly, Dad. I’d like to help out. Honestly.”
“You’re a good kid. I appreciate this.”
“Thanks, Dad. Does this mean my pocket money goes up?”
“Ha, ha. I’m not charging you rent, am I?”
It was a busy night at The Boat House. I’d done bartending before as a teenager to earn some cash to take dates to movies, then later as a struggling actor because I needed to pay for acting lessons. I soon got back up to speed, though a few customers’ tempers flared when I took too long completing an order. Cindy helped me out with the orders. The jukebox rocked with a mix of 1950s and contemporary music, a weird combination that appealed to the college crowd. At the moment a false nostalgia for the 1950s was resurgent as popularised by 1970s TV shows like Happy Days and re-released movies like Grease. College students hogged the pool tables, acting cool. None could play well, but they were enjoying themselves. The bar was roughly divided into two areas – young people around the jukebox and pool tables, the older men near the counter watching the sports, mesmerised. Everyone was having a good time.
At one point a group of the students came across and asked if I was Michael Quinn, the actor. I quoted a line: “’You try or you die, amigo.’” It got laughs. It always did. I autographed some textbooks, which was the only way I’d ever get into a college. I could hear them quoting lines an hour later.
About ten, Cindy grabbed my arm. “Mike! I just seen some guys messing with your car.”
“What? How many?”
“Two, I think. You want to call the cops?”
“It’d take too long for them to get here. I’ll handle it.” My father kept a baseball bat under the counter. I grabbed it. “Call them if I’m not back in five.”
“Don’t get hurt,” she said.
But I wasn’t listening. I wanted to catch Ecker and Gruemann in the act – for I was sure that was who it would be, striking back for humiliating them. I didn’t go out the main exit. I chose the emergency exit around the side near the trash bins. After turning off the alarm, I opened the door quietly and waited there until my eyes adjusted to the dark. My MG was at the far end of the lot near the trees. I could hear glass breaking and the soft hiss of tyres deflating. Shadows moved. Two, I counted.
I crept out of the bar, keeping in the darkness. Goosebumps rippled my flesh. I had to be insane. They had knives – I knew they did, how else could they burst the tyres? – so why was I risking my life? I didn’t know exactly. I was furious. I knew calling the police would be next to useless, especially if Tom Boone was on duty, so it was entirely up to me to fight back.
I hid behind the cars, moving closer and closer, using the noise of breaking glass to cover my footsteps. The men wore baseball caps. One was hammering the side windows, while the other watched. They were really laying into my MG. Neither looked this way, though. I raised the baseball bat and stepped out of the darkness.
“Lie down or I’ll break your skulls. Don’t think of turning around.”
They froze.
I had them.
“Drop the knives.”
They obeyed.I relaxed, a little. I told them to lie down -
But then a light blinded me.
It was a flashlight to my right. Another switched on to my left. I stepped back, bumping into the cold metal of a Ford pickup. I couldn’t see, but I could hear someone say, “Now.”
And they rushed me from three directions.
I swung the bat, contacting bone. One man grabbed his arm in pain as the others slammed into me. I elbowed one in the jaw, hearing a crack like a gunshot. Then I was gut punched. The pain was nominal, but it slowed my defences. I couldn’t hold them all off. It was like being pummelled by stones. The force of the blows knocked me down, and one man stamped on my fingers until I gave up the bat. He scrambled for it. Then he used it on me, striking my back and ribs. Someone kicked my head. I couldn’t hear right after that. Blood was in my eyes. I glimpsed black ski masks and gloves and dark clothing.
Someone screamed.
It wasn’t sure if it was me or someone else.
It happened again.
It was Cindy.
With my open eye, I could see her in the bright doorway. The blood in my eyes made the light look streaky, crimson. Some college students were with her armed with pool cues, coming out now, shouting.
“GET OFF HIM NOW
!”
The attackers sprinted into the night.
The baseball bat dropped beside me, wet with my blood.
I could not have reached it if I’d had telekinetic powers.
Cindy crouched down, touching my face. Someone called for an ambulance.
“Oh, God,” she said.
“I’m all right,” I tried to say.
But it came out as a coughing splutter.
Cindy said, “Don’t move. You’ve been stabbed.”
