by P. J. Zander
“How goes it, laddie?” As always, the man’s melodious voice and aged blue eyes had a calming effect. There was an aura of peace about him which had drawn Banyan since his childhood.
“Hey, Pops,” he said, sitting down and grabbing his shoulder. “You know, I’m plugging along hoping to do some good here and there. How ‘bout you?”
“Couldn’t be better, young man. I always knew my good looks would get me places but never thought they would lead to a long life. Proves there’s hope for you, yet.” The old man laughed and punched his bicep. Banyan took a few of the ever-present pistachios from the bag on the bench.
Robin ‘Pops’ Malone was anything but handsome, yet he did get the double-takes and second looks. Wiry and slightly hunched over by age, he kept himself in shape with his daily walks to Main Beach from his small house in the Canyon, and frequent swims. However, his face was extraordinarily odd. There was symmetry in his eyes, nose and mouth, but they were situated on his face about ten degrees off center to the left. His ears, on the other hand, were aligned evenly on each side of his extremely narrow head. If he were a fish, halibut or flounder would come to mind, but the kindness in those eyes and wonderful sound of his words opened doors that otherwise would have stayed shut. Women found him charming and erudite; men liked to shoot the bull with him.
After flying P-38 Lightnings over North Africa in World War II and F-86 Sabre Jets during the Korean War, Pops had made his way to Laguna, taken up residence in the Canyon and immersed himself in the beach life. While local ambassador, Eiler Larsen, stood along the highway adjacent to Main Beach greeting motorists coming south into Laguna, a certain percentage of which was frightened by his loud voice and that jabbing finger, the much-younger Pops had gained a reputation of his own in the water. Board-riding never became his thing. For him, being in the wave was achieving the nearest state of oneness with the universe, a Zen-like experience. Although far from being a Buddhist, he’d adapted certain tenets from his readings in Buddhism to his relationship with the sea. He had embraced body surfing as his path to enlightenment.
He lived a frugal, seemingly happy life and always had enough financial wherewithal, the source of which was unknown, to meet his needs and occasionally those of others.
Banyan managed a smile but said nothing, staring out to sea. The morning haze hadn’t yet burned off and still obscured Catalina. Pops’ touch went deep. He didn’t recall any such warmth from his father and had always cherished his bond with this unique man. And he admitted to himself he needed it then.
“That swim looked a might cold. Surely not for my benefit, but on the chance it was, I am very impressed.”
He looked at Pops’ deadpan expression. “Actually, I was hoping you’d join me out there. But you look pretty snug in your fleece duds.”
“I would have, but I just ate a muffin over at Orange Inn. You know what they say about swimming too soon after eating.”
“You wimped out on me, Pops,” Banyan chuckled. “But since you’re curious about my activities, I was just showering off in the ocean after a bit of a workout.”
Pops eyed him for a moment. “You must be on a mission, then. A lazy, hot shower in that monument at your house would be what any normal person would want.” Years before, he had been to Banyan’s house when the surfer was finishing a loft addition with the custom, nine-foot high, walk-in shower with a view of the ocean.
“The time and place were right. It did the trick.”
“How is your fitness level these days, Rusty? Finding time to keep at it, I trust.”
He looked away from the old man, and gazed absently up the beach at several people exploring the tide pools. His voice turned serious. “Well, you know I’ve been hunkered down for the past couple months. But as of today, I’m kicking myself in the ass. Turning over another one of those leaves.”
Pops studied his face. “You are on a mission, after all. I guess I needn’t ask your motive.”
Banyan turned his eyes back to his mentor briefly, then to the ocean. He shivered and offered no response.
“Heavy weighs on thy heart.” Pops touched his arm. “Please tell me about your sweet lassie. Is Raylene managing to persevere through these trials?”
He thought for a moment and continuing his seaward gaze, said, “She’s living through it, but that life must be pure torture. I know how bad mine is, and hers has to be far worse.”
