Inherent Vice (26 page)

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Authors: Thomas Pynchon

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Political, #Satire

BOOK: Inherent Vice
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Hey, a Princess phone, man, I used to have one of these. I mean,
mine was pink, but poison green is nice too. Were you planning to marry
that joint or just keep hangin onto it?

The phone had a long cord, and Clancy took it as far away from Doc
as she could. Doc went in the toilet and became absorbed in something
by Louis L

Amour he

d forgotten was in there, and next thing he knew,
Clancy was hammering on the door.

Boris says it

s got to be in person.

that night doc
met Clancy after she got off work tending bar in Inglewood, and they drove out to a bikers

roadhouse somewhere off the Harbor Freeway called Knucklehead Jack

s. As they came in the door, the jukebox was playing the Del Shannon perennial

Runaway,

which Doc took to be a hopeful sign. The low oxygen level inside was
more than made up for by smoke of various national origins.

Boris Spivey had the dimensions, if possibly not the self-restraint, of an NFL lineman. The pool cue in his hand looked about the size a baton does in Zubin Mehta

s.

Clancy says they popped you for Glen.


They had to cut me loose. Wrong place at the wrong time, was all. Found unconscious at the scene, so forth. I still don

t know what happened.


Me neither, I was out in Pico Rivera, visiting my
fiancée
, Dawnette.
You play pool? How do you feel about mass
é
shots?


The usual love-hate.


I

ll break.

The pool table was host for a while to squirming ball trajectories,
it’s
playing surface repeatedly threatened by steeply driven cue angles, till
Mrs. Pixley the owner finally made her way over to Doc and Boris, bear
ing a grim smile and a sawed-off shotgun, and a hush fell on the place.


See that sign over the bar, fellas? You can

t read it, I

ll be happy to.


Oh come on, we ain

t hurtin nothin.


I don

t care, you and your li

l playmate are gonna have to leave the
premises now. Ain

t so much the cost of replacing the felt, I just person
ally fuckin hate m
ass
é
shots.

Doc looked around for Clancy and saw her over in a booth, deep in conversation with two motorcyclists of a sort mothers tend not to approve of.


She can take care of herself okay,

Boris said,

she

s always been into
two at a time, and this looks like her lucky night. Come on, my truck

s
out in the lot.

His head now unavoidably teeming with lewd images, Doc followed Boris outside to a

46 Dodge Power Wagon with a mottled paint job of
olive drab and primer-coat gray. They climbed in, and Boris sat checking
the lot out for a while.

You think we convinced
’em
back there? I figure
a guy can

t ever be too paranoid.


How heavy is this, that we

re talking about?

Doc lighting them a
couple of Kools.


Tell me, compadre, just between us—you ever kill anybody?


Self-defense, all the time. On purpose, hey, who can remember.
How about yourself?


You packing right now?


Were we expecting company?


After a certain amount of time on the Special Needs Yard,

explained
Boris,

you gain the impression that there is always somebody looking to
ice your ass.

Doc nodded.

Thing about these hippie getups,

lifting one bell-
bottom cuff to reveal a little short-barreled Model 27,

is you can almost
fit a Heckler & Koch under here if you want.


You

re a dangerous hombre I can see that, too dangerous for me so I
guess I better just spill the whole thing.

Doc got ready to jump out and
run, but Boris only continued,

Truth is, Glen got done in cold blood.
He wasn

t supposed to be there when they came for Mickey. The fix was
in, Puck Beaverton had the duty that day, plan was to let them in the door and then disappear, but Puck got cold feet at the last minute and
changed shifts with Glen, except he didn

t tell Glen what was gonna
happen, he just split.


This Puck guy—you know where he went?


Probably Vegas. Puck thinks there

s people there who

ll look after him.


Sure would

ve liked a word with him. Whole thing

s kind of puz
zling. Let

s say for example that Mickey was in trouble.


Trouble ain

t the word. This was the deepest shit he could get in. All
because of this idea that came to him. All the money he ever made—he was working on a way to just give it back.

Doc exhaled more than whistled through his teeth.

Can I still get my name on the list?


You think I

m bullshitting, that

s okay, we all thought Mickey was too.


