Death in Nostalgia City

by Mark S. Bacon

  “I think that can be arranged. Although I don’t know what I’m likely to uncover.”

  “Let’s just keep in touch, okay?”

  Chapter 13

  The day after his meeting with Max and Kate, Lyle got in his Mustang and headed for Polk. His previous statements to the contrary, he was not at all sure Clyde Bates had a handle on what was going on. Lyle had a sense he would do best by starting from scratch on his own. Whoever was trying to sabotage the park had killed one person, injured dozens more, and put Earl in the hospital. The sooner Lyle found out who was doing this, the sooner he could get back in his cab full time. Max had suggested he cut back his hours in the cab, as necessary, to accommodate his investigation.

  On the car radio, Tommy Roe sang, “Dizzy,” as Lyle slowed his silver convertible and pointed it down the main street of Polk. Until the coming of Nostalgia City, Polk was a dusty Southwest town that relied on its scenic railroad and its proximity to old Route 66 to lure tourists.

  When Maxwell’s project was far enough along to persuade the locals the park would become a reality, it was as if gold had been discovered. Opportunists rushed into town. Some arrived in search of a job; others had different ideas of how to make money from the millions of tourists who would be flocking to this high-desert Disneyland. Speculators and developers bought up land. Existing merchants adopted ’60s- or ’70s-oriented names and sold rock-and-roll souvenirs.

  Lyle found the San Navarro County Sheriff’s Office on a commercial street, a few blocks from the main drag. It looked as if it was left over from the ’60s. The black ceiling fans and battered desks made Lyle think of scenes from The Fugitive TV show. Although the sheriff, Jeb Wisniewski, didn’t seem to understand why Lyle wanted to speak with him, he had nonetheless agreed to a meeting.

  “So you’re the guy who’s gonna stop all the accidents and malicious mischief in Nostalgia City,” Wisniewski said. “That right?”

  He was a heavyset man with long, jet-black hair that flowed down his back. Dark eyebrows, like stocky caterpillars, inclined over each eye.

  He sat behind a dark mahogany desk. The words Sheriff Wisniewski were displayed in bronze letters frozen in a fat acrylic nameplate. Next to it, a scorpion and a large stone arrowhead were also sealed in acrylic. Wisniewski hadn’t stood up when Lyle walked in, just pointed to a seat. He introduced Lyle to his assistant, Rey Martinez, who leaned against a cabinet. The sheriff wore a suit, the tall Martinez a tan uniform.

  “They’re not just accidents, are they?” Lyle said. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

  “That place where you work is pretty important to this town,” the sheriff said. “Half the people in Polk work there. We don’t like it when someone tries to trash it. Ya know what I mean?”

  “Do you have any theories about the accidents or whatever you want to call them?”

  “You’re asking me? Why don’t you ask Clyde Bates? He’s got all the answers out there. Don’t you work for him?”

  “No.”

  “But you’re the ex-cop from Phoenix, right?”

  Word got around. “Right now I’m just a civilian.”

  “Well, if Bates doesn’t know what’s going on, I suggest you do some police work on your own and find out. We’d like to know, too.”

  Lyle was ready with a smart remark but remained silent for a moment. He tilted his head to one side.

  “What the sheriff means,” Martinez began, “is that we don’t get any cooperation out there. Bates is ex-FBI and--”

  “He thinks he runs everything,” Wisniewski said.

  “What do you mean?” Lyle said. “I thought--”

  “What did you think? That since I’m the sheriff of San Navarro County I might have jurisdiction in the county? That’s what I thought, too. But your buddies out there think they’re in another world. We go out there to investigate an accident or a theft. We get crap from the guards at the gate. So I tell them they have to give us immediate access. Through employee entrances, or whatever. Finally, we get that straightened out. Then there’s the gas station crash. That guy from Texas is killed. But by the time we get the call, everything’s been cleaned up. We don’t even see the car until it’s been towed to the body shop. Now your attorneys are trying to settle with the family. Wonder how much that will cost?