I was surprised at that. I really was.
I couldn’t feel a thing ...
Chapter 24
When you wake up in hospital you’re supposed to see a friendly face, someone you love. But when I opened my eyes, and focused, I saw Sheriff Tom Boone, King of Wife-Beating. I groaned partly with the return of pain, but mostly because he was present. He was standing at the window, opening and shutting the blinds with loud whip cracks. The light in the room alternated like a stroboscope. He’d deliberately woken me up. Hearing me, he spun on the heels of his boots and approached the bed. His boots creaked on the polished floor, like a cellar door opening to allow evil spirits into the living world.
“Morning,” he said.
My lips were dry. I blinked and that hurt.
“You look like a vampire,” he said, grinning. “You needed three pints of blood last night just to make it to today. You’re lucky – the knife didn’t touch any vital organs, just scraped along your ribs. Now, generally speaking, that ain’t a friendly act. Seems you have some enemies, Quinn. Now, you going to tell me who they were or are we going to dance the tango?”
I didn’t know whether I should bother telling him anything.
So I didn’t. It was too much like effort.
“Not talking, huh?” He strode to the dresser, picked up a pitcher of water and poured some into a paper cup. “Drink this.”
I did want a drink. I couldn’t raise my arms fully. It felt as if my ribs were nailed together, and I was wearing a whalebone corset. Boone lowered the cup to my mouth and wet my lips with the water. I coughed. He tried again. I swallowed some water the second time. I decided I would tell him what happened if for no better reason than he would have to arrest the men if they were identified.
“I don’t know who they were. One guy has a broken arm, another needs dental work. The rest probably have bruised knuckles. Check the zoo for escaped apes.”
“Jokes and sarcasm,” he said. “You can’t be feeling all that bad. You telling me some guys you’ve never seen before vandalise your car out of dozens in the lot and then beat you and stab you and you don’t know them from Adam?”
“They ambushed me. They wore black masks.” I coughed. It hurt to cough. “I didn’t see their faces, okay?”
“Here’s an easy question. Why would they attack you?”
“Don’t know.”
“Come on, don’t lie to me. I know it’s not just because they hate your lousy movies.”
I coughed again. It felt as if I’d been drinking liquid Drano. Not recommended.
Boone sighed. “This is stupid, but you act stupid if you like. You think of anything useful, call me.”
“I’m tired, Sheriff. I’d appreciate it if you did your job. Find out what happened to Scott Taylor because that’s what matters.”
“I will. But you’d better stay out of it. The law is my business, not yours. I wear this shiny badge, see? Says ‘sheriff’ on it. Means I investigate crimes for a living. I do a good job. I don’t appreciate some actor stepping on my toes, thinking he’s Philip Marlowe, impeding my work. Understand?”
I said nothing.
“Oh, I got something for you. You seem to think all I do is eat doughnuts, but you’re dead wrong. I have the lab reports on the envelope right here with me.” He dropped the report on the dresser. “Figured you’d want a copy, so there you go. Turns out there are prints on the envelope. Pretty dumb for an anonymous hate mailer. But there you go. Unfortunately, they aren’t on the NCIC computers. That’s the National Crime Information Center. Whoever sent the threat doesn’t have a criminal record.”
I was too tired to think about what that meant.
“I’ll be seeing you,” Boone said. “Unless, of course, you decide Los Angeles is where you belong.” Then he left.
I closed my eyes.
I slept.
Mercifully, I didn’t dream.
“You’re awake?” said a doctor, much later. She pressed a warmed stethoscope to my chest and listened, then nodded before she looked in my eyes with a bright light. I winced. She flashed the light in one eye, then the other. It hurt. She switched it off and wrote something on her pad. I seemed to be aching all over. I just had to focus on a part of my body and a pain would appear. The doctor snapped shut her pad. “How are you feeling, Mr Quinn?”
“Like an elephant sat on my chest.”
“That’ll pass in a few days,” she said. She was kind and sympathetic and described my injuries, without making it sound like computer jargon. Surprisingly, she said I could leave the hospital in two days. I would be sore and bruised, needing plenty of bed rest and high-quality painkillers, but the men had not had time to really hurt me in a permanent way. The stab wound had cut an artery, but that had been sewn up as good as new. I asked her if I’d had any visitors. She said the sheriff had told her that I didn’t want any so they’d been removed from the hospital. The doctor was under the impression I’d not wanted them.