“There is no comfort in knowing such deep wounds will only heal on the surface. You and she will bear the scars for all your days, but,” he added, slowing his cadence, “listen to me now, my lad. Together you can find strength within yourselves. I’m not saying just for the moment. This is a lifelong endeavor for you both.”
Banyan heard him but was on another track. “But, we have to find her, Pops. I have to.”
“No doubt you will, Rusty. No doubt. I know your deep devotion to Ray and Jolene, and your protective nature. I can only tell you that you must not feel less of yourself if Jolene is no longer with us. You could be on a recovery mission, laddie, not a rescue.”
Banyan jerked his head toward him with a startled look. Thoughts he didn’t want came to him. He felt like running down the beach to shake them. Then he felt the old hand on his arm tightened its grip. He focused on the sage eyes and understood. Pops wasn’t trying to hurt him or put Jo in a grave. He only wanted to strengthen Banyan’s resolve, no matter her fate.
He watched a line of brown pelicans flying south, skimming just over the swells. “I know, Pops. Guess I’ll just have to deal with it when I get there.”
“Before I go, the other weight on your shoulders. Where is your father in his final journey?”
“Not really a burden at this point,” he lied. He would never shed his father. “Might as well be dead. Care folks say within a week.”
“Rusty, my lad, you are so bitter. I know your story. But know this: Russell Banyan has always loved you and been proud of you, despite the rift between you two. Whenever we talked over the last fifty years, you always came up somewhere in the conversation. And always as the bright spot in Russell’s life. That life will soon be gone while yours goes on. He may not respond to your words now, but he most assuredly senses your presence. To find peace, hate the father’s deeds if you must but not the man.” Pops stood and put a hand on Banyan’s shoulder. He nodded and smiled warmly, then crammed the pistachio bag in the pocket of his fleece jacket, adjusted the ancient Carhartt ball cap over his wispy, white ponytail, and with a trek pole in each hand set off in the direction of the signal to cross Coast Highway.
He sat for a while, watching the old man make his way toward the Canyon.
#
After taking care of the arrangements at the mortuary, Banyan left the Canyon and changed freeways several times to avoid those with Caltrans alerts estimating thirty-to-sixty minute delays for clearing accidents. With some luck he could be in La Canada by one-thirty, enough day left to throw a tarp over his emotions and start fresh.
NINE
The sunny skies that had fought through the morning coastal fog had given way to some lazy inland haze hugging the San Gabriel Mountains—the brown effect that could shorten your breath, or worse, land you in a hospital if you suffered from a respiratory ailment.
Less than five minutes after exiting the 210 Freeway, Banyan stood at the La Canada Public Library help desk. A nice lady with a nametag asked if she could assist him.
“I certainly hope so, Emily. I need to use one of your computers for internet access, right away if possible.”
“Well, as you can see, none is available right now. If you’d like to reserve a time, we’d be happy to accommodate you.” She smiled confidently. As he was about to make another attempt, she continued. “I must inform you that to obtain such access at a Los Angeles County library, you are required to have a library card, a PIN, agree to our acceptable use policy and register in the access database.” The same smile appeared again. She placed some materials on the counter.
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br /> He was less hopeful than she was and blew out the breath he’d held during her instructions. “Thanks, uh . . .” He read that there was a computer-use-only card. “Listen, can I get one of these cards quickly, get signed into your database and get on a computer if one becomes available very soon?”
A little befuddled, she said, “Well, yes, I suppose you could. But, I don’t understand. . . .”
He completed the information sheet for the card and signed the policy, then looked over at the computer users. One was a teenage boy appearing to be doing research for a report. Papers and books were spread out where he sat. Banyan wondered why he wasn’t in school. Maybe he was smart enough to be in an independent study program, or thought high school a drag, so he ditched afternoon classes to access some porn.
“Please log me into that database. Be right back.”
He stood so he’d cast a long shadow over the kid who very slowly looked up from the screen. He pointed at his ears so the teener would remove the earbuds. “Hey, man, I really need to use your computer for about ten minutes. You look pretty intense and a break might do you some good.” The boy was about to respond when he saw the fifty dollar bill appear in Banyan’s hand and extend toward him. “How about it?”
