Bright Shiny Morning
Page 36
The door opens and two middle-aged, tired-looking men in suits come in one is white one is black both of their suits are blue, the white one has a mustache. They both have sodas with them they sit down across from him. The white one speaks.
I’m Detective Sullivan.
Black one speaks.
Detective Jackson.
Old Man Joe nods. Sullivan speaks.
Your name?
Old Man Joe.
Jackson speaks.
That your street name?
It’s my name.
Sullivan.
What’s your real name?
Does it matter?
Jackson.
It might.
When it does, I’ll give it to you.
Jackson looks at Sullivan, who frowns. Jackson looks back at Joe.
Tell us what happened.
What do you guys know?
Sullivan.
Listen, man, we’re trying to figure out what happened with this guy. We don’t need any shit from you. Just tell us what the fuck happened so we can get on with it.
Can I have a soda?
Jackson.
What kind?
I don’t care.
Sullivan pushes his, a diet cola, across the table.
Thank you.
Joe opens it, takes a sip, sets it down. He tells them what happened, they take notes, when he’s done, they set down their pens. Jackson looks at Sullivan, who shrugs. Jackson turns back to Joe, speaks.
What the fuck were you thinking?
What do you mean?
You make fucking shields and get clubs and go marching down the fucking boardwalk like knights or some shit?
I wanted to help the girl.
Sullivan speaks.
She want your help?
I don’t know. I don’t think she knows.
Jackson.
Was it worth your friend’s life?
No.
Sullivan.
You traded your friend’s life for some fucked-up girl.
I was just trying to help.
Jackson.
You fucked up.
I know.
Sullivan.
You killed your friend.
I know.
Jackson.
One of the dumbest fucking things I’ve ever heard of.
Joe gets pissed.
I fucking know, okay? Now why don’t you stop fucking telling me how stupid I am and go get the motherfuckers that did it.
Sullivan.
You want to go to jail?
Joe stares at the table, shakes his head.
If you want to go to jail, keep talking to us like that and that’s where you’ll go, you understand me?
Joe stares at the table, nods.
Jackson.
Can you identify the shooter, his friend, and the girl?
Yes.
Sullivan.
You know their names?
The girl’s name is Beatrice. I don’t know the guys’ names.
Jackson.
Beatrice what?
No idea.
Sullivan.
You know where they are?
The boardwalk, I guess. I don’t know.
Jackson.
Where on the boardwalk?
The north end of it, near Rose, near where you found the body.
Sullivan.
You wanna take a ride with us, see if we can find them?
Not really.
Sullivan.
Why not?
Because I don’t.
Jackson.
Don’t like cops?
No, I’m okay with cops. Like some of them. Don’t like others. Just depends.
Don’t like us?
You’re fine.
Sullivan.
Just don’t want to help us.
I just want to go home.
Sullivan.
To the bathroom?
Yeah. I want to go to my bathroom and get drunk and hate myself for a while.
You should fucking hate yourself for a long while. A good long while.
Joe nods.
I know.
Sullivan looks at Jackson, who motions towards the door. They stand and leave. Joe sits in the room for another hour. Just sits and hates himself. When the door opens a uniformed officer steps in, tells him to get up, they walk out of the station house, the officer leads him to a car, opens the back door, Joe gets back into the cage. The officer drives him back to Venice, drops him in front of the bathroom. As the car pulls away Joe walks back to the liquor store, buys another bottle of Thunderbird, walks behind the liquor store, pulls his first bottle out from beneath the dumpster. He sits down and he starts drinking and spends the night getting drunk and hating himself.
In 1975 the Los Angeles Police Department admits to keeping secret files on almost 6,000 citizens of the city. The files were profiles of suspected communists, black and Mexican community leaders, potential spies, and enemies of the city government.
