It was dark but she knew where she was. She crossed the road into the orchard. The dogs followed her but quietly and, after a few minutes, didn’t care for where she was going and turned back.
In every direction, the orderly grid of the orange groves formed straight lines. It felt like there was no center to anything except the spot where she chose to stand, so she walked along different lines of trees for half an hour until she came to the next paved road. She crossed that road and walked into the next orange grove and switched rows there until she came to a damp irrigation ditch. She followed the ditch until she came to a wheel and gear that controlled a small floodgate. The wheel was rusted shut, which meant it wasn’t serviced, which meant no one was likely to be here soon.
Robin put the key to the padlock in the cigarette pack and added a few small stones to give it weight. Then she turned in a circle three times and, with her eyes closed, threw the cigarette pack over a row of trees. She wrapped the chain around her waist and over her shoulders and crossed it over her chest and then around her back again. She ran both ends through the rusted wheel and, with her arms behind her, slipped the shackle on the padlock through the two ends of the chain and snapped it into the padlock body. She was bound too tightly to stretch out on the ground. She leaned against the gate. She wasn’t so comfortable, but how long would that last?
Siouxsie, Frank Sinatra, Redwings
The Audi saw a Porsche ahead of them where the freeway descended into the Central Valley.
Frank recognized the car. “I know that Porsche. He stole it from Center Camp.”
“Do we call him Nole Hazard or Kraft Serviss?” asked Redwings.
“Let’s ask him,” said Siouxsie.
“He’s slowing down, Frank. Watch out for what he’s avoiding.”
“He’s not stopping.”
“Don’t you know he can see us? It’s stupid to drive without your lights. You can hit something and where are we? No one can help us.”
Redwings agreed. “It’s not my place, Frank, to quarrel with your strategical tactics so to speak, but you’re not a man who has risen to your position by wasting energy on making the wager that someone may not know you’re coming. You’re a prominently decisive man, the best-qualified head of committee I’ve had the obligation to know. I would never ride any of my Harleys lights out on a road known to be an obstacle course made of material out of place.”
“Good Redwings, that’s why we’re in my Audi, four wheels on the road, instead of your motorcycle, because should we hit something with one wheel, we have three more to balance the ride. This isn’t the time for your choppers. He’s not driving like he knows what the car can do for him. And every wiggle he makes I make, so unless he can pass through an obstacle I can’t, I’m where I want to be. I want to know something, and he can tell me. I know he can.”
Redwings clapped his hands. “The only way you ever surprise me is when I forget that I should never be surprised by the way you put two and three together.”
Siouxsie rested a hand on Frank Sinatra’s shoulder. “You want to know who you were, don’t you?”
“No, I know who I was, not in the particulars of my life, but in the positive verification of where I worked. I’m Reynaldo Johnston. I was the head of security for UCLA before the change and no one ever replaced me, so I’m still that man with an expanded territory. I want to know who Chief was.”
Siouxsie asked him, “Why does it matter?”
“Chief is running from the man who threw the motor pool worker, Tesla, from the balcony. Before the Fence went down, I had reason to protect him. Now I really don’t. Redwings, what do you say I say fuck this caution and I turn on my lights?”
“Can’t agree more with you, Frank, but not that I’m understanding who or what we’re fucking.”
Frank turned on his lights. “This is a fast car, Siouxsie. The Founders left them for us and then disappeared. The Founders built them in a place called Germany and put them on a ship and sailed them to Long Beach and put them on trailers and left them in big parking lots. All we had to do was pump up the tires and add some gasoline and use fresh batteries.”
“That’s a lot.”
“Worth it.”
Frank hit the gas and the Audi responded with a muffled whine. “I love that sound. It’s not as pleasant as the steady loud murmur of a BMW but it has its own charm.”
Redwings agreed. “Like a Harley at idle, the sound of promise.”
Sinatra passed the car ahead of him, the Porsche, driven by a man none had ever seen before.
“Who’s that?” asked Siouxsie.
“It should be Nole Hazard,” said Frank. “Hang on, though.” Frank pulled alongside the other car and then drove closer, until the cars were a foot apart, then closed the gap and brushed the side of the Audi against the Porsche. He pulled ahead and forced the Porsche into the guardrail, where it stopped.
Frank grabbed his gun from the glove compartment and was out of the car, followed by Redwings and Siouxsie Banshee. Frank took the driver out of the car and frisked him while Redwings looked in the car and found the pistol under the driver’s seat along with six bags of Corn Nuts.
“Well hello, hello, Reynaldo,” said the Porsche driver.
“That’s not my name anymore.”
“That’s what I used to call you. Old habits, you know what I mean, Reynaldo?”
“Siouxsie? Do you know what he means?”
“We haven’t had habits in four years. But he knows who you were.” She asked the man, “How do you know Frank used to be Reynaldo?”
“I got around.”
“If you know Frank’s old name, do you know me? Do you know my old name? It’s Sonia Pryce. P-R-Y-C-E.”
“No.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
Frank had a different question. “Why were you in the storm drain following Nole Hazard?”
