“This is an urgent matter, Nurse. I will not hesitate to restrain and even arrest you.”
These words cut through the professionalism of the young woman’s mind-set. She understood being restrained and arrested and knew that the protection of her white uniform did not extend nearly that far.
As she exited the room, little Dr. Mendel began pulling the yellowy nylon curtains around the hospital bed. Once they were blocked from view of the three other patients in the room, both men pulled up chairs to Xavier’s bedside.
For his part the newspaper delivery man had made it to a sitting position.
“What were you doing out there, Ecks?” the captain asked softly.
“How you doin’, Guilly?” Xavier replied. “Lance.”
Guillermo Soto and Lawrence Mendel were parishioners like Xavier. The policeman had smuggled Mexican and Guatemalan laborers across any border they paid for, and Mendel performed illegal medical procedures on political prisoners around the world.
Both men had left scores of dead bodies in their wake, but they had been granted sanctuary under the protection of Father Frank. The one rule of their church was to refrain from passing judgment on one another. So Xavier didn’t judge the men—but he didn’t like them either.
“Pewtersworth called,” Mendel said. “When the police got to you after that car ran you down they found the church card and called in. Clyde P. contacted us and we came. What’s going on?”
Xavier focused on Soto, the lesser evil, in his eyes.
“There’s a house on the corner of Kasidis and Lancaster. Anything from that?”
“A witness said he might have seen you running from there. When the police rang the bell nobody answered. It didn’t look like a break-in, so they left it alone.”
“Nobody came to the door?”
“No. Did you break in?”
“Any bones broken, Doc?” Xavier asked Mendel.
“Some bruising and swelling, that’s about it.”
“A car hit me?”
“Not head-on. It was driving past and you ran into the side. Bounced you like a rubber ball. If you weren’t drunk it might have been worse.”
“Where are my clothes?”
“Folded on the bench at the foot of the bed,” Soto said. “What were you doing there, Ecks?”
“Nothing to break my oath.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“It’ll have to be.”
Soto was in his midforties, though he looked older. He was hale and powerful but that didn’t bother Rule. He was never afraid of force—only failure.
“Are you working for Frank?” Dr. Mendel asked.
“What I’m doin’ is what I’m doin’, Doc. Don’t crowd me.”
“I could have you arrested,” Guillermo Soto suggested. “All I’d have to do is stand aside.”
“That’s your business,” Xavier said. “I can’t tell you what to do.”
“Are you going to cause me trouble?” the cop asked.
“I been in trouble since before I was born, Guilly. So much that people stay outta my way so rocks don’t fall out from the sky on their heads.”
The policeman stood. He had glistening tawny skin and deep, dark eyes. In contrast Mendel was a dry white color, like alabaster on a desert landscape. The white man had blue eyes that, Xavier knew from Expressions, had seen acres of innocent, unwilling blood.
“Take care of yourself, Ecks,” the doctor said.
“Get the fuck outta here.”
“What are you doing?” Nurse Kwan said to Xavier’s back minutes later.
He was standing at the foot of his bed trying his best to put his pants on without toppling to the floor.
He stopped and sat on the bench to rest.
“I’m going out for pizza. You want some?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Noland, but you can’t leave until you have been released.”
“This is America, honey. Here every man is free. Woman too.”
“The doctor on duty has to sign you out before I can let you go.”
“Watch me.”
Feeling stronger with something to push against, Xavier Rule stood, pulling up his pants with the same motion. There was some dirt on his suit but no tears that he could tell. Xavier not only loved his clothes but felt loyalty toward them. He’d hire a tailor to work for days to save a suit he cherished.
Nurse Kwan left. While the other patients watched he donned his chocolate shirt and lime jacket, cranberry socks and grapefruit shoes. He had just stood from tying his laces when two orderlies came in, followed by the nurse. The men were both white. One was dirty blond while the other sported a healthy brunette mop. They seemed able enough, one a bit taller and the other somewhat shorter than Xavier’s five-ten.
“Gentlemen,” Xavier greeted. “What time do you have?”
“Time for you to get back in the bed,” the taller blond said.
“If I didn’t get in the bed for a cute nurse, why would I do it for you?”
“We’re not jokin’ with you, dude,” the other orderly said in a no-nonsense tone.
Almost effortlessly Xavier reached down and broke a fifteen-inch wooden leg off the bench that had held his clothes, showing his would-be jailers that he had powerful, practiced hands.
As the bench teetered and fell he said, “Then let’s not play around.”
At the admittance office on the first floor he requested his property. When they asked him for his discharge papers he told them to call Nurse Kwan in the emergency admitting ward.
A dozen minutes later he was on the street waiting for a car that he’d called.
It was late in the afternoon and Xavier didn’t know whether he was going to vomit or experience cardiac arrest, but he stood there patiently happy to be above the ground and out of the penal system, away from the carnage he had thought was human routine.
The fifty-seven, plum-colored Pontiac sidled up to the curb and Winter Johnson leaned toward the passenger’s window.
“Hey, Ecks. Where you goin’, man?”
