WHITE

by Neal Arbic

  Delware immediately noticed them: two men, one woman, looking around furtively. Paying attention to who was around them meant they were up to something. Whispering to each other, the three paused at a lamp post. The young blonde girl was their look out, watching both ends of the street. One guy held up a piece of paper and the other taped it to the post: illegal posting of bulletins. Delware smiled to himself, busting these kids would be a laughable attempt at redemption.

  They crossed the street towards Delware, but didn’t make him for a cop. Passing right in front of him, the blonde in striped pants and a purple vest smiled at Delware. The boys taped a poster on a pole directly in front of him and moved on.

  Before the blonde left, she turned her head with a flick of her long blond hair and winked at Delware.

  The moment her pretty face was gone Delware did a double take. He saw the poster. His eyes locked. “Jesus!”

  He stepped closer, gazing up at it. “That’s it. That’s how they did it. That’s where our killers are!”

  ***

  Jack sat, hanging his legs out of his car, looking miserable, the cut over his eye being bandaged by a medic. He reluctantly raised his eyes. “What is it?”

  Delware shook the poster in his face. “Jack, this is what we’re looking for, where we can find our killers!”

  He pointed to the bold lettering at the top of the poster:

  How to Create Your Own Commune.

  “Jack, they’re isolated. That’s why we can’t find them.” Delware’s finger directed Jack’s disinterested gaze. “Look at this special guest!”

  Dr. Ellroy will present a recent study of over a hundred communes.

  “Jack, how could our killers go undetected in the hippie community? Only if they lived outside of it - on the outskirts of town! That’s where most communes are. This flyer says Dr. Ellroy has personally visited and studied all those in the Los Angeles area. This is who we need to talk to.”

  Tuesday, September 9th, 1969, 8:59 PM

  Evening darkened into night. The dented Packard pulled onto the Sunset Strip. Its windshield replaced, its back bumper still missing. The street was a blaze of lights, honking cars and hippies spilling out onto the road. As Jack stewed behind the wheel, Delware looked out at the pimps, pushers and prostitutes. Maybe Mrs. Powell was right; maybe he was just a centurion in a neon Rome, looking for an evil Jesus that the state would crucify in an electric chair.

  Jack’s head ached from the crash. He felt his cuts and bruises. The day had gone as predicted: wasted behind a desk, writing reports about yesterday’s shooting. As he filled out form after form, Delware’s poster perched on the edge of his desk. Hundreds of hopeful glances at How to Create Your Own Commune kept Jack going. All day he had been waiting for this moment. The Packard pulled up in front of the hippest club on the Strip, illuminated in the glow of its red neon sign: The Looking Glass.

  Stepping out, Jack sneered at the clusters of hippies outside: laughing long hairs with sideburns, chatting girls with short hair and granny glasses. One beard wore only rainbow striped pants and a fringed vest. Three barefooted girls sat cross-legged on the sidewalk passing a joint, enjoying watching each other’s tokes as much as their own.

  Half on the curb, half on the street, a group of Hell’s Angels hung around their choppers. They eyed Jack. He made no pretence and gave them a yeah-I’m-a-cop grin. An Angel in a Nazi helmet mocked him with a half salute. Jack noted their Death Head patches: Oakland chapter - a group of felons if he had every seen one. He would have enjoyed ruining the rest of their evening.

  Jack looked back at the scratches and dents on the back of the Packard, the buckled, warped trunk now tied shut with rope. He gave it an ironic smile, an old warrior used to new wounds.

  Delware came up beside him, staring at the battered car. “I can’t believe you got the windshield replaced in a day…for a vintage hunk-of-junk no less.”

  “I get into a dozen collisions a year; my mechanic makes a small fortune keeping replacement parts in stock…just for me.”

  “A dozen a year?” Delware couldn’t resist a mock. “And you - such a safe driver.”

  Lost in his own thoughts, Jack didn’t respond. He looked sadly at where the back bumper should be. “You know, he told me he’s out - doesn’t know if he can get another bumper.” He shook his head. “Guess I should be glad he found one for the front. Yet…I feel like a cat on his ninth life.”

  “We’re lucky to be alive. I can’t believe the car wasn’t totaled.”

  Jack patted the Packard. “This beauty is a tank. Reinforced steel, roll bars in the roof, bullet-proof plates in the doors – you know the original windows were the very first bullet-proof glass ever made for civilian use.”

  “Jack, how much did that cost?”

  “Not a dime. The car used to belong to one of Mickey Cohen’s captains. A criminal like that has a lot of enemies. He got plugged full of holes getting out of this beauty on Sunset Boulevard.”

  Delware smiled at the old man. “So how’d you get it?”

  “It was entered into evidence. But the Department and Mickey were…sort of relying on each other in those days. So the case got buried, the papers were all hush-hush, and when I saw everyone acting like it never happened, I drove this beauty off the lot.” He grinned. “Everyone knew, but no one said a word.” Jack sighed. “It was a different time to be a cop.”