  “And now you got a dozen people in the hospital, your monorail is all smashed up, and you come in here and ask me what I think is going on. I don’t have a theory. I don’t have a clue. I don’t know shit. Does that clear things up for you?”

  Lyle could see why Bates and the sheriff got along so well. It was obvious that Bates had Maxwell’s approval to handle some crimes on an in-house basis. Understandable, but not the best way to deal with local authorities.

  “One more thing. My name’s Wisniewski, but I’m a quarter Native American. So don’t give me any of that shit about the tribes being involved in this. That’s what Bates thinks. If there’s any problem on the reservation, I can handle it. Or anything else. Some of my ancestors may have been peaceful, but that doesn’t mean I am.”

  The sheriff looked as if he might be remembering something else to throw at Lyle, but a deputy stuck his head in the office and motioned to Wisniewski. The sheriff looked at his watch then got up and left without another word.

  After several seconds passed, Martinez spoke. “The sheriff and I really want to find out what’s going on at the park.”

  “I would, too.”

  Martinez took a step forward and put one elaborately stitched cowboy boot on the other wooden chair in front of the sheriff’s desk. He leaned toward Lyle. “But we need help. We can’t solve crimes if we’re called to the scene a few hours or a few days later.”

  Martinez had a tall face and light skin that only hinted at his Latino heritage. Lyle noticed the distance between his nose and upper lip seemed unusually long, as if he had just shaved off a moustache making the empty space seem vast.

  “I didn’t know anything about your disputes with Bates,” Lyle said. “Talking to the local sheriff was the logical first step, but I can do this on my own.”

  “No. You need to cooperate with us.” Martinez made eye contact with Lyle. “The sheriff is just a little upset about this.”

  “A little upset? What happens when he’s really mad?”

  “You know what’s it’s like, trying to solve cases, getting shit from superiors and no help from anyone else.”

  “I have an idea, yes.”

  “If I can help, I will. We decided the gas station death was just a freak accident, so that’s what the papers reported. Any talk about sabotage would have been bad for business. Bad all around. Besides, we didn’t have evidence, remember? Maybe it was an accident.”

  “So...”

  “So you can see we’re on the same side, but you need to keep us informed. First we heard about the monorail crash the other day was when someone called paramedics. Who knows when Bates would have called us? He’s being foolish. We have to know what’s happening out there.”

  “If I find out who’s doing this, I promise to let you know before I do anything. But I can’t guarantee that Bates will be any more cooperative. I don’t work for him.”

  “How’s that work? Weren’t you involved in both big crashes?”

  “By accident. Literally. I just happened to be in the wrong places. Earl Williams is a friend of mine. That’s why I was at the mobile studio. The president of NC asked me to nose around, see if I can find out anything. I said okay.”

  “Are you going out to the reservation?”

  “Some members of the tribe don’t want the railroad to cross part of the reservation property, even though the tribe has already signed off on it.”

  “I talked to them myself, and the tribal police work with us. George Brown is the chief. He’s hiring lots of people for the casino. He thinks the tribe’ll be rich over this.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “I don’t know. Not all Native Americans su
pport the idea of gambling. Slot machine money doesn’t always mean better schools or better jobs for the people on the reservation.”

  “I understand someone named Johnny Cooper is the leader of the band that’s against the railroad.” This was one of the few useful items Lyle had learned from Bates. “Is that right?”

  “They say the casino shuttle will violate sacred grounds.”

  “But you don’t have any evidence against Cooper?”

  “Not really. I already talked to him.”

  “Can you tell me what he’s like?”

  “A hothead.”

  Chapter 14

  For days you’ve focused on injuries and damage. Do you think you could give us a chance to talk about safety? Yes, I said your news crew is welcome any time. My suggestion was that you have someone interview Dennis, our chief safety engineer.”

  Kate was on the phone, trying to get the news director of a Phoenix TV station to listen to reason. “Yes, I know people are still in the hospital. I know it was a horrible crash. But we’re doing everything we can to assure our guests’ safety. We’ve hired additional safety inspectors.”

