Randy Parker didn’t seem impressed with Rolly’s knowledge of stringed instruments.
‘What’s your questions?’ he said.
‘Well,’ said Rolly, ‘I understand a man named Buddy Meeks might have built it. His mark should be on the back.’
‘How’d you know that?’
‘You told Mr Norwood that. He told me.’
‘Yes. That’s right.’
‘Are there any other identifying marks you might describe to me?’
‘Marks?’
‘Well, anything unusual or distinctive.’
‘No.’
‘Nothing about the design or decoration?’
Randy Parker glanced over at Dotty. The sunglasses prevented Rolly from reading his eyes.
‘What did you tell him?’ Parker said to Dotty.
‘We talked about the UVTs,’ said Dotty. ‘I showed him the paintings.’
Randy Parker returned his attention to Rolly. ‘What else do you know?’ he said.
The bell rang as the the front door opened. They all turned to see who had entered the store. It was Moogus.
‘We’re closed,’ said Parker.
‘I’m with him,’ Moogus said, pointing at Rolly. ‘We need to get going.’
‘Yes,’ Rolly said. ‘We do.’
Whatever was going on, he didn’t want to aggravate Randy Parker any further. He moved towards the door.
‘Where’re you going?’ said Randy Parker.
‘We’ve got to be somewhere. In East County.’
‘We’re rockin’ the rez tonight,’ said Moogus.
Randy Parker took a step towards them. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he said.
Dotty put a hand on his arm. Parker stopped.
‘We’ve got a gig at one of the Indian casinos,’ said Rolly.
‘It was very nice to meet you, Mr Waters,’ said Dotty. ‘Please come back when you have more time to talk.’
‘That OK with you, Mr Parker?’ said Rolly. ‘If I come back to talk sometime?’
Parker glanced over at Dotty. An unspoken agreement passed between them.
‘Yeah,’ Parker said. ‘You come back anytime. Come back and we’ll talk.’
‘Let’s go,’ said Moogus.
Rolly followed Moogus out to the sidewalk. As the door closed behind him, he heard a sound like a handclap. His best guess was Dotty had slapped Randy. Or Randy had slapped Dotty. It could have gone either way. They were both telling stories. The stories weren’t quite the same. Rolly followed Moogus back to the truck and climbed in.
‘Nice rug on that guy, huh?’ said Moogus.
‘I thought maybe it was a dye job.’
‘I’d lay odds he’s a cue ball, covering up some head tats. Good thing for you I showed up.’
‘He was getting a little agitated.’
‘Yeah, well, when a guy like that gets agitated, he’s likely to bite off your ear.’
‘What?’
‘EWMN. The T-shirt covered up part of the tattoo, but I knew what it was.’
‘What does EWMN mean?’
‘Evil, wicked, mean and nasty. Tattooed on the back of his neck. He’s a jumpsuiter for sure.’
‘You mean an ex-con? He was in prison?’
Moogus laughed. ‘You should hire me, as a consultant or something.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Well, for a detective, you don’t seem too sharp at identifying the criminal element.’
‘No, I guess not,’ said Rolly. He slumped into his seat. He hated dealing with the criminal element.
SEVEN
The Tower
‘How much longer do you want to wait?’ said Moogus.
‘Just a couple more minutes,’ said Rolly. ‘Then we’ll give up.’
It was 4:30 in the morning. They’d been sitting for over an hour, parked outside the locked entrance to Desert View Tower, a funky old tourist trap on the eastern edge of the mountains. During regular hours visitors could buy candy, postcards and other knick-knacks inside the tower. They could climb to the top of the circular staircase and gaze from the open balcony into the barren furnace of the Anza Borrego Desert, or explore the rock gardens nearby, where one of the owners had carved animal shapes out of the sandstone boulders. There was a buffalo, a hawk, a crocodile and some other animals Rolly couldn’t remember. His mother had brought him here years ago, on one of the countless adventures she’d forced him to endure when he was a teenager.
