by Jack Adler
"But look at it this way, Luke," Rona said with a laugh. "Your body is intact. Pure. BB had to make the real sacrifice. I just borrowed a bathing suit, made sure the lush had some drinks and then held him underwater. The film industry is well rid of the pervert."
“He didn’t . . . ,” Luke stopped in his tracks.
“No, Luke, he didn’t,” Rona said. “Not that he didn’t try. See, Luke,“ she teased when she saw him blush at her denial of any greater intimacy, “you were better off here."
"Come on, guys," Luke protested, "you know I'd do it if I had to."
Bender said, "Luke, I think you would have made my date a very happy woman."
"You didn't ask me," Luke said with a plaintive look as if his bedroom talents were being dismissed out of hand.
"Her loss," Rona said, smiling with a measure of sympathy.
"Without a doubt," Bender agreed. “Luke, I’m sure you drive as well in the bedroom as on the road.”
“Thank you,” Luke said, blushing again. “But I don’t want to sleep with anyone here. I just want to finish our work here and get away.”
“So do we,” Bender said. “We took care of a couple of extra but needed details, and now we’re all set for our departure later tonight. We will unfortunately have to do without any reward money for our handiwork. I believe Tramerica may be about to open its vaults.”
“Pity,” Rona said.
“But you called that toll-free number, didn’t you?” Luke asked.
“Certainly,” Bender said, showing surprise that Luke would doubt his efficiency. I called after bidding the lady a fond good night. Since you ask, this is what I said: ‘Check the apartment of Stacy Graham, an employee of Tramerica. I think she's involved with the HAP.’ Will that do?”
“Sure,” Luke said, a flush racing over his face as if he regretted his question. He wasn’t second-guessing BB. He’d never do that.
“And not being able to identify myself, I said to please give any reward money to AIDS research,” Bender added with a smile, as if he were complimenting himself for a master stroke.
“Cool,” Rona said. “Too bad no one will understand the humor of it all.”
“Can’t have everything,” Bender retorted. “Musn’t be greedy. Now, to wrap up, our campaign has been highly successful. No one really expected the city to cave in. But we put a big crimp in the city’s economy, and that was our assignment.”
“Where do we go next?” Luke asked. “What’s our next assignment?”
“I don’t know yet,” Bender said. “Let’s concentrate on finishing here. He turned his attention back to Rona. “Now there’s just one more link to Tramerica to establish, and it will require your formidable feminine wiles."
“As always, my wiles are available,” Rona said.
Bender nodded. “OK, now let's get Holly ready."
Fun and games with the so-called Stockholm Syndrome were over, Bender decided as Luke brought Holly into the living room. Luke, good-hearted and useful but not the brightest light, awaited another assignment while they accepted another big payday. Rona and Luke left, as they knew he wanted to be alone with Holly. Their bonding had gone as far as it ever would. They couldn't wait any longer for Holly to come around. Her usefulness was coming to a dramatic close, and no chance could be taken with her grudging cooperation out of fear for the welfare of her parents.
"Holly, please make yourself comfortable," Bender said with his usual sympathetic manner. He gave her an encouraging glance, like a doctor being cordial to a patient.
Holly immediately realized she was about to be misused again. She knew Bender’s pattern all too well now, the soft approach and then the hard and cruel demand. And as before, she felt powerless to thwart his will. The room was darker than usual. Rona and Luke weren't there, and that probably meant something, too. With apprehension, she sat on a sofa with frayed edges and a couple of discolorations on the tired fabric. But she didn’t lean back against the pillows because she wanted to remain as alert as possible. The great amount of time she spent in her room seemed to sap her energy. Even inmates in a prison, she thought, got exercise time, but it would be fruitless to ask them to have mercy in this minor way.
"Holly, you look tired." Bender leaned forward and stared at her as if he were genuinely concerned. What a fraud he was! But his eyes began to bear down upon her with a new and unexpected intensity. His stare was so strong and powerful, as if it had command of her body and thoughts.
"No," Holly protested.
"Yes, you are feeling very, very tired," Bender's voice was fainter than usual, like a pillow talking in air, but his look stayed forceful. His eyes were boring into her, spreading his words like seeds in her mind. "Your body feels like it wants to rest, to stretch out and sleep."
To her surprise, Holly began to feel more tired, though her mind still wondered why.
"Your legs are feeling heavier, you want to relax, to fully relax, to let your mind be free. . . ."
It was so strange, as she sensed how his voice could penetrate her consciousness and dictate what she should do and feel. She was so weak yet comfortable in an odd way; she couldn’t understand it.
“Holly, can you hear me?”
"Yes."
"When I say three, you'll be asleep but able to hear me. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Three." Bender waited a moment. "Holly, if you can hear me, say yes."
"Yes."
"Holly, I'm going to give you a word to remember. Will you remember this word?"
"Yes."
"The word is forest. What is the word you have to remember?"
"Forest."
"Very good. When you hear me say the word forest, you will walk where I tell you to walk. What do you have to do when I say the word forest?"
