by James Frey
They’re coming. They’re coming for me.
He steps aside.
Come in.
She steps inside, he closes the door behind her. He’s not sure if she’s paranoid because of the meth or paranoid because whoever beat the shit out of her before is trying to beat the shit out of her again or paranoid because she’s fucked in the head. He locks the door. The bathroom is small they’re standing inches away from each other.
Thank you.
Who’s after you?
That lock is strong, right?
Yeah.
They’re strong.
Who.
If that lock’s not strong they’ll fuck it up and knock it right the fuck off.
I’ve seen ’em do it before. That’s how strong they are, it’s fucking crazy how strong they are.
Who?
She shakes her head, looks like she’s going to cry. He carefully steps around her, sits down on the toilet seat, she stands over him.
Do you want to sit down?
Where?
On the floor.
What if I have to run?
Then you stand up and run.
They’re stronger than me but I’m faster.
That’s good.
I’m really fast when I want to be. Super fucking fast. That’s good.
She looks at the floor.
This floor’s kind of nasty.
He shrugs.
Looks okay to me.
You have a toothbrush? I’ll clean it for you.
He laughs.
No, thanks. Just sit.
A toothbrush is good for cleaning teeth, but it’s better for floors and shit.
Maybe some other time.
She looks at the floor again, slowly lowers herself, as if she’s not sure what will happen when she touches it. When she’s all the way down, she looks up at him, speaks.
It’s okay.
I told you it would be.
For now it’s okay.
For now.
She looks back at the floor, shakes, twitches, has small convulsions. Joe watches her, she focuses on a small fleck of paint on the floor she reaches down with her index finger and she carefully and hesitantly touches it.
She jerks her finger back, stares at the paint, does it again and again and again. She looks back at Joe.
It’s not gonna hurt me.
No.
It’s just a little dot.
Yeah.
I think I’ll be okay in here.
It’s safe.
They’re strong, but I’m fast.
Fast is good.
I’m super fucking fast.
That’s real good.
Joe sits with her for the next three hours. She continues to shake and twitch and convulse and talk about the men who are after her. She doesn’t say who they are or why they want her and Joe isn’t sure if they’re real or not and it doesn’t matter anyway because she believes they’re real and she believes they’re after her. When his interior clock tells him it’s time to go to the beach he asks her to come with him she’s scared to leave the bathroom. He tells her that they’ll be fine. She shakes her head no no no. He reaches for her hand she pulls it away. He asks her if she wants to stay in the bathroom while he’s gone she says no, please don’t leave me alone, that’s what they’re waiting for, they want me alone, they’ll take me if I’m alone, please don’t leave me, please don’t leave, please. As the time for him to go to the beach draws near he starts to get annoyed, starts to wonder why he’s taking care of this girl, why he’s letting her take over his bathroom, take over his life. He stands, speaks.
I have to leave.
She looks up at him, scared and desperate, scared and alone.
Why?
Because it’s what I do.
No.
Yes.
Stay with me.
You can come along if you want, or you can stay here, but I’m going.
Please, please, please.
No.
She begs.
Please.
He shakes his head.
No.
Once we leave, they’ll get me.
He shakes his head.
There’s no one out there. There’s no one searching for you. There’s no one following you. If there was they’d have pounded on this door.
They don’t know about this place.
There is no they.
She stares at him. He stares back.
You’ll protect me.
He chuckles.
Yes.
Promise?
I promise.
He reaches for the door, she stands and moves out of the way. He opens the door and steps out, waits for her to follow. She sticks her head out, looks up and down the alley, it’s deserted. She cautiously steps out, her hands on the doorframe in case she needs to pull herself back into the room looks up and down again there is no one around just cars and dumpsters and empty bike racks and cans and bottles and food wrappers and newspapers. Old Man Joe smiles at her. She steps all the way out of the bathroom. He locks the door. They start walking away she’s glancing around her eyes darting her hands quivering her nostrils flaring as if she’ll be able to smell whomever is after her before she’ll see them. They walk down to the beach, Joe leads Beatrice follows him she stays three or four steps behind. When they reach his spot, Joe lies down. She sits a few feet away, speaks.
What are you doing?
Lying down.
Why?
Because.
Because why?
Just because.
You just lie here?
Yeah.
Every day.
Yeah.
Are you stupid?
He chuckles.
Some people probably think so.
Yeah, I believe that.
He chuckles again, closes his eyes. Beatrice finds a small shell in the sand, stares at it, starts looking at it from different angles, brings it close to her eyes and examines it. Joe waits for her to start talking again is relieved when she doesn’t. He takes a deep breath, another, he opens his eyes the sky is gray with fog as is often the case in the morning at the beach the sun rises and it becomes white the sun burns it off it becomes blue. He forgets Beatrice is a few feet away whatever she’s found in the seashell has calmed her, contented her, silenced her. Time moves the morning starts to show itself shafts of light start to penetrate the gray and patches of white emerge another deep breath, another, another. Joe opens his eyes, closes his eyes, waits breathes, opens, closes, waits. He hears Beatrice say something he ignores her. She says it again he ignores her. Again louder again she speaks she says.
