City Havoc

by Jack Adler

  Bender hung up before the call could be traced.

  Val revealed she had heard of the bomb scare from one of her sources even though there had been no mention of it in the media. I had been in the office working on my report that I had to turn in to Wolcott, and someone had called Stacy to tip her off about the airport situation. Holly's latest mini-manifesto dominated the evening news broadcasts and would doubtless be a front page story in the next day’s paper.

  I could see some pedestrians pass by on the street through a large plateglass window. It was still twilight but getting dark quickly. It was great to see people walking in Los Angeles, I thought, but then I had the sour thought that one shouldn't sit near windows in a terrorist situation. If a bomb went off, the shattered glass alone could be deadly.

  "It will be interesting to see how the mayor responds to this personal accusation," Val said. She swept hair back from her forehead, just an everyday gesture, but it caught my admiring attention for an instant.

  I shrugged, feeling doubly defeated. Holly Baxter should have been my main concern, not the insults that the HAP group was inflicting on Los Angeles and its mayor. At the moment I wasn't sure Val understood this, but then I realized that it was natural that locals had a different perspective. I looked at her for a moment. Her skin was so translucent; I wanted to ski over her face with my hands and my lips in just the tiniest of caresses. But I just stared down at my coffee cup.

  "I wonder when they'll stop," Val went on.

  "There has to be some game plan."

  "So far they've only been violent to individuals."

  "Given the threat in Holly's tape, I have a feeling that's going to change."

  Val nodded and asked, "Did you find anything interesting on the Web today?"

  "Not really. I checked all the military sites I could find, but I couldn't access what I really wanted. I hope no one thinks I was a hacker waging cyber warfare."

  "Did you try to get unauthorized passwords?"

  "No," I said.

  "Shouldn't be a problem then." She seemed to know a good deal about the subject, and I made a mental note to bring it up again. "They seem to be able to plan things very well, like someone who has some military training."

  "Could be," Val agreed. "Wish I could be of more help, but I haven't any military contacts."

  "Well, you've been a great help. I appreciate it."

  "It's been interesting."

  Unfortunately, I was sure she was referring to the case, not me.

  Five

  WEDNESDAY

  Taking advantage of the darkness, Luke was able to park the stolen car near police headquarters in downtown Los Angeles. He had hidden a pipe bomb underneath the car and set it to go off at 5:00 A.M. That way, BB had told him, they would just send a message without killing anyone. That was good, Luke thought; he disliked killing innocent people even though their cause was just.

  Lights were on at the center, but no one was outside. As BB always said to do to avoid attracting attention, Luke slowly exited the car and walked away without hurrying. BB said people always attracted attention if they moved too fast. But everyone seemed to walk fast in the city, faster than he was used to. But he felt no one saw him. Wearing dark clothes he hugged the buildings to avoid being seen. Only a few short blocks away, BB was waiting for him in another car. But if he wasn’t there in fifteen minutes, BB would leave without him, so he quickened his steps as he turned the corner. It felt eerie walking the streets in the middle of the night, but he knew exactly what to say if a roving police car stopped to interrogate him.

  “Officer, I was hitchhiking. I wanted to get to Hollywood, but my last lift left me off around here.”

  It sounded plausible enough, and he had false identification to establish he was from out of town. He also had money and a backpack, so he wasn’t a vagrant.

  BB had thought of everything.

  “Breaking news!” a voice from the radio shouted. “This just in: a bomb went off near police headquarters at Parker Center earlier this morning. There are no reports of casualties. A police spokesman said the Help America Patriots sent a telephone statement taking responsibility and promising more problems unless the city agrees to its ultimatum. No statement has been issued by city hall, but the police said there will be a press conference later today. We’ll break into scheduled programming with any updates. There will be more details on our noon news broadcast.”

  Still lying in bed, I bounced up as if I had springs. There was nothing like a disaster to make me fully awake. At least no one had been killed, I thought. Holly Baxter had not been mentioned, either. But the HAPs seemed intent on creating havoc. Had Val, my fellow early riser, heard the news? Was she waking up alone? When would I get over my crush on her? Actually, I realized, it wasn’t too early to call her. Then I would alert Wolcott. The news had probably already aired in New York, and I was a bit surprised that Wolcott hadn’t called me yet.

  “Good morning, Val,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. “I hope it isn’t too early. Did you hear the news?”

  “Yes,” she replied. She didn’t sound sleepy at all.

  “Can you come to the press conference, whenever it is today?”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m busy most of the day.”

  “Well, I can brief you at dinner, if you’re free.”

  I would certainly have to justify these dinners on my expense account. The sooner

  I explained Valerie’s role to Wolcott, the better.

  “Unfortunately, I’m not,” Val said. “I don’t mean to be negative, but these were preexisting appointments.”

  At least she said appointments, though I wondered if she meant dinner dates.

  “But I do have some interesting developments. I have a list of some ex-LAPD officers who might be worth talking to.”

  “OK, let’s check them out,” I said, desperately seeking some positive news. At least this was something to go on, which showed a collective effort.

