Switchback

by Susan Dunlap

  ‘You been on this story a long time?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said in a weary tone. ‘Long enough to see the end of the tunnel … blocked. A couple times. You think the rings are busted and they pop up again. New name, new location. New mules, new girls. Some from Malaysia, some from Milwaukee, Fresno, Tuscaloosa. Depressing.’

  ‘OK. How long’ll you be gone?’

  ‘Five minutes. Ten outside.’

  What could I say? ‘Go. Fast!’

  He made tracks for Broadway and turned the corner north.

  I stepped back into a recessed doorway three feet beside the alley. I could handle this better on my own anyway. Columbus Avenue was busy enough to prevent a man from attacking a woman with no one calling 911. If Sendar used the alleyway, he would pop out onto the sidewalk before I saw him, but then he’d be on the sidewalk and have to turn around to see me. And he was the only one of us who’d be surprised.

  It’s cold in San Francisco at any time of year. Any night. This night. There are Tibetan exercises I’ve heard of in which you concentrate and warm your body. If I’d learned them I’d have been warmer. As it was I clutched my arms across my chest and waited, listening to the traffic, the wind shovel leaves along the pavement, radios blare and subside. If it were morning I’d be smelling the aroma of Renzo’s coffee, the special morning bun with cinnamon and just a hint of grapefruit jelly threaded through. I’d tested a few that dazzled me but Renzo deemed imperfect.

  Renzo. I wanted to check my phone for an update but didn’t dare.

  What was happening here? Leo, Lila, Renzo? I didn’t have words, just felt the hollowness of grief. I’d been so shocked, so frightened for Leo, and now his injury seemed minor in comparison, his danger passed, his attack an aberration that had come and was gone. Compared to Lila.

  Lila. I didn’t know what her injuries were. In a way they were beside the point. The attack was the point. Was that the standard pimp slapping his women back in line? Had Lila checked herself out of the hospital and gone back to that life?

  Or just gone?

  Had she checked herself out or been taken out?

  Or was she involved in something I had no idea about? Not taking refuge in our zendo but meeting someone there? Smuggling? Something else?

  Footsteps were slapping the sidewalk. Not running, but fast. Leather. Not quiet.

  I pressed back into the dark of the doorway and waited, ready for Westcoff being careless, ready for a stranger making tracks on this deserted block.

  I was not ready to hear heavy footsteps coming down the alleyway.

  EIGHTEEN

  Something moved in the narrow space between the buildings. Coming closer. Slowly. Shoes catching in underbrush? It would have been so much easier for anyone from the Tink Pitty to walk out the door beneath the neon breast into their own paved alley and onto Broadway. This route – overgrown, narrow, home to vermin – a person had to have a very good reason to choose it. It was a hiking boot route and the Tink Pitty people were the buffed dress shoes and spike heel set.

  A hand slapped one of the brick walls. A stumble? In another couple seconds he – Sendar? – would be on the sidewalk.

  I shrank back against the shop door. The recessed entry blocked light but it sucked in paper bags, foil-lined bags, plastic cups. I shifted. It sounded like I was wearing ankle bells.

  Where the hell was Westcoff? Did he find someone at the other exit and go off after them?

  The footsteps stopped. Was Sendar or whoever still in the weeds? Poking his head out? Looking up the sidewalk past me?

  Paper rattled on the sidewalk. A can clattered. A motorcycle shot down Columbus, grinding over everything.

  I strained to hear Sendar moving. Pants, jacket – something was fluttering in the wind.

  A bus grumbled down the far side of Columbus.

  A figure on the sidewalk shot past me.

  Small. Hair caught inside her coat. A woman, surely. I just stopped myself before letting out a huge sigh. Lila Suranaman? Was it? I couldn’t be sure. She was half-walking, half-running, lurching uphill toward Broadway, toward the strip clubs, toward traffic, the crowds, safety maybe? Toward buses, cabs? Was she limping? Her hat covering not just her hair but her bandages?

  Bad as her injuries were, how could she manage this? How desperate was she?

  I started forward. My foot caught on a tangle of garbage. Shit! I bent to free it.

  A man ran awkwardly up the sidewalk right past me.

  Sendar! It was really him! I recognized his walk.

  Lila wouldn’t know he was on her tail.