“I’m still following him. A Lincoln Navigator, up ahead. He’s leading me to my wife. We should hurry.”
“Did you kill Tesla?”
“Who’s Tesla?”
“From the motor pool. I think you threw him from the balcony.”
“Not I. I never heard of Tesla. Did you ask Nole?”
“If he did it, why did he do it?”
“No idea. I wasn’t there.”
“Who was the Shamblerina with Nole Hazard in the hotel room when Tesla was murdered?”
“That’s now two questions about a murder, if that’s what it was, that I had nothing to do with. I’ll tell you this. I saw Nole near the river with a woman, but I don’t know who she was.”
“But you know him, Nole, yes?”
“Better than he knows himself.”
“The woman with him, she was naked and dirty and he dressed her and cleaned her up. She was a Shamblerina. We know that much. And he fed her. Do you know why?”
“I can guess. Residual compassion or something that I didn’t see before I sent him to find my wife. He wasn’t supposed to do that. If he’d done things the right way he would have led her out of the Fence, brought her to me, and I would have, well, left him behind and gone back to Palm Springs with her.”
“The singer told me your name is Teacher.”
“People used to call me Mr. Mayor. I was the last elected mayor of Los Angeles. My term has expired. So you can call me Mr. Mayor, but that would be out of deference or kindness, and I can’t expect either from you, can I? Very different conditions. But it’s why I had to send . . . the one you call Nole. Someone would have recognized me. Chief, or someone around him, Toby Tyler of Systems, the early victors in the race for rehab. Like me. Only one person could be Chief, and I wasn’t popular. I ran away to the desert and stayed there waiting to be invited back, but Chief and the rest of you, who were supposed to return power to those of us who were in control before NK3, kept
the control. You took over their houses. You put up the Fence. Deny that.”
Frank said, “Why should I? We let the rich die or drift and the ones who tried to get back in, homing in on the beacon of their old routines, we drove out to the desert. Like you, Mr. Mayor. The rest we left banging their bottles down Figueroa.”
“Is that true?” asked Redwings.
“He’s not lying,” said Siouxsie. “Frank never lies.”
“Amen to that. Frank Sinatra don’t lie,” said Redwings. “He’s a man of his word. That does make me a little sad.”
“And what do you want with Nole Hazard or Kraft Serviss?”
“His name is Hopper. Well trained. We won’t catch him. So let’s find Chief. He erased me from the woman I loved. Keep my guns. Reynaldo, I have no fight with you and you have no claim on me.”
“He’s not Reynaldo anymore,” said Siouxsie. “And I’m not Sonia Pryce. If you want to call yourself the Mayor, I can’t stop you. You’re looking for the woman who doesn’t remember you. What are you going to do to convince her she still loves you?”
“When she sees me, she’ll wake up. Hopper is carrying the bones of our child, wrapped in the pink princess dress of her third birthday party. She’ll remember.”
“One thing I learned by walking through the museum that was left to me is that there was a time when people made paintings that looked like real people and times when paintings were just different ways of mixing colors and shapes.” She was about to say more, lifting up toward a larger explanation, something to improve an idea from private theory to public law, to tell the Mayor he was wrong. But that was all she said.
The Mayor spoke into the quiet left by the expectation of more. “And, what does that mean? Why did you say that? How does that apply to the return of the woman who loved me?”
“If I have to explain it, you’ll never understand. So think about it.”
“I’ll think about it, thanks. And Reynaldo, so uncommonly quiet right now, can you give me a lift? You wrecked my car.”
“Well allow me to revert to who I am at all times,” said Redwings. “So fuck this shit. Let’s ride.”
Chief, oranges chief
There was a light on in the trailer, just where Go Bruins said Pippi would be. She rarely slept well at the house in Center Camp, not even in the Pippi room, and Chief hoped she was awake now, although she’d be angry when she saw him. How to explain that sending her here was the only way to protect her, when the protection was for his sake, not hers?
A dog barked, then another, and a third, in one of the buildings or trailers. Someone would come out soon and ask him questions as though he was obliged to answer.
The trailer door was unlocked. The bed was unmade.
The oranges chief came to the door. “She’s gone,” he said.
“You were supposed to lock her up.”
“I let her go.”
“Why?”
“I was taking care of her for a powerful man. You don’t have that power anymore.”
“Did she know?”
“I told her what I knew. She walked away.”
“No. I would have seen her if she was walking back to the city.”
“I don’t think she wanted to go back.”
They heard the Audi come fast down the road and stop, heard the doors open and shut. Frank, Siouxsie, Redwings, and the Mayor ran to him.
“Who are they?” asked oranges chief.
Chief wanted to tell him that in his mythology, everything was as it should be, that Inventory was full, that Verifications were tied to computers that had the entire database, that the Fence was reinforced, that nothing at LAX could fly, that doctors knew what they were doing, that he was Chief, and that she loved him alone, and no one else.
“Where is she?” asked the Mayor.
Chief felt some joy in being able to say, “She’s not here. I’m late, and so are you. She’s gone.”