  “And,” Val went on, her voice showing more enthusiasm now, “a Professor Bernard Cabral at UCLA is willing to see us. I have to check with him for exactly when. He teaches political science. He’s the author of the book Splinter U.S.A.: A History Of Anti-Government Groups. Have you read it?”

  “No, I haven’t it. Have you?”

  “Yes, of course. And I interviewed him.”

  That wasn’t the brightest of questions, I thought, castigating myself. It made sense that she had read this book. Where was my intuition? Somehow I managed to blurt out inanities when speaking to Val. What must she have thought of me! “Great!” I said, trying to quickly recover. “When can we get together?”

  “He’ll get back to me. What’s more,” Val added, “I have his book here somewhere. You can borrow it if you want. It’s interesting.”

  “Thanks. I’d like to look through it.” I didn’t have much time to read, but I didn’t want to seem unappreciative. Moreover, I’d have to pick up and return the book. Maybe Val had the same thought, albeit with a different attitude, when she took care of the first part.

  “It’s my turn to feed us,” she said. Her voice was light and cheerful now, brightening my morning. “Can you come over for brunch tomorrow morning? Say ten?”

  My spirits were lifted just as easily as they had fallen. Armed with some promising developments, I quickly accepted Val’s invitation. Now I felt much better about reporting to New York. I brought Wolcott up to date and then asked, “Did you hear about the police bomb this morning?”

  “Yes, and since the situation has deteriorated with this ultimatum and Holly Baxter’s broadcast, we think it best that you come back. The police, you said, weren’t of any help, and there doesn’t seem to be much you can do now. DeCosta keeps asking for results.”

  His edict wasn’t unexpected, but I certainly didn’t want to return. It had nothing to do with Val; I just didn’t like giving up.

  “Wolcott, I think it would be worth sticking around a bit longer. One, I don’t agr
ee with the police. Two, there’s a police press conference sometime later today, which I intend to attend. And three, there’s the mayor’s response to the HAP deadline. I’ve also enlisted the aid of someone with local contacts, and she has come up with some good leads for us to check out.”

  It was a good move to call Val first, giving me something to counter Wolcott’s premature recall with.

  “Who is this other person?” Wolcott sounded dubious, which was worrisome. I had to keep him in my corner, as he had DeCosta’s ear.

  “Valerie Hudson, a freelance writer who used to work with me at the Daily Travel News.”

  “Not a girlfriend, I trust?”

  “Hardly,” I could honestly say. “She’d get an exclusive in return.”

  “What are the leads?”

  Meticulous! That should have been Wolcott’s middle name. “A list of ex-cops with suspicious political leanings and a professor of political science at UCLA she knows who has written a book on splinter political groups. Very apropos.”

  I had scribbled down the title of the book, but Wolcott didn’t ask for specifics for a change. He was silent for a long moment. “All right,” he said at last. “Let’s play it day by day. Keep me posted.”

  “Anything new on the senior Baxter?”

  “Not that I know of,” Wolcott said. “He hasn’t called; nor has his lawyer. But like I said, don’t be surprised if you find a private detective on your heels.”

  “No problem,” I countered. It was entirely appropriate for Baxter to hire a private detective, especially as he was considering a lawsuit against Tramerica. He needed to find out more, just like we did. Baxter and I were probably on the same page as far Holly being under duress, but I doubted he knew it.

  I quickly showered and shaved after the conversation with Wolcott. Though I had won a reprieve, I had the strong feeling I’d better start showing some results or I’d be back in New York by the weekend, if not sooner.

  "An event a day keeps Los Angeles gray." Bender sounded jovial as they watched the news about the pipe bomb on television.

  "An event a day keeps the mayor gray, too," Rona chimed in. “Looks like he ignored the deadline.”

  "I thought of using that line in our next manifesto," Bender said, "but then I felt it would be too flippant."

  Rona nodded. Modesty was hardly one of BB's qualities. He delighted in showing his cleverness. She wondered how their activities were being assessed by their shadowy employer. Only Bender had been in contact with someone from the Muslim group. Once they began an operation, they were on their own, and only BB knew how to contact their contact; she knew he had memorized that number. Security was stringent, as it should have been.

  "Do you think the mayor will cave?" Rona asked.

  Bender shook his head. "No. He'll hang tough, which is just what we want him to do so that we can up the ante. It will be interesting to see how he reacts to some of our other activities. But there’s one more fun thing to do before we get serious.”

  Kidnapping a major movie star who might have bodyguards in a walled estate would be too difficult, Bender concluded. So the plan was to nab a lesser luminary: a television starlet by the name of Jez Boomie.

  "Is that her real name?" Luke asked as he and Bender started to drive to the the residence of Jez Boomie in the Hollywood Hills. Rona, who had promised to be on her best behavior, stayed behind with Holly. Jez's show, Babes In Boyland, was on hiatus and advanced screening had established she was usually at home in the early afternoon, often sleeping late after a night's carousing.

  "Jez is short for Jezebel, but I don't know if that or her last name is real," Bender said as Luke steered their van through traffic. A haze rose over the hills, and a wan sun was peeking through meandering clouds. "Both sound fake to me."