‘Is this what you call a stakeout?’ said Moogus.
‘I don’t know what I’d call this,’ said Rolly.
‘I always thought it’d be cool to go on a stakeout.’
‘This isn’t a stakeout. The guy wants us to meet him here.’
‘You’re sure about that? It’s been almost an hour.’
‘I’m not sure about anything.’
‘Who’s this guy s’posed to be, anyway?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You think it’s that ex-con from the shop?’
‘I hope not.’
‘Could be a trap,’ said Moogus. ‘He knew we were gonna be at the casino.’
‘I expect something would have happened by now if it were a trap.’
‘Yeah. I guess. That guy had it in for you, though. I could tell. After my time in the pen, I know an orange peeler with intent when I see one.’
‘You were only in jail for two months. You’re not allowed to use prison lingo unless you’ve done at least a full year.’
‘Who made up that rule?’
‘I did. Just now.’
‘Hey, hard time is hard time.’
Rolly searched the area outside the car, considering what he should do next, if anything. A field of large boulders stood on either side of the road, casting long shadows as the full moon sank towards the western horizon. Someone had left a postcard of the Desert View Tower in his guitar case, sneaking it in during the band’s last set at the casino. A cryptic message had been scrawled on the back of the card.
TEOTWAYKI
Golden Eyes Key
Arrive before sunrise
The first line meant nothing to him. It looked like an Indian word. But he couldn’t help feeling the second line referred to his new client. The sender knew something about Macy Starr. The third line he interpreted as a command, that he should go to the place pictured on the postcard by the time indicated. He’d talked Moogus into going along with this stupid idea by promising to pay for a full tank of gas. If no one showed up at the Desert View Tower by sunrise, so be it. He would go home and sleep. He wouldn’t charge Macy for the hours.
‘You get horizontal with her yet?’ said Moogus. ‘This chick you’re so worked up about?’
‘I only met her last night.’
‘Since when did that stop you?’
‘She’s my client. Besides, I’m old enough to be her father.’
‘Is she legal age?’
‘Yes.’
‘I repeat my last query.’
‘I’m pretty sure she’s not interested in middle-aged guitar players.’
‘How about a drummer who likes to think young?’
‘Shut up,’ said Rolly.
He stared out the window at the dirt road, the rocks and scraggly brush.
‘Hey,’ said Moogus.
‘What?’
‘You think the guy who left you the card lives in that tower thing?’
‘It’s possible, I guess.’
‘Maybe we should sneak in, on foot, you know, stealthy-like, and case the joint.’
‘Did you really say “case the joint”?’
‘Yeah. Isn’t that how you detective guys talk? We’ll get the drop on him.’
Rolly sighed. His friends assumed his day job was like what they’d seen in the movies – muscle-headed thugs, gin joints and wisecracking dames. In reality, most of the cases he worked on were stupid arguments pitting dumb against dumber. He interviewed accident victims for insurance companies, took photos of de
adbeat dads spending money that should go to their kids. He searched for absent wives and runaway teens. He didn’t carry a gun. He didn’t own one. Even thinking about carrying a gun made him queasy.
Still, he was glad to have Moogus with him. Moogus had actual biceps. He could handle himself in a fight. Moogus had been to prison, after all, if only for two months. He could act like a tough guy. He knew how to intimidate. Rolly was better at talking his way out of confrontations. Aside from playing guitar, it was the one thing he was good at.
They heard a sound from outside the truck. A bird call. Something clattered against the back window.
‘What was that?’ Moogus said, turning around.
‘I don’t know.’
They waited a moment. The bird called again. The rear window clattered.
‘Somebody’s throwing shit at us,’ said Moogus. He reached for the door handle.
‘Hold on,’ said Rolly.
‘For what?’
‘I think I see him.’
‘Where?’
Rolly pointed to a shadow moving through the scrubby bush. The shadow crouched down behind a scraggly shrub.
‘There. You see him?’
As if in response, the figure rose up. They heard the bird call again. The shadow swiveled its right arm. A handful of sand and pebbles rattled the front window.