  Yanking strands of who-knows-what off my ankles, I hurried after him. Sendar was moving like a freight train with an unbalanced load, making himself easy to tail on this dark, empty block. The man had his own injuries. Still, I kept my distance.

  When I reached the corner at Broadway, the world shifted – light glowed, colors clashed, horns screamed, radios shot out discordance, voices grumbled, yelled, whooped. A bottle shattered at my feet. A car squealed a U-turn. Brakes screeched. ‘Asshole!’ ‘Fuck you!’

  The traffic light changed. Green to cross Broadway. Cars in the left-hand lane bumper-to-bumper’d onto Columbus against the light. Horns blew. I almost missed seeing Lila Suranaman, a white bandage on her face shining in the light, walking with obvious pain across the street, trying to hide among groups of celebrants. A truck shot around my corner. A man in a Giants jacket leapt back on the curb, too shocked to shake his fist till the truck was half a block away. A van turned slowly, inching through pedestrians. I scanned again to pick out Lila. I wanted to see which route she chose before I made my move. North into the crowds in North Beach? East along the far side of Broadway past the bigger, better strip clubs? Into Chinatown and maybe the police station. If she—

  My head smacked into the pavement. Fireworks of white light shot around my eyes. Sounds hardened into a solid mass. Time stopped. I didn’t know where I was. I rolled, banged into something. Noises now. A yelp. Words. ‘’Kay?’ ‘She!’ ‘Are you OK?’

  Colors shifted to forms. Legs. People bending. I tried to push myself up. A hand pressed me back down.

  ‘Don’t move.’

  ‘You shouldn’t move an injured person, right, Eddie?’

  ‘Wait. Should I call nine-one-one?’

  I gave my head a shake, took hold of the nearest arm, stood and forced out, ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure you—’

  ‘I’ll be OK. Thank you. All of you, thank you.’ I didn’t need them to tell me what happened – I could figure it out – but I asked, ‘Did you see the man who hit me?’

  ‘Someone hit you? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah, some thug, but I didn’t see his face.’

  ‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Which way did he go?’

  ‘You’re not going after him, are you?’ A woman grabbed my arm.

  ‘Not unless he’s moving very slowly. I just need to know where he went.’

  ‘That way.’

  ‘No, over there, into Chinatown.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Never mind. But thanks, really.’ My head throbbed. My knees were jelly.

  ‘You should make a police report.’

  ‘When I get home. I only live a block away.’

  ‘Are you—’

  ‘I’ll be fine, really. Thanks.’

  I’d be marginal. Likely look worse. I took a deep breath to steady myself and walked, very carefully, as if I was doing the white line after three martinis, down the sidewalk I’d come on. I had the sense the well-wishers were watching me but very glad not to be any more involved.

  In ten steps the scene switched back from color to black and white, from bursts of noise to memories of it, from the crush of traffic to spikes of single cars. To me alone and wobbly.

  Feel your feet on the ground. This step. This step. Stay in what’s real. Keep walking. The air was cold and moist – it snapped my hair against my sore face. But the cold felt good on my cheeks. My
face was going to bruise. Faster, go faster. If my sisters and brothers spotted bruises I’d hear about it and keep hearing. And Mom! Mom would be planted in the hall between Leo’s and my rooms when I woke up.

  Feel your feet on the ground! I did, but they didn’t feel like appendages adjusting for balance. They felt rounded on the sides, almost numb, and the toes I couldn’t sense at all.

  The stunts! Oh, shit, the stunts! My whole career hung on those stunts. How was I ever going to balance on the dolly well enough to handle the Lombard curves? No way could I—

  Bruises! I couldn’t show up on the set with a black eye or a purple face, not me, the one who was fighting to change the gag set-up. Oh, sure, believe the new girl who can’t even stay on her feet.

  Arnica! I could smear it all over my face, my elbows; it’d stop the bruising. If I rubbed it on soon. Very soon …

  Faster! Go faster!

  I rounded the corner by Renzo’s dark cafe and started down the sidewalk to the courtyard. Less than an hour ago I’d been thinking how many attack victims we’d had here. Now I was one of them. Sort of.