Los Angeles is the capital of many things. It is the entertainment capital of the world. It is the pornography capital of the world. It is the defense and aerospace capital of the world. It is the street-gang capital of the world. It is the beauty-queen-hoping-to-be-rich-and-famous capital of the world. It is the crazy-person capital of the world. It is the artist capital of the world. It is the immigration capital of the world. It is also, most unfortunately, the major-city-that-gets-tagged-by-natural-disasters capital of the world. All of the others, debatably, are good, or at least interesting, and there are cities around the world that would gladly take the titles away from them (Caracas, Venezuela, actually sued for the title of craziest and lost in court at The Hague). Nobody, repeat nobody nobody nobody, wants to take away the title of major-city-that-gets-tagged-by-natural-disasters capital of the world. Not one fucking place wants that one. No fucking thank you.
Why, one might ask, would a city be so unlucky? Does God Hate Los Angeles? Maybe. Does it have bad karma? Some think Los Angeles is too young to have any real karma. Does something about Los Angeles force the elements to conspire against it and attempt to destroy it? Don’t know the answer to that one. All that can be said is that shit goes hideously wrong in Los Angeles all the time, and that nature really kicks its fucking ass. Here is a brief, brief history of natural disasters in Los Angeles from the date of its founding in 1781 until the year 2000 (after the year 2000, many people believe we entered the biblically foretold End of Days and everything that happened after that is definitely God’s fucking fault).
September 8, 1781. Four days after the founding of Los Angeles, a flash flood washes away all of the settlers’ building supplies.
1783. Drought lasts eleven months killing most of settlement’s crops.
1790. Drought lasts fourteen months killing most of settlement’s crops.
1796. Earthquake destroys more than half of existing structures in the settlement. Four dead, twelve injured.
1805. Drought lasts ten months destroys first orange grove in southern California and most of settlement’s crops.
1811. Massive flood wipes out large sections of the village.
1812. Earthquake kills 40 people, destroys majority of village’s buildings.
1815. Massive flood. Kills fourteen people.
Wipes away large sections of the village. The Pueblo of Los Angeles is moved to higher ground.
1818. Series of floods wipes away large sections of town, kills 40 people.
Pueblo is moved to higher ground for a second time.
1819. Wildfire destroys most of town’s crops.
1820. Drought lasts ten months, destroys most of town’s crops.
1827. Earthquake.
Fifty buildings destroyed, 75 people dead.
1829. Wildfire destroys 20 farms on the outskirts of city, kills 4 people.
1832. Massive floods destroy 20 buildings, kill 20 people.
1838. Drought lasts 9 months, wipes out most of city’s crops, des
troys orange groves.
1844. Flooding kills 15 people.
1850. Wildfire destroys 30 farms, 20 homes, 1 school, 11 people dead.
1856. Earthquake.
Seven buildings destroyed, 1 dead.
1857. Earthquake.
Twenty-six buildings destroyed, 4 people dead.
1859. Massive flooding.
1862. Massive flooding.
1863. Flooding through the first part of the year, followed by a 14-month drought that destroys all of the city’s crops and most of its livestock.
1864. Smallpox kills most of remaining Native American population and 350 residents of the city.
1865. Tsunami destroys 30 ships in the Port of Los Angeles.
1867. Massive flooding. Rainstorm that lasts seven days, destroys most of the city’s roads and creates a lake in downtown Los Angeles.
1869. Mudslides kill 11.
1872. Earthquake.
Ten buildings destroyed, 4 people dead.
1875. Wildfire destroys 1,000 acres.
1879. Wildfire destroys 4,000 acres, kills 3 people.
1884. Flood changes the course of the Los Angeles river so that it flows through the center of downtown, destroys 15 buildings.
1888. Massive flooding. Six people die.
1891. Massive flooding. Eight people die.
1894. Wildfire destroys 500 acres of farmland. Mudslides close roads in Santa Monica and kill 4 people.
1899. Drought wipes out orange groves, 2 people die.
1901. Flooding destroys four homes. Mudslides kill 6.
1904. Drought lasts 8 months.
1909. Drought lasts 10 months.
1912. Earthquake.
Seven buildings destroyed, 1 dead.