"I have to walk toward where you tell me to walk."
"Good. Some things will be wrapped around your waist underneath your dress, but you will not be aware of these things. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"When I say the word jungle, you will wake up and say you are tired and want to go to sleep until we’re ready to leave. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Jungle."
Holly woke up. For a moment she looked puzzled, but then she yawned. “I’m very tired. Can I go back to my room now and rest?”
“Of course,” Bender said. “We’ll call you when we’re ready to leave.”
Holly went back to her room. Once she was there, Bender signaled for Rona and Luke to come into the room. Luke was carrying some tightly packed plastic bombs.
My luncheon talk went well. If the police were there, they didn't arrest me; my remarks were tame enough. They were so inoffensive that Wolcott hadn't suggested any changes. I had gone over the speech several times, so I could handle it without constantly reading from the text, which Corinne had printed in upper case and, of course, double-spaced.
Joyce Midren introduced me to an audience of around sixty people, which seemed evenly split between men and women. They were not all that young, either, though that depended on how you defined the term. The group listened with polite if not rapt attention, and all the questions were intelligent and, fortunately, answerable. No surprises. After I finished, some people crowded around the lectern, and I fielded some more questions. One woman, I saw, was waiting with patience for her turn. Finally I said to her, "Last but not least."
She gave me a grateful smile with a warm look in her bright blue eyes. She was an attractive brunette probably in her early thirties with a slim figure. "I enjoyed your speech very much," she said. "You'd be perfect for another group."
I smiled and shook my head. I wasn't going to become a professional speaker. "Sorry, but I'm leaving L.A. pretty soon."
"Oh, but it would be tonight, if you're free. And just a few remarks, not a speech like this one. It's specifically about the HAP, what the police are doing and not doing, Holly Baxter and your company, Tramerica, I believe it’s called."
>
Mention of Tramerica caught my attention, and this woman noticed it right away.
"If you have just a few minutes,” she implored with a devastating look, “have coffee with me, and I'll give you the details. I think you'll find it worthwhile. There's a coffee shop in the hotel."
She was a good salesperson, I thought; besides being attractive, which wouldn’t have been enough, she had gotten my interest by citing Tramerica. What affected the company affected me, and I thought I should at least learn a little more. I looked at my watch. I had some free time before dinner with Val. "No promises," I said, "but let's have a quick cup."
By the time we sat down at the coffee shop, which had few people in it in the middle of the day, I knew her name was Drue Henry and that the group she wanted me to speak before wasn't interested in youth or voting. They were a bunch of mystery writers who had come up with various theories about the HAP, Holly Baxter and, according to Drue, Tramerica.
"How did we get into their plots?" I asked Drue.
"Come and find out," she said with another alluring smile. If smiles could have been patented, this woman might have had a winner.
"Are you a mystery writer yourself?"
"Aspiring," she said with appealing modesty.
The occasion might be too light for me to participate, especially considering I had a date with Val. On the other hand, the unexpected use of Tramerica in budding film scripts deserved some scrutiny. It might come back to bite me if I shunted the matter aside. Drue very alertly sensed my hesitation, and I could see her readying another red-lipped inducement.
"One writer—I probably shouldn't tell you this—has already written a screenplay about the HAP. And you, or someone like you from a company like your company, is in it. A major character, as I understand it."
"Fascinating," I said, not sure what to do or say. This was a totally new experience for me. It was flattering in a sense to be a character in a screenplay, produced or not. How could I not start imagining who might play me if the screenplay were ever made into a film? Relating this development to Wolcott might prove to be a problem, though. He might even think such vanity was the reason I worked so hard to remain in Los Angeles. It was ridiculous, but he, or more likely DeCosta, might actually think I had been bitten by the Hollywood bug.
"You know how quickly screenplays are written from the news headlines," Drue added. “They even say as much in promoting some TV shows. ‘Ripped right from the headlines,’ or something in that vein.”
I nodded. This was certainly true. "When is this meeting?"
"Promptly at 8:00 P.M., but you would just talk, and only for a few minutes, right away. You'd be out of there before 8:30 P.M. for sure . . . if you have other plans."
Eight o’clock, I thought. That would give me plenty of time to get to Val for dinner. Perhaps this would help further justify my sticking around to Wolcott. I didn’t have to let on I was a character in a screenplay involving Tramerica. It was sufficient to just cite the company might have some sort of unwelcome cinematic presence in the near future. Moreover, how did I know that this woman wasn’t leading me on to get me to speak to the group? That was possible. Wolcott hadn’t called to summon me back; also, it was already mid-afternoon, and there was no word about the reward. The screenplay featuring a Tramerica-like company and a character like me was obviously intriguing. I could explain things better to Wolcott the next morning and in such a way that he wouldn’t think I had been vain. Despite his occasional misgivings, I knew Wolcott trusted my judgment.
"OK, Drue, you made a sale."
"Great," she said with a winning smile that could warm a corpse. She took a pen and paper from her purse and wrote an address. "It's at one of the members’ homes. We alternate."