  Pacific was darker than Columbus and emptier. Cars were bumper to bumper along the curbs, gratefully abandoned by tourists now drooling in the strip joints a block away. Dark cars. Empty sidewalks. Noise all behind me. Only the rasp of the wind here and the smack of my feet hitting the sidewalk, louder, clearer with each step. I was treading heavily, trying to slap life back into the soles, trying to keep my balance and not slow my pace. I glued my eyes to the zendo doors as if they’d grow branches to tow me in. When I came abreast the stone courtyard wall it was like finding a friend. I was tempted to run a hand along the familiar rough top. I didn’t. Eyes on the doors, I kept moving.

  When I rounded the edge into the courtyard, I let out a sigh.

  Hands grabbed me from behind.

  Instinctively I elbowed back, slammed down my foot. Stomped an instep? I pulled free and spun round.

  Sendar! How did he—

  He grabbed me around the ribs and jammed his elbows in. I could barely breathe. He rammed his knees into my legs from behind, bracing to throw me down. I kicked hard at his shin bone.

  He yelped. His arms went slack. I jumped away. His arm came up, thick, black-coated, back-handed across my face. I stumbled. I could feel myself falling.

  Suddenly, he wasn’t hitting me.

  He’d stopped.

  I stumbled back against the wall.

  He was still there.

  Fighting someone else.

  Someone had him in a head hold.

  I blinked again and again, trying to make out the action through my half-swollen eyes in the dark. Clothes flapped, arms flew. Grunts, screams. Hair flying.

  A woman yelled. He was fighting a woman!

  I pushed to get up, to help, but my legs went flaccid.

  The woman was slamming a bag into his face. Eye gouging. He screamed. They were moving fast around each other, dark clothes against dark clothes.

  She had him by the hair. Her own hair was bouncing.

  I shoved myself up.

  Fell back against the wall.

  Sirens sounded in the distance. There weren’t coming here; I didn’t fool myself.

  Sendar was on his feet, facing the woman. He was feeling in his pocket for something. To hit with? To shoot with?

  I had to do something.

  I pushed hard to get up. And fell back.

  The siren whirled down and stopped. Somewhere. Not here.

  ‘Nine-one-one?’ I said, loudly. ‘A man, Sendar, is attacking a woman. Pacific Avenue just east of Columbus. You’ll be—’

  He turned and stared at me, at my empty hand. In the dark. Again, the siren rose. In a second he was out of the courtyard and gone.

  The woman was in the shadows, bent over, panting.

  ‘You OK?’ I got out. My lips were swelling.

  ‘Better … than you.’

  ‘Pretty low standard.’

  She moved toward me, out of the dark.

  ‘You certainly have unexpected talents,’ I said.

  NINETEEN

  ‘Maybe stunt work is for you, Aurelia. Fight scenes, anyway, if you can learn to pull your punches.’

  ‘Can’t promise that.’

  ‘You’re a real street fighter. How’d you learn that?’

  ‘Camp.’ She was bending over me, eyeing my face. ‘You need the Emergency Room.’

  ‘Not a chance. You couldn’t get me back there if I was dead.’

  I thought for a moment she’d have another try about the ER, but she just smiled.

  ‘I’ve had worse falls,’ I said. ‘This one’ll leave me blossoming ugly colors, but I don’t think anything’s broken. Can you help me upstairs?’

  ‘Do you need any—’

  ‘Between my sister, the doctor, and tips from other stunt doubles on the sets, I’m prepared. If it exists, I’ve got it.’

  ‘OK, let’s see whacha got!’

  For a small person she was strong, much more so than I’d have guessed, and I’d seen her in a T-shirt that wasn’t cut to hide anything. By the time we’d made it to the doors I was feeling better, but maneuvering the stairs was no cake walk.

  Leo’s door was shut. If a fight in the courtyard hadn’t woken him, our footsteps probably wouldn’t either. Still, I tiptoed across the landing.

  The bathroom is cramped for one person. But I felt shaky enough to be glad Aurelia was there as I plucked tubes from the medicine cabinet and poured pills from bottles. I held out the Arnica for her. ‘You look like maybe you got a little too much sun, maybe cut yourself shaving.’

  She laughed. ‘I get clumsy with that beard.’

  ‘Spread it thin, it’s homeopathic. Less is more. Face, muscles, wherever you need it. Though you were giving more than getting in that fight.’

  ‘That’s one asshole who’s going to think twice about bruising another woman.’