‘I guess he wants to get our attention,’ said Rolly.
‘He’s got mine,’ said Moogus, rolling down his window.
‘Hey jerkwad!’ he shouted. ‘Stop throwing crap at my truck.’
The shadow stood its ground. ‘Who are you?’ it asked.
‘It doesn’t matter who I am,’ Moogus said. ‘Don’t throw shit at my truck.’
‘You’re the drummer.’
‘Yeah. That’s right.’
‘I want the guitar player,’ said the shadow.
‘He’s here with me. You the guy who left the postcard?’
‘I must query him. The guitar player.’
‘Why can’t you talk to me?’
‘Drummers are nincompoops. They cannot play the proper frequencies.’
Moogus turned to Rolly. ‘Can you believe this guy?’
Another handful of dirt and rocks hit the windshield. Moogus opened his door and stepped out. He took a few threatening steps towards the shadow. ‘I told you. Stop throwing that shit at my truck.’
The shadow retreated and moved farther up the hill. ‘I want the guitar player,’ said the shadow. ‘I want the Waters.’
Rolly climbed out of the truck, circled around the front and walked up next to Moogus. ‘I’m here,’ he said. ‘What do you want?’
‘I will not speak, not with him. I wish to query the Waters.’
‘We drove together. He gave me a ride.’
‘The questions are for you,’ said the shadow. ‘Not the skin-beater.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ Rolly asked. The shadow disappeared. They heard rustling and scraping higher up in the rocks.
‘Up here,’ said the shadow from a different position. ‘The skin-beater must return to the vehicle.’
Rolly and Moogus exchanged glances.
‘This guy’s a wack job,’ said Moogus, under his breath.
‘I don’t think he’s dangerous,’ said Rolly. ‘Go back to the truck.’
Moogus shrugged and retreated. He leaned back against the truck’s cabin, folded his arms and stared up at the rocks, channeling his best badass.
‘Over here,’ said the shadow. ‘I will speak from the orifice.’
Rolly stepped off the road and walked up the hill towards the boulder field. As he got closer he noticed a vertical line through the tallest boulder, an open fissure running from top to bottom.
‘Hold,’ the man said. Rolly halted, three feet from the fissure. The crack was wider at his end of the boulder and narrowed as it went back, amplifying the man’s voice.
‘Are you a gold drinker?’ the man said.
‘No,’ Rolly said. ‘Not that I know of.’
‘Are you a Gentling?’
‘Same answer, I guess.’
The man made a sound like a bird. ‘Teotwayki! Teotwayki!’
‘That’s what you wrote on the postcard, isn’t it?’
The bird call came back for an answer.
‘Is it supposed to mean something to me?’ Rolly asked. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Teotwayki. That is what it means.’
‘What does the second line mean?’ Rolly said. ‘“Golden eyes key?”’
‘Golden Eyes has the key.’
‘The key to what?’
‘The Astral Vibrator.’
Rolly felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Randy Parker was looking for the Astral Vibrator. It went with the diddley bow.
‘Do you know where I can find the Astral Vibrator?’ he said.
‘It lives with the Gentlings. The Waters must practice the frequencies.’
Rolly had been part of many strange conversations in the early morning hours with drunks and drug addicts, all sorts of chemically impaired nightcrawlers who hung around on the street after closing time. They would stand on the sidewalk ruminating loudly on life’s challenges while you packed up your equipment and tried to get away before they decided you were their best friend.
‘What are these frequencies you want me to practice?’ he said.
‘The Waters must learn the Solfeggios.’
‘I don’t know what that is.’
‘Golden Eyes has the key.’
‘The diddley bow? The one-string guitar? Is that what you’re talking about?’
‘I am affirming.’
‘I have a question for you, then. There’s a photograph on the back, a man and a woman.’
‘I am affirming.’
‘Who is she, the woman? Do you know?’
‘The Waters should ask the big Indian.’
‘Daddy Joe? Is that who you mean? Is he the big Indian?’
There was no answer. Rolly cleared his throat. He looked up at the night sky. There were lots of stars but no flying saucers around – at least, none that he could see. Things were weird enough without any aliens.
‘He is gone,’ said the man in the rock.
‘Daddy Joe?’ said Rolly. ‘Where’d he go?’
‘The skin-beater. He’s gone.’
‘The skin … wait.’
Rolly turned and looked back towards the truck. Moogus had disappeared.
EIGHT
The Shocker
Rolly took two steps down the hill, searching the landscape.
‘Moogus!’ he called. ‘Where are you?’
He heard scuffling sounds behind him. Someone screamed.
‘Ayaaah!’
‘I got you now!’ said a voice. It was Moogus.
‘Teotwayki!’ the man called. ‘Teotwayki!’
‘I got him, Rolly!’ said Moogus. ‘I got … Hey! Who …?’
Rolly heard a strange sound, like an electric woodpecker tapping on rocks. Someone screamed.
‘Aaagh!’
The electric woodpecker rattled again. The screamer screamed.
‘Aaagh!’
The screamer sounded like Moogus. Rolly bolted up the hill and worked his way around the boulders. ‘Moog?’
‘I’m down here,’ said Moogus. ‘Shit damn. That smarts.’
Rolly spotted someone lying on the ground behind the big rock. He crept down the incline and squatted down beside Moogus. ‘Are you OK?’ he said.
‘Boo-oof,’ said Moogus. ‘Just give me a minute, here.’
Moogus sat up and shook his head back and forth like a cartoon character clearing his brainpan. He put his left hand out, touching it against the rock for balance.
‘What were you thinking?’ said Rolly. ‘I told you to stay by the truck.’
‘There was somebody else. Up in the rocks. Creeping around.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I don’t know. I jus
t had a feeling. I thought I could nab him.’
‘What happened?’
‘I got up there, where I thought the other guy was. I couldn’t find anybody. Then I heard the guy that was talking to you. He was right down below me. So I jumped him.’
‘You shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Next thing I know, someone’s zapped my ass and I’m looking up at the stars.’
A cackle of laughter rolled down the hill and bounced off the boulders. ‘Teotwayki!’
‘I don’t like this,’ said Moogus.
Rolly stood up. ‘Hey,’ he called. ‘Are you still there?’
‘What do you call a drummer with half a brain?’ said the voice.
‘Seriously, Rolly …’ said Moogus.
‘Gifted,’ came the unrequested answer.
‘I’m going to kill that guy.’
‘Just wait here,’ said Rolly. ‘I need to talk to him.’
‘Be careful,’ said Moogus. ‘There’s somebody else out here. With a taser or something.’
‘Sounds to me like his bodyguard’s better than mine.’
‘Fuck you.’
Rolly turned back to the boulder field. ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Whoever you are. I still want to talk to you.’
No one answered.
‘I need some answers,’ said Rolly.
‘Proceed!’ called the voice. ‘Find the crocodile.’
‘What?’
‘Proceed to the crocodile.’
‘The crocodile?’ said Moogus. ‘What’s he talking about?’
‘There’re these statues,’ said Rolly. ‘Animals somebody carved out of the rocks.’
‘To the crocodile!’ said the voice.
Rolly stepped forward.
‘Don’t do it,’ said Moogus.
Rolly shushed him. ‘Just sit tight,’ he said. ‘Don’t screw things up anymore than you already have.’
Rolly took another step and lifted himself to the top of a small rise. He could see a dirt path curving down the back of the rise and up another hill, where it ran between two large boulders. The first hint of daylight pushed at the darkness. He left Moogus and trudged down the path. The trail rose and twisted. He passed another boulder then stopped in his tracks. A stone crocodile grinned at him in the dim light, baring its bas-relief teeth.
‘OK,’ Rolly said. ‘I’m at the crocodile.’
‘The skin-beater is impudent,’ said the man. ‘Unattuned to the stars.’
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