  The news director’s station always spiced up its newscasts with the latest murders or rapes. A spectacular crash at Nostalgia City was their kind of story. They could milk it for weeks. “No, Andy, it’s too early to tell if our attendance has been affected. We’ve got a lot of visitors here today.” That’s all I need to do, Kate thought, tell Impact News that all our business has been scared away.

  “And you’re supposed to be fair and balanced,” she said after she hung up.

  She looked up at two young employees, Matt and Amanda, who had just seated themselves in front of her desk.

  Kate started reading the news release stories they’d brought in. After one paragraph, she wanted to crumple the pages.

  “We can’t keep promoting the rollercoaster,” Kate said, failing to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

  “But it’s the fastest in the west,” Matt said. “It’s awesome.” His short, moussed hair formed random spikes.

  “Now’s not a great time to emphasize the speed of our rides. Know what I mean?” Really! What kind of people did she have working for her? “And besides, fast rides are not why our prime visitors come here. And who are our prime visitors?”

  “Old people?”

  “Older people, yes. Our prime market is baby boomers. Seventy two million of them. So, therefore, we don’t focus on the rollercoaster.” Kate paused. “How about the drive-in?”

  “The drive-in?” her employees said in unison.

  “Either of you ever been to a drive-in movie?”

  Both shook their heads.

  “So go see ours, then write about it. Boomers like it. People can go there even if they don’t have a car. The drive-in has empty cars parked and waiting. Some of the cars are just for show with retro-dressed mannequins in them. It’ll make a great story.”

  Both staffers looked puzzled.

  “Nostalgia City is all about realism. That’s what makes us unique. If we’re going to build our image back up, we’ve got to focus on authenticity, not speed. Now, go check out the drive-in.” Kate paused and looked up to see someone in her office doorway.

  “Drenda--Dr. Adair--come in. I’m ready.” Kate introduced her to the two PR staffers. “If you have questions about NC era history, this is the person to talk to. She’s our expert.”

  ***

  As she offered her visitor a seat at the worktable in a corner of her office, Kate wondered how her young employees would hold up if more sabotage assaulted the park.

  “I just saw the latest attendance numbers,” Drenda said as they settled into their chairs. Her short hair curled under her ears. Delicate features, coupled with her petite stature, made her look more like a school girl than an executive. “Attendance today is off about 25 percent.”

  “Glad I didn’t know that when I talked to Impact News.”

  “I hope this is just temporary.”

  “So do I. Sometimes stuff like this can actually boost attendance. It attracts morbid curiosity. But if anything else happens...”

  “This isn’t all coincidence--or is it?”

  Kate shrugged. “You have any ideas?”

  “None. My parents and I were talking about this last night. Is it bad luck?”

  “No. I don’t believe that. We still have a chance to get the park back on its feet.”

  “From what you were saying to your writers, it sounds as if you’re getting back to the original concept of NC. It’s just what we envisioned.”

  “It’s what you and I talked about the other day. It makes sense. Isn’t realism the main thing we have to sell?”

  Drenda leaned forward on her elbows. “Yes, it is. I wish everyone here had the same attitude you do.”

  “Don’t they?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that--” Drenda took a deep breath and Kate wondered what might be coming. “Sometimes I feel like I am always the bad guy around here, the resident persecutor.”

  “Persecutor?”

  “You haven’t been here long enough to know. Before the park opened, I was involved in everything. I brainstormed with the architects and the ride engineers.

  “I even identified vendors who were willing to modify their retail strategies to conform to our historical framework. Now, I’m the one who has to spend hours and hours enforcing the rules and restrictions.

  “Am I the only one who cares?”

  “You’re the historian behind all this.”

  “Yes, a historian. I should probably be back at the university instead of a theme park.”

  “You’re not married, are you?”

  “I was for a short time; then Mr. Adair and I went our separate ways.”