Winter was somewhere in his thirties and more yellow than brown. He was slight and wiry, friendly to a fault. He had been attacked by a man on Flower Street just a few blocks from Xavier’s apartment. The man was easily twice Winter’s size and had assaulted Johnson because he took exception to the way the chauffeur had glanced at his girl. The young woman in question had a siren’s figure and wore a close-fitting red dress that was shorter than it was tight.
Winter hadn’t said anything to the woman, only swiveled his head as she sashayed by.
All Xavier had to do was pull the blustery boyfriend off of Winter and shove him a few feet into a brick wall. That ended the fight and began the first true friendship in the Harlemite’s new life.
“Hey, Win,” Xavier said as he dropped into the seat next to the driver. “Thanks for getting me.”
“I had another pickup but I told the dispatcher that my brother was in the hospital.”
“You don’t have to lie for me, man.”
“That was no lie.”
“How’s it goin’, Win?” Xavier asked his friend on the ride from the midtown hospital back to Culver City.
“Met a girl named Cindy on Monday last,” the young man said with a smile. “Took her to dinner, a movie, and then a dance from Tuesday through Thursday. She works in a department store and is taking fashion classes at Santa Monica College. She came over Friday night. I made her pancakes the next morning.”
He stopped talking as they entered the on-ramp to the freeway.
“And?” Xavier asked after a few minutes of silence.
“And what?”
“What happened with Cindy?”
“Oh. That was a real nice week. Her kisses tasted like bottled water and she had this wiggle when I hugged her that made me go wild. But don’t get me wrong; it wasn’t only sex. One night there, before we even got to the bed, we talked until the sun came up. I don’t even remember what we said. It was just …
just … perfect.”
Winter was an able driver. He weaved through the six lanes of heavy traffic as if his Pontiac were the only car on the road. He was smiling again, remembering.
“How’d it go with Cindy on Saturday afternoon?” the hard man from back east asked softly.
“She got a call on her cell phone. You know I hate them damn things. Makes it like you can’t evah get away from nuthin’. I got one but I turn it off when I’m with company. Anyway … she went out on the porch and talked about fifteen minutes or so. When she came back she asked could she plug it in. Talk so hot and heavy that she ran outta juice, I guess. She didn’t smile no more after that. When I asked her if she wanted to get some dinner she said that she had to go home. I thought maybe we could try some day next week and she said, ‘We’ll see.’ ”
“Who was on the phone with her?”
“The week before we met her boyfriend of two years said that he needed some space. Space’s name was Laurel Timmons. Cindy met me and I made her forget Braxton. But then Laurel flitted off and Braxton wanted Cindy back. She said that time with me was great but when she heard his voice she knew she couldn’t stay away. I drove her home and that was that.”
“So why you still smiling, Win?”
“Me?” he said, seemingly unaware of his own happiness. “I guess it’s because I had the best week that girl could give. I had her wiggle and peck, her dreams about a future. That was enough for me and more than Braxton could ever have. And just when I was beginnin’ to feel kinda desolate you called me up and said you needed some help. Man, I figure that if the almighty Ecks needs help then I ain’t got nuthin’ to complain about.”
Ecks sat back in his seat and they remained quiet for the rest of the ride.
Twenty minutes later Winter pulled his classic car up behind the Edsel and parked.
Snorting, Xavier glanced over at the house where he almost died.
Winter said nothing.
“I’m going to make a call,” Xavier said. “Could you wait a few minutes?”
“As many as you need.”
The phone rang nine times before he answered.
“Church services, Clyde Pewtersworth speaking.”
“Hey, Clyde, Xavier Rule here.”
“Mr. Rule.”
The congregation used real names with the church staff; that, Father Frank said, was a matter of trust.
“How come you put Guilly and Lance on me, man? You know what they’re like.”
“You needed help and they were available.” Clyde was not loquacious. He said what was necessary, rarely a syllable more.
“Who told you you could even call them?” Xavier asked.
The momentary silence made Xavier smile. It was rare to get a leg up over the switchboard operator.
“Frank told me to help you in any way possible.”
“Really?”
“What do you need, Mr. Rule?”
“I might need a lawyer before this night is through. Cylla Pride in town?”
Another pause on the other end of the line.
“What shall I tell her the charges are to be?”
“Nothing nearly as bad as what she’s done. Just breaking and entering, maybe some burglary if I see something shiny.”
“Call me if you have a problem,” Clyde said. “I’ll make sure you two are connected.”
“You go on, Win,” Xavier said, standing in the street next to his friend’s car.
“At least try and start your car first.”
“No. I’m gonna stay around here for a while.”
“For what?”
“Business.”
“Let me help you, brother.”
“This is no car wash, Win. This is what the bastards on Wall Street call ‘outside the box.’ ”
“I know. I knew that when you threw that dude up against the wall and put your forearm across his throat. I saw in his eyes the kinda business you in. But you know, brother, I’m California born and raised. We follow the sun out here … wherever it go.”
“Okay. It’s your funeral. First let me get a couple of things from my car.”