Yeah but why would he—?


Don

t ask me. Wouldn

t be the first rich guy on a guilt trip lately. He
was doing a lot of acid, some peyote, maybe it just got to a point. You must have seen that happen.


Once or twice, but it

s more like calling in sick for a couple days, breakin up with your old lady, nothing on that scale.


What Mickey said was,

I wish I could undo what I did, I know I can

t,
but I bet I can make the money start to flow a different direction.
’”


He told you that?


Heard him say it, him and his chick Shasta had a few of those inti
mate discussions, I wasn

t trying to listen in or nothin, just happened to
be there, price of being invisible. Shasta, she thought Mickey was crazy wanting to give all his money away. For some reason it scared her. He
started in needling, like all she was worried about was losing her meal
ticket. Which really
was crazy,
because she was in love with him, man. If she was scared for anybody, it was for him. I don

t know if Mickey
ever believed it, but every jailbird that

s been in, even for a night, can tell
the difference between the hustles you put on somebody you want to fuck and that other thing. That longing. All you had to do was look in her face.

They sat smoking.

Shasta and I lived together for a short while,

Doc thought he should mention,

and I can

t say I ever knew how she felt about me. How deep it went.


Man,

Boris glancing quickly down in the direction of Doc

s ankle rig,

I hope this ain

t a bummer for you to be hearin this.


Boris, I only look like a evil motherfucker, secretly I

m as sentimental
as any ex-old man. Please, forget the Smith, just tell me—who else do
you think was worried about Mickey

s big giveaway? Business partners?
The wife?


Sloane? He wasn

t telling her shit, not till it

s over and done and lawyer-proof,

’s
what he kept saying. Also said if she ever found out too
soon, the California bar association would declare a day of thanksgiving
for all the new business.


But he

d have to bring in lawyers himself at some point, nobody just
hands out millions, he would
’ve
needed some technical help.


All

s I know is, is there was suddenly a army of guys in suits around
Mickey

s place—only kind I can ID on sight is Mormons and FBI, if there

s a difference, and I

m still not too sure what these were.


You think they
could’ve
been some of Sloane

s people? Like she
found out anyway? Or began to pick up funny vibes? And how about her
boyfriend, that Riggs guy?


Yeah, Shasta thought Sloane and him were cooking up something together. She was nervous already, but then she started to get really freaked. Mickey was renting a place for her up in Hancock Park, sometimes when I was off shift I

d drop by—nothin romantic, understand—
just you could tell how much safer she felt with somebody around. Every
day there was something new, cars cruising the house, phone calls that nobody on the other end would say anything, people tailing her whenever she went out in the Eldorado.


She happen to get any license numbers?


Figured you

d ask.

Boris took out his wallet and found a folded wheatstraw cigarette paper, and handed it to Doc.

Hope you got a way to run these without the cops knowing.


Guy I used to work for has this computer. Why don

t you want to go through the LAPD? Seems like they

d be looking to get whoever it is, too.


What are you a doctor of, tripping? University of what planet again:


Almost sounds like maybe you think
...
LAPD

s in on this?


No fuckin maybe, and Mickey was getting warned enough, too. Cop friend of his kept showing up at the house all the time.


Let me guess—blond, Swedish, talks weird sometimes, answers to the name Bigfoot?
,,


That

s him. I think it was Sloane he kept coming around for, you really want to know.


But he warned Mickey to
...
what? stay away from Chick Planet Massage? Don

t trust your bodyguards?


Whatever—Mickey ignored all the advice, he liked it out there at Channel View, and especially that massage joint. Last place any of us expected a raid on. One minute you

re gettin a nice blow job, the next
it

s like fuckin Vietnam, assault teams everyplace you look, scuba units
climbin out of the Jacuzzi, chicks runnin around screaming..
..


Wow. Almost sounds like you were there on the scene and not out in
Pico Rivera.


Okay, okay, I did drop by for a second, just to pick up some of that purple shit Dawnette likes, that you pour it in the bathtub, it makes bubbles?


Bubble bath.


That

s it. And just walked right in in the middle of everything, but wait, you—you said you were there, too, all that time, unconscious or whatever, so how come I didn

t see you?

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