  I nodded, then had a good look in the mirror. My eyes were already sporting purple underneath. One cheek was red and my nose looked as if it had been scraped with a file. ‘Shit! Shit, shit, shit!’

  ‘You’ll be OK. A little makeup—’

  ‘A vat! But yeah. Actually, it’s not my face as much as my butt muscles, my legs.’

  ‘You’re thinking of the stunt, huh?’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry, just whining out loud.’

  She hesitated.

  I read her thoughts like a large print book. In a vaguely similar situation years ago I’d had those same thoughts, and stood like Aurelia Abernathy was now, trying to figure out a tactful way to say it. ‘Yeah, Aurelia, if I can’t do the stunt come Monday morning I’ll put in a good word for you.’

  ‘Wow. Terrific. I really need a job. My … guy is pressing me. I was on the verge of hitting up – taking barista training.’

  Her guy was pressing her? I didn’t want to know. Not tonight. ‘Hey, this isn’t definite. I’ll probably be fine by Monday, or close enough. This gag is a big deal for me; I’m not going to blow it off.’

  ‘But you don’t want to blow it either, right? I mean, better to step back than fall on your face.’

  ‘Thanks!’ She was so eager, so transparent I couldn’t even be put out. Not to mention that I owed her big time. ‘Either way I’ll put in a word for you. “Dainen,’” I’ll say, “this woman is way stronger than her scrawny self looks. She tussles like a banshee. She’s got the three qualities a second unit director wants in a new cast member: she’s smart, tough and desperate to make good. If you don’t give her a try you’ll be kicking yourself for the rest of your life.” How’s that?’

  ‘Outstanding!’ She grinned. ‘Thanks, really. This’ll make all the difference.’

  ‘OK, but do not smother me in my sleep. Which I’m planning on doing till noon. No zazen tomorrow. Set’s closed.’

  We’d been half-whispering but even so I’d kept the bathroom door shut so as not to wake Leo. Now I walked, distressingly unsteadily after my
few minutes of sitting, across the hall. Aurelia stood in my doorway questioningly until I motioned her into my room. We sat on the futon.

  I almost wished I could just thank her again and send her on her way. But I had to ask, ‘Aurelia—’

  ‘AA.’

  ‘A – I’m so grateful things worked out as they did, but I’ve got to ask, how come you were you here, this late? Was Leo expecting you?’

  ‘No,’ she said in a way that made me think she was considering and deciding against giving more detail.

  ‘I mean, it’s late.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘You know he’s still recovering, right?’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry. I should have called first.’ She started to push herself up.

  ‘I’m not ragging you out about manners. You’re not an inconsiderate person,’ I said, as if I hadn’t seen her stalk off the set this morning. ‘Why?’

  ‘OK, OK. I wanted to talk to Leo. I’ve tried to see him for days! This was the first place I came when I got to town. I was so excited to see him. I mean, I can hardly bitch that he couldn’t be here talking to me when he was in the hospital. But, still, you know, I really wanted to see him. I knocked. He didn’t answer. I was, well, disappointed. You know how it is when you’re really deep-down disappointed? Like there’s a big hole in your gut? By tonight I wasn’t thinking. I figured maybe I could catch him between brushing his teeth and going to bed.’ She flashed an uneasy grin. ‘I – honestly – forgot he’d been injured. A little too much seeing through my own eyes, huh?’

  Seeing through my own eyes was a phrase Leo used and I now used. It didn’t mean run-of-the-mill self-centeredness. It was believing your view of the world to be correct. Not seeing things as they really are. More to the point, we both used it in connection with Zen practice. ‘So, are you Garson-roshi’s student?’

  ‘Garson-roshi? Yeah, I guess.’

  Student or something else? Or angling to be something more? ‘From your time in Japan with him?’

  ‘I wasn’t with him in Japan. He was there. I was just passing through.’

  I wanted – desperately – to ask her about Leo’s time in Japan. Was that where he got the black mark that made him an outlier in the Zen world? That led to his being exiled to lead the nascent monastery in the woods up north where I’d met him? Was that the reason he was offered this modest nascent Zen center in a non-residential area of the city? Had he been involved in a scandal, a major breaking of a precept? A sin that no one talked about – not local Zen people, not Leo? Would he tell me if I asked? Probably. But I wouldn’t ask … him.