The front porch was partially hidden by vines of pink roses grown over crosshatched wooden trellises. Xavier knocked and then rang. When there was no answer the duo moved to the left, broke through the hidden side trellis, and went down to a path that led around the side of the house.
The brick patio was dark but the Parishioner could feel his way around.
“Here.” Xavier handed his friend one of six pairs of latex gloves he took from the hallway outside of his hospital room. “Put these on.”
Using the tiny hand-pressure flashlight on his key chain, Xavier could see that the sliding glass door was closed. After a couple of little shoves he knew that it was locked. He then took the twelve-inch tire iron he retrieved from the car and wedged it in the lock mechanism of the door.
“Hold up, Ecks,” Winter said. “They probably got an alarm system on a nice house like this one here.”
“No, brother.” Xavier savored the short phrase a moment and then continued. “We in my neighborhood now. People like me and the folks live here don’t have alarm systems. We use semiautomatics and dynamite, Dobermans and ice hooks—but never no alarms.”
Xavier wrenched the short, thick tire iron and the lock cracked. The door didn’t come open because there were two other places where internal bolts had been thrown. He loosened them up and the glass door, which didn’t fracture at all, slid open.
Upon entering the sunken living room, Xavier sought out a wall switch that turned on the overhead chandelier. It was a gaudy light fixture made from amber-colored crystals and real amber beads.
“Hey, man!” Winter complained.
“What?”
“People might see that light from the street.”
“So?”
“What if they told somebody they were out of town or somethin’?”
“They don’t know their neighbors.”
“Are these friends’a yours?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then how you know who they know?”
“Like I said, Win, we in my neck’a the woods. I understand these people like a California surfer knows his wave.”
They went from room to room of the two-story home, Xavier looking for anything suspicious and Winter just gazing around nervously.
The freezer in the kitchen was filled with TV dinners, and the refrigerator held nothing but condiments and a moldy loaf of white bread.
The back porch was stacked with cardboard boxes that were empty and seemed to be quite old, covered with dust and inhabited by spiders.
They found a tiny bedroom next to the porch. It was spare, almost a cell. There was a single-mattress bed and a simple oak bureau with three drawers. There were no clothes in the closet or the drawers. The only trash in the blue plastic wastebasket was an empty tampon carton. This single clue told Ecks that this room had recently been tenanted by Doris Milne. There were no pictures on the night table or hanging from the wall. There were no holes from nails that might have been used to hold frames, nor any blemishes or discolorations from posters a young woman could have taped up.
In contrast, Sedra’s bedroom took up at least half of the second floor. It was carpeted with real animal hide, probably deer, and contained a bed that was at least a hundred inches in width covered by a fire-engine red silk down comforter. The drapes went from ceiling to floor and were velvet, the color of gold, if gold could rot.
The wall-wide closet was stuffed with hanging dresses and coats, pantsuits and scarves from over the decades. Perpendicular to the closet stood a highly wrought, curved chest of drawers covered by an ivory veneer. Xavier pulled out each of the eighteen drawers, dumped whatever was in them on the hide floor, and checked all the sides for possible secrets. Two-thirds of the way through his thorough search he found a red fabric-bound journal taped to the back of a drawer that had been filled with staples, a stapler, dried-out rubber band
s, and large rolls of black electrical wiring tape.
The journal was the size of a mass-market paperback book, at least a hundred and fifty pages. The paper was of a higher quality—acid free and heavy. Two-thirds of these pages were covered with minuscule writing. Most of the scribbling did not comprise normal lettering but character symbols like punctuation, dollar signs, and mathematical indicators. These symbols appeared without spaces. Sometimes a character would be half-size on the upper portion of where a full-size representation might be. Nearly the entire book was filled with this meaningless jabber, about forty lines to a side. No breaks, spaces, or paragraphs appeared anywhere. Now and again there was a change in the tone of the ink, but it was always blue. If Sedra and her niece hadn’t tried to murder him he might have thought that this was the meaningless, obsessive scribbling of a madwoman.
He pocketed the journal and continued his way through the drawers.
“Hey, Ecks,” Win said.
He was standing in the doorway. Xavier hadn’t even realized that the young man had wandered off.
“What?”
“You got to come see somethin’, man.”
In a pantry off the kitchen was a door. This door opened upon a down stairway.
“A basement,” Xavier said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“How long you been in LA, Ecks?”
“A few years.”
“Not long enough to learn that nobody has a basement or cellar out here.”
“Oh, yeah?”
The huge green metal door at the foot of the stairs seemed to be built for some kind of giant. To call the locks that held it shut padlocks would be like calling Fort Knox a safe. They were huge, ugly things made from metal, specially designed to be unbreakable.
“What the fuck you think they got in there, man?” Winter asked.
“The answers to all my questions. Probably something neither one of us wants to know.”
“I’ont think you got to worry about it, brother. ’Cause unless you got some kinda key to them locks we not gettin’ on the other side’a that mothahfuckah there.” There was more than a little relief in the driver’s tone.
The basement light was weak but good enough for Xavier to see.
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