1914. Massive flooding. Destroys 30 buildings, wipes out roads and rail tracks, shuts down Los Angeles Harbor, $10 million in damages.
1916. Earthquake. Destroys 22 buildings, kills 6 people.
1922. Wildfire destroys 700 acres, 60 homes, kills 2 people.
1926. Flooding. Mudslides close roads throughout the western half of the city, destroy 4 homes, kill 1 person.
1933. Earthquake. Destroys 250 buildings, kills 120 people, $75 million in damages.
1934. Two separate floods. First kills 40 people, second kills 45 people.
1938. Massive floods kill 80 people and cause $35 million in damages. Mudslides kill 12 more people and cause $5 million in damages.
1941. Earthquake registers 4.8 on the Richter scale.
Floods submerge downtown Los Angeles. Second earthquake also registers 4.8 on Richter scale.
1942. Floods submerge downtown Los Angeles.
1943. Floods submerge downtown Los Angeles.
1944. Floods submerge downtown Los Angeles.
1947. Mudslides kill 6 in Santa Monica and Malibu.
1949. Wildfires destroy 200 acres and 12 homes.
1951. Earthquake registers 5.9 on the Richter scale.
1952. Earthquake registers 6.0 on the Richter scale.
Seven people are killed, $25 million in damages.
1954. Smog prevents airplanes from landing and ships from docking for three days.
1961. Fire destroys 484 homes and 21 other buildings in Brentwood and Bel-Air, causes $120 million in damage.
1963. Baldwin Hills Dam collapses releasing millions of gallons of water on the local community. One hundred homes destroyed, 5 dead, $60 million in damages.
1969. Massive floods and mudslides kill 93 people, destroy 105 homes, and cause $500 million in damages.
1971. Earthquake registers 6.6 on the Richter scale. It kills 70 people and causes $550 million in damages. Another fire in Bel-Air destroys 90 homes and kills 3 people and causes $80 million in damages.
1978. Wildfire destroys 40,000 acres of land and 300 homes, kills 11 people.
1979. Earthquake registers 5.2 on the Richter scale. Mudslides destroy 40 homes.
1980. Long Beach levees break and cause flooding in the area, $20 million in damages.
1981. Fruit fly infestation destroys remaining orange groves, $40 million in damages.
1987. Fruit fly reappears, destroying most of the remaining agriculture industry. Earthquake registers 5.9 on the Richter scale.
Kills 10 people and causes $450 million in damages.
1988. Fruit fly appears yet again and destroys all of the remaining agriculture industry. Earthquake registers 5.0 on the Richter scale, $10 million in damages.
1989. Earthquake registers 5.1 on the Richter scale, $17 million in damages. Second earthquake registers 5.0 on the Richter scale, does $34 million in damages.
1991. Earthquake registers 5.8 on the Richter scale, 2 people are killed, $60 million in damages.
1992. Flooding causes $15 million in damages, mudslides kill 6 people.
1994. The motherfucking Big One. Earthquake registers 6.7 on the Richter scale. Seventy people die and there is $20 billion in damages.
1997. El Niño storms hit the coast, do $50 million in damages.
1998. El Niño storms continue to pound the coast, do $50 million more in damages.
In 1976, in a bicentennial effort to alleviate massive traffic jams, Los Angeles opens the nation’s first carpool-only freeway lanes.
Amberton and Kurchenko sit in a fast-food restaurant in Koreatown. Amberton is wearing a disguise, sunglasses and a long black wig and a long black beard and belly suit that makes him look slightly pregnant.
Kurchenko is eating a fishwich and onion rings and drinking a milkshake, Amberton refuses to eat. Everyone else in the restaurant is Korean, and no one is speaking English, so they speak openly. Kurchenko speaks.