  “So you can do what you want, can’t you?”

  “This is what I want. Or I did, before Max made me the enforcer.”

  “Max made you?”

  “He’s not just the boss, he’s my uncle.”

  “I’d heard that.”

  “He got the idea for Nostalgia City from me. I mean, I didn’t conceptualize a theme park, but my specialty is the ’60s and ’70s. That’s what my dissertation was about, the history and popular culture of the period.”

  “So that’s what led you to the idea of the park?”

  “Not exactly. After my post-doc, when I started teaching full time, I wrote a paper theorizing what would happen if someone created a town, frozen in time. It was just a hypothesis about the empirical research that could be done in a re-created historical environment.”

  “And that’s how Max got into this?”

  “When I was in college, Max was generous. He helped me with tuition. My folks couldn’t afford it, especially Ivy League grad school.

  “So when my paper was published, I sent Uncle Max a copy. At the time, he had already acquired some of the land and was planning an old west amusement park and hotel complex.”

  “So he read your paper and liked the idea.”

  Drenda nodded. “He called me and we talked about how difficult it would be to actually create a town from the past and ensure its accuracy. Pretty soon, he threw out his wild west plans and started to construct Nostalgia City.”

  “And you became what, the technical advisor?”

  “In a sense. But there were problems. We envisioned this as a faithful ‘slice of life’ from the past--differentiated from the average theme park. Naturally, it cost more.”

  “I’ve been reading estimates of how much was spent here. It boggles the mind.”

  “It was the price of authenticity.”

  “Financing was an issue?”

  “A big one. He struggled. Somehow he found the money, but he cut back on the plans, too.”

  Kate was surprised at the solemn look in Drenda’s eyes and the earnestness in her voice. Perhaps Drenda sensed she had found a sympathetic friend or ally, another young, female executive she could trust.

&nbs
p; Drenda was still leaning forward across the table as she talked. “You know Max. He’s almost impossible to argue with.”

  “You can’t win. I try to plant ideas.”

  “I should have done that. It’s not that I wanted to alter the theme park, I just suggested a little more substantive naturalism--realism.”

  “I’ll bet you wanted to inject the social issues that started boiling up in the ’60s.”

  “Exactly!” Drenda started blinking as her eyes became moist. “Kate, you know how I feel. Max eliminated every suggestion of controversy. But controversy was the paradigm of the times, the defining attribute.”

  Kate thought of her first conversation with Lyle. “We’re not as realistic as we say we are.”

  “Max once told me I was trying to set up NC as my own experiment.” Drenda shook her head. “That wasn’t it.”

  “But Max wanted it bland, right?”

  “And he appointed me the one-woman censorship board. I despise it.” Drenda leaned back in her chair then blotted her eyes with a tissue.

  “Don’t worry,” Kate said. “Maybe the two of us can find a way to maintain authenticity and persuade Max that a little controversy is not a bad thing.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Drenda said. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

  Chapter 15

  Lyle strained for breath as sweat rolled down his face. His feet pounded the dirt trail that led around his housing tract and into the brush. A few minutes before, he’d been chilly. His running shorts and Arizona Diamondbacks T-shirt provided little protection from the cool temperature. At 5,000 feet elevation, it was cold as the sun came up, even in Arizona. Visitors from the East and Midwest were often surprised that the NC area was much cooler than Phoenix, 150 miles to the south. The elevation also meant less oxygen and a more rigorous workout.

  Dashing over a small rise, Lyle willed his legs to keep going. When he got to a familiar boulder, he stopped and leaned against it. Extending a leg behind him, he stretched one hamstring, then the other. He had to be cautious about strains and pulled muscles. Being over fifty was a bitch. After jogging for twenty minutes more, Lyle circled back toward his condo. He had not quite returned to the pace he was used to at lower elevations, but close. He enjoyed few things in life more than running. The muscle strength, stamina, and other physical rewards were substantial, but Lyle ran for other reasons. Endorphins reduced stress.