  Jack took one step off the sidewalk for a better look at the trunk. Turning his face to Delware, the shadows made him a deathly gray, as if he had just put one foot in his grave.

  Delware shook off the strange vision and gave Jack a smile. Delware joined the knot of hippies mingling at the door of the club. Instantly, he blended.

  Jack stood alone on the sidewalk, an outsider, an old man.

  A hippie with an open shirt, raised collar and the longest hair Jack had ever seen sat on the sidewalk wearing only a single shoe.

  Jack turned to the boy. “Hey, you lost a shoe.”

  The kid smiled. “No, man. I found one.”

  Delware stepped out of the crowd and nodded. The man they wanted was inside.

  The door was outlined in red neon and shaped like a coffin. Jack stepped into another dimension. Strobe lights on either side of the doorway made all movement look slow motion. They walked a long flashing passage. A muffled Tomorrow Never Knows by The Beatles blared somewhere. Ahead, Jack saw two shadowy men approaching, reading their body language, he knew their slow gait was a cover; these men had a purpose and were headed for danger.

  Jack made a subtle movement to clear his jacket for a quick reach to his holster. One of the approaching men did the same. Jack felt his pulse quicken, then, suddenly found his foot dangling in mid-air. Jack pivoted back and saved himself from a fall. There before him was a flight of stairs. He did a double take and understood. The hallway was short, but a wall length mirror at its end made it look long. The approaching men had, in fact, been them.

  Down a wide, spiral stairway they went. At the bottom waited two strange figures spotlighted in purple. On Jack’s side was a young woman dressed as a sexy Alice in Wonderland. On Delware’s, The Red Queen, equally sexy, but instead of red hearts, her white card was numbered with Soviet hammer & sickles.

  The Queen handed Delware a sugar cube from a silvery tray. He held out his palm to receive. As she dropped it in his palm, she said what sounded like, “Keep your head.”

  Sexy Alice held out a cube to Jack. As she dropped it in his palm, she whispered, “Feed your head.”

  Passing the women, Delware whispered, “Palm it, Jack. It’s LSD.”

  Delware made a motion as if popping the cube into his mouth, but, slipped the cube into his pocket. Jack followed suit.

  Jack found himself in a large crowded room. Delware motioned to Jack to stay put as he made inquiries. Jack watched him move into the crowd. Once again the old man found he was in an optical illusion. He noticed many people were identical to each other. The room was in fact small
, but mirrored walls surrounded the few people in it. Jack felt disorientated, seeing every movement endlessly echoed in infinite mirrors.

  Delware reappeared with an attractive woman dressed in a white Playboy Bunny outfit. She motioned them to follow. The two men followed the White Rabbit.

  Leading them into a house of mirrors, she was hard to follow. Her many reflections turned in different directions. The twisting corridors reflected themselves endlessly. Psychedelic murals appeared at random - glowing under black light. Delware followed the White Rabbit. Jack followed the black man. Marijuana smoke drifted through the air. The snaking passageways led past cubbyholes and wraparound booths full of hippies. Staring eyes followed Jack as he passed. They came across a group of Black Panthers in thin leather jackets and black military berets. Their talk stopped as their aggressive eyes watched Jack pass. Jack noticed shotguns around their table. Another turn brought them to a table of young women, a few wearing ‘Women’s Lib’ across their t-shirts, all in pants, not a single dress. They too fell silent and watched Jack pass with hateful stares. A sharp twist brought them to a dimly lit room of college students. Banners with peace signs read “Free Speech!” “You can’t jail the Revolution!” and “End the War!” in multi-colored letters. The group sorted petitions and painted placards. One hippie in a top hat and a shirt made from an American flag stood on a long table shouting what to Jack’s ears was complete nonsense. The hippie ranted, repeating the word ‘fascists’ again and again like he had gone mad. As a few students noticed Jack, others also turned their heads, all stared with suspicion. The song had changed and the music was getting closer and clearer. Around another mirrored corner was a wall spray painted: Gay Liberation. Two very butch women stood on either side of a doorway with crossed arms. What made them stand out were not only their matching striped shirts, but that they were identical twins. They eyed Jack with chilly indifference. Through the doorway was an orgy: men embraced men, women embraced women. Two naked young women kissed in a corner beside a pair of handsome young men gently stroking each other.

  Jack looked away, but curious eyes from the doorway followed him.

  The labyrinth opened to a huge crowded dance floor. The music was now clear and blaring - Pictures of Matchstick Men by Status Quo. The walls were alive with a kaleidoscopic light show, huge moving blobs ever morphing their shape, size and color. The dancers were as wildly dressed as anyone in Wonderland. Their eyes wide, their faces ecstatic and ever changing in color, purple, red, yellow, blue, orange, as lights from the ceiling flashed in circles above them.

  To Jack, it looked like everyone had gone insane: gone were dance steps or boys paired with girls. Uninhibited and manic, each dancer improvised their own style.