No.
No.
No.
He opens his eyes the sky is gray becoming white.
She starts to scream he sits up starts to turn around. She’s screaming there’s no longer a word no she’s just screaming. He starts to turn the sky is gray becoming white he gets kicked in the face and it’s black. She screams and Joe crumbles into the sand and it’s black.
Howard Caughy buys the first automobile in Los Angeles, a Ford Model A, in 1904. He dies three weeks later when, after a night of drinking and smoking opium in a Chinatown brothel, he drives it into a tree. His son, Howard Caughy Jr., buys the second automobile in Los Angeles, also a Ford Model A. Two weeks after receiving the automobile, he tries to jump it across a ravine in the hills of Los Feliz. The jump is not successful, and he also dies.
Amberton and Kevin are in Amberton’s room. Amberton lies in bed.
Kevin is getting dressed. Amberton’s children are in the pool, which is outside his room, he can hear them laughing and playing with their nannies. Amberton speaks.
That was great.
Kevin pulls on his shirt, ignores him. Amberton keeps speaking.
I mean, that was mind-blowing great.
Kevin starts buttoning the shirt, continues to ignore Amberton.
On a scale of one to ten, I’d give it a fourteen. M
aybe a fifteen.
He buttons the top button, starts working his tie, ignores Amberton.
Do you feel what I feel?
He ties a nice double Windsor.
I mean is this for real?
Checks it in a mirror.
I can’t believe how real this feels for me.
Kevin looks for his suit jacket. Amberton sits up.
Are you gonna say anything?
Kevin keeps looking for his jacket, speaks.
What do you want me to say?
That you just had the best hour of your life.
You mean fifteen minutes?
Amberton laughs.
That you just had the best fifteen minutes of your life?
I’m not going to say that.
That you think I’m gorgeous.
You say that enough already.
That I rocked your world.
Kevin finds his jacket, half under the bed.
You sound like some bad Top 40 love song.
He puts on the jacket.
I love bad Top 40 love songs.
He adjusts the jacket.
Why does that not surprise me?
Amberton smiles.
I feel like you know me. Like you’ve always known me.
Kevin chuckles.
I gotta go back to work.
He starts walking towards the door. Amberton speaks.
Take the rest of the day off.
Can’t do that.
Why?
Because I have to work.
I’ll call your boss.
He stops at the door.
No you won’t.
He’ll do whatever I want.
That’s what he likes you to think.
I’ll pay you for the day.
I’m not a whore.
I want you again.
No.
Kevin walks out. Amberton sits on his bed, watches him go. The children are playing in the pool with their nannies.
In 1906, the first large-scale gang war breaks out between the Dragon Boys (Chinese), the Shamrocks (white, predominantly Irish), the Chainbreakers (black) and the Rancheros (Mexican). The Los Angeles Police Department, which is undermanned and outgunned, is unable to stop it. Over the course of eighteen months, thirty-six people are killed, mostly using knives, clubs, and broken bottles. In 1907, the Shamrocks commit the first drive-by shooting when they gun down two Chainbreakers from a passing railcar. The war ends when leaders of the four gangs agree not to encroach on each other’s territory.
Two men come into the room they’re both members of the bike club they’re both huge and intimidating as hell. They tell Dylan that he needs to come with them he asks why they just stand and stare at him. He walks over to Maddie, who is sitting in a chair she is so scared she can’t move.
He leans down, softly speaks, so that the men can’t hear him.
I guess I gotta go with them.
What do they want?
No idea.
What if they hurt you?
If I don’t go with them they’re gonna hurt me.
What should I do?
Wait here.
What if you don’t come back?
Come on.
They could kill you.
If they were gonna kill me, they’d have already done it. I guess so.
I mean, look at ’em, they look like nice guys.
She looks over at them. They look like mean-ass motherfuckers. She laughs. Dylan stands, kisses her.
Save me some pizza, I’ll see you soon.
He turns around, walks out, the two men follow him. They leave the door open Maddie hears them walk away she stands walks to the door watches the men get into a pickup they make Dylan get into the back and as they pull out of the parking lot he looks up at her and waves.
She waits he doesn’t come back. She eats pizza watches TV waits he doesn’t come back. She falls asleep wakes up he’s still not back. She gets dressed and goes to work where she sells hundreds and hundreds of items priced at or below 99 cents and when she comes home he’s still not back.
She walks down the street and buys some fried chicken and some baked beans. She comes home and watches TV and wants to eat, but can’t. He doesn’t come home.