“That means Hopper took her.”
“Who’s Hopper?” asked Chief.
“He’s the man you were afraid of,” said Frank. “The man who killed Tesla. Also called Nole Hazard, also called Kraft Serviss.”
“I was afraid of this man,” said Chief, pointing at the Mayor. “He’s the one who sent Nole Hazard to find me. He’s waiting to see her with me,” said Chief. “Then Hazard will take her from me, killing me along the way. That’s all his rehab was designed to do.”
“So where is Nole?” asked Frank.
“Watching us,” said Siouxsie. “I met him. I know what he’s doing.”
Oranges chief said, “Unless he found her already.”
“No,” said Redwings. “From what I savvy, he can’t find her on his own. He has to follow. He’ll be close by, but you may not see him. So you can take the risk of finding her and getting away from him. There’s a saying I learned in the club. ‘Three can keep a secret if two are dead.’ I expect the same is true of a woman’s heart.”
Siouxsie said, “No. She has to choose.”
Chief grabbed Siouxsie and hugged her. Redwings, on instinct, pulled him away.
“No, Redwings. What she just said. I have to give her up. The Mayor and Hopper, let them fight over her. I should go back to Center Camp. That’s where I’m needed. Maybe I can save them. She’s yours, Mr. Mayor, all yours, if you can get ahead of Hopper. I loved her but she was always yours. Frank, can I have your car?”
“Why?”
“It’s better than my truck. You can find another one. There’s sure to be an Audi dealer in Bakersfield.”
“I’m sure there is,” said Frank. He tossed the keys to him.
Chief walked to the Audi, got in, adjusted the seat, and drove away.
The Mayor asked the oranges chief, “Which way did my wife go?”
“There.” The oranges chief pointed his hand to the west and swept it in an arc to the east.
“When I find her, I’ll bring her back,” said the Mayor, before running into the orchard and disappearing between the rows, calling out, “Heidi! Gretel! Pippi! Robin! Robin! Robin!”
As he ran away, Hopper walked out of the trees behind the trailer, the bones rattling in his backpack.
Siouxsie said his name. “Nole. Nole Hazard. Remember me?”
“I have to find my wife.”
Sinatra asked him, “Why did you kill Tesla?”
“He was hurting Madeinusa.”
No one had anything else to say to him.
Tracing what he hoped were his Teacher’s steps, Hopper was also soon lost in the grove.
A few men and women who worked in the orchard had been watching this, and they asked the oranges chief some questions in words Frank didn’t know.
Frank asked Siouxsie, “Do you understand what they’re saying?”
“It’s Spanish. I don’t speak it, but I know what it is.”
“A language.”
“Yes.”
Frank turned to Redwings. “Redwings, what happened to the plane that left LAX?”
“It flew over the city.”
“And then?”
“I don’t know. Do you know?”
“No. What’s Chief going to find when he gets back to the Playa?”
“Shannon Squier might still be singing,” said Redwings. “Erin and Brin, and Toffe, and Helary and Jobe, what about them?”
“They’re either good, or not,” said Frank.
“What happened to June Moulton? What happened to ElderGoth?” asked Siouxsie.
“June will manage,” said Frank.
“How do you know? Maybe she won’t.”
“She can ask for help if she can find us,” said Frank.
“Yes,” said Siouxsie. “This is where we are.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I do not live in a vacuum.
Over the last seven years I worked on different ways to tell a story about the social structures of a city in distress, with Nick Wechsler, John Schoenfelder, Dawn Olmstead, Marti Noxon, Josh Appelbaum, André Nemec, Jeff Pinkner, Scott Rosenberg, and Sean Daniel. They may be surprised to see their names here, but as someone once discovered, just as marzipan is the best delivery system for sugar and almonds, so one has to find the right form for the thing at hand of any endeavor, and they helped me on the way to Figueroa and the Fence, so thanks are in order. Perhaps those other stories will yet find the right delivery system.
Long before the book was done, Mercedes Martinez asked if I had something she could print in The Black Rocker, a journal of the Ashram Galactica, to be handed out as a gift at that arts festival in the Black Rock Desert of Nevada, and I gave her an early chapter. To see one’s words in the alienated form of a different font, above the caution, “From A Work in Progress,” is a goad to finish. Also thanks to Chris Paine, that great utopian. To Chris Kraus for an early read. To Brett Johnson, for the last few years of creative company. And I won’t waste an opportunity to thank Emma Tolkin and Susanna Tolkin.
Gratitude to my publisher, Morgan Entrekin, for his cogent notes, and to his editors Allison Malecha and Paula Cooper Hughes for theirs. And also to my agent Kim Witherspoon.
Finally, a great cheer to Chevalier’s Books, of Larchmont Boulevard in Los Angeles. Bert Deixler, Darryl Holter, Filis Winthrop, Liz Newstat, and Erica Luttrell have saved one block in America from becoming nothing but a food court. Stop in, say hi, and buy a book you’ve heard about, or a book they recommend, or a book whose cover intrigues you.
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