"Will you be there?" I asked.
"Definitely," she said, nodding with a bright smile.
"Derry, you're not going to go, are you?"Val sounded concerned for my welfare when I called from the hotel to say I might be a little late. Even though I couldn’t see her face, the anxiety in her voice gave me a warm feeling. There was a bond now; maybe it was still on the weak side, but it was something to build on. Being driven by such little nuggets of hope was frustrating, but I knew she was right in keeping to our professional relationship.
"Why not?"
"A bunch of mystery writers?! You must be crazy,"
"Val, I'm trying very hard to justify my time here." I explained the screenplay and other potential Tramerica connections, including me, none of which swayed Val in the slightest. I had no doubt that she would berate me.
"Sounds peculiar to me. Who is this woman who invited you?"
"She was at the luncheon you didn't come to."
"So I wasn't there to protect you from women eager to ravish you?"
"Pretty much," I said, laughing.
"Vanity will get you into trouble."
I had a sudden brainstorm: "So why don't you come with me to this group tonight? Protect me from them, and me from vanity."
“No, I don't think so. You can tell me all about the great mysteries when you get here. But," she added as an afterthought, "give me the name of this writer bunch. I'll see what I can find out about them. Are they all women?"
"Val, I have no idea. I told you, it was the Tramerica link that caught my interest."
"OK, see you later."
"Anything new?" I asked.
"Well, I think the police have something, but I can't get any details. They’re being very tight-lipped. But I'll keep trying."
That's where we left it. I had to admit I felt a bit unhappy now that I had agreed to visit this group, but I really needed to show Wolcott something. Once I knew about the screenplay, how could I ignore it? I had to follow up. Val had a point, though. I was running around the city like mad with little to show for my activity. At this moment I was sure I would soon fail and be back in New York. But if the police had a strong lead, it might change everything. Hopefully, Val would have something on this score by the time I got to her apartment.
The sun, Bender saw, was still strong in the sky when a crowd gathered outside the sports field at Windsor College. The event, celebrating the college’s new science hall, had been set for five o’clock to avoid the hottest part of the day. Police were stationed both on and off the field and in the stands. Plainclothes security personnel, whom he was able to spot with ease, were also posted at strategic points. A police helicopter circled the field. Photographers and television cameramen, whose equipment had been checked, were poised to take pictures as soon as the dignitaries emerged. Mayor Waldon was the head speaker, but there were other politicians, city leaders and college officials on the agenda. A good group to hear his parting message, Bender thought, smiling to himself. A lectern with a microphone hookup stood above the top step of a makeshift wooden stage on the field.
Luke sat where Bender had placed him in the first row of the stands among discarded beer cans, cigarette butts and other trash. Smoke grenades were held in place by his fingers over large holes cut out of the pockets, and he could be depended upon to follow instructions on when to use them. Near him sat one of two wooden barriers set up to prevent traffic on the small street alongside the stadium.
Rona stood next to the other barrier at a street entrance on the other side of the playing field, surrounded by a half-mile cinder track. Behind her stood several of the college’s structures, including the administration building. Rona wore a black wig beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat and stood glancing around like she was waiting for someone.
Down the street from where Rona stood, Bender nonchalantly sketched the scene using Holly as a model with a crayon and a drawing pad on an easel; he worked in full view of passing police, who looked on with curiosity. Holly was holding a parasol over her blond wig and dark sunglasses, which hid a vacant stare. Sandals made her seem shorter than her actual height, and thin padding around her waist made her appear heavier. Explosives were taped to one side of the padding. In Bender’s kit, hanging
from the easel, the detonator that would blow the mayor and Holly to pieces lay buried beneath paintbrushes and tubes of paint.
People in the stands stirred as the dignitaries advanced onto the small stage. As the luminaries sat, Mayor Waldon was introduced and stepped up to the lectern. Luke took a deep breath and then let the smoke grenades slip from his pockets and fall onto the ground. They exploded in rising sheaths of smoke, which spread over him and nearby spectators.
“Bomb!” Luke shouted as if he were hurt himself.
Panic ensued as people screamed and rushed in every direction. Luke let himself be shoved forwards, and one of his legs slipped between the benches, but he managed to extricate it and surge toward the street with the others. No one had seen him drop the smoke grenades. He was just part of a moving, agitated mass scrambling for safety. One woman fell, and Luke stopped to help her up before she was trampled.
Security men wrapped themselves around the mayor and moved across the field toward the administration building in a slow, circular pattern. The other dignitaries followed the head of security cautiously with ashen faces as police searched the stands in vain.
“Move away!” a policeman hurriedly ordered Rona.
“What happened?” Rona asked, gazing at the commotion on the field. But the policeman had rushed on after his warning.
As the mayor reached the street in front of the administration building, where Bender was standing with Holly, Rona took out another pair of smoke grenades and threw them at the mayor’s entourage. As the smoke shrouded the mayor and the handful of security men around him, Bender told Holly, “Forest!”
Holly’s face became frozen, and her eyes became vacant. She stood staring straight at Bender.