The kid saved his work, logged out, and snatched the bill. “That’s so dope,” he said with a me-generation air of entitlement and went outside for some fresh air. Emily hadn’t seen the bribe and appeared quite amazed.
When he searched on Jolene Ojibway, more than a page of results came up. Looking for October newspaper articles, he gave a cursory glance at the local Valley Sun and Pasadena Star-News, then came upon the Verdugo Voice, a flimsy, low-budget, Monday-through-Friday freebie distributed at various public gathering locales. Three days after Jolene’s disappearance it was still front page news. Banyan recognized some of the names in the articles from those he’d found in the Ernie’s report pages—Jo’s friends, witnesses, persons of interest. He also noted an address for one and a place of employment for another. There’d be more in the pages Ray had on her computer, but for now, this would get him off the dime.
#
The teen was nowhere to be seen. Fifty bucks trumps homework anytime, maybe even sex. He laughed to himself. Walking toward the door, he smiled at Emily just as his cell phone rang loud and clear. All library patrons’ eyes lasered him. Emily frowned. He shook his head when he saw that it was Raylene. “Dumb ass,” he mumbled to himself. “Can’t you remember anything?”
“Hey, Ray, was just going to call. How are you?”
“Good—okay.” She changed it, but sounded on the positive side. “Are you up for some grilled cheese and soup?”
He hesitated, trying to shift gears from his on-the-hunt mode. She caught it right away before he could answer.
“Oh, did I get you in the middle of something? You don’t have to—”
“No, Ray, just working the . . . finding some leads. Soup and sandwiches sounds especially good as a matter of fact. I’m in La Canada and I’ll be on my way in a minute. I want to see you.”
“Are you sure? That would be great. No snow for the past few days and the 14 and 138 are open and clear. It’s only been a few hours, but right now, that’s way too long. I need you here tonight.”
“At my car door.”
After he rang off, he took a moment to quell that dreadful feeling. It had been occurring each time she called since that morning in October.
TEN
Banyan followed Raylene’s advice and avoided the Angeles Crest Highway. Taking one of the backdoor routes to Wrightwood, he ascended into the Antelope Valley region and reached Palmdale in less than an hour. With the sprawling Mojave Desert stretching far beyond the horizon in the dimming, late-afternoon sun, he circled back south into the ski town. Nearly 100 miles of driving in one big two hundred seventy degree loop. The five thousand feet of elevation he’d gained in an hour and a half was evident in the change from the dry foothills to the snow-covered mountains. It also was about forty degrees colder.
“As beautiful as these mountains are, I gotta tell you, Ray, it’s just too cold up here.” He was looking out the back windows at the shadows climbing up the glowing peaks as they lost the sun. “Too freakin’ cold.”
“Gee, I’ve never heard that from you before,” she said, frowning at him as he came back to sit next to her on the sofa across from the fireplace. “You and your hypersensitivity to refreshing temperatures.”
He smiled, then looking away from her, sipped his coffee while one knee started to bounce rapidly. He turned his eyes back to her and pulled her close. “You’re beautiful, certainly some consolation for your disagreeable weather.” The knee was still dancing.
“Thank you, Rusty, but you’re wired. If you want to get out—”
“Yeah, I think I’ll take a walk, clear my head . . . before it freezes.”
“Good. I’ll have our gourmet dinner ready by five-thirty.”
He kissed her on the forehead and was out the door. His polar fleece and jeans weren’t nearly warm enough. He walked briskly along three blocks of houses, then cut over to Park Drive. By the time he stepped into the Yodeler, he needed to thaw out. From the few times he’d been there, he was prepared for the you’re-not-from-around-here-are-you looks. A lot of the bikers riding the Crest came in for a quick lunch before the long ride home. But it wasn’t too crowded at this time of day and no one looked up. He found a seat at the far end of the bar. It probably was some local’s reserved spot, but there were no takers right then. He decided on coffee to warm up. When the bartender came back, Banyan tipped his head toward the Have You Seen This Woman? flyer tacked up near the front door, said how horrible Jolene’s abduction was and wondered how hard it had been on the local folks.