  Delware nodded towards the crazed crowd. The man they wanted was on the other side. They waded through the confusion and sensory overload as if two gunfighters advancing slowly down a deserted street towards a showdown, their hands instinctively close to the butts of their service revolvers, protecting them from the swarm slowly parting before them.

  At last, emerging from the mob of tripping humanity, they came to a door. Over it was a black light, on the door in glowing letters:

  The Magic Theater

  For madmen only

  Price of Admission: your mind!

  They glanced at each other, the mob swirling behind them.

  Delware opened the door. The musky smell of marijuana hit them; silver, blue wisps of smoke hung in the air. The room was dim and bare. At first they could not see, but as their eyes adjusted two figures appeared sitting on opposing couches. Both stared at a table between them. On the table, stacked two feet high, were white sugar cubes.

  Delware entered first, Jack closed the door behind them. The couch men remained motionless. Then one whispered from the dark. “Delware, is that you, man?”

  Delware nodded. “Hey, Mickey.”

  Mickey’s voice spoke slow and stoned from the shadows. “Hey, man, you ain’t here to drag me off to Vietnam, are you?”

  Jack noticed a poster on the wall. He could barely read the curving letters: Fight the Rising Tide of Conformity!

  Delware’s stance relaxed, cocking his hip. “Everything’s mellow, man, we’re just visiting ‘cause we need to talk.”

  A hand rose from the shadows, Mickey and Delware slapped palms. Mickey grinned. “Right on, brother, lay it on me.”

  Delware held up the commune poster. Mickey smiled.

  Delware asked. “You the promoter?”

  Mickey nodded. “Sure. Communes, man, freeing people from this greedy, materialistic society we live in. Helping them find a new consciousness, a way of life outside of the establishment.”

  “Where’s the Doc?”

  “That all? Can’t wait till next Friday? Doc Ellroy will be here tomorrow night.”

  “We need to talk as soon as possible.”

  “Trouble?”

  “No trouble. We just need to talk.”

  Jack looked at the silent stoned man slouched on the other couch. The hippie just stared at the police officers through the gloom. Jack was drawn to the man’s face. He studied it. He placed it - a police bulletin. Jack was staring at Owsley Stanley, wanted for making and distributing LSD throughout California.

  Delware started a question, but Jack interrupted him. “Wait a minute.” Jack turned and gave Owsley a dangerous smile. “You a drug pusher?”

  Turning his head, Delware instantly recognized Owsley.

  Owsley gave both officers a friendly smile. “Hey, man, it’s not for sale. I’m giving it away. Dig? If you want some…take some. It’s free.”

  Mickey protested in his slow, stoned cadence. “Hey, man, if you want my help - you ain’t busting anybody.”

  Delware glanced at Jack. Jack nodded.

  Delware turned to Mickey. “We’re not here to arrest anyone.”

  Mickey scratched his head through his shaggy hair. “I don’t know about tonight, but tomorrow afternoon I know Doc will be at the Free Health Care Clinic in…”

  Normally, Jack would have paid close attention, but he kept stealing glances at Owsley Stanley. Jack could smell a drug pusher around the corner, spot them down the street, but there was nothing criminal about this man.

  Jack pointed to the large pile of sugar cubes on the table. “So, you make this stuff.”

  Owsley looked up through his long hair without any fear in his eyes. “Hey, man, dig it. I’m trying to turn people on, open their minds, free their souls. Dig?”

  Jack glanced at the massive pile of sugar cubes, once innocent white sweetness, now ominous.

  Owsley eyes fell on the white cubes. “You know, when I make this stuff…I try not to think any negative thoughts, so no bad vibes get into it. So, it’s pure good karma, man.”

  Standing up, Owsley swayed as if on a seaborne boat - a man on a trip, he alone was taking. He took an unsteady step towards Jack. “We’re going to save the world with this. You can’t pollute when you’re aware, man. You can’t kill when your heart is open. If you realize you’re one with it all, how can you hurt anyone or anything? That’s what I’m trying to do. Dig?”

  Jack gave Owsley a cynical smile. “Save the world? Look, kid, buy a car, move to the suburbs and spare yourself the trouble – it can’t be done. Believe me.”

  Owsley held up a vial of clear liquid, his fingers suspended it between them. “All the answers are in here, man.”

  Jack kept his eyes on the clear liquid and called to Delware, “What is that?”

  Delware glanced. “It’s the LSD they’ve been dropping on the cubes.”

  Owsley gave Jack a stoned stare through his long hair. His eyes smiled at the vial. “Everything you need to know is right in this, man. When you’re ready, it will reveal all the answers.”

  There was a weird light in Owsley’s eyes - a total lack of confrontation. Those watery eyes with wildly dilated pupils were lucid. It reminded Jack of a young priest in his parish his wife had liked. He too h
ad piercing eyes that looked through Jack without aggression, without judgment. Jack could face killers and bullets, but he found Owsley’s eyes unnerving.