“He said I didn’t want visitors?”
“Those were his words,” she said.
“If they come back, let them visit, okay? Don’t listen to a word the sheriff says – I want visitors. Don’t listen to a word that son of a bitch says, okay?”
“Calm down, please.”
“I am calm.”
“Your heart is racing.”
She injected something into my arm.
I slept.
In the afternoon I opened my eyes and found my father, Fiona and Cindy in the room. By magic, the room had filled with Hallmark cards and flower vases and boxes of candy. I was disappointed to not see Sarah there, too.
“Hey,” Cindy said. “He’s awake.”
“Thank God,” Fiona said, rushing to my side, taking my hand in hers.
Dad said, “Son, don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“I’ll try not to.”
They crowded around me asking questions about how I felt. I answered what I could. I felt lousy, but better for the company. My dad wanted to look at my knife wound, compare it with the one he’d got in Vietnam, but it was covered with bandages so he would have to wait.
“Did you get a good look at them?” Fiona asked. I said no. Her disappointment made me feel guilty. “But they were Heaven and Earth guys, I’m certain. In retrospect, I noticed there were no Heaven and Earth guys in the bar all night. Cindy, did you see any?”
Cindy shook her head.
“Someone must have told them to stay away.” I hitched myself into an upright position. “Van Morgan paid me a visit in the afternoon, tried to buy me off with a role in his infomercials. He’s as guilty as sin.”
“I’m going to make sure the sheriff arrests them,” Dad said. “And I’ll talk to the Tribune. What happened to you will be in the next edition on the front page.”
“Dad, don’t do that. I don’t have anything on Van Morgan I can prove. If we let the papers know what we suspect, he’ll just go to ground and deny everything.”
My father brooded over my words.
“Everything else okay?” I asked him.
“Don’t worry about a thing. I called your insurance company about your car. Shouldn’t be any problems fixing it, they said, if you get it repaired locally and send them the bill. So I put it in Macy’s Mechanics, okay?”
“Thanks.”
“Old Macy said it’ll be ready in a fortnight. You can use my car in the meantime – if you’re up to driving. Just remember the gear shift is stiffer than usual.”
&nb
sp; “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Fiona looked agitated. “Do we have to talk about a car? We do have more important issues. Scott’s missing, and they tried to kill you.”
“She’s right,” my father said. “These Heaven and Earth guys sound like major bad asses. What if they come after you to finish the job?”
I didn’t know. I’d been thinking about it since waking up in a cloud of pain. “They won’t try anything while I’m in hospital, I don’t think. There are too many security cameras and people. They don’t want that kind of publicity.”
Fiona said, “The sheriff should provide a deputy as a bodyguard.”
“Forget that. I have a panic button if they try anything. Don’t worry about me - worry about yourselves. Everyone has to be extra vigilant from now on. I suggest nobody goes anywhere alone.”
“This is scary,” Cindy said. “Why don’t you just give them what they want, whatever that is?” She was almost in tears. “I mean, if these guys are so dangerous …”
“Cindy,” Dad said, “the Quinns don’t back down. We’ll get Van Morgan no matter how long it takes. Besides, you’re in no danger; you just work for me. They’re not interested in hurting you.”
Cindy grimaced; she looked like a little girl afraid of the dark. “But they could hurt you, Harry. Look at what they’ve already done to your son!” Her eyes were huge, her body quivering. Fiona put an arm around her, saying she didn’t have to worry. Cindy pulled at the long red hairs shaken loose from her blue bow, sweeping them back to reveal her glistening eyes. Her pale, freckled nose was red at its tip, where she’d rubbed it dry. “I’d better go,” she mumbled, hurrying out of the room. “I’m sorry about this. Don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
I could hear her crying in the corridor. Her high heels clattered as she rushed for the exit.
“She’s taken it very hard,” Fiona said. “She saw you bleeding in the parking lot, Mike?”
“Afraid so. It must have really shaken her up. There was blood coming out of my chest. Quite a bit of it got on her clothes.”