So what do you want me to do?
Amberton speaks.
I’m not sure yet.
I’m tired of waiting. You need to decide. One of the kids, his mother or his grandmother, or him. I think the kids, but you decide.
He hurt me really bad.
I no care about that.
I’m still in pain.
Then one of the kids. That will break his heart.
I think him.
Okay. I don’t like blacks, so him is fine.
Maybe break his leg.
I’ll shoot him in the knee. Much worse than a breaking.
Make sure it’s his good knee.
I’ll shoot both knees.
That’ll be good. That’ll be really good.
Shotgun with a slug blows them to bits.
The worse the better.
Now we discuss payment.
Same as usual.
No, I no want money.
What do you want?
I want to get my Screen Actors Guild union card. I want role in your next film.
I’ll try.
No. No try. You agree to do it and you do it or I leave and no shotgun to the knees.
Okay. Fine. I’ll do it.
I want to be good guy. Someone who saves a woman or a priest. Someone I can show to my mother and say that is me, Momma, saving a woman or a priest on the big screen.
I understand.
It is the American Dream.
It’s one of them.
And Screen Actors Guild has good medical insurance. It’s a double win for my mother because she see her son a hero and she get to go to good doctor for her teeth.
Dentist.
What you say?
Never mind.
You understand the terms of the deal?
Yes.
I shoot out his legs to bits and I get to be in your movie.
Yes.
We shake on it.
Okay.
They shake hands, as they do it, Kurchenko stares at Amberton, looks him dead in the eye, squeezes Amberton’s hand. Satisfied with whatever it is he sees, he grunts, nods, lets go, and starts eating his fishwich again. Amberton looks out the window, another sunny day just like the last one, and the one before, just like the next one, and the one after. He turns back into the restaurant sees a white man with a digital
tape recorder staring at him, walking towards him. In the same way a dog can smell fear, Amberton can smell a reporter. He kicks Kurchenko under the table, motions towards the man, who arrives, stops in front of them, holds out the digital recorder, speaks.
Wondering if you have any comment on the lawsuit against you, Mr. Parker.
Kurchenko stands. The reporter takes a step back. Kurchenko speaks.
What you say?
I would like to speak with Mr. Parker?
Who?
Amberton Parker. Right there. In the disguise.
Kurchenko speaks.
That’s no international superstar Amberton Parker. That’s my cousin Yakov Zaionchkovsky.
No, sir. That’s Amberton Parker, and he’s about to get sued for sexually harassing another man.
Kurchenko swats the recorder away, yells.
Go away little man with voice machine and pencil. You disappear now.
The reporter scrambles after the recorder. Amberton stands and he and Kurchenko rush out of the restaurant. As they’re getting into a small innocuous Japanese sedan from the mid-’80s, they see the reporter coming out after them. Amberton starts yelling at Kurchenko.
Go go go go.
As Kurchenko starts the car and puts it into gear, Amberton pushes the passenger’s seat back and crawls into the space on the floor between the seat and dash. He’s still screaming.
GO GO GO GO GO.
Kurchenko floors it and they fly out of the lot he cuts straight across traffic drives away Amberton still screaming.
GO GO GO.
Kurchenko smacks him on the top of his head, speaks.
Shut up. I go. We already away.
You don’t understand, they’ll follow us.
There’s just one. And I have training in evasive driving. We are gone from him.
Amberton curls up.
I’m ruined.
Shut up.
I am. I’m ruined.
He’s one little fellow. I’ll take him out to desert and feed him to buzzards.
You can’t do anything. All operations are off.
No. We shake. We look in the eyes. I still get my Screen Actors Guild union card. My mother needs a doctor.
You don’t understand.
I don’t care. We make deal and deal is still good.
I’ll get you your part if I can. What you don’t understand is I may never work again.
One reporter no big deal. They say you do bad things you just deny them.