  "Do you think so?" Luke asked, fascinated.

  Bender nodded with a slight smile. While it was clear that Luke didn't like living in la-la land, he certainly showed a good deal of interest in Hollywood and show business personalities. That was why it was so important that Hollywood was part of their program; it had to be shown how damaging the product of Jewish film-masters was.

  "I’ve never heard of her," Luke went on. "Is she famous?"

  "Not really, I'd say, but famous enough for our purposes."

  They began the ascent into the Hollywood Hills following the curves of the narrow road. Luke was careful not to drive too fast. Houses sprouted along the left side of the road at different angles; some were perched on the hillsides and partially supported by heavy stilts dug into the pliant earth. Warmth from the sun pervaded the van, and the air felt sultry. The car's windows were all open, as it lacked air conditioning. It was ironic, Bender thought; Luke had painted, “Stellar Plumbing” and a fake phone number on both sides of the vehicle.

  "What are we going to do with her?" Luke asked as they parked in front of a small one-story house set back a bit from the road.

  "We're going to make her even more famous," Bender said with a grin.

  "Now, Jez, don't be alarmed," Bender told the slender blonde as she sat with tape covering her mouth and eyes inside her kitchen. They couldn't risk wearing ski masks, but both he and Luke wore gloves as well as wigs, dark glasses, fake goatees and work overalls. Identification by any neighbors or by Jez Boomie herself would be spotty. The starlet was still wearing a skimpy swimsuit, which was how they had found her when she answered her door bell. "We mean you no harm. You won't be hurt or raped or anything like that."

  Luke found a Coca Cola in her refrigerator for Jez to drink while she calmed down. He put it down on a table before her and then stared wide-eyed at her generous breasts protruding from her bathing suit top.

  "I want to take the tape off your mouth, Jez, but I need your assurance that you'll behave yourself. Nod if you can handle it."

  Jez nodded, and Bender signaled to Luke, who removed the tape from her mouth.

  "Who are you?" Jez blurted out. She didn't shout or scream.

  "Jez," Bender asked. "Would you like to sip a Coke?"

  She shook her head.

  "Jez, we're friends despite our odd calling cards," Bender said. "Now, as a member of show business, you have a responsibility to society to be a role model. Would you say that was a fair statement?"

  Bender waited for Jez, confused and nervous, to respond. She was probably in her early twenties; she was very well endowed, with long legs, a narrow waist and overly generous breasts. He wondered if she had implants. Undoubtedly she was trying to figure out a way to avoid being hurt and to plot an escape.

  "Please don't think of doing anything rash," Bender warned. "You won't be able to get away, and if you cooperate, you'll be free in a very short while and unharmed. In fact, your career may even get a boost."

  He had deliberated using chloroform but had decided to hold back unless it became necessary. Getting her out of the house in broad daylight was tricky, and given the neighbors nearby, it was impossible to know who might be looking at them. In fact, he wondered if anyone with binoculars spied on her swimming in her pool or prancing around her backyard. They had found her in her bathing suit, but at night, who knew? She might go skinny dipping.

  "What do you want?" Jez asked in a low tone as if she were afraid that speaking louder would worsen her plight.

  Bender nodded, satisfied with her compliance. She was still frightened but in control of her emotions. "We want you to make a statement about the excessive sex and violence in films and on television. Would that be OK?"

  "What do you want me to say?" Jez asked, unable to restrain her suspicion.

  "Oh, it won't be in words," Bender said, grinning for Luke's benefit.

  ****

  One buttock said "Sex & Violence," and the other declared "Wake Up, Hollywood." Just below it, the authors of the message had signed it, “The HAP.”

  Completely nude but warmed by the late afternoon sun and two coats of oil applied by Rona, who had also used delicate rouge strokes to create t
he skin-laden messages, Jez stood manacled to a tree beneath the giant Hollywood sign.

  Helicopters flew overhead, and television crews were scrambling up the hillside to get the best shots, though Bender doubted they would show the starlet in her birthday suit. All the media had been alerted, and their little prank had already been picked up by the wire services. Moreover, their latest manifesto—unedited—was being reproduced on television for all to see and to consider; Bender had no doubt his handiwork would appear on print in the morning paper:

  The HAP believes, as do many other Americans, that Hollywood is pandering to and nurturing the worst aspects of our national character and life. The industry's feeble attempts to police itself are next to useless. The self-policing of any industry or governmental entity simply doesn't work to protect the public. However, we do not believe in censorship, and we deplore government intervention in free expression. So what can be done about excessive and gratuitous sex and violence in films and on television? You can't legislate morality. Asking the public to show their displeasure at the box office is not likely to be effective, either. Given these factors, the HAP again urges the creation of a civilian review board drawn from all walks of life to issue veto-proof verdicts on what films and shows may be shown at theaters and on television, especially during prime time hours.

  Meanwhile, we remind the city that our patience is wearing thin, and our ultimatum stands; our daily actions will continue as well until our legitimate demands are met.

  We wish to apologize to Jez Boomie for our use of her to dramatize this situation, and we wish her the best of luck in her chosen career.