“Been tough.” The bartender, slim with curly, gray hair and beard, kept his eyes on him. “You been in here before, haven’t you?”
“Yeah. Friend of the family. Rusty Banyan.” They shook hands.
“Oh, yeah. Few and far between for a lot of years.” He nodded in recognition. “From what I’ve seen, Ray seems to be holding up. You think so?”
“Well, she’s a very strong woman. But it’s been rough.”
“No rhyme or reason why such a thing should happen to good people like that. It’s a damn shame.”
“Sure is.” Banyan paused. “Say, you ever hear anybody talking about it, like they might know something? I told Raylene I’d try to find out what I could. Anything the cops might have missed.”
“No. Not a thing. No one from up here coulda been a part of that. Got to have been some weirdos from down below.”
“I hear you.”
The bartender kept looking at him. “Don’t know about the bikers, though. Most of them are regulars on the weekends. Every once in a while, we get a new face. I’ll keep an ear out.”
“Good enough. If you hear anything, could you call me?” He laid his card on the bar. “I’d appreciate it.”
“Okay. You look like you could do some damage. When you catch the bastards, don’t bother taking ‘em in. Just string ‘em up by the balls.”
Banyan nodded and left.
#
That night at her house, the simple dinner worked fine. Afterward, reclining on pillows on the rug in front of the fireplace, they were quiet for a while, both staring into the fire.
“Strange how our lives crossed, Ray. You and your mother come all the way out here on a bus from the—let me see if I can get it right this time—Sault Saint Marie Chippewa Indian Tribe reservation, escaping a deadbeat, drunk father and husband—”
“He wasn’t a deadbeat, Rusty. Not when he was sober. But when he lost his job and couldn’t get another, he drank. Then he couldn’t get work because he drank so he drank more. We lost the good father and husband we’d known. My mother knew she had to get us away from Northern Michigan for our protection.”
Rusty nodded. “Right. I can get a little hyperbolic when I think someone’s hurt or wronged
you. You come west to La Canada, your mother cleans houses and makes beautiful jewelry,” he fingered her earrings, “and eventually, you both settle here in Wrightwood. One day, 130 miles from your home, you’re on the beach when I am. You, a high schooler; me, washed up and on my way to nowhere. How in the world would that happen? It’s just inscrutable. Lucky for me you had the nerve to shake me up.”
“Paths don’t necessarily lead to where you think you’re going. There you were, sitting on your surfboard in the sand and something drew me to you. I could feel your desolation. I remember the day was kind of hazy, and your eyes were hidden behind those reflective sunglasses, but it was as if you were staring right through that haze, beyond Catalina on the horizon. The next thing I knew, I was talking to you.” She snuggled closer to him. “Even if I was wrong about the big brother-little sister relationship.”
“Siblings?” Banyan laughed. “I may have been fuzzy in the head and letting time dissolve around me, but I distinctly recall the first words out of your mouth were ‘Hey, Jesus’. Then, with the most devilish smile, you asked me if I would forgive all your sins and grant your special request. I had absolutely no idea what you were talking about.” He shook his head. “And I thought you were just a youngster, one of those spring-break pests. Think I told you to go play with your friends. When you came back a month later, I got a better look at that seventeen-year-old body of yours and found out your request was to learn how to surf.” He gave her a squeeze.
“Well, you did have that long hair and beard, so of course you looked like Jesus. And, as feisty as I was, you weren’t so mean to me when I returned.” She poked him in the ribs with her elbow. “That was so much fun, having this giant surf guru teach me how. All I could possibly imagine was you being like a big brother to me.”
They were silent again for several minutes. Then Ray spoke. “I don’t think life is meant to be understood, Rusty. Just lived. It sounds easy, but we both have found out how low it can take you. At least we both have the part of ourselves that we can give each other. All the way back to that day on the beach.”