He’s gone for two more days. She hardly eats or sleeps while he’s gone. At the end of the second day, she comes home with a bag of chips and some pudding he’s asleep in their bed. She drops the chips and pudding and the pudding breaks on the floor she doesn’t care. She lies down next to him and starts kissing him kissing his cheeks his forehead his nose his ears neck arms hands she kisses him and cries. He wakes up, smiles, speaks.
Hi.
She smiles.
Hi.
How you doing?
She smiles.
Where have you been?
Driving around.
She smiles.
Driving around?
Yeah.
She smiles.
Were you in the bed of that pickup the entire time?
No, most of the time I was on the back of a motorcycle.
She can’t stop smiling.
That sounds fun.
Not fun. My back fucking kills.
You want a rub?
Yeah.
He smiles, flips over.
Why were you on the back of a motorcycle for three days?
She straddles him, starts rubbing his back.
They were looking for the guys that killed their friends. I saw them and know what they look like. We rode around trying to find them.
Did you?
No, but someone else in their club did.
What’d they do to them?
No idea.
Really?
I guess I have some idea. And it’s probably the same thing you’re thinking, but I don’t know any specifics, and I don’t want to know any.
I was really worried.
He laughs.
I hope so.
I didn’t know if you were coming back.
I know I shoulda called. They just watched me all the time.
Why?
They’re paranoid guys.
Where’d you sleep?
At the shop, but we’d only sleep a couple hours a day. They were obsessed with finding those guys.
Eat?
Fast-food. Drive-throughs. It’s sort of funny going through a drive-through on a Harley.
They ask about the money?
No.
They didn’t notice?
I don’t know. I didn’t hear them talking about it and I didn’t bring it up.
It’s still here.
Good.
What do you want to do with it?
Use it to get out of here.
What about our jobs?
I already quit mine.
They let you?
As long as I never talk to anyone about them. You should quit yours tomorrow.
Can I kick Dale in the nuts before I leave?
He laughs.
Sure.
Where we gonna go?
Somewhere better than this.
Can we go back to the beach?
We can go as close as we can afford.
I want a white house with a picket fence near the beach.
He laughs. She speaks again.
I do. Seriously. That’s my dream now.
We’re a long way from being able to afford that.
Let’s just get close.
Okay.
She starts kissing him again, he’s awake now and he kisses her back.
They spend the night releasing three days of tension, stress and fear on each other’s bodies in each other on top of each other beneath each other. When they wake up they pack their things they fit into two small backpacks they get on the bike and ride over to the 99-cent store. Maddie quits her job. Dale asks her to stay tells her she’s the heart and soul of the store she laughs at him. He gives her a slip of paper with his numbers, his office, home and cell, and tells her to ca
ll if she changes her mind. She throws it away on her way out.
They ride over to the shop. Dylan wants to leave the bike. Although they love the old piece of shit bike, and it is their only means of transportation in a city where, because of the lack of suitable public options, some form of transportation is essential, they want to sever the link between them and the shop as fully and completely as they can. The gates are closed and no one is around. There is traffic on the street, but it’s quiet. There is menace in the air, death, violence. They park the bike in front of the gates. Dylan and Maddie walk away they are the only pedestrians in sight. And once again, they head west.
West.
They walk west.
The first feature-length film, The Story of the Kelly Gang, is produced in Australia in 1906. The second, L’Enfant Prodigue, is produced in France in 1907. In 1908, nine American film companies, all but one based on the East Coast, form the Motion Picture Patents Company, also known as the Edison Trust, the purpose of which is to keep non-American and independent interests out of the film business by pooling technological resources and hoarding filmstock. In 1909, the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce begins offering incentives to filmmakers willing to shoot in the city, and promotes the abundance of sunshine (electrical lighting is expensive), the weather, and the variety of landscapes available. In 1911, the first film studio in LA, Christie-Nestor Studios, opens its doors.
By 1914, there are fifteen studios. In 1915, William Fox, the founder and owner of Fox Film Corporation, files antitrust litigation against the Motion Picture Patents Company, which is declared a monopoly by the U.S. Federal Court and broken up. By 1917, Los Angeles is the film production capital of the world.
A conversation in Los Angeles. Its participants are males between the ages of fourteen and thirty. They could be members of any race, nationality, ethnic group, from almost any part of the city or county: You gotta get us a scalp.
A scalp?
Yeah, a motherfucking scalp.
Like what the Indians did?
Just like what the motherfucking Indians did.
How the fuck do I get a scalp?
You kill a motherfucker and then chop the top of his head off.
Or you just beat his ass real good and then chop the top of his head off. It’s almost worse that way ’cause then the motherfucker gotta walk around his whole life with a fucked-up head